I AM HAUNTED BY THREE EVIL-LOOKING OBJECTS IN MRS. LEMON'S ROOM.
It was plentifully furnished: stuffed chairs and couch, the latter
with a guilty air about it which seemed to say, "I am not what I
seem;" a mahogany table in the centre, upon which was an album which
had seen very much better days; ornaments on the mantelshelf, bounded
on each corner by a lustre with broken pendants; a faded green carpet
on the floor; two pictures on the walls; and on a small table near the
window a glass case with an evil-looking bird in it. The pictures were
portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Lemon in oil-colour. They appeared to have
been recently painted, and I made a remark to that effect.
"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Lemon, in a voice which struck me as being
uneasy. "They was done only a few weeks ago." And then, as though the
words were forced from her against her will, "Do you see a likeness,
sir?"
When she asked this question she was gazing at the portrait of
herself.
As a work of art, the painting was a shocking exhibition; as a
likeness, it was unmistakable.
"It is," I said, "your very image. Is the portrait of your husband--if
that is your husband hanging there----"
She interrupted me with a shudder. "_Hanging_ there, sir?"
"I mean on the wall. It _is_ a picture of Mr. Lemon, I presume."
"Yes, sir, it's him."
"Is it as faithful a portrait as your own?"
"It's as like him, sir, as two peas. Egscept----" but she suddenly
paused.
"Except what, Fanny?"
"Nothing, sir, nothing," she said hurriedly.
If, thought I, it is as like him as two peas, there must be something
extraordinarily strange and odd in Mr. Lemon. That he was not a
good-looking man could be borne with; but that, of his own free will,
he should have submitted to be painted and exhibited with such a sly,
sinister expression on his face, was decidedly not in his favour. With
his thought in my mind I turned involuntarily to the evil-looking bird
in the glass case, and, singularly enough, was struck by an absurd and
fearful resemblance between the bird's beak and the man's face. Mrs.
Lemon's eyes followed mine.
"Have you had that bird long?" I asked.
"Not long, sir," she replied, and her voice trembled. "About as long
as the pictures."
"Did your husband buy it in England? It is a strange bird, and I can't
find a name for it."
"Lemon didn't buy it, sir. It was give to him."
I hazarded a guess. "By the artist who painted your husband's
portrait?"
"Yes, sir."
Turning from the stuffed bird to the fireplace, I received a shock. In
the centre of the mantelshelf was the stone figure of a creature, half
monster and half man, with a face bearing such a singular resemblance
to Mr. Lemon's and the bird's beak that I rubbed my eyes in
bewilderment, believing myself to have suddenly fallen under the
influence of a devilish enchantment. But rub my eyes as I might, I
could not rub away the strange resemblance. It was no delusion of the
senses.
"Was that--that figure, Fanny, given to you by the artist who painted
your husband's portrait, and who presented him with that stuffed
bird?"
"Yes, sir; he give it to Lemon." And then, in a timorous voice, she
asked, "Do you see anything odd in it, sir?"
"It is not only that it's odd," I replied; "but, if you will excuse me
for saying so, Fanny, there is really something horrible about it."
In a low tone Mrs. Lemon said, "That's egsactly as I feel, sir."
"Then, why don't you get rid of it?"
"It's more than I dare do, sir. There it is, and there it must
remain."
"And there that evil-looking bird is, I suppose, and there that must
remain."
"Yes, sir."
"Ah, well," I said, thinking it time to get upon the track, "and now
let us talk about something else. You appear to be in trouble."
"You may well say that, sir. I'm worn to skin and bone."
"I'm sorry to hear it, Fanny. Money troubles, I suppose?"
"O, no, sir! We can manage on what we've got, Lemon and me, though he
_has_ made ducks and drakes with the best part of his savings. Not
money troubles, sir; a good deal worser than that."
"Your husband is well, I trust."
"I wish I could say so, sir. No, sir, he's a long way from well, and I
didn't know who else to call in, for poor dear Lemon wouldn't stand
anybody but you."
Why poor dear Lemon wouldn't stand anybody but me was, to say the
least of it, inexplicable; as, since I used to catch indistinct views
of his legs when he came courting Fanny in my father's house, I had
never set eyes on him. I made no remark, however, but waited quietly
for developments.
"He took to his bed, sir," said Mrs. Lemon, "at a quarter to four
o'clock yesterday afternoon; and it's my opinion he'll never git up
from it."
"That is bad news, Fanny. But your letter to me was written before
yesterday afternoon."
"Yes, sir; because I felt that things mustn't be allowed to go on as
they _are_ going on without trying to alter 'em. They was bad enough
when I posted my letter to you, sir; but they're a million times worse
now. My blood's a-curdling, sir."
"Eh?" I cried, much startled by this solemn matter-of-fact description
of the condition of her blood.
"It's curdling inside me, sir, to think of what is going to happen to
Lemon!"
"Come, come, Fanny," I expostulated, "you mustn't take things so
seriously; it will not mend them. What does the doctor say?"
"Doctor, sir? Love your heart! If I was to take a doctor into Lemon's
room now, I wouldn't answer for the consequences."
"That is all nonsense," I said; "he must be reasoned with."
Mrs. Lemon shook her head triumphantly. "You may reason with some men,
sir, and you may delood a child; but reason with Lemon--I defy you,
sir!"
There was really no occasion for her to do that, as I was there in the
capacity of a friend. While we were conversing I made continual
unsuccessful attempts to avoid sight of the objects which had produced
upon me so disagreeable an impression, but I could not place myself in
such a position as to escape the whole three at one and the same time.
If I turned my back upon the evil-looking bird and the portrait of Mr.
Lemon, the hideous stone figure on the mantelshelf met my gaze; if I
turned my back upon that, I not only had a side view of the bird's
beak, but a full-faced view of my friend Lemon. Familiarity with these
objects intensified my first impressions of them, and at times I could
almost fancy that their sinister features moved in mockery of me.
There was in them a fiend-like magnetism I found it impossible to
resist.
"Does your husband eat well?" I asked.
"Not so well as he used to do, sir."
"Perhaps," I said, hazarding a guess, "he drinks a little too much."
"No, sir, you're wrong there. He likes a glass--we none of us despise
it, sir--but he never exceeds."
"Then, in the name of all that's reasonable, Fanny, what is the matter
with him?"
Mrs. Lemon turned to her husband's portrait, turned to the stone
figure on the mantelshelf, turned to the evil-looking bird; and her
frame was shaken by a strong shuddering.
"Is it anything to do with those objects?" I inquired, my wonder and
perplexity growing.
"That's what I want you to find out for me, sir, if I can so fur
trespass. Don't refuse me, sir, don't! It's a deal to ask you to do, I
know, but I shall be everlastingly grateful."
"I am ready to serve you, Fanny," I said gravely, "but at present I am
completely in the dark. For instance, this is the first time I have
seen those Mephistophelian-looking objects with which you have chosen
to decorate your room."
"I didn't choose, sir. It was done, and I daredn't go agin it."
"I have nothing to say to that; I must wait for your explanation. What
I was about to remark was, why that evil-beaked bird----"
"Which I wish," she interposed, "had been burnt before it was
stuffed."
"----Should bear so strange a resemblance," I continued, "to the
portrait of your husband, and why both should bear so strange a
resemblance to the stone monster on your mantelshelf, is so very much
beyond me, that I cannot for the life of me arrive at a satisfactory
solution of the mystery. Surely it cannot spring from a diseased
imagination, for you have the same fancy as myself."
"It ain't fancy, sir; it's fact. And the sing'lar part of it is that
the party as brought them all three into the house is as much like
them as they are to each other."
"We're getting on solid ground," I said. "The party who brought them
into the house--who gave you the stone monster, who painted your
husband's portrait and yours, who stuffed the bird; for, doubtless, he
was the taxidermist. An Admirable Crichton, indeed, in the way of
accomplishments! You see, Fanny, you are introducing me to new
acquaintances. You have not mentioned this party before. A man, I
presume."
"I suppose so, sir," she said, with an awestruck look.
"Why suppose?" I asked. "In such a case, supposition is absurd. He is,
or is not, a man."
"Let us call him so, sir. It'll make things easier."
"Very much easier, and they will be easier still if you will be more
explicit. I seem to be getting more and more in the dark. In looking
again upon your portrait, Fanny----"
"Yes, sir?"
"I can almost discern a likeness to----"
"For the merciful Lord's sake, sir," she cried, "don't say that! If I
thought so, I should go mad. I'm scared enough already with what has
occurred and the trouble I'm in--and Lemon talking in his sleep all
the night through, and having the most horrible nightmares--and me
trembling and shaking in my bed with what I'm forced to hear--it's
unbearable, sir; it's unbearable!"
I was becoming very excited. Unless Mrs. Lemon had lost her senses,
there was in this common house a frightful and awful mystery. And Mrs.
Lemon had sent for me to fathom it! What was I about to hear--what to
discover?
I strove to speak in a calm voice.
"You say your husband took to his bed yesterday, and that you fear he
will never rise from it. Then he is in bed at this moment?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where is his bedroom?"
"On the first floor back, sir."
"Can he hear us talking?"
"No, sir."
"And you want me to see him?"
"Before you go, sir, if you have no objections. I sha'n't know how to
thank you."
"I will do what I can for you, Fanny. First for your own sake, and
next because there appears to be something going on in this house that
ought to be brought to light."
"You may well say that, sir. Not only in this house, but out of this
house. The good Lord above only knows what _is_ going on! But Lemon's
done nothing wrong, sir. I won't have him thought badly of, and I
won't have him hurt. He's been weak, yes, sir, but he ain't been
guilty of a wicked, horrible crime. It ain't in his nature, sir. When
I first begun to hear things that he used to say in his sleep, and
sometimes when he was awake and lost to everything, my hair used to
stand on end. I could feel it stirring up, giving me the creeps all
over my skin, and my heart'd beat that quick that it was a mercy it
didn't jump out of my body. But after a time, frightened as I was, and
getting no satisfaction out of Lemon, who only glared at me when I
spoke to him, I thought the time might come--and I ain't sure it won't
be this blessed day--when I should have to come forward as a witness
to save him from the gallows. I am his wife, sir, and if he ain't fit
to look after hisself, it's for me to look after him, and so, sir, I
thought the best thing for me to do was to keep a dairy."
"A dairy!" I echoed, in wonder.
"Yes, sir, a dairy--to put down in writing everything what happened at
the very time."
"O," I said, "you mean a diary!"
"If that's what you call it, sir. I got an old lodger's book that
wasn't all filled up. I keep it locked in my desk, sir. Perhaps you'd
like to look at it?"
"It may be as well, Fanny."
"If," she said, fumbling in her pocket for a key, and placing one by
one upon the table the most extraordinary collection of oddments that
female pocket was ever called upon to hold, "if, when we come into
this house to retire and live genteel, after Lemon had sold his
business, I'd have known what was to come out of my notion to let the
second floor front to a single man, I'd have had my feet cut off
before I'd done it. But I did it for the best, to keep down the
egspenses. Here it is, sir."