PERRY'S REVELATION.
DEAR STRANGE,--Have you seen the news in to-day's paper? I have just
caught sight of it. If the _Vengeance_ has foundered, or whatever the
mishap may be, and Tom Heriot should be one of the escaped prisoners,
he will be sure to make his way home. Rely upon it he has not grown
less reckless than he was, but probably has become more so. What
trouble may not come of it? Do try and get at the particulars
officially, as to whether there's truth in the report, or not; and let
me know without delay.
Very truly yours,
LEVEL.
Letters from Paris and the Continent generally were then usually
delivered about mid-day. I was talking with Lennard in the front
office when this one arrived. The clerks had gone to dinner.
"Have you heard the rumour about the ship _Vengeance_, Lennard?" I
asked, laying down Lord Level's letter.
"I read it yesterday," he answered.
"I wonder how I could learn whether there's any foundation for it?"
Before he could answer me, we were interrupted by Major Carlen. He was
in his usual state of excitement; his face lengthened, his arms thrown
about, and his everlasting blue cloak trailing about him. I slipped
the letter into my desk.
"Here's a pretty go, Charles!" he exclaimed. "Have you heard of it
yet? That convict ship's gone to the bottom, and Tom Heriot has
escaped."
"You should not assert that so positively, Major Carlen," I
remonstrated. "It is not certain that any of the men have escaped, I
suppose. If they have, Tom Heriot may not be one of them."
"But they have escaped," stuttered the gray old man, plumping himself
down on a stool, around which his cloak fell like so much drapery.
"Five have got off, and Tom is one of them."
"How do you know that?"
"How do I know it? How could I tell you if I didn't know it? Half an
hour ago I met Percival in Downing Street, and he told me."
What little hope had been left within me took wings and flew away.
Percival was First Lord of the Admiralty. He would certainly know the
truth.
"Government has had official news of it," went on the Major gloomily;
"and with it a list of the fugitives."
"And Tom's name is amongst them?"
"Tom's name is amongst them."
There was a pause. Lennard had gone into the other room. Major Carlen
rose, saying something about lunch waiting for him at his club.
"Mark you, Charles: if Tom takes it into that rattle-pate of his to
worm his way back to these shores, there may be the devil to pay. I
hope with all my heart Level won't hear of this. The disgrace has been
a precious thorn to him from the first."
"Blanche knows nothing at all of the matter as yet. She thinks Tom is
with his regiment in India. The last time I saw her in Paris, not long
before Mr. Brightman's death, she asked me what could be the reason
Tom did not write to her."
"Much better tell her, and get it over," spoke the Major. "I should,
if I were Level. He is more careful of her than she deserves--silly
chit!"
Major Carlen and his cloak swung out again, the clerks came back, and
the day and its duties went on. I wrote to Lord Level; giving him the
substance of what the Major had heard, and telling him that I thought
there could be little fear of Tom Heriot's venturing back to England.
He could never be so reckless as to risk the danger.
Dinner over, I started for Mrs. Brightman's, and was admitted by the
butler, who told me, in answer to my inquiry, that his mistress had
been ill all day and had not come down. Tea waited on the drawing-room
table, but no one was in the room. Presently Annabel entered.
"I am sorry you should have had the trouble to come, when perhaps you
could not spare the time," she said. "Mamma is not well enough to see
you."
"I was not busy to-night, Annabel. Perry has just told me your mamma
has not been down to-day. Is her illness anything more than would be
caused by these bad headaches? Do you fear anything serious?"
"Yes--no. I--I hope not."
Her voice and manner were excessively subdued, as if she could
scarcely speak from fear of breaking down. She turned to the table,
evidently to avoid my notice, and busied herself with the teacups.
"What is the matter, Annabel?"
"Nothing," she faintly answered, though her tears were even then
falling. But I knew that some great trouble must be upon her.
"Is Mrs. Brightman vexed with you for having come up last night with
that deed?"
"No; oh no! I told mamma about it this morning, and she said I had
done quite right to take it up, but that I ought to have gone in the
carriage."
"What, then, is causing you this grief?"
"You cannot expect me to be in very good spirits as yet," she replied:
which was a decided evasion. "There are times--when I feel--the
loss----"
She fairly broke down, and, sinking into a chair, cried bitterly and
without concealment. I waited until she had become calmer.
"Annabel, my dear, sorrow for your loss is not all that disturbs your
peace to-night. What else is there?"
"It is true that I have had something to vex me," she admitted after
a pause. "But I cannot tell you about it."
"It is a momentary trouble, I hope; one that will pass away----"
"It will never pass away," she interrupted, with another burst of
emotion. "It will be a weight and a grief upon me as long as life
shall last. I almost wish I had died with my father, rather than have
to live and bear it."
I took her hands in mine, and spoke deliberately. "If it be so serious
a trouble as that, I must know it, Annabel."
"And if it were of a nature to be spoken of, you should know it. But
it is not, and I can tell you nothing."
"Could you speak of it to your father, were he still living?"
"We should be compelled to speak of it, I fear. But----"
"Then, my dear, you can speak of it to me. From henceforth you must
look upon me as in his place; your protector; your best friend: one
who will share your cares, perhaps more closely than he could have
done; who will strive to soothe them with a love that could not have
been his. In a short time, Annabel, I shall ask you to give me the
legal right to be and do this."
"It can never be," she replied, lifting her tearful eyes to mine.
I looked at her with an amused smile. I knew she loved me--and what
other obstacle could exist? Mrs. Brightman might oppose it at first,
but I did not despair of winning her over in the end.
"Not quite yet, I know," I answered her. "In a few months' time."
"Charles, you misunderstand me. I said it could never be. _Never._"
"I certainly do not understand that. Had your father lived, it would
have been; and I do not say this without reason for the assertion. I
believe that he would have given you to me, Annabel, heartily, with
all his good will."
"Yes, that may be true; I think you are right; but----"
"But what, then? One word, Annabel: the objection would not surely
come from your heart?"
"No, it would not," she softly answered, blushing deeply. "Please do
not speak of these things."
"I did not intend to speak of them so soon. But I wish to remind you
that I do possess a right to share your troubles, of whatever nature
those troubles may be. Come, my darling, tell me your grief."
"Indeed I cannot," she answered, "and you know I am not one to refuse
anything from caprice. Let me go, Charles; I must make the tea."
I did let her go; but I bent over her first, without warning, and
kissed her fervently.
"Oh, Charles!"
"As an earnest of a brother's love and care for you, Annabel, if you
object for the present to the other," I whispered.
"Yes, yes; be a brother to me," she returned, with strange yearning.
"No other tie can now be ours."
"My love, it _shall_ be."
She rang for the urn, which Perry brought in, and then sat down to the
table. I placed myself opposite to her and drew the dry toast towards
me. "Mrs. Brightman prefers this, I believe; shall I prepare some for
her?"
Annabel did not answer, and I looked up. She was struggling with her
tears again. "I fear mamma is not well enough to eat," she said, in a
stifled voice.
"Annabel!" I suddenly exclaimed, a light flashing upon me: "your
mother is worse than you have confessed: it is her illness which is
causing you this pain."
Far greater than any that had gone before was the storm of emotion
that shook her now. I rose in consternation and approached her, and
she buried her face in her hands. It was very singular. Annabel
Brightman was calm, sensible, open as the day. She seemed to-night to
have borrowed another character. Suddenly she rose, and nervously
putting my hand aside, walked once or twice up and down the room,
evidently to obtain calmness. Then she dried her eyes, and sat down
again to the tea-tray. I confess that I looked on in amazement.
"Will you be kind enough to ring, Charles? Twice, please. It is for
Hatch."
I did so, and returned to my seat. Hatch appeared in answer to her
signal. Annabel held the cup of tea she had poured out.
"Mamma's tea, Hatch."
"She won't take none, miss."
It is impossible to resist the temptation of now and then giving the
grammar and idioms Hatch had brought from her country home, and had
never since attempted to alter or improve. But what Hatch lacked in
accuracy she made up in fluency, for a greater talker never flourished
under the sun.
"If you could get her to drink a cup, it might do her good," pursued
Hatch's young mistress. "Take it up, and try."
Hatch flirted round, giving me full view of her black streamers, and
brought forward a small silver waiter. "But 'twon't be of no manner
of use, Miss Annabel."
"And here's some toast, Hatch," cried I.
"Toast, sir! Missis wouldn't look at it. I might as well offer her a
piece of Ingy-rubbins to eat. Miss Annabel knows----"
"The tea will be cold, Hatch; take it at once," interposed Miss
Annabel.
"Annabel, who is attending your mamma? Mr. Close, I suppose."
"Mr. Close. She never will have anyone else. I fear mamma must have
been ill for some time; but I have been so much away with Aunt Lucy
that I never noticed it before."
"Ay; Hastings and your aunt will miss you. I suppose Mrs. Brightman
will not spare you now as she has hitherto done."
Annabel bent her head over the tea-tray, and a burning colour dyed her
face. What had my words contained to call up the emotion? Presently
she suddenly rose and left the room, saying she must see whether the
tea had been taken. She returned with the empty cup, looking somewhat
more cheerful.
"See, Charles, mamma _has_ taken it: I do believe she would take more
nourishment, if Hatch would only press it upon her. She is so very
weak and depressed."
Annabel filled the cup again, and Hatch came in for it. "Suppose you
were to take up a little toast as well; mamma might eat it," suggested
Annabel, placing the cup on the waiter.
"Oh, well, not to contrairy you, Miss Annabel," returned Hatch. "I
know what use it will be, though."
She held out the waiter, and I was putting the small plate of toast
upon it, when screams arose from the floor above. Loud, piercing
screams; screams of fear or terror; and I felt sure that they came
from Mrs. Brightman. Hatch dropped the waiter on to the table,
upsetting the tea, and dashed out of the room.
I thought nothing less than that Mrs. Brightman was on fire, and
should have been upstairs as speedily as Hatch; but Annabel darted
before me, closed the drawing-room door, and stood against it to
prevent my exit, her arms clasping mine in the extremity of agitation,
the shrieks above still sounding in our ears.
"Charles, you must not go! Charles, stay here! I ask it of you in my
father's name."
"Annabel, are you in your senses? Your mother may be on fire! She must
be on fire: do you not hear her screams?"
"No; it is nothing of that sort. I know what it is. You could do no
good; only harm. I am in my own house--its mistress just now--and I
tell you that you must not go up."
I looked down at Annabel. Her face was the hue of death, and though
she shook from head to foot, her voice was painfully imperative. The
screams died away.
A sound of servants was heard in the hall, and Annabel turned to open
the door. "You will not take advantage of my being obliged to do so,
Charles?" she hurriedly whispered. "You will not attempt to go up?"
She glided out and stood before the servants, arresting their progress
as she had arrested mine. "It is only a similar attack to the one
mamma had last night," she said, addressing them. "You know that it
arises from nervousness, and your going up would only increase it. She
prefers that Hatch alone should be with her; and if Hatch requires
help, she will ring."
They moved away again slowly; and Annabel came back to the
drawing-room.
"Charles," she said, "I am going upstairs. Pray continue your tea
without waiting for me; I will return as soon as possible."
And all this time she was looking like a ghost and shaking like an
aspen leaf.
I crossed to the fire almost in a dream and stood with my back to it.
My eyes were on the tea-table, but they were eyes that saw not. All
this seemed very strange. Something attracted my attention. It was the
tea that Hatch had spilt, slowly filtering down to the carpet. I rang
the bell to have it attended to.
Perry answered the ring. Seeing what was wrong, he brought a cloth and
knelt down upon the carpet. I stood where I was, and looked on, my
mind far away.
"Curious thing, sir, this illness of mistress's," he remarked.
"Is it?" I dreamily replied.
"The worst is, sir, I don't know how we shall pacify the maids," he
continued. "I and Hatch both told them last night what stupids they
were to take it up so, and that what missis saw could not affect them.
But now that she has seen it a second time--and of course there was no
mistaking the screams just now--they are turning rebellious over it.
The cook's the most senseless old thing in the world! She vows she
won't sleep in the house to-night; and if she carries out her threat,
sir, and goes away, she'll spread it all over the neighbourhood."
Was Perry talking Sanscrit? It was about as intelligible to me as
though he had been. He was still over the carpet, and in
matter-of-fact tones which shook with his exertion, for he was a fat
man, and was rubbing vehemently, he continued:
"I'm sure I couldn't have believed it. I wouldn't have believed it,
sir, but that I have been in the house and a witness to it, as one may
say; at any rate, heard the screams. For a more quieter, amiabler, and
peaceabler man never lived than my master, kind to all about him, and
doing no harm to anybody; and why he should 'Walk' is beyond our
comprehension."
"Why he should--what?" I exclaimed.
"Walk, sir," repeated Perry. "Hatch says it's no doubt on account of
his dying a sudden death; that he must have left something untold, and
won't be laid till he has told it. It's apparent, I take it, that it
concerns Mrs. Brightman, by his appearing to her."
"What is it that has appeared to Mrs. Brightman?" I asked, doubting my
ears.
Perry arrested his occupation, and raised himself to look at me. "My
dead master, sir," he whispered mysteriously. "Master's ghost."
"Your master's--ghost!" I echoed.
"Yes, sir. But I thought my young lady had told you."
I felt an irreverent inclination to laugh, in spite of the serious
surroundings of the topic. Ghosts and I had never had any affinity
with each other. I had refused to believe in them as a child, and most
unhesitatingly did so as a man. When I returned "The Old English
Baron" to Annabel, some years before, she wished she had never lent it
to me, because I declined to accept the ghost.
"I am sure, sir, I never supposed but what Miss Annabel must have
imparted it to you," repeated Perry, as if doubting his own discretion
in having done so. "But somebody ought to know it, if it's only to
advise; and who so fit as you, sir, master's friend and partner? _I_
should send for a clergyman, and let him try to lay it; that's what I
should do."
"Perry, my good man," and I looked at his bald head and rotund form,
"you are too old, and I should have thought too sensible, to believe
in ghosts. How can you possibly listen for a moment to stories so
absurd as these?"
"Well, sir," argued Perry, "my mistress did see it or she didn't; and
if she didn't, why should she scream and say she did? You heard her
screams just now; and they were worse yesterday."
"Did you see the ghost?"
"No, sir; I was not up there. Hatch thought she saw it as she went
into the room. It was in a corner, and wore its shroud: but when we
got up there it was gone."
"When was all this?"
"Last night, sir. When you left, Miss Annabel took off her bonnet in
the drawing-room and rang for tea, which I carried in. Presently Hatch
ran in at the front door, and Miss Annabel told me to call her in.
'Has mamma had her tea, Hatch?' said my young lady. 'Yes, she has,'
returned Hatch; which was a downright falsehood, for she had not had
any. But Hatch is master and missis too, as far as we servants go, and
nobody dares contradict her. Perhaps she only said it to keep Mrs.
Brightman undisturbed, for she knows her ailments and her wants and
ways better than Miss Annabel. So, sir, I went down, and Hatch went
up, but not, it seems, into Mrs. Brightman's room, for she thought she
was asleep. In two or three minutes, sir, the most frightful shrieks
echoed through the house; those to-night were nothing half as bad.
Hatch was first in the chamber, Miss Annabel next, and we servants
last. My mistress stood at the foot of the bed, which she must have
left----"
"Was she dressed?" I interrupted.
"No, sir; she was in her night-gown, or a dressing-gown it might have
been. She looked like--like--I don't hardly know what to say she
looked like, Mr. Strange, but as one might suppose anybody would look
who had seen a ghost. She was not a bit like herself. Her eyes were
starting and her face was red with terror; almost all alight, as one
may say; indeed, she looked mad. As to her precise words, sir, I can't
tell you what they were, for when we gathered that it was master's
ghost which she had seen, appearing in its shroud in the corner by the
wardrobe, the women servants set up a cry and ran away. That stupid
cook went into hysterics, and declared she wouldn't stop another night
in the house."
"What was done with Mrs. Brightman?"
"Miss Annabel--she seemed terrified out of her senses, too, poor young
lady--bade me hasten for Mr. Close; but Hatch put in her word and
stopped me, and said the first thing to be done was to get those
shrieking maids downstairs. Before I and John had well done it--and
you'd never have forgot it, sir, had you seen 'em hanging on to our
coat tails--Hatch followed us down, bringing her mistress's orders
that Mr. Close was not to be fetched; and indeed, as Hatch remarked,
of what use could a doctor be in a ghost affair? But this morning Miss
Annabel sent for him."
"Mrs. Brightman must have had a dream, Perry."
"Well, sir, I don't know; it might have been; but she is not one given
to dreams and fancies. And she must have had the same dream again
now."
"Not unlikely. But there's no ghost, Perry; take my word for it."
"I hope it will be found so, sir," returned Perry, shaking his head as
he retired; for he had done his work and had no further pretext for
lingering.