JELLY'S TWO EVENING VISITS.
Jelly--to whom we are obliged to refer rather frequently, as she holds
some important threads of the story in her hands--found times went
very hard with her. A death within the house in addition to the death
close without it, was almost more than Jelly could well put up with in
her present state of mind. The startling circumstances that had
characterized Mrs. Rane's demise did not attend Mrs. Cumberland's: but
it had been very sudden at last, and Jelly was sincerely attached to
her mistress.
Dr. Rane was left sole executor to his mother's will. It was a very
simple one: she bequeathed to him all she had. That was not much; for
a portion of her income died with her. He found that he had two
hundred a-year--as he had always known that he should have--and her
household furniture. Of ready money there was little. When he should
have discharged trifling claims and paid the funeral expenses, some
twenty or thirty pounds would remain over, that was all.
Dr. Rane acted promptly. He discharged two of the servants, Ann and
Dinah, retaining Jelly for the present to look after the house. He
wished, if he could, to get the furniture taken with the house; so he
advertised it in the local papers. He had been advertising his
practice--I think this has been already said--but nothing satisfactory
had come of it. Inquiries had been made, but they all dropped through.
Perhaps Dr. Rane was too honest to say his practice was worth much, or
to conceal the fact that Mr. Seeley had the best of it in Dallory.
Neither was the tontine money as yet paid over to him; and, putting
out of consideration all other business, the doctor must have waited
for that.
Now, of all things that could have happened, Jelly most disliked and
dreaded being left alone in the house. From having been as physically
brave as a woman can be, she had latterly become one of the most
timid. She started at her own shadow; she would not for the world
have entered alone at night the room in which Mrs. Cumberland died.
Having seen one ghost, Jelly could not feel sure that she should not
see two. Some people hold a theory that to a very few persons in this
world--and not to others--is given the faculty, or whatever you may
please to call it, of discerning supernatural sights or visions. Jelly
had heard this: and she became possessed of the idea that for some
wise purpose she had been suddenly endowed with it. To remain in the
house alone was more than her brain would bear; and she selected
Ketler's eldest girl, a starved damsel of thirteen, called "Riah," to
come and keep her company. As it was one less to feed, and they had
tried in vain to get Riah a place--for the strike and badness of trade
had affected all classes, and less servants seemed to be wanted
everywhere--Ketler and his wife were very glad to let her go.
How do rumours get about? Can any one tell? How did a certain rumour
get about and begin to be whispered in Dallory? Certainly no one there
could have told. Jelly could have been upon her Bible oath if
necessary (or thought she could) that she had not set it floating. It
was a very ugly one, whoever had done it.
Late one afternoon Jelly received a call from Mrs. Gass's smart
housemaid. The girl brought a letter from her mistress; Mrs. Gass
wanted very particularly to see Jelly, and had sent to say that Jelly
was to go there as soon as she could. Jelly made no sort of objection.
She had been confined to the house much more closely of late than she
approved of: partly because Dr. Rane had charged her to be in the way
in case people called to look over it: partly because she had found
out that Miss Riah had a tendency to walk off, herself, if she could
get Jelly's back turned.
"Now, mind you sit still in the kitchen and attend to the fire, and
listen to the door; and perhaps I'll bring you home a pair of strings
for that bonnet of yours," said Jelly to the girl, when she was ready
to start. "The doctor will be in by-and-by, so don't attempt to get
out of the way."
With these injunctions, Jelly began her walk. She had on her best new
mourning--and was in a complaisant mood. It looked inclined to
rain--the weather had been uncertain of late--but Jelly had her
umbrella: a silk one that had belonged to her mistress, and that Dr.
Rane had given, with many other things, to Jelly. She rather wondered
what Mrs. Gass wanted with her, but supposed it was to tell her of a
situation. It had been arranged that if an eligible one offered, Jelly
should be at liberty to depart, and a woman might be placed in the
house to take care of it. Mrs. Gass had said she would let Jelly know
if she heard of anything desirable. So away went Jelly with a fleet
foot, little thinking what was in store for her.
Mrs. Gass, wearing mourning also, was in her usual sitting-room, the
dining-room. As Jelly entered, the smart maid was carrying out the
tea-tray. Mrs. Gass stirred up her fire, and bade Jelly to a chair
near it, drawing her own pretty closely to her.
"Just see whether that girl have shut the door fast before I begin,"
suggested Mrs. Gass. "It won't do to have ears listening to me."
Jelly went, saw the door was closed, came back and sat down again. She
noticed that Mrs. Gass looked keenly at her, as if studying her face
before speaking.
"Jelly, what is it that you have been saying about Dr. Rane?"
The question was so unexpected that Jelly did not immediately answer
it. Quite a change, this, from an offer of a nice situation.
"I've said nothing," she replied.
"Now don't you repeat that to me. You have. And it would have been
a'most as well for you that you had cut your tongue out before doing
it."
"I said--what I did--to you, Mrs. Gass. To nobody else."
"Look here, Jelly--the mischiefs done, and you'd a great deal better
look it full in the face than deny it. There's reports getting up
about Dr. Rane, in regard to his wife's death, and no mortal woman or
man can have set 'em afloat but _you_. This morning I was in North
Inlet, looking a bit after them scamps of workmen that won't work, and
won't let others work if they can help it: and after I had given a
taste of my mind to as many of 'em as was standing about, I stepped
into Mother Green's. She has the rheumatics--and he has a touch of
'em. Talking with her of one thing and another, we got on to the
subject of Dr. Rane and the tontine; and she said two or three words
that frightened me; frightened me, Jelly; for they pointed to a
suspicion that the doctor had sacrificed his wife to get it. I
pretended to understand nothing--she didn't speak out broad enough for
me to take it up and answer her--and it was the best plan _not_ to
understand----"
"For an old woman, Mother Green has the longest tongue I know,"
interrupted Jelly.
"You've a longer," retorted Mrs. Gass. "Just wait till I've finished,
girl. 'Twas a tolerable fine morning, and after that I went walking
on, and struck off down by the Wheatsheaf. Packerton's wife was
standing at the door with cherry ribbons in her cap, and I stopped to
talk to her. _She_ brought up Dr. Rane; and lowered her voice as if it
was high treason; asking me if I'd heard what was being said about his
wife's not having died a natural death. I did give it the woman; and I
think I frightened her. She acknowledged that she only spoke from a
hint dropped by Timothy Wilks, and said she had thought at the time it
couldn't have anything in it. But what _I_ have to say to you is
this," continued Mrs. Gass to Jelly more emphatically, "whether it's
Tim Wilks that's spreading the report, or whether it's Mother Green,
they both had it in the first place from you."
Jelly sat in discomfort. She did not like this. It is nothing to be
charged with a fault when you are wholly innocent; but when conscience
says you are partly guilty it is another thing. Jelly was aware that
one night at Mother Green's, taking supper with that old matron and
Timothy, she had so far yielded to the seductions of social gossip as
to forget her usual reticence; and had said rather more than she
ought. Still, at the worst, it had been only a word or two: a hint,
not a specific charge.
"I may have let fall an incautious word there," confessed Jelly. "But
it was nothing anybody can take hold of."
"Don't you make sure of that," reprimanded Mrs. Gass. "We are told in
the sacred writings--which it's not well to mention in ordinary talk,
and I'd only do it with reverence--of a grain of mustard seed, that's
the least of all seeds when it's sown, and grows into the greatest
tree. You remember Who it is says that, Jelly, so it's not for me to
enlarge upon it. But I may say this much, girl, that that's an apt
exemplification of gossip. You drop one word, or maybe only half a
one, and it goes spreading out pretty nigh over the world."
"I'm sure, what with the weight and worry this dreadful secret has
been on my mind, almost driving me mad, the wonder is that I've been
able to keep as silent as I have," put in Jelly, who was growing
cross. Mrs. Gass resumed.
"If the thing is what you think it to be---a dreadful secret, and it
is brought to light through you, why, I don't know that you'd get
blamed--though there's many a one will say you might have spared your
mistress's son and left it for others to charge him. But suppose it
turns out to be no dreadful secret; suppose poor Bessy Rane died a
natural death of the fever, what then?--where would you be?"
Jelly took off her black gloves as if they had grown suddenly hot for
her hands. She said nothing.
"Look here, girl. My belief is that you've just set a brand on fire!
one that won't be put out until it's burnt out. My firm belief also
is, _that you be altogether mistaken_. I have thought the matter over
with myself hour after hour; and, except at the first moment when you
whispered it to me in the churchyard, and I own I was startled, I have
never been able to bring my common sense to believe in it. Oliver Rane
loved his wife too well to hurt a hair of her head."
"There was that anonymous letter," cried Jelly.
"Whatever hand he might have had in that anonymous letter--and nobody
knows the truth of it whether he had or whether he hadn't--I don't
believe he was the man to hurt a hair of his wife's head," repeated
Mrs. Gass. "And for you to be spreading it about that he murdered
her!"
"The circumstances all point to it," said Jelly.
"They don't."
"Why, Mrs. Gass, they do."
"Let's go over 'em, and see," said Mrs. Gass, who had a plain way of
convincing people. "Let's begin at the beginning. Hear me out, Jelly."
She went over the past minutely. Jelly listened, growing more
uncomfortable every moment. There was absolutely not one fact
inconsistent with a natural death. It is true the demise had been
speedy, but the cause assigned, exhaustion, might have been the real
one; and the hasty fastening down of the coffin was no doubt a simple
measure of precaution, taken out of regard for the living. No; as Mrs.
Gass put it in her sensible way, there was positively not a single
fact that could be urged for supposing that Mrs. Rane came to an
untimely end. Jelly twirled her gloves, and twisted her hands, and
grew hot and uncomfortable.
"There was what I saw--the ghost," she said.
But Mrs. Gass ridiculed the ghost--that is, the idea of it--beyond
everything earthly. Jelly, however, would not give way there; and they
had some sparring.
"Ghost, indeed! and you come to this age! It was the beer, girl; the
beer."
"I hadn't had a drop of beer," protested Jelly, almost crying. "How
was I to get beer at Ketler's? They've none for themselves. I had had
nothing inside my lips but tea."
"Well; beer or no beer, ghost or no ghost, it strikes me, Jelly, that
you have done a pretty thing. This story is as sure to get wind now as
them geraniums of mine will have air when I open the window tomorrow
morning. You'll be called upon to substantiate your story; and when
you can't--and I'm sure you know that you can't--the law may have you
up to answer for it. I once knew a man that rose a bad charge against
another; he was tried for it, and got seven years' transportation. You
may come to the same."
A very agreeable prospect! If Jelly's bonnet had not been on, her hair
might have risen up on end with horror. There could be no doubt that
it was she who had started the report; and in this moment of
repentance she sat really wishing she had first cut her foolish tongue
out.
"Nothing can be done now," concluded Mrs. Gass. "There's just one
chance for you--that the rumour may die away. If it will, let it; and
take warning to be more cautious in future. The probability is that
Mother Green and Tim Wilks have mentioned it to others besides me and
Packerton's wife: if so, nothing will keep it under. You have been a
great fool, Jelly."
Jelly went away in terrible fright. Mrs. Gass had laid the matter
before her in its true light. Suspect as she might, _she had no
proof_; and if questioned by authority could not have advanced one.
"Dr. Rane have been in here three times after you," was young Riah's
salutation when Jelly reached home.
"Dr. Rane has?"
"And he said the last time you oughtn't to be away from the house so
long with only me in it," added the damsel, who felt aggrieved, on her
own score, at having been left.
"Oh, did he!" carelessly returned Jelly.
But she began considering what Dr. Rane could want. For her parting
charge to Riah, that Dr. Rane was coming in, had been a slight
invention of her own, meant to keep that young person up to her duty.
Just as she had decided that it might refer to this same report, which
he might have heard, and Jelly was growing more and more ill at ease
in consequence, he came in. She went to him in the dining-room.
"Jelly," said the doctor, "I think I have let the house."
"Have you, sir?" returned Jelly, blithely, in the agreeable revulsion
of feeling. "I'm sure I am glad."
"But only for a short time," continued Dr. Rane. "Two ladies of
Whitborough are wanting temporary change of air, and will take it if
it suits them. They are coming tomorrow to look at it."
"Very well, sir."
"They will occupy the house for a month, and perhaps take it for
longer. This will give me time to let it for a permanency. If you feel
inclined to take service with them, I believe there will be room for
you."
"Who are they?" asked Jelly.
"Mrs. and Miss Beverage. Quakers."
She knew the name. Very respectable people; plenty of money.
"You'll show them over it tomorrow when they come: I may or may not
be in the way at the time," concluded Dr. Rane.
Jelly attended him to the door. It was evident he had not heard the
rumour that had reached Mrs. Gass; or, at least, did not connect Jelly
in any way with it. But how was he likely to hear it? The probability
was, that all Dallory would be full of it before it reached him.
Jelly could not eat her supper. Mrs. Gass's communication had left no
room for appetite. Neither did she get any sleep. Tossing and turning
on her bed, lay she: the past doubt and present dread troubling her
brain until morning.
But, when Jelly had thus tormented herself and regarded the matter in
all its aspects, the result was, that she still believed her own
version of the tale--namely, that Mrs. Rane had not come fairly by her
death. True, she had no proof: but she began wondering whether proof
might not be found. At any rate, she resolved to search for it. Not
openly; not to be used; but quietly and cautiously: to hold, as it
were, in case of need. She could not tell how to look for this, or
where to begin. No one had seen Mrs. Rane after death--excepting of
course the undertakers. Jelly resolved to question them: perhaps
something might be gleaned in this way.
It was afternoon before the expected ladies arrived. Two pleasant
women, dressed after the sober fashion of their sect. Mrs. Beverage, a
widow, was sixty; her daughter nearly forty. They liked the house, and
said they should take it; and they liked Jelly, and engaged her as
upper maid, intending to bring two servants of their own. After their
departure, Jelly had to wait for Dr. Rane: it would not do for him to
find only Riah again. He came in whilst Jelly was at tea. She told him
the ladies wished to enter as soon as convenient; and the doctor said
he would at once go over to Whitborough and see them.
This left Jelly at liberty. It was growing late when she set out on
her expedition, and she started at the hedge shadows as she went
along. Jelly's thoughts were full of all kinds of uncanny and
unpleasant things. Jelly's disposition was not a secretive one; rather
the contrary; and she hated to have to do with anything that might not
be discussed in the broad light of day.
The commencement of her task was at any rate not difficult: she could
enter the Hepburns' house without excuse or apology, knowing them
sufficiently well to do so. When they were young, Thomas Hepburn, his
wife, and Jelly had all been companions at the same day-school.
Walking through the shop without ceremony, saving a nod to young
Charley, who was minding it, Jelly turned into the little parlour: a
narrow room with the fireplace in the corner surmounted by a high
old-fashioned wainscoting of wood, painted stone-colour. Thomas
Hepburn, who seemed to be always ailing with something or other, had
an inflammation on his left arm, and his wife was binding bruised lily
leaves round it. Jelly, drawing near, at once expressed her
disapprobation of the treatment.
"I can't think how it should have come, or what it is," he observed.
"I don't remember to have hurt it in any way."
Jelly took the seat on the other side the fireplace, and Mrs.
Hepburn, a stout healthy woman, sat down at the small round table and
began working by lamplight. Thomas Hepburn, nursing his arm, which
pained him, led all unconsciously to the subject Jelly had come to
speak about. Saying that if his arm was not better in the morning, he
should show it to Dr. Rane, he thence went on to express his sorrow
that the doctor should talk of leaving Dallory, for they liked him so
much both as a gentleman and a doctor.
"But after such a loss as he has experienced in his wife, poor lady,
no wonder the place is distasteful to him," went on Hepburn. And Jelly
felt silently obliged for the words that helped her in her task.
"Ah, that was a dreadful thing," she observed. "I shall never forget
the morning I heard of it, and the shock it gave me."
"I'm sure I can never forget the night he came down here, and said she
was dead," rejoined the undertaker. "It was like a blow. Although I
was in a degree prepared for it, for the doctor had told me in the
afternoon what a dangerous state she was in--and I didn't like his
manner when he spoke: it seemed to say more than his words. I came
home and told Martha here that I feared it was all over with Mrs.
Rane. Poor Henry was lying dead at the same time."
"And the answer I made to Thomas was, that she'd get over it," said
Mrs. Hepburn, looking up from her sewing at Jelly. "I thought she
would: Bessy North was always hearty and healthy. You might have taken
a lease of her life."
"We had shut up the shops for the night, though the men were at work
still next door, when the doctor came," resumed Thomas Hepburn, as if
he found satisfaction in recalling the circumstances for Jelly's
benefit. "It was past eleven o'clock; but we had to work late during
that sad time; and Henry's illness and death seemed to make a
difference of nearly as much as two hands to us. I was in the yard
with the men when there came a knocking at the shop-door: I went to
open it, and there stood the doctor. 'Hepburn,' said he, 'my poor wife
is gone.' Well, I did feel it."
Jelly gave a groan by way of sympathy. She was inwardly deliberating
how she could best lead on to what she wanted to ask. But she was
never at fault long.
"I have heard you express distaste to some of the things that make up
your trade, Thomas Hepburn, but at least they give you the opportunity
of taking last looks at people," began Jelly. "I'd have given I don't
know how much out of my pocket to have had a farewell look at Mrs.
Rane."
"That doesn't always bring the pleasure you might suppose," was the
answer of the undertaker.
"Did you go to her?" asked Jelly.
"No. I sent the two men: Clark and Dobson. They took the coffin at
once: the doctor had brought the measure."
"And they screwed her down at once," retorted Jelly, more eagerly than
she had intended to speak.
"Ay! It was best. We did it in some other cases that died of the
same."
"Did the men notice how she looked--whether there was much change in
her?" resumed Jelly, in a low tone. "Some faces are very sweet and
placid after death: so much so that one can't help thinking they are
happy. Was Mrs. Rane's so?"
"The men didn't see her," said Hepburn.
"Didn't see her!"
"No. The doctor managed that they should not. It was very kind of him.
Dobson had had an awful dread all along of catching the fever; and
Clark was beginning to fear it a little: Dr. Rane knew this, and said
he'd not expose them to more risk than could be helped. The men
carried the coffin up to the ante-room, and he said he would manage
all the rest."
Jelly sat with open mouth and eyes staring. The undertaker put it down
to surprise.
"Medical men are used to these things, Jelly. It comes as natural to
them as to us. Dr. Rane said to Clark that he would call Seeley over
if he found he wanted help. I don't suppose he would want it: she was
small and light, poor young lady."
Jelly found her speech. "Then they--Clark and Dobson--never saw her at
all!"
"Not at all. She was in the far room. The door was close shut, and
well covered besides with a sheet wet with disinfecting fluid. There
was no danger, Dr. Rane assured them, so long as they did not go into
the room where she lay. The men came away wishing other people would
take these precautions; but then, you see, doctors understand things.
He gave them each a glass of brandy-and-water too."
"And--then--_nobody_ saw her!" persisted Jelly, as if she could not
get over the fact.
"I dare say not," replied Thomas Hepburn.
"He must have hammered her down himself!" cried the amazed Jelly.
"He could do it as well as the men could. They left the nails and
hammer."
"Well--it--it--seems dreadful work for a man to have to do for his
wife," observed Jelly, after a pause, staring over Mr. Hepburn's head
into vacancy.
"He did violence to his own feelings out of consideration to the men,"
said the undertaker. "And I must say it was very good of him. But, as
I've observed, doctors know what's what, and how necessary it is to
keep away from danger in perilous times."
"Did he manage the lead coffin as well as the first one?" continued
Jelly, in a hard, sarcastic tone, which she found it impossible to
suppress. "And then there was the third coffin, after that?"
"I went and soldered down the lead myself. The men took up the last
one and made all ready."
"Were you not afraid to run the risk, Thomas Hepburn?" asked Jelly,
tauntingly, for she despised the man for being so unsuspicious.
"The rooms had been well disinfected then, the doctor said. Any way,
we took no harm."
That Thomas Hepburn had never discerned cause for the slightest
suspicion of unfair play on the part of Dr. Rane was evident. Jelly,
in her superior knowledge, could have shaken him for it. In his place
she felt sure she should not have been so obtuse. Jelly forgot that it
was only that superior knowledge that enabled her to see what was
hidden from others: and that whilst matters, from Hepburn's point of
view, looked all right; from her own, they were all wrong.
"Well, I must be wishing you good-evening, I suppose," she said. "I've
left only Riah in the house--and she's of no mortal use to anybody,
except for company. With people dying about one like this, one gets to
feel dull, all alone."
"So one does," answered the undertaker. "Don't go yet."
Jelly had not risen. She sat looking at the fire, evidently deep in
thought. Presently she turned her keen eyes on the man again.
"Thomas Hepburn, did you ever see a ghost?"
He received the question as calmly and seriously as though she had
said, Did you ever see a funeral? And shook his head negatively.
"I can't say I ever saw one myself. I've known those who have. That
is, who say and believe they have. And I'm sure I've no reason to say
they haven't. One hears curious tales now and then."
"They are not pleasant things to see," remarked Jelly a little
dreamily.
"Well, no; I dare say not."
"For my part, I don't put faith in ghosts," said hearty Mrs. Hepburn,
looking up with a laugh. "None will ever come near me, I'll answer for
it. I've too many children about me, and too much work to do, for
pastime of that sort. Ghosts come from nothing but nervous fancies."
Jelly could not contradict this as positively as she would have liked,
so it was best to say nothing at all. She finally rose up to go--Riah
might be falling asleep with her head in the candle.
And in spite of the suggested attractions of a supper of toasted
cheese and ale, Jelly departed. Things had become as clear as daylight
to her.
"I don't so much care now if it does come out," she said to herself as
she hastened along. "What Thomas Hepburn can tell as good as proves
the doctor's guilt. I knew it was so. And I wish that old Dame Gass
had been smothered before she sent me into that doubt and fright last
night!"
But the road seemed terribly lonely now; and Jelly more nervous than
ever of the shadows.