A NINE DAYS' WONDER
Petronella made the terrible announcement with ominous calmness. Then,
when she saw Stephen staring at her open-mouthed, her wild southern
nature could no longer be controlled. With a choking sob, she flung
her apron over her head, and began to lament loudly for her dear
padrona. Her voice ascended shrilling in a long wail, like that of the
Corsican vocieri. Luckily there were few people in the street, and the
sound was scarcely noticed; it was simply thought that the excitable
Italian woman was in one of her tantrums. And Beorminster was used to
Petronella's fits of rage. Stephen caught her suddenly and dragging
her inside by main force closed the door.
Before Petronella could recover her breath for another howl, she found
herself on one of the dining-room chairs with Marsh standing over her.
The young man was so shaken that he could hardly speak. The prophecy
of Sidney, the hurried journey to Beorminster on a grocer's cart which
he had met near Saxham, and now the terrible confirmation of the
death; these things shook him to the soul. He hardly recognised his
own voice. "Tell me everything that happened," he said slowly, "do not
make any mistake. I must know all."
Petronella crossed herself. "Holy Virgin," she muttered, "his eyes are
like coals." Then after a muffled wail, she burst out into rapid
Italian which Stephen understood easily from his habit of talking to
her and to Mrs. Marsh.
"After you left at mid-day Signor Stephano, the padrona tried to get a
little sleep. When the postman came at two o'clock, he brought one
letter for her. I took it up, and woke her. Then I went out of the
room. In a quarter of an hour the Signora called me. She looked white,
so white. The letter was before her. She told me to give her the
chloral as she wanted to sleep. I asked her if she had bad news in the
letter. She said no, but that she felt suddenly sick. I gave her the
medicine in the little bottle, and went away. She took some I think,
for when I went up again an hour later she was asleep. I went again
and again--she was still asleep. Then I took up her tea, and wanted to
waken her. Gran' Dio--she was dead--dead!"
"What time was that Petronella?"
"At half past five Signor, the hour when I always take up the
Signora's tea. Oh, she is dead and I nursed her. Cursed be it that I
live still."
While the old woman wailed on, Stephen shuddered. The hour was that
which Sidney had named. "Are you sure she died at that time?" he
asked.
"Quite sure Signor Stephano. When I went in before she was only
asleep; I saw her breathing. I was up at a quarter past five and she
still breathed, and had a colour in her poor cheek. When I set down
the tray I turned to see that she was quite still, her face pale as
snow. I put my hand to her heart. She was dead. Ah Dio mio, she must
have passed away when I entered the room. I heard a sigh at the door,"
said Petronella beginning to embellish. "It was her spirit that
passed. What could I do but open the window to let the soul go free?
Ah Holy Virgin!" and the old woman crossed herself again.
By this time Stephen had somewhat recovered his composure. Without a
word he went up to the room. Petronella had drawn a sheet over the
dead. He drew it down gently, and saw the waxen face beneath. Every
wrinkle had been smoothed away, and there rested a peaceful expression
on that once stormy countenance. As Marsh stood tearlessly looking at
the dead, he heard a light step enter the room. Herrick appeared,
almost as pale as the dead woman. After a glance at the corpse, he
recognised that all was over, and looked at Marsh with a shudder.
"Yes!" whispered the young man replying to the unspoken thought, "at
half past five o'clock!"
Herrick shuddered again and drew the sheet over the dead face. Then he
took Stephen by the arm and led him downstairs into the study. There
he left him in a chair and went into the dining-room, whence he
returned with a decanter and two glasses. Pouring out two stiff
glasses of brandy he forced Stephen to drink one, and took the other
himself. Both were in need of the stimulant, for the event had shaken
them considerably.
By and bye Marsh laid down his head on the table and wept quietly. He
had been devoted to the dead woman and was all unstrung. Moreover the
uncanny way in which the first announcement of the death had been
made, shocked him deeply. Herrick went out to see Petronella. He found
her in the death chamber. A genuine Romanist, she had placed candles
round the bed, and a crucifix on the breast of the dead, On her knees
she was praying aloud. Seeing that all had been done that could be
done, Herrick returned to the study. Stephen was calmer, and inclined
to talk.
"It was half past five as Sidney said," he said in a low voice. "Oh,
Herrick what does it mean?"
"I do not know," said the usually sceptically doctor, "After you had
gone, I asked the boy how he knew. He said that while asleep he had
dreamed--so he put it--that he was standing in your mother's bedroom.
She was dying in a stupor, and he saw the breath gradually leave her
body. He also said that he saw her spirit after she was dead. But of
course that must be nonsense."
"After what he said I can believe anything" said Marsh, "what else?"
"Well," said Jim uncomfortably, "he described the bedroom exactly. Was
he ever in it Stephen?"
"No; certainly not. And he described it?"
"Exactly; and as being in the state in which it now is. He said that
Petronella came in at the door with a tray and placed it beside the
bed. She then put her hand on your mother's heart and found that she
was dead. Afterwards she opened the window. Why--what--Stephen?"
"My God!" cried the young man now ghastly white. "That is exactly what
Petronella told me she did. Oh, oh!" and he fainted. Herrick scarcely
wondered at it; he felt deadly sick himself and it needed another
glass of brandy before he could recover himself sufficiently to attend
to the unconscious man.
Next day the news was known all over Beorminster; and Sidney's
prophecy also. The Endicotte family would fain have kept it to
themselves; but Sidney himself had spread the news. For on the way
home and before the rumour could have reached Saxham,--which it did
not until late that night--he told several people of Mrs. Marsh's
death and the hour at which it had occurred. So the report spread, and
that night Saxham, accustomed to Sidney's second sight, was in a
ferment. Many believed, others doubted, and the upshot was that a few
enquirers went over to Beorminster whence they rushed back with a
confirmation of the news. Mrs. Marsh was dead, and moreover she had
passed away at half past five. Up till a late hour that night nothing
was talked about but this wonderful boy, and next morning a crowd
collected about "The Grange" hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
Ida was very angry at Sidney's indiscretion and told him so. He took
it all placidly. "Why should I not say that Mrs. Marsh was dead?" he
asked. "She _is_ dead; and she died at the time I said."
"But how did you know, Sidney dear?" asked the perplexed sister. "When
I was on the sofa in the library I dreamed that I was in her room, I
saw her die, and the white spirit get out of her body. The spirit
pointed to a bottle on the table beside the bed, and then I forgot all
till I woke on the sofa and saw Stephen looking at me. Then I told him
to go home. There is nothing strange about it Ida. You know I can see
things."
Ida shuddered and ran away to tell Bess that Sidney was a most
uncomfortable person to talk to. The boy stayed indoors at the request
of Bess all the morning, and then slipped off in the afternoon to go
to his favourite haunt in the pine wood. When he came into the village
the next day, he refused to talk of his dream or vision or whatever it
might be called, and seemed quite cross when it was referred to. From
that day Sidney was shunned as though he had the plague. Everyone was
afraid of being told too much about themselves or their relations.
This troubled the boy very little. He went on living in his usual
dreamy way, and had no more visions for a time. Even at Biffstead he
was regarded as something dangerous. But there by tacit consent the
subject was dropped.
What Dr. Jim thought of all this, it was difficult to say. Sidney's
prophecy was thrown into the background so far as he was concerned by
the discovery that Mrs. Marsh had died from an overdose of chloral.
He had always warned her that she might make a mistake, and apparently
she had done so at last. But when Petronella told him of the letter he
changed his mind. What if she had committed suicide? He recollected
her vague allusions to enemies, and her persistent declaration that
she might not live long. At once he set about hunting for the letter,
Petronella helping him. But it was not to be discovered although they
searched high and low. At last, Herrick spied ashes in the fireless
grate, and found that some paper had been burnt, without doubt the
letter Mrs. Marsh had received.
"Was there a fire in the grate on the day Mrs. Marsh died?" he asked.
"No, Signor Dottore. The grate was empty."
"Of course. I need not have asked. This flimsy stuff would have been
swept away with the ashes. Humph! She must have got up and burnt the
letter, and then--Well, we must wait for the inquest."
It was Herrick who attended to all the details of the funeral, as
Marsh was completely bewildered by the sudden catastrophe. The inquest
resulted in a verdict that Mrs. Marsh had died from an overdose of
chloral, but no one hinted at suicide. As Dr. Jim gave evidence of her
use of the drug to alleviate pain and obtain sleep, it was concluded
that she had miscalculated the dose. Even Stephen believed that this
was the case, for Herrick said nothing of his suspicions. What
Petronella thought Dr. Jim could not find out. She was as secret as
the grave.
Mrs. Marsh was buried in the family vault of the Carr's at Saxham. A
large number of people came to the funeral, not because the dead woman
had been popular, but that they wished to attend the rites of a person
whose death had been foretold in so curious a manner. In the vault,
the coffin was laid beside that of the late Colonel, and Herrick
shuddered as he thought of these enemies lying side by side.
Certainly, when the new vault was ready the body of the Colonel would
be removed to it, in accordance with the terms of the will. But it
would be some time before this was completed, and meantime Carr's body
remained in the old sepulchre. Pending its removal, Stephen had had a
new iron door put on the old vault, and kept the key to himself. It
was quite safe in his pocket, and he never parted from it.
After the funeral Herrick made several attempts to discover something
about the letter delivered to Mrs. Marsh on the day of her death,
although he was careful not to hint that it had any connection with
her sudden end. But although he questioned the postman and the postal
authorities, he could gain very little satisfaction. It was a plain
envelope stamped--so far as could be remembered--with the London
post-mark. "Humph!" said Dr. Jim to himself when he acquired this
information. "Frisco is in London. I wonder if he wrote that letter?"
However it was little use conjecturing. Mrs. Marsh was dead and had
taken her secret and the secret of Colonel Carr along with her into
the next world. Herrick put the idea out of his head, as he had much
to do in considering his future position. Three or four days after the
funeral he was alone with Stephen in the Beorminster house, and there
spoke to the young man about his movements.
"I must return to London Marsh," he said. "I can do no more good here;
and I must attend to my practice."
"No," replied Stephen quickly, "you must not leave me like this
Herrick. I have grown used to you as a companion. I like you more than
any man I ever met, and without you I should be lost. You must stay
with me. Is your practice a large one?"
"On the contrary it is very small. I have been established in West
Kensington only for two years. If I had not a small income of my own I
should starve."
"Well you must come to me. I hope you will Herrick. I am rich, and I
can allow you a good income--say a thousand a year."
"That is generous of you Marsh. Did your mother speak of this to you?"
"No! she did not. Why do you ask?"
"Because she wanted me to stay with you, and proposed the same
amount."
"I am glad," cried Stephen his face lighting up. "I can do this much
at least for her memory. So she wished you to remain with me? You will
of course. I cannot do without you."
Herrick smoked in silence for a few minutes. "A man in my position has
no right to turn his back on such good fortune. All the same Marsh, if
I did not like you personally; if I did not think I could earn my
income by helping you, I would not take the position."
"Then you will do so?" cried Stephen stretching out his hand.
The doctor grasped it heartily in token of acceptance. "But I am not
without scruples as to taking such a large amount of money," said he.
"I make only a couple of hundred a year by my practice. You rate me at
a high value."
"Not too high for the good you will do me," said Marsh heartily. "I
have been a different man since you came into my life. You have shown
me how to look at things in a broader spirit. I am less morbid than I
was. No, Herrick. I have eight thousand a year, and you shall have the
sum I name."
"Very good. I am delighted. But for what period? You see Marsh, some
day you will marry, and then you will find in your wife the companion
necessary to your existence; you will not want me. I think we had
better make an agreement for three years. By that time I shall have
done you all the good I can; you will be used to your position. And,"
continued Jim looking into the young man's eyes, "you will be looking
for a wife."
Stephen nodded. "Three years then," he said, "if you want a document,
the lawyers can draw it up. As to marrying, I dare say I shall marry.
Already I have"--here he broke off abruptly, "there are some things a
man cannot talk about even to his best friend. Let the subject of love
and marriage be tabooed between us Herrick."
"Certainly!" replied the doctor rather stiffly, "I have no wish to
force your confidence Marsh."
"It's not that; but--I have an idea in my head. It may come to
nothing. On the other hand--well," he dismissed it with a wave of his
hand, "time enough to talk about it when it ripens. Let us change the
subject."
In the face of this unwillingness on the part of Marsh, Herrick was
obliged to do as he was asked. He wondered if Stephen really loved Ida
Endicotte or whether it was Bess who attracted him. Time alone would
reveal the truth, so Herrick for the moment thought no more about the
matter. He had engaged himself to look after Stephen, and at once set
to work to earn his income. The subject was introduced by Marsh.
"I think you and I ought to go abroad for a year or two," he said
restlessly. "I feel that both Beorminster and Saxham are distasteful
to me for a time. I have arranged to let Petronella live here, on a
small income. I thought she would like to return to Italy, but she
begged me to allow her to stay here for a time. I asked her to go to
'The Pines' but she refused. So here she must stay, and you and I
Herrick?----"
"We will go up to London for a couple of weeks," said Herrick
promptly.
"But I want to go further afield and for a longer time."
"Have you forgotten the terms of the will?" put in Dr. Jim. "You must
pay a monthly visit to that vault, or the money goes to Frisco!"
Stephen nodded somewhat grimly. "I should have remembered," said he,
"yes! I cannot travel until the year is at an end. But even if it so
happened that I did not go to the vault and lost the money, I do not
think that Frisco would return to claim it."
"Well I don't know," replied Herrick musingly, "after all we cannot be
certain that Frisco killed his master. He may re-appear and explain
his flight and prove his innocence. On the face of it, it would seem
he is guilty but the evidence is all circumstantial. Better stick to
the terms of the will, and not give him the chance of claiming the
money."
"Very good Herrick. Then we will go up to London, and you can take me
to tailors and all the other tradesmen whose goods I may need. I want
you to educate me Dr. Jim. You have had a varied experience of the
world and I have not. I am a country mouse, and you the Town one."
"At thirty-five I must have had some experience Marsh. Yes! I have
travelled in my time. I have been round Europe with a man I was trying
to reclaim from strong drink----"
"Did you succeed?"
"Partly," replied the doctor with a shrug, "he is a fairly decent
member of society now. Nothing to boast of. Well Marsh, I have also
been doctor on a liner to the East. Finally I went with an expedition
into the interior of Africa. Now I am settled in the dull quarter of
West Kensington, and often wish I could be off again on the long
trail. Civilised life is too respectable for me."
"When the year is out we will go on the long trail together."
"Well," said Herrick, "an exploration of our planet will do you no
harm. Later on you can settle down and be comfortable with a wife--I
beg your pardon I am trenching on forbidden ground. However Marsh I am
glad things are so arranged. It is a bit of good luck for me."
"And for me also Herrick. You can do me nothing but good."
"I hope so," said Herrick cheerfully "the first thing I intend to do
is to take you out into the open air. You must hunt and shoot and golf
and swim, and get yourself into a state of physical perfection. Your
mind is all right. I like your poems, and you have it in you to do
great things Marsh. But first of all you must attend to the body."
"I have neglected these things," said Stephen straightening himself,
"but my life was so narrow, that I did not look after myself as a man
should. Besides to tell you the truth Herrick I am so much of the
student, that out-of-door life never attracted me."
"That is because you have never had a companion to interest you in the
life," said Herrick smiling. "Now, I am devoted to athletic sports of
all kinds. If I can infect you with my enthusiasm you will soon be
able to take the deepest interest in them yourself. Not that I was
fortunate enough to succeed with Joyce," finished Dr. Jim with a
shrug.
"Ah, your friend who was staying at the Carr Arms? I never met him."
"You will when we go to town. He is not a bad little chap but his
brain is too large for his body, Besides which he is neurotic, and
intensely trying at times. I don't suppose I should have cured him
altogether, but I could have made him twice the man he was, had he
only taken my advice. But Robin was always as obstinate as a mule. He
lives into himself and for himself. There is no hope for a man like
that."
"I hope you will succeed with me Herrick."
"I am certain to succeed with you. In the first place your nerves are
not diseased: in the second you are less selfish, and thirdly you are
sensible enough to see sense--and that last is not given to many men.
Well, we have had a long talk Marsh, so we had better go to bed, and
begin our new life to-morrow."
It was three days after this that the two went up to London. Herrick
called at Biffstead, and told Bess about his new relations with
Stephen. She expressed herself greatly pleased. "You will do him no
end of good," she said, "physical exercise is what he needs. He in
making good use of his money," she added emphatically.
"You have too good an opinion of me, Miss Bess."
The girl laughed, and blushed. In her heart she liked Herrick greatly.
He was so big, so strong, so sensible--exactly the sort of man she
admired. Frank, her brother resembled him in many ways, but he was not
so worldly-wise, nor perhaps so clever. However she was too much the
woman to make a direct reply to Herrick's speech, and changed the
subject. "When you come back we must have our talk," she said.
"Meantime I shall give you something to go on with in London. Do you
know anything about cryptographs Dr. Jim?"
"No. I have looked into the subject once or twice, but I never did
much good at it. Why?" Bess went to her desk and fished out a bit of
paper. "I want you to see if you can solve this," she said. "I have
done my best and failed. It is a piece of paper I picked up in the
Colonel's house when he was alive. I am sure it has to do with his
secret, whatever that might be. Else why should it be in secret
writing?"
Herrick took the paper she held out. It was a yellow kind of Chinese
paper, tough, and wrinkled. On it was written in red ink the
following,
"S.g.d. K.Z.R.S. V.z.q.m.h.f. S.h.k.k. 1.5.I.t.k.x. S.i.d.n.
C.d.z.s.g. T.m.k.d.r.r.----"
This jumble of letters made Herrick stare. He could make nothing of
them. Yet here, no doubt, was the secret of Colonel Carr! Perhaps if
the writing could be read, the reason of his death might be explained,
even the name of the assassin might be given. Bess watched him
eagerly.
"What do you think of it?" she asked.
"I daresay it may help us," Herrick said doubtfully, "if the Colonel
had a secret?"
"_If_ he had," cried Bess emphatically. "I _know_ he had!"
"Then it may be contained in this mixture of letters. You have failed,
you say? Well Miss Bess, I don't know that I shall succeed. However I
will try. You will let me have this?"
"If you will take the very greatest care of it. I have a copy to be
sure; but that is the original."
"I'll bring it back to you safe and sound in two weeks."
"You will be back then?" she asked with a quick flush.
"Certainly. I shall arrange about my practice and return for good."
Bess looked down. "I am glad," she said in a low tone; then thinking
she might have said too much she smiled in his face. "Of course I am
glad," she cried gaily, "are we not pledged to find out who killed the
Colonel?"