I SEE DOUBLE
THE certainty that I possessed an employer with a mind more or less
unhinged deepened throughout a long afternoon during which I found it
difficult to adapt myself to the varying pursuits of my fellow-Members
of the Band. To let Judy and Jack out of my sight would not have been
prudent; they were filled with a wild yearning to go burglar-hunting,
and, had they been alone, I think no warnings from Dr. Firth would have
kept them from the neighbourhood of his house; wherefore I attached
myself firmly to them, and tried to show that I was indeed qualified to
belong to the illustrious ranks of their limited association. We played
at burglars and bushrangers in the scrub—no game without some criminal
element would have had the slightest attraction for Judy and Jack that
day. I believe I climbed trees; I certainly crawled into hollow logs and
miry hollows, to the utter wreck of a clean frock. Finally we decided to
be pirates and possessed ourselves of the small motor-launch, in which
we attacked and captured several of the small islands of Porpoise Bay,
in spite of gallant resistance from the gannets and gulls that inhabited
them. It was a bloodthirsty and exciting afternoon, and I should have
enjoyed it had it not been for the turmoil of my mind.
I had the usual theoretical dread of anyone insane. But, somewhat to my
own surprise, I did not feel at all afraid. Perhaps it was difficult to
realize that any danger might be feared from Mrs. McNab, who, dour and
grim though she undoubtedly was at times, was always gentle—if one
excepted the night when she had so violently beaten Jack, down by the
sea. That in itself, looked at in the new light, was like the sudden
strength and fury of insanity. But it was only one instance. And, after
all, many quite sane people must have wanted at times to spank Jack;
Beryl would have said that the desire to do so was a proof of sanity.
Apart from that one uncontrollable moment, Mrs. McNab had never been
violent: she was only deeply unhappy. And, remembering her haggard face,
I could only feel sorry for her. She was not an object of fear—only of
pity.
The question of what I ought to do beat backwards and forwards in my
brain while I bushranged and pillaged and led my band of cut-throats to
the Spanish Main—as represented by Porpoise Bay. One could not go to
Beryl and Harry McNab and express doubts as to their parent’s sanity: it
did not seem to be the kind of thing expected of governesses. If I wrote
to Colin I knew very well that he would appear by the earliest
train—even if he had to turn burglar himself to raise the money for the
journey: caring not at all for the McNabs or their concerns, but only
bent on snatching me from an environment so doubtful. Poor old Colin,
who believed me enjoying “rest and change”! The thought brought a short
laugh from me, which must have had something grim in it, since Jack, who
was at the moment delivering an oration on skulls and cross-bones,
evidently accepted it as a tribute to his blood-curdling words, and was
inspired to yet higher flights. No, I could not worry Colin, unless it
became quite necessary to do so: that was certain. Yet, it seemed to me
that something must be done: if my fears were well-founded, I ought not
to conceal the matter from every one. Then, with a great throb of
relief, I thought of Dr. Firth.
Beyond doubt, he was the person to be told. A doctor, even if he did not
practise, would be able to confirm my suspicions or to laugh at them as
ridiculous: and he would know what to do. The heavy sense of
responsibility lifted from me as I thought of his strong, kind face. I
had a wild impulse to escape from the children and make my way to his
house immediately; but common sense came to my aid, and I remembered
that I had promised Mrs. McNab not to let Judy and Jack out of my sight.
Besides, he might not be at home; and if he were, in all probability he
would be overwhelmed with business resulting from the burglary, with
policemen proffering him documents at short intervals. A little delay
could do no harm, I thought, especially if I were very watchful of the
children: the other inmates of The Towers could take care of themselves.
He was sure to be over within a day or two: very likely to-morrow would
bring him, and I could make an opportunity of speaking to him alone. So
I tried to put away my anxiety, and to be a good and thorough pirate, as
befitted a Member of the Band.
We became sated with bloodshed about six o’clock, and ran the launch
home, singing “Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest!” with intense
feeling. Not one of the Band was fit to be seen, wherefore we sneaked in
at the kitchen entrance and made our way up the back stairs, gaining,
unobserved, the shelter of the bathroom we so sorely needed. Half an
hour later we descended, using the main stairway, a well-scrubbed trio,
clad in fresh raiment, so that we looked patronizingly on the picnic
party, all of whom presented that part-worn appearance that follows a
long day in the bush. They had just returned, and were excitedly
discussing the burglary, news of which had just reached them. Several of
the girls looked nervous, and declared their intention of sleeping with
locked doors and windows—whereat Jack ejaculated “Frowsts!”
disgustedly, elevating a nose that was already tilted heavenwards.
“Well, if they come here they’ll get a warm reception,” Dicky Atherton
declared. “How about taking it in turns to sit up and watch?”
“Surely that is quite unnecessary, Dicky,” Mrs. McNab said in a hurried
voice. “The burglars are probably well out of the district by now; in
any case, they would never commit a robbery the very night after they
had broken into Dr. Firth’s. You had all better go to bed as usual and
forget about them.”
I wondered did any of the others see what was so plain to me—her
restless eyes, her hand that clenched and unclenched as she spoke.
Surely they must notice her strained and haggard face. But apparently
they thought it nothing unusual—Mrs. McNab never was quite like other
people, and anyone might be excited over a crime so near at hand. Dicky
Atherton laughed as he answered her.
“Well, that is true enough: I should think the beggars would lie quiet
for a bit, anyhow, and we should all get pretty sick of sitting up for
nothing.”
“We’ll go over to Dr. Firth’s in the morning, shall we, Dick?” said
Harry. “I’ve always wanted a chance of seeing black trackers at work.”
“How do they manage?” asked some one. “You let them smell a
finger-print, don’t you? And then they put their noses to the ground and
never stop until they’ve found the criminal!”
“Something like that,” grinned Harry. “They’re no end clever at picking
up a trail from next to no evidence. It would be a lark if they tracked
these fellows down to some hiding-place in the bush—I’d like to be in
at the death!”
Mrs. McNab looked more troubled than ever.
“I think the whole idea of getting in black trackers is very foolish,”
she said. “It will only alarm the district and cause a great deal of
unnecessary publicity. The daily papers always make a fuss about a case
when they are employed.”
“Yes, they think it’s romantic!” said Dicky. “We’ll have all the Press
photographers down, and the place will be overrun with them, taking
snapshots. We had all better go about in our best clothes, because if
they meet us in a body they will attack us with their cameras, and it
would be painful if ‘Mrs. McNab’s house-party at The Towers’ appeared as
we’re looking now!”
“I will not have that!” Mrs. McNab exclaimed heatedly. “Harry, I insist
that no one shall take photographs here—if you meet any newspaper
people you are to discourage them, no matter what they say. To
photograph a private house for a newspaper is an unwarrantable
impertinence! Do not let there be any mistake about it.”
“Be polite, if you must, Harry, but be plain!” laughed Dicky.
“I’ll be plain, all right,” rejoined Harry. “My boot shall, if
necessary, defend the sanctity of our home! What are you getting in such
a fuss about, Mother? I don’t for a moment suppose that any newspaper
would bother its head about us.”
“Newspapers nowadays would do anything for sensation,” answered his
mother gloomily. “And I hate publicity given to one’s private affairs:
it is insupportable. They would drag all one’s family history through
the mire for the sake of selling a few copies.” Her voice rose angrily.
“This robbery is spoiling all our peace! I warned Dr. Firth, but he
would not be careful—he might have saved himself if he had listened to
me.”
Every one was looking at her now curiously. Harry frowned.
“Oh, what’s the use of bothering your head about it, Mother! It’s not
going to spoil my peace—not if I know it: or my dinner either. I’m as
hungry as a hunter, and, thank goodness, there’s the dressing-gong! Come
along, everybody: I mean to have a jolly good dance to-night, burglar or
no burglar!”
The dressing-gong was the signal also for the schoolroom dinner, so I
herded the children upstairs, glad to escape from a scene that had had
its unpleasant side. Looking out for a moment as I closed the schoolroom
door I caught a glimpse of Mrs. McNab coming up the wide staircase. I
was glad that she did not see me, for she was uttering incoherent words
in a harsh whisper, with a little curious gesture of helplessness. There
was a look in her eyes that struck fear into my heart. I longed for
to-morrow and for Dr. Firth.
I kept my fellow-pirates with me in the schoolroom that evening. To go
down to the drawing-room and be drawn into dancing would have been
hateful to me; to my overwrought mind there seemed an air of mystery,
almost of tragedy, overhanging the house, and I wanted the children to
be where I could watch them all the time. They were sufficiently tired
to be willing to remain quietly while I read to them. I remember the
book was Newbolt’s _Happy Warrior_, and when I had finished the story of
Bayard we talked of the old ideals of knighthood and chivalry. It was
the point I liked best about my outlaws that they were perfectly sound
on matters of honour. A lie was to either an unthinkable thing, and they
held very definite views about betraying a confidence.
“Father says that’s the one thing a gentleman can’t do,” said Judy, who
had no intention of letting the mere accident of sex exclude her from
the knightly code. “He says that even when a secret is made public it
isn’t the square thing to let on that you knew about it beforehand.”
My father had taught us the same thing. I felt my heart warm towards the
absent Mr. McNab.
“Judy and I swore a Hearty Oath about it,” said Jack, who was lying full
length on the hearth-rug. “We said, cross-our-hearts we’d never do it.
It’s awful tempting, too, sometimes.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” Judy agreed. “I’d just love to be able to say, ‘Oh yes,
I knew all about that long ago!’ with my nose in the air, very often.
But it isn’t done, in the Band. Father’s a Member of the Band, too, you
know. He won’t let us swear many Hearty Oaths, ’cause he says they’d get
cheap, and they ought to be solemn. But he approved of that one, and he
swore it, too.”
“He told us lots of secrets,” Jack said. “’Cause he knew jolly well he
could trust us not to split.”
“Yes, he said it was good practice for us, even if we were pretty young.
He’d say, ‘This is confidential, kids,’ and of course that was all there
was about it.” Judy’s eyes were very bright. “Father’s awfully splendid,
you know, Miss Earle. He never asked us to promise to be good before he
went away——”
“I spec’s he knew that wasn’t a bit of use!” Jack interposed.
“That was why. But he said, ‘You’re awful scamps, but I know I can trust
you.’ And we’d just rather die than let him down.”
“Well, that is something to live up to,” I said. “Bayard hadn’t anything
better. I think I like being a Member of the Band. Shall we have that
meeting in Melbourne when your father comes back, so that Colin can meet
him too?”
“You do have the splendidest ideas!” Jack said. They beamed on me; and
when I went to tuck them in, later, they hugged me vigorously. My
charges were not, as a rule, demonstrative people, and I was fairly
dazzled by the honour.
I went back to the schoolroom, and sat down feeling rather at a loose
end. Strains of the gramophone were wafted upwards from the drawing-room
where the house-party were apparently fox-trotting with an ardour
undiminished by either picnics or burglars. I wondered was Mrs. McNab
working, or if she were prowling round in the night, a prey to her own
disordered and troubled mind. Then I remembered, with a start, that I
had not been up to renew the dressings on her injured hand. It was later
than I usually went: probably she had been waiting for me, feeling
neglected and annoyed. I was annoyed with myself as I ran swiftly up the
narrow stairs.
The door of the lower room was partly open: a faint scent of Turkish
tobacco drifted out. Since her injury, Mrs. McNab had left it ajar each
evening until I had paid my visit: I would hear the lock click as I went
back, before I had crossed the landing. Forgetting my customary tap, I
hurried in.
The tall figure in the grey gown was standing by the window, looking out
upon the moonlit garden far below. She did not turn as I entered and I
began my apology nervously.
“I’m afraid I’m late,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. McNab——”
The watching figure wheeled round swiftly. The words died on my lips as
I looked: looked at the tall, spare form, the straight shoulders, the
close-cropped iron-grey hair: looked most of all at the white, haggard
face. It was the face of my employer as I had learned to know it during
my four weeks in her house. But—_it was not Mrs. McNab!_
The moments dragged by as we stood, giving back stare for stare: I,
bewildered, terrified, unable to move, the other grim and watchful. I
caught my breath in a gasp at last, and a threat came to me like the
lash of a whip.
“You will be wise if you make no noise!”
I could not have made a noise if my life had depended upon it. I could
only gape and shiver, my eyes glued to the apparition that was, and yet
was not, Mrs. McNab. Yet so like was it that I began to think it was my
brain that had turned. Height, features, dress, voice—all were the
same; and still, the face was the face of a stranger.
Then came quick feet on the stair, a stifled exclamation of dismay
behind me, the door slammed—and I was looking at, not one Mrs. McNab,
but two! Each the very counterpart of the other, they stood together,
and I looked from one to the other with dazed eyes, utterly bewildered.
Then my glance fell on the hands of the first, and in a moment light
came to me. I pointed a shaking forefinger at those tell-tale hands.
“Why—you’re a man!” I cried feebly.
The room began to swim round me, so that at one instant the two figures
seemed to merge into one, and then divided and became two, four, ten,
twenty, long, grey forms, still and silent. Faster and faster they
whirled; and then came darkness, and when I opened my eyes I was lying
on the big couch, with Mrs. McNab rubbing my hands. Beyond her, the
other grey figure sat in her office-chair, smoking: all the time
watching me with steady eyes.
“You poor child!” Mrs. McNab said gently.
That was almost too much for me, and I sobbed suddenly. The form in the
chair became alert.
“Make her understand she must be quiet, Marie.”
“She will be quiet,” Mrs. McNab said, with a touch of impatience. “Don’t
be afraid, my dear Miss Earle: you have nothing to fear. You have only
managed to blunder upon a secret, that is all. I know you will give me
your word to keep it to yourself.”
“Of course I will,” I managed to stammer. “I am very sorry.”
“So am I—for my stupidity in leaving the door open. I had run down to
the bathroom for some hot water, and I forgot the door until I was on my
way back. Then it was too late. I would not have had it happen for the
world.”
I struggled to a sitting position and faced them. There had been excuse
for my collapse, for surely never were man and woman so amazingly alike!
Save for the hands, and now, I could see, the feet, no eye could detect
any outward difference. The man in the chair gave a short laugh, and
rose.
“Well, I’ll leave you, Marie,” he said, in the low, deep voice that was
the echo of her own. “You must get through a certain amount of
explanation, I suppose—but don’t let your tongue run away with you.
This young lady has too recently graduated from the schoolroom to be
oppressed with our affairs.” He bent a keen, cold gaze on me. “I trust
you are old enough to be able to hold your tongue.”
“I have no wish to do anything else,” I said, mustering what spirit I
could; and, somehow, from that moment there was never the slightest
confusion in my mind between Mrs. McNab and her duplicate. Like they
might be in every feature; but in him there was a cold wickedness akin
to that of a snake. I hated him then and afterwards, and he knew it.
“Well, good night,” he said lightly, and vanished up the steps into the
upper room. Mrs. McNab and I looked at each other, and there was
something in her eyes that made me ache with pity.
“Oh, you are unhappy!” I cried. “I wish I could help you.”
She caught my hand, holding it tightly.
“I am indeed unhappy,” she said. “I will tell you about it—I know I can
trust you.”
It was a queer story—the kind of thing that I had thought happened only
in romances. The man—Ronald Hull was his name—was her twin-brother:
she touched lightly on his career, but I gathered that from his boyhood
he had never been anything but an anxiety. Before the death of their
parents he had been compelled to leave the bank in which he was a clerk,
narrowly escaping prosecution for embezzling bank money. Then he had
gone from bad to worse, living on his wits, constantly appealing to her
for funds, always on the edge of trouble and disgrace. Her husband had
established him in an auctioneer’s firm in New South Wales some years
before, and they hoped that they had done with him; but during the
previous year he had again contrived to steal a large sum, and this time
they could not protect him. He had been arrested, convicted, and
sentenced to two years’ imprisonment.
Her voice failed when she told me this. I patted her hand—never had I
felt so helpless and so young.
“Don’t you think you have talked enough?” said a cold voice at the
opening above our heads. “I warned you to be careful, Marie.”
“Be quiet!” she said angrily. “Do you want your voice to be heard?” She
turned to me. “Go down to your room—I will come presently.”
When she came, she was flushed, and there was a light of battle in her
eyes.
“He is very angry with me,” she said. “But you must know enough to make
you understand. And I am worn out with silence and secrecy.” I put her
into a comfortable chair, and she went on with her story.
“We were almost thankful to know he was beyond the possibility of
troubling us for two years,” she said. “At least, so we thought; and my
husband went away with an easy mind. But two months ago Ronald came here
in the middle of the night, saying that I must hide him: he had escaped
from jail, and was penniless and in dread of recapture. What could I do?
I took him in—Harry and Beryl were away—and hid him in the Tower
rooms. It was easy enough: I had for years been in the habit of shutting
myself up here, and the place is like a little house in itself. I
procured dresses for him, like my own, so that if by chance he were seen
he would be mistaken for me—you have seen how remarkable is the
resemblance between us. I pretended to be almost always at work, so that
meals were sent up here—for him: and laid in a store of biscuits and
tinned foods for the times when I had to be downstairs.” She gave a
weary little laugh. “One of the minor problems of my life has been the
disposing of the empty tins!”
“And what have you lived on?” I demanded.
“Oh, anything. I had a good meal downstairs occasionally. Indeed, I have
had no appetite. It has been ceaseless misery; the dread of being found
out, the constant concealments and deceptions, the strain of being much
with him—for he is no easy companion to live with at close quarters.
Lately he has become very irritable, and almost from the first he
rebelled against his imprisonment and insisted on going out at night.
What I have endured on those nights, waiting here in fear and suspense!
Of course, he was always dressed in my clothes; but I knew that sooner
or later someone would meet him and speak to him—as you did one night
upon the stairs!”
“Then it was he!” I exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so glad—I never could make out
why you looked so cross and brushed past me so rudely!”
“I knew nothing about it until to-day,” she said. “He forgot to tell me.
And he encountered Julia, the housemaid, one night downstairs—he was
thoroughly frightened that time, and made sure he was found out.”
“And of course—it was he who caught Jack on the shore at night, and
thrashed him!” I cried. “He need not have done it: the little chap was
only playing.”
“Did the children tell you?”
“I saw it,” I said. “I had followed the children down, to see that they
were safe. They have puzzled over your unexpected strength ever since.”
“Ronald told me as a great joke,” she said. “No wonder my poor little
Jack was puzzled—I have not punished him in that fashion in his life.”
“As a matter of fact, he said he respected you highly!” I told her, and
she smiled a little.
“It might have made a difference in his feelings towards me if he were
not a sweet-tempered boy,” she said. “I was very angry with Ronald. Oh,
my dear, if you knew what these weeks have been, you would pity me! The
constant fear—the terrible uncertainty!” She shuddered. “There have
been many times when I have been tempted to send him away and let him
take his chance. But I could not do it. After all, though I cannot feel
any affection for him now, he was my little brother once—just such a
boy as Jack. That is the time I try to remember. And my mother left him
to my care.”
Her eyes were suddenly kind and soft. I wondered how I could ever have
thought her cold—or mad.
“But how long is it to go on?” I asked. “You can’t keep such a secret
for ever.”
“There is a chance of getting him out of Australia,” she said. “He has a
friend connected with a ship which will leave Adelaide next week—ten
days from now, or thereabouts. It is a cargo-ship only, and this friend
has promised to arrange a passport for him and get him on board, if I
can get him to Adelaide. We have been trying to work out a plan to go to
Southport farther down the coast; from there he could make his way up to
the main line and reach Adelaide by train. But now we are afraid to
move, for everything is complicated by the robberies in the
neighbourhood. With the police on the alert—with those terrible black
trackers about!—what can we dare to do? I am at my wits’ end.”
“But they will not come here,” I said. “Dr. Firth’s place is three miles
away, and there is nothing to bring the police to The Towers.”
“I do not know,” she said slowly. She was silent, gripping my hand so
tightly that it ached. Suddenly she dropped it, sprang up, and began to
pace the room, wrapped in thought; and I sat watching her helplessly.
The minutes went by while she went back and forth, like a caged animal.
Then she came back.
“It has been a relief to tell you,” she said. “I have longed to talk to
some one—the thing has been too hard to bear all alone. Listen—I will
tell you the worst fear of all.”
[Illustration: “Each the very counterpart of the other, they stood
together, and I looked from one to the other with dazed eyes,
utterly bewildered.”
_The Tower Rooms_] [_Page 160_]