WHAT THE COOK FOUND
Mrs. Fane was seated in the White Room waiting for visitors. As usual
she was knitting, and every now and then glanced at her little girl,
who, washed and dressed and curled and bedecked with ribbons, played
with her doll. The child was very like her father, having the same
pink and white face and weak mouth. She was a pretty, pale creature,
with fair hair, almost white--what the Scots call linty--locks. Never
was there such a contrast as that between mother and child. The mother
firm, majestic, strong, composed; the child weak, restless, delicate,
and undersized. As Mrs. Fane looked at Minnie, she uttered a sigh,
being alone. Had any one been present, she would not have condescended
to such weakness.
"Just like her father," thought Mrs. Fane, her firm, shapely hands
busy with the needles; "delicate, weak, irresponsible. I almost wish I
had married a strong man. I would have at least had healthy children.
No"--here she shook her head--"it's better as it is. I am my own
mistress and Walter's master. Better as it is."
This complimentary train of thought was interrupted by its object.
Walter Fane, looking sleepy and dishevelled, entered the room. His
wife, who was richly and carefully dressed, looked at him with a
serene air, not without a touch of contempt.
"I am expecting visitors," said she, in her calm way. "Don't you think
you had better brush yourself up?"
"I don't intend to stop," replied Walter, listlessly staring out of
the window.
"All the better. I don't care for tame cats," said Mrs. Fane. "A man
should be out in the open air, or at business."
"You won't let me attend to the business," said Walter, shrugging.
"If you were a man you would attend to it without my sanction. But
some one in this house must see to things, and if you won't the burden
must devolve on my shoulders."
"As you please," said Fane, and sat down on the floor beside Minnie.
"It's pleasant enough playing with this darling."
"I believe your brain is softening," said his wife, with a shadow of
anxiety. "Why don't you go for a yachting tour?"
"I shall never yacht again, Julia. You will no longer have to complain
of my long absences. When is the house to be sold?"
"In a month. I am arranging the business now. We will then go to
Switzerland."
"I hate Switzerland."
"Since you have decided to yacht no more, it doesn't matter if you
live there," said Mrs. Fane. "But you can choose your own place of
residence. It's all one to me, so long as I can see after the
business."
"I don't see that we need go abroad at all," said Fane sullenly.
"I see the necessity, and a very great one," retorted Mrs. Fane, with
a flash of her eyes. "Be guided by me, Walter. I know what is good for
you. And do get up from the floor. Laura will be in soon."
"Fane rose reluctantly. I was sleeping this afternoon," he said, and
yet feel tired. "I think I'll dine at the club and go to the theatre."
"As you please," said Mrs. Fane quietly, "so long as you don't trouble
me. And don't make love to any other woman," she added.
"Julia," said Fane, pausing at the door, "do you really care for me as
much as that?"
"My dear, every one has a weakness; pride is mine. I like you. I have
an affection for you, else I should not have married you. So long as
you look handsome and are well dressed, and show me the deference of a
chivalrous man to his lawful wife, I have no complaint to make. But if
you go after other women, and make me a laughing-stock amongst my
friends," added Mrs. Fane, drawing a deep breath, "I should not spare
you."
Fane laughed, though rather uneasily. "One would think you would do
me an injury," he said, with another shrug.
Mrs. Fane raised her eyes and looked at him steadily. "I might even do
that," she replied. "Don't hurt my pride, whatever you do. And if you
desert me in favour of----"
"There's no chance of my doing that," said Walter irritably. "I
declare to heaven that I'm fond of you, Julia."
"That is as it should be," retorted Mrs. Fane.
Before her husband could reply there came a knock at the door, and
immediately afterwards a stolid young man in livery entered. Walter
slipped past him and got out of the room, while the man waited for his
mistress to address him. "Yes?" said Mrs. Fane interrogatively.
"If you please, ma'am, the cook have gone mad," said the stolid man.
"Really?" rejoined Mrs. Fane, letting her knitting fall on her lap,
but otherwise undisturbed. "And what form does her madness take?"
"She says she's going to retire on a fortune, and insists, ma'am, on
coming upstairs to tell you. I think, ma'am----" The man hesitated.
"Yes," said Mrs. Fane calmly; "I quite understand. This is the third
time she has indulged, and after assuring me that she had taken the
pledge. Send her up."
"You will excuse me, ma'am, but cook really have found jewels."
"What do you mean?" This time Mrs. Fane really was amazed.
"She have found jewels in the dust-hole," stammered the man, and would
have gone on to explain, but that he was roughly brushed aside by a
large female clothed in purple silk of a cheap sort, with a black
velvet cloak trimmed with beads, and a bonnet profusely trimmed with
flowers. Her face was red, and her air was that of an excited person.
This was due partly to drink and partly to excitement, and partly to a
sense of fear at thus braving her mistress, of whom she had a great
dread. The moment she entered the room the footman departed hastily,
thinking there would be a row. He went down to the kitchen, and found
the rest of the servants much excited. It seemed that the cook really
had some cause for her behaviour. At the present moment she was
explaining herself to Mrs. Fane.
"If you please, mum, I wish to leave this day--this hour--this
minute," panted the cook all in a breath; "my boxes being packed and my
best clothes being on."
"Indeed!" Mrs. Fane eyed the splendour with a look which made the cook
wince. "I am afraid you can't leave. You get no wages if you do. Go
downstairs."
"But I don't care for my wages. Far be it from me to rob you, mum. I
am as rich as you, having found a forting in the dust-hole."
"Really! May I ask what it is?"
"You'll take it from me, mum," said the cook mistrustfully.
If you don't show it to me at once, Gander--this was the cook's
unusual name--"I shall send for the police."
"O mum, think of the scandal. I won't----" then Gander caught the
steady eyes fixed on her. The drink and the excitement were dying out
under the chilling influence of Mrs. Fane's calmness, and the cook
collapsed.
"It's this, mum," and from under the cloak she brought forth a dagger
with a slim steel blade and a hilt of gold richly encrusted with
jewels. These flashed red and blue and green and yellow in the stream
of sunlight that shone through the window. Minnie caught a sight of
the glitter and clapped her hands. "Yes, my pretty," said the cook
proudly, "it's lovely, ain't it. And all my own, having been found by
me in the dust-hole."
"May I look at it, Gander?" asked Mrs. Fane.
The cook, still under the influence of those cold eyes, handed it over
at once, talking while she did so. But she kept her treasure-trove in
sight, and despite her awe would have fought Mrs. Fane, had that lady
shown any signs of annexing the property. "It's jewels rich and rare
with gold, mum," said Gander poetically; "emerald and sappers and
dimings and them things you read of in the book of Revelations. I
shall sell it to a jeweller as I knows, and with the money I shall
become a lady. I don't know as I'll marry," pursued the cook
meditatively; "but I'll have a little house of my own, and sit all day
in the parlour in white muslin reading novels and----"
"You really must not take so much to drink, Gander," said Mrs. Fane.
The cook bristled up. "Ho, indeed!" she snorted. "I'm accused of
drink, am I, when my emotions is natural, having come in for a
forting. I read it in the candle last night, and in the tea-leaves two
weeks previous, and then I----"
"Cook, don't be a fool! This is by no means so costly as you think."
"It's worth a thousand, if I'm a judge of stones."
"Ah! but you see you are not," said Mrs. Fane cruelly. "This dagger
belongs to me. It is only imitation gold and bits of glass."
Gander dropped into a chair. "Lor!" Then with an enraged screech,
"Don't tell me deceptions, whatever you do, mum. My nerves won't stand
deceptions nohow." Here Gander put a large fat hand on her ample
bosom, and observed pathetically, "I feel all of a wabble, as you
might say."
"I wore this," said Mrs. Fane, fingering the dagger, "at a fancy ball,
and threw it away along with some other rubbish. I suppose that is how
it got into the dust-hole."
Had the cook been quite herself, and observant, she might have
doubted this explanation, which was certainly weak. Mrs. Fane's maid
would never have carried such a dazzling object to the dust-hole, had
she seen it amidst any rubbish her mistress might have cast aside. But
Gander, deceived by fortune, broke down sobbing at the disappointment
of her hopes. "To think my 'eart should be cast up to be likewise cast
down," she gurgled. "When I went with the ashbucket I sawr that objict
aglittering like anything, being stuck in the side of the dust-hole,
as it were." Mrs. Fane listened attentively. "The 'andle showed
beautiful under some cabbige stalks, and I thought as I was made for
life. O mum"--she clasped her hands, which were encased in green
gloves--"let me take it to my jeweller, and see if he don't think
them stones of price."
Mrs. Fane, shaking her head, quietly slipped the dagger into her
pocket. "It's only rubbish," she insisted, "so I'll keep it here, as
it seems to upset you. Go downstairs, Gander, and see after the
dinner. I shall overlook your conduct this time, but don't let this
sort of thing occur again. And you might look at your pledge while
you're about it."
The cook rose quite crushed, but made one last effort to regain
possession of the dagger. "Findings is keepings," she observed.
"Not in this house. And even had the jewels been real you would not
have been able to keep them, seeing they were found on Mr. Fane's
premises. You can tell the other servants that the dagger belongs to
me, and is merely a theatrical article. Leave the room, Gander."
"I'ave been hurt in my tender part," sobbed the cook, "and now I have
to go back and be a slave. All flesh is grass, mum, and----" Here she
saw from the glitter in Mrs. Fane's eyes that the patience of her
mistress was giving out, so she hastily retreated, and made things
disagreeable in the kitchen. Mrs. Fane's explanation about the weapon
was readily accepted in the kitchen, as none of the servants were
intelligent, and Gander was well laughed at for her disappointment.
That night the dinner was unusually good at Ajax Villa, as Gander,
fearful of losing her place, wished to make amends.
When the cook departed Mrs. Fane reproduced the dagger, and looked at
it musingly. While she was daintily feeling the point, Minnie came up
and asked for the pretty thing to play with. "No, dear," said Mrs.
Fane, putting the child aside, with a shade passing over her face,
"it's mother's; and say nothing to Aunt Laura about it." This she
repeated rapidly as she heard Laura's step in the winter-garden. Then
kissing the child, she replaced the weapon in her pocket.
Laura, looking quiet and subdued, entered, dressed for the reception.
"No one here yet, Julia?" she asked, looking round.
"No. Did you expect Mr. Calvert?"
Laura looked annoyed. "I did not. He is not likely to come here."
"So you said the other day. Yet I found him with Walter in this room
when I came to tell him about the name of the woman being discovered."
Mrs. Fane cast a long look at Laura, who took no notice.
"I think we may as well drop the subject, Julia," said the younger
sister. "You will never do Arnold justice."
"I would with pleasure were he rich," said Julia blandly. "But as he
is poor I wish to discourage your infatuation by all the means in my
power. Then again, Laura, you know very little about him."
"What I do know is good," retorted Laura, sitting down.
"Ah, but there may be some bad in him for all that. Has he told you
all his life?"
"Yes. His father and mother died when he was a child, and he was
brought up by a guardian. He has a small property, and went on the
stage to make a name."
"You have seen him act in this new piece?" asked Mrs. Fane, keeping
her eyes on the knitting, but listening with all her ears for the
answer. "I think you said something about going to the Frivolity with
that Baldwin girl."
"I went with Gerty, and liked the play," said Laura coldly.
"Is it a modern play?" asked Mrs. Fane.
"Yes," answered Miss Mason, rather surprised at this interest being
taken in the drama, for which Julia had no great love. "It is a
three-act modern comedy, _The Third Man_."
"I read the notice of it, Laura dear. I fancy I remember that in the
second act there is a fancy dress ball. I suppose Mr. Calvert wears a
fancy dress in that act."
"He is dressed as a Venetian. Why do you ask that?"
Mrs. Fane evaded the question. "My dear," she said gravely, "when I
found Mr. Calvert with Walter, I came to read about the two rooms, at
Hampstead and this house--being similar, you know. The paper said that
the other house--in Coleridge Lane, I believe--was owned by a Mrs.
Brand. Mr. Calvert admitted that he had a cousin called Flora Brand,
and I have a suspicion--no facts though--that this Flora Brand is the
woman who was murdered here."
"You have no right to say that, Julia," said Laura quickly.
"I have no ground to go on, certainly," admitted Mrs. Fane in a most
provokingly calm manner, "but I am certain that the woman was murdered
here, and that she is Flora Brand, Mr. Calvert's cousin."
Laura, who was changing from red to white and from white to red,
looked straightly at Julia. "What do you mean?"
"Mr. Calvert," said Mrs. Fane, "is dressed as a Venetian in the second
act of this play. Probably he would wear a dagger--as a Venetian he
would certainly wear a dagger--a stage dagger."
"He does. What of that?"
"Merely this." Mrs. Fane produced the dagger from her pocket. "This is
a stage weapon. The handle is tinsel and glass. It was found by Gander
in the dust-hole."
Laura took the weapon and examined it with a pale face. "Go on."
"Really, my dear, there is no more to say. I leave you to draw your
own inferences."
"I understand," said Laura rapidly and in a low voice. "You think that
Arnold killed the woman?"
"She was his cousin--the dagger is a stage weapon--Mr. Calvert often
came to this house. Put two and two together, my dear, and----"
"Stop!" cried Laura furiously. "I don't believe it. Why should Arnold
come here and kill his cousin--if she is his cousin?"
"He admitted she was."
"He admitted, according to your own showing, that Flora Brand was. We
cannot yet be certain that the dead woman is Flora Brand."
"Going by the similarity of the rooms----"
"That may be a coincidence."
"A very strange one, taken in conjunction with that dagger and the
relationship, of which I am fully convinced. Did you give Mr. Calvert
the latch-key?" asked Julia suddenly.
"How dare you say that! Do you accuse me of aiding Arnold to kill the
woman?"
"Ah! you admit that he killed her then?" said Mrs. Fane quickly.
"No! no! you confuse me. The idea is ridiculous. I am losing my head
over your talk." Laura walked to and fro in an agitated manner. "He
did not--he did not. What motive could he have for killing----"
"Laura"--Mrs. Fane rose with a determined air--"you know something, I
am sure. Walter noticed that you are not such good friends with this
man as you used to be. What do you know?"
"Nothing!" panted Laura, as Mrs. Fane seized both her elbows and
looked into her eyes. "Let me go, Julia!"
"Not until you tell me----"
"Mrs. Baldwin," said the voice of the footman, and he threw open the
door. In a moment Mrs. Fane was her conventional self, and was holding
out her hand to the visitor. "How good of you to come," she said in
her sweetest tones. "Laura and I were acting a scene in a play she is
going to appear in. Amateur theatricals, you know," said Mrs. Fane,
giving the old lady no time to speak. "She takes the part of a girl
who is rather tragic. Do sit down, Mrs. Baldwin. The tea will be up
soon. How well you are looking."
Bewildered under this torrent of words Mrs. Baldwin, whose brain never
moved very fast, sat down on the sofa and tried to recover herself.
Laura, thankful to Julia for once in her life, concealed the dagger in
her pocket and retired to the window to recover her calmness. The
accusation of Julia had taken her by surprise, and she had been thrown
off her guard. As a matter of fact she did know something, but Julia
with her unsympathetic manner was the last person in whom she felt
inclined to confide. The two sisters in dispositions and tastes were
as far asunder as the poles.
Mrs. Baldwin looked like a bird of paradise that had been out all
night in the rain. She was dressed in an ill-assorted assemblage of
colours. Some of her clothes were bran-new; others quite ancient. Her
gloves were different in size and colour, so evidently she had
snatched up one of Gerty's in a hurry. In fact, she seemed to have
dressed hastily, so uneasy was the set of her clothes. And from the
very candid confession that followed it appeared that she had, as she
put it, "taken the first things that came to hand."
"If I had waited, I never should have made up my mind to come," said
Mrs. Baldwin in her complacent voice. "But after the professor told
me, I felt it was my duty to be the first to congratulate Miss Mason.
Such a change in the young man's prospects, ain't it?"
"Are you talking of Mr. Calvert?" asked Mrs. Fane quickly, and with a
side-glance at Laura.
"Of whom else?" responded Mrs. Baldwin genially. "My girl--Gerty's her
name--told me of the affection between Miss Mason and Mr.----"
"Don't speak of it," interposed Laura, annoyed that this gossiping
woman should interfere in so delicate an affair.
"Oh yes, do, Mrs. Baldwin," said Julia sweetly. "We were just talking
about Mr. Calvert when you came in."
"I thought you were acting a play."
"Quite so," rejoined Mrs. Fane, still sweetly. "And Mr. Calvert is to
act the lover. I was supposed to be the lover at rehearsal," she added
playfully.
Laura did not contradict these enormous lies, as she would only have
had an unpleasant quarter of an hour with Julia when the visitor left.
"Who is the professor?" she asked, to change the conversation.
"Why, my dear, you know him. The dark gentleman who occupies the damp
little house at the end of the meadow."
"Yes, I believe he did speak to me once. But we had little
conversation. What did he tell you about Arnold--Mr. Calvert?"
"Never be ashamed of speaking his Christian name, my dear," advised
Mrs. Baldwin. "Lovers will be lovers; eh, Mrs. Fane?"
"It would seem so," said Julia serenely. "I dislike demonstrative
affection myself. But what did this professor say?"
"Professor Bocaros is his name," said Mrs. Baldwin, who would tell her
story in her own slow way. "He told me that Mr. Calvert had come into
a fortune."
"Into a fortune?" gasped Laura, turning even paler than she was.
"Of course, my dear, you know all about it," said Mrs. Baldwin
playfully. "He told you that this poor woman who was killed here was
his cousin."
Laura uttered an ejaculation and stared, but Julia interposed. "We did
hear something about it," she said. "Has this woman left Mr. Calvert a
fortune?"
"So Professor Bocaros says," replied the other woman. "Ten thousand a
year. I suppose he'll spend some in finding how the poor soul came by
her death in this very room," said Mrs. Baldwin, with a shudder.
"I suppose he will. Let us hope so," said Julia. "Laura, you are not
looking well. Had you not better lie down?"
"Thank you," said Laura mechanically, and without a word left the
room. But Julia, with a hasty apology to the astonished Mrs. Baldwin,
followed, and outside the door caught her sister by the arm. "You
wanted to find a motive for Arnold Calvert committing this crime," she
said. "It was for the money."