"But I wait in a horror of strangeness--
A tool on His workshop floor,
Worn to the butt, and banished
His hand for evermore."
W. E. HENLEY.
In the sick-room all was still.
Lady Louisa lay with her eyes open, fixed. Blended with the cawing of
the rooks came the tolling of the bell for her son's funeral. Janey had
told her of Dick's death, had repeated it gently several times, had
recounted every detail of the funeral arrangements and how her sister
Lady Jane was not well enough to come to England for it. How the service
was taking place this afternoon and she must go to it, but she should
not be away long: Nurse would sit with her while she was away. How Harry
was not to be present, as he had been frightened at the sight of the
plumed horses. It was more than doubtful whether her mother understood
anything at all of what she told her, whether she even heard a voice
speaking. But Janey mercifully told her everything on the chance, big
things and small: Dick's death, and the loss of Harry's bantam cock, the
Harvest Thanksgiving vegetable marrow, and the engagement of the Miss
Blinketts' niece to a rising surgeon, and their disappointment that
instead of giving her a ring his only present to her had been a snapshot
of himself performing an operation. Scores of little things she gleaned
together and told her. So that if by any hundredth part of a chance she
could indeed still hear and understand she might not feel entirely cut
off from the land of the living.
Her mother heard and understood everything. But to her it was as if her
prison was at such an immense distance that communication was
impossible. Janey's voice, tender and patient, reached down to her as in
some deep grave. She could hear and understand and remember. But she
could make no sign.
Ah! How much she remembered, as the bell tolled for Dick's last
home-coming! Her thoughts went back to that grey morning
three-and-thirty years ago when she had seen his face for the first
time, the little pink puckered face which had had no hint in it of all
the misery he was to cause her. And she recalled it as she had seen it
last, nearly a year ago, hardly human, already dead save for a
fluctuating animal life. And she remembered her strenuous search for a
will, and how Dick's valet had told her that his master had been
impressed by the narrowness of his escape when he injured his head, and
had actually gone out on purpose to make his will the day he went to
Fontainebleau, but had been waylaid by some woman. She had found the
name and address of his man of business, and had been to see him, but
could extract nothing from him except that Mr. Le Geyt had not called on
him on the day in question, had not made any will as far as his
knowledge went, and that he had ceased to employ him owing to a quarrel.
Dick's business relations with every one except Roger always ended in a
quarrel sooner or later--generally sooner. She had made up her mind that
Dick must die without leaving a will. It was necessary for the sake of
others. But she had not told herself what she should do with a will of
his if she could get hold of it. But she had not been able to discover
one. The whole situation rose before her, and she, the only person who
had an inkling of it, the only person who could deal with it, was
powerless.
She had accumulated proofs, doctor's evidence, that Harry's was only a
case of arrested development, that he was quite capable of taking his
part in life. She had read all these papers to the nurse when first she
came to Riff, and had shown herself sympathetic about Harry, which Janey
had never been. Janey had always, like her father, thought that if Dick
died childless Hulver ought to go to Roger, had not been dislodged from
that position even by her mother's thrust that she said that because she
was in love with him. Nurse in those first days of her ministry had
warmly and without _arriere pensee_ encouraged Lady Louisa in her
contention that Harry was only backward, and had proved that she was
partly right by the great progress he made under her authority. She had
been indefatigable in training him, drawing out his atrophied faculties.
The papers which Lady Louisa had so laboriously collected were in the
drawer of the secretaire, near the fire. The key was on her watch-chain,
and her watch and chain were on the dressing-table. Nurse had got them
out and put them back at her request several times. She knew where they
were.
And now that Dick was dead, Nurse would certainly use them on Harry's
behalf, exactly as she herself had intended to use them.
Unscrupulous, wanton woman!
A paroxysm of rage momentarily blinded her. But after a time the
familiar room came creeping stealthily back out of the darkness, to
close in on her once more.
She had schemed and plotted, she had made use of the shrewd, capable
woman at her bedside. But the shrewd, capable woman had schemed and
plotted too, and had made use of her son, her poor half-witted Harry.
For now, at last, now that power had been wrested out of her own safe
hands into the clutch of this designing woman, Lady Louisa owned to
herself that Harry was half-witted. She had intended him, her favourite
child, to have everything, and Janey and Roger to be his protective
satellites. She had perfect confidence in Roger.
But now this accursed, self-seeking woman, who had made a cat's paw of
Harry, had ruined everything. She, not Roger, would now have control of
the property. She would be supreme. Harry would be wax in her hands. Her
word would be law. She could turn her out of the Dower House if she
wished it. Everything--even the Manvers diamonds in the safe downstairs
which she had worn all her life--belonged to _her_ now. Everything
except in name was hers already--if Dick had died intestate. And no
doubt he had so died. How she had hoped and prayed he would do as he had
done! How could she have guessed that his doing so would prove the
worst, immeasurably the worst calamity of all? Lady Louisa was appalled.
She felt sick unto death.
She had laboured for her children's welfare to the last, and now she had
been struck down as on a battlefield, and the feet of the enemy were
trampling her in the dust.
The door opened, and the adversary came in. She and her patient eyed
each other steadily. Then the nurse went to the dressing-table and took
the watch with its chain and pendant key, and opened the drawer in the
secretaire. Lady Louisa watched her take out a bundle of papers and put
them in her pocket. Then she locked the drawer and replaced the watch,
and returned to the bedside. She wiped away the beads of sweat which
stood on Lady Louisa's forehead, touched her brow and nostrils with
eau-de-Cologne, and sat down in her accustomed place. Lady Louisa saw
that her eyes were red.
"If looks could kill, yours would kill me, milady," she said. "It's been
hard on you to have me to tend you. But that's all over now. Don't you
fret about it any more. I shall go away to-morrow, and I don't suppose
you'll ever be troubled by the sight of me in this world again."
Presently Janey came in, and the nurse at once withdrew. She took off
her gloves, and put back her heavy veil.
"It is all over," she said, with the familiar gesture of stroking her
mother's hand. "Such a sunny, quiet day for Dick's home-coming. We ought
all to be thankful that his long imprisonment is over, that his release
has come."
The other prisoner heard from the depths of her forlorn cell.
"And I ought to tell you, mother, that there is no will. Aunt Jane and
Roger have looked everywhere, and made inquiries. I am afraid there is
no longer any doubt that Dick has died without making one. So you will
have your wish." The gentle voice had a tinge of bitterness. "Everything
will go to Harry."
When Janey came downstairs again she found Roger sitting in the library
with a hand on each knee. He looked worn out.
She made fresh tea for him, and he drank it in silence, while she
mended his split glove.
"Well, it's over," he said at last.
"All the arrangements were so carefully made," she said softly, putting
her little thumb into the big thumb of his glove, and finding where the
mischief had started. He watched her without seeing her.
"I think everything went right," he said. "I hope it did, and Black did
his part. I never heard him read so well."
"I thought the same."
Roger was so accustomed to hear this expression from Janey whenever he
made a statement that he had long since ceased to listen to it.
"I'm thankful there was no hitch. I could not sleep last night, earache
or something, and I had an uneasy feeling--very silly of me, but I could
not get it out of my head--that one of those women would turn up and
make a scene."
"From what you've told me, Mary Deane would never have done a thing like
that."
"No. She was too proud, but there was the other one, the Fontainebleau
one. I had a sort of idea _she_ might have been in the church. Queer
things happen now and then. I didn't like to look round. Mustn't be
looking about at a funeral. I suppose you didn't see anyone that might
have been her?"
Janey laid down the glove.
"I didn't look round either," she said.