hands out into the air like a man who is in a boiling passion. ‘How
could any one offer so pitiful a sum to a lady with such attractions
and accomplishments?’
“‘My accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,’ said I. ‘A
little French, a little German, music, and drawing—’
“‘Tut, tut!’ he cried. ‘This is all quite beside the question. The
point is, have you or have you not the bearing and deportment of a
lady? There it is in a nutshell. If you have not, you are not fitted
for the rearing of a child who may some day play a considerable part
in the history of the country. But if you have, why, then, how could
any gentleman ask you to condescend to accept anything under the three
figures? Your salary with me, madam, would commence at £100 a year.’
“You may imagine, Mr. Holmes, that to me, destitute as I was, such an
offer seemed almost too good to be true. The gentleman, however, seeing
perhaps the look of incredulity upon my face, opened a pocket-book and
took out a note.
“‘It is also my custom,’ said he, smiling in the most pleasant fashion
until his eyes were just two little shining slits amid the white
creases of his face, ‘to advance to my young ladies half their salary
beforehand, so that they may meet any little expenses of their journey
and their wardrobe.’
“It seemed to me that I had never met so fascinating and so thoughtful
a man. As I was already in debt to my tradesmen, the advance was a
great convenience, and yet there was something unnatural about the
whole transaction which made me wish to know a little more before I
quite committed myself.
“‘May I ask where you live, sir?’ said I.
“‘Hampshire. Charming rural place. The Copper Beeches, five miles on the
far side of Winchester. It is the most lovely country, my dear young
lady, and the dearest old country-house.’
“‘And my duties, sir? I should be glad to know what they would be.’
“‘One child—one dear little romper just six years old. Oh, if you could
see him killing cockroaches with a slipper! Smack! smack! smack! Three
gone before you could wink!’ He leaned back in his chair and laughed
his eyes into his head again.
“I was a little startled at the nature of the child’s amusement, but
the father’s laughter made me think that perhaps he was joking.
“‘My sole duties, then,’ I asked, ‘are to take charge of a single child?’
“‘No, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear young lady,’ he cried.
‘Your duty would be, as I am sure your good sense would suggest, to
obey any little commands my wife might give, provided always that they
were such commands as a lady might with propriety obey. You see no
difficulty, heh?’
“‘I should be happy to make myself useful.’
“‘Quite so. In dress now, for example. We are faddy people, you
know—faddy but kind-hearted. If you were asked to wear any dress which
we might give you, you would not object to our little whim. Heh?’
“‘No,’ said I, considerably astonished at his words.
“‘Or to sit here, or sit there, that would not be offensive to you?’
“‘Oh, no.’
“‘Or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?’
“I could hardly believe my ears. As you may observe, Mr. Holmes, my
hair is somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint of chestnut.
It has been considered artistic. I could not dream of sacrificing it in
this off-hand fashion.
“‘I am afraid that that is quite impossible,’ said I. He had been
watching me eagerly out of his small eyes, and I could see a shadow
pass over his face as I spoke.
“‘I am afraid that it is quite essential,’ said he. ‘It is a little
fancy of my wife’s, and ladies’ fancies, you know, madam, ladies’
fancies must be consulted. And so you won’t cut your hair?’
“‘No, sir, I really could not,’ I answered, firmly.
“‘Ah, very well; then that quite settles the matter. It is a pity,
because in other respects you would really have done very nicely. In
that case, Miss Stoper, I had best inspect a few more of your young
ladies.’
“The manageress had sat all this while busy with her papers without a
word to either of us, but she glanced at me now with so much annoyance
upon her face that I could not help suspecting that she had lost a
handsome commission through my refusal.
“‘Do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?’ she asked.
“‘If you please, Miss Stoper.’
“‘Well, really, it seems rather useless, since you refuse the most
excellent offers in this fashion,’ said she, sharply. ‘You can hardly
expect us to exert ourselves to find another such opening for you.
Good-day to you, Miss Hunter.’ She struck a gong upon the table, and I
was shown out by the page.
“Well, Mr. Holmes, when I got back to my lodgings and found little
enough in the cupboard, and two or three bills upon the table, I began
to ask myself whether I had not done a very foolish thing. After all,
if these people had strange fads, and expected obedience on the most
extraordinary matters, they were at least ready to pay for their
eccentricity. Very few governesses in England are getting £100 a
year. Besides, what use was my hair to me? Many people are improved by
wearing it short, and perhaps I should be among the number. Next day I
was inclined to think that I had made a mistake, and by the day after
I was sure of it. I had almost overcome my pride, so far as to go back
to the agency and inquire whether the place was still open, when I
received this letter from the gentleman himself. I have it here, and I
will read it to you:
“‘The Copper Beeches, near Winchester.
“‘DEAR MISS HUNTER,—Miss Stoper has very kindly given me your
address, and I write from here to ask you whether you have
reconsidered your decision. My wife is very anxious that you
should come, for she has been much attracted by my description
of you. We are willing to give £30 a quarter, or £120 a year, so
as to recompense you for any little inconvenience which our fads
may cause you. They are not very exacting, after all. My wife
is fond of a particular shade of electric blue, and would like
you to wear such a dress in-doors in the morning. You need not,
however, go to the expense of purchasing one, as we have one
belonging to my dear daughter Alice (now in Philadelphia), which
would, I should think, fit you very well. Then, as to sitting
here or there, or amusing yourself in any manner indicated, that
need cause you no inconvenience. As regards your hair, it is
no doubt a pity, especially as I could not help remarking its
beauty during our short interview, but I am afraid that I must
remain firm upon this point, and I only hope that the increased
salary may recompense you for the loss. Your duties, as far as
the child is concerned, are very light. Now do try to come, and
I shall meet you with the dog-cart at Winchester. Let me know
your train. Yours faithfully, JEPHRO RUCASTLE.’
“That is the letter which I have just received, Mr. Holmes, and my mind
is made up that I will accept it. I thought, however, that before
taking the final step I should like to submit the whole matter to your
consideration.”
“Well, Miss Hunter, if your mind is made up, that settles the
question,” said Holmes, smiling.
“But you would not advise me to refuse?”
“I confess that it is not the situation which I should like to see a
sister of mine apply for.”
“What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?”
“Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps you have yourself formed
some opinion?”
“Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. Mr. Rucastle
seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. Is it not possible that his
wife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep the matter quiet for fear
she should be taken to an asylum, and that he humors her fancies in
every way in order to prevent an outbreak.”
“That is a possible solution—in fact, as matters stand, it is the most
probable one. But in any case it does not seem to be a nice household
for a young lady.”
“But the money, Mr. Holmes, the money!”
“Well, yes, of course the pay is good—too good. That is what makes
me uneasy. Why should they give you £120 a year, when they could have
their pick for £40? There must be some strong reason behind.”
“I thought that if I told you the circumstances you would understand
afterwards if I wanted your help. I should feel so much stronger if I
felt that you were at the back of me.”
“Oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. I assure you that your
little problem promises to be the most interesting which has come my
way for some months. There is something distinctly novel about some of
the features. If you should find yourself in doubt or in danger—”
“Danger! What danger do you foresee?”
Holmes shook his head gravely. “It would cease to be a danger if we
could define it,” said he. “But at any time, day or night, a telegram
would bring me down to your help.”
“That is enough.” She rose briskly from her chair with the anxiety
all swept from her face. “I shall go down to Hampshire quite easy in
my mind now. I shall write to Mr. Rucastle at once, sacrifice my poor
hair to-night, and start for Winchester to-morrow.” With a few grateful
words to Holmes she bade us both good-night and bustled off upon her
way.
“At least,” said I, as we heard her quick, firm step descending the
stairs, “she seems to be a young lady who is very well able to take
care of herself.”
“And she would need to be,” said Holmes, gravely; “I am much mistaken
if we do not hear from her before many days are past.”
It was not very long before my friend’s prediction was fulfilled. A
fortnight went by, during which I frequently found my thoughts turning
in her direction, and wondering what strange side-alley of human
experience this lonely woman had strayed into. The unusual salary,
the curious conditions, the light duties, all pointed to something
abnormal, though whether a fad or a plot, or whether the man were
a philanthropist or a villain, it was quite beyond my powers to
determine. As to Holmes, I observed that he sat frequently for half an
hour on end, with knitted brows and an abstracted air, but he swept the
matter away with a wave of his hand when I mentioned it. “Data! data!
data!” he cried, impatiently. “I can’t make bricks without clay.” And
yet he would always wind up by muttering that no sister of his should
ever have accepted such a situation.
The telegram which we eventually received came late one night, just as
I was thinking of turning in, and Holmes was settling down to one of
those all-night chemical researches which he frequently indulged in,
when I would leave him stooping over a retort and a test-tube at night,
and find him in the same position when I came down to breakfast in
the morning. He opened the yellow envelope, and then, glancing at the
message, threw it across to me.
“Just look up the trains in Bradshaw,” said he, and turned back to his
chemical studies.
The summons was a brief and urgent one.
“Please be at the ‘Black Swan’ Hotel at Winchester at
mid-day to-morrow,” it said. “Do come! I am at my wits’
end. HUNTER.”
“Will you come with me?” asked Holmes, glancing up.
“I should wish to.”
“Just look it up, then.”
“There is a train at half-past nine,” said I, glancing over my
Bradshaw. “It is due at Winchester at 11.30.”
“That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had better postpone my
analysis of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the
morning.”
* * * * *
By eleven o’clock the next day we were well upon our way to the old
English capital. Holmes had been buried in the morning papers all the
way down, but after we had passed the Hampshire border he threw them
down, and began to admire the scenery. It was an ideal spring day, a
light blue sky, flecked with little fleecy white clouds drifting across
from west to east. The sun was shining very brightly, and yet there was
an exhilarating nip in the air, which set an edge to a man’s energy.
All over the country-side, away to the rolling hills around Aldershot,
the little red and gray roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from
amid the light green of the new foliage.
“Are they not fresh and beautiful?” I cried, with all the enthusiasm of
a man fresh from the fogs of Baker Street.
But Holmes shook his head gravely.
“Do you know, Watson,” said he, “that it is one of the curses of a mind
with a turn like mine that I must look at everything with reference to
my own special subject. You look at these scattered houses, and you are
impressed by their beauty. I look at them, and the only thought which
comes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with
which crime may be committed there.”
“Good heavens!” I cried. “Who would associate crime with these dear old
homesteads?”
“They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief, Watson,
founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London
do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and
beautiful country-side.”
“You horrify me!”
“But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion can
do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no lane so
vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkard’s
blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation among the neighbors, and
then the whole machinery of justice is ever so close that a word of
complaint can set it going, and there is but a step between the crime
and the dock. But look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields,
filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of
the law. Think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness
which may go on, year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser.
Had this lady who appeals to us for help gone to live in Winchester, I
should never have had a fear for her. It is the five miles of country
which makes the danger. Still, it is clear that she is not personally
threatened.”
“No. If she can come to Winchester to meet us she can get away.”
“Quite so. She has her freedom.”
“What _can_ be the matter, then? Can you suggest no explanation?”
“I have devised seven separate explanations, each of which would cover
the facts as far as we know them. But which of these is correct can
only be determined by the fresh information which we shall no doubt
find waiting for us. Well, there is the tower of the cathedral, and we
shall soon learn all that Miss Hunter has to tell.”
The “Black Swan” is an inn of repute in the High Street, at no
distance from the station, and there we found the young lady waiting
for us. She had engaged a sitting-room, and our lunch awaited us upon
the table.
“I am so delighted that you have come,” she said, earnestly. “It is so
very kind of you both; but indeed I do not know what I should do. Your
advice will be altogether invaluable to me.”
“Pray tell us what has happened to you.”
“I will do so, and I must be quick, for I have promised Mr. Rucastle to
be back before three. I got his leave to come into town this morning,
though he little knew for what purpose.”
“Let us have everything in its due order.” Holmes thrust his long thin
legs out towards the fire and composed himself to listen.
“In the first place, I may say that I have met, on the whole, with no
actual ill-treatment from Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle. It is only fair to
them to say that. But I cannot understand them, and I am not easy in my
mind about them.”
“What can you not understand?”
“Their reasons for their conduct. But you shall have it all just as
it occurred. When I came down, Mr. Rucastle met me here, and drove me
in his dog-cart to the Copper Beeches. It is, as he said, beautifully
situated, but it is not beautiful in itself, for it is a large square
block of a house, whitewashed, but all stained and streaked with damp
and bad weather. There are grounds round it, woods on three sides, and
on the fourth a field which slopes down to the Southampton high-road,
which curves past about a hundred yards from the front door. This
ground in front belongs to the house, but the woods all round are part
of Lord Southerton’s preserves. A clump of copper beeches immediately
in front of the hall door has given its name to the place.
[Illustration: “‘I AM SO DELIGHTED THAT YOU HAVE COME’”]
“I was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as ever, and was
introduced by him that evening to his wife and the child. There was no
truth, Mr. Holmes, in the conjecture which seemed to us to be probable
in your rooms at Baker Street. Mrs. Rucastle is not mad. I found her
to be a silent, pale-faced woman, much younger than her husband, not
more than thirty, I should think, while he can hardly be less than
forty-five. From their conversation I have gathered that they have been
married about seven years, that he was a widower, and that his only
child by the first wife was the daughter who has gone to Philadelphia.
Mr. Rucastle told me in private that the reason why she had left them
was that she had an unreasoning aversion to her step-mother. As the
daughter could not have been less than twenty, I can quite imagine that
her position must have been uncomfortable with her father’s young wife.
“Mrs. Rucastle seemed to me to be colorless in mind as well as in
feature. She impressed me neither favorably nor the reverse. She was a
nonentity. It was easy to see that she was passionately devoted both
to her husband and to her little son. Her light gray eyes wandered
continually from one to the other, noting every little want and
forestalling it if possible. He was kind to her also in his bluff,
boisterous fashion, and on the whole they seemed to be a happy couple.
And yet she had some secret sorrow, this woman. She would often be lost
in deep thought, with the saddest look upon her face. More than once I
have surprised her in tears. I have thought sometimes that it was the
disposition of her child which weighed upon her mind, for I have never
met so utterly spoilt and so ill-natured a little creature. He is small
for his age, with a head which is quite disproportionately large. His
whole life appears to be spent in an alternation between savage fits of
passion and gloomy intervals of sulking. Giving pain to any creature
weaker than himself seems to be his one idea of amusement, and he
shows quite remarkable talent in planning the capture of mice, little
birds, and insects. But I would rather not talk about the creature, Mr.
Holmes, and, indeed, he has little to do with my story.”
“I am glad of all details,” remarked my friend, “whether they seem to
you to be relevant or not.”
“I shall try not to miss anything of importance. The one unpleasant
thing about the house, which struck me at once, was the appearance
and conduct of the servants. There are only two, a man and his wife.
Toller, for that is his name, is a rough, uncouth man, with grizzled
hair and whiskers, and a perpetual smell of drink. Twice since I have
been with them he has been quite drunk, and yet Mr. Rucastle seemed to
take no notice of it. His wife is a very tall and strong woman with a
sour face, as silent as Mrs. Rucastle, and much less amiable. They are
a most unpleasant couple, but fortunately I spend most of my time in
the nursery and my own room, which are next to each other in one corner
of the building.
“For two days after my arrival at the Copper Beeches my life was very
quiet; on the third, Mrs. Rucastle came down just after breakfast and
whispered something to her husband.
“‘Oh yes,’ said he, turning to me; ‘we are very much obliged to you,
Miss Hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to cut your hair.
I assure you that it has not detracted in the tiniest iota from your
appearance. We shall now see how the electric-blue dress will become
you. You will find it laid out upon the bed in your room, and if you
would be so good as to put it on we should both be extremely obliged.’
“The dress which I found waiting for me was of a peculiar shade of
blue. It was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it bore
unmistakable signs of having been worn before. It could not have been
a better fit if I had been measured for it. Both Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle
expressed a delight at the look of it, which seemed quite exaggerated
in its vehemence. They were waiting for me in the drawing-room, which
is a very large room, stretching along the entire front of the house,
with three long windows reaching down to the floor. A chair had been
placed close to the central window, with its back turned towards it. In
this I was asked to sit, and then Mr. Rucastle, walking up and down on
the other side of the room, began to tell me a series of the funniest
stories that I have ever listened to. You cannot imagine how comical he
was, and I laughed until I was quite weary. Mrs. Rucastle, however, who
has evidently no sense of humor, never so much as smiled, but sat with
her hands in her lap, and a sad, anxious look upon her face. After an
hour or so, Mr. Rucastle suddenly remarked that it was time to commence
the duties of the day, and that I might change my dress and go to
little Edward in the nursery.
“Two days later this same performance was gone through under exactly
similar circumstances. Again I changed my dress, again I sat in the
window, and again I laughed very heartily at the funny stories of which
my employer had an immense _répertoire_, and which he told inimitably.
Then he handed me a yellow-backed novel, and, moving my chair a little
sideways, that my own shadow might not fall upon the page, he begged me
to read aloud to him. I read for about ten minutes, beginning in the
heart of a chapter, and then suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he
ordered me to cease and to change my dress.
“You can easily imagine, Mr. Holmes, how curious I became as to what
the meaning of this extraordinary performance could possibly be. They
were always very careful, I observed, to turn my face away from the
window, so that I became consumed with the desire to see what was going
on behind my back. At first it seemed to be impossible, but I soon
devised a means. My hand-mirror had been broken, so a happy thought
seized me, and I concealed a piece of the glass in my handkerchief. On
the next occasion, in the midst of my laughter, I put my handkerchief
up to my eyes, and was able with a little management to see all that
there was behind me. I confess that I was disappointed. There was
nothing. At least that was my first impression. At the second glance,
however, I perceived that there was a man standing in the Southampton
Road, a small bearded man in a gray suit, who seemed to be looking in
my direction. The road is an important highway, and there are usually
people there. This man, however, was leaning against the railings
which bordered our field, and was looking earnestly up. I lowered my
handkerchief and glanced at Mrs. Rucastle, to find her eyes fixed upon
me with a most searching gaze. She said nothing, but I am convinced
that she had divined that I had a mirror in my hand, and had seen what
was behind me. She rose at once.
“‘Jephro,’ said she, ‘there is an impertinent fellow upon the road
there who stares up at Miss Hunter.’
“‘No friend of yours, Miss Hunter?’ he asked.
“‘No; I know no one in these parts.’
“‘Dear me! How very impertinent! Kindly turn round and motion to him to
go away.’
“‘Surely it would be better to take no notice.’
“‘No, no, we should have him loitering here always. Kindly turn round
and wave him away like that.’
“I did as I was told, and at the same instant Mrs. Rucastle drew down
the blind. That was a week ago, and from that time I have not sat again
in the window, nor have I worn the blue dress, nor seen the man in the
road.”
“Pray continue,” said Holmes. “Your narrative promises to be a most
interesting one.”
“You will find it rather disconnected, I fear, and there may prove to
be little relation between the different incidents of which I speak.
On the very first day that I was at the Copper Beeches, Mr. Rucastle
took me to a small out-house which stands near the kitchen door. As we
approached it I heard the sharp rattling of a chain, and the sound as
of a large animal moving about.
“‘Look in here!’ said Mr. Rucastle, showing me a slit between two
planks. ‘Is he not a beauty?’
“I looked through, and was conscious of two glowing eyes, and of a
vague figure huddled up in the darkness.
“‘Don’t be frightened,’ said my employer, laughing at the start which I
had given. ‘It’s only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him mine, but really
old Toller, my groom, is the only man who can do anything with him. We
feed him once a day, and not too much then, so that he is always as
keen as mustard. Toller lets him loose every night, and God help the
trespasser whom he lays his fangs upon. For goodness’ sake don’t you
ever on any pretext set your foot over the threshold at night, for it
is as much as your life is worth.’