loved, he might not again go free; so much he recognized. The feeling he
had once entertained for Esther, strange compound of mistaken chivalry
and flattered vanity, was long since extinct; but what, then, was the
sentiment with which she inspired him? For he was not indifferent to
her--no, never for one instant could he persuade himself he was
indifferent, never for one instant could he banish her from his
thoughts. His mind's eye followed her during his hours of absence as
pertinaciously as his bodily eye dwelt upon her actual presence. She was
the principal object of the universe to him, the centre around which his
wheel of life revolved with an appalling fidelity.
What did it mean? What could it mean? he asked himself with anguish.
And the sweat broke out upon his forehead and his hands grew cold, for
on a sudden the truth lay there like a written word upon the tablecloth
before him. This woman, whom he had taken to himself for better, for
worse, inspired him with a passion, intense indeed, all-masterful,
soul-subduing as Love itself.... But when he understood the terror of
his Hatred, he laid his head upon his arms and wept, not facile tears
like Esther's, but tears wrung out from his agonizing, unavailing
regret.
'A POOR STICK'
By Arthur Morrison
(_Tales of Mean Streets_, London: Methuen and Co., 1894) Published by
permission of Methuen and Co.
Mrs. Jennings (or Jinnins, as the neighbours would have it) ruled
absolutely at home, when she took so much trouble as to do anything at
all there--which was less often than might have been. As for Robert her
husband, he was a poor stick, said the neighbours. And yet he was a man
with enough of hardihood to remain a non-unionist in the erectors' shop
at Maidment's all the years of his service; no mean test of a man's
fortitude and resolution, as many a sufferer for independent opinion
might testify. The truth was that Bob never grew out of his
courtship-blindness. Mrs. Jennings governed as she pleased, stayed out
or came home as she chose, and cooked a dinner or didn't, as her
inclination stood. Thus it was for ten years, during which time there
were no children, and Bob bore all things uncomplaining: cooking his own
dinner when he found none cooked, and sewing on his own buttons. Then of
a sudden came children, till in three years there were three; and Bob
Jennings had to nurse and to wash them as often as not.
Mrs. Jennings at this time was what is called rather a fine woman: a
woman of large scale and full development; whose slatternly habit left
her coarse black hair to tumble in snake-locks about her face and
shoulders half the day; who, clad in half-hooked clothes, bore herself
notoriously and unabashed in her fullness; and of whom ill things were
said regarding the lodger. The gossips had their excuse. The lodger was
an irregular young cabinet-maker, who lost quarters and halves and whole
days; who had been seen abroad with his landlady, what time Bob Jennings
was putting the children to bed at home; who on his frequent holidays
brought in much beer, which he and the woman shared, while Bob was at
work. To carry the tale to Bob would have been a thankless errand, for
he would have none of anybody's sympathy, even in regard to miseries
plain to his eye. But the thing got about in the workshop, and there
his days were made bitter.
At home things grew worse. To return at half-past five, and find the
children still undressed, screaming, hungry and dirty, was a matter of
habit: to get them food, to wash them, to tend the cuts and bumps
sustained through the day of neglect, before lighting a fire and getting
tea for himself, were matters of daily duty. 'Ah,' he said to his
sister, who came at intervals to say plain things about Mrs. Jennings,
'you shouldn't go for to set a man agin 'is wife, Jin. Melier do'n' like
work, I know, but that's nach'ral to 'er. She ought to married a swell
'stead o' me; she might 'a' done easy if she liked, bein' sich a fine
gal; but she's good-'arted, is Melier; an' she can't 'elp bein' a bit
thoughtless.' Whereat his sister called him a fool (it was her customary
goodbye at such times), and took herself off.
Bob Jennings's intelligence was sufficient for his common needs, but it
was never a vast intelligence. Now, under a daily burden of dull misery,
it clouded and stooped. The base wit of the workshop he comprehended
less, and realized more slowly, than before; and the gaffer cursed him
for a sleepy dolt.
Mrs. Jennings ceased from any pretence of housewifery, and would
sometimes sit--perchance not quite sober--while Bob washed the children
in the evening, opening her mouth only to express her contempt for him
and his establishment, and to make him understand that she was sick of
both. Once, exasperated by his quietness, she struck at him, and for a
moment he was another man. 'Don't do that, Melier,' he said, 'else I
might forget myself.' His manner surprised his wife: and it was such
that she never did do that again.
So was Bob Jennings: without a friend in the world, except his sister,
who chid him, and the children, who squalled at him: when his wife
vanished with the lodger, the clock, a shade of wax flowers, Bob's best
boots (which fitted the lodger), and his silver watch. Bob had returned,
as usual, to the dirt and the children, and it was only when he struck a
light that he found the clock was gone.
'Mummy tooked ve t'ock,' said Milly, the eldest child, who had followed
him in from the door, and now gravely observed his movements. 'She
tooked ve t'ock an' went ta-ta. An' she tooked ve fyowers.'
Bob lit the paraffin lamp with the green glass reservoir, and carried
it and its evil smell about the house. Some things had been turned over
and others had gone, plainly. All Melier's clothes were gone. The lodger
was not in, and under his bedroom window, where his box had stood, there
was naught but an oblong patch of conspicuously clean wallpaper. In a
muddle of doubt and perplexity, Bob found himself at the front door,
staring up and down the street. Divers women-neighbours stood at their
doors, and eyed him curiously; for Mrs. Webster, moralist, opposite, had
not watched the day's proceedings (nor those of many other days) for
nothing, nor had she kept her story to herself.
He turned back into the house, a vague notion of what had befallen
percolating feebly through his bewilderment. 'I dunno--I dunno,' he
faltered, rubbing his ear. His mouth was dry, and he moved his lips
uneasily, as he gazed with aimless looks about the walls and ceiling.
Presently his eyes rested on the child, and 'Milly,' he said decisively,
'come an 'ave yer face washed.'
He put the children to bed early, and went out. In the morning, when his
sister came, because she had heard the news in common with everybody
else, he had not returned. Bob Jennings had never lost more than two
quarters in his life, but he was not seen at the workshop all this day.
His sister stayed in the house, and in the evening, at his regular
homing-time, he appeared, haggard and dusty, and began his preparations
for washing the children. When he was made to understand that they had
been already attended to, he looked doubtful and troubled for a moment.
Presently he said: 'I ain't found 'er yet, Jin; I was in 'opes she might
'a' bin back by this. I--I don't expect she'll be very long. She was
alwis a bit larky, was Melier; but very good-'arted.'
His sister had prepared a strenuous lecture on the theme of 'I told you
so'; but the man was so broken, so meek, and so plainly unhinged in his
faculties, that she suppressed it. Instead, she gave him comfortable
talk, and made him promise in the end to sleep that night, and take up
his customary work in the morning.
He did these things, and could have worked placidly enough had he but
been alone; but the tale had reached the workshop, and there was no lack
of brutish chaff to disorder him. This the decenter men would have no
part in, and even protested against. But the ill-conditioned kept their
way, till, at the cry of 'Bell O!' when all were starting for dinner,
one of the worst shouted the cruellest gibe of all. Bob Jennings turned
on him and knocked him over a scrap-heap.
A shout went up from the hurrying workmen, with a chorus of 'Serve ye
right,' and the fallen joker found himself awkwardly confronted by the
shop bruiser. But Bob had turned to a corner, and buried his eyes in the
bend of his arm, while his shoulders heaved and shook.
He slunk away home, and stayed there: walking restlessly to and fro, and
often peeping down the street from the window. When, at twilight, his
sister came again, he had become almost cheerful, and said with some
briskness: 'I'm agoin' to meet 'er, Jin, at seven. I know where she'll
be waitin'.'
He went upstairs, and after a little while came down again in his best
black coat, carefully smoothing a tall hat of obsolete shape with his
pocket-handkerchief. 'I ain't wore it for years,' he said. 'I ought to
'a' wore it--it might 'a' pleased 'er. She used to say she wouldn't walk
with me in no other--when I used to meet 'er in the evenin', at seven
o'clock.' He brushed assiduously, and put the hat on. 'I'd better 'ave
a shave round the corner as I go along,' he added, fingering his stubbly
chin.
He received as one not comprehending his sister's persuasion to remain
at home; but when he went she followed at a little distance. After his
penny shave he made for the main road, where company-keeping couples
walked up and down all evening. He stopped at a church, and began pacing
slowly to and fro before it, eagerly looking out each way as he went.
His sister watched him for nearly half an hour, and then went home. In
two hours more she came back with her husband. Bob was still there,
walking to and fro.
''Ullo, Bob,' said his brother-in-law; 'come along 'ome an' get to bed,
there's a good chap. You'll be awright in the mornin'.'
'She ain't turned up,' Bob complained, 'or else I've missed 'er. This
is the reg'lar place--where I alwis used to meet 'er. But she'll come
tomorrer. She used to leave me in the lurch sometimes, bein' nach'rally
larky. But very good-'arted, mindjer; very good-'arted.'
She did not come the next evening, nor the next, nor the evening after,
nor the one after that. But Bob Jennings, howbeit depressed and anxious,
was always confident. 'Somethink's prevented 'er tonight,' he would say,
'but she'll come tomorrer.... I'll buy a blue tie tomorrer--she used to
like me in a blue tie. I won't miss 'er tomorrer. I'll come a little
earlier.'
So it went. The black coat grew ragged in the service, and hobbledehoys,
finding him safe sport, smashed the tall hat over his eyes time after
time. He wept over the hat, and straightened it as best he might. Was
she coming? Night after night, and night and night. But tomorrow....
THE ADVENTURE OF THE ABBEY GRANGE
By Arthur Conan Doyle
(_The Strand Magazine_, 23 January 1897)
It was on a bitterly cold night and frosty morning, towards the end of
the winter of '97, that I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. It
was Holmes. The candle in his hand shone upon his eager, stooping face,
and told me at a glance that something was amiss.
'Come, Watson, come!' he cried. The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your
clothes and come!'
Ten minutes later we were both in a cab, and rattling through the silent
streets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faint winter's
dawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see the occasional
figure of an early workman as he passed us, blurred and indistinct in
the opalescent London reek. Holmes nestled in silence into his heavy
coat, and I was glad to do the same, for the air was most bitter, and
neither of us had broken our fast.
It was not until we had consumed some hot tea at the station and taken
our places in the Kentish train that we were sufficiently thawed, he to
speak and I to listen. Holmes drew a note from his pocket, and read
aloud:
Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent
3:30 A.M.
My Dear Mr. Holmes:
I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in what promises to
be a most remarkable case. It is something quite in your line. Except
for releasing the lady I will see that everything is kept exactly as I
have found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant, as it is difficult
to leave Sir Eustace there.
Yours faithfully,
STANLEY HOPKINS
'Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion his summons
has been entirely justified,' said Holmes. 'I fancy that every one of
his cases has found its way into your collection, and I must admit,
Watson, that you have some power of selection, which atones for much
which I deplore in your narratives. Your fatal habit of looking at
everything from the point of view of a story instead of as a scientific
exercise has ruined what might have been an instructive and even
classical series of demonstrations. You slur over work of the utmost
finesse and delicacy, in order to dwell upon sensational details which
may excite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader.'
'Why do you not write them yourself?' I said, with some bitterness.
'I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, as you know, fairly
busy, but I propose to devote my declining years to the composition of
a textbook, which shall focus the whole art of detection into one volume.
Our present research appears to be a case of murder.'
'You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?'
'I should say so. Hopkins's writing shows considerable agitation, and he
is not an emotional man. Yes, I gather there has been violence, and that
the body is left for our inspection. A mere suicide would not have
caused him to send for me. As to the release of the lady, it would
appear that she has been locked in her room during the tragedy. We are
moving in high life, Watson, crackling paper, 'E.B.' monogram,
coat-of-arms, picturesque address. I think that friend Hopkins will live
up to his reputation, and that we shall have an interesting morning. The
crime was committed before twelve last night.'
'How can you possibly tell?'
'By an inspection of the trains, and by reckoning the time. The local
police had to be called in, they had to communicate with Scotland Yard,
Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to send for me. All that makes
a fair night's work. Well, here we are at Chislehurst Station, and we
shall soon set our doubts at rest.'
A drive of a couple of miles through narrow country lanes brought us
to a park gate, which was opened for us by an old lodge-keeper, whose
haggard face bore the reflection of some great disaster. The avenue ran
through a noble park, between lines of ancient elms, and ended in a
low, widespread house, pillared in front after the fashion of Palladio.
The central part was evidently of a great age and shrouded in ivy, but
the large windows showed that modern changes had been carried out, and
one wing of the house appeared to be entirely new. The youthful figure
and alert, eager face of Inspector Stanley Hopkins confronted us in the
open doorway.
'I'm very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. And you, too, Dr. Watson. But,
indeed, if I had my time over again, I should not have troubled you, for
since the lady has come to herself, she has given so clear an account of
the affair that there is not much left for us to do. You remember that
Lewisham gang of burglars?'
'What, the three Randalls?'
'Exactly; the father and two sons. It's their work. I have not a doubt
of it. They did a job at Sydenham a fortnight ago and were seen and
described. Rather cool to do another so soon and so near, but it is
they, beyond all doubt. It's a hanging matter this time.'
'Sir Eustace is dead, then?'
'Yes, his head was knocked in with his own poker.'
'Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me.'
'Exactly--one of the richest men in Kent--Lady Brackenstall is in the
morning-room. Poor lady, she has had a most dreadful experience. She
seemed half dead when I saw her first. I think you had best see her and
hear her account of the facts. Then we will examine the dining-room
together.'
Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Seldom have I seen so graceful
a figure, so womanly a presence, and so beautiful a face. She was a
blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and would no doubt have had the
perfect complexion which goes with such colouring, had not her recent
experience left her drawn and haggard. Her sufferings were physical as
well as mental, for over one eye rose a hideous, plum-coloured swelling,
which her maid, a tall, austere woman, was bathing assiduously with
vinegar and water. The lady lay back exhausted upon a couch, but her
quick, observant gaze, as we entered the room, and the alert expression
of her beautiful features, showed that neither her wits nor her courage
had been shaken by her terrible experience. She was enveloped in a loose
dressing-gown of blue and silver, but a black sequin-covered
dinner-dress lay upon the couch beside her.
'I have told you all that happened, Mr. Hopkins,' she said, wearily.
'Could you not repeat it for me? Well, if you think it necessary, I will
tell these gentlemen what occurred. Have they been in the dining-room
yet?'
'I thought they had better hear your ladyship's story first.'
'I shall be glad when you can arrange matters. It is horrible to me to
think of him still lying there.' She shuddered and buried her face in
her hands. As she did so, the loose gown fell back from her forearms.
Holmes uttered an exclamation.
'You have other injuries, madam! What is this?' Two vivid red spots
stood out on one of the white, round limbs. She hastily covered it.
'It is nothing. It has no connection with this hideous business tonight.
If you and your friend will sit down, I will tell you all I can.
'I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. I have been married about
a year. I suppose that it is no use my attempting to conceal that our
marriage has not been a happy one. I fear that all our neighbours would
tell you that, even if I were to attempt to deny it. Perhaps the fault
may be partly mine. I was brought up in the freer, less conventional
atmosphere of South Australia, and this English life, with its
proprieties and its primness, is not congenial to me. But the main
reason lies in the one fact, which is notorious to everyone, and that is
that Sir Eustace was a confirmed drunkard. To be with such a man for an
hour is unpleasant. Can you imagine what it means for a sensitive and
high-spirited woman to be tied to him for day and night? It is a
sacrilege, a crime, a villany to hold that such a marriage is binding.
I say that these monstrous laws of yours will bring a curse upon the
land--God will not let such wickedness endure.' For an instant she sat
up, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes blazing from under the terrible
mark upon her brow. Then the strong, soothing hand of the austere maid
drew her head down on to the cushion, and the wild anger died away into
passionate sobbing. At last she continued:
'I will tell you about last night. You are aware, perhaps, that in this
house all the servants sleep in the modern wing. This central block is
made up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen behind and our bedroom
above. My maid, Theresa, sleeps above my room. There is no one else,
and no sound could alarm those who are in the farther wing. This must
have been well known to the robbers, or they would not have acted as
they did.
'Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten. The servants had already gone
to their quarters. Only my maid was up, and she had remained in her room
at the top of the house until I needed her services. I sat until after
eleven in this room, absorbed in a book. Then I walked round to see that
all was right before I went upstairs. It was my custom to do this
myself, for, as I have explained, Sir Eustace was not always to be
trusted. I went into the kitchen, the butler's pantry, the gun-room, the
billiard-room, the drawing-room, and finally the dining-room. As I
approached the window, which is covered with thick curtains, I suddenly
felt the wind blow upon my face and realized that it was open. I flung
the curtain aside and found myself face to face with a broad shouldered
elderly man, who had just stepped into the room. The window is a long
French one, which really forms a door leading to the lawn. I held my
bedroom candle lit in my hand, and, by its light, behind the first man I
saw two others, who were in the act of entering. I stepped back, but the
fellow was on me in an instant. He caught me first by the wrist and then
by the throat. I opened my mouth to scream, but he struck me a savage
blow with his fist over the eye, and felled me to the ground. I must
have been unconscious for a few minutes, for when I came to myself, I
found that they had torn down the bell-rope, and had secured me tightly
to the oaken chair which stands at the head of the dining-table. I was
so firmly bound that I could not move, and a handkerchief round my mouth
prevented me from uttering a sound. It was at this instant that my
unfortunate husband entered the room. He had evidently heard some
suspicious sounds, and he came prepared for such a scene as he found. He
was dressed in nightshirt and trousers, with his favourite blackthorn
cudgel in his hand. He rushed at the burglars, but another--it was an
elderly man--stooped, picked the poker out of the grate and struck him a
horrible blow as he passed. He fell with a groan and never moved again.
I fainted once more, but again it could only have been for a very few
minutes during which I was insensible. When I opened my eyes I found
that they had collected the silver from the sideboard, and they had
drawn a bottle of wine which stood there. Each of them had a glass in
his hand. I have already told you, have I not, that one was elderly,
with a beard, and the others young, hairless lads. They might have been
a father and his two sons. They talked together in whispers. Then they
came over and made sure that I was securely bound. Finally they
withdrew, closing the window after them. It was quite a quarter of an
hour before I got my mouth free. When I did so, my screams brought the
maid to my assistance. The other servants were soon alarmed, and we sent
for the local police, who instantly communicated with London. That is
really all that I can tell you, gentlemen, and I trust that it will not
be necessary for me to go over so painful a story again.'
'Any questions, Mr. Holmes?' asked Hopkins.
'I will not impose any further tax upon Lady Brackenstall's patience and
time,' said Holmes. 'Before I go into the dining-room, I should like to
hear your experience.' He looked at the maid.
'I saw the men before ever they came into the house,' said she. 'As I
sat by my bedroom window I saw three men in the moonlight down by the
lodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing of it at the time. It was more
than an hour after that I heard my mistress scream, and down I ran, to
find her, poor lamb, just as she says, and him on the floor, with his
blood and brains over the room. It was enough to drive a woman out of
her wits, tied there, and her very dress spotted with him, but she never
wanted courage, did Miss Mary Fraser of Adelaide and Lady Brackenstall
of Abbey Grange hasn't learned new ways. You've questioned her long
enough, you gentlemen, and now she is coming to her own room, just with
her old Theresa, to get the rest that she badly needs.'
With a motherly tenderness the gaunt woman put her arm round her
mistress and led her from the room.
'She had been with her all her life,' said Hopkins. 'Nursed her as
a baby, and came with her to England when they first left Australia,
eighteen months ago. Theresa Wright is her name, and the kind of maid
you don't pick up nowadays. This way, Mr. Holmes, if you please!'
The keen interest had passed out of Holmes's expressive face, and I knew
that with the mystery all the charm of the case had departed. There
still remained an arrest to be effected, but what were these commonplace
rogues that he should soil his hands with them? An abstruse and learned
specialist who finds that he has been called in for a case of measles
would experience something of the annoyance which I read in my friend's
eyes. Yet the scene in the dining-room of the Abbey Grange was
sufficiently strange to arrest his attention and to recall his waning
interest.