THE LAST OF SUSAN RILEY.
When Susan was outside Dr. Duncan's house, she walked away rapidly,
careless whither, cursing and hating herself and all the world besides,
in the sense of the ignominious manner of her failure in her plans.
She was not yet fifty yards from the house, when she perceived, hobbling
towards her along the pavement, the same stooping, shabby, old woman
whom she had observed near Mrs. Harris's shop a few days previously.
In her irritable mood, Susan would not move aside for the old creature,
but pushed roughly against her as she passed.
But to her surprise, the apparently feeble hag, instead of reeling
aside, or even falling, as she had half expected her to do, suddenly
extended her hand and seized Susan by the arm with so firm and nervous a
grip that it stopped her short, notwithstanding the speed at which she
was walking. Susan turned round fiercely to face her, and then was
astonished to see every sign of decrepitude disappear from the woman who
held her. The stooping back straightened; the hands no longer trembled
with the weakness of extreme old age; it was a tall, middle-aged woman
who stood erect before her; and she recognized the stern, pale face of
Catherine King, whose eyes were looking intently into hers as if reading
her inmost thoughts.
Unnerved by her recent discomfiture, Susan shrank beneath the strong
grasp and keen eye of her former Chief, and was too startled by her
unexpected appearance to speak a word.
These few months had worked a great change in the features of Catherine
King. She appeared much older; her hair was much whiter; and though her
eye had lost little of its old fire, the light in it was unnatural as of
fever, and there were several signs about her to indicate that some slow
but fatal disease had taken hold of her.
She was indeed broken-hearted. She had lost Mary and the Scheme--the
only two affections in the whole world for her; so she had gone away, as
a wounded wild beast does, to die alone in some out-of-the-way spot in
the wilderness of London where no one knew her. When she changed her
residence, she left behind her no clue by which she might be traced. She
avoided even her one faithful friend, Sister Eliza, whose society was
now painful to her for the memories it called up--a standing reproach.
For a few moments Catherine King looked into Susan's face, a bitter
smile playing on her lips the while, then she addressed her.
"And what are you doing in this part of the world, my old associate?"
"That is my business, Mrs. King, and not yours," hissed out Susan.
"Indeed, Sister Susan! I am not so sure of that," said Catherine,
quietly. "But I have not come down here to argue with you, but to give
you certain orders which you will have to obey."
"Orders! from you!--obey you! Why, you must be mad!"
"You think so!" continued Catherine, as quietly as ever. "Well, to begin
with, I know why you have been down here so much lately. I know whom you
are hunting down."
"Catherine King! too much learning has made you mad!" exclaimed Susan,
with a derisive laugh which could not conceal the uneasiness she really
felt.
"Mad, perhaps; but not so mad that I cannot put a stop--and at once,
too--to all this plotting of yours, Sister Susan."
"I have no fear of you now, Mrs. King, I can assure you."
"But you have of the gallows."
"It strikes me that those same gallows would have to string you up as
well, O my accomplice! O great centre of the Sisterhood!" replied Susan
with a bow, and in tones of mock politeness.
Catherine looked at her contemptuously and said, "I am not a coward like
you. Do you imagine that fear of death would deter me from anything?
Life has nothing for me now. I tell you, woman! that if I was to be
hanged to-morrow, the knowledge would trouble me far less than the
discovery of one new grey hair in your head, or of one fresh wrinkle on
your face, would trouble you. I may tell you that I _am_ dying. An
incurable disease of the heart is hurrying me to the grave; and it is
sweet to me to know this, I am so weary of this world. But enough of
that--you know me by this time. Now, Susan Riley, I intend to prevent
you from carrying out your scheme of vengeance against that girl. I warn
you to desist, or I shall have to make matters very unpleasant for you."
Susan here made a gesture of impatience, and withdrawing herself from
Catherine's grasp, commenced to walk down the road. The Chief let her
go, but walked by the side of her and continued: "Very well, Sister
Susan, we will walk on if you like it better. Certainly we will attract
less attention than if we stand discussing in one spot--not that I care
who sees, or even overhears us, for that matter."
"Be quick, then, and let me hear what you have to say--then leave me,"
said Susan, in a sullen voice.
"That is exactly what I intend to do. I shall leave you as soon as I
have brought you to reason. Now mark me, Susan Riley! I intend to call
on Dr. Duncan to-morrow. I shall tell him all about the Society--that
is, all that is necessary for my purpose--and without endangering
anyone. I shall also tell him all your history, and acquaint him of your
plots against his wife."
"And hang yourself as well as me!"
"Not necessarily. Dr. Duncan will not make use of his information except
in self-defence. He will not molest you unless you become dangerous to
him."
"Traitor that you are and mad-woman!" cried Susan, passionately, "What
are you doing? You inveigled us all into this precious scheme of yours,
and then betrayed us on account of this miserable hysterical girl. And
now--"
"Stop!" interrupted Catherine, sternly, "I never betrayed you. I would
not sanction an unnecessary assassination; on this you all deserted me.
But the work you are engaged on now is in no way connected with the
Society, you are merely satisfying your private malice. I have been
watching you for some time, Sister Susan; and I intend to take the sting
out of you before I leave you to-day."
"I do not fear you," replied Susan with a forced carelessness of manner.
"You have no hold upon me. Now come, Sister Catherine! after all, what
could you prove against me that could do me much injury? Why, absolutely
nothing!"
"So you think that, do you? so you defy my power!" said Catherine with
the same quiet smile of assurance that had made Susan's heart sink
before. "Well! I shall have to go into details, that is all. Now, listen
to what I have to say, Susan! I am quite aware that little could be made
out of your connection with the Society, seeing that we never carried
our scheme into action, save on one occasion, by the way, I think you
had something to do with that, a barrister was it not? Private malice
was not the least of your motives then, too." She paused and seemed to
enjoy the sight of Susan's blanching face. "But let that matter pass. It
would be difficult to bring that home to you."
"Impossible," said Susan, recovering a little of her courage.
"I think you are right," went on Catherine in the same calm voice, "I am
not so foolish as to threaten you with that charge; but I will go on to
other little doings of yours which I imagine will be more to the
purpose."
Susan looked up and felt all her courage ooze out again when she read
the expression on her companion's face. She felt that Catherine was
playing with her as a cat plays with a mouse, certain of being able to
secure her prey when the fancy takes her to extend her claw.
The woman spoke again, but now in stern and earnest tones.
"Now, look you, Sister Susan; when you first came to us, I saw what sort
of a woman you were. I knew that you might be of great service to us; I
felt you might also prove to be exceedingly dangerous to us. Do you
think I should have been so foolish as to admit you to the Inner Circle
before I had carefully inquired into all your antecedents? Do you
imagine that I did not make myself acquainted with your most secret
history first? At all events, I gathered sufficient to satisfy myself
that I could hold you in my power when necessity should demand it. I
knew you had claws, so, before I would entrust our secrets to you, I
learnt how to clip those claws, in case they ever showed themselves. I
can prove all that I know, too. I can hang you, Miss Susan, for a very
old crime committed long before you knew us."
She stood still, and facing Susan, continued in a louder voice than she
had hitherto employed, "I know all about something that occurred in the
little cottage near Bath. Do you remember the incident? Do you
understand me, or shall I be more explicit?"
Susan started, and looked uneasily around her. She could not mask her
terror now. Could Catherine King, indeed, know that black secret, which
she had fondly imagined her own soul alone possessed? She said to
herself it was impossible. How could Catherine have found _that_ out?
So she tried to smile, and determined to brazen it out.
Catherine, who was scrutinizing her face, read the expression of it. So
she came close to her and whispered into her ear for nearly a minute.
Susan caught every damning word of the story of her ancient crime, and
her livid face and twitching lips confessed to her guilt.
Her accuser stepped back a few paces and smiled as she read the effects
of the communication on the cowardly features, then she spoke again,
this time aloud:
"Now, remember this, Susan Riley. If you ever again approach Mary
Duncan--if you write letters to her, or annoy her in the slightest or
most indirect manner--Scotland Yard shall know your little secret. Dr.
Duncan shall know it to-morrow. He will use it to defend his wife, if
you ever dare to renew your malicious cowardly attacks. You understand
me, don't you?"
"I am not a fool," answered Susan in a voice choking with vain spite.
"And I have something more to say, you must leave London within four
days. You must never return to it, nor come within a hundred miles of
it. You will be closely watched. Remember that there is a mightier
Society than the one you were initiated into; a Society of which you
know nothing, though ours was in reality but a branch of it. It is a
Society that has a myriad eyes, and a myriad secret weapons which it can
use well against traitors. Remember that you have committed one of the
greatest crimes that a member of a Secret Society can commit. You
prostituted the methods of political execution to private malice, when
you murdered the barrister Hudson. This has been marked down against
you. You will have now to obey my orders; and take care that you do not
slip again. Wherever you are, your every action will be watched, you
cannot escape. Why, fool! you little guessed that we have known all your
doings for the last many years; your secret thoughts were hardly hidden
from us. Now you have received your orders; will you obey them?"
Susan did not reply for some time; she hung down her head as she
pondered over it all. She did not wish Catherine to see her face on
which she felt that the anguish of defeat was too plainly written. All
her brazen effrontery had vanished now. She knew that she could not
fight longer against the heavy odds that were opposed to her. At last
having succeeded in smothering her feelings to some extent, she replied
to Catherine's question in a dogged voice,
"I must yield to the force of circumstances; I will go away from
London."
"Very good!" said Catherine, "I will now leave you. We will never meet
again. I cannot wish you a farewell--it would be a vain wish, for you
will never know happiness again. I almost pity you sometimes--poor
wretch! With that unfortunate temperament of yours, what a Hell you will
make to yourself, and carry about with you in your mind wherever you go,
now that you are getting old and ugly, now that those transitory joys
which were your only joys have forsaken you! Your bitterest enemy could
not wish you a more terrible retribution for your many sins. I almost
think it would be a mercy to put you out of your agony at once, to hand
you over to the police now."
She paused and looked into Susan's face, which was fixed in a strange
half vacant stare, as if she were in a sort of cataleptic state.
"You don't look well. Ah, yes! I remember. You have already had two
epileptic fits have you not, Susan? The strain of your amusements and
your hates is telling on your nervous system. I suspect that that death
in life in which the live mind burns in agony out of the dead body is
not far from you, Susan. Poor butterfly! your summer day is over. Your
wings are even now faded and no longer beautiful; they will draggle
impotently by your side soon, no longer able to carry you out into the
delight of the sunshine. There will be no more sunshine for you, but
cold darkness and biting pains. I must leave you now, wishing you a
speedy release, and in the meantime do not forget your orders."
Catherine turned from her and walked away: but Susan did not move.
Catherine took one glance over her shoulders as she went, and she saw
that the fixed expression had not left Susan's face; the wretched woman
was standing motionless and speechless, heedless of the sharp wind of
March that swept by her; but two large tears were now hanging from her
eyes. Catherine saw them and was touched. It was indeed so strange a
thing to see tears in _those_ eyes! and her heart smote her as she
walked home, and she reproached herself that she had allowed herself to
be carried away in the rage of victory to trample so ungenerously on a
fallen foe, and inflict needless torture on one sufficiently punished.