XXI. GRIZEL! GRIZEL!
I indulged in some very serious thoughts after Mr. Grey's departure. Afact was borne in upon me to which I had hitherto closed my prejudicedeyes, but which I could no longer ignore, whatever confusion it broughtor however it caused me to change my mind on a subject which had formedone of the strongest bases to the argument by which I had sought to saveMr. Durand. Miss Grey cherished no such distrust of her father as I, inmy ignorance of their relations, had imputed to her in the early hoursof my ministrations. This you have already seen in my account of theirparting. Whatever his dread, fear or remorse, there was no evidencethat she felt toward him anything but love and confidence: but love andconfidence from her to him were in direct contradiction to the doubtsI had believed her to have expressed in the half-written note handed toMrs. Fairbrother in the alcove. Had I been wrong, then, in attributingthis scrawl to her? It began to look so. Though forbidden to allowher to speak on the one tabooed subject, I had wit enough to know thatnothing would keep her from it, if the fate of Mrs. Fairbrother occupiedany real place in her thoughts.
Yet when the opportunity was given me one morning of settling this factbeyond all doubt, I own that my main feeling was one of dread. I fearedto see this article in my creed destroyed, lest I should lose confidencein the whole. Yet conscience bade me face the matter boldly, for had Inot boasted to myself that my one desire was the truth?
I allude to the disposition which Miss Grey showed on the morning ofthe third day to do a little surreptitious writing. You remember thata specimen of her handwriting had been asked for by the inspector, andonce had been earnestly desired by myself. Now I seemed likely to haveit, if I did not open my eyes too widely to the meaning of her seeminglychance requests. A little pencil dangled at the end of my watch-chain.Would I let her see it, let her hold it in her hand for a minute? it wasso like one she used to have. Of course I took it off, of course I lether retain it a little while in her hand. But the pencil was not enough.A few minutes later she asked for a book to look at--I sometimes let herlook at pictures. But the book bothered her--she would look at it later;would I give her something to mark the place--that postal over there.I gave her the postal. She put it in the book and I, who understood herthoroughly, wondered what excuse she would now find for sending me intothe other room. She found one very soon, and with a heavily-beatingheart I left her with that pencil and postal. A soft laugh from her lipsdrew me back. She was holding up the postal.
"See! I have written a line to him! Oh, you good, good nurse, to let me!You needn't look so alarmed. It hasn't hurt me one bit."
I knew that it had not; knew that such an exertion was likely to be morebeneficial than hurtful to her, or I should have found some excuse fordeterring her. I endeavored to make my face more natural. As she seemedto want me to take the postal in my hand I drew near and took it.
"The address looks very shaky," she laughed. "I think you will have toput it in an envelope."
I looked at it,--I could not help it,--her eye was on me, and I couldnot even prepare my mind for the shock of seeing it like or totallyunlike the writing of the warning. It was totally unlike; so distinctlyunlike that it was no longer possible to attribute those lines to herwhich, according to Mr. Durand's story, had caused Mrs. Fairbrother totake off her diamond.
"Why, why!" she cried. "You actually look pale. Are you afraid thedoctor will scold us? It hasn't hurt me nearly so much as lying here andknowing what he would give for one word from me."
"You are right, and I am foolish," I answered with all the spirit leftin me. "I should be glad--I am glad that you have written these words. Iwill copy the address on an envelope and send it out in the first mail."
"Thank you," she murmured, giving me back my pencil with a sly smile."Now I can sleep. I must have roses in my cheeks when papa comes home."
And she bade fair to have ruddier roses than myself, for conscience wasworking havoc in my breast. The theory I had built up with such care,the theory I had persisted in urging upon the inspector in spite of hisrebuke, was slowly crumbling to pieces in my mind with the falling ofone of its main pillars. With the warning unaccounted for in the mannerI have stated, there was a weakness in my argument which nothing couldmake good. How could I tell the inspector, if ever I should be so happyor so miserable as to meet his eye again? Humiliated to the dust, Icould see no worth now in any of the arguments I had advanced. I flewfrom one extreme to the other, and was imputing perfect probity to Mr.Grey and an honorable if mysterious reason for all his acts, when thedoor opened and he came in. Instantly my last doubt vanished. I had notexpected him to return so soon.
He was glad to be back; that I could see, but there was no othergladness in him. I had looked for some change in his manner andappearance,--that is, if he returned at all,--but the one I saw was nota cheerful one, even after he had approached his daughter's bedsideand found her greatly improved. She noticed this and scrutinized himstrangely. He dropped his eyes and turned to leave the room, but wasstopped by her loving cry; he came back and leaned over her.
"What is it, father? You are fatigued, worried--"
"No, no, quite well," he hastily assured her. "But you! are you as wellas you seem?"
"Indeed, yes. I am gaining every day. See! see! I shall soon be able tosit up. Yesterday I read a few words."
He started, with a side glance at me which took in a table near by onwhich a little book was lying.
"Oh, a book?"
"Yes, and--and Arthur's letters."
The father flushed, lifted himself, patted her arm tenderly and hastenedinto another room.
Miss Grey's eyes followed him longingly, and I heard her give utteranceto a soft sigh. A few hours before, this would have conveyed tomy suspicious mind deep and mysterious meanings; but I was seeingeverything now in a different light, and I found myself no longerinclined either to exaggerate or to misinterpret these little marks offilial solicitude. Trying to rejoice over the present condition of mymind, I was searching in the hidden depths of my nature for the patienceof which I stood in such need, when every thought and feeling were againthrown into confusion by the receipt of another communication from theinspector, in which he stated that something had occurred to bringthe authorities round to my way of thinking and that the test with thestiletto was to be made at once.
Could the irony of fate go further! I dropped the letter half read,querying if it were my duty to let the inspector know of the flaw I haddiscovered in my own theory, before I proceeded with the attempt I hadsuggested when I believed in its complete soundness. I had not settledthe question when I took the letter up again. Re-reading its openingsentence, I was caught by the word "something." It was a very indefiniteone, yet was capable of covering a large field. It must cover a largefield, or it could not have produced such a change in the minds of thesemen, conservative from principle and in this instance from discretion. Iwould be satisfied with that word something and quit further thinking. Iwas weary of it. The inspector was now taking the initiative, and Iwas satisfied to be his simple instrument and no more. Arrived at thisconclusion, however, I read the rest of the letter. The test was to goon, but under different conditions. It was no longer to be made at myown discretion and in the up-stairs room; it was to be made at luncheonhour and in Mr. Grey's private dining-room, where, if by any chanceMr. Grey found himself outraged by the placing of this notorious weaponbeside his plate, the blame could be laid on the waiter, who, mistakinghis directions, had placed it on Mr. Grey's table when it was meant forInspector Dalzell's, who was lunching in the adjoining room. It was I,however, who was to do the placing. With what precautions and under whatcircumstances will presently appear.
Fortunately, the hour set was very near. Otherwise I do not know how Icould have endured the continued strain of gazing on my patient's sweetface, looking up at me from her pillow, with a shadow over its beautywhich had not been there before her father's return.
And that father! I could hear him pacing the library floor with arest
lessness that struck me as being strangely akin to my own inwardanguish of impatience and doubt. What was he dreading? What was it Ihad seen darkening his face and disturbing his manner, when from timeto time he pushed open the communicating door and cast an anxious glanceour way, only to withdraw again without uttering a word. Did he realizethat a crisis was approaching, that danger menaced him, and from me? No,not the latter, for his glance never strayed to me, but rested solelyon his daughter. I was, therefore, not connected with the disturbance inhis thoughts. As far as that was concerned I could proceed fearlessly; Ihad not him to dread, only the event. That I did dread, as any one mustwho saw Miss Grey's face during these painful moments and heard thatrestless tramp in the room beyond.
At last the hour struck,--the hour at which Mr. Grey always descendedto lunch. He was punctuality itself, and under ordinary circumstances Icould depend upon his leaving the room within five minutes of thestroke of one. But would he be as prompt to-day? Was he in the moodfor luncheon? Would he go down stairs at all? Yes, for the tramp, trampstopped; I heard him approaching his daughter's door for a last look inand managed to escape just in time to procure what I wanted and reachthe room below before he came.
My opportunity was short, but I had time to see two things: first, thatthe location of his seat had been changed so that his back was to thedoor leading into the adjoining room; secondly, that this door wasajar. The usual waiter was in the room and showed no surprise at myappearance, I having been careful to have it understood that hereafterMiss Grey's appetite was to be encouraged by having her soup served fromher father's table by her father's own hands, and that I should be thereto receive it.
"Mr. Grey is coming," said I, approaching the waiter and handing him thestiletto loosely wrapped in tissue paper. "Will you be kind enough toplace this at his plate, just as it is? A man gave it to me for Mr.Grey; said we were to place it there."
The waiter, suspecting nothing, did as he was bidden, and I had hardlytime to catch up the tray laden with dishes, which I saw awaiting me ona side-table, when Mr. Grey came in and was ushered to his seat.
The soup was not there, but I advanced with my tray and stood waiting;not too near, lest the violent beating of my heart should betray me. AsI did so the waiter disappeared and the door behind us opened. ThoughMr. Grey's eye had fallen on the package, and I saw him start, I dartedone glance at the room thus disclosed, and saw that it held two tables.At one, the inspector and some one I did not know sat eating; at theother a man alone, whose back was to us all, and who seemingly wasentirely disconnected with the interests of this tragic moment. All thisI saw in an instant,--the next my eyes were fixed on Mr. Grey's face.
He had reached out his hand to the package and his features showed anemotion I hardly understood.
"What's this?" he murmured, feeling it with wonder, I should almost sayanger. Suddenly he pulled off the wrapper, and my heart stood stillin expectancy. If he quailed--and how could he help doing so ifguilty--what a doubt would be removed from my own breast, what animpediment from police action! But he did not quail; he simply utteredan exclamation of intense anger, and laid the weapon back on thetable without even taking the precaution of covering it up. I think hemuttered an oath, but there was no fear in it, not a particle.
My disappointment was so great, my humiliation so unbounded, that,forgetting myself in my dismay, I staggered back and let the tray withall its contents slip from my hands. The crash that followed stoppedMr. Grey in the act of rising. But it did something more. It awoke acry from the adjoining room which I shall never forget. While we bothstarted and turned to see from whom this grievous sound had sprung, aman came stumbling toward us with his hands before his eyes and thisname wild on his lips:
"Grizel! Grizel!"
Mrs. Fairbrother's name! and the man--
The Woman in the Alcove Page 21