MRS. SHARPE DOES HER DUTY.
"You know that man, miss?" Mrs. Sharpe said, ineffably calm, stooping
to pick up the glass.
Mollie turned to her with eyes wild and wide.
"I know him--yes. And you--Oh, for pity's sake, say you know him, too!"
"How on earth can I say so until I've seen him?" said Mrs. Sharpe,
poising her glass and clapping her eye to it, one hand over the other,
after the fashion of the sex.
She took a long look.
"Well?" Mollie panted.
Mrs. Susan Sharpe turned to her with a singular smile--a smile that made
luminous the sallow face and glorified the green spectacles.
Just then the stairs creaked under a cautious, ascending tread.
"It's Sally," said Mrs. Sharpe, not moving a muscle. "Eat your supper,
and keep your eyes off the window if she comes in. Keep up heart, and
think of the word on the blue banner--hope."
She turned away and abruptly opened the door as she spoke. There stood
old Sally, with the eyes of a watching cat.
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed the ancient handmaiden of Mrs. Oleander, very
much discomposed by this abrupt proceeding. "How you do startle a body
with your quick ways! Is Mrs. Oleander in here?"
"No," said Susan. "How could Mrs. Oleander be here when I left her, five
minutes ago, half crazy with toothache?"
"Well, she left the kitchen after you, and came up, and I thought she
might have dropped in to see the young woman," fibbed Sally. "How is
she?"
"Suppose you drop in and see for yourself," responded the nurse,
provoked into being pert to her elders. "Miss Dane, here's a visitor
for you."
Mollie turned round from the table, where she sat taking her evening
meal.
"I don't want you or your visitors, Mrs. Sharpe, if that be your name,"
said the irascible patient. "You're all a set of old tabby cats
together, and if you don't clear out, I'll fling something at your
head!"
She bounced from her chair as she spoke and brandished the tea-pot.
With a howl of dismay, old Sally turned tail and fled incontinently.
Just waiting to exchange one approving glance with her patient, the
nurse thought it prudent to follow her example.
This little incident had one salutary effect. It frightened Sally out
of her feeble old wits, confirming, as it did, Dr. Guy's fable of the
periodical fits of madness to which the young lady was prone. She
related to her mistress, in shrill falsetto, what had occurred.
"And if ever I go near the crazy little hussy again, as long as she's
under this roof," concluded Sally, wildly, "I'm a Dutchman!"
"Weren't you frightened?" Mrs. Oleander asked, turning to the nurse.
"Oh, not much!" said the serene Susan. "I'm used to it, you know. I
could have dodged if she had heaved the tea-pot. She takes them tantrums
once or twice a day."
Mollie spent the evening alone, of course, but in despair no longer.
Hope had planted her shining foot on the threshold of her heart, and
for the time she could forget she was the most miserable wife of Dr.
Oleander, in the face of freedom. And Hugh Ingelow was near, and she
loved Hugh. Oh, if she had never refused him--bravest, noblest heart
that ever beat! the most generous gentleman the Creator ever made!
Alone Mollie sat--alone, but lonely no longer; for yonder, drifting
lazily into the setting tide, the sunset glowing above and around it,
floated the snow-white skift. In the amber mist fluttered the banner
of blue--the banner of hope--and there, lounging easily, with his face
turned to her, was the man she loved, handsome Hugh! her beloved--her
darling!
"And, oh! that I were by his side," Mollie exclaimed, in her rhapsody,
"never, never to leave it again."
Solitude and imprisonment had done this willful child some good, you
see. They had taught her to think--to know herself. She never could be
the same crude, madcap Mollie again.
The last, low, yellow gleam died out of the sunset--slowly crept up
the twilight, palely, gemmed with stars. A round, red moon showed its
crimson disk above the silvery horizon line, whitening as it arose,
until it trailed a flood of crystal radiance over the purple bosom of
the sleeping sea. And still Mollie sat there, watching the shining stars
creep out, and still the fairy bark floated lazily with the drifting
current. She could have sat there and watched him forever--her noble,
gallant Hugh! But by and by, as the night wind grew chill, the little
white boat, glided away and disappeared.
The entrance of Mrs. Sharpe, with her night-lamp, aroused Mollie from
her trance. She turned eagerly round to greet her. Next to Hugh Ingelow,
her hope now was in this mysterious woman.
Mrs. Sharpe closed the door carefully after her, set the lamp on the
table, dropped the curtain, and then turned her face to Mollie. One look
at that face told Mollie something had occurred.
"What is it?" she asked in a breathless whisper.
And Susan Sharpe, bending down, whispered hurriedly:
"Doctor Oleander is here."
Mollie barely repressed a cry. Susan Sharpe caught her, in alarm, by the
shoulder.
"Hush! Are you crazy? Not a word. Yes, he's down-stairs--came half an
hour ago. Don't look so frightened--he won't trouble you this time."
"This time," repeated Mollie, noticing the emphasis. "What do you mean?"
"That he was only run down to see how we get along, and to tell us to be
all ready for an early start. We are going to Cuba."
"We?"
"Yes," with a grim smile and nod, "we. You, and me, and Doctor
Oleander."
"Oh, nurse--"
"Hush! Hear me out--I can stay but a minute. He is going to take you
to Cuba. His affairs are nearly arranged. He means to start on Friday
night--this is Tuesday. A schooner will be in waiting at the wharf, in
the village yonder. I am to go with you as attendant. He is very much
pleased with me, and I have consented."
Mrs. Sharpe laughed softly.
"But, nurse--"
"Yes, yes; be still. We won't go--be sure of that. He wanted to come up
to see you, but I told him he had better not, if he wanted to have you
quiet when the time came. So he goes off again to-night without
troubling you."
Mollie clasped her hands in thankfulness.
"How can I thank you? How good you are!"
"Thank me by going straight to bed and sleeping like a top. Let the
thought that it is likely to be your last night under this accursed roof
be your lullaby. And now I must go."
Mollie held up her rosy lips--tempting and sweet--and the woman stooped
and kissed her.
"You are my best friend," Mollie said, simply. "God bless you!"
The woman smiled.
"Nay, the kiss and the blessing, if meant for your best friend, should
have been kept for Hugh Ingelow. I but obey his orders."
Mollie turned radiantly red. Mrs. Susan Sharpe, with a significant smile
at her own keenness, immediately quitted the room.
Dr. Oleander did not disturb Mollie. He departed half an hour after Mrs.
Sharpe quitted her for the night. The account his mother and Sally gave
of the nurse made him disposed to trust her.
"I will take her with me," he thought, "since she is so trustworthy. It
would be too horribly dreary for Mollie without one companion of her own
sex."
So he offered liberal terms, and Mrs. Sharpe closed with his offer
readily enough.
"I'd as lief go to Cuba as not," she said, in her sedate way. "One place
is the same as another to me. But it's very soon to be ready."
"Never mind," replied the doctor. "We'll find dry-goods stores in
Havana, I dare say, and, meantime, I'll provide some ready-made things
from New York."
Dr. Oleander departed very well satisfied. He would have liked very much
to see Mollie, but his approach always threw her into such a fury, and
he wanted her kept as quiet as possible until the hour of departure.
"I'll have to resort to the vulgar alternative of chloroform, I dare
say," he thought. "She'll make a fight for it at the last. I can quiet
her, however."
And so Dr. Oleander went back to New York without one suspicion that his
new nurse was playing him false.
Within an hour after breakfast, the peddler presented himself next
morning. Again Mrs. Oleander and Sally were vividly interested, and
again each purchased something. Again Mrs. Sharpe said she wanted
nothing, and again she knelt down to examine the contents of the pack.
The peddler pressed his goods, Mrs. Sharpe obdurately declined. He
persisted, Mrs. Sharpe grew angry.
"Take these here gloves, then, for massy sake!" cried the peddler in
desperation, "ef yer won't take nothin' else. They're the richest of
silk gloves, and, bein' it's you, only fifty cents. Just you feel 'em."
He looked Mrs. Sharpe full in the face. She took the gloves--a slip of
paper was to be felt inside--a moment's demur, then she purchased and
put them in her pocket.
The peddler departed; Mrs. Sharpe went upstairs, and drew forth the
slip of paper. There were but three lines:
"Meet me this afternoon at two. I will be waiting in the woods near the
shore, where you saw my boat yesterday. I know he was with you last
night."
Mrs. Sharpe read this, destroyed it, and sat ruminating.
"What if they won't let me go? But no, they wouldn't dare keep me a
prisoner, and if it came to fisticuffs," smiling to herself, "I could
beat the three of them--poor old bodies! I'll go by strategy, if
possible--by main force, if necessary. But I'll go."
Five minutes longer the nurse sat thinking. Then she arose, walked
down-stairs, and complained drearily of a shocking bad headache.
Mrs. Oleander recommended a woman's cure--a cup of strong tea and going
to bed. But Susan Sharpe shook her head.
"Tea never does me no good, and going to bed only makes me worse. I
suppose it's staying in-doors so much. I ain't used to it. I always take
a walk every afternoon. I'll wait and see if it gets better. If it
don't, I'll go and take a little walk along the shore. A mouthful of
fresh air will do me good."
Mrs. Sharpe waited accordingly, but the headache did not get better. On
the contrary, it grew so much worse that when the one-o'clock dinner was
ready, she was unable to eat a mouthful. She lay with her head on the
table in a sort of stupor.
"I think you had better take a walk," said Mrs. Oleander, who was not an
ill-natured old woman on the whole. "I don't want you to be laid up on
our hands."
Mrs. Sharpe glanced at the clock; it wanted a quarter of two. She rose
at once.
"I think I must, or I'll be fit for nothing for a week. I'll go and put
on my things."
In five minutes, Susan Sharpe walked out of the garden gate and down to
the shore. Old Peter closed the gate, watched her out of sight, and went
back to the house, unsuspectingly.
Mrs. Sharpe sauntered slowly over the sandy beach to the strip of dark
woods, skirted them, to avoid being seen from the windows of the house,
and called:
"Mr. Ingelow."
"Here," answered a voice, and the peddler emerged from the trees and
stood beside her. "You're a treasure, Mrs. Susan Sharpe," said the
peddler--"worth your weight in crown diamonds. How is she?"
"As well as can be expected. A good deal the better for seeing you from
her window last evening."
"I saw you both watching. She knows I have come to rescue her?"
"Of course. She is a woman."
"Does she recognize you?"
"No," with a laugh. "She called me her best friend last night. If she
only knew!"
"She would still call you her best friend, perhaps. Your 'make-up' is a
good one, Sarah, since she has failed to recognize you. What brought the
doctor?"
Susan Sharpe briefly told him.
Mr. Ingelow whistled expressively.
"So soon? But I have thought so. He is not the man to wait. Well, we must
be ahead of him, Sarah."
Sarah nodded.
"Yes--how?"
"I have it all arranged. Miss Dane must escape to-night. Look at this."
He pointed to a basket at his feet.
Mrs. Sharpe lifted the cover, and saw two lumps of raw beef.
"Well?" she asked, wonderingly.
"'A sop for Cerberus,'" laughed Hugh Ingelow; "a supper for the dogs.
They'll never want another after."
"What do you mean?"
"The meat is poisoned; there is strychnine enough in these two pieces to
kill a dozen dogs. I mean to throw that to them this evening."
"But how?"
"Over the wall, of course. What's their names? They'll come when I call
them."
"Tiger and Nero."
"So be it. Tiger and Nero will devour the beef and ask no questions. An
hour after they'll be as dead as two door-nails."
"Poor fellows! But it can't be helped, I suppose?"
"I suppose not. Save your sympathy, Sarah. You must do for the three old
folks."
"Poison them, too?" asked Sarah, grimly.
"Not quite. Just put them to sleep."
"Indeed! How?"
Mr. Ingelow produced a little white paper from his vest pocket.
"You see this powder?" holding it up. "Drop it into the tea-pot this
evening, and don't drink any of the tea."
The woman shrunk a little.
"I'm almost afraid, Mr. Ingelow. I don't like drugging. They're old and
feeble; I daren't do it."
"You must do it," Hugh Ingelow said, sternly. "I tell you there is no
danger. Do you take me for a murderer?"
"No; but there might be a mistake."
"There is none. The powder is an opiate; it will harm no one. They will
go to sleep a little earlier, and sleep a little longer and a little
sounder than usual--that is all."
Mrs. Sharpe took the paper, but with evident reluctance.
"I tell you it is all right," reiterated Hugh Ingelow; "no one is to
be murdered but the dogs. Doctor Oleander will have no scruple about
drugging Miss Dane on Friday night, you will see. The choice lies
between her and them. Are you going to fail me at the last, Sarah?"
sternly.
"No," said the woman. She dropped the little package in her pocket, and
looked him firmly in the face. "I'll do it, Mr. Ingelow. And then?"
"And then the dogs will be dead, and the people asleep, before ten
o'clock. At ten I'll be at the gate; a vehicle will be waiting down
below in the clump of cedars. You will open the house door and the
garden gate, and let me in. Before another day we'll be in the city."
"So be it. And now," said Mrs. Sharpe, drawing her shawl around her, "I
must go. I came to walk off a bad headache; I find it is gone, so I had
better return."
"Good-bye, and God speed you!" said Hugh Ingelow.
Mrs. Sharpe walked back to the house. Old Peter admitted her, and all
three were solicitous about her headache.
"Much better," Mrs. Sharpe said, quietly. "I knew that walk would cure
it."
All the rest of the afternoon she helped old Sally to manufacture pies.
Tea-time came, and, ever willing, she volunteered to make the tea.
"Do so," said old Sally. "I can't abear to take my hands out o' dough
when they're into it."
The tea was made, the supper-table set, and then Mrs. Sharpe begged
permission to make herself a cup of coffee.
"I find it better for my head than tea. It will cure me quite, I know."
Mrs. Oleander assented, and the coffee was made. The quartet sat down
to supper, and Susan Sharpe felt an inward quaking as she watched them
drink the tea. Mrs. Oleander complained that it was weak; Sally said it
must have boiled, it had such a nasty taste; but they drank it for all
that.
Supper over, Mrs. Sharpe brought up her patient's. But she carried her
coffee, and left the doctored tea behind.
"We are to escape to-night," she said to Mollie. "Be ready. We will
start at ten. Don't ask me to explain now. I feel nervous and am going
down."
Before an hour had elapsed the drug began its work. Mrs. Oleander nodded
over her knitting; Sally was drowsy over her dishes; Peter yawned audibly
before the fire.
"I don't know what makes me so sleepy this evening," Mrs. Oleander said,
gaping. "The weak tea, I suppose. Peter, close up early to-night; I
think I'll go to bed."
"I'll let the dogs loose now," said Peter. "I'm blamed sleepy myself."
The old man departed. Very soon the hoarse barking of the dogs was heard
as they scampered out of their kennel. Peter returned to find the two
old women nodding in company.
"You had better go to bed," suggested Mrs. Sharpe. "I'm going myself.
Good-night."
She quitted the kitchen. Mrs. Oleander, scarcely able to keep her eyes
open, rose up also.
"I will go. I never felt so sleepy in my life. Good-night; Sally."
"Good-night," said Sally, drowsily. "I'll go after you."
Before the kitchen clock struck nine, sleep had sealed the eyelids of
Mrs. Oleander and her servants more tightly than they were ever sealed
before. And out in the yard, stiff and stark, lay Nero and Tiger. They
had eaten the poisoned beef, and, like faithful sentinels, were dead at
their posts.