WHO KILLED LADY CLARICE?
The news spread like lightning; the men, as they rode furiously in
search of her husband and doctor, told the story to those who listened
with horror-stricken faces.
“Lady Alden of Aldenmere has been drowned in the river Lee, that part
called the Pool, in Holme Woods.”
In the meantime they had carried the body of the hapless lady to her
own chamber; the weeping, terrified servants filled the room, and Mrs.
Glynn, the housekeeper, armed with authority, sent them all away
except Mary Thorne. They laid her on the sumptuous bed, with its pink
silk and white lace hangings; they wrung the water from her long, fair
hair, and then there came the sound of an arrival.
“All the doctors on earth could not help her, poor lady,” said Mrs.
Glynn, with a long-drawn sigh. But the doctors came in and tried their
best.
“Stone dead--she has been dead over two hours,” said Dr. Mayne. “How
did it happen?”
Before there was time for a reply the door opened again, and Sir Ronald
Alden, the lady’s husband, master of Aldenmere, entered.
He walked quickly up to the bedside and his eyes fell upon the silent
figure lying there. The ghastly fear in his face deepened as he gazed.
“What is it?” he said, clutching Dr. Mayne’s arm. “What has
happened--what is this?”
“You must bear it bravely, Sir Ronald,” said the doctor, pityingly.
“Lady Alden has met with a terrible accident.”
He bent over her with trembling hands and wild, desperate horror in his
face.
“She is dead?” he cried.
“Yes,” said the doctor, quietly; “she is dead. Poor lady; she has been
dead for two hours.”
Sir Ronald sank back in a chair. He repeated the words with a gasping
sob, more terrible than tears.
“Dead!” he said, “my wife--Clarice--dead!”
They went away, doctors and servants, thinking it would be better to
leave him alone with his dead, to give him time for the first sharp
pain to vent itself in tears and words.
But to their surprise, in a few minutes he followed them, with the
ghastly pallor on his face.
“How did it happen?” he cried; “you have not told me that.”
“We do not know,” replied Dr. Mayne. “It has all been so strange, so
awfully sudden. Half an hour ago one of your grooms galloped over to
my house and told me Lady Alden had been found drowned in the river. I
came at once, and found she had been dead two hours and more. You will
hear more details from the servants.”
“You are sure she is dead?” he repeated. “There have been wonderful
cases of resuscitation after apparent drowning. Has all been done that
is possible?”
“Only God could restore her to life,” said the doctor, reverently.
While the words were yet on his lips, the door of the library opened
and the housekeeper came in, looking so ill and alarmed that Dr. Mayne
went near to her.
“Oh, sir!” she cried, “will you come upstairs?--will you come up to my
lady’s room?”
“Certainly.” And the doctor, wondering much what had happened, rose to
go.
“Stay!” said Sir Ronald. “What is it, Mrs. Glynn?”
“I cannot tell you, Sir Ronald, it is too horrible. My lady was not
drowned.”
“Not drowned!” they repeated.
“No,” said the woman, with a shudder; “it is worse than that.”
Dr. Mayne waited to hear no more; he went to the poor lady’s room at
once; Sir Ronald followed him. There they found the maid wringing her
hands and crying aloud that it was a wicked and a cruel deed.
“Tell me what it is,” said the doctor, firmly.
Then Mrs. Glynn turned down the blue satin quilt.
“Look, sir,” she said; “when we began to undress the poor lady we found
this.”
Dr. Mayne bent down and saw through the silken robe and fine white
linen a cut made by some sharp instrument, evidently very small and
pointed. He tore away the dress, and there on the white skin was a deep
wound just over the heart. Only a few drops of blood had fallen from
it; it was not large enough for a knife to have done it, it must have
been caused by some sharp instrument long enough to have pierced the
heart.
“How awful!” cried the doctor, hoarsely; “why, Lady Alden has been
murdered--murdered, I say, Sir Ronald, and flung into the water--look!”
Sir Ronald bent down and saw the mark.
“She has been stabbed through the heart. She must have died in an
instant, and then have been thrown into the water. This is no accident,
but foul, black, treacherous murder! I cannot even imagine what weapon
has been used. It was evidently not much larger than a common bodkin,
but long and sharp. Who can have done such a deed, Sir Ronald?”
“I cannot tell; she had not an enemy in the world. I cannot guess.”
“You had better come away from this room,” said the doctor,
compassionately; “we can do no good; it only makes you wretched.”
“I will go to my room,” said Sir Ronald, hoarsely; “I--I cannot bear
it, doctor--you must see to everything for me.”
And Sir Ronald, with tottering steps, went from the death chamber,
where the horror seemed to be deepening every hour, and Dr. Mayne was
left to do the best he could.
“It is too horrible,” he said to Mrs. Glynn. “I do not think such an
event ever happened before in the memory of man. Will you see that one
of the grooms goes at once to Leeholme and brings back the inspector
of police?--there is no time to lose.”
If the little bird which had sung upon the branches could have spoken
and have told what had happened that summer morning in the Holme Woods!