WHAT JELLY SAW.
"It was too true; Mrs. Rane was dead," said sympathizing people one to
the other; for even that same night the sad tidings went partially out
to Dallory. What with the death of Hepburn the undertaker, and now the
doctor's wife--both prominent people, as might be said, in connection
with the sickness--something like consternation fell on those who
heard it. Dr. Rane carried the news himself to Dallory Hall, catching
Mr. North just as he was going to bed, and imparting it to him in the
most gentle and soothing manner in his power. Fearing that if left
until morning, it might reach him abruptly, the doctor had thus made
haste. From thence he went on to Hepburn's. He had chanced to meet
Francis Dallory in coming out of Seeley's; he met some one else he
knew; these carried the tidings to others; so that many heard of it
that night.
But now we come to a strange and singular thing that happened to
Jelly. Jelly in her tart way was sufficiently good-hearted. There was
sickness in Ketler's house: the wife had her three days' old infant:
the little girl, Cissy, grew worse and weaker: and Jelly chose to
sacrifice an afternoon to nursing them. Much as she disapproved of the
man's joining the Trades' Union and upholding the strike, often as she
had assured him that both starving and the workhouse, whichever he
might prefer, were too good for him, now that misfortune lay upon the
house, Jelly came-to a little. Susan Ketler was her cousin; and, after
all, she was not to blame for her husband's wrong doings. Accordingly,
in the afternoon of the last day of Mrs. Rane's illness, Jelly went
forth to Ketler's, armed with some beef-tea, and a few scraps for the
half-famished children, the whole enclosed in a reticule.
"I shall take the latch-key," she said, in starting, to the cook, who
was commonly called Dinah, "so you can go to bed. If Susan Ketler's
very ill I shall stop late. Mind you put a box of matches on the slab
in the hall."
Susan Ketler was not very ill, Jelly found; but the child, Cissy, was.
So ill, that Jelly hardly knew whether to leave her at all, or not.
The mother could not attend to her; Ketler had gone tramping off
beyond Whitborough after Union work, and had not returned. Only that
she thought Mrs. Cumberland would not be pleased if she came to hear
that Jelly, the confidential servant in charge, had stayed out for a
night, leaving the house with only the cook in it, she had certainly
remained. At past twelve poor Ketler arrived home, dead beat, sick,
faint, having walked several miles without food. Jelly blew him up a
little: she considered that the man who could refuse work when his
children were starving, because he belonged to the Trades' Union,
deserved nothing but blowing-up: bade him look to Cissy, told him
ungraciously that there was a loaf in the pan, and departed. Ketler,
ready to drop though he was, civilly offered to see her home; but all
the thanks he received in return, was a recommendation to attend to
his own concerns and not to meddle with hers.
It was a fine, still night, rather too warm for the illness that had
fallen upon Dallory; and Jelly walked on at a swift pace, her
reticule, empty now, on her arm. Some women might have felt timid at
the midnight walk: Jelly was too strong-minded to feel anything of the
sort. She certainly found it a little lonely on entering the Ham, as
if the road under the overshadowing trees, beginning now to lose some
of their leaves, had something weird about it. But this part was soon
passed; and Jelly came to the houses, and within sight of home. Not a
soul met she: it was as dreary, as far as human companionship went, as
it could be. A black cat sprang suddenly from the hedge, and tore
across the road almost touching Jelly's feet; and it made her start.
She began thinking about Mrs. Rane; quite unconscious of the death
that had taken place. When Jelly left home in the afternoon Mrs. Rane
was said to be in danger: at least such was Phillis's opinion,
privately communicated: but, late in the evening, news had been
brought to Keller's that all danger was over. Mrs. Rane was in a
refreshing sleep, and going on safely to recovery.
"And I'm downright glad of it, poor young lady!" said Jelly, half
aloud, as she turned in at her gate. "Doctors' wives are naturally
more exposed to the chance of catching infectious illnesses. But on
the other hand they have the best advice and care at hand."
It was striking one. Letting herself in with the latch-key, Jelly felt
for the box of matches, passing her hand cautiously over the marble
table. And passed it in vain: no matches were there.
"Forgetful hussy!" ejaculated Jelly, apostrophizing the unconscious
Dinah. "Much good she's of!"
So Jelly crept quietly upstairs in the dark, knowing she had matches
in her own chamber: and in a minute came upon another of the negligent
Dinah's delinquencies. She had omitted to draw down the blind of the
large window on the landing.
"She has been out at that back-door, talking to people," quoth Jelly
in her wrath. "Just like her! Won't she catch it from me in the
morning!"
Turning to draw the blind herself, she was suddenly arrested, with the
cord in her hand, by something on the opposite landing, at Dr. Rane's.
Standing there, dressed in something white, which Jelly at the time
thought looked like a nightgown, was Mrs. Rane. The landing was
faintly lighted, as if by some distant candle; but Mrs. Rane was
perfectly visible, her features and even their expression quite clear.
The first thought that crossed Jelly was, that Mrs. Rane was
delirious: but she looked too still for that. She did not move; and
the eyes gazed with a fixed stare, as it seemed to Jelly. But that she
herself must have been invisible in the surrounding darkness, she
would have thought Mrs. Rane was staring at _her_. For a full minute
this lasted: Jelly watching, Mrs. Rane never moving.
"What in the world brings her standing there?" quoth Jelly in her
amazement. "And what can she be staring at? It can't be at me."
But at that moment Jelly's bag slipped from her arm, and fell on the
carpet. It caused her to remove her gaze from the opposite landing for
a single second--it really did not seem longer. When she looked again,
the place was in darkness: Mrs. Rane and the faint light had both
disappeared.
"She has no business to be out of her bed--and the doctor ought to
tell her so if he's at home," thought Jelly. "Anyway, she must be a
great deal better: for I don't think it's delirium."
She waited a short time, but nothing more was seen. Drawing down the
blind, Jelly picked up her bag, and passed on to her own chamber--one
of the back rooms on this first floor. There she slept undisturbed
until morning.
She did not get up until late. Being amenable to no one whilst Mrs.
Cumberland was away, the house's mistress in fact, as well as Dinah's,
Jelly did not hurry herself. She was not lazy in general, especially
on a Saturday, but as she felt tired after her weary afternoon at
Ketler's and from having gone so late to rest. Breakfast was ready in
the kitchen when she went down; Dinah--a red-faced young woman in a
brown-spotted cotton gown--being busy at the fire with the coffee.
"Now then!" began Jelly--her favourite phrase when she was angry.
"What have you to say for yourself? Whereabouts on the slab did you
put those matches last night?"
Dinah, taken-to, tilted the kettle back. Until that moment she had not
thought of her negligence.
"I'm afraid I never put 'em at all," she said.
"No you _didn't_ put 'em," retorted Jelly with sharp emphasis. "But for
having matches and a candle in my room, I must have undressed in the
dark. And I should like to know why you didn't put 'em; and what you
were about not to do it?"
"I'm sure I'm sorry," said Dinah, who was a tractable sort of girl. "I
forgot it, I suppose, in the upset about poor Mrs. Rane."
"In the upset about poor Mrs. Rane," scornfully repeated Jelly. "What
upset you, pray, about her?--And you've never been out to fasten back
the shutters!"
"She's dead," answered Dinah--and the tears came into the girl's eyes.
"That's what I've got the shutters half-to for. I thought you'd most
likely not have heard it."
A little confusion arose in Jelly's mind. Thought is rapid. Mrs.
Rane's death, as she supposed, could not possibly have occurred before
morning: the neglect, as to the matches, was last night. But, in the
present shock she passed this over. Her sharp tone disappeared as by
magic: her expression changed to sadness.
"Dead? When did she die, Dinah?"
"It was about nine o'clock last night, they think. And she lay an hour
after that in her bed, Jelly, before it was found out."
On hearing this, Jelly's first impression was that Dinah must be
trifling with her. The girl came from the fire with the coffee, the
tears visible.
"Now what d'ye mean, girl? Mrs. Rane didn't die last night--as I can
answer for."
"Oh but she did, Jelly. Dr. Rane went up to her at ten o'clock--he had
been out till then--and found her dead. I can tell you, I didn't half
like going all the way up to bed by myself to that top floor, and me
alone in the house, knowing she was lying there at the very next
door."
Jelly paused to take in the full sense of the words, staring the while
at Dinah. What could it all mean?
"You must have taken leave of your senses," she said, as she began to
pour out the coffee.
"I'm sure I've not," returned Dinah. "Why?"
"To tell me Mrs. Rane died last night. How did you pick up the tale?"
"Jelly, it's no tale. It's as true as you and me's here. I was
standing at the front gate for a breath of air, before shutting-up,
when Dr. Rane came out of his house in a hurry, and went across to Mr.
Seeley's. It struck me that Mrs. Rane might be worse and that he had
gone to fetch the other, so I stayed a bit to see. Presently--it
wasn't long--he came back across the road again. Mr. Francis Dallory
happened to be passing, and he asked after Mrs. Rane. She was dead,
the doctor said; and went on to tell him how he had found her. You
needn't look as if you thought I was making-up stories, Jelly. They
stood close by the doctor's gate, and I heard every word."
Jelly did not precisely know how she looked. If this was true,
why--what could be the meaning of what she had seen in the night?
"She can't be dead?"
"She is," said Dinah. "Why should you dispute it?"
Jelly did riot say why. She drank her hot coffee, and went out. She
did not believe it. Dinah evidently did: but the girl might have
caught up some wrong story.
The first thing that struck Jelly, when outside, was the appearance of
the doctor's house. It was closely shut up, doors and windows, and the
blinds were down. As Jelly stood, looking up, she saw Mr. Seeley
standing at his door without his hat. She went over and accosted him.
"Is it true, sir, that Mrs. Rane is dead?"
"Quite true," was the answer. "She died yesterday evening, poor lady.
It was terribly sudden."
Jelly felt a very queer sensation come over her. But she was still
full of disbelief. Mr. Seeley was called from within, and Jelly
returned and knocked softly at Dr. Rane's door. Phillis opened it, her
eyes red with crying.
"Phillis, what is all this?" demanded Jelly, in low tones. "When did
she die?"
"Stop," interposed Phillis, barring her entrance. "You'd better not
come in. I am not afraid: and, for the matter of that, somebody must
be here: but it isn't well for those to run risks that needn't. The
doctor says it was the quickest and most malignant case of them all."
"I never caught any disorder in my life, and I don't fear that I ever
shall," answered Jelly, quietly making her way to the kitchen. "_When_
did she die, Phillis?"
"About nine o'clock last evening, as is thought. The minute and hour
will never be known for sure: at ten, when the doctor found her, she
was getting cold. And for us below to have thought her quietly
sleeping!" wound up Phillis with a sob.
The queer sensation increased. Jelly had never experienced anything
like it in her whole life. She stood against the dresser, staring
helplessly at Phillis.
"I don't _think_ she could have died last evening," whispered Jelly
presently.
"And I'm sure I as little thought she was dying," returned Phillis.
"The last time I went up was about half-after seven: she was asleep
then; that I'm positive of; and it seemed a good healthy sleep, for
the breathing was as regular as could be. Sometime after eight
o'clock, master went up: he came down and said she was still sleeping,
and he hoped she'd sleep till morning, and I'd better not go up again
for fear of disturbing her. I didn't go up, Jelly. I knew if she woke
and wanted anything she'd ring: the bell-rope was to her hand. Master
went out to a patient, and I cleared up the kitchen here. He came in
at ten o'clock. I was ready to go, but asked him if I should stay all
night. There was no need, he answered, missis being better; and I
went. I never heard nothing more till I came this morning. The milkman
got to the door just as I did; and he began saying what a sad thing it
was that she had died. 'Who had died,' I asked him, and he said, 'Why,
my missis.' Jelly, you might have knocked me down with a breath of
wind."
By Jelly's looks at this moment, it seemed as if a breath of wind
might have done the same for her. Her face and lips had turned livid.
"The master opened the door to me: and told me all about it: about his
finding her dead close upon my going out," continued Phillis. "He's
frightfully cut up, poor man. Not that there's any tears, but his face
is heavy and sad, like one who has never been in bed all night--as he
hasn't been. I found a blanket on the dining-room sofa, so he must
have lain down there."
"Where is he now?" asked Jelly.
"Out. He was fetched to somebody at Dallory. I must stir up the pots,"
added Phillis, alluding to the earthen jars that stood about with
disinfectants. "Master charged _me_ to do it every hour. It's safer for
the undertaker's men and others that have to come to the house."
Armed with a piece of stick, she went into the hall, and gave the
contents of each jar a good stir. The dining-room door was open: Dr.
Rane's solitary breakfast was spread there, waiting for him. From
thence, Phillis went up the staircase to the other jars. Jelly
followed.
"Nasty stuff! I do hate the smell of it," muttered Phillis. "I
wouldn't come up if I were you," she added to Jelly, in the low,
hushed voice that we are all apt to use when near the dead.
Jelly disregarded the injunction. She believed herself safe: and was
not given to following advice at the best of times. "What's that?" she
exclaimed when she reached the landing.
The sheet that had been flapping for two days outside the bedroom
door, now flapped, wet as ever, on the landing before the door of the
ante-room. Dr. Rane considered this the better place for it now.
Phillis knocked it a little with the stick to bring out its
properties.
Compared with the gloom of the rest of the house, with its drawn
blinds, this landing, with its wide, staring, uncovered window, was
especially bright. Jelly glanced round, it might have been thought
nervously, only that she was not a nervous woman. Here, in the middle
of the floor, at one o'clock in the morning, her face turned to that
window, had stood Mrs. Rane. If not Mrs. Rane--who?--or what?
"Phillis," whispered Jelly, "I should like to see her."
"You can't," answered Phillis.
"Nonsense. I am not afraid."
"But you can't, Jelly. She is fastened down."
"She is---- Why what do you mean?" broke off Jelly.
Phillis took up a corner of the sheet, unlocked the door--in which the
key was left--and opened it half an inch for Jelly to peep in. There,
in the middle of the grey room stood a closed coffin, supported on
trestles. In the shock of surprise Jelly fell back against the wall,
and began to tremble.
The idea that came over her--as she said to some one afterwards--was,
that Mrs. Rane had been put into the coffin alive. What with the sight
of the previous night (and Jelly did not yet fully admit to herself
what that sight might have been), and what with this, she felt in a
sort of hopeless horror and bewilderment. Recovering a little, she
pushed past the sheet into the room, but with creeping, timid steps.
"Jelly, I wouldn't go in! The master charged _me_ not to do so."
But Jelly heard not. Or, if she heard, did not heed. It was a common
deal shell: nailed down. Jelly touched it with her finger.
"_When_ was she put in here, Phillis?"
"Sometime during the night."
"And fastened down at once?"
"To be sure. I found it like this when I came this morning."
"But--why need there have been so much haste?"
"Because it was safest so. Safest for us that are living, as my master
said. The leaden one will be here to-day."
Well--of course it was safer. Jelly could but acknowledge it, and
recovered somewhat. She wished she had not seen--that--in the night.
It was that sight, so unaccountable, that was now troubling her mind
so strangely.
With her usual want of ceremony, Jelly opened the bedroom door and
looked in. It had not been put straight: Phillis said her master would
not let her go in to do anything to it until the two rooms should have
been disinfected. Medicine bottles stood about; the bed-clothes lay
over the foot of the bed, just as Hepburn's men must have placed them
when they removed the dead. On the dressing-table lay a bow of blue
ribbon that poor Bessy had worn in her gown the last day she had one
on, a waistband with his buckle, and other trifles. Jelly began to
feel oppressed, as if her breath were growing short, and came away
hastily. Phillis stood on the landing beyond the sheet.
"It seems like a dream, Phillis."
"I wish we could awake and find it one," answered Phillis,
practically, as she turned the key in the lock; and they went
downstairs.
Not a minute too soon. Before they had well reached the kitchen, Dr.
Rane's latch-key was heard.
"There's the master," cried Phillis under her breath, as he turned
into his consulting-room. "It's a good thing he didn't find us up
there."
"I want to say a word to him, Phillis; I think I'll go in," said
Jelly, taking a sudden resolution to acquaint Dr. Rane with what she
had seen. The truth was, her mind felt so unhinged, knowing not what
to believe or disbelieve, that she thought she must speak, or die.
"Need you bother him now?--what's it about?" asked Phillis. "I'd let
him get his breakfast first."
But Jelly went on to the consulting-room; and found herself very
nearly knocked down by the doctor--who was turning quickly out of it.
She asked if she could speak to him: he said Yes, if she made haste;
but he wanted to catch Mr. Seeley before the latter went out.
"And your breakfast, sir?" called out Phillis in compassionate tones.
"I'll take some presently," was the answer. "What is it you want,
Jelly?"
Jelly carefully closed the door before speaking. She then entered on
her tale. At first the doctor supposed, by all this caution, that she
was about to consult him on some private ailment of her own; St.
Anthony's fire in the face, for instance, or St. Vitus's dance in the
legs; and thought she might have chosen a more fitting moment. But he
soon found it was nothing of the sort. With her hands pressing heavily
the back of the patients' chair, Jelly told her tale. The doctor stood
facing her, his arms folded, his back to the drawn blind. At first he
did not appear to understand her.
"Saw my wife upon the landing in her nightgown?" he exclaimed--and
Jelly thought he looked startled. "Surely she was not so imprudent as
to get out of bed and go there!"
"But, sir, it is said that she was then dead!"
"Dead when? She did not die until nine o'clock. She could not have
known what she was doing," continued Dr. Rane, passing his hand over
his forehead. "Perhaps she may then have caught a chill. Perhaps----"
"You are misunderstanding me, sir," interrupted Jelly. "It was in the
night I saw this; some hours after Mrs. Rane's death."
Dr. Rane looked bewildered. He gazed narrowly at Jelly, as if
wondering what it was she would infer.
"Not _last_ night?"
"Yes, sir. Or, I'd rather say this morning; for it was one o'clock. I
saw her standing there as plainly as I see you at this moment."
"Why, Jelly, you must have been dreaming?"
"I was as wide awake, sir, as I am now. I had just got home from
Ketler's. I can't think what it was I did see," added Jolly, dropping
her voice.
"You saw nothing," was the decisive answer--and in the doctor's tone
there was some slight touch of anger. "Fancy plays tricks with the
best of us: it must have played you one last night."
"I have been thinking whether it was possible that--that--she was not
really dead, sir," persisted Jelly. "Whether she could have got up,
and----"
"Be silent, Jelly. I cannot listen to this folly," came the stern
interruption. "You have no right to let your imagination run away with
you, and then talk of it as reality. I desire that you will never
speak another word upon the subject to me; or to any one."
Jelly's green eyes seem to have borrowed the doctor's bewildered look.
She gazed into his face. This was a most curious business: she could
not see as yet the faintest gleam of a solution to it.
"It was surely her I saw on the landing, sir, dead or alive. I could
swear to it. Such things have been heard of before now as swoons being
mistaken for death. When poor Mrs. Rane was left alone after her
death--that is, her supposed death--if she revived; and got up; and
came out upon the landing----"
"Hold your tongue," interposed the doctor, sharply. "How dare you
persist in this nonsense, woman! You must be mad or dreaming. An hour
before the time you speak of, my poor wife, dead and cold, was where
she is now--fastened down in her shell."
He abruptly left the room with an indignant movement; leaving Jelly
speechless with horror.
"Fastened down," ran her thoughts, "at twelve o'clock--dead and
cold--and I saw her on the landing at one! Oh, my goodness, what does
it mean?"