Left alone, Teresa went into the sitting-room: she was afraid to show
herself at the bedside.
Mr. Null had destroyed the one hope which had supported her thus
far--the hope of escaping from England with Carmina, before Mrs.
Gallilee could interfere. Looking steadfastly at that inspiriting
prospect, she had forced herself to sign the humble apology and
submission which the lawyers had dictated. What was the prospect now?
Heavily had the merciless hand of calamity fallen on that brave old
soul--and, at last, it had beaten her down! While she stood at the
window, mechanically looking out, the dreary view of the back street
trembled and disappeared. Teresa was crying. Happily for herself, she
was unable to control her own weakness; the tears lightened her heavy
heart. She waited a little, in the fear that her eyes might betray her,
before she returned to Carmina. In that interval, she heard the sound of
a closing door, on the floor above.
“The music-master!” she said to herself.
In an instant, she was at the sitting-room door, looking through the
keyhole. It was the one safe way of watching him--and that was enough
for Teresa.
His figure appeared suddenly within her narrow range of view--on the
mat outside the door. If her distrust of him was without foundation,
he would go on downstairs. No! He stopped on the mat to listen--he
stooped--his eye would have been at the keyhole in another moment.
She seized a chair, and moved it. The sound instantly drove him away. He
went on, down the stairs.
Teresa considered with herself what safest means of protection--and, if
possible, of punishment as well--lay within her reach. How, and where,
could the trap be set that might catch him?
She was still puzzled by that question, when the landlady made her
appearance--politely anxious to hear what the doctors thought of their
patient. Satisfied so far, the wearisome woman had her apologies to make
next, for not having yet cautioned Mr. Le Frank.
“Thinking over it, since last night,” she said confidentially, “I cannot
imagine how you heard him walking overhead. He has such a soft step that
he positively takes me by surprise when he comes into my room. He has
gone out for an hour; and I have done him a little favour which I am
not in the habit of conferring on ordinary lodgers--I have lent him my
umbrella, as it threatens rain. In his absence, I will ask you to listen
while I walk about in his room. One can’t be too particular, when rest
is of such importance to your young lady--and it has struck me as just
possible, that the floor of his room may be in fault. My dear, the
boards may creak! I’m a sad fidget, I know; but, if the carpenter can
set things right--without any horrid hammering, of course!--the sooner
he is sent for, the more relieved I shall feel.”
Through this harangue, the nurse had waited, with a patience far from
characteristic of her, for an opportunity of saying a timely word. By
some tortuous mental process, that she was quite unable to trace, the
landlady’s allusion to Mr. Le Frank had suggested the very idea of
which, in her undisturbed solitude, she had been vainly in search.
Never before, had the mistress of the house appeared to Teresa in such a
favourable light.
“You needn’t trouble yourself, ma’am,” she said, as soon as she could
make herself heard; “it _was_ the creaking of the boards that told me
somebody was moving overhead.”
“Then I’m not a fidget after all? Oh, how you relieve me! Whatever the
servants may have to do, one of them shall be sent instantly to the
carpenter. So glad to be of any service to that sweet young creature!”
Teresa consulted her watch before she returned to the bedroom.
The improvement in Carmina still continued: she was able to take some
of the light nourishment that was waiting for her. As Benjulia had
anticipated, she asked to have the blind lowered a little. Teresa drew
it completely over the window: she had her own reasons for tempting
Carmina to repose. In half an hour more, the weary girl was sleeping,
and the nurse was at liberty to set her trap for Mr. Le Frank.
Her first proceeding was to dip the end of a quill pen into her bottle
of salad oil, and to lubricate the lock and key of the door that gave
access to the bedroom from the stairs. Having satisfied herself that the
key could now be used without making the slightest sound, she turned to
the door of communication with the sitting-room next.
This door was covered with green baize. It had handles but no lock; and
it swung inwards, so as to allow the door of the cupboard (situated in
the angle of the sitting-room wall) to open towards the bedroom freely.
Teresa oiled the hinges, and the brass bolt and staple which protected
the baize door on the side of the bedroom. That done, she looked again
at her watch.
Mr. Le Frank’s absence was expected to last for an hour. In five minutes
more, the hour would expire.
After bolting the door of communication, she paused in the bedroom, and
wafted a kiss to Carmina, still at rest. She left the room by the door
which opened on the stairs, and locked it, taking away the key with her.
Having gone down the first flight of stairs, she stopped and went back.
The one unsecured door, was the door which led into the sitting-room
from the staircase. She opened it and left it invitingly ajar. “Now,”
she said to herself, “the trap will catch him!”
The hall clock struck the hour when she entered the landlady’s room.
The woman of many words was at once charmed and annoyed. Charmed to
hear that the dear invalid was resting, and to receive a visit from the
nurse: annoyed by the absence of the carpenter, at work somewhere else
for the whole of the day. “If my dear husband had been alive, we should
have been independent of carpenters; he could turn his hand to anything.
Now do sit down--I want you to taste some cherry brandy of my own
making.”
As Teresa took a chair, Mr. Le Frank returned. The two secret
adversaries met, face to face.
“Surely I remember this lady?” he said.
Teresa encountered him, on his own ground. She made her best curtsey,
and reminded him of the circumstances under which they had formerly met.
The hospitable landlady produced her cherry brandy. “We are going to
have a nice little chat; do sit down, sir, and join us.” Mr. Le Frank
made his apologies. The umbrella which had been so kindly lent to him,
had not protected his shoes; his feet were wet; and he was so sadly
liable to take cold that he must beg permission to put on his dry things
immediately.
Having bowed himself out, he stopped in the passage, and, standing on
tiptoe, peeped through a window in the wall, by which light was conveyed
to the landlady’s little room. The two women were comfortably seated
together, with the cherry brandy and a plate of biscuits on a table
between them. “In for a good long gossip,” thought Mr. Le Frank. “Now is
my time!”
Not five minutes more had passed, before Teresa made an excuse for
running upstairs again. She had forgotten to leave the bell rope, in
case Carmina woke, within the reach of her hand. The excellent heart of
the hostess made allowance for natural anxiety. “Do it, you good soul,”
she said; “and come back directly!” Left by herself, she filled her
glass again, and smiled. Sweetness of temper (encouraged by cherry
brandy) can even smile at a glass--unless it happens to be empty.
Approaching her own rooms, Teresa waited, and listened, before she
showed herself. No sound reached her through the half open sitting-room
door. She noiselessly entered the bedroom, and then locked the door
again. Once more she listened; and once more there was nothing to be
heard. Had he seen her on the stairs?
As the doubt crossed her mind, she heard the boards creak on the floor
above. Mr. Le Frank was in his room.
Did this mean that her well-laid plan had failed? Or did it mean that he
was really changing his shoes and stockings? The last inference was the
right one.
He had made no mere excuse downstairs. The serious interests that he
had at stake, were not important enough to make him forget his precious
health. His chest was delicate; a cold might settle on his lungs. The
temptation of the half-open door had its due effect on this prudent man;
but it failed to make him forget that his feet were wet.
The boards creaked again; the door of his room was softly closed--then
there was silence. Teresa only knew when he had entered the sitting-room
by hearing him try the bolted baize door. After that, he must have
stepped out again. He next tried the door of the bedchamber, from the
stairs.
There was a quiet interval once more. Teresa noiselessly drew back the
bolt; and, opening the baize door by a mere hair’s-breadth, admitted
sound from the sitting-room. She now heard him turning the key in a
chiffonier, which only contained tradesmen’s circulars, receipted bills,
and a few books.
(Even with the canister in the cupboard, waiting to be opened, his
uppermost idea was to discover Carmina’s vindictive motive in Carmina’s
papers!)
The contents of the chiffonier disappointed him--judging by the tone in
which he muttered to himself. The next sound startled Teresa; it was a
tap against the lintel of the door behind which she was standing. He had
thrown open the cupboard.
The rasping of the cover, as he took it off, told her that he was
examining the canister. She had put it back on the shelf, a harmless
thing now--the poison and the label having been both destroyed by fire.
Nevertheless, his choosing the canister, from dozens of other
things scattered invitingly about it, inspired her with a feeling of
distrustful surprise. She was no longer content to find out what he was
doing by means of her ears. Determined to see him, and to catch him in
the fact, she pulled open the baize door--at the moment when he must
have discovered that the canister was empty. A faint thump told her he
had thrown it on the floor.
The view of the sitting-room was still hidden from her. She had
forgotten the cupboard door.
Now that it was wide open, it covered the entrance to the bedroom, and
completely screened them one from the other. For the moment she was
startled, and hesitated whether to show herself or not. His voice
stopped her.
“Is there another canister?” he said to himself. “The dirty old savage
may have hidden it--”
Teresa heard no more. “The dirty old savage” was an insult not to be
endured! She forgot her intention of stealing on him unobserved; she
forgot her resolution to do nothing that could awaken Carmina. Her
fierce temper urged her into furious action. With both hands outspread,
she flew at the cupboard door, and banged it to in an instant.
A shriek of agony rang through the house. The swiftly closing door had
caught, and crushed, the fingers of Le Frank’s right hand, at the moment
when he was putting it into the cupboard again.
Without stopping to help him, without even looking at him, she ran back
to Carmina.
The swinging baize door fell to, and closed of itself. No second cry
was heard. Nothing happened to falsify her desperate assertion that the
shriek was the delusion of a vivid dream. She took Carmina in her arms,
and patted and fondled her like a child. “See, my darling, I’m with you
as usual; and I have heard nothing. Don’t, oh, don’t tremble in that
way! There--I’ll wrap you up in my shawl, and read to you. No! let’s
talk of Ovid.”
Her efforts to compose Carmina were interrupted by a muffled sound of
men’s footsteps and women’s voices in the next room.
She hurriedly opened the door, and entreated them to whisper and be
quiet. In the instant before she closed it again, she saw and heard.
Le Frank lay in a swoon on the floor. The landlady was kneeling by him,
looking at his injured hand; and the lodgers were saying, “Send him to
the hospital.”