The handle of the street door of Mr. Chester's house could be so
worked from without by any person initiated into the secret that it
yielded easily to practised fingers. This was Mr. Chester's ingenious
invention. Early in his married life he had found it not agreeable to
his sensitive feelings that, after a night's carouse, the door should
be opened for him by his wife. Hence the device.
At one o'clock on this morning he opened his street door and entered
his house. Mrs. Chester was still up, mending Sally's clothes. On a
corner of the table at which she was working, his supper of
bread-and-cheese was laid. As he entered, his wife glanced at him, and
then bent her eyes to her work, without uttering a word. Receiving no
favourable response to his weak smile, he fell-to upon his supper.
By the time Mr. Chester had finished, the silence had become
intolerable to him. His wife, having mended Sally's clothes, was now
gathering them together. He made another conciliatory step.
"How is Sally?" he asked.
Mrs. Chester's lip curled. "Sally's asleep," she answered.
"Did you get her any--any strengthening things?"
"No. All the shops were shut--except the public-houses."
"Ah, yes, I forgot. But you might have asked her if she fancied
anything."
"I said to her last week," replied the mother, with a dark, fierce
flash into her husband's face, "when she came out of one of her
faints, 'Sally, what would you like?' 'I'd like some gin, mother,' she
answered. I was afraid she might give me the same answer again."
He quailed before the look, and the strong reproach conveyed in the
mother's words.
"Don't let's have any more quarrelling to-night, old woman," he said.
"I don't want any quarrelling: I'm not a match for you, Dick."
"That's as it should be, old woman," he said, recovering his spirits.
"Man's the master."
"You're good at words, Dick."
"That's so," he chuckled vainfully.
"But better at something else."
"At what, old woman?"
With a scornful glance she laid before him the strap with which he was
in the habit of striking her.
"There's no arguing with a woman," he said, with rare discretion.
"Come, it's time to get to bed. I suppose the new lodger is in."
"He came in an hour ago."
"And the little girl?"
"She's asleep with Sally."
Mr. Chester, who had risen, stood silent for a few moments, drumming
gently with his fingers on the table.
"Did you see him when he came home?"
Mrs. Chester's anger was spent, and her husband's kinder tone now met
with a kindred response.
"No, Dick."
"Ah, then, there's no use asking. But you might have heard something,
Loo."
"What might I have heard, Dick?" she asked, approaching close to his
side. He passed his arms around her.
"Something that would have reminded you----" He broke off abruptly
with, "No matter."
"But tell me, Dick."
"When I was at the Royal George I fancied I heard a man playing on a
tin whistle."
Mrs. Chester's lips quivered, and a shudder ran through her frame.
"The new tenant," pursued Mr. Chester, "hang him! he's got into my
head like a black fog!--the new tenant had just gone away, and good
riddance to him, when I heard the music, as I thought, and I went to
the door to look. I saw nobody, and a man in the Royal George said
that our new lodger had something in his pocket that looked like a
whistle or a flute. As he came straight home, I thought you might have
heard him play it."
"I was asleep, Dick, when he came home; the slamming of the street
door woke me." She paused and played nervously with a button of her
husband's coat. "Dick, I dreamt of our Ned to-night."
"Ay, Loo," he answered softly.
"What can have become of him? Where is he now, the dear lad?"
"Best for us not to know, perhaps," replied Mr. Chester gloomily.
"I've thought of him a good deal lately," said Mrs. Chester; "more
than I've done for a long time past. And my dreaming of him to-night
is a good sign. Dick, I've got it into my head that he'll open the
door one day, as handsome as ever, and rich too, and that he'll make
it up to us----"
Mr. Chester interrupted her with a bitter laugh.
"If my head doesn't ache till then----There! Stop talking of him, and
let's get to bed."
They went into the bedroom together, and Mrs. Chester held the candle
over the sleeping children, turning the coverlid down, so that their
faces could be seen. They were both fast asleep: the baby's head was
lying on Sally's bare shoulder, and their lips almost touched.
It was not upon Sally's face that Mr. Chester's eyes rested. He gazed
intently upon the child sleeping in Sally's arms, much as though he
were striving to find the solution of some perplexing problem.
"What's bothering you, Dick?" asked Mrs. Chester.
"The difference between this new child and the man upstairs," he
replied. "There's our Sally now. She's dark, and skinny, and
queer-looking all round; but anybody can see with half an eye that
she's our child. It's the same with Ned; he was about the handsomest
lad that you could see in a mile's walk----"
"Ay, that he was, Dick," said the fond mother.
"--Not a bit like Sal, and not much like us to speak of, in a general
way. And yet nobody could doubt that they were brother and sister, and
that he was our boy. Nature works out these things in her own way.
Very well, then. In what way has Nature worked out a likeness between
this new baby and the man sleeping upstairs?"
"In no way that I can see," replied Mrs. Chester, receiving with
favour this evidence against a man to whom she had taken a dislike at
first sight.
"There ain't a feature in their faces alike--not one. Nature doesn't
tell lies as a rule; but she has told a whopper if that man is this
young un's father. Do you mean to tell me that a father would behave
to his own flesh and blood as that fellow behaved to this little one
to-night? Look here, old woman. I go wrong more often than I go right.
I might be a better man to you, I dare say, and a better father to
Sal; but things have gone too far for me to alter. But for all that, I
think I've got the feelings of a father towards our lass, and I
wouldn't part with her for her weight in gold."
Which speech, uttered with rough, genuine feeling, was a recompense to
Mrs. Chester for months of neglect and unfair usage.
"Well, Dick," she said, "don't bother any more about it now. We've got
two weeks' rent in advance, at any rate."
And this practical commentary Mrs. Chester considered a satisfactory
termination to the conversation--at least, for the present.
Mr. Chester was a heavy sleeper. Being an earnest man, he was as
earnest in his sleep as in other matters, and his wife had often
observed that it would take the house on fire to rouse him. It was
singular, therefore, that on this night he should wake up within an
hour of his closing his eyes, with an idea in his mind which had not
before presented itself in an intelligible shape.
"I say, old woman," he mumbled, "are you awake?" The instinct of habit
caused Mrs. Chester to answer drowsily, "Yes, Dick," and to instantly
fall asleep again.
"Rouse yourself." (Assisting her by a push.) "What time was it you
told me the new lodger came in?"
Under the impression that the question had been put to her many hours
since, and therefore not quite clear as to its purport, Mrs. Chester
said,
"Eh, Dick?"
"Eh, Dick! and eh, Dick!" retorted Mr. Chester. "Now, then, are you
listening?"
"Of course I am," she said reproachfully, throwing upon him the onus
of evading the question. "Go on."
"I'm going on. Slow." (With a pause between each word.) "What--time
--did--you--tell--me--that--the--new--lodger--came--in--to-night?"
"He came home about an hour before you."
"And you were asleep?"
"Yes, and I'm almost asleep now. That's enough for to-night, Dick."
"Not half enough, old woman," he said, shaking her without mercy. "If
you were asleep, how do you know what time he came in?"
"He woke me up," replied Mrs. Chester, goaded to desperation, "with
the way he slammed the door. I'll give him a bit of my mind in the
morning. There's other lodgers in the house besides him, and I ain't
going to have them disturbed in that way. I shouldn't wonder if some
of 'em don't give us warning to-morrow. For the Lord's sake, don't
talk to me any more! I've got to be up at six o'clock."
He proceeded, without paying the slightest regard to her appeal:
"When the new lodger comes home a couple of hours ago, you are asleep.
He wakes you up with the way he bangs the door. He comes into the
house, and goes upstairs to his room. That's it, isn't it?"
"That's it, Dick," replied Mrs. Chester listlessly.
"And you don't set your eyes on him?"
"No, and don't want to."
"Now, old woman, just keep your mind on what I'm saying--" but here
Mr. Chester interrupted himself by exclaiming, "What's that row
upstairs? It comes from his room."
The noise proceeded undoubtedly from the room let to the new lodger,
and, as well as she could judge, was caused by the stealthy moving
about of furniture. It did not last long and presently all was quiet
again.
"I shall have to go up to him," said Mr. Chester, shaking his head at
himself in the dark, "if he gives us any more of that fun. He's a
stranger in the neighbourhood. Not a soul in the Royal George ever set
eyes on him before to-night. He comes here with a child--a mere
baby--that don't seem as if it had any right to be here at all. He
takes the room and pays a fortnight in advance, without ever asking
for a receipt, and without ever saying his name is George, or Jim, or
Jo or whatever else it might be. He pulls out a handful of money, too.
Does this sound suspicious, or doesn't it?"
"It _does_, as you put it," acquiesced Mrs. Chester, now awake.
"And, by Jove! there's something more suspicious behind. Who showed
him his bedroom?"
"I didn't."
"And _I_ didn't. Who showed him how to open the street-door without a
key?"
"I didn't."
"And _I_ didn't. Then how the devil _does_ he open it without being
shown how it is done? and how the devil does he find his way, without
a light, to a room he's never seen? I'm going to look into this, Loo,
before I close my eyes again."
Mr. Chester jumped out of bed energetically, with the intention of
putting his purpose into execution. But if his determination of
looking into the matter had not been formed by his own reasoning, it
would have been forced upon him by what took place immediately his
feet touched the floor. The moving of furniture in the new lodger's
room recommenced--not stealthily now, but with great violence, and
much as though it were being thrown about with the wilful intention of
breaking it to pieces. The noise had aroused the other lodgers in the
house, and a knocking at Mr. Chester's door, followed by a pathetic
inquiry about that disturbance upstairs, and an entreaty that it
should be stopped at once, as the speaker's old man had a racking
headache and the row was driving him out of his mind, quickened Mr.
Chester to speedier action.
"All right, Mrs. Midge," Mr. Chester called out, "I'm going upstairs
this minute. It's only a new lodger we've taken in to-night. If he
don't stop his row, I'll bundle him neck and crop into the street."
With the handle of the open door in his hand, he turned to his wife,
and telling her not to be frightened, groped his way to the upper part
of the house.
Mrs. Chester, disregarding her husband's injunction sat up in bed, and
listened to the noise, which so increased in violence every moment
that she got out of bed before Mr. Chester was halfway upstairs, and
stood ready to fly to his assistance.
The person who was causing this commotion had, when he entered the
bedroom, fallen upon the bed in a stupor. He had had no rest for a
week, and was utterly exhausted. For days he had been haunted and
pursued by horrible phantoms, which had driven him almost mad. When
the fit first seized him, he was in the country, fifty miles from
Rosemary Lane, and the thought occurred to him that there was but one
house in all the wide world in which he could find refuge from his
enemies. To this refuge he slowly made his way, eating nothing, but
drinking whenever the opportunity for doing so presented itself. It
gave him for the time a fictitious strength, and enabled him at length
to reach Mr. Chester's house.
The room was in total darkness, and for two hours he lay helpless and
supine, unaware that even in his stupor he was ceaselessly picking
unearthly reptiles from the blanket upon which he had fallen. For two
hours he lay thus, and then consciousness returned to him.
It slowly dawned upon his fevered imagination that he was no longer
alone. The frightful shapes which had pursued him for a week had
discovered his sanctuary, and were stealing upon him. They were subtle
and powerful enough to force their way through stone walls, through
closed doors, and they had done so now. Perhaps, thought he--if it can
be said that he thought at all--if I keep my eyes closed, they will
not discover me. It is dark, and I shall evade them. They will not
think of searching too closely for me here.
He lay still and quiet, as he believed, with loudly-beating heart; but
all the time he struck at the air with his hands, helpless, impotent,
terror-bound. Soon, encouraged by the silence, he ventured to open his
eyes, and a spasm of despair escaped him as he discovered how he had
been juggled. Creeping towards him stealthily was a huge shapeless
shadow. Form it had none, its face and eyes were veiled, but he could
see huge limbs moving within dark folds. The window and door were fast
closed, and it could only have entered the room by way of the chimney
and fireplace. If he could thrust it back to that aperture, and block
it up, he would be safe. He rose from the bed, shaking and trembling
like a leaf in a strong wind, and moved the common washstand between
himself and the shadow. Pushing it before him, he whispered
triumphantly to himself as he perceived his enemy retreat. Cunningly
he drove it towards the fireplace and compelled it into that niche,
where it passed away like the passing of a cloud. Thank God! it was
gone. And so that it should not again find entrance, he placed against
the fireplace all the available furniture in the room. That being
done, he lay down upon the bed, with a sense of inexpressible relief.
But peace was not for him. Within five minutes the shadows began again
to gather about him, and the same monstrous shape which had previously
threatened him reappeared. Not now in disguise, or veiled. He saw its
limbs, its horrible face and eyes, and its aspect was so appalling
that a smothered shriek of agony broke from his parched lips. Whither
should he fly? How could he escape these terrors? Ah! the door! He
moved towards it, but shrank back immediately at the sound of steps
and muffled voices. The window! but _that_ was blocked up by a
crawling monster, whose thousand limbs were winding and curling
towards him, warning him to approach at his peril. He dared not move a
step in that direction. In what direction, then, could he find a
refuge? In none. He was hemmed in, surrounded by these fearful
enemies; the room was filled with them, and they were waiting for him
outside. In mad desperation he seized a chair and hurled it at the
approaching shapes; with a terrible strength he raised the heavier
furniture, and strove to crush them. In vain. There was no escape for
him. Closer and closer they approached; their hot breath, their
glaring eyes were eating into his soul, were setting his heart on
fire. And at that moment Mr. Chester, who had stopped on his way, to
obtain a lighted candle, opened the door and appeared on the
threshold.
The candle which Mr. Chester held above his head as he opened the door
threw a lurid glow around his fearful form. In a paroxysm of blind
delirium the furious wretch threw himself upon his arch enemy. The
candle fell to the ground and was extinguished. But the madman needed
no light to guide him. He would kill this monster who came to destroy
him; he would squeeze the breath out of him; he would tear him limb
from limb. He raised Mr. Chester in his arms as though he were a reed,
and dashed him on to the bed. He knelt upon him, and struck at him
with wild force, and pressed his hands upon his throat, with murderous
intent. Mr. Chester was as a child in his grasp--powerless to defend
himself, powerless to escape, only able, at intervals, to scream for
help.
The sounds of this terrible struggle aroused the whole house, and
every person leaped from bed, the most courageous among them running
to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. Mrs. Chester was the first
to reach the room. She had no candle, but she saw enough to convince
her that her husband's life was in danger. She threw herself upon the
delirious man, and added her affrighted shrieks to the confusion. The
lodgers came hurrying up, and their candles cast a light upon the
scene.
Then Mrs. Chester saw clearly before her--saw the distorted face of
the man who was striving to strangle her husband--saw in his hand a
tin whistle, with which, deeming it to be a dagger, he was stabbing at
the form writhing in his grasp.
"O God!" she shrieked. "It is Ned--my boy Ned! Ned--Ned! for the love
of God, come off! Are you blind or mad? It is your father you are
killing!"
Her words fell upon heedless ears. So strung to a dangerous tension
was his tortured imagination, that the entreating voices, the lights,
the hands about him striving to frustrate his deadly purpose, were
unheard, unseen, unfelt.
The men grappled with him, but their united efforts were unavailing;
their blows had no more effect upon him than falling rain. Thus the
terrible struggle continued.
"Ned--Ned!" cried Mrs. Chester again, forcing her face between him and
the object of his fury, so that, haply, he might recognise her, "for
gracious God's sake, take your hands away! Your mother is speaking to
you."
The lines in his forehead deepened--the mole on his temple became
suffused with blood--the cruel, frenzied expression on his face grew
darker and stronger. He dashed her aside with a curse, and, had it not
been that one of the bystanders pulled her out of reach of his arm, he
would have left his mark upon her.
But as her son turned from her, the struggle came to an end, without
being brought to this happier pass by the force of either words or
blows. Simply by the appearance of a little child. In this wise:
The conversation that had taken place between husband and wife in Mrs.
Chester's bedroom had awakened Sally and her baby-treasure. Sally did
not move when her father went out of the room, but when, alarmed by
his cries for help, her mother followed him, Sally got out of bed, and
lifted her baby treasure to the ground. Hand in hand, they crept to
the top of the house.
They reached the room in which the struggle was taking place--and
reached it just in time. Another minute, and it might have been
fatally too late.
The grown-up persons were too intently engrossed in the action of the
terrible scene to observe the entrance of the children, and thus it
was that they made their way to the bedside. At this precise moment it
was that Ned, the lovely lad, flung his mother from him with brutal
force, and that his eyes met those of Sally's baby-treasure, who was
gazing upon him with a look of curious terror.
Her white dress, her beautiful face, her blue eyes staring fixedly at
him, her golden hair hanging around her pretty head, produced a
powerful and singular effect upon him.
The horrible shapes by which he had been pursued faded from his sight,
and something sweeter took their place. The dark blood deserted his
face, and the furious fire died out of his soul, leaving him once more
pale, haggard and degraded, and weak as trickling water.
With shaking limbs he fell upon his knees before the baby-child, and
placed his trembling hands upon her shoulders.
'The men and women in the room were spell-bound, not daring to
interpose between him and the child, lest they should awake the savage
spirit within him.
Brief as was this interval, Mr. Chester had been raised from the bed,
and carried from the room. His wife was too intent upon the movements
of her son to follow him.
For a very few moments did the lovely lad remain in his kneeling
position, embracing the child. Utterly exhausted, by drink, by want of
rest, by the terrific excitement of this and previous sleepless
nights, his eyes closed, and with wild shudders he sank fainting to
the ground.
In response to Mrs. Chester's entreaties, the lodgers assisted her to
place him on the bed, and this being done she asked them to go down
for her clothes, and to bring her word how her husband is.
"And take the children away," she said with a wan smile. "I shall stop
with my boy and nurse him. I am not frightened of him. He will not
hurt me. See, the poor lad has no more strength than a baby."
As they left the room with the children, the mother bent over her
degraded son, with love and pity in her heart, and her scalding tears
fell on his white lips and on the lucky mole on his temple which was
to bring sudden wealth and honour to its possessor.