THE SKELETON IN THE PATROON’S CLOSET
As I glance over the pages I have just written I wonder whether anyone
will believe the record I have set down. So much happened during the
first three days of my residence at the manor-house that the
recollection of it seems to me now more like some romance of the old
time than of life here in New York within the memory of people now
alive. Yet these are events not soon forgotten, and every detail clings
in my memory as fresh to-day as on the day it happened.
When the patroon dismissed me there was a strange, half-convinced look
about him which augured further trouble. His state of mind was peculiar,
and later events enable me to say pretty surely what it was. Though I
was fairly free from superstition myself, that was a time when it ran
riot. In that respect, Van Volkenberg was the creature of his day. He
felt many a secret dread that could never have taken hold of me. Once he
had tried my life at night; and Louis subsequently told me that my
opportune absence when they came inspired the patroon with the
unrighteousness of his act. He never guessed, nor did I at the time,
that Meg’s warning to me had been due to the prompting of her son. Again
he had tripped, captured and buried me, as he firmly believed, only to
find me in his house the next morning as hearty as ever. And so I
became, to him, an invulnerable foe; I bore a charmed life. The swift
and deadly blows that made such short work of his other enemies, had, to
all appearance, scarcely a finger’s weight with me. I grew vaguely
conscious of this superstitious attitude on the part of the patroon
towards me, though not until afterwards did I learn how heavily the
burden weighed upon his spirit.
There was not much difficulty in persuading the patroon of the truth of
the story we had put upon him to account for my second escape. To him it
was a fearful dream, which pointed yet more clearly to the fact that I
was not the man for him to meddle with. This fact almost turned the
balance permanently in my favor, though he still had a lingering
suspicion that I was some sort of spy, and I was to feel still more of
his ill-humor on this score.
I heard no more of him that day. But the next he set me to some dirty
work which was quite beneath the position in the household that he had
at first accorded me. On the second day he forbade me to eat at the
family table, and banished me to the servants’ hall. In a thousand ways,
he did all in his power to make my position as uncomfortable as he
could. I resented it much at the time, and was continually on the point
of an angry outbreak of temper. One fact, however, more than anything
else, deterred me. That was my duty to Lady Marmaduke.
I was heartily sick of the part I was playing. I had never been ashamed
to own my name before, and, day by day, the sound of my false name
covered me with more confusion. I felt like a coward, and that is a hard
thought to one who prides himself on his courage. It was about this time
that I began to doubt the leadership of my stern mistress. A man,
however, cannot betray others to set himself right in his own eyes. I
had done wrong to be led into this duplicity; but I had accepted a
trust, and I should consider myself doubly wrong to betray my mistress
now. I resolved to get out of it as soon as I could, but not by means of
a second act of dishonor.
Meanwhile, the patroon’s ill-treatment of me continued. Yet it had its
good side, as I can see now. I had already gained Miriam’s attention in
the recital of my adventure at the tannery. She did not share her
father’s prejudices against me. The patroon had said nothing openly,
except to Louis, about his suspicions of my identity with Le Bourse. In
Miriam’s presence, he had been especially careful to express himself in
a way different from what he really felt. Doubtless he thought she would
repeat his compliments to me, thus throwing me quite off my guard. In
this way, without suspecting it, he pleaded my cause to Miriam long
before it had taken shape in my own mind. Her sympathies were already
enlisted in my behalf when I told her of my narrow escape. Her father’s
present treatment of me was so at variance with what he had formerly
said to her, that she was utterly at a loss to understand it. “It must
be a mere whim,” she would say; or, “He is ill. He does not feel so, let
me tell you.” Then she would repeat, just as the patroon had expected,
what he had said to her. Thus, I and my affairs were constantly in her
mind, as if it was her duty to settle them and restore peace.
“It will wear off,” she said soothingly, just after he had brought me up
sharp with an insulting answer. “He has not been well lately. I know he
does not mean it. Come, take a walk with me.”
So, twenty times a day, she would speak to me kindly and do some little
act to soothe a reproach from him. At last she went to him direct to
appeal for me. She has told me many a time since how she talked him out
of a sullen humor. He told her flatly that he thought I was Le Bourse.
Dear girl! She vouched for my honesty, and defended me so stoutly that
he gave in at last.
“It is fate, Miriam,” he said. “It is fate. Let us cast lots. Cry as I
toss. Crown or shield?”
He took a coin from his pocket and spun it on the table.
“Crown!” cried Miriam.
“It is so,” said the patroon as the coin flattened down with a jarring
ring. “Fate says that I shall trust him. Call the man in.”
From that moment I stood in the better graces of the master. There were
times, to be sure, when I thought that he still shared his old
suspicions. But for the most part he seemed to trust me. After all, the
silver buttons were a good introduction. I had to thank them for much.
I now quite supplanted Louis. He did not seem to resent the change, but
followed or stayed at home as he was bid. Time went on in this way for
several days, during which my own feelings toward the master began
somewhat to change. He seemed in a way to charm me. One who looks too
long on an uncomfortable color will grow used to it at last. This fact
and the presence of Miriam did much to account for this spleen of
toleration. Many a time I had wondered how a man of his wicked practices
could rise to such a height of influence and power. Little by little I
came to comprehend the secret of his hold over the affections of his
retainers. He was their lord and master and they loved him as their
lives. I was soon to learn of this at first hand.
A few days after he had taken me into his confidence, the patroon set
out for a ride about his estate. He chose me instead of Louis to go with
him. His new confidence in me must have been increased by the growing
distrust of Louis; yet he continued to treat the dwarf with kindness;
nor was Louis the least jealous of me, who was fast taking his place in
the affairs of his master.
The patroon and I set out on horseback. It was a bright day full of the
sombre autumn color. As we rode about we met many persons, all of whom
were known to the patroon. He had a word and a smile for each of them;
of every one he had some kind inquiry to make of mother, brother, or
sister; sometimes he would crack a merry joke, or indulge in some quiet
chaff that did not hurt. Frequently on that ride I heard the “Good
Patroon” blessed for some little act of interest, or for a bit of money
bestowed without the air of righteous charity.
We had been riding for an hour in parts unknown to me, when we came out
upon a cliff where we could look out over the bay and catch a faraway
glimpse across Long Island to the turquoise sea beyond. My companion
lifted his arm and swept it slowly along the horizon. I was surprised to
see the grim, set expression of seriousness that came into his face. For
the last hour he had been entertaining me with merry tales of his
childhood, and of his adventures aboard ship when he was a young man.
But now all that was gone. Was it the vast presence of the distant ocean
that put a curb on his jolly spirits? Or was there some nearer motive
close at hand, whose presence I could not see?
We sat side by side for twenty minutes. Neither of us spoke a word all
this time. Only now and then was the silence broken when one of the
horses stamped impatiently on the ground. The patroon’s face grew more
stern and lowering. His fingers doubled tight around the bridle. Once or
twice his lips moved, as if he were talking to himself. Then he struck
his breast fiercely and pointed to the blue ocean.
“There, Vincent, there lies the fortune of the Red Band. By the sea we
live or perish.”
I did not know what he meant, nor did I have a chance to ask him, for he
turned quickly and galloped away, with me hard at his heels. It was some
time before I was able to come abreast of him again, but when I did so,
he opened the conversation.
“A man who would be great must keep his own secrets. I know that fact to
my cost. I shall not tell you this, at least not for the present; but
there will come a meeting soon and I shall need you then.”
He fell silent and musing. Evidently he was much tossed about in his own
mind over something. I could see by his face that he was on the point of
saying something to me a dozen times, and that he checked himself in the
effort again and again. Suddenly these words burst from him in a sharp
tone.
“Van Ramm knows too many of my secrets. I want him killed. Will you do
it?”
I was thunderstruck at the proposal. I looked at him to see if he was in
earnest. His face was set and rigid, full of heavy lines, and the
corners of his mouth were drawn down in an evil fashion. My ears had
certainly made no mistake. He was in earnest. It was a long moment
before I found my voice.
“Must everyone who knows your secrets die?”
“God damn you, no!”
This was no ribald oath, but uttered from the very depths of his soul. I
knew as well as I knew my name that I had alluded unknowingly to some
secret of his, perhaps the very one for which he sought the life of his
henchman, for a sudden gust of terror seemed to leap into his face at my
words. He gazed at me for a moment speechless, his jaw dropped and there
was a gurgling rattle in his throat. Then the mood seemed to pass
slowly, and he became himself again.
“Do not say that word again, Vincent. It cuts me like a knife. There are
sins upon my soul you cannot know. My God, if I were only what I used to
be. But that day is long, long passed. Sometimes I think that I am
possessed by a devil. I have gone wrong so long that I cannot stop now
if I would. I have resolved against it, but I have no power. I can see
my ruin close before my eyes. Do you think there is no terror in it? My
God! Yet I cannot haste enough to meet it. It is like the dizziness that
takes you on a cliff. I cannot keep back my mad desire to leap. You are
my man. Answer me yes or no. Will you kill the dwarf?”
“No.”
“Then let it be. I respect you all the more for it. I wish I had had men
like you about me from the first. Then I should not see the gallows in
my dreams. But I have done my wicked work myself before. Let this pass.”
There were drops of sweat upon his forehead as he galloped ahead. But in
a short time he had thrown off all trace of this behavior, and what was
in his mind then seemed to be quite forgotten now. His merry tales
returned. A beggar we met was well rewarded for his humble plea for
alms. So we continued, just as if nothing had happened, as if we had not
for a moment been at swords points, almost ready to fight over a
question of honor. And in this way we rode till we came into the hills
that sheltered the cottage of Meg.
“Poor old Meg,” said the patroon gently. “She has been ill since yonder
night of Ronald’s death. I must stop and see her.”
The cottage of the old woman was a tumble-down affair, with doors and
windows all awry, and the thatch hanging loose and all but off in many
places. We dismounted and met the dwarf in the doorway.
“Hist,” he said, cautioning silence with his raised finger.
“Has he come?” asked a feeble voice from inside.
“The noise of the horses must have waked her,” explained Louis. “Come
in.”
We entered the low, desolate looking room. On a pallet in one corner lay
Meg of the Hills. The patroon went to her and took her hand with
something like affection in his manner.
“How is the day with you, my Meg?”
“My Meg,” she repeated plaintively. “It is a long time since you have
called me that.”
“Hist, Meg, not so loud,” said the patroon in a half-whisper.
“Why should I hist?” she cried with a tinge of anger in her tone. “Are
you ashamed of me?”
The patroon made no reply, and in a moment she repeated her question.
“Answer me, ye auld jade, be ye ashamed of me?”
“Hush, Meg. Don’t fall into that ballad-singing habit of yours. I can
stand anything but that.”
“You stand! What have you to stand compared to me? It was not always so.
I was fair to see in the old days long gone by. Was I not a bonny lass
then, Kilian?”
“Ay, you were so, Meg; but that is long gone by.”
The old woman moaned. She had regular features and may have been a
beauty once; but, as the patroon said, it was long ago. How wistfully
she must have looked back upon what would never come again. There was a
pause, and Meg was the first to break it.
“What did you come for?”
“To see how you were; to see what I could do for you.”
The last word seemed to rouse her evil demon. She sat bolt up in bed and
clasped her hands tight together; then she doubled her fists and shook
them in his face like a mad woman.
“To do what you can for me, you brat of hell. Have you not had half a
life for that? What have you done for me? You have kept me, you would
say. Ay, you have kept me like the old toothless bitch I am. But you did
not keep me where I should have been. And I could have hanged you any
time these twenty years. But I loved you. My God, what will not a woman
do for the man she loves!”
Meg fell back upon the pillow in exhaustion.
“So, so,” said the patroon, trying to soothe her. He only made her
worse. In a moment she had risen again and was glowering at him through
fierce flashing eyes.
“What have you done?” she cried in a frenzy, snapping and wringing her
long, bony fingers. “What have you done for me and mine these twenty
years, since you had your fill of pleasure out of me?”
“Tut, tut, Meg, you are wild to-day.”
“Wild I have ever been since you cast me adrift like a gutter drab of
Yorke. Tell me what you have done for me and mine.”
Her face grew dark and sullen like an animal’s at bay. The patroon
glanced about him and half rose to go; but she clutched his wrist and
repeated persistently:
“What have you done? What have you done? What have you done?”
“You know well enough what I have done, my Meg,” said the patroon. He
spoke quietly, but I could see that he was in the grip of fear. Was the
woman going to make a disclosure? I half expected what it would be, but
I did not guess the half.
“But what have you done?” she went on, sticking to her one idea.
“I have done my best, Meg. You know that I could not do it openly, but I
have kept him near me; he wants for nothing.”
“Ay, he wants for nothing but his life.”
“Life?” cried the patroon. “What do you mean?”
She looked at him in contempt and rage.
“Who is it that you say wants for nothing?”
“Louis, you hag,” he hissed between his teeth. “Louis Van Ramm.”
She fell into a mocking laugh that was terrible to hear.
“You thought it was Louis, did you? He was my son well enough, born in
lawful wedlock; but he was no son of yours. Did you think I told the
truth when I came back to live on you? Ha, ha, I was a bonny lass then.
Do you remember how you pleaded for my love and the use of my shapely
body? ‘I’ll marry you, Meg, if anything goes wrong.’ Those were your
very words and everything went wrong and—”
Here the patroon caught her by the shoulder and shook her violently.
“Stop. If Louis is not our child, who is?”
“Ha, ha, ha! You dolt! You idiot! You liar, thief—” She paused for a
moment and then almost shrieked out the word “Murderer.”
“Murderer!”
“Ay, murderer. Louis is my child but none of yours. Our boy is dead. His
name was Ronald Guy.”
Then she fell to singing that weird scrap of an old ballad that I had
heard once before:
Is there ony room at your head, Ronald?
Is there ony room at your feet?
Is there ony room at your side, Ronald,
Where fain, fain I wad sleep?
The patroon sprang up from where he had been sitting on her bedside. He
covered his face with his hands, and, for a moment, swayed back and
forth, but he was not taken with one of his seizures as I feared. In a
moment more he started for the door.
“Follow me, St. Vincent,” he said, and nothing more.
In silence he mounted his horse and spurred desperately away. I rode at
his stirrup, awestruck and wondering what would happen next. He remained
silent so far as words went, though sometimes he was muttering to
himself. We had nearly reached the manor-house when he spoke briefly in
cold tones, like a man asleep.
“I have killed my son. The day of reckoning has come.”
A horror of this man took hold of me and I turned to bait him as I would
a dog.
“You thought Louis was your son and you wanted me to kill him.”
The patroon stopped his horse; I, also, full in front of him. He stared
me in the face.
“Don’t try me,” he said doggedly, “or I’ll kill you. Had I not thought
he was my son he should have paid the penalty of what he knows any day
these ten years past. When all’s said, I thought him but a bastard. Ride
after me in silence.”
I did as I was bid. For the one time in my life I felt completely cowed.
I did not know what to do, and before the reaction came, we had reached
the house and Van Volkenberg had disappeared in his study.