On Tuesday afternoon, while I was helping Haidee to dress her doll
in the dining-room, there was a ring at the front-door bell, and
shortly afterwards Jane came in, looking rather frightened, saying a
gentleman was in the hall asking for Sarah.
“And I’ve told him she is ill, Miss Christie; but he won’t believe me;
and he won’t go away, and Mr. Rayner is out; and please will you speak
to him?”
I got up, and, following her into the hall, found, not a gentleman,
but a respectably-dressed man, who very civilly apologized for
disturbing me.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am; but are you Miss Rayner?”
“Oh, no!”
“Mrs. Rayner?”
“No. Mrs. Rayner is an invalid, and I am afraid you cannot see her. I
am the governess. If you have any message for Mr. Rayner, I will give
it to him; or, if you like, you can write him a note, and it shall be
given him when he returns.”
“Thank you, miss.”
Still he hesitated.
“Would you like to wait for Mr. Rayner? He will be back in about an
hour.”
“Thank you. Could I speak to you in private for a few minutes, miss?”
“Oh, yes, certainly! Will you come in here?”--and I opened the door of
the schoolroom.
He followed me in and shut it carefully.
“I am the brother of Sarah Gooch, miss, who is a servant here.”
I nodded assent.
“I’ve been abroad and worked myself into a good position, and now I
want my sister to leave service. And I don’t want the other servants
to know I’m her brother. It may be pride; but perhaps you’ll excuse
it, miss. Would you mind sending for her without saying it’s her
brother wants her?”
How could I break the fact of her illness to the poor man?
“Oh, please be prepared for bad news! I’m so sorry!” said I gently.
“She is ill--very ill.”
To my surprise, he looked more incredulous than unhappy. He said very
suddenly--
“She was quite well last Friday afternoon.”
“Yes--an accident happened to her on Friday night. She fell down a
flight of stairs and injured herself severely. If you will only wait
until Mr. Rayner comes, he will speak to you. Sarah is a very old
servant in this family, and much respected, and she has every possible
care, I assure you.”
But he still seemed more curious than anxious about her, I thought.
“She has been in the family a long time then? Excuse me, miss, but
I’ve been away so long that she is almost like a stranger to me, and I
had great difficulty in finding her out. But I’m very glad to hear she
is thought so well of.”
“Oh, yes! Mr. Rayner has the greatest confidence in her.”
I did not want to say anything disagreeable about the woman now that
she was ill, especially to her brother, whose affection did not seem
very warm as it was.
“Ah, that’s the great thing! We’ve always been a family to hold our
heads high, and I couldn’t hear anything to please me more about her.
But I expect it’s little use my coming home and wanting her to keep
house for me. She was a good-looking girl, and I’ve no doubt she’s
looking forward to marrying on her savings, and then we shall be just
as far apart as ever. Do you know, miss--if it’s not troubling you too
much, and you won’t take it a liberty--if she’s got a sweetheart?”
I hesitated. The man’s cold curiosity seemed so unlike the warm
interest of a brother that I began to wonder whether I was right in
giving him the information he wanted. My doubts were so vague and his
questions so very harmless, however, that, when he said--
“I beg your pardon, miss--of course it is not for a lady like you to
interest yourself in the likes of us--”
I broke out--
“Oh, pray don’t think that! Sarah has an admirer, I know--”
I stopped. I could not say anything reassuring about Tom Parkes.
“Ah! An honest hard-working fellow, I hope, who’ll make her a good
husband.”
He was more interested now, and was looking at me very searchingly.
“I can’t speak to a man’s prejudice behind his back,” said I slowly;
“but--”
He was very much interested at last, and was waiting impatiently for
my next words, when Mr. Rayner quietly entered the room. There had
been no ring at the front door. He looked inquiringly at the man, whom
I was just going to introduce as Sarah’s brother, when the latter
anticipated me by saying quietly--
“From Scotland Yard, sir.”
“Scotland Yard?” echoed Mr. Rayner inquiringly. But the name did not
seem new to him, as it did to me.
“Yes, sir; I’ve been sent after a woman named Sarah Gooch, from
information received that she was in your service. Mr. Gervas Rayner I
believe, sir?”
Why did he not own he was her brother? I thought to myself.
“Yes, that is my name. But what on earth do you want with my servant,
Sarah Gooch?”
The man glanced at me. Mr. Rayner said--
“Go on. Never mind this lady; she is as much interested in the woman
as I am. What do you want with my old servant Sarah?”
“Suspected of complicity in the Denham Court robbery, sir--some of the
property traced to her.”
I started violently. This man, then, was not Sarah’s brother at all,
but a detective who had been trying to extract information from me by
a trick! Mr. Rayner stared full in his face for a few moments, as if
unable to find words; then he exclaimed, in a low voice--
“Impossible!”
“Sorry to shake your trust in an old servant, sir; but proof is
proof.”
“But what proof have you?” asked Mr. Rayner earnestly.
“Last Friday afternoon, between half-past four and twenty minutes to
five, your servant Sarah Gooch was seen to give the contents of a
black bag to a man in Beaconsburgh. The fact excited no suspicion. The
man took the next train to London, travelling second-class. But south
of Colchester he was seized with a fit; he was taken out at the next
station, the bag he had with him examined for his address, jewels
found in it, and the police at Scotland Yard communicated with. The
man escaped; but, on inquiries being made, witnesses were found to
prove conclusively that the biscuit-tin which contained the jewel had
been handed to him in a street in Beaconsburgh, on Friday afternoon,
between half-past four and twenty minutes to five, by a woman who was
identified as Sarah Gooch.”
I remembered seeing Sarah pass through the plantation on Friday
afternoon, on her way to Beaconsburgh, with the black bag. But I was
too horror-stricken to speak, even if I had not been, now that the
blow had fallen, as anxious to screen her as Mr. Rayner himself was to
prove her innocence.
“But I cannot believe it!” said Mr. Rayner. “She is a rough, harsh
woman; but I have always found her honest as the day.”
“She may have been instigated,” suggested the detective. “It’s
wonderful what things women will do for their lovers, and she had a
lover--not of the best possible character.”
Mr. Rayner gave a quick glance at me, and I felt guilty, for it was
indeed I who had given this piece of information.
“Do you know his name?” asked Mr. Rayner.
“I am not in a position to state it yet; but we have our suspicions,”
said the man cautiously.
Mr. Rayner gave no sign of incredulity; but I knew his face well
enough now to be able to tell that he did not believe him.
“The main point now is, having traced the jewels to the woman Sarah
Gooch, to find out how they came into her possession. I must ask you
to let me see the woman and question her. Taken by surprise, she may
confess everything.”
“You shall see her,” said Mr. Rayner gravely, “and then judge for
yourself whether she is in a state to answer questions. I will ask the
nurse if you can see her now. Miss Christie, would you mind going up
with me and watching in her place while Mrs. Saunders comes out to
speak to me?”
We went up together, scarcely speaking a word; and I sent out the
nurse to him and stood watching in her place. Sarah, looking more
hideous than ever with the white bandage round her head and against
her leather-colored face and black hair, was turning her head from
side to side, and moaning and muttering feebly. The only words one
could catch seemed to refer to the pain she was in. Then the door
opened, the nurse re-entered, and the detective, with Mr. Rayner
behind him, peeped in. A glance at the hollow face and dry lips of the
sick woman might have satisfied him that her illness was no sham; but
he watched her and listened to her mutterings for some minutes before
he retired. I left the room as quickly as I could--the sight of the
ghastly figure of the guilty woman sickened me.
“You see,” Mr. Rayner was saying as I got outside, “she is quite
unable at present to speak for herself. I hope, and indeed believe,
that, when she can do so, she will be able to clear herself of
anything worse than perhaps the innocent passing of the stolen goods
from one rogue to another, without herself having the least idea of
the crime she was being made to participate in. I will do all in my
power to assist the course of justice. The doctor will be here in the
morning, and he will tell you when she is likely to be able to give an
account of herself. In the mean time you shall spend the night here.
Miss Christie, will you kindly tell Mrs. Jennings to prepare the room
next to mine and Mrs. Rayner’s?”
The name “Mrs. Jennings” for the moment puzzled me; then I remembered
it was that of the cook, and I wondered why he had not said Jane. His
room and Mrs. Rayner’s! Did Mr. Rayner then sleep in the house since
his wife’s change of apartment?
The cook grumbled a good deal when I gave her the order. What was the
house being turned topsy-turvy for? Why had Mr. Rayner just sent Jane
off to Wright’s Farm to pay the corn-bill, to-day of all days, when
there was a visitor and more to do? Telling her she might stop the
night too, if the fog came on, as it was doing, when he might have
known she wouldn’t want telling twice when that hulking young Peter
Wright was about the farm! She knew what it was; Jane would not be
back till late to-morrow afternoon, if she was then, and--
And so the cook went on, until suddenly Mr. Rayner appeared upon the
scene, and she broke off in her complaints, startled.
“I am afraid I have entailed a good deal of trouble upon you, cook, by
thoughtlessly giving Jane permission to spend the night at the farm if
the fog grew thick; so I have just asked Mrs. Saunders to take her
upstairs duties till Jane comes back, in return for which you will be
kind enough to watch by Sarah during her unavoidable absences.”
This silenced the cook at once. It was a just punishment for her
grumbling, for there was no duty she would not rather have undertaken
than that of watching by the unconscious Sarah even in her quiet
moments. She said to me afterwards that the nurse was very good;
directly Sarah began to talk or grow excited, Mrs. Saunders always
managed to hear, and came in to relieve her from the unpleasant task
of listening to the sick woman’s ravings.
I left Mr. Rayner talking to the cook, and went back to Haidee in the
dining-room. When tea-time came, Mr. Rayner entered with the
detective, whom he now addressed as “Mr. Maynard,” and treated as a
distinguished guest. Mr. Maynard talked rather interestingly when his
host drew him out, and was elaborately courteous to Mrs. Rayner, whose
cold manner rather overawed him, and to me. He went to his room early,
and, when Mrs. Rayner had gone to hers, I remained in the drawing-room
putting the music in order, as Mr. Rayner had told me to do.
“This day’s events have upset me more than you can imagine, child,”
said he, passing his hand through his hair wearily. “That vixen Sarah
has always seemed honest--and yet I don’t know what to believe.”
“And, you know, the portmanteau I found in the cellar,” I whispered
timidly.
Mr. Rayner started.
“Good Heaven, I had forgotten that! Or rather I had dismissed it from
my mind as a fancy brought about by the excitement of Sarah’s
accident, and hastily connected in your mind with your view of poor
old Tom Parkes carrying a box across the lawn. Where are the
store-room keys, child?” asked he excitedly. “We must go at once to
the cellar, and-- Heaven help us if what I took for your fancy should
prove to be the truth!”
I tremblingly produced the keys, which I carried about with me; and,
much against my will, I accompanied Mr. Rayner into the left wing. He
took the keys from me; but he was so very excited that he could not
find the right one to fit into the door, and I opened it for him. We
crossed the store-room. There lay the black bag on one side of the
trap-door, where I had put it down on catching sight of the little
ring in the floor. I put my finger through this and raised it again,
not without a shudder at the remembrance of my last visit, and Mr.
Rayner went down hastily, while I held the candle for him to see by.
“No, my child, I see nothing,” said he, as he peered about.
“Look through the ladder; it is behind there,” said I.
Mr. Rayner looked through it, then looked round it, stretched his arm
out, and again raised his face to mine, this time however with a look
of unutterable relief.
“Thank Heaven, it was your fancy, child!” said he. “There is nothing
there.”
“Not a deal table?” I gasped.
“No--nothing but water.”
“Perhaps the water has risen higher and covered it?”
“Come down yourself and see. Or are you afraid to come down again?”
“No, I am not afraid,” said I uncertainly.
He came up and took the candle from me, while I descended. The water,
I knew by the number of steps which were dry above it, was at the same
level as before. I looked through the ladder and round it. Table and
portmanteau had utterly disappeared. As I looked up suddenly, Mr.
Rayner’s face, distorted by the weird light thrown on it by the
flickering candle, seemed to me to wear a mocking smile which made the
handsome features hideous and alarming.
“Let me come up,” said I sharply.
He held out his hand, and, when I, trembling and tottering, reached
the top of the ladder, he flung his arm round me to support me. But I
was so sick with the horror of finding my story--my true
story--disproved, and with the fancy I had had on looking up at Mr.
Rayner’s face, that I slid from his arm, ran out of the store-room,
along the passage and through the swing-door, and leaned against the
hall-table to recover myself. Mr. Rayner was at my side in a few
minutes, and, almost unconsciously, I let him lead me back into the
drawing-room. He brought me some brandy-and-water and made me drink
it, and bathed my forehead, and told me gently not to be frightened,
for I should soon be out of this dreary place and among beautiful
scenes where I should forget the gloom of this sepulchral, dead-alive
house, which was turning my poor little brain.
“But indeed I did see the portmanteau the first time!” said I
piteously.
“Yes, dear child, I know,” said Mr. Rayner.
But I saw he did not believe me; and the tears began to roll down my
cheeks.
“You must not cry, you must not cry! You will spoil your pretty face
if you cry,” said Mr. Rayner almost angrily.
I knew he hated the sight of anything ugly or distressing--it was part
of an artist’s nature, he said; so I forced back my tears as fast as I
could, and tried to smile.
“There is my lovely girl again!” said he, stopping in front of me--he
had walked up and down the room while I wept. “We will never mention
Sarah’s name again when once we are away from her, little one,” said
he. “But until we go, or until our respected friend Mr. Maynard goes,
I am afraid she must still occupy a good deal of our thoughts. She
will certainly not be able to submit to any cross-examination on his
part to-morrow, or for a long time to come--if she ever is,” said he
gravely. “And in the mean time he will try to trump up a story and to
criminate as many persons as he can, just to show his superiors that
he has not wasted his time here. And certainly he will leave our poor
Sarah without a rag of character.”
“But, do you know, Mr. Rayner, I don’t think Sarah has always been as
nice a woman as you suppose,” said I timidly. “From what I have heard
her say, I think, when she was young, she must have had some horrid
friends who made her do all sorts of wrong things; and that is why I
cannot be as much surprised as you are at her doing wicked things
now.”
“Did you tell Mr. Maynard that?”
“No, I only answered his questions. He said he was her brother--and of
course I did not want to make him doubt his own sister. But, Mr.
Rayner, I want to ask you something. Have you ever heard of a James
Woodfall?”
He was sitting by me on the sofa, with his head turned away. He did
not answer my question at once. Then he said very quietly--
“Did Mr. Maynard ask you that?”
He turned slowly as he said so, until his eyes met mine.
“Oh, no! I heard Sarah say the name when she was delirious--the first
night--Friday night,” I whispered.
“Oh! Was he a friend of Sarah’s?”
“Oh, yes! I think she must have been in love with him when she was
young, and he must have been a very bad man who made her do anything
he liked; and the most curious part of it is that she--she mixes his
name up with the people she knows now,” said I, lowering my voice
still more.
“How?” asked Mr. Rayner. “Whose name does she mix his up with?”
“Why, with--with mine, Mr. Rayner!” said I, blushing uncomfortably at
the very thought. “She kept saying in her ravings that this wicked
forger--for she said he was a forger--James Woodfall, was in love with
me and wanted to marry me, and that he wanted her to help to marry
this common thief to me. Wasn’t it dreadful to have to listen to
that?” whispered I excitedly.
“Did she say James Woodfall was a common thief?”
“No, I gathered that from what she said. Did you ever hear of him, Mr.
Rayner?”
“Yes, I have heard of him, and I believe he is alive now,” said he.
“Then I believe that she is in love with him still, and that he is at
the bottom of this dreadful robbery!” cried I, much excited. “Oh, Mr.
Rayner, couldn’t you find out from Sarah where he is now, while the
detective is here, and get him caught?” I said breathlessly.
Mr. Rayner shook his head thoughtfully.
“I am afraid not, my dear child. If James Woodfall is the man I mean,
he will never be taken alive,” said he.