It was about half an hour before lunch. From the study window Rusk had
seen Mrs. Bracknel leave the house, and thinking this to be probably his
best chance of getting her alone, had sallied forth in pursuit. She was
only going as far as the lodge, he discovered, but his offer to
accompany her thither was accepted, and they paced slowly down the drive
together, Rusk asking after May, who had not appeared at breakfast, and
whose absence he had guessed to be in some way connected with the
mysterious alarm of the previous night. He had said nothing about this,
thinking it better to avoid a further defiance from Amy, and Amy on her
side had also kept silence--an unaccustomed discretion, not tending in
any way to allay the young man’s suspicions. A moment later, Mrs.
Bracknel’s rejoinder to his inquiry seemed amply to justify this
distrust.
“I don’t understand what is wrong with May,” she softly complained. “I
wanted her to stay in bed, but she is getting up for lunch. She says she
fainted last night, and indeed she looks quite strange this morning. She
got a very bad fright, it seems; a sudden shock--they will try those
senseless tricks! Just think, Mr. Rusk, at midnight, she shut herself up
in her room, in the dark, and began to comb her hair before the
looking-glass. It is an old Hallow Eve custom, but I’m sure people ought
to know better than to keep up such things. After a time you are
supposed to see the reflection of a face--the face of a person who is to
be in some way bound up with your future life. I think it is wrong to
try such things. If one _did_ see anything, how could it be anything
good? May says now that she only tried it because she knew it was all
nonsense. Just after twelve she locked her door and began to comb her
hair before the looking-glass while she looked into it and waited. The
room was nearly dark, but she says that after a few minutes she
distinctly saw a most horrible white face glaring at her over her
shoulder. That is all she remembers, and when she opened her eyes again
she was lying on her bed and Amy was in the room with her. This morning
she declares that it was Amy, wearing some kind of mask, who looked over
her shoulder on purpose to frighten her. Of course that is nonsense: Amy
would never do such a wicked thing. But she won’t listen to me when I
say so. She says Amy knew what she was going to do, and that she must
have hidden herself in the room and then crept out while she was looking
into the glass.”
“But----” Rusk began, and then he paused.
Mrs. Bracknel turned to him. As he did not say anything further, she
went on: “Amy has explained how it really happened. She was not feeling
sleepy, and had been sitting up doing something. A little after twelve
o’clock, when she was going to bed, she heard May give a scream and ran
to her room to find her lying on the floor, with the looking-glass
broken in pieces beside her. She says you and Denis heard the noise
too.”
Rusk reflected. He did not for a moment doubt that Amy was telling a
lie. For one thing, he thought it hardly possible that she could have
got into May’s room without his hearing her; for another, she would not
even have had time to do so without his seeing her; but he thought it
better not to interfere in the matter, so he merely replied that both he
and Denis had heard a cry, and, not knowing what had caused it, had come
out into the passage to listen.
Mrs. Bracknel’s large, dark eyes rested on him a moment, while she
seemed to ponder something. “But how could Amy get into May’s room if
the door was locked?” she suddenly asked. “I didn’t think of that
before.... They’re all so strange,” she went on piteously. “I’m sure I
never know what to do nor what to think!”
Rusk was equal to the occasion. “Miss May probably was a little excited
and forgot to lock the door.”
Mrs. Bracknel turned away. “Oh, I’m sure I don’t know,” she said
plaintively. “If the door _was_ locked then Amy must be telling an
untruth.... I don’t know why they should want to do such things,” she
went on. “A few years ago people would have thought it wicked, and I
can’t see how any good can come of it. It seems to me like trying to
evoke evil spirits, and I’m sure there is enough natural evil in the
world without that. But they only laugh at me when I speak to them. It
is Rebecca--that old woman at the back lodge--who puts these ideas into
their heads. I know she does. I have often tried to get Mr. Bracknel to
send her away, but he won’t listen to me.”
It occurred to Rusk that all this was not exactly leading up to what he
had himself desired to talk about, but he sympathized with his companion
and acquiesced in the view that Rebecca was an undesirable person. As he
did so, he reflected on the curious fact that it was almost impossible
to agree with any one member of the Bracknel family without at the same
time tacitly condemning some other. But he had grown accustomed to the
position, and latterly had begun to disregard it, saying on every
occasion what he actually thought. Meanwhile they had reached the lodge,
and he waited for Mrs. Bracknel while she spoke with the gardener’s
wife.
“I wanted to talk to you about Denis,” he began, as soon as they had
turned back toward the house. He told her of his idea of having his
pupil’s bed brought into his room; and then, carrying his plan still
further:
“Don’t you think it would be good for him to get away for a bit, to have
a--a change of scene--to travel for a year, two years perhaps?”
“To travel?” Mrs. Bracknel ejaculated, looking at him as if he had said
something most extraordinary. But Rusk, nothing daunted, continued to
enlarge on his idea:
“Yes. I should be most happy to look after him. Of course I only mention
it because I suppose that the matter of expense would not be of much
importance to Mr. Bracknel.”
“But matters of expense are always of importance to my husband,” said
Mrs. Bracknel naïvely.
Rusk laughed. “I am convinced that it would be the best thing for Denis.
It is really just what he needs. It would set him on his feet; the good
it would do him would never be lost.”
“What is the matter with him?” Mrs. Bracknel asked.
“Well, this nervousness is the main thing. He needs something to take
him out of himself a little, something to--to interest him and amuse
him.”
“To amuse him?” Mrs. Bracknel echoed, her gentle eyes resting on the
tutor’s face with an almost alarmed expression.
Rusk returned her gaze with his frank, boyish smile. “You know what I
mean--something that will make him look round him--that will give him a
new interest in life, in people, in places. I know myself exactly what
it would do for him. It would take everything that is morbid and
unhealthy out of his nature. If you give him to me for a year now, you
will never regret it later.”
The note of conviction in his voice would have been more than sufficient
to overcome any objections that might have existed in Mrs. Bracknel’s
own mind, but she had not herself principally to take into account,
since her acquiescence would mean nothing in the face of her husband’s
certain refusal.
“Mr. Bracknel would never agree to such a thing,” she murmured, as if a
little frightened at Rusk’s audacity in even thinking of it. She had
herself perfect confidence in the young Englishman; she had come to look
upon him almost as Denis’s elder brother; but she also knew that this
fact would have counted for very little in any decision her husband
might eventually arrive at.
“I will speak to him,” said Rusk, “or rather I will get Doctor Birch to
speak to him; that will be better.” He had a sudden assurance of
success. “We will all speak to him,” he cried enthusiastically. “After
all, anyone must _see_ that it is an excellent plan.” It suddenly
occurred to him, however, that he was possibly displaying over much
jubilation at the thought of leaving his present abode, so he moderated
his tone though he continued to press the point.
Mrs. Bracknel’s imagination had all along taken a lower flight. “He
won’t see it at all,” she persisted. “He might possibly agree to his
going away for a month. Do you think that a month----?”
“Oh, a month is no good,” exclaimed Rusk impatiently. His last night’s
impression of his pupil was still fresh in his mind, and it left him in
no mood for half-measures. “I’ll go and see Doctor Birch myself this
afternoon.”
“Don’t count on Mr. Bracknel’s consent, Mr. Rusk,” the boy’s mother
softly repeated. “I think you are almost certain to be disappointed.
And, in the meantime, I think you had better not mention anything about
it to Denis.”
“To Denis! Of course not. But if everybody knows it is the right thing,
I don’t see why----”
“He can’t go without his father’s consent, Mr. Rusk,” Mrs. Bracknel
reminded him with some firmness. “Until he has that, there is little use
discussing the matter. My husband will tell us what he thinks.”
Rusk could push the thing no further, though it irritated him to leave
it like this. Why should there be any difficulty about it, when it was
so easily within their power? To refuse to _try_ it, even to hesitate
about trying it--it was that that exasperated him.
And full of his project, of a determination to fight for it, he called
that afternoon to have a chat with Doctor Birch. Denis waited for him in
the drawing-room, but Rusk did not keep him long. Doctor Birch at once
fell in with the idea, thought it excellent, and promised to come round
without delay and discuss it with Mr. Bracknel. They talked about it for
a minute or two and then Rusk returned to the drawing-room for Denis,
whom he had left alone there, the Miss Birches being out. They went for
a walk round by the river and home again across the fields. Mrs.
Bracknel and the girls were having tea when they came back. Amy
evidently had been in charge of the ceremony, and she rose again as they
entered. She was talking rapidly and rather loudly to her mother, and,
if she had been pale the night before, it struck Rusk now that her
colour was higher than usual. She took a step toward him to give him his
tea, but as she did so her hand trembled so violently that she actually
dropped the cup. She gave a little cry. The blood had suddenly retreated
from her face, leaving it white and strange. Mrs. Bracknel rang the bell
to have the carpet wiped at once so that there might not be a stain
left.
“How stupid of me! It slipped out of my hand!” Amy exclaimed. She looked
down, still holding the saucer tightly grasped, making no movement of
any kind.
Rusk meanwhile had picked up the cup, which was not broken, and replaced
it on the tea-table. A servant entered and was sent off for a cloth and
hot water, while Mrs. Bracknel continued to express anxiety about the
stain that might be left.
“And the pot’s empty,” said May, lifting the cosy off and peeping in.
“I’ll ring for some fresh.”
“But, thanks, I don’t want any,” Rusk assured her. “I’m not in the least
thirsty.”
“As if one required to be thirsty! Denis, ring the bell.”
“But really I don’t want it;” Rusk insisted. “I only took the other
because it happened to be poured out for me.”
“Oh, of course, if you’d rather not!”
Amy had disappeared from the room, but she came back while the maid was
still scrubbing the carpet under the supervision of Mrs. Bracknel and
May. Rusk had walked to the window and stood with his back to the room;
Denis was not there. Amy took all this in as she moved from the door to
the fireplace. She began to poke the fire, then, glancing quickly round,
she dropped into the middle of the flames a small box that had been
hidden in her pocket-handkerchief. She watched it while it burned; she
even tapped it with the poker to make sure that its contents also were
destroyed. After this she breathed a little sigh of relief. “Well,
that’s over at any rate!” she murmured inaudibly as she turned round to
the others. Nobody had noticed her, and she knew it would have given
them scant information even if they had.