has attacks like that."
Confounded, for the woman spoke so naturally that only a suspicious
nature like mine would fail to have been deceived by it, I raised myself
on my elbow and gave her an indignant look.
"Yet you said just now that the young ladies were expecting me to
breakfast."
"Yes, and why not?" Her look was absolutely guileless. "Miss Lucetta
sometimes keeps us up half the night, but she does not miss breakfast on
that account. When the turn is over, she is as well as ever she was. A
fine young lady, Miss Lucetta. I'd lose my two hands for her any day."
"She certainly is a remarkable girl," I declared, not, however, as dryly
as I felt. "I can hardly believe I dreamed about the key. Let me feel of
your pocket," I laughed.
She, without the smallest hesitancy, pulled aside her apron.
"I am sorry you put so little confidence in my word, ma'am, but Lor' me,
what you heard is nothing to what some of our guests have complained
of--in the days, I mean, when we did have guests. I have known them to
scream out themselves in the middle of the night and vow they saw white
figures creeping up and down the halls--all nonsense, ma'am, but
believed in by some folks. You don't look as if you believed in ghosts."
"And I don't," I said, "not a whit. It would be a poor way to try to
frighten me. How is Mr. William this morning?"
"Oh, he's well and feeding the dogs, ma'am. What made you think of him?"
"Politeness, Hannah," I found myself forced to say. "He's the only man
in the house. Why shouldn't I think of him?"
She fingered her apron a minute and laughed.
"I didn't know you liked him. He's so rough, it isn't everybody who
understands him," she said.
"Must one understand a person to like him?" I queried good-humoredly. I
was beginning to think I might have dreamed about that key.
"I don't know," she said, "I don't always understand Miss Lucetta, but I
like her through and through, ma'am, as I like this little finger," and
holding up this member to my inspection, she crossed the room for my
water-pitcher, which she proposed to fill with hot water.
I followed her closely with my eyes. When she came back, I saw her
attention caught by the break in the flooring, which she had not noticed
on entering.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "what a shame!" her honest face coloring as she
drew the rug back over the small black gap. "I am sure, ma'am," she
cried, "you must think very poorly of us. But I assure you, ma'am, it's
honest poverty, nothing but honest poverty as makes them so neglectful,"
and with an air as far removed from mystery as her frank, good-natured
manner seemed to be from falsehood, she slid from the room with a kind:
"Don't hurry, ma'am. It is Miss Knollys' turn in the kitchen, and she
isn't as quick as Miss Lucetta."
"Humph," thought I, "supposing I had called in the police."
But by the time she had returned with the water, my doubts had
reawakened. She was not changed in manner, though I have no doubt she
had recounted all that I had said, below, but I was, for I remembered
the matches and thought I saw a way of tripping her up in her
self-complacency.
Just as she was leaving me for the second time I called her back.
"What is the matter with your matches?" I asked. "I couldn't make them
light last night."
With a wholly undisturbed countenance she turned toward the bureau and
took up the china trinket that held the few remaining matches I had not
scraped on the piece of sandpaper I myself had fastened up alongside the
door. A sheepish cry of dismay at once escaped her.
"Why, these are old matches!" she declared, showing me the box in which
a half-dozen or so burned matches stood with their burned tops all
turned down.
"I thought they were all right. I'm afraid we are a little short of
matches."
I did not like to tell her what I thought about it, but it made me
doubly anxious to join the young ladies at breakfast and judge for
myself from their conduct and expression if I had been deceived by my
own fears into taking for realities the phantasies of a nightmare, or
whether I was correct in ascribing to fact that episode of the key with
all the possibilities that lay behind it.
I did not let my anxiety, however, stand in the way of my duty. Mr.
Gryce had bid me carry the whistle he had sent me constantly about my
person, and I felt that he would have the right to reproach me if I left
my room without making some endeavor to recover this lost article. How
to do this without aid or appliances of any kind was a problem. I knew
where it was, but I could not see it, much less reach it. Besides, they
were waiting for me--never a pleasant thought. It occurred to me that I
might lower into the hole a lighted candle hung by a string.
Looking over my effects, I chose out a hairpin, a candle, and two corset
laces, (Pardon me. I am as modest as most of my sex, but I am not
squeamish. Corset laces are strings, and as such only I present them to
your notice.) I should like to have added a button-hook to my
collection, but not having as yet discarded the neatly laced boot of my
ancestor, I could only produce a small article from my toilet-service
which shall remain unmentioned, as I presently discarded it and turned
my whole attention to the other objects I have named. A poor array, but
out of them I hoped to find the means of fishing up my lost whistle.
My intention was to lower first a lighted candle into the hole by means
of a string tied about its middle, then to drop a line on the whistle
thus discovered and draw it up with the point of a bent hairpin, which I
fondly hoped I could make do the service of a hook. To think was to try.
The candle was soon down in the hole, and by its light the whistle was
easily seen. The string and bent hairpin went down next. I was
successful in hooking the prize and proceeded to pull it up with great
care. For an instant I realized what a ridiculous figure I was cutting,
stooping over a hole in the floor on both knees, a string in each hand,
leading apparently to nowhere, and I at work cautiously steadying one
and as carefully pulling on the other. Having hooked the string holding
the whistle over the first finger of the hand holding the candle, I may
have become too self-conscious to notice the slight release of weight on
the whistle hand. Whatever the reason, when the end of the string came
in sight there was no whistle on it. The charred end showed me that the
candle had burned the cord, letting the whistle fall again out of reach.
Down went the candle again. It touched bottom, but no whistle was to be
seen. After a long and fruitless search, I concluded to abandon my
whistle-fishing excursion, and, rising from my cramped and undignified
position, I proceeded to pull up the candle. To my surprise and delight,
I found the whistle firmly stuck to the lower side of it. Some drops of
candle grease had fallen upon the whistle where it lay. The candle
coming in contact with it, the two had adhered, and I became indebted to
accident rather than to acumen for the restoration of the precious
article.
XIX
A KNOT OF CRAPE
I was prepared for some change in the appearance of my young hostesses,
but not for so great a one as I saw on entering the dining-room that
memorable morning. The blinds, which were always half closed, were now
wide open, and under the cheerful influence of the light which was thus
allowed to enter, the table and all its appointments had a much less
dreary look than before. Behind the urn sat Miss Knollys, with a smile
on her lips, and in the window William stood whistling a cheerful air,
unrebuked. Lucetta was not present, but to my great astonishment she
presently walked in with her hands laden with sprays of morning-glory,
which she flung down in the centre of the board. It was the first time I
had seen any attempt made by any of them to lighten the sombreness of
their surroundings, and it was also the first time I had seen the three
together.
I was more disconcerted by this simple show of improved spirits than I
like to acknowledge. In the first place, they were natural and not
forced; and, secondly, they were to all appearance unconscious.
They were not marked enough to show relief, and in Lucetta especially
did not serve to hide the underlying melancholy of a disappointed girl,
yet it was not what I expected from my supposed experiences of the
night, and led me to answer a little warily when, with a frank laugh,
Loreen exclaimed:
"So you have lost your character as a practical woman, Miss Butterworth?
Hannah tells me you were the victim of a ghostly visit last night."
"Hannah gossips unmercifully," was my cautious and somewhat peevish
reply. "If I chose to dream that I was locked into my room by some
erratic spectre, I cannot see why she should take the confession of my
folly out of my mouth. I was going to relate the fact myself, with all
the accompaniments of rushing steps and wild and unearthly cries which
are expected by the listeners to a veritable ghost story. But now I have
simply to defend myself from a charge of credulity. It's too bad, Miss
Knollys, much too bad. I did not come to a haunted house for this."
My manner, rather than my words, seemed to completely deceive them.
Perhaps it deceived myself, for I began to feel a loss of the depression
which had weighed upon me ever since that scream rang in my ears at
midnight. It disappeared still further when Lucetta said:
"If your ramblings through the old rooms on this floor were the occasion
of this nightmare, you must be prepared for a recurrence of the same
to-night, for I am going to take you through the upper rooms myself this
morning. Isn't that the programme, Loreen? Or have you changed your mind
and planned a drive for Miss Butterworth?"
"She shall do both," Loreen answered. "When she is tired of tramping
through dusty chambers and examining the decayed remnants of old
furniture which encumber them, William stands ready to drive her over
the hills, where she will find views well worth her attention."
"Thank you," said I. "It is a pleasant prospect." But inwardly I uttered
anything but thanks; rather asked myself if I had not played the part of
a fool in ascribing so much importance to the events of the past night,
and decided almost without an argument that I had.
However, beliefs die hard in a mind like mine, and though I was ready to
consider that an inflamed imagination may often carry us beyond the
bounds of fact and even into the realm of fancy and misconception, I yet
was not ready to give up my suspicions altogether, or to acknowledge
that I had no foundation for the fear that something uncanny if not
awful had taken place under this roof the night before. The very
naturalness I observed in this hitherto restrained trio might be the
result of the removal of some great strain, and if that was the
case--Ah, well, alertness is the motto of the truly wise. It is when
vigilance sleeps that the enemy gains the victory. I would not let
myself be deceived even at the cost of a little ridicule. Amelia
Butterworth was still awake, even under a semblance of well-laid
suspicion.
My footsteps were not dogged after this as they had hitherto been in my
movements about the house. I was allowed to go and come and even to
stray into the second long corridor, without any other let than my own
discretion and good breeding. Lucetta joined me, to be sure, after a
while, but only as guide and companion. She took me into rooms I forgot
the next minute, and into others I remember to this day as quaint
memorials of a past ever and always interesting to me. We ransacked the
house, yet after all was over and I sat down to rest in my own room, two
formidable questions rose in my mind for which I found no satisfactory
answer. Why, with so many more or less attractive bedchambers at their
command, had they chosen to put me into a hole, where the very flooring
was unsafe, and the outlook the most dismal that could be imagined? and
why, in all our peregrinations in and out of rooms, had we always passed
one door without entering? She had said that it was William's--a
sufficient explanation, if true, and I have no doubt it was,--but the
change of countenance with which she passed it and the sudden lightening
of her tread (so instinctive that she was totally unconscious of it)
marked that door as one it would be my duty to enter if fate should yet
give me the opportunity. That it was the one in communication with the
Flower Parlor I felt satisfied, but in order to make assurance doubly
sure I resolved upon a tour through the shrubbery outside, that I might
compare the location of the window having the chipped blind with that of
this room, which was, as well as I could calculate, the third from the
rear on the left-hand side.
When, therefore, William called up to know if I was ready for my drive,
I answered back that I found myself very tired and would be glad to
exchange the pleasure he offered, for a visit to the stables.
This, as I expected, caused considerable comment and some disturbance.
They wanted me to repeat my experience of the day before and spend two
if not more hours of the morning out of the house. But I did not mean to
gratify them. Indeed I felt that my duty held me to the house, and was
so persistent in my wishes, or rather in my declaration of them, that
all opposition had to give way, even in the stubborn William.
"I thought you had a dread of dogs," was the final remark with which he
endeavored to turn me aside from my purpose. "I have three in the barn
and two in the stable, and they make a great fuss when I come around, I
assure you."
"Then they will have enough to do without noticing me," said I, with a
brazen assumption of courage sufficiently surprising if I had had any
real intention of invading a place so guarded. But I had not. I no more
meant to enter the stables than to jump off the housetop, but it was
necessary that I should start for them and make the start from the left
wing of the house.
How I managed the intractable William and led him as I did from bush to
bush and shrub to shrub, up and down the length of that interminable
facade of the left wing, would make an interesting story in itself. The
curiosity I showed in plants, even such plants as had survived the
neglect that had made a wilderness of this old-time garden; the
indifference which, contrary to all my habits, I persisted in
manifesting to every inconvenience I encountered in the way of
straightforward walking to any object I set my fancy upon examining; the
knowledge I exhibited, and the interest which I took it for granted he
felt in all I discovered and all I imparted to him, would form the basis
of a farce of no ordinary merit had it not had its birth in interests
and intents bordering on the tragic.
A row of bushes of various species ran along the wall and covered in
some instances the lower ledges of the first row of windows. As I made
for a certain shrub which I had observed growing near what I supposed to
be the casement from whose blind I had chipped a small sliver, I allowed
my enthusiasm to bubble over, in my evident desire to display my
erudition.
"This," said I, "is, without any doubt at all, a stunted but undoubted
specimen of that rare tree found seldom north of the thirtieth degree,
the _Magnolia grandiflora_. I have never seen it but once before, and
that was in the botanical gardens in Washington. Note its leaves. You
have noted its flowers, smaller undoubtedly than they should be--but
then you must acknowledge it has been in a measure neglected--are they
not fine?"
Here I pulled a branch down which interfered with my view of the window.
There was no chip visible in the blinds thus discovered. Seeing this, I
let the branch go. "But the oddest feature of this tree and one with
which you are perhaps not acquainted" (I wonder if anybody is?) "is that
it will not grow within twenty feet of any plant which scatters pollen.
See for yourself. This next shrub bears no flower" (I was moving along
the wall), "nor this." I drew down a branch as I spoke, caught sight of
the mark I was looking for, and let the bough spring back. I had found
the window I wanted.
His grunts and groans during all this formed a running accompaniment
which would have afforded me great secret amusement had my purpose been
less serious. As it was, I could pay but little attention to him,
especially after I had stepped back far enough to take a glance at the
window over the one I had just located as that of the Flower Parlor. It
was, as I expected, the third one from the rear corner; but it was not
this fact which gave me a thrill of feeling so strong that I have never
had harder work to preserve my equanimity. _It was the knot of black
crape with which the shutters were tied together._
XX
QUESTIONS
I kept the promise I had made to myself and did not go to the stables.
Had I intended to go there, I could not have done so after the discovery
I have just mentioned. It awakened too many thoughts and contradictory
surmises. If this knot was a signal, for whom was this signal meant? If
it was a mere acknowledgment of death, how reconcile the sentimentality
which prompted such an acknowledgment with the monstrous and diseased
passions lying at the base of the whole dreadful occurrence? Lastly, if
it was the result of pure carelessness, a bit of crape having been
caught up and used for a purpose for which any ordinary string would
have answered, what a wonderful coincidence between it and my
thoughts,--a coincidence, indeed, amounting almost to miracle!
Marvelling at the whole affair and deciding nothing, I allowed myself to
stroll down alone to the gate, William having left me at my peremptory
refusal to drag my skirts any longer through the briers. The day being
bright and the sunshine warm, the road looked less gloomy than usual,
especially in the direction of the village and Deacon Spear's cottage.
The fact is, that anything seemed better than the grim and lowering
walls of the house behind me. If my home was there, so was my dread, and
I welcomed the sight of Mother Jane's heavy figure bent over her herbs
at the door of her hut, a few paces to my left, where the road turned.
Had she not been deaf, I believed I would have called her. As it was, I
contented myself with watching the awkward swayings of her body as she
pottered to and fro among her turnips and carrots. My eyes were still on
her when I suddenly heard the clatter of a horse's hoofs on the highway.
Looking up, I encountered the trim figure of Mr. Trohm, bending to me
from a fine sorrel.
"Good morning, Miss Butterworth. It's a great relief to me to see you in
such good health and spirits this morning," were the pleasant words with
which he endeavored, perhaps, to explain his presence in a spot more or
less under a ban.
It was certainly a surprise. What right had I to look for such
attentions from a man whose acquaintance I had made only the day before?
It touched me, little as I am in the habit of allowing myself to be
ruled by trivial sentimentalities, and though I was discreet enough to
avoid any further recognition of his kindness than was his due from a
lady of great self-respect, he was evidently sufficiently gratified by
my response to draw rein and pause for a moment's conversation under the
pine trees. This for the moment seemed so natural that I forgot that
more than one pair of eyes might be watching me from the windows behind
us--eyes which might wonder at a meeting which to the foolish
understandings of the young might have the look of premeditation. But,
pshaw! I am talking as if I were twenty instead of--Well, I will leave
you to consult our family record on that point. There are certain
secrets which even the wisest among us cannot be blamed for preserving.
"How did you pass the night?" was Mr. Trohm's first question. "I hope in
all due peace and quiet."
"Thank you," I returned, not seeing why I should increase his anxiety in
my regard. "I have nothing to complain of. I had a dream; but dreams are
to be expected where one has to pass a half-dozen empty rooms to one's
apartment."
He could not restrain his curiosity.
"A dream!" he repeated. "I do not believe in sleep that is broken by
dreams, unless they are of the most cheerful sort possible. And I judge
from what you say that yours were not cheerful."
I wanted to confide in him. I felt that in a way he had a right to know
what had happened to me, or what I thought had happened to me, under
this roof. And yet I did not speak. What I could tell would sound so
puerile in the broad sunshine that enveloped us. I merely remarked that
cheerfulness was not to be expected in a domicile so given over to the
ravages of time, and then with that lightness and versatility which
characterize me under certain exigencies, I introduced a topic we could
discuss without any embarrassment to himself or me.
"Do you see Mother Jane over there?" I asked. "I had some talk with her
yesterday. She seems like a harmless imbecile."
"Very harmless," he acquiesced; "her only fault is greed; that is
insatiable. Yet it is not strong enough to take her a quarter of a mile
from this place. Nothing could do that, I think. She believes that her
daughter Lizzie is still alive and will come back to the hut some day.
It's very sad when you think that the girl's dead, and has been dead
nearly forty years."
"Why does she harp on numbers?" I asked. "I heard her mutter certain
ones over and over."
"That is a mystery none of us have ever been able to solve," said he.
"Possibly she has no reason for it. The vagaries of the witless are
often quite unaccountable."
He remained looking at me long after he had finished speaking, not, I
felt sure, from any connection he found between what he had just said
and anything to be observed in me, but from--Well, I was glad that I had
been carefully trained in my youth to pay the greatest attention to my
morning toilets. Any woman can look well at night and many women in the
flush of a bright afternoon, but the woman who looks well in the morning
needs not always to be young to attract the appreciative gaze of a man
of real penetration. Mr. Trohm was such a man, and I did not begrudge
him the pleasure he showed in my neat gray silk and carefully adjusted
collar. But he said nothing, and a short silence ensued, which was
perhaps more of a compliment than otherwise. Then he uttered a short
sigh and lifted the reins.
"If only I were not debarred from entering," he smiled, with a short
gesture toward the house.
I did not answer. Even I understand that on occasion the tongue plays
but a sorry part in interviews of this nature.
He sighed again and uttered some short encouragement to his horse, which
started that animal up and sent him slowly pacing down the road toward
the cheerful clearing whither my own eyes were looking with what I was
determined should not be construed even by the most sanguine into a
glance of anything like wistfulness. As he went he made a bow I have
never seen surpassed in my own parlor in Gramercy Park, and upon my
bestowing upon him a return nod, glanced up at the house with an
intentness which seemed to increase as some object, invisible to me at
that moment, caught his eye. As that eye was directed toward the left
wing, and lifted as far as the second row of windows, I could not help
asking myself if he had seen the knot of crape which had produced upon
me so lugubrious an impression. Before I could make sure of this he had
passed from sight, and the highway fell again into shadow--why, I hardly
knew, for the sun certainly had been shining a few minutes before.
XXI
MOTHER JANE
"Well, well, what did Trohm want here this morning?" cried a harsh voice
from amid the tangled walks behind me. "Seems to me he finds this place
pretty interesting all of a sudden."
I turned upon the intruder with a look that should have daunted him.
I had recognized William's courteous tones and was in no mood to
endure a questioning so unbecoming in one of his age to one of mine.
But as I met his eye, which had something in it besides anger and
suspicion--something that was quizzical if not impertinent--I changed my
intention and bestowed upon him a conciliatory smile, which I hope
escaped the eye of the good angel who records against man all his small
hypocrisies and petty deceits.
"Mr. Trohm rides for his health," said I. "Seeing me looking up the road
at Mother Jane, he stopped to tell me some of the idiosyncrasies of that
old woman. A very harmless courtesy, Mr. Knollys."