Lost Man's Lane: A Second Episode in the Life of Amelia Butterworth

by Anna Katharine Green

  XVIII

  THE SECOND NIGHT

  I cannot say that I looked forward to the night with any very cheerfulanticipations. The locksmith having failed to keep his appointment, Iwas likely to have no more protection against intrusion than I had hadthe night before, and while I cannot say that I especially feared anyunwelcome entrance into my apartment, I should have gone to my rest witha greater sense of satisfaction if a key had been in the lock and thatkey had been turned by my own hand on my own side of the door.

  The atmosphere of gloom which settled down over the household after theevening meal, seemed like the warning note of something strange and evilawaiting us. So marked was this, that many in my situation would havefurther disturbed these girls by some allusion to the fact. But that wasnot the role I had set myself to play at this crisis. I remembered whatMr. Gryce had said about winning their confidence, and though theturmoil evident in Lucetta's mind and the distraction visible even inthe careful Miss Knollys led me to expect a culmination of some kindbefore the night was over, I not only hid my recognition of this fact,but succeeded in sufficiently impressing them with the contentment whichmy own petty employments afforded me (I am never idle even in otherpersons' houses) for them to spare me the harassment of their alternatevisits, which, in their present mood and mine promised little in the wayof increased knowledge of their purposes and much in the way ofdistraction and the loss of that nerve upon which I calculated for asuccessful issue out of the possible difficulties of this night.

  Had I been a woman of ordinary courage, I would have sounded threepremonitory notes upon my whistle before blowing out my candle, butwhile I am not lacking, I hope, in many of the finer feminine qualitieswhich link me to my sex, I have but few of that sex's weaknesses andnone of its instinctive reliance upon others which leads it so often toneglect its own resources. Till I saw good reasons for summoning thepolice, I proposed to preserve a discreet silence, a premature alarmbeing in their eyes, as I knew from many talks with Mr. Gryce, the onething suggestive of a timid and inexperienced mind.

  Hannah had brought me a delicious cup of tea at ten, the influence ofwhich was to make me very drowsy at eleven, but I shook this weaknessoff and began my night's watch in a state of stern composure which Iverily believe would have awakened Mr. Gryce's admiration had it beenconsonant with the proprieties for him to have seen it. Indeed the veryseriousness of the occasion was such that I could not have trembled if Iwould, every nerve and faculty being strained to their utmost to makethe most of every sound which might arise in the now silent anddiscreetly darkened house.

  I had purposely omitted the precaution of pushing my bed against thedoor of my room, as I had done the night before, being anxious to findmyself in a position to cross its threshold at the least alarm. Thatthis would come, I felt positive, for Hannah in leaving my room hadtaken pains to say, in unconscious imitation of what Miss Knollys hadremarked the night before:

  "Don't let any queer sounds you may hear disturb you, Miss Butterworth.There's nothing to hurt you in this house; nothing at all." Anadmonition which I am sure her young mistresses would not have allowedher to utter if they had been made acquainted with her intention.

  But though in a state of high expectation, and listening, as I supposed,with every faculty alert, the sounds I apprehended delayed so long thatI began after an hour or two unaccountably to nod in my chair, andbefore I knew it I was asleep, with the whistle in my hand and my feetpressed against the panels of the door I had set myself to guard. Howdeep that sleep was or how long I indulged in it, I can only judge fromthe state of emotion in which I found myself when I suddenly woke. I wassitting there still, but my usually calm frame was in a violent tremble,and I found it difficult to stir, much more to speak. Some one orsomething was at my door.

  An instant and my powerful nature would have asserted itself, but beforethis could happen the stealthy step drew nearer, and I heard the quiet,almost noiseless, insertion of a key into the lock, and the quick turnwhich made me a prisoner.

  This, with the indignation it caused, brought me quickly to myself. Sothe door had a key after all, and this was the use it was reserved for.Rising quickly to my feet, I shouted out the names of Loreen, Lucetta,and William, but received no other response than the rapid withdrawal offeet down the corridor. Then I felt for the whistle, which had somehowslipped from my hand, but failed to find it in the darkness, nor when Iwent to search for the matches to relight the candle I had left standingon a table near by, could I by any means succeed in igniting one, sothat I presently had the pleasure of finding myself shut up in my room,with no means of communicating with the world outside and with no lightto render the situation tolerable. This was having the tables turnedupon me with a vengeance and in a way for which I could not account. Icould understand why they had locked me in the room and why they had notheeded my cry of indignant appeal, but I could not comprehend how mywhistle came to be gone, nor why the matches, which were sufficientlyplentiful in the safe, refused one and all to perform their office.

  On these points I felt it necessary to come to some sort of conclusionbefore I proceeded to invent some way out of my difficulties. So,dropping on my knees by the chair in which I had been sitting, I began aquiet search for the petty object upon which, nevertheless, hung not mysafety perhaps, but all chances of success in an undertaking which wasevery moment growing more serious. I did not find it, but I did findwhere it had gone. In the floor near the door, my hand encountered ahole which had been covered up by a rug early in the evening, but whichI now distinctly remembered having pushed aside with my feet when I tookmy seat there. This aperture was not large, but it was so deep that myhand failed to reach to the bottom of it; and into this hole by somefreak of chance had slipped the small whistle I had so indiscreetlytaken into my hand. The mystery of the matches was less easy ofsolution; so I let it go after a moment of indecisive thought and bentmy energies once again to listen, when suddenly and without the leastwarning there rose from somewhere in the house a cry so wild andunearthly that I started up appalled, and for a moment could not tellwhether I was laboring under some fearful dream or a still more fearfulreality.

  A rushing of feet in the distance and an involuntary murmur of voicessoon satisfied me, however, on this score, and drawing upon every energyI possessed, I listened for a renewal of the cry which was yet curdlingmy blood. But none came, and presently all was as still as if no soundhad arisen to disturb the midnight, though every fibre in my body toldme that the event I had feared--the event of which I hardly daredmention the character even to myself--had taken place, and that I, whowas sent there to forestall it, was not only a prisoner in my room, buta prisoner through my own folly and my inordinate love of tea.

  The anger with which I contemplated this fact, and the remorse I felt atthe consequences which had befallen the innocent victim whose scream Ihad just heard, made me very wide-awake indeed, and after an ineffectualeffort to make my voice heard from the window, I called my usualphilosophy to my aid and decided that since the worst had happened andI, a prisoner, had to await events like any other weak and defencelesswoman, I might as well do it with calmness and in a way to win my ownapproval at least. The dupe of William and his sisters, I would not bethe dupe of my own fears or even of my own regrets.

  The consequence was a renewed equanimity and a gentle brooding over theone event of the day which brought no regret in its train. The ride withMr. Trohm, and the acquaintanceship to which it had led, were topicsupon which I could rest with great soothing effect through the wearyhours stretching between me and daylight. Consequently of Mr. Trohm Ithought.

  Whether the almost deathly quiet into which the house had now fallen, orthe comforting nature of my meditations held inexorably to the topic Ihad chosen, acted as a soporific upon me I cannot tell, but greatly as Idislike to admit it, feeling sure that you will expect to hear I keptmyself awake all that night, I insensibly sank from great alertness toan easy indifference to my surroundings, and from that to vague dre
amsin which beds of lilies and trellises covered with roses mingledstrangely with narrow, winding staircases whose tops ended in theswaying branches of great trees; and so, into quiet and a nothingnessthat were only broken into by a rap at my door and a cheerful:

  "Eight o'clock, ma'am. The young ladies are waiting."

  I bounded, literally bounded from my chair. Such a summons, after such anight! What did it mean? I was sitting half dressed in my chair beforemy door in a straightened and uncomfortable attitude, and therefore hadnot dreamed that I had been upon the watch all night, yet the sunshinein the room, the cheery tones such as I had not heard even from thiswoman before, seemed to argue that my imagination had played me falseand that no horrors had come to disturb my rest or render my wakingdistressing.

  Stretching out my hand toward the door, I was about to open it, when Ibethought me.

  "Turn the key in the lock," said I. "Somebody was careful enough of mysafety to fasten me in last night."

  An exclamation of astonishment came from outside the door.

  "There is no key here, ma'am. The door is not locked. Shall I open itand come in?"

  I was about to say yes in my anxiety to talk to the woman, butremembering that nothing was to be gained by letting it be seen to whatan extent I had carried my suspicions, I hastily disrobed and crept intobed. Pulling the coverings about me, I assumed a comfortable attitudeand then cried:

  "Come in."

  The door immediately opened.

  "There, ma'am! What did I tell you? Locked?--this door? Why, the key hasbeen lost for months."

  "I cannot help it," I protested, but with little if any asperity, for itdid not suit me that she should see I was moved by any extraordinaryfeeling. "A key was put in that lock about midnight, and I was lockedin. It was about the time some one screamed in your own part of thehouse."

  "Screamed?" Her brows took a fine pucker of perplexity. "Oh, that musthave been Miss Lucetta."

  "Lucetta?"

  "Yes, ma'am; she had an attack, I believe. Poor Miss Lucetta! She oftenhas attacks like that."

  Confounded, for the woman spoke so naturally that only a suspiciousnature like mine would fail to have been deceived by it, I raised myselfon my elbow and gave her an indignant look.

  "Yet you said just now that the young ladies were expecting me tobreakfast."

  "Yes, and why not?" Her look was absolutely guileless. "Miss Lucettasometimes keeps us up half the night, but she does not miss breakfast onthat account. When the turn is over, she is as well as ever she was. Afine young lady, Miss Lucetta. I'd lose my two hands for her any day."

  "She certainly is a remarkable girl," I declared, not, however, as drylyas I felt. "I can hardly believe I dreamed about the key. Let me feel ofyour pocket," I laughed.

  She, without the smallest hesitancy, pulled aside her apron.

  "I am sorry you put so little confidence in my word, ma'am, but Lor' me,what you heard is nothing to what some of our guests have complainedof--in the days, I mean, when we did have guests. I have known them toscream out themselves in the middle of the night and vow they saw whitefigures creeping up and down the halls--all nonsense, ma'am, butbelieved in by some folks. You don't look as if you believed in ghosts."

  "And I don't," I said, "not a whit. It would be a poor way to try tofrighten me. How is Mr. William this morning?"

  "Oh, he's well and feeding the dogs, ma'am. What made you think of him?"

  "Politeness, Hannah," I found myself forced to say. "He's the only manin the house. Why shouldn't I think of him?"

  She fingered her apron a minute and laughed.

  "I didn't know you liked him. He's so rough, it isn't everybody whounderstands him," she said.

  "Must one understand a person to like him?" I queried good-humoredly. Iwas beginning to think I might have dreamed about that key.

  "I don't know," she said, "I don't always understand Miss Lucetta, but Ilike her through and through, ma'am, as I like this little finger," andholding up this member to my inspection, she crossed the room for mywater-pitcher, which she proposed to fill with hot water.

  I followed her closely with my eyes. When she came back, I saw herattention caught by the break in the flooring, which she had not noticedon entering.

  "Oh," she exclaimed, "what a shame!" her honest face coloring as shedrew the rug back over the small black gap. "I am sure, ma'am," shecried, "you must think very poorly of us. But I assure you, ma'am, it'shonest poverty, nothing but honest poverty as makes them so neglectful,"and with an air as far removed from mystery as her frank, good-naturedmanner seemed to be from falsehood, she slid from the room with a kind:

  "Don't hurry, ma'am. It is Miss Knollys' turn in the kitchen, and sheisn't as quick as Miss Lucetta."

  "Humph," thought I, "supposing I had called in the police."

  But by the time she had returned with the water, my doubts hadreawakened. She was not changed in manner, though I have no doubt shehad recounted all that I had said, below, but I was, for I rememberedthe matches and thought I saw a way of tripping her up in herself-complacency.

  Just as she was leaving me for the second time I called her back.

  "What is the matter with your matches?" I asked. "I couldn't make themlight last night."

  With a wholly undisturbed countenance she turned toward the bureau andtook up the china trinket that held the few remaining matches I had notscraped on the piece of sandpaper I myself had fastened up alongside thedoor. A sheepish cry of dismay at once escaped her.

  "Why, these are old matches!" she declared, showing me the box in whicha half-dozen or so burned matches stood with their burned tops allturned down.

  "I thought they were all right. I'm afraid we are a little short ofmatches."

  I did not like to tell her what I thought about it, but it made medoubly anxious to join the young ladies at breakfast and judge formyself from their conduct and expression if I had been deceived by myown fears into taking for realities the phantasies of a nightmare, orwhether I was correct in ascribing to fact that episode of the key withall the possibilities that lay behind it.

  I did not let my anxiety, however, stand in the way of my duty. Mr.Gryce had bid me carry the whistle he had sent me constantly about myperson, and I felt that he would have the right to reproach me if I leftmy room without making some endeavor to recover this lost article. Howto do this without aid or appliances of any kind was a problem. I knewwhere it was, but I could not see it, much less reach it. Besides, theywere waiting for me--never a pleasant thought. It occurred to me that Imight lower into the hole a lighted candle hung by a string.

  Looking over my effects, I chose out a hairpin, a candle, and two corsetlaces, (Pardon me. I am as modest as most of my sex, but I am notsqueamish. Corset laces are strings, and as such only I present them toyour notice.) I should like to have added a button-hook to mycollection, but not having as yet discarded the neatly laced boot of myancestor, I could only produce a small article from my toilet-servicewhich shall remain unmentioned, as I presently discarded it and turnedmy whole attention to the other objects I have named. A poor array, butout of them I hoped to find the means of fishing up my lost whistle.

  My intention was to lower first a lighted candle into the hole by meansof a string tied about its middle, then to drop a line on the whistlethus discovered and draw it up with the point of a bent hairpin, which Ifondly hoped I could make do the service of a hook. To think was to try.The candle was soon down in the hole, and by its light the whistle waseasily seen. The string and bent hairpin went down next. I wassuccessful in hooking the prize and proceeded to pull it up with greatcare. For an instant I realized what a ridiculous figure I was cutting,stooping over a hole in the floor on both knees, a string in each hand,leading apparently to nowhere, and I at work cautiously steadying oneand as carefully pulling on the other. Having hooked the string holdingthe whistle over the first finger of the hand holding the candle, I mayhave become too self-conscious to notice the slight release of weight onthe wh
istle hand. Whatever the reason, when the end of the string camein sight there was no whistle on it. The charred end showed me that thecandle had burned the cord, letting the whistle fall again out of reach.Down went the candle again. It touched bottom, but no whistle was to beseen. After a long and fruitless search, I concluded to abandon mywhistle-fishing excursion, and, rising from my cramped and undignifiedposition, I proceeded to pull up the candle. To my surprise and delight,I found the whistle firmly stuck to the lower side of it. Some drops ofcandle grease had fallen upon the whistle where it lay. The candlecoming in contact with it, the two had adhered, and I became indebted toaccident rather than to acumen for the restoration of the preciousarticle.