It was a perfect day for the wedding. Autumn at her brightest and gayest
before her new bright robes began to brown. Soft air, mellow sun,
cool-lipped breeze, horizon veiled in tinted mist--a gem of a day, the
jewel of a season.
"Them as has, gets," murmured Mrs. Sykes, gloomily, as she tied on her
Sunday bonnet. She rather resented the kindness of nature upon this
present occasion. A nice rain would have suited her mood better.
Nevertheless, much as her mind misgave her in regard to the wedding, she
was early on her way to the Elms to see if she could help.
"They're sure to be flustrated," she told herself. "Aunt Amy's just as
likely as not to lose what little bit of head she has and hired help are
broken reeds. Esther will have the brunt of it. She'll be glad enough to
see me, I'll be bound."
Do not imagine that Mrs. Sykes was curious. Curiosity was a failing
which she systematically repudiated. But she was a very helpful person
and it was wonderful how many opportunities of helpfulness she found
upon solemn or joyous occasions. If, while helping, her ears were open,
and her eyes shrewd, can she be blamed for that? There may be people
with ears who hear not but they do not live in Coombe. The only
difficulty is to manage to be, like Mr. Micawber, on the spot.
Mrs. Sykes was early, but not too early. When she slipped in at the side
door there was already a stir of unusual movement in the house but the
final flutter was still measurably distant. Jane dashed past with
crimped hair and white ribbons flying. Miss Philps, very stately in a
new gown, was arranging flowers in geometrical patterns. Dr. Callandar,
self-possessed as ever, talked upon the veranda with Professor Willits
who had arrived the night before. Aunt Amy was busy in the kitchen.
Esther, flushed and excited, with eyes that flashed blue fire, seemed
everywhere at once.
"Oh, Mrs. Sykes," she exclaimed, "how nice of you to come! Won't you
please get Jane and tie her up--her ribbons, I mean? It is almost time
to dress."
"Would you like me to assist?" asked Miss Philps, looking up from a
geometrical pattern.
"Oh, thanks, Miss Philps. There are some hooks I cannot manage. But
mother will probably need a lot of help. I thought you were with
her now."
"No. She has not yet sent for me." Miss Philps drew out her watch and
consulted it. "Dear me!" with slight surprise, "it is much later than I
thought. Perhaps I had better go up."
Esther looked worried. "I believe you had--if she hurries at the last
she will be terribly excited. Aunt Amy told me she wished particularly
not to be disturbed this morning, but surely she has forgotten how late
it is getting."
"I'll go up," said Miss Philps. "It's time for her tonic anyway, and we
must persuade her to eat something. When you are ready for me to hook
your dress, call. I can easily manage you both."
This is all that Mrs. Sykes heard, for just then Jane flew by again like
a returning comet and had to be captured and properly tied up. Mrs.
Sykes, as she admitted herself, was no hand at fancy fixings but she was
painstaking and conscientious and the bow-tying absorbed all her
energies. She was getting on very well and had almost succeeded in
adjusting the last bow when a cry from the room above startled her into
the tying of a double knot.
"What was that?"
It was not a loud cry--but there was something in it which brought Mrs.
Sykes' heart leaping into her throat, which sent Esther reeling against
the stair baluster, which brought the doctor, white-faced from the
veranda--it was the kind of cry which carries in its note the psychic
essence of terror and disaster.
Mrs. Sykes for all her iron nerve felt suddenly faint. Jane began to
cry. The doctor and Esther had raced up the stairs. But there was no
repetition of the cry. Instead there was silence. Then a murmur of
voices and sounds of ordered activity overhead.
Clearly something had happened. But what? Mrs. Sykes wanted very much to
go and see. But the glimpse she had caught of Callandar's eyes as he
sprang to the stair, the look of white horror in Esther's face as she
followed him, and above all, that strange terrifying Something in the
cry she had heard seemed to discourage enquiry. The good lady turned her
attention to the comforting of Jane. After all, if she waited long
enough she could hardly help hearing all about it. At first hand, too.
It seemed a long time that she waited. Miss Philps came up and down the
stairs several times but she did not appear to see Mrs. Sykes. Jane
stopped crying and wandered out into the garden. Still Mrs. Sykes
waited and presently Aunt Amy came in, looking quite excited and asked
eagerly what time it was. Mrs. Sykes told her, adding with asperity that
these were fine goings-on, and that they'd all be late for the wedding
if they didn't hurry up.
"Yes, I think they will. I'm almost sure they will," said Aunt Amy, and
she laughed as a child laughs when it is greatly pleased.
"Dear me, she is much madder than I thought," murmured Mrs. Sykes.
"Whatever is the matter? What are they doing?" she asked in a
louder tone.
Aunt Amy raised a finger, "Hush! she's asleep. Let us tidy up the room.
I don't think she is going to wake up for a long time yet. And then
she'll have to wait till the world goes round again."
"Well of all the--" began Mrs. Sykes, but she was interrupted by the
entrance of Professor Willits. With the virtuous air of one who strictly
minds her own business she began to tie her bonnet strings.
"Don't go, Mrs. Sykes," said the professor gravely. "I think--I'm afraid
you may be needed."
"I hope nothing serious has happened?" faltered Mrs. Sykes, now
thoroughly disturbed, but he did not seem to hear her. He was listening
intently to the sounds overhead. They were very slight sounds now and
presently they ceased altogether. Willits looked more anxious. Then, in
the midst of a new, heavier silence, Dr. Callandar himself came down
the stairs.
At first sight he appeared almost as usual. He did not notice Mrs. Sykes
but went straight across the room to Willits.
"Nothing--any use--" he began haltingly. Then suddenly the words ceased
to come. His lips moved but there was no sound. With an expression of
intense surprise he lifted his hand to his head, and swayed awkwardly
into the nearest chair.
"Land sakes, look out! he's going to fall," cried Mrs. Sykes in terror.
"Breakdown," said the professor briefly. "I expected something of the
kind. Help me to get him to the car."
"Oh, Land, Land," moaned; Mrs. Sykes, "whatever"--but realising that the
time for questioning was not yet, she did what she was told without
more words.
"Better send for Dr. Parker," said Willits crisply to Miss Philps who
had come in quietly. "Better tell the minister, too. Keep the little
girl down stairs. I'll be back as soon as I can. Mrs. Sykes, I shall
want you to come with me."
"Oh, Land--" but she got no further, the car was off like the wind.
Later when the doctor had been put to bed like a child and telegrams
dispatched which would bring a specialist and a nurse on the afternoon
train, the good lady drew a long breath and decided that she couldn't
"last out" a moment longer.
Drawing Willits from the room her questions burst forth in their
unstemmed torrent.
The tall man listened at first in bewilderment. Then, as the true
inwardness of the case dawned on him, a look which was almost admiration
came over his angular countenance.
"Why, Mrs. Sykes," he said, "is it possible that you do not know? I
would have told you before but I took your knowledge for granted. The
poor lady whom my friend was to marry was found dead in her bed. She
died during the night. An overdose of sleeping powder."