Though a cherished wife and a beloved mother, she longed for many things
my father could not give her, and in an evil hour she imitated the name
of a rich man here and took the check thus signed to New York. The fraud
was not detected, and she received the money, but ultimately the rich
man whose money she had spent, discovered the use she had made of his
name, and, if she had not escaped, would have had her arrested. But she
left the country, and the only revenge he took, was to swear that if she
ever set foot again in X., he would call the police down upon her. Yes,
if she were dying, and they had to drag her from the brink of the grave.
And he would have done it; and knowing this, we have lived under the
shadow of this fear for eleven years. My father died under it, and my
mother--ah, she spent all the remaining years of her life under foreign
skies, but when she felt the hand of death upon her, her affection for
her own flesh and blood triumphed over her discretion, and she came,
secretly, I own, but still with that horror menacing her, to these
doors, and begging our forgiveness, lay down under the roof where we
were born, and died with the halo of our love about her."
"Ah," said I, thinking of all that had happened since I had come into
this house and finding nothing but confirmation of what she was saying,
"I begin to understand."
But Lucetta shook her head.
"No," said she, "you cannot understand yet. We who had worn mourning for
her because my father wished to make this very return impossible, knew
nothing of what was in store for us till a letter came saying she would
be at the C. station on the very night we received it. To acknowledge
our deception, to seek and bring her home openly to this house, could
not be thought of for a moment. How, then, could we satisfy her dying
wishes without compromising her memory and ourselves? Perhaps you have
guessed, Miss Butterworth. You have had time since we revealed the
unhappy secret of this household."
"Yes," said I. "I have guessed."
Lucetta, with her hand laid on mine, looked wistfully into my face.
"Don't blame us!" she cried. "Our mother's good name is everything to
us, and we knew no other way to preserve it than by making use of the
one superstition of this place. Alas! our efforts were in vain. The
phantom coach brought our mother safely to us, but the circumstances
which led to our doors being opened to outsiders, rendered it impossible
for us to carry out our plans unsuspected. Her grave has been discovered
and desecrated, and we----"
She stopped, choked. Loreen took advantage of her silence to pursue the
explanations she seemed to think necessary.
"It was Simsbury who undertook to bring our dying mother from C. station
to our door. He has a crafty spirit under his meek ways, and dressed
himself in a way to lend color to the superstition he hoped to awaken.
William, who did not dare to accompany him for fear of arousing gossip,
was at the gate when the coach drove in. It was he who lifted our mother
out, and it was while she still clung to him with her face pressed close
to his breast that we saw her first. Ah! what a pitiable sight it was!
She was so wan, so feeble, and yet so radiantly happy.
"She looked up at Lucetta, and her face grew wonderful in its unearthly
beauty. She was not the mother we remembered, but a mother whose life
had culminated in the one desire to see and clasp her children again.
When she could tear her eyes away from Lucetta, she looked at me, and
then the tears came, and we all wept together, even William; and thus
weeping and murmuring words of welcome and cheer, we carried her
up-stairs and laid her in the great front chamber. Alas! we did not
foresee what would happen the very next morning--I mean the arrival of
your telegram, to be followed so soon by yourself."
"Poor girls! Poor girls!" It was all I could say. I was completely
overwhelmed.
"The first night after your arrival we moved her into William's room as
being more remote and thus a safer refuge for her. The next night she
died. The dream which you had of being locked in your room was no dream.
Lucetta did that in foolish precaution against your trying to search us
out in the night. It would have been better if we had taken you into our
confidence."
"Yes," I assented, "that would have been better." But I did not say how
much better. That would have been giving away my secret.
Lucetta had now recovered sufficiently to go on with the story.
"William, who is naturally colder than we and less sensitive in regard
to our mother's good name, has shown some little impatience at the
restraint imposed upon him by her presence, and this was an extra
burden, Miss Butterworth, but that and all the others we have been
forced to bear" (the generous girl did not speak of her own special
grief and loss) "have all been rendered useless by the unhappy chance
which has brought into our midst this agent of the police. Ah, if I only
knew whether this was the providence of God rebuking us for years of
deception, or just the malice of man seeking to rob us of our one best
treasure, a mother's untarnished name!"
"Mr. Gryce acts from no malice--" I began, but I saw they were not
listening.
"Have they finished down below?" asked Lucetta.
"Does the man you call Gryce seem satisfied?" asked Loreen.
I drew myself up physically and mentally. My second task was about to
begin.
"I do not understand those men," said I. "They seem to want to look
farther than the sacred spot where we left them. If they are going
through a form, they are doing it very thoroughly."
"That is their duty," observed Loreen, but Lucetta took it less calmly.
"It is an unhappy day for us!" cried she. "Shame after shame, disgrace
upon disgrace! I wish we had all died in our childhood. Loreen, I must
see William. He will be doing some foolish thing, swearing or----"
"My dear, let me go to William," I urgently put in. "He may not like me
overmuch, but I will at least prove a restraint to him. You are too
feeble. See, you ought to be lying on the couch instead of trying to
drag yourself out to the stables."
And indeed at that moment Lucetta's strength gave suddenly out, and she
sank into Loreen's arms insensible.
When she was restored, I hurried away to the stables, still in pursuit
of the task which I had not yet completed. I found William sitting
doggedly on a stool in the open doorway, grunting out short sentences to
the two men who lounged in his vicinity on either side. He was angry,
but not as angry as I had seen him many times before. The men were
townsfolk and listened eagerly to his broken sentences. One or two of
these reached my ears.
"Let 'em go it. It won't be now or to-day they'll settle this business.
It's the devil's work, and devils are sly. My house won't give up that
secret, or any other house they'll be likely to visit. The place I
would ransack--But Loreen would say I was babbling. Goodness knows a
fellow's got to talk about something when his fellow-townsfolk come to
see him." And here his laugh broke in, harsh, cruel, and insulting. I
felt it did him no good, and made haste to show myself.
Immediately his whole appearance changed. He was so astonished to see me
there that for a moment he was absolutely silent; then he broke out
again into another loud guffaw, but this time in a different tone.
"Why, it's Miss Butterworth," he laughed. "Here, Saracen! Come, pay your
respects to the lady who likes you so well."
And Saracen came, but I did not forsake my ground. I had espied in one
corner just what I had hoped to see there, and Saracen's presence
afforded me the opportunity of indulging in one or two rather curious
antics.
"I am not afraid of the dog," I declared, with marked loftiness,
shrinking toward the pail of water I had already marked with my eye.
"Not at all afraid," I continued, catching up the pail and putting it
before me as the dog made a wild rush in my direction. "These gentlemen
will not see me hurt." And though they all laughed--they would have been
fools if they had not--and the dog jumped the pail and I jumped--not a
pail, but a broom-handle that was lying amid all the rest of the
disorder on the floor--they did not see that I had succeeded in doing
what I wished, which was to place that pail so near to William's feet
that--But wait a moment; everything in its own time. I escaped the dog,
and next moment had my eye on him. He did not move after that, which
rather put a stop to the laughter, which observing, I drew very near to
William, and with a sly gesture to the two men, which for some reason
they seemed to understand, whispered in the rude fellow's ear:
"They've found your mother's grave under the Flower Parlor. Your sisters
told me to tell you. But that is not all. They're trampling hither and
yon through all the secret places in the cellar, turning up the earth
with their spades. I know they won't find anything, but we thought you
ought to know----"
Here I made a feint of being startled, and ceased. My second task was
done. The third only remained. Fortunately at that moment Mr. Gryce and
his followers showed themselves in the garden. They had just come from
the cellar and played their part in the same spirit I had mine. Though
they were too far off for their words to be heard, the air of secrecy
they maintained and the dubious looks they cast towards the stable,
could not but evince even to William's dull understanding that their
investigations had resulted in a doubt which left them far from
satisfied; but, once this impression made, they did not linger long
together. The man with the lantern moved off, and Mr. Gryce turned
towards us, changing his whole appearance as he advanced, till no one
could look more cheerful and good-humored.
"Well, that is over," he sighed, with a forced air of infinite relief.
"Mere form, Mr. Knollys--mere form. We have to go through these
pretended investigations at times, and good people like yourself have to
submit; but I assure you it is not pleasant, and under the present
circumstances--I am sure you understand me, Mr. Knollys--the task has
occasioned me a feeling almost of remorse; but that is inseparable from
a detective's life. He is obliged every day of his life to ride over the
tenderest emotions. Forgive me! And now, boys, scatter till I call you
together again. I hope our next search will be without such sorrowful
accompaniments."
It succeeded. William stared at him and stared at the men slowly filing
off down the yard, but was not for a moment deceived by these
overflowing expressions. On the contrary, he looked more concerned than
he had while seated between the two men manifestly set to guard him.
"The deuce!" he cried, with a shrug of his shoulders that expressed
anything but satisfaction. "Lucetta always said--" But even he knew
enough not to finish that sentence, low as he had mumbled it. Watching
him and watching Mr. Gryce, who at that moment turned to follow his men,
I thought the time had come for action. Making another spring as if in
fresh terror of Saracen, who, by the way, was eying me with the meekness
of a lamb, I tipped over that pail with such suddenness and with such
dexterity that its whole contents poured in one flood over William's
feet. My third task was accomplished.
The oath he uttered and the excuses which I volubly poured forth could
not have reached Mr. Gryce's ears, for he did not return. And yet from
the way his shoulders shook as he disappeared around the corner of the
house, I judge that he was not entirely ignorant of the subterfuge by
which I hoped to force this blundering booby of ours to change the boots
he wore for one of the pairs into which I had driven those little tacks.
XXXII
RELIEF
The plan succeeded. Mr. Gryce's plans usually do. William went
immediately to his room, and in a little while came down and hastened
into the cellar.
"I want to see what mischief they have done," said he.
When he came back, his face was beaming.
"All right," he shouted to his sisters, who had come into the hall to
meet him. "Your secret's out, but mine----"
"There, there!" interposed Loreen, "you had better go up-stairs and
prepare for supper. We must eat, William, or rather, Miss Butterworth
must eat, whatever our sorrows or disappointments."
He took the rebuke with a grunt and relieved us of his company. Little
did he think as he went whistling up the stairs that he had just shown
Mr. Gryce where to search for whatever might be lying under the broad
sweep of that cellar-bottom.
That night--it was after supper, which I did not eat for all my natural
stoicism--Hannah came rushing in where we all sat silent, for the girls
showed no disposition to enlarge their confidences in regard to their
mother, and no other topic seemed possible, and, closing the door behind
her, said quickly and with evident chagrin:
"Those men are here again. They say they forgot something. What do you
think it means, Miss Loreen? They have spades and lanterns and----"
"They are the police, Hannah. If they forgot something, they have the
right to return. Don't work yourself up about that. The secret they have
already found out was our worst. There is nothing to fear after that."
And she dismissed Hannah, merely bidding her let us know when the house
was quite clear.
Was she right? Was there nothing worse for them to fear? I longed to
leave these trembling sisters, longed to join the party below and follow
in the track of the tiny impressions made by the tacks I had driven into
William's soles. If there was anything hidden under the cellar-bottom,
natural anxiety would carry him to the spot he had most to fear; so they
would only have to dig at the places where these impressions took a
sharp turn.
But was there anything hidden there? From the sisters' words and actions
I judged there was nothing serious, but would they know? William was
quite capable of deceiving them. Had he done so? It was a question.
It was solved for us by Mr. Gryce's reappearance in the room an hour or
so later. From the moment the light fell upon his kindly features I knew
that I might breathe again freely. It was not the face he showed in the
house of a criminal, nor did his bow contain any of the false deference
with which he sometimes tries to hide his secret doubt or contempt.
"I have come to trouble you for the last time, ladies. We have made a
double search through this house and through the stables, and feel
perfectly justified in saying that our duty henceforth will lead us
elsewhere. The secrets we have surprised are your own, and if possible
shall remain so. Your brother's propensity for vivisection and the
return and death of your mother bear so little on the real question
which interests this community that we may be able to prevent their
spread as gossip through the town. That this may be done
conscientiously, however, I ought to know something more of the latter
circumstance. If Miss Butterworth will then be good enough to grant me a
few minutes' conference with these ladies, I may be able to satisfy
myself to such an extent as to let this matter rest where it is."
I rose with right good will. A mountain weight had been lifted from me,
proof positive that I had really come to love these girls.
What they told him, whether it was less or more than they told me, I
cannot say, and for the moment did not know. That it had not shaken his
faith in them was evident, for when he came out to where I was waiting
in the hall his aspect was even more encouraging than it had been
before.
"No guile in those girls," he whispered as he passed me. "The clue given
by what seemed mysterious in this house has come to naught. To-morrow we
take up another. The trinkets found in Mother Jane's cottage are
something real. You may sleep soundly to-night, Miss Butterworth. Your
part has been well played, but I know you are glad that it has failed."
And I knew that I was glad, too, which is the best proof that there is
something in me besides the detective instinct.
The front door had scarcely closed behind him when William came storming
in. He had been gossiping over the fence with Mr. Trohm, and had been
beguiled into taking a glass of wine in his house. This was evident
without his speaking of it.
"Those sneaks!" cried he. "I hear they've been back again, digging and
stirring up our cellar-bottom like mad. That's because you're so
dreadful shy, you girls. You're afraid of this, you're afraid of that.
You don't want folks to know that mother once--Well, well, there it is
now! If you had not tried to keep this wretched secret, it would have
been an old matter by this time, and my affairs would have been left
untouched. But now every fool will cry out at me in this staid,
puritanical old town, and all because a few bones have been found of
animals which have died in the cause of science. I say it's all your
fault! Not that I have anything to be ashamed of, because I haven't, but
because this other thing, this d--d wicked series of disappearances,
taking place, for aught we know, a dozen rods from our gates (though I
think--but no matter what I think--you all like, or say you like, old
Deacon Spear), has made every one so touchy in this pharisaical town
that to kill a fly has become a crime even if it is to save oneself from
poison. I'm going to see if I cannot make folks blink askance at some
other man than me. I'm going to find out who or what causes these
disappearances."
This was a declaration to make us all stare and look a little bit
foolish. William playing the detective! Well, what might I not live to
see next! But the next moment an overpowering thought struck me. Might
this Deacon Spear by any chance be the rich man whose animosity Althea
Knollys had awakened?
_BOOK IV_
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR
XXXIII
LUCETTA
The next morning I rose with the lark. I had slept well, and all my old
vigor had returned. A new problem was before me; a problem of surpassing
interest, now that the Knollys family had been eliminated from the list
of persons regarded with suspicion by the police. Mother Jane and the
jewels were to be Mr. Gryce's starting-point for future investigation.
Should they be mine? My decision on this point halted, and thinking it
might be helped by a breath of fresh air, I decided upon an early stroll
as a means of settling this momentous question.
There was silence in the house when I passed through it on my way to the
front door. But that silence had lost its terrors and the old house its
absorbing mystery. Yet it was not robbed of its interest. When I
realized that Althea Knollys, the Althea of my youth, had just died
within its walls as ignorant of my proximity as I of hers, I felt that
no old-time romance, nor any terror brought by flitting ghost or
stalking apparition, could compare with the wonder of this return and
the strange and thrilling circumstances which had attended it. And the
end was not yet. Peaceful as everything now looked, I still felt that
the end had not come.
The fact that Saracen was loose in the yard gave me some slight concern
as I opened the great front door and looked out. But the control under
which I had held him the day before encouraged me in my venture, and
after a few words with Hannah, who was careful not to let me slip away
unnoticed, I boldly stepped forth and took my solitary way down to the
gate.
It was not yet eight, and the grass was still heavy with dew. At the
gate I paused. I wished to go farther, but Mr. Gryce's injunction had
been imperative about venturing into the lane alone. Besides--No, that
was not a horse's hoof. There could be no one on the road so early as
this. I was alarming myself unnecessarily, yet--Well, I held my place, a
little awkwardly, perhaps. Self-consciousness is always awkward, and I
could not help being a trifle self-conscious at a meeting so unexpected
and--But the more I attempt to explain, the more confused my expressions
become, so I will just say that, by this very strange chance, I was
leaning over the gate when Mr. Trohm rode up for the second time and
found me there.
I did not attempt any excuses. He is gentleman enough to understand that
a woman of my temperament rises early and must have the morning air.
That he should feel the same necessity is a coincidence, natural
perhaps, but still a coincidence. So there was nothing to be said about
it.
But had there been, I would not have spoken, for he seemed so gratified
at finding me enjoying nature at this early hour that any words from me
would have been quite superfluous. He did not dismount--that would have
shown intention--but he stopped, and--well, we have both passed the age
of romance, and what he said cannot be of interest to the general
public, especially as it did not deal with the disappearances or with
the discoveries made in the Knollys house the day before, or with any of
those questions which have absorbed our attention up to this time.
That we were engaged more than five minutes in this conversation I
cannot believe. I have always been extremely accurate in regard to time,
yet a good half-hour was lost by me that morning for which I have never
been able to account. Perhaps it was spent in the short discussion which
terminated our interview; a discussion which may be of interest to you,
for it was upon the action of the police.
"Nothing came of the investigations made by Mr. Gryce yesterday, I
perceive," Mr. Trohm had remarked, with some reluctance, as he gathered
up his reins to depart. "Well, that is not strange. How could he have
hoped to find any clue to such a mystery as he is engaged to unearth, in
a house presided over by Miss Knollys?"
"How could he, indeed! Yet," I added, determined to allay this man's
suspicions, which, notwithstanding the openness of his remark, were
still observable in his tones, "you say that with an air I should hardly
expect from so good a neighbor and friend. Why is this, Mr. Trohm?
Surely you do not associate crime with the Misses Knollys?"
"Crime? Oh, no, certainly not. No one could associate crime with the
Misses Knollys. If my tone was at fault, it was due perhaps to my
embarrassment--this meeting, your kindness, the beauty of the day, and
the feeling these all call forth. Well, I may be pardoned if my tones
are not quite true in discussing other topics. My thoughts were with the
one I addressed."
"Then that tone of doubt was all the more misplaced," I retorted. "I am
so frank, I cannot bear innuendo in others. Besides, Mr. Trohm, the
worst folly of this home was laid bare yesterday in a way to set at rest
all darker suspicions. You knew that William indulged in vivisection.
Well, that is bad, but it cannot be called criminal. Let us do him
justice, then, and, for his sisters' sake, see how we can re-establish
him in the good graces of the community."
But Mr. Trohm, who for all our short acquaintance was not without a very
decided appreciation for certain points in my character, shook his head
and with a smiling air returned:
"You are asking the impossible not only of the community, but yourself.
William can never re-establish himself. He is of too rude a make. The
girls may recover the esteem they seem to have lost, but William--Why,
if the cause of those disappearances was found to-day, and found at the
remotest end of this road or even up in the mountains, where no one
seems to have looked for it, William would still be known throughout the
county as a rough and cruel man. I have tried to stand his friend, but
it's been against odds, Miss Butterworth. Even his sisters recognize
this, and show their lack of confidence in our friendship. But I would
like to oblige you."
I knew he ought to go. I knew that if he had simply lingered the five
minutes which common courtesy allowed, that curious eyes would be
looking from Loreen's window, and that at any minute I might expect some
interference from Lucetta, who had read through this man's forbearance
toward William the very natural distrust he could not but feel toward so
uncertain a character. Yet with such an opportunity at my command, how
could I let him go without another question?
"Mr. Trohm," said I, "you have the kindest heart and the closest lips,
but have you ever thought that Deacon Spear----"
He stopped me with a really horrified look. "Deacon Spear's house was
thoroughly examined yesterday," said he, "as mine will be to-day. Don't
insinuate anything against him! Leave that for foolish William." Then
with the most charming return to his old manner, for I felt myself in a
measure rebuked, he lifted his hat and urged his horse forward. But,
having withdrawn himself a step or two, he paused and with the slightest
gesture toward the little hut he was facing, added in a much lower tone
than any he had yet used: "Besides, Deacon Spear is much too far away
from Mother Jane's cottage. Don't you remember that I told you she never
could be got to go more than forty rods from her own doorstep?" And,
breaking into a quick canter, he rode away.
I was left to think over his words and the impossibility of my picking
up any other clue than that given me by Mr. Gryce.