“BUT WHERE IS COUNTY GUY?”
“What shall assuage the unforgotten pain,
And teach the unforgetful to forget?”
I lay awake for a long time after I got into bed, and I had not been
long asleep when some sound wakened me. I was at first not sorry to
awake; I had been sleeping uneasily and feverishly, and my dreams had
been full of disasters and difficulties. I did not trouble myself much
as to what the sound was--probably a rat, as the house was overrun with
them--and I tried to see the face of my watch by the light of the fire,
which was still burning brightly. I had made out that it was half-past
one, when I again heard a sound. It was a movement in the next room, as
if a chair had been pushed against by some one moving cautiously in the
dark. I do not pretend to being superior to irrational terrors at night,
and now the blood rushed back to my head from my heart, as I sat up in
bed and tried to persuade myself that what I had heard was the effect of
imagination.
There was dead silence for a few seconds, and then a hand was passed
over the other side of the paper-covered door, as if feeling for the
latch. I could not have moved to save my life, and remained sitting bolt
upright, with my eyes fixed upon the door. It was a weak and badly
fitting one, made of single planks, and at first refused to open, but it
had finally to yield to the pressure applied to it. It opened with a
jerk, and I saw by the firelight that the figure which appeared in the
doorway was neither ghost nor burglar, but was that of the woman whose
special mission it had seemed to be to terrify me ever since I came to
Durrus.
“What do you want?” I demanded, as courageously as I could, though my
voice was less valiant than I could have wished.
Moll advanced a step into the room, keeping her face down and half
averted from me, while her large hands kept clutching and plucking at
the cloak she wore.
“Go away,” I said, feeling exceedingly frightened. “You know you are not
allowed to come in here.”
She stopped still for a moment, and looked at me. The deep shadows which
the fire threw on her face made it look absolutely appalling. Her lips
moved incessantly, and her malevolent expression, as she glanced at me
out of the corners of her eyes, made me feel certain that she was
trying to curse me; but, except a guttural mouthing sound, I could
distinguish nothing. While this imprecation, or whatever it was, was
going on, she kept edging sideways towards the sofa, and, cautiously
putting out her hand, she picked up the large cushion that was on it.
Still watching; me intently, she moved towards the bed, crushing and
working the pillow about in her hands. I had no idea what she was going
to do, and wildly thought of making a rush past her to the other door,
and escaping down the corridor; but, beside the disadvantage of leaving
a stronghold where, if the worst came to the worst, I could always pull
the clothes over my head, I had a horrible fear that she might run after
me. I determined to make a last effort, and, before she could come any
closer, I said determinately--
“If you do not go away at once, I shall call the master.”
At this, to my unspeakable relief, she looked hastily round over her
shoulder, and let the cushion fall. Drawing the hood of her cloak over
her head, she slowly retreated into the room out of which she had come,
and with a final roll of her dreadful eyes upon me, she closed the
paper-covered door after her. I listened intently, and presently heard
the rustle of her cloak against the walls as she went down the corridor,
and soon afterwards a door in some distant part of the house opened and
shut.
I drew a long breath; she was out of the house now. I got up, and, with
shaking limbs, dragged my big Saratoga trunk against the paper-covered
door, and, having locked the other one, felt comparatively secure. As
might be expected, I did not get to sleep again very easily. I had
always been aware of Moll’s animosity towards me, but this was the first
time it had taken active form. As my nerves steadied down, I remembered
the sounds that Willy and I had heard in the avenue on the way home, and
I wondered if jealousy on Anstey’s account could have been Moll’s motive
in following us, and then in making her way, with what seemed like a
sinister intention, up to my room. Yet it was hard to believe that such
a creature as she was could comprehend and act upon an idea of the kind.
I drowsily tried to connect this dreadful visit with her husband’s words
to Willy at the lodge, but before I could arrive at any satisfactory
conclusion I fell asleep.
At breakfast I told Willy the greater part of what had happened, but I
made as light of it all as I could. He was out of spirits, and not like
himself, and I had put off saying anything to him about it until we had
almost finished breakfast. When I had ended my story, he pushed back his
chair from the table and got up.
“I’ll make them sorry for this,” he said vindictively, his face flushing
darkly as he spoke. “I’ll teach that old scoundrel Brian to let Moll
come up here frightening you! You look as white as a sheet this minute.”
“I am sure I am nothing of the kind,” I answered, trying unsuccessfully
to look at myself in the silver teapot; “there is nothing the matter
with me. If you will fasten up that little door into the other room
before this evening, I shall be perfectly happy.”
“Never fear but I will,” he said; “and it’ll be very queer if I don’t
fasten up that old hag too.”
He stalked out of the room. I heard him go upstairs and along the
corridor, and presently the noise of hammering echoed through the house.
I met him in the hall soon afterwards, putting on his cap to go out.
“I fixed that door the way it won’t be opened again in a hurry,” he
said, with grim satisfaction, “and I’ve locked the other; and now I’m
going to be off to fix Moll herself. She’s not such a fool but she’ll
understand what I’m going to say to her!”
“I wonder what the attraction in that room was for her?” I said. “I have
seen her in there several times.”
“Goodness knows! There was nothing in it, only an old broken chair she
had by the window, and there were a couple of books on the floor that I
suppose she stole out of the study to play with. One looked like an old
diary, or account-book, or something. I meant to bring it to show you,
but I left it in my room with the hammer and nails.”
“I am very much obliged to you for shutting up that door,” I said, with
sincere gratitude. “I had no idea you were going to do it for me at
once. You are a most reliable person.”
He had taken his stick out of the stand, and had opened the hall door;
but he stopped and looked back at me.
“I think I’d do more than that for you,” he said, almost under his
breath, and went out of the house.
It was a fine morning, and I finally went for a walk along the cliffs
with the dogs. I expected to hear all about Willy’s encounter with Moll
at luncheon; but, on my return to the house, I heard, to my surprise,
that he had ridden into Moycullen, and would probably not be home for
dinner.
The afternoon lagged by. I had tea early, in the hope of shortening it;
but the device did not have much success. As the evening clouded in,
rain began to beat in large drops against the windows, and the rising
wind sighed about the house, and sent puffs of smoke down the
drawing-room chimney. I despised myself for the feeling of forsakenness
which it gave me; but I could help it no more than I could hinder some
apprehensive recollections of Moll’s entry into my room. A childish
dread of having all the darkness behind me made me crouch down on the
hearthrug, with my back to the fire, and rouse Pat from a satiated
slumber to sit on my lap for company. Something about the look of the
fire and the sound of the rain was compelling my thoughts back to the
afternoon when I sat and waited here for Nugent. I did not try, as I
had so often tried before, to drive away those thoughts, or to forget
the withheld possibilities of that afternoon. Once more I gave myself
over to the fascination of unprofitable remembrances, yielding to myself
on the plea that it was to be for the last time. After to-day they would
be contraband, made outlaws by the power of a resolution which I had
newly come to--a resolution that I had been driven to by the combined
forces of pity and sympathy and conscience; but to-day, for one final
half-hour, I would allow them to have their way.
Dinner-time came, and with it no appearance of Willy. Uncle Dominick had
for some time given up his custom of waiting in the library to take me
in to dinner, and Willy and I usually found him sitting by the fire in
the dining-room when we went in. To-night, when I came in alone, he
remained seated in his chair.
“We may as well give Willy a few moments’ law,” he said. “I hear he rode
into Moycullen.”
“He told Tom when he was going that you weren’t to wait dinner for him,
sir,” interposed Roche.
“What business could he have that would detain him so late?” said my
uncle, slowly rising and taking his place at the table. “Can you throw
any light upon this absence, Theo?”
He looked anxious and surprised when I told him that Willy had said
nothing to me about it. Several times during dinner he harked back to
the same subject, and I was more struck than ever by the nervous
uncertainty of his manner, and the strange way in which one idea took
possession of his mind. He looked so ill and worn, that before I left
the room compassion made me screw up my courage to ask him if he would
not sit with me in the drawing-room, instead of going to his own study
by himself.
He shook his head. “You are very good, my dear; it is very kind of you
to express a wish for my society. But I am much occupied in the
evenings--letters to write, accounts to go over. Besides, I am used by
this time to being alone--ah yes!” He walked feebly over to the door,
and opened it for me to leave the room. “You must forgive me,” he said.
To my amazement, he stooped down as I passed, and, putting his hand on
my shoulder, he kissed my forehead.
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