XVI
LOREEN
Lucetta had said to her departing lover, that in a week she might beable (were he willing or in a position to wait) to give him a moresatisfactory answer. Why in a week?
That her hesitation sprang from the mere dislike of leaving her sisterso suddenly, or that she had sacrificed her life's happiness to anychildish idea of decorum, I did not think probable. The spirit she hadshown, her immovable attitude under a temptation which had not onlyromance to recommend it, but everything else which could affect a youngand sensitive woman, argued in my mind the existence of some uncompletedduty of so exacting and imperative a nature that she could not evenconsider the greatest interests of her own life until this one thing wasout of her way. William's rude question of the morning, "What shall wedo with the old girl till it is all over?" recurred to me in support ofthis theory, making me feel that I needed no further confirmation, to bequite certain that a crisis was approaching in this house which wouldtax my powers to the utmost and call perhaps for the use of the whistlewhich I had received from Mr. Gryce, and which, following hisinstructions, I had tied carefully about my neck. Yet how could Iassociate Lucetta with crime, or dream of the police in connection withthe serene Loreen, whose every look was a rebuke to all that was false,vile, or even common? Easily, my readers, easily, with that great,hulking William in my remembrance. To shield _him_, to hide perhaps hisdeformity of soul from the world, even such gentle and gracious women asthese have been known to enter into acts which to an unprejudiced eyeand an unbiased conscience would seem little short of fiendish. Love foran unworthy relative, or rather the sense of duty toward those of one'sown blood, has driven many a clear-minded woman to her ruin, as may beseen any day in the police annals.
I am quite aware that I have not as yet put into definite words thesuspicion upon which I was now prepared to work. Up to this time it hadbeen too vague, or rather of too monstrous a character for me not toconsider other theories, such as, for instance, the possible connectionof old Mother Jane with the unaccountable disappearances which had takenplace in this lane. But after this scene, the increased assurance I washourly receiving that something extraordinary and out of keeping withthe customary appearances of the household was secretly going on in someone of the various chambers of that long corridor I had been preventedfrom entering, forced me to accept and act upon the belief that theseyoung women held in charge a prisoner of some kind, of whose presence inthe house they dreaded the discovery.
Now, who could this prisoner be?
Common sense supplied me with but one answer; Silly Rufus, the boy whowithin a few days had vanished from among the good people of thisseemingly guileless community.
This theory once established in my mind, I applied myself to aconsideration of the means at my disposal for determining its validity.The simplest, surest, but least satisfactory to one of my nature was tosummon the police and have the house thoroughly searched, but thisinvolved, in case I had been deceived by appearances--as was possibleeven to a woman of my experience and discrimination,--a scandal and anopprobrium which I would be the last to inflict upon Althea's children,unless justice to the rest of the world demanded it.
It was in consideration of this very fact, perhaps, that I had beenchosen for this duty instead of some regular police spy. Mr. Gryce, as Ivery well knew, has made it his rule of life never to risk thereputation of any man or woman without reasons so excellent as to carrytheir own exoneration with them, and should I, a woman, with full asmuch heart as himself, if not quite as much brain (at least in theestimation of people in general), by any premature exposure of mysuspicions, subject these young friends of mine to humiliations they arefar too weak and too poor to rise above?
No, rather would I trust a little longer to my own perspicacity and makesure by the use of my own eyes that the situation called for theinterference I had, as you may say, at the end of the cord I wore aboutmy neck.
Lucetta had not asked me how I came to be back so much sooner than shehad reason to expect me. The unlooked-for arrival of her lover hadprobably put all idea of her former plans out of her head. I thereforegave her the shortest of explanations when we met at the dinner table.Nothing further seemed to be necessary, for the girls were even moreabstracted than before, and William positively boorish till a warningglance from Loreen recalled him to his better self, which meant silence.
The afternoon was spent in very much the same way as the evening before.Neither sister remained an instant with me after the other entered mycompany, and though the alternations were less frequent than at thattime, their peculiarities were more marked and less naturally accountedfor. It was while Loreen was with me that I made the suggestion whichhad been hovering on my lips ever since the noon.
"I consider this," I observed, in one of the pauses of our more thanfitful conversation, "one of the most interesting houses it has everbeen my good fortune to enter. Would you mind my roaming about a bitjust to enjoy the old-time flavor of its great empty rooms? I know theyare mostly closed and possibly unfurnished, but to a connoisseur likemyself in colonial architecture, this rather adds to, than detractsfrom, their interest."
"Impossible," she was going to say, but caught herself back in time andchanged the imperative word to one more conciliatory if equallyunyielding.
"I am sorry, Miss Butterworth, to deny you this gratification, but thecondition of the rooms and the unhappy excitement into which we havebeen thrown by the unfortunate visit paid to Lucetta by a gentleman towhom she is only too much attached, make it quite impossible for me toconsider any such undertaking to-day. To-morrow I may find it easier;but, if not, be assured you shall see every nook and corner of thishouse before you finally leave it."
"Thank you. I will remember that. To one of my tastes an ancient room ina time-honored mansion like this, affords a delight not to be understoodby one who knows less of the last century's life. The legends connectedwith your great drawing-room below [we were sitting in my room, I havingrefused to be cooped up in their dreary side parlor, and she not havingoffered me any other spot more cheerful] are sufficient in themselves tohold me entranced for an hour. I heard one of them to-day."
"Which?"
She spoke more quickly than usual, and for her quite sharply.
"That of Lucetta's namesake," I explained. "She who rode through thenight after a daughter who had won her lover's heart away from her.
"Ah, it is a well-known tale, but I think Mrs. Carter might have leftits relation to us. Did she tell you anything else?"
"No other tradition of this place," I assured her.
"I am glad she was so considerate. But why--if you will pardon me--didshe happen to light upon that story? We have not heard those incidentsspoken of for years."
"Not since the phantom coach flew through this road the last time," Iventured, with a smile that should have disarmed her from suspecting anyulterior motive on my part in thus introducing a subject which could notbe altogether pleasing to her.
"The phantom coach! Have you heard of that?"
I wish it had been Lucetta who had said this and to whom my reply wasdue. The opportunities would have been much greater for an injudiciousdisplay of feeling on her part and for a suitable conclusion on mine.
But it was Loreen, and she never forgot herself. So I had to contentmyself with the persuasion that her voice was just a whit less clearthan usual and her serenity enough impaired for her to look out of myone high and dismal window instead of into my face.
"My dear,"--I had not called her this before, though the term hadfrequently risen to my lips in answer to Lucetta--"you should have gonewith me into the village to-day. Then you would not need to ask if I hadheard of the phantom coach."
The probe had reached the quick at last. She looked quite startled.
"You amaze me," she said. "What do you mean, Miss Butterworth? Whyshould I not have needed to ask?"
"Because you would have heard it whispered about in every lane andcorner. It is common talk in t
own to-day. You must know why, MissKnollys."
She was not looking out of the window now. She was looking at me.
"I assure you," she murmured, "I do not know at all. Nothing could bemore incomprehensible to me. Explain yourself, I entreat you. Thephantom coach is but a myth to me, interesting only as involving certainlong-vanished ancestors of mine."
"Of course," I assented. "No one of real sense could regard it in anyother light. But villagers will talk, and they say--you will soon knowwhat, if I do not tell you myself--that it passed through the lane onTuesday night."
"Tuesday night!" Her composure had been regained, but not so entirelybut that her voice slightly trembled. "That was before you came. I hopeit was not an omen."
I was in no mood for pleasantry.
"They say that the passing of this apparition denotes misfortune tothose who see it. I am therefore obviously exempt. But you--did you seeit? I am just curious to know if it is visible to those who live in thelane. It ought to have turned in here. Were you fortunate enough to havebeen awake at that moment and to have seen this spectral appearance?"
She shuddered. I was not mistaken in believing I saw this sign ofemotion, for I was watching her very closely, and the movement wasunmistakable.
"I have never seen anything ghostly in my life," said she. "I am not atall superstitious."
If I had been ill-natured or if I had thought it wise to press her tooclosely, I might have inquired why she looked so pale and trembled sovisibly.
But my natural kindness, together with an instinct of caution,restrained me, and I only remarked:
"There you are sensible, Miss Knollys--doubly so as a denizen of thishouse, which, Mrs. Carter was obliging enough to suggest to me, isconsidered by many as haunted."
The straightening of Miss Knollys' lips augured no good to Mrs. Carter.
"Now I only wish it was," I laughed dryly. "I should really like to meeta ghost, say, in your great drawing-room, which I am forbidden toenter."
"You are not forbidden," she hastily returned. "You may explore it nowif you will excuse me from accompanying you; but you will meet noghosts. The hour is not propitious."
Taken aback by her sudden amenity, I hesitated for a moment. Would it beworth while for me to search a room she was willing to have me enter?No, and yet any knowledge which could be obtained in regard to thishouse might be of use to me or to Mr. Gryce. I decided to embrace heroffer, after first testing her with one other question.
"Would you prefer to have me steal down these corridors at night anddare their dusky recesses at a time when spectres are supposed to walkthe halls they once flitted through in happy consciousness?"
"Hardly." She made the greatest effort to sustain the jest, but herconcern and dread were manifest. "I think I had better give you the keysnow, than subject you to the drafts and chilling discomforts of this oldplace at midnight."
I rose with a semblance of eager anticipation.
"I will take you at your word," said I. "The keys, my dear. I am goingto visit a haunted room for the first time in my life."
I do not think she was deceived by this feigned ebullition. Perhaps itwas too much out of keeping with my ordinary manner, but she gave nosign of surprise and rose in her turn with an air suggestive of relief.
"Excuse me, if I precede you," she begged. "I will meet you at the headof the corridor with the keys."
I was in hopes she would be long enough in obtaining them to allow me tostroll along the front hall to the opening into the corridor I was soanxious to enter. But the spryness I showed, seemed to have acorresponding effect upon her, for she almost flew down the passagewaybefore me and was back at my side before I could take a step in thecoveted direction.
"These will take you into any room on the first floor," said she. "Youwill meet with dust and Lucetta's abhorrence, spiders, but for these Ishall make no apologies. Girls who cannot provide comforts for the fewrooms they utilize, cannot be expected to keep in order the large anddisused apartments of a former generation."
"I hate dirt and despise spiders," was my dry retort, "but I am willingto brave both for the pleasure of satisfying my love for the antique."At which she handed me the keys, with a calm smile which was not withoutits element of sadness.
"I will be here on your return," she said, leaning over the banisters tospeak to me as I took my first steps down. "I shall want to hear whetheryou are repaid for your trouble."
I thanked her and proceeded on my way, somewhat doubtful whether by sodoing I was making the best possible use of my opportunities.
Lost Man's Lane: A Second Episode in the Life of Amelia Butterworth Page 17