Man and Wife

by Wilkie Collins

what I have told you; and you shall have the order to-night."

  She passed her apron over her face, and drew a long breath of

  relief. Geoffrey turned to the door.

  "I will be back at six this evening," he said. "Shall I find it

  done?"

  She bowed her head.

  His first condition accepted, he proceeded to the second.

  "When the opportunity offers," he resumed, "I shall go up to my

  room. I shall ring the dining room bell first. You will go up

  before me when you hear that--and you will show me how you did it

  in the empty house?"

  She made the affirmative sign once more.

  At the same moment the door in the passage below was opened and

  closed again. Geoffrey instantly went down stairs. It was

  possible that Anne might have forgotten something; and it was

  necessary to prevent her from returning to her own room.

  They met in the passage.

  "Tired of waiting in the garden?" he asked, abruptly.

  She pointed to the dining-room.

  "The postman has just given me a letter for you, through the

  grating in the gate," she answered. "I have put it on the table

  in there."

  He went in. The handwriting on the address of the letter was the

  handwriting of Mrs. Glenarm. He put it unread into his pocket,

  and went back to Anne.

  "Step out!" he said. "We shall lose the train."

  They started for their visit to Holchester House.

  CHAPTER THE FIFTY-SEVENTH.

  THE END.

  AT a few minutes before six o'clock that evening, Lord

  Holchester's carriage brought Geoffrey and Anne back to the

  cottage.

  Geoffrey prevented the servant from ringing at the gate. He had

  taken the key with him, when he left home earlier in the day.

  Having admitted Anne, and having closed the gate again, he went

  on before her to the kitchen window, and called to Hester

  Dethridge.

  "Take some cold water into the drawing-room and fill the vase on

  the chimney-piece," he said. "The sooner you put those flowers

  into water," he added, turning to his wife, "the longer they will

  last."

  He pointed, as he spoke, to a nosegay in Anne's hand, which

  Julius had gathered for her from the conservatory at Holchester

  House. Leaving her to arrange the flowers in the vase, he went up

  stairs. After waiting for a moment, he was joined by Hester

  Dethridge.

  "Done?" he asked, in a whisper.

  Hester made the affirmative sign.

  Geoffrey took off his boots and led the way into the spare room.

  They noiselessly moved the bed back to its place against the

  partition wall--and left the room again. When Anne entered it,

  some minutes afterward, not the slightest change of any kind was

  visible since she had last seen it in the middle of the day.

  She removed her bonnet and mantle, and sat down to rest.

  The whole course of events, since the previous night, had tended

  one way, and had exerted the same delusive influence over her

  mind. It was impossible for her any longer to resist the

  conviction that she had distrusted appearances without the

  slightest reason, and that she had permitted purely visionary

  suspicions to fill her with purely causeless alarm. In the firm

  belief that she was in danger, she had watched through the

  night--and nothing had happened. In the confident anticipation

  that Geoffrey had promised what he was resolved not to perform,

  she had waited to see what excuse he would find for keeping her

  at the cottage. And, when the time came for the visit, she found

  him ready to fulfill the engagement which he had made. At

  Holchester House, not the slightest interference had been

  attempted with her perfect liberty of action and speech. Resolved

  to inform Sir Patrick that she had changed her room, she had

  described the alarm of fire and the events which had succeeded

  it, in the fullest detail--and had not been once checked by

  Geoffrey from beginning to end. She had spoken in confidence to

  Blanche, and had never been interrupted. Walking round the

  conservatory, she had dropped behind the others with perfect

  impunity, to say a grateful word to Sir Patrick, and to ask if

  the interpretation that he placed on Geoffrey's conduct was

  really the interpretation which had been hinted at by Blanche.

  They had talked together for ten minutes or more. Sir Patrick had

  assured her that Blanche had correctly represented his opinion.

  He had declared his conviction that the rash way was, in her

  case, the right way; and that she would do well (with his

  assistance) to take the initiative, in the matter of the

  separation, on herself. "As long as he can keep you under the

  same roof with him"--Sir Patrick had said--"so long he will

  speculate on our anxiety to release you from the oppression of

  living with him; and so long he will hold out with his brother

  (in the character of a penitent husband) for higher terms. Put

  the signal in the window, and try the experiment to-night. Once

  find your way to the garden door, and I answer for keeping you

  safely out of his reach until he has submitted to the separation,

  and has signed the deed." In those words he had urged Anne to

  prompt action. He had received, in return, her promise to be

  guided by his advice. She had gone back to the drawing-room; and

  Geoffrey had made no remark on her absence. She had returned to

  Fulham, alone with him in his brother's carriage; and he had

  asked no questions. What was it natural, with her means of

  judging, to infer from all this? Could she see into Sir Patrick's

  mind and detect that he was deliberately concealing his own

  conviction, in the fear that he might paralyze her energies if he

  acknowledged the alarm for her that he really felt? No. She could

  only accept the false appearances that surrounded her in the

  disguise of truth. She could only adopt, in good faith, Sir

  Patrick's assumed point of view, and believe, on the evidence of

  her own observation, that Sir Patrick was right.

  Toward dusk, Anne began to feel the exhaustion which was the

  necessary result of a night passed without sleep. She rang her

  bell, and asked for some tea.

  Hester Dethridge answered the bell. Instead of making the usual

  sign, she stood considering--and then wrote on her slate. These

  were the words: "I have all the work to do, now the girl has

  gone. If you would have your tea in the drawing-room, you would

  save me another journey up stairs."

  Anne at once engaged to comply with the request.

  "Are you ill?" she asked; noticing, faint as the light now was,

  something strangely altered in Hester's manner.

  Without looking up, Hester shook her head.

  "Has any thing happened to vex you?"

  The negative sign was repeated.

  "Have I offended you?"

  She suddenly advanced a step, suddenly looked at Anne; checked

  herself with a dull moan, like a moan of pain; and hurried out of

  the room.

  Concluding that she had inadvertently said, or done, something to

  off
end Hester Dethridge, Anne determined to return to the subject

  at the first favorable opportunity. In the mean time, she

  descended to the ground-floor. The dining-room door, standing

  wide open, showed her Geoffrey sitting at the table, writing a

  letter--with the fatal brandy-bottle at his side.

  After what Mr. Speedwell had told her, it was her duty to

  interfere. She performed her duty, without an instant's

  hesitation.

  "Pardon me for interrupting you," she said. "I think you have

  forgotten what Mr. Speedwell told you about that."

  She pointed to the bottle. Geoffrey looked at it; looked down

  again at his letter; and impatiently shook his head. She made a

  second attempt at remonstrance--again without effect. He only

  said, "All right!" in lower tones than were customary with him,

  and continued his occupation. It was useless to court a third

  repulse. Anne went into the drawing-room.

  The letter on which he was engaged was an answer to Mrs. Glenarm,

  who had written to tell him that she was leaving town. He had

  reached his two concluding sentences when Anne spoke to him. They

  ran as follows: "I may have news to bring you, before long, which

  you don't look for. Stay where you are through to-morrow, and

  wait to hear from me."

  After sealing the envelope, he emptied his glass of brandy and

  water; and waited, looking through the open door. When Hester

  Dethridge crossed the passage with the tea-tray, and entered the

  drawing-room, he gave the sign which had been agreed on. He rang

  his bell. Hester came out again, closing the drawing-room door

  behind her.

  "Is she safe at her tea?" he asked, removing his heavy boots, and

  putting on the slippers which were placed ready for him.

  Hester bowed her head.

  He pointed up the stairs. "You go first," he whispered. "No

  nonsense! and no noise!"

  She ascended the stairs. He followed slowly. Although he had only

  drunk one glass of brandy and water, his step was uncertain

  already. With one hand on the wall, and one hand on the banister,

  he made his way to the top; stopped, and listened for a moment;

  then joined Hester in his own room, and softly locked the door.

  "Well?" he said.

  She was standing motionless in the middle of the room--not like a

  living woman--like a machine waiting to be set in movement.

  Finding it useless to speak to her, he touched her (with a

  strange sensation of shrinking in him as he did it), and pointed

  to the partition wall.

  The touch roused her. With slow step and vacant face--moving as

  if she was walking in her sleep--she led the way to the papered

  wall; knelt down at the skirting-board; and, taking out two small

  sharp nails, lifted up a long strip of the paper which had been

  detached from the plaster beneath. Mounting on a chair, she

  turned back the strip and pinned it up, out of the way, using the

  two nails, which she had kept ready in her hand.

  By the last dim rays of twilight, Geoffrey looked at the wall.

  A hollow space met his view. At a distance of some three feet

  from the floor, the laths had been sawn away, and the plaster had

  been ripped out, piecemeal, so as to leave a cavity, sufficient

  in height and width to allow free power of working in any

  direction, to a man's arms. The cavity completely pierced the

  substance of the wall. Nothing but the paper on the other side

  prevented eye or hand from penetrating into the next room.

  Hester Dethridge got down from the chair, and made signs for a

  light.

  Geoffrey took a match from the box. The same strange uncertainty

  which had already possessed his feet, appeared now to possess his

  hands. He struck the match too heavily against the sandpaper, and

  broke it. He tried another, and struck it too lightly to kindle

  the flame. Hester took the box out of his hands. Having lit the

  candle, she hel d it low, and pointed to the skirting-board.

  Two little hooks were fixed into the floor, near the part of the

  wall from which the paper had been removed. Two lengths of fine

  and strong string were twisted once or twice round the hooks. The

  loose ends of the string extending to some length beyond the

  twisted parts, were neatly coiled away against the

  skirting-board. The other ends, drawn tight, disappeared in two

  small holes drilled through the wall, at a height of a foot from

  the floor.

  After first untwisting the strings from the hooks, Hester rose,

  and held the candle so as to light the cavity in the wall. Two

  more pieces of the fine string were seen here, resting loose upon

  the uneven surface which marked the lower boundary of the

  hollowed space. Lifting these higher strings, Hester lifted the

  loosened paper in the next room--the lower strings, which had

  previously held the strip firm and flat against the sound portion

  of the wall, working in their holes, and allowing the paper to

  move up freely. As it rose higher and higher, Geoffrey saw thin

  strips of cotton wool lightly attached, at intervals, to the back

  of the paper, so as effectually to prevent it from making a

  grating sound against the wall. Up and up it came slowly, till it

  could be pulled through the hollow space, and pinned up out of

  the way, as the strip previously lifted had been pinned before

  it. Hester drew back, and made way for Geoffrey to look through.

  There was Anne's room, visible through the wall! He softly parted

  the light curtains that hang over the bed. There was the pillow,

  on which her head would rest at night, within reach of his hands!

  The deadly dexterity of it struck him cold. His nerves gave way.

  He drew back with a start of guilty fear, and looked round the

  room. A pocket flask of brandy lay on the table at his bedside.

  He snatched it up, and emptied it at a draught--and felt like

  himself again.

  He beckoned to Hester to approach him.

  "Before we go any further," he said, "there's one thing I want to

  know. How is it all to be put right again? Suppose this room is

  examined? Those strings will show."

  Hester opened a cupboard and produced a jar. She took out the

  cork. There was a mixture inside which looked like glue. Partly

  by signs, and partly by help of the slate, she showed how the

  mixture could be applied to the back of the loosened strip of

  paper in the next room--how the paper could be glued to the sound

  lower part of the wall by tightening the strings--how the

  strings, having served that purpose, could be safely removed--how

  the same process could be followed in Geoffrey's room, after the

  hollowed place had been filled up again with the materials

  waiting in the scullery, or even without filling up the hollowed

  place if the time failed for doing it. In either case, the

  refastened paper would hide every thing, and the wall would tell

  no tales.

  Geoffrey was satisfied. He pointed next to the towels in his

  room.

  "Take one of them," he said, "and show me how you did it, with

  y
our own hands."

  As he said the words, Anne's voice reached his ear from below,

  calling for "Mrs. Dethridge."

  It was impossible to say what might happen next. In another

  minute, she might go up to her room, and discover every thing.

  Geoffrey pointed to the wall.

  "Put it right again," he said. "Instantly!"

  It was soon done. All that was necessary was to let the two

  strips of paper drop back into their places--to fasten the strip

  to the wall in Anne's room, by tightening the two lower

  strings--and then to replace the nails which held the loose strip

  on Geoffrey's side. In a minute, the wall had reassumed its

  customary aspect.

  They stole out, and looked over the stairs into the passage

  below. After calling uselessly for the second time, Anne

  appeared, crossed over to the kitchen; and, returning again with

  the kettle in her hand, closed the drawing-room door.

  Hester Dethridge waited impenetrably to receive her next

  directions. There were no further directions to give. The hideous

  dramatic representation of the woman's crime for which Geoffrey

  had asked was in no respect necessary: the means were all

  prepared, and the manner of using them was self-evident. Nothing

  but the opportunity, and the resolution to profit by it, were

  wanting to lead the way to the end. Geoffrey signed to Hester to

  go down stairs.

  "Get back into the kitchen," he said, "before she comes out

  again. I shall keep in the garden. When she goes up into her room

  for the night, show yourself at the back-door--and I shall know."

  Hester set her foot on the first stair--stopped--turned

  round--and looked slowly along the two walls of the passage, from

  end to end--shuddered--shook her head--and went slowly on down

  the stairs.

  "What were you looking for?" he whispered after her.

  She neither answered, nor looked back--she went her way into the

  kitchen.

  He waited a minute, and then followed her.

  On his way out to the garden, he went into the dining-room. The

  moon had risen; and the window-shutters were not closed. It was

  easy to find the brandy and the jug of water on the table. He

  mixed the two, and emptied the tumbler at a draught. "My head's

  queer," he whispered to himself. He passed his handkerchief over

  his face. "How infernally hot it is to-night!" He made for the

  door. It was open, and plainly visible--and yet, he failed to

  find his way to it. Twice, he found himself trying to walk

  through the wall, on either side. The third time, he got out, and

  reached the garden. A strange sensation possessed him, as he

  walked round and round. He had not drunk enough, or nearly

  enough, to intoxicate him. His mind, in a dull way, felt the same

  as usual; but his body was like the body of a drunken man.

  The night advanced; the clock of Putney Church struck ten.

  Anne appeared again from the drawing room, with her bedroom

  candle in her hand.

  "Put out the lights," she said to Hester, at the kitchen door; "I

  am going up stairs."

  She entered her room. The insupportable sense of weariness, after

  the sleepless night that she had passed, weighed more heavily on

  her than ever. She locked her door, but forbore, on this

  occasion, to fasten the bolts. The dread of danger was no longer

  present to her mind; and there was this positive objection to

  losing the bolts, that the unfastening of them would increase the

  difficulty of leaving the room noiselessly later in the night.

  She loosened her dress, and lifted her hair from her temples--and

  paced to and fro in the room wearily, thinking. Geoffrey's habits

  were irregular; Hester seldom went to bed early.

  Two hours at least--more probably three--must pass, before it

  would be safe to communicate with Sir Patrick by means of the

  signal in the window. Her strength was fast failing her. If she

  persisted, for the next three hours, in denying herself the