THE SOMNAMBULIST
Miss Arnott was not happy. Money had not brought her anything worth
having. In her case, fortune had been synonymous with misfortune.
Young, rich "beyond the dreams of avarice," good-looking; all those
papers which deal with what are ironically called "personal topics,"
held her up to public admiration as one of the persons in the world who
were most to be envied. In plain truth she was one of the most
miserable. In her penniless days she was not unhappier. Then her
trouble was simple, now it was compound. Not the least of her disasters
was the fact that health was failing. That robust habit of mind and
body which had, so far, stood her in good stead, was being sapped by
the continuous strain. Her imagination was assuming a morbid tinge. Her
nights were sleepless, or dream-haunted, which was as bad. She was
becoming obsessed by an unhealthy feeling that she lived in a tainted
atmosphere. That all the air about her was impregnated with suspicion.
That she was becoming the centre of doubting eyes, whispering tongues,
furtively pointing fingers.
While she was more or less unconsciously drifting into this physically
and mentally unhealthy condition she received a visit from a Mrs
Forrester, in the course of which that lady insisted on dwelling on
topics of a distinctly disagreeable kind.
Mrs Forrester was a widow, childless, well-to-do. She had two
occupations--one was acting as secretary to the local branch of the
Primrose League, and the other was minding other people's business. She
so managed that the first was of material assistance to her in the
second. She was a person for whom Miss Arnott had no liking. Had she
had a chance she would have denied herself. But Mrs Forrester came
sailing in through the hall just as she was going out of it.
"Oh, my dear Miss Arnott, this is an unexpected pleasure! I am so
fortunate in finding you at home, I so seldom do! And there is
something of the first importance which I must speak to you about at
once--of the very first importance, I do assure you."
The motor was at the door. Miss Arnott's inclination was to fib, to
invent a pressing engagement--say, twenty miles off--and so shunt the
lady off on to Mrs Plummer. It seemed as if the visitor saw what was in
her mind. She promptly gave utterance to her intention not to be
shunted.
"Now you mustn't say you're engaged, because I sha'n't keep you a
minute, or at most but five. That motor of yours can wait, and you
simply must stop and listen to what I have to say. It's in your own
interest, your own urgent interest, so I can't let you go."
Miss Arnott stopped, perforce. She led the way into the red
drawing-room. Mrs Forrester burst into the middle of the subject, which
had brought her there, in her own peculiar fashion.
"Now, before I say a single word, I want you to understand most clearly
that the only reason which has brought me here, the one thing I have
come for, is to obtain your permission, your authority, to contradict
the whole story."
"What story?"
The visitor held up her hands.
"What story! You don't mean to say you haven't heard? It simply shows
how often we ourselves are the last persons to hear of matters in which
we are most intimately concerned. My dear, the whole world is talking
about it, the entire parish! And you say, what story?"
"I say again, what story? I've no doubt that my concerns do interest a
large number of persons, even more than they do me, but I've not the
vaguest idea to which one of them you're now referring."
"Is it possible? My dear, I was told no longer ago than this morning
that you walk every night through the woods in--well, in your
nightdress."
"What's that?"
"Of course it's nonsense. No one knows better than I do that such an
idea's ridiculous. But there's the story. And, as I've said, I've come
on purpose to ask you to allow me to offer an authoritative
contradiction."
"But what is the story? I should be obliged to you, Mrs Forrester, if
you could manage to make it a little clearer."
"I will make it clear. To me it has been made painfully
clear--painfully. I may tell you that I've heard the story, in different
forms, from various sources. Indeed I believe it's no exaggeration to
say that it's on everybody's tongue, and, on the whole, no wonder. My
informant this morning was Briggs, the postman. You know him?"
"I can't claim the honour. However, I'm willing to take your statement
as proof of his existence."
"A most respectable man, most respectable. His wife has fifteen
children--twins only last March,--but perhaps I oughtn't to speak of it
to you. He used to be night watchman at Oak Dene in old Mr Morice's
time. Sometimes he takes the letter-bags to and from the mail train,
which goes through at half-past one in the morning. He did so last
night. He assures me with his own lips that, coming home, as he was
passing your place, he heard something moving, and on looking round saw
you among the trees in your nightdress. Of course it couldn't have been
you. But, at the same time, it is most singular. He is such a
respectable man, and his story was most circumstantial. Could it have
been you?"
"I was not out last night at all, and it never is my custom to wander
about the grounds in the costume you refer to, if that is what you
mean, Mrs Forrester--at least, not consciously."
"Exactly, that is the very point, of course--not consciously. But do
you do it unconsciously?"
"Unconsciously! What do you mean?"
"My dear, it is my duty to tell you that all sorts of people claim to
have seen you wandering--sometimes actually running--through the woods
of Exham Park at the most extraordinary hours, clad only in your
nightdress. The suggestion is that you are walking in your sleep."
"Walking in my sleep? Mrs Forrester!"
"Yes, my dear, walking in your sleep. It is strange that the story
should not have reached you; it is on everybody's tongue. But when, as
I tell you, Briggs made that positive statement to me with his own
lips, I felt it my bounden duty to come and see you about it at the
earliest possible moment. Because, if there is any truth in the tale at
all--and they can't all be liars--it is absolutely essential for your
own protection that you should have someone to sleep with you--at any
rate, in the same room. Somnambulism is a most serious thing. If you
are a somnambulist--and if you aren't, what are you?--proper
precautions ought to be taken, or goodness only knows what may happen."
"If I am a somnambulist, Mrs Forrester. But am I? In all my life I have
never heard it hinted that I am anything of the kind, and I myself have
never had any reason to suspect it."
"Still, my dear, there are all those stories told by all sorts of
people."
"They may have imagined they saw something. I very much doubt if they
saw me."
"But there is Briggs's positive assertion. I have such faith in Briggs.
And why should he invent a tale of the sort?"
"Did he see my face?"
"No; he says you were walking quickly from him, almost running, but he
is positive it was you. He wanted to come and tell you so himself; but
I dissuaded him, feeling that it was a matter about which you would
prefer that I should come and speak to you first."
"What time was it when he supposes himself to have seen me?"
"Somewhere about two o'clock."
Miss Arnott reflected.
"To the best of my knowledge and belief I was in bed at two o'clock,
and never stirred from it till Evans called me to get into my bath. If,
as you suggest, I was out in the woods in my nightdress--delightful
notion!--surely I should have brought back with me some traces of my
excursion. I believe it rained last night."
"It did; Briggs says it was raining at the time he saw you."
"Then that settles the question; he didn't see me. Was I barefooted?"
"He couldn't see."
"The presumption is that, if I choose to wander about in such an airy
costume as a nightgown, it is hardly likely that I should think it
necessary to go through the form of putting on either shoes or
stockings. Anyhow, I should have been soaked to the skin. When I woke
up this morning my nightgown would have shown traces at least of the
soaking it had undergone. But not a bit of it; it was as clean as a new
pin. Ask Evans! My feet were stainless. My bedroom slippers--the only
footwear within reach, were unsoiled. No; I fancy, Mrs Forrester, that
those friends of yours have ardent imaginations, and that even the
respectable Briggs is not always to be trusted."
"Then you authorise me to contradict the story _in toto?_
"Yes, Mrs Forrester; I give you the fullest authority to inform anyone
and everyone that I never, in the whole course of my life, went out for
a stroll in my nightgown, either asleep or waking. Thank you very much
indeed for giving me the opportunity of furnishing you with the
necessary power."
Mrs Forrester rose from her chair solemnly.
"I felt that I should only be doing my duty if I came."
"Of course you did, and you never miss an opportunity of doing your
duty. Do you?"
Before the lady had a chance of replying a door opened. Miss Arnott
turned to find that it had admitted Mr Morice. The sight of him was so
unexpected, and took her so wholly by surprise that, at a momentary
loss for a suitable greeting, she repeated, inanely enough, almost the
identical words which she had just been uttering to Mrs Forrester.
"Mr Morice! This is--this is a surprise. I--I was just telling Mrs
Forrester, who has been good enough to bring me rather a curious story,
that if anyone mentions, in her hearing, that they saw me strolling
through the woods in the middle of the night in a state of considerable
undress, I shall be obliged if she gives such a statement a point-blank
contradiction."
Mr Morice inclined his head gravely, as if he understood precisely what
the lady was talking about.
"Certainly. Always advise Mrs Forrester to contradict everything she
hears. Mrs Forrester hears such singular things."