THE BALDWINS
"Maryanneliza, do keep the children quiet. The bad twins are fighting
with the good twins, and the odd ones are making such a noise that I
can't finish this story."
"Well, ma'am, there's so much to be done. The breakfast's to clear
away, and the washing to be counted, and----"
"Oh, don't trouble me," cried Mrs. Baldwin, settling herself on the
sofa. "It's one of my bad days. What Miss Mason will think of the way
this house is kept, I don't know. What do I pay you wages for?"
"It's little enough I get," said Mary Ann Eliza, firing up.
"More than you're worth," retorted her mistress. "If you were a
mother, with seven orphans to keep, you might talk. Where's Miss
Gerty?"
"Gone to see Mr. Tracey at the factory."
"So like her," lamented the mother; "no consideration for my feelings.
What I feel only the doctor knows. There!" as several wild screams
rent the air to tatters, "that's blood. If any one of my darlings die,
I'll hold you responsible, Maryanneliza!" Mrs. Baldwin ran the three
names into one as the children did, and shrieked out to stop the
servant from going. But Maryanneliza knew better. If she stopped to
listen to Mrs. Baldwin's complaints, there would be no work done. She
simply bolted to see which child was being tormented to death, and
Mrs. Baldwin, after calling in vain, subsided into her book, and
solaced herself with a lump of Turkish delight.
She was not unlike a Turkish odalisque herself, if rumour speaks truly
of their fatness and flabbiness. A more shapeless woman it would have
been hard to discover, and she usually wore a tea-gown as the least
troublesome garment to assume. From one week's end to the other, Mrs.
Baldwin never went out, save for a stroll in the garden. Not even the
delights of shopping could tempt her into making any exertion, and she
had long since ceased to care for the preservation of her figure or
good looks. At one time of her life she had been handsome, but the
production of seven children, including two sets of twins, had proved
too much for her. Also her second husband had deserted her, and as he
had been responsible for six children, she complained bitterly of his
absence. He was supposed to be alive, but kept carefully away from his
too prolific wife. For eight years she had not heard from him, but
never ceased to expect him back.
Mrs. Baldwin's first husband had been a gentleman, and she was the
pretty daughter of a lodging-house keeper, who had ensnared him when
he was not on his guard. His family disowned him, and after the birth
of a daughter, the young man broke his neck when hunting. He left Mrs.
Harrow, as she was then, with the child and five hundred a year.
Afterwards a man called Rufus Baldwin, attracted by the money, married
the pretty young widow. Luckily, owing to the will, Mr. Baldwin was
not able to seize the principal of the income. But he lived on his
wife till six children came to lessen the money, and then finding he
could get nothing more luxurious, he ran away. Mrs. Baldwin then
removed to Cloverhead, and occupied an old manor-house at a small
rent. It was a pleasant, rambling old mansion in a quiet street, and
here she lived very comfortably on her five hundred a year.
"Do you remember Gerty Harrow with whom we were at school?" wrote
Laura Mason to an old friend. "She lives here, near the place of my
brother-in-law, and is now about twenty-two years of age. Such a nice
girl--pretty and clever, and engaged to a most amusing American called
Luther Tracey. He manufactures motor-cars, and Gerty Baldwin drives
them. Whenever a car is sold, Gerty goes down and stops for a week or
so with the people who buy it, to show them how it works. Being pretty
she gets plenty to do. Mrs. Baldwin objected to Gerty doing this for a
livelihood, and only consented when Gerty agreed to drop her father's
name. She is Miss Baldwin now, and I like her more than ever. The
mother----"
Here followed several marks of exclamation, as though Laura's powers
of writing failed her, as they assuredly did. It would have taken the
pen of Dickens to describe this lazy, self-indulgent, querulous woman,
who lay on a sofa all day reading novels. At the present moment, she
was deep in a _Family Herald_ story called "Only an Earl," in which a
governess with a single rose in her hair marries, with great
self-abnegation, a mere earl, after refusing two dukes and a foreign
prince. Mrs. Baldwin, basking like a cat in the sunshine that poured
through the window, read each page slowly, and ate a lump of Turkish
delight every time she turned a page.
The sitting-room was most untidy. Children's toys were strewn about;
the carpet was raggedy the pictures hung askew, the red plush
table-cloth--it was a most abominable covering--was stained, the blind
was torn, and a broken window-pane had been filled up with brown
paper. Yet the room had a comfortable, homely look, and if it had not
been so disorderly, would have been pleasant to live in. But Mrs.
Baldwin, quite undisturbed by the confusion, read on with great
enjoyment. She only lifted her eyes when Laura Mason entered the room,
and then her first words were querulous.
"How you can bear to stop here with Getty when your own home is so
beautiful, I really don't know," moaned Mrs. Baldwin, keeping her
place in the tale by bending the book backward. "Just look at this
room. I may toil from morning to night, and it never will look tidy."
"It's comfortable, at all events," said Laura, sitting down. "Do you
feel well this morning, Mrs. Baldwin."
"Just alive. I could hardly get out of bed. Not a wink of sleep, and
dreadful dreams."
Mrs. Baldwin did not explain how she could dream without sleeping, but
she was such a wonderful woman that she could do anything. For
instance, she could be idle throughout the day, and keep up the
fiction that she worked like a slave. She could enjoy her life in
laziness and dirt and selfishness, posing as a martyr to every one.
Laura saw through her as most people did; but as Laura was a guest,
and Gerty's friend, she did not explain herself at length, as she
would have liked to do. Besides, Mrs. Baldwin was a good-natured old
dormouse, and no one could be angry with her long.
"I have been out with Gerty," said Laura, sitting near the window;
"she has gone to the factory to see Mr. Tracey."
"She never thinks of me slaving from morning till night," moaned the
mother. "I'm skin and bone."
Miss Mason nearly laughed outright, for Mrs. Baldwin was as fat as
butter, and quite as soft. "You should take more care of yourself."
"No, Miss Mason," said the heroic woman. "I must deny myself all
pleasures for the sake of my babes. Ah, they will never know what a
mother they have."
It certainly would not be for the want of telling, for Mrs. Baldwin
was always recounting her virtues at length. She did so now. "When I
was young and gay, and truly lovely, and lived with ma in Soho
Square," she rambled on, "I little thought that life would be so hard.
When Mr. Harrow led me to the altar, all was sunshine, but now penury
and disgrace are my portion."
"Oh, not so bad as that, Mrs. Baldwin," protested Laura.
"Penury, disgrace, and desertion, Miss Mason. Rufus Baldwin has left
me with six pledges of his affection, and but for the forethought of
my first husband--who must have foreseen the twins--I would have
starved in chains and miry clay."
Having thus placed herself in the lowest position she could think
of, in order to extort sympathy, Mrs. Baldwin ate more Turkish
delight--she was too selfish to offer Laura any--and stated that her
heart was broken. "Though I don't show it, being trained by ma to bear
my woes in silence," she finished.
Laura said a few words of comfort in order to stop further complaints,
and then stated that she was going to Westcliff-on-Sea in two days.
"My sister Julia is expecting me," she said, "and I have been with you
for over a week. It is so good of you to have me."
"Not at all. I've done my best to make you comfortable, Miss Mason,
though heaven knows I can hardly keep on my feet." Here Mrs. Baldwin
closed her eyes as a token of extreme exhaustion. "But we must do our
duty in the world, as I always tell Horry, who is to be a parson, if
he can pass the examinations, which I doubt. Of course Gerty will
marry Mr. Tracey, who is well off, and leave her poor ma, who has done
so much for her. But I am determined that my babes shall occupy the
best places in society. Totty, Dolly, and Sally shall marry money.
Jimmy and Dickey must win renown to repay me for my lifelong agonies.
You don't look well, Miss Mason?"
The suddenness of this question, coming so quickly after the rambling
discourse, made Laura start and colour. She was a fair, pretty girl,
with yellow hair and a creamy complexion. Her eyes were dark, her
mouth delightful, and her nose was "tip-tilted like the petal of a
flower," to quote her favourite poet. Not a particularly original girl
either in looks or character, but charming and sympathetic. Laura had
a wide circle of friends who all loved her, but no one could call her
clever. But she was so womanly that men liked her. "I am quite well,
Mrs. Baldwin," she declared; "only I did not sleep much last night."
"Dreams! dreams!" moaned Mrs. Baldwin. "I had horrible dreams about
you. I fancied I saw you eating bananas. Every one knows that means
trouble. But pine-apples growing in ice are the worst," said Mrs.
Baldwin. "I have never dreamed that. Trouble is coming to you."
"Don't!" cried Laura, starting to her feet, and with an anxious air;
"please don't! I think dreams are nonsense."
"No," said Mrs. Baldwin, producing a small book from under her sofa
pillow. "Read this, and see what it means to dream of sparrows pecking
cats to death."
Laura laughed. "I should rather think the cats would eat the birds."
"Not in a dream. Everything goes by contraries in dreams. Before John
Baldwin ran away, I dreamed he was rushing into my arms, crowned with
honeysuckle. But that day he went. Didn't your walk last night do you
good?"
"No," said Laura shortly, then went on with some hesitation. "I was
away only for half an hour."
"Where did you go?"
"Across the fields."
"Thinking of Mr. Calvert, no doubt," said Mrs. Baldwin playfully.
Laura grew red, and on another occasion would have resented this
remark about the young gentleman mentioned by Mrs. Baldwin. But at
this moment she appeared to be rather glad of the suggestion. "I _was_
thinking of him," she assented.
"A very nice young man, though he is an actor."
"Why shouldn't he be an actor?" demanded Laura angrily.
"There! there!" said Mrs. Baldwin soothingly; and aggravatingly, "We
know that love levels all ranks."
"Arnold Calvert is a gentleman."
"Your sister, Mrs. Fane, doesn't think so. She expressed herself much
annoyed that he should pay his addresses to you."
"Julia can mind her own business," said Laura angrily. "She married
Mr. Fane, and he wasn't a very good match."
"No indeed. Your sister had the money."
"And I have money also. Quite enough for Arnold and I to live on, as
you----" Here Laura held her tongue. She really did not see why she
should tell Mrs. Baldwin all her private affairs. But when the heart
is very full, the tongue will speak out. Luckily at this moment there
was another outburst of noise overhead, and Mrs. Baldwin moaned three
times.
"The bad twins are persecuting the good ones, and the odd ones are
looking on," she lamented. "Do go up and see, Miss Mason."
Laura, glad of an excuse to leave the room, saw Mrs. Baldwin with
another lump of delight in her mouth, and another page turned, and
flew up the stairs. Here she found a general rebellion. The bad twins,
Totty and Dickey, aged ten, were pinching the good twins, Jimmy and
Sally, aged twelve. Horry and Dolly, who, not being twins, were called
the odd ones, looked on complacently. Laura darted into the middle of
the fray, and parted the fighters.
"Horry! Dolly! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves to see these
children fight so. Horry, you are fourteen, and you, Dolly, are
seventeen. Why don't you behave?"
"We are behaving," said Dolly, a girl in the stage of long legs, short
frocks, and inky fingers. "We haven't touched them. I can't study my
French lesson for the noise."
"And I've got my algebra to do."
"You shouldn't learn lessons on Sunday," said Laura.
"Why not? Gerty's gone to business."
"She has not. She only went to see if Mr. Tracey found his motor-car
that was lost last night."
"Ah! And I'm glad of it," cried Horry triumphantly. "He wouldn't let
me sit in it to watch."
"And a good thing to," said Dolly, pensively picking a hole in her
stocking; "you started it last time."
"And nearly ran us over," said one of the good twins.
"I wish he had," said the bad twins in chorus. "Come and play, Miss
Mason. Bible games!"
"I have no time. Gerty will be back soon. Now, be good children, and
don't disturb your mother. She has a headache. Besides, you must get
ready for church."
"I hate church," growled Horry. "And if mother thinks I'm going to be
a parson, I ain't. So there now."
"You'll never go to heaven then," said Sally, who was the most pious
of the good twins.
"_Oh, mon Dieu, quel dommage!_" said Dolly.
"Dolly!" cried Laura, shocked.
"I'm only swearing in French. It doesn't sound so bad as using bad
words in English."
"No," chimed in a bad twin. "I heard the gardener say----"
"Hold your tongue, Jimmy; you needn't say the word!"
But Jimmy, being bad by nature and training, had made up his mind to
say the word, and did so very distinctly. An uproar ensued, which
ended by the entrance of Mary Anne Eliza. "Come and be washed." There
was a chorus of protests, in the midst of which Laura escaped. Not
being inclined to talk further to Mrs. Baldwin, she went out in the
garden, which was large and as ill-kept as the house within. At the
gate she paused, and leaning over, looked up the lane. It was a
beautiful morning, and the air was as balmy as the sky was blue. But
the exquisite weather did not banish the dark look from Laura's face.
She gazed up the road with compressed lips, and then taking a letter
out of her pocket, she read it hurriedly. Thus engaged, she did not
see a tall brunette flying down the lane, with a flushed face, and an
air of excitement.
"O Laura!" cried the newcomer; "O Laura! Such news--dreadful news."
Miss Mason started, and her face grew pale. Hastily thrusting the
letter into her pocket, she looked at the girl. "What is it, Gerty?
Nothing is wrong with Arnold?"
"No! no! What a timid thing you are," said Gerty, opening the gate.
"But I have just seen Luther. He hasn't found his car. But he told me
that a murder had been committed in your sister's house."
"A murder!" Laura grasped her friend's arm. "Not Arnold?"
"No. It's a woman."
"Who is she?"
"No one knows. She was found lying dead in the White Room. Stabbed in
the back, and quite dead. Such a pretty woman, Luther says, and quite
young. Luther thinks the murderer ran away with his car, and that's
how it's missing. He's coming round here this morning to see you."
"To see me? Why should he see me? I know nothing."
Laura spoke sharply, and her face was in a glow of colour. At the same
time it expressed bewilderment. "How did the woman enter the house?"
she asked; "and who is she?"
"I tell you no one knows," said Gerty impatiently. "You'll hear all
from Luther, when he comes. But don't say anything to mother. She'll
only moan and make a fuss. Besides, Luther says it had better be kept
quiet till your brother-in-law comes up. He has been telegraphed for
by the police."
"The police. O Gerty, will they bring the police into the matter?"
"Of course. It was a policeman who found the body last night."
"How did the policeman enter the house?" asked Laura. "It's shut up,
and not even a caretaker was left."
"I don't know the whole story. Luther would not tell me much." Here
Gerty looked at her friend. "Laura, I thought you went to the house
last night."
"No," said Laura, after a moment's hesitation. "I told you that I was
going to meet Arnold. You know that I have to meet him by stealth,
since Julia objects to our engagement. It is not likely we would meet
at the house--especially as it is locked up."
"Did you meet him?" asked Gerty persistently and curiously.
"I didn't. I went into the fields by the Nightingale's Tree, and
waited till nearly a quarter to ten. But Arnold never came."
"Did he promise to come?"
"No. I only went on the chance. He thought that he might be able to
get away if his understudy could take his part in the piece."
"I expect he couldn't get away," said Gerty. "How awful this murder
is. I wonder who the woman can be, and how she came to be killed."
"It's very strange," said Laura, who was pale but composed. "Gerty,
did you tell Luther I was out last night?"
"No. We were too busy talking of the crime."
"Then say nothing. I should only get into trouble with Julia."