Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 (10 page)

 
          
“You
have. I thank you for sparing me the affliction of discovering that man’s
perfidy too late. Where is your boy, Mrs. Douglas?”

 
          
Steadily
she spoke; and when her lips pronounced the name she had hoped to make her own,
a stern smile passed across her white face, and left a darker shadow behind.
Mrs. Vane touched her lips with a warning gesture, saying pitifully, yet
commandingly: “Never call me that until he gives me the right to bear it
openly. You ask for my boy; will you come and see him? He is close by; I cannot
be parted from him long, yet must conceal him, for the likeness to his father
would betray him at once, if we were seen together.”

 
          
Turning
down a grassy lane, Mrs. Vane drove on till the way became too narrow for the
carriage. Here they alighted, and climbing a wooded path, came to a lonely
cottage in a dell.

           
“My faithful Jitomar found this safe
nook for me, and brings me tidings of my darling every day,” whispered Mrs.
Vane, as she stole along the path that wound round the house.

 
          
Turning
a sharp corner, a green, lawnlike bit of ground appeared. On a vine-covered
seat sat an old French bonne, knitting as she nodded in the sun. But Diana saw
nothing but a little figure tossing buttercups into the air, and catching them
as they fell with peals of childish laughter. A three-year-old boy it was, with
black curls blowing round a bold bright face, where a healthful color glowed
through the dark skin, and brilliant eyes sparkled under a brow so like that
other that she could not doubt that this was Allan’s son. Just then the boy
spied his mother, and with a cry of joy ran to her, to be gathered close, and
covered with caresses.

 
          
There
was no acting here, for genuine mother love transformed Mrs. Vane from her
usual inexplicable self into a simple woman, whose heart was bound up in the
little creature whom she loved with the passionate fondness of an otherwise
cold and superficial nature.

 
          
Waving
off the old bonne when she would have approached, Mrs. Vane turned to Diana,
asking, “Are you satisfied?”

 
          
“Heaven
help me, yes!”

 
          
“Is
he not like his father? See, the very shape of his small hands, the same curve
to his baby mouth. Stay, you shall hear him speak. Darling, who am I?”

 
          
“Mamma,
my dear mamma,” replied the little voice.

 
          
“And
who is this?” asked Mrs. Vane, showing a miniature of
Douglas
.

 
          
“Oh, Papa!
When will he come again?”

 
          
“God
only knows, my poor baby. Now kiss Mamma, and go and make a pretty daisy chain
against I come next time. See, love, here are bonbons and new toys; show them
to Babette. Quick, let us slip away, Miss Stuart.”

 
          
As
the boy ran to his nurse the ladies vanished, and in silence regained the
carriage. Only one question and answer passed between them, as they drove
rapidly homeward.

 
          
“Diana,
what will you do?”

 
          
“Go
tomorrow, and in silence. It is all over between us, forever. Mrs. Vane, I envy
you, I thank you, and I could almost hate you for the kind yet cruel deed you
have done this day.”

 
          
A
gloomy darkness settled down on her altered face; despair sat in her eyes, and
death itself could not have stricken hope, energy, and vitality out of it more
utterly than the bitter truth which she had wrung from her companion.

 
          
George
Lennox and Douglas were waiting at the door, and both ran down to help them
alight. Diana dragged her veil over her face, while Mrs. Vane assumed an
anxious, troubled air as the carriage stopped, and both gentlemen offered a
hand to Miss Stuart. Putting Earls aside with what seemed almost rude
repugnance, she took Georges arm, hurried up the steps, and as her foot touched
the threshold of the door, she fell heavily forward in a swoon.

 
          
Douglas
was springing toward her, when a strong
grasp detained him, and Mrs. Vane whispered, as she clung to his arm
tremblingly, “Do not touch her; she must not see you; it will kill her.”

 
          
“Good
heavens! What is the cause of this?” he asked, as
Lennox
carried Diana in, and help came flocking at
his call.

 
          
“O
Mr. Douglas, I have had an awful drive! She terrified me so by her wild
conversation, her fierce threats of taking her own
life, that
I drove home in agony. You saw how she repulsed you, and rushed away to drop
exhausted in the hall; imagine what it all means, and spare me the pain of
telling you.”

 
          
She
spoke breathlessly, and glanced nervously about her, as if still in fear. Earl
listened, half bewilderingly at first, then, as her meaning broke upon him, his
dark cheek whitened, and he looked aghast.

 
          
“You
do not mean that she is mad?” he whispered, recalling her fierce gesture, and
the moody silence she had preserved for days.

 
          
“No,
oh, no, I dare not say that yet; but I fear that her mind is unsettled by long
brooding over one unhappy thought, and that the hereditary taint may be upon
the point of showing itself.
Poor girl!”

 
          
“Am
I the cause of this outbreak? Is our disagreement the unhappy thought that has
warped her reason? What shall I, what ought I to do?” Earl asked in great
distress, as Diana's senseless body was carried up the stairs, and her aunt
stood wringing her hands, while Lady Lennox dispatched a servant for medical
help.

 
          
“Do
nothing but avoid her, for she says your presence tortures her. She will go
tomorrow. Let her leave quietly, and when absence has restored her, take any
steps toward a reconciliation that you think best. Now I must go to her; do not
repeat what I have said. It escaped me in my agitation, and may do her harm if
she learns that her strange behavior is known.”

 
          
Pressing
his hand with a sympathizing glance, Mrs. Vane hurried in, and for an hour
busied herself about Diana so skillfully that the physician sent all the rest
away and gave directions to her alone. When recovered from her faint, Diana lay
like one dead, refusing to speak or move, yet taking obediently whatever Mrs.
Vane offered her, as if a mutual sorrow linked them together with a secret
bond. At dusk she seemed to fall asleep, and leaving Gabrielle to watch beside
her, Mrs. Vane went down to join the others at a quiet meal.

A DARK DEATH

 
          
THE
party separated early. Diana was still sleeping, and leaving her own maid to
watch in the dressing room between their chambers, Mrs. Berkeley went to bed.
As he passed them down the gallery to his apartment, Earl heard Mrs. Vane say
to the maid, “If anything happens in the night, call me.” The words made him
anxious, and instead of going to bed, he sat up writing letters till very late.
It was past
midnight
when the sound of a closing door broke the long silence that had filled the
house. Stepping into the gallery, he listened. All was still, and nothing
stirred but the heavy curtain before the long window at the end of the upper
hall; this swayed to and fro in the strong current of air that swept in.
Fearing that the draft might slam other doors and disturb Diana, he went to
close it.

 
          
Pausing
a moment to view the gloomy scene without, Douglas was startled by an arm flung
violently about his neck, lips pressed passionately to his own, and a momentary
glimpse of a woman’s figure dimly defined on the dark curtain that floated
backward from his hand. Silently and suddenly as it came, the phantom went,
leaving
Douglas
so amazed that for an instant he could only
stare dumbly before him, half breathless, and wholly bewildered by the ardor of
that mysterious embrace. Then he sprang forward to discover who the woman was
and whither she had gone. But, as if blown outward by some counterdraft, the
heavy curtain wrapped him in its fold, and when he had freed himself, neither
ghost nor woman was visible.

 
          
Earl
was superstitious, and for a moment he fancied the spirit of Diana had appeared
to him, foretelling her death. But a second thought assured him that it was a
human creature, and no wraith, for the soft arms had
no
deathly chill in them, the lips were warm, living breath had passed across his
face, and on his cheek he felt a tear that must have fallen from human eyes.
The light had been too dim to reveal the partially shrouded countenance, or
more than a tall and shadowy outline, but with a thrill of fear he thought, “It
was Diana, and she is mad!” Taking his candle, he hurried to the door of the
dressing room, tapped softly, and when the sleepy maid appeared, inquired if
Miss Stuart still slept.

 
          
“Yes,
sir, like a child, it does one’s heart good to see her.”

 
          
“You
are quite sure she is asleep?”

 
          
“Bless
me, yes, sir, I’ve just looked at her, and she hasn’t stirred since I looked an
hour ago.”

 
          
“Does
she ever walk in her sleep, Mrs. Mason?”

 
          
“Dear, no, sir.”

 
          
“I
thought I saw her just now in the upper gallery. I went to shut the great
window, lest the wind should disturb her, and someone very like her certainly
stood for a moment at my side.”

 
          
“Lord,
sir! You make my blood run cold. It couldn’t have been her, for she never left
her bed, much less her room.”

 
          
“Perhaps
so; never mind; just look again, and tell me if you see her, then I shall be at
ease.”

 
          
Mrs.
Mason knew that her young lady loved the gentleman before her, and never
doubted that he loved her, and so considering his anxiety quite natural and
proper, she nodded, crept away, and soon returned, saying, with a satisfied
air, “She’s all right, sir, sleeping beautifully. I didn’t speak, for once when
I looked at her, she said, quite fierce, ‘Go away, and let me be until I call
you.’ So I’ve only peeped through the curtain since. I see her lying with her
face to the wall, and the coverlet drawn comfortably round her.”

 
          
“Thank
God! She is safe. Excuse my disturbing you, Mrs. Mason, but I was very anxious.
Be patient and faithful in your care of her; I shall remember it. Good night.”

 
          
“Handsome
creeter; how fond he is of her, and well he may be, for she dotes on him, and
they’ll make a splendid couple. Now I’ll finish my nap, and then have a cup of
tea.”

 
          
With
a knowing look and a chilly shiver, Mrs. Mason resettled
herself
in a luxurious chair, and was soon dozing.

 
          
Douglas
meanwhile returned to his room, after a
survey of the house, and went to bed, thinking with a smile and frown that if
all spirits came in such an amicable fashion, the fate of a ghost seer was not
a hard one.

           
In the dark hour just before the
dawn, a long shrill cry rent the silence, and brought every sleeper under that
roof out of his bed, trembling and with fright. The cry came from Diana’s room,
and in a moment the gallery, dressing room, and chamber were filled with pale
faces and half-dressed figures, as ladies and gentlemen, men and maids came
flocking in, asking breathlessly, “What is it? Oh, what is it?”

 
          
Mrs.
Berkeley lay on the floor in strong hysterics, and Mrs. Mason, instead of
attending to her, was beating her hands distractedly together, and running
wildly about the room, as if searching for something she had lost. Diana’s bed
was empty, with the clothes flung one way and the pillows
another,
and every sign of strange disorder, but its occupant was nowhere to be seen.

 
          
“Where
is she?”

           
“What has happened?”

           
“Why don’t you speak?” cried the
terrified beholders.

 
          
A
sudden lull fell upon the excited group, as Mrs. Vane, white, resolute, and
calm, made her way through the crowd, and laying her hand on Mrs. Mason’s
shoulder, commanded her to stand still and explain the mystery. The poor soul
endeavored to obey, but burst into tears, and dropping on her knees, poured out
her story in a passion of penitent despair.

 
          
“You
left her sleeping, ma’am, and I sat as my lady bid me, going now and then to
look at Miss. The last time I drew the curtain, she looked up and said, sharp
and short, ‘Let me be in peace, and don’t disturb me till I call you.’ After
that, I just peeped through the crack, and she seemed quiet. You know I told
you so, sir, when you came to ask, and oh, my goodness me, it wasn’t her at
all, sir, and she’s gone! She’s gone!”

 
          
“Hush!
Stop sobbing, and tell me how you missed her. Gabrielle and
Justine,
attend to Mrs. Berkeley; Harry, go at once and search the house.
Now, Mrs. Mason.”

 
          
Mrs.
Vane’s clear, calm voice seemed to act like a spell on the agitation of all
about her, and the maids obeyed; Harry, with the men- servants, hurried away,
and Mrs. Mason more coherently went on:

 
          
“Well,
ma’am, when Mr. Douglas came to the door asking if Miss was here, thinking he
saw her in the hall, I looked again, and thought she lay as I’d left her an
hour before. But oh, ma’am, it wasn’t her, it was the pillow that she’d fixed
like herself, with the coverlet pulled round it, like she’d pulled it round her
own head and shoulders when she spoke last. It looked all right, the night lamp
being low, and me so sleepy, and I went back to my place, after setting Mr.
Douglas’s mind at rest. I fell asleep, and when I woke, I ran in here to make
sure she was safe, for I'd had a horrid dream about seeing her laid out, dead
and dripping, with weeds in her hair, and her poor feet all covered with red
clay, as if she’d fallen into one of them pits over yonder. I ran in here,
pulled up the curtain, and was just going to say, ‘Thank the Lord,’ when, as I
stooped down to listen if she slept easy, I saw she wasn’t there. The start
took my wits away, and I don’t know what I did, till my lady came running in,
as I was tossing the pillows here and there to find her, and when I told what
had happened, my lady gave one dreadful scream, and went off in a fit.”

 
          
There
was a dead silence for a moment, as Mrs. Mason relapsed into convulsive
sobbing, and everyone looked into each other’s frightened face.
Douglas
leaned on
Lennox
, as if all the strength had gone out of
him, and George stood aghast. Mrs. Vane alone seemed self-possessed, though an
awful anxiety blanched her face, and looked out at her haggard eyes.

 
          
“What
did you see in the hall?” she asked of
Douglas
. Briefly he told the incident, and Lady
Lennox clasped her hands in despair, exclaiming, “She has destroyed herself,
and that was her farewell.”

 
          
“Your
ladyship is mistaken, I hope, for among the wild things she said this afternoon
was a longing to go home at once, as every hour here was torture to her. She
may have attempted this in her delirium. Look in her wardrobe, Mrs. Mason, and
see what clothes are gone. That will help us in our search. Be calm, I beg of you,
my lady; I am sure we shall find the poor girl soon.”

 
          
“It’s
no use looking, ma’am; she’s gone in the clothes she had on, for she wouldn’t
let me take ’em off her. It was a black silk with crepe trimmings, and her
black
mantle’s
gone, and the close crepe bonnet.
Here’s her gloves
just where they dropped when we laid her
down in her faint.”

 
          
“Is
her purse gone?” asked Mrs. Vane.

 
          
“It’s
always in her pocket, ma’am; when she drives out, she likes to toss a bit of
money to the little lads that open gates, or hold the ponies while she gets
flowers, and such like. She was so generous, so kind,
poor
dear!”

 
          
Here
Harry came in, saying that no trace of the lost girl was visible in the house.
But as he spoke, Jitomar’s dark face and glittering eyes looked over his
shoulder with an intelligent motion, which his mistress understood, and put
into words.

 
          
“He
says that one of the long windows in the little breakfast room is unfastened
and ajar. Go, gentlemen, at once, and take him with you; he is as keen as a
hound, and will do good service. It is just possible that she may have
remembered the
one o’clock
mail train, and taken it. Inquire, and if you find any trace of her, let us
know without delay.”

 
          
In
an instant they were gone, and the anxious watchers left behind traced their
progress by the glimmer of the lantern, which Jitomar carried low, that he
might follow the print her flying feet had left here and there in the damp
earth.

 
          
A
long hour passed, then Harry and the Indian returned, bringing the good news
that a tall lady in black had been seen at the station alone, had not been
recognized, being veiled, and had taken the mail train to London.
Douglas
and
Lennox
had at once ordered horses, and gone with
all speed to catch an early train that left a neighboring town in an hour or
two. They would trace and discover the lost girl, if she was in
London
.

 
          
“There
can be no doubt that it was she, no lady would be traveling alone at such an
hour, and the station people say that she seemed in great haste. Now let us compose
ourselves, hope for the best, and comfort her poor aunt.”

 
          
As
Mrs. Vane spoke, Harry frankly looked his admiration of the cheerful,
courageous little woman, and his mother took her arm, saying affectionately,
“My dear, what should we do without you? For you have the nerves of a man, the
quick wit of a woman, and presence of mind enough for us all.”

 
          
The
dreary day dawned, and slowly wore away. A dull rain fell, and a melancholy
wind sighed among the yellowing leaves. All occupations flagged, all failed,
except the one absorbing hope. The servants loitered, unreproved, and gossiped
freely among themselves about the sad event. The ladies sat in Mrs. Berkeley’s
room, consoling her distress, while Harry haunted the station, waiting for an
arrival or a telegram. At
noon
the letter came.