THE LADY IN THE WOOD.
True to her promise Lady Georgina arrived at nine o’clock the following
day to take Nance for a ride. They had an hour and a half of vigorous
exercise, and Mrs. Rowton returned home with spirits raised in spite of
herself. A letter from her husband awaited her—it was dated from a big
London hotel and was written late the evening before. She seized it,
opened it eagerly, and with eyes full of passionate love and anxiety,
devoured the contents. The letter was short, and although every word
breathed affection, there was little or no information to be obtained
from the hurried scrawl.
“I am leaving England, Nance, for a short time,” wrote her
husband. “I cannot give you any information with regard to
where I am going. In short, my darling must make up her mind
to do without hearing from me for a few weeks. I know this is
hard on you, Nance, as it also is on me. The fates are bitterly
hard on us both, but we married, did we not, accepting the
position, and we must now endeavour to make the best of things.
Unexpectedly some day I shall be again at your side. Meanwhile,
believe that I am well, very well; believe that I will take
all possible care of myself, for your sweet sake; believe
also, that all my heart is yours—my best thoughts are yours.
Good-bye, my angel.
“Your loving
“ADRIAN.
“P.S.—Do not mention to anyone that I am out of England for
a time. You can say, if questioned, that I am detained on
business in town.”
“No, I won’t tell a lie,” said Nance to herself proudly.
She did not add any more. Even with her own anxious, beating heart,
she refused to commune over the contents of her letter. A flush burned
on either cheek, her eyes grew bright, with the brightness which often
precedes tears, but no tears came to them. She read the brief letter over
twice, then folded it up and slipped it into her pocket.
As she did this she noticed that Murray had come into the room, that he
had observed her action, and that his bold eyes, so like her husband’s,
were fixed on her face.
“Don’t look at me like that, Murray,” she said with a note in her voice
which sounded like a sob.
For answer the boy sprang to her side.
“Cry if you want to, auntie,” he said. “I know you want to. That letter
was from Uncle Adrian, was it not?”
“Yes, Murray.”
“And he told you that he must be away from home for a little?”
“Yes, dear. We won’t talk of it now.”
“But why not?” said Murray. “Why not talk of it to me? You see I am
accustomed to the sort of thing, Aunt Nancy; when I was young, quite a
little fellow, I had a mad, passionate feeling for Uncle Adrian, and when
he went away as he has done now and would give no address, I used nearly
to go wild. I used to stray off all by myself and have a terrible time.
But by-and-by, I saw it was foolish to make myself ill. He always came
back again, and I was glad, very glad, to see him. I thought him perfect
then,” concluded the boy.
“And you don’t think him perfect now?” said Nance.
He looked full at her, shut up his lips and was silent.
“I think you perfect,” he said after a long pause. “Don’t fret too much,
Aunt Nancy; but if you do fret, talk about it all to me, for though I am
a boy in years, some things have happened—yes, they have happened here
at beautiful Rowton Heights—which have turned me into a man. There are
times when I think I am almost an old man, for I feel quite a weight of
care, although, of course, I don’t talk of it. Don’t keep your grief too
much to yourself, Aunt Nancy, and be sure of one thing—that Uncle Adrian
will come back. Some day he’ll walk into the room. He’ll just whistle
as he knows how, and open the door and come in, and then it will be all
sunshine.”
“You are a dear little chap,” said Nancy, bending forward and kissing him.
He flushed when she did so.
“I love you so much,” he said enthusiastically. “Now I am the man and I
shall look after you. Have you eaten anything since you had your ride?”
“No; I had breakfast quite early and I am not hungry.”
“But that will never do. You must have some wine and a biscuit. Uncle
Adrian would wish it. Of course, he intended me to take great care of
you. It must have been an awful comfort to him to feel that I was about
when he had to leave you. I know where the wine is—I’ll go and fetch it.”
He ran off and returned in a moment or two with a glass of port and a box
of biscuits.
Nancy drank off the wine and felt all the better.
“Now you are to come out with me,” said the boy. “I have planned our
day. My tutor, Mr. Dixon, is not coming at all to-day. Uncle Adrian said
I might have two days’ holiday in order to look properly after you, and
won’t we have a good time of it! Are you up to a long, long walk?”
“Yes, anything,” said Nance. “Anything is better than the house.”
“Of course it is, and the day is so lovely. Well, come along, we’ll make
for the Rowton Woods. The road is all uphill, remember. You will be
pretty dead beat by the time you get there. Suppose we take some luncheon
with us?”
“Yes, that will be capital,” said Nancy; “much better than coming back to
a stately lunch here.”
“Oh! much better,” answered Murray, with a gleeful laugh. “I’ll run and
order sandwiches and a basket of grapes. Stay where you are, auntie;
I’ll be with you soon.”
Half an hour later the pair started off. Murray carried the grapes, and
Nance the basket of sandwiches. They looked like two children as they
crossed the grounds, passed through a stile, and found themselves in a
low-lying meadow which led to the opening which by-and-by was to bring
them into the famous Rowton Woods. In spite of her grief, in spite of
the fact that her husband’s letter, his mysterious letter, lay in her
pocket unanswered because it was impossible for her to answer it, Nancy’s
spirits rose. Her little companion was too healthy and charming not to
exercise a beneficial effect over her. Soon his gay laughter evoked hers,
and Nance found it possible to endure life even though Adrian was away.
“I wish, Murray,” she said, as presently they turned their steps
homeward, “that you and I might have the Heights all to ourselves. I
should never be lonely if I had plenty of your society.”
“I love to hear you say that,” answered the boy.
“Ha! ha!” laughed a voice in their ears.
The sound seemed to come from the ground beneath them. They turned
instinctively and saw a lady seated under a large tree. She was dressed
somewhat peculiarly in a neat little bonnet and mantle of old-world cut,
and a black alpaca dress. She wore cotton gloves, and although it was
winter and the sun was about to set, held a parasol, made of some light
fancy silk, over her head.
Nancy first thought that this peculiarly-dressed woman was one of her
neighbours. Murray touched her arm, however, and when she glanced at him,
she was forced to draw a different conclusion. His handsome little face
had turned deadly white.
“Go on, auntie,” he said in a whisper. “Don’t be a bit frightened. Just
go on quite quietly through the wood. I’ll follow you in a moment.”
“But who is that lady, Murray?”
“My mother,” answered the boy. “I must speak to her. I am not a bit
afraid.”
“But I am—it is not safe for you to be alone, I won’t leave you,” said
Nancy, her voice shaking in spite of herself.
“Ha! ha! what a nice little conversation you two are having,” said the
eccentric-looking lady, rising to her feet as she spoke and going towards
Nancy. “You are frightened, my pretty girl, although you try not to show
it. Well, perhaps you have cause. I know very well that there are times
when I am very dangerous. At times, too, I have got unnatural strength.
But it so happens that to-day I am in a quiet and tractable mood.”
“Let me take you home, mother,” said Murray. He ran up to her side and
laid his hand on her arm.
She shook it off with a sudden fierce gesture.
“Don’t touch me,” she shrieked; “you are the boy. It was on account of
you I got into all that trouble. I won’t speak to you! I won’t look at
you! Get out of my sight—go, at once!”
Her eyes, hitherto quiet, and, although somewhat wandering in their
expression, intelligent enough, began to blaze now with a fierce and
terrible fury.
“Go, Murray,” said Nancy; “go quickly back to the house. Your presence
excites your poor mother. No; I am not frightened now. Go, dear, no harm
will happen to me.”
“Yes, go, Murray Cameron,” shrieked his mother. “I don’t want you about.
When I look at you, mischievous, wild, uncontrollable thoughts come into
my head. Run away, child—get out of my sight as quickly as you can. I
have come here on purpose to speak to this young lady, and I won’t be
foiled by twenty little chaps like you. Go away, go at once.”
Nance nodded her head emphatically to the boy. He glanced from the mad
to the sane woman, and then turning abruptly, walked down the hill. When
he had gone a little distance he slipped behind a tree and waited with a
palpitating heart for the issue of events.
The moment he was out of sight, Mrs. Cameron strode straight up to Nance
and laid her hand on her arm.
“Look at me,” she said.
With an effort Nancy raised her frightened eyes.
“I have no reason to dislike you,” said the mad woman, “and you need not
fear me. I am anxious to have a right good stare at you, though. I am
devoured with curiosity about you.”
“Well, here I am,” said Nance.
“Here you are, indeed. What a finicking sort of voice you have, and your
face, although pretty, is not worth much. Perhaps I am wrong though—you
have an obstinate chin—I am glad you have an obstinate chin. You may
possibly have strength of character. I hate people without strength of
character.”
As she spoke, the woman placed her hand under Nancy’s chin, raised her
face and looked full into it. Her dancing wild eyes scanned each feature.
Presently she turned away laughing again.
“I do not hate you,” she said; “after all, you are harmless—you cannot
interfere with me. I hate your husband, though, and I hate Murray
Cameron.”
“But Murray is your child,” said Nancy, shocked.
“He is; but he has interfered with me, and I hate him. It was after his
birth I went off my head. Have I not good reason to dislike one who did
me an injury of that sort? I loved the boy’s father. Pah! what am I
talking about? Love was my undoing. Yes, I have had a strange history.
I’ll tell you my story some day, Mrs. Adrian Rowton. You must come and
see me some day in the Queen Anne wing.”
“Well, let me take you home now,” said Nance in a soothing tone.
“You have quite an agreeable way of speaking; and as you are not related
to me by any blood ties, I am willing to be civil to you. Call out to
that boy to get out of my sight—I know he is hiding behind that tree
yonder. You are perfectly safe—I would not hurt a hair of your pretty
head. But he is different.”
“Go home, Murray,” called out Nance.
He gave a low whistle in answer, and they heard his footsteps vanishing
down the hill.
“Now that is right,” said the mad woman, breathing a sigh of relief. “Now
I can really talk to you. Would you like to know why I am not confined in
an asylum? Would you like to know why I am kept in that dull Queen Anne
wing? You could not guess the reason, but I will tell it to you.”
“You shall some day,” said Nancy; “but now let me take you home.”
“I will tell you before I go. I have followed you on purpose to tell you.
Do you know what you did when you married Adrian Rowton?”
“Made myself very happy,” said Nancy in a faltering voice.
“So you think, you poor goose. Do you know what Adrian Rowton is?”
“I would rather you did not tell me.”
“Ha! ha! you are frightened, my pretty little dear. That good husband of
yours is away from home and he won’t give you his address. Ha! ha! he
says he will come back again unexpectedly, does he not? Ha! ha! ha! Well,
so he will. Now you ask him a question when he returns—ask him what goes
on in the Queen Anne wing at night—in the cellars, I mean. There are big
cellars under that part of the house—ask him what they are used for. Ask
him, too, why his mad sister is not put into an asylum; why she is used
as a—ha! ha!—a blind—ha! ha!”
“Now, madam, what nonsense this is. Come home this minute. You shall
suffer for this conduct.”
A strong voice rose on the air, firm steps were heard approaching. The
poor mad lady glanced round with a wild expression; suddenly she clung
close to Nance.
“Save me, save me!” she gasped; “that is Leah’s voice. At times she is
awfully cruel to me. Sometimes she beats me. Oh, save me!”
The poor creature’s voice rang out on the air with a wild scream.