III
I SUCCUMB
That night the tempter had his own way with me. Without much difficultyhe persuaded me that my neglect of Althea Burroughs' children waswithout any excuse; that what had been my duty toward them when I knewthem to be left motherless and alone, had become an imperative demandupon me now that the town in which they lived had become overshadowed bya mystery which could not but affect the comfort and happiness of allits inhabitants. I could not wait a day. I recalled all that I had heardof poor Althea's short and none too happy marriage, and immediately feltsuch a burning desire to see if her dainty but spirited beauty--how wellI remembered it--had been repeated in her daughters, that I found myselfpacking my trunk before I knew it.
I had not been from home for a long time--all the more reason why Ishould have a change now--and when I notified Mrs. Randolph and theservants of my intention of leaving on the early morning train, itcreated quite a sensation in the house.
But I had the best of explanations to offer. I had been thinking of mydead friend, and my conscience would not let me neglect her dear andpossibly unhappy progeny any longer. I had purposed many times to visitX., and now I was going to do it. When I come to a decision, it isusually suddenly, and I never rest after having once made up my mind.
My sentiment went so far that I got down an old album and began huntingup the pictures I had brought away with me from boarding-school. Herswas among them, and I really did experience more or less compunctionwhen I saw again the delicate yet daring features which had once had avery great influence over my mind. What a teasing sprite she was, yetwhat a will she had, and how strange it was that, having been sointimate as girls, we never knew anything of each other as women! Had itbeen her fault or mine? Was her marriage to blame for it or myspinsterhood? Difficult to tell then, impossible to tell now. I wouldnot even think of it again, save as a warning. Nothing must standbetween me and her children now that my attention has been called tothem again.
I did not mean to take them by surprise--that is, not entirely. Theinvitation which they had sent me years ago was still in force, makingit simply necessary for me to telegraph them that I had decided to makethem a visit, and that they might expect me by the noon train. If intimes gone by they had been properly instructed by their mother inregard to the character of her old friend, this need not put them out. Iam not a woman of unbounded expectations. I do not look for the comfortsabroad I am accustomed to find at home, and if, as I have reason tobelieve, their means are not of the greatest, they would only provoke meby any show of effort to make me feel at home in the humble cottagesuited to their fortunes.
So the telegram was sent, and my preparations completed for an earlydeparture.
But, resolved as I was to make this visit, my determination came nearreceiving a check. Just as I was leaving the house--at the very moment,in fact, when the hackman was carrying out my trunk, I perceived a manapproaching me with every evidence of haste. He had a letter in hishand, which he held out to me as soon as he came within reach.
"For Miss Butterworth," he announced. "Private and immediate."
"Ah," thought I, "a communication from Mr. Gryce," and hesitated for amoment whether to open it on the spot or to wait and read it at myleisure on the cars. The latter course promised me less inconveniencethan the first, for my hands were cumbered with the various smallarticles I consider indispensable to the comfortable enjoyment of theshortest journey, and the glasses without which I cannot read a word,were in the very bottom of my pocket under many other equally necessaryarticles.
But something in the man's expectant look warned me that he would neverleave me till I had read the note, so with a sigh I called Lena to myaid, and after several vain attempts to reach my glasses, succeeded atlast in pulling them out, and by their help reading the followinghurried lines:
"DEAR MADAM:
"I send you this by a swifter messenger than myself. Do not let anything that I may have said last night influence you to leave your comfortable home. The adventure offers too many dangers for a woman. Read the inclosed. G."
The inclosed was a telegram from X., sent during the night, andevidently just received at Headquarters. Its contents were certainly notreassuring:
"Another person missing. Last seen in Lost Man's Lane. A harmless lad known as Silly Rufus. What's to be done? Wire orders. TROHM."
"Mr. Gryce bade me say that he would be up here some time before noon,"said the man, seeing me look with some blankness at these words.
Nothing more was needed to restore my self-possession. Folding up theletter, I put it in my bag.
"Say to Mr. Gryce from me that my intended visit cannot be postponed," Ireplied. "I have telegraphed to my friends to expect me, and only agreat emergency would lead me to disappoint them. I will be glad toreceive Mr. Gryce on my return." And without further parley, I took mybundles back from Lena, and proceeded at once to the carriage. Whyshould I show any failure of courage at an event that was but arepetition of the very ones which made my visit necessary? Was I alikely person to fall victim to a mystery to which my eyes had beenopened? Had I not been sufficiently warned of the dangers of Lost Man'sLane to keep myself at a respectable distance from the place of peril? Iwas going to visit the children of my once devoted friend. If there wereperils of no ordinary nature to be encountered in so doing, was I notall the more called upon to lend them the support of my presence?
Yes, Mr. Gryce, and nothing now should hold me back. I even felt anincreased desire to reach the scene of these mysteries, and chafed someat the length of the journey, which was of a more tedious character thanI expected. A poor beginning for events requiring patience as well asgreat moral courage; but I little knew what was before me, and onlyconsidered that every moment spent on this hot and dusty train kept methus much longer from the embraces of Althea's children.
I recovered my equanimity, however, as we approached X. The scenery wasreally beautiful, and the consciousness that I should soon alight at themountain station which had played a more or less serious part in Mr.Gryce's narrative, awakened in me a pleasurable excitement which shouldhave been a sufficient warning to me that the spirit of investigationwhich had led me so triumphantly through that affair next door hadseized me again in a way that meant equal absorption if not equalsuccess.
The number of small packages I carried gave me enough to think of at themoment of alighting, but as soon as I was safely again on terra firma Ithrew a hasty glance around to see if any of Althea's children were onhand to meet me.
I felt that I ought to know them at first glance. Their mother had beenso characteristically pretty, she could not have failed to transmit someof her most charming traits to her offspring. But while there were twoor three country maidens to be seen standing in and around the littlepavilion known here as the Mountain-station, I saw no one who by anystretch of imagination could be regarded as of Althea Burroughs' bloodor breeding.
Somewhat disappointed, for I had expected different results from mytelegram, I stepped up to the station-master, and asked him whether Iwould have any difficulty in procuring a carriage to take me to MissKnollys' house. He stared, it seemed to me, unnecessarily long, beforereplying.
"Waal," said he, "Simmons is usually here, but I don't see him aroundto-day. Perhaps some of these farmer lads will drive you in."
But they all drew back with a scared look, and I was beginning to tuckup my skirts preparatory to walking, when a little old man ofexceedingly meek appearance drove up in a very old-fashioned coach, andwith a hesitating air, springing entirely from bashfulness, managed toask if I was Miss Butterworth. I hastened to assure him that I was thatlady, whereupon he stammered out some words about Miss Knollys, and howsorry she was that she could not come for me herself. Then he pointed tohis coach, and made me understand that I was to step into it and go withhim.
This I had not counted upon doing, for I desired to both see and hear asmuch as possible before reaching my destination. There was b
ut one wayout of it. To his astonishment, I insisted that my belongings be putinside the coach, while I rode on the box.
It was an inauspicious beginning to a very doubtful adventure. Iunderstood this when I saw the heads of the various onlookers drawtogether and many curious looks directed at both us and the conveyancethat was to carry us. But I was in no mood to be daunted now, andmounting to the box with what grace I could, prepared myself for a rideinto town.
But it seems I was not to be allowed to leave the spot without anotherwarning. While the old man was engaged in fetching my trunk, thestation-master approached me with great civility, and asked if it was myintention to spend a few days with the Misses Knollys. I told him thatit was, and thinking it best to establish my position at once in theeyes of the whole town, added with a politeness equal to his own, that Iwas an old friend of the family, and had been coming to visit them foryears, but had never found it convenient till now, and that I hoped theywere all well and would be glad to see me.
His reply showed considerable embarrassment.
"Perhaps you have not heard that this village is under a cloud justnow?"
"I have heard that one or two men have disappeared from here somewhatmysteriously," I returned. "Is that what you mean?"
"Yes, ma'am. One person, a boy, disappeared only two days ago."
"That's bad," I said. "But what has it to do with me?" I smilinglyadded, for I saw that he was not at the end of his talk.
"Oh, nothing," he eagerly replied, "only I didn't know but you might betimid----"
"Oh, I'm not at all timid," I hastened to interject. "If I were, Ishould not have come here at all. Such matters don't affect me." And Ispread out my skirts and arranged myself for my ride with as much careand precision as if the horrors he had mentioned had made no moreimpression upon me than if his chat had been of the weather.
Perhaps I overdid it, for he looked at me for another moment in acurious, lingering way; then he walked off, and I saw him enter thecircle of gossips on the platform, where he stood shaking his head aslong as we were within sight.
My companion, who was the shyest man I ever saw, did not speak a wordwhile we were descending the hill. I talked, and endeavored to make himfollow my example, but his replies were mere grunts or half-syllableswhich conveyed no information whatever. As we cleared the thicket,however, he allowed himself an ejaculation or two as he pointed out thebeauties of the landscape. And indeed it was well worth his admirationand mine had my mind been free to enjoy it. But the houses, which nowbegan to appear on either side of the way, drew my attention from themountains. Though still somewhat remote from the town, we were rapidlyapproaching the head of that lane of evil fame with whose awe-inspiringhistory my thoughts were at this time full. I was so anxious not to passit without one look into its grewsome recesses that I kept my headpersistently turned that way till I felt I was attracting the attentionof my companion. As this was not desirable, I put on a nonchalant lookand began chatting about what I saw. But he had lapsed into his earlysilence, and seemed wholly engrossed in his attempt to remove with thebutt-end of his whip a bit of rag which had somehow become entangled inthe spokes of one of the front wheels. The furtive look he cast me as hesucceeded in doing this struck me oddly at the moment, but it was toosmall a matter to hold my attention long or to cause any cessation inthe flow of small talk with which I was endeavoring to enliven thesituation.
My desire for conversation lagged, however, as I saw rising up before usthe dark boughs of a pine thicket. We were nearing Lost Man's Lane; wewere abreast of it; we were--yes, we were turning into it!
I could not repress an exclamation of dismay.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To Miss Knollys' house," he found words to say, with a sidelong glanceat me full of uneasy inquiry.
"Do they live on this road?" I cried, remembering with a certain shockMr. Gryce's suspicious description of the two young ladies who withtheir brother inhabited the dilapidated mansion marked A in the map hehad shown me.
"Where else?" was his laconic answer; and, obliged to be satisfied withthis curtest of curt replies, I drew myself up with just one longinglook behind me at the cheerful highway we were so rapidly leaving. Acottage, with an open window, in which a child's head could be seennodding eagerly toward me, met my eyes and filled me with quite an oddsense of discomfort as I realized that I had caught the attention of oneof the little cripples who, according to Mr. Gryce, always kept watchover this entrance into Lost Man's Lane. Another moment and the pinebranches had shut the vision out, but I did not soon forget that eager,childish face and pointing hand, marking me out as a possible victim tothe horrors of this ill-reputed lane. But I was aware of no secretflinching from the adventure into which I was plunging. On the contrary,I felt a strange and fierce delight in thus being thrust into the veryheart of the mystery I had only expected to approach by degrees. Thewarning message sent me by Mr. Gryce had acquired a deeper and moresignificant meaning, as did the looks which had been cast me by thestation-master and his gossips on the hillside, but in my present moodthese very tokens of the serious nature of my undertaking only gave anadded spur to my courage. I felt my brain clear and my heart expand, asif at this moment, before I had so much as set eyes on the faces ofthese young people, I recognized the fact that they were the victims ofa web of circumstances so tragic and incomprehensible that only a womanlike myself would be able to dissipate them and restore these girls tothe confidence of the people around them.
I forgot that these girls had a brother and that--But not a word toforestall the truth. I wish this story to grow upon you just as it didupon me, and with just as little preparation.
The farmer who drove me, and who I afterwards learned was calledSimsbury, showed a certain dogged interest in my behavior that wouldhave amused me, or, at least, have awakened my disdain undercircumstances of a less thrilling nature. I saw his eye roll in a sortof wonder over my person, which may have been held a little more stifflythan was necessary, and settle finally on my face, with a look I mighthave thought complimentary had I had any thought to bestow on suchmatters. Not till we had passed the path branching up through the woodstoward the mountain did he see fit to withdraw it, nor did I fail tofind it fixed again upon me as we rode by the little hut occupied by theold woman considered so harmless by Mr. Gryce.
Perhaps he had a reason for this, as I was very much interested in thishut and its occupant, about whom I felt free to cherish my own secretdoubts--so interested that I cast it a very sharp glance, and was gladwhen I caught a glimpse through the doorway of the old crone mumblingover a piece of bread she was engaged in eating as we passed her.
"That's Mother Jane," explained my companion, breaking the silence ofmany minutes. "And yonder is Miss Knollys' house," he added, lifting hiswhip and pointing toward the half-concealed facade of a large andpretentious dwelling a few rods farther on down the road. "She will bepowerful glad to see you, Miss. Company is scarce in these parts."
Astonished at this sudden launch into conversation by one whose reserveI had hitherto found it impossible to penetrate, I gave him the affableanswer he evidently expected, and then looked eagerly toward the house.It was as Mr. Gryce had intimated, exceedingly forbidding even at thatdistance, and as we approached nearer and I was given a full view of itsworn and discolored front, I felt myself forced to acknowledge thatnever in my life had my eyes fallen upon a habitation more given over toneglect or less promising in its hospitality.
Had it not been for the thin circle of smoke eddying up from one of itsbroken chimneys, I would have looked upon the place as one which had notknown the care or presence of man for years. There was a riot ofshrubbery in the yard, a lack of the commonest attention to order in theway the vines drooped in tangled masses over the face of the desolateporch, that gave to the broken pilasters and decayed window-frames ofthis dreariest of facades that look of abandonment which only becomespicturesque when nature has usurped the prerogative of man and takenentirely to herself th
e empty walls and falling casements of what wasonce a human dwelling. That any one should be living in it now and thatI, who have never been able to see a chair standing crooked or a curtainawry, without a sensation of the keenest discomfort, should be on thepoint of deliberately entering its doors as an inmate, filled me at themoment with such a sense of unreality, that I descended from thecarriage in a sort of a dream and was making my way through one of thegaps in the high antique fence that separated the yard from the gateway,when Mr. Simsbury stopped me and pointed out the gate.
I did not think it worth while to apologize for my mistake, for thebroken palings certainly offered as good an entrance as the gate, whichhad slipped from its hinges and hung but a few inches open. But I tookthe course he indicated, holding up my skirts, and treading gingerly forfear of the snails and toads that incumbered such portions of the pathas the weeds had left visible. As I proceeded on my way, something inthe silence of the spot struck me. Was I becoming over-sensitive toimpressions or was there something really uncanny in the absolute lackof sound or movement in a dwelling of such dimensions? But I should nothave said movement, for at that instant I saw a flash in one of theupper windows as of a curtain being stealthily drawn and as stealthilylet fall again, and though it gave me the promise of some sort ofgreeting, there was a furtiveness in the action, so in keeping with thesuspicions of Mr. Gryce that I felt my nerves braced at once to mountthe half-dozen uninviting-looking steps that led to the front door.
But no sooner had I done this, with what I am fain to consider my bestair, than I suddenly collapsed with what I am bound to regard as acomprehensible and quite excusable fear; for, while I do not quailbefore men, and have a reasonable fortitude in the presence of mostdangers, corporeal and moral, I am not quite myself in face of a rampantand barking dog. It is my one weakness, and while I usually can, andunder most circumstances do, succeed in hiding my inner trepidationunder the emergency just mentioned, I always feel that it would be ahappy relief for me if the day should ever come when these so-calleddomestic animals would be banished from the affections and homes of men.Then I think I would begin to live in good earnest and perhaps enjoytrips into the country, which now, for all my apparent bravery, I regardmore in the light of a penance than a pleasure.
Imagine, then, how hard I found it to retain my self-possession or evenany appearance of dignity, when at the moment I was stretching forth myhand toward the knocker of this inhospitable mansion I heard rising fromsome unknown quarter a howl so keen, piercing, and prolonged that itfrightened the very birds over my head and sent them flying from thevines in clouds.
It was the unhappiest kind of welcome for me. I did not know whether itcame from within or without, and when after a moment of indecision I sawthe door open, I am not sure whether the smile I called up to grace theoccasion had any of the real Amelia Butterworth in it, so much was mymind divided between a desire to produce a favorable impression and avery decided and not-to-be-hidden fear of the dog who had greeted myarrival with such an ominous howl.
"Call off the dog!" I cried almost before I saw what sort of person Iwas addressing.
Mr. Gryce, when I saw him later, declared this to be the mostsignificant introduction I could have made of myself upon entering theKnollys mansion.
Lost Man's Lane: A Second Episode in the Life of Amelia Butterworth Page 4