CHAPTER X
MADGE FINDS HERSELF IN AN AWKWARD SITUATION
'There was no burglar. The night was undisturbed; and the next daywas, for both, a busy one.
The morning post brought Madge an intimation from a publisher to whomshe had submitted one of her MSS., that he would be obliged if, whenshe was in town, she would call on him, so that she might discuss withhim terms for its publication. That business-like memorandum made herheart beat faster; sent the blood coursing quickly through her veins;added a sparkle to her eyes. This, after all, was the sort of fortuneshe preferred--one for which she had striven with her own brains andhands--better than hidden hoards! The simple breakfast became anElysian feast.
Ella was almost as jubilant as she herself was.
"Northcote & Co? That's a good house, isn't it?"
"Rather. They published----" Madge reeled off the names of two orthree pronounced fictional successes.
"How much do you think they'll give you for it?"
"In cash?--not much; don't you think I shall bring home the Bank ofEngland. So long as they give me a fair share of anything it mayultimately bring, I'll be content. But it isn't that; it's getting thefirst footing on the ladder--that's the thing."
"Of course it is. How splendid! And I'll tell you what; you shalldedicate it to me, and then if it sells by the hundred thousand, Ishall have a bit of your fame."
"Done!--and your name upon the flyleaf ought to help to sell the book:it's as well known as mine is, anyhow. The author's spoken--you shallbe the dedicatee?"
They went up to town together. Ella had to be at her office athalf-past nine, and it is true that that seemed a trifle early to makea call upon a publisher. But, as Ella correctly observed, "You canlook at the shops until it is time."
Which is precisely what Madge did do.
And it is remarkable how many things she saw in the shop windows whichshe mentally resolved to purchase if the book succeeded. Such anunusual number of useful things seemed to be displayed. And itcertainly is odd what a quantity of them were just the articles whichElla and she particularly required.
Her interview with the publisher was a delightful one. She agreed toeverything he proposed. His propositions were not quite on the scaleof magnificence which she had conceived as being within the range ofpossibility. But still, they were near enough to be satisfactory.She was to have a sum of money paid her on the publication of thebook--not a large sum, but still something. And there was to beroyalty besides. When she hinted, almost as if she had been hinting atsomething of which she ought to be ashamed, that if part of the moneywere paid before publication it would be esteemed a favour, thatpublisher went so far as to draw a check for half the amount, and tohand it to her then and there. It is a fact that Madge Brodie was anuncommonly pretty girl--but such an accident was not likely to makeany impression on the commercial instincts of a creature who battensupon authors.
She went straight off and cashed that cheque. When she had the coin inher pocket--actually in her pocket--she felt the financial equal of aRothschild. She lunched all by herself at a restaurant in theneighbourhood of Charing Cross--and a nice little lunch she had; madesome purchases, with one eye on Ella and another on herself; and thenshe went and gave a music lesson to Miss Clara Parkins, whose fatheris the proprietor of the Belvedere Tavern--that well-known hostelry,within a hundred miles of Wandsworth Common.
Miss Parkins was within a year or two of her own age, an uncommonlyshrewd young woman, and a pleasant one to boot. The lesson had notbeen proceeding two minutes before she perceived that something wasdisturbing the ordinarily tranquil currents of her teacher's mind.When the lesson was finished, she made a valiant effort to find outwhat that something was.
She looked down, and she picked at the nap of her frock, and sheasked, a tone or two under her usual key:
"What is it? I wish you'd tell me."
Madge stared; nothing which had gone before had led to such aquestion.
"What is what?"
"What is it which makes you--all brimming over?"
Madge went red. She was an arrant little snob, and by no means proudof giving music lessons to a publican's daughter--although thatpublican's daughter was the best paying pupil she had, and not theleast agreeable. She was on her stilts in a moment.
"I don't understand you."
"That's a story. Of course it's no business of mine. But you do seemso happy, and I think that sharing other people's happiness is almostas good as being happy yourself--don't you? But I'm awfully sorry Iasked."
Miss Parkins' air of contrition melted Madge's mood. As she adjustedher veil, she condescended to explain.
"I have had rather a stroke of luck."
"I'm awfully glad to hear it. Of course I know you think nothing ofme; but I think no end of you. I do hope that some one has left you afortune."
"I like it as well as if some one had, though I daresay you'll thinkit's nothing. I've sold a book."
"A book? Oh!--one of your own writing? I knew you were clever. When isit coming out?"
"We've hardly got so far as dates."
"When it does come, I'll buy a dozen and pay for them, if you'll giveme one with your name inside."
"I'll give you the one without there being the necessity for yourbuying the dozen."
"I knew you'd say that. I know you don't think I'm good enough to buyyour book. But I don't mind. I hope it will be a success."
"That's very kind of you."
"And it will be, I'm sure of it. You're the sort that does succeed."
"How do you make that out?"
"I don't know exactly--but you are. You've got the air of successabout you. I noticed it when first I spoke to you. And when peoplehave got the air of success, you'll generally find that they get thething itself."
"You student of the world!"
She stooped and kissed the girl. It was the first familiarity they hadexchanged. Miss Parkins put her arms about her neck and kissed her inreturn--a half quizzical something in her eyes.
"You mark my word--you're the sort that does succeed!"
Madge walked home with an added feeling of elation. She laughed at thegirl's pretension to what almost amounted to prophetic insight--yetwondered if there might not be something in what she said. At any rateit was nice to be believed in, even by Miss Parkins. She felt that shehad done the young woman an injustice. A publican's daughter, afterall, is flesh and blood. If the book succeeded, should opportunityoffer, she would place it upon public record that Clara Parkins hadforetold its success--which would be fame for Clara. She smiled at herown conceit. The possibility that she might one day become animportant person only loomed on the horizon since the advent of thatnote in the morning.
Immersed in such thoughts, almost unwittingly she arrived at CloverCottage. Inserting her latchkey in the keyhole, she turned and openedthe door. Almost as soon as she did so, it was thrust violently backon her, and banged in her face. She was so startled that, for a secondor two, she stared at the closed door as if in doubt as to what hadreally happened. She had been, in imagination, so far away that itrequired positive effort on her part to bring herself back to earth.
"Well," she muttered, below her breath, "that's cool. I wonder who didthat. Perhaps it was the wind."
She did not stay to consider how the wind could have behaved in suchan eccentric manner. She gave her key another twist, and the door apush. But the key refused to act, or to move, in the directionrequired, and the door stood still. This, under the circumstances,singular behaviour of the key and the door, seemed to rouse her to aclearer perception of the situation. She gave the key a further twist,exerting all her strength.
"What is the matter? It turned easily enough just now."
It would not turn then, try how she might, and the door would notbudge.
"Can the catch have fallen? I don't see how; it has never doneanything of the kind before. I wonder if some one's hav
ing a joke withme; perhaps Ella has returned."
Acting on the supposition, though it was two hours in advance of thetime at which Miss Duncan might be generally expected, she knocked atthe door. None answered. She knocked again--louder. If Ella was havinga jest at her expense it was hardly to be expected that she would putan end to the joke by answering her first summons. She knocked againand again--without result.
"This is charming--to be locked out of my own house is not what Iexpected."
She drew back, in order to survey the premises. Nothing was to beseen.
"Perhaps I'd better try the back door. Since the front seemshermetically closed, the back may be open for a change."
But it was not. She rattled at the handle; shook the door; rapped atthe panels with her knuckles. No one heeded her. She returned to thefront--with a curious feeling of discomfiture.
"What can have happened? It's very odd. The door opened easilyenough at first--it felt as if some one had pulled it from within. Iwonder--Hullo! that's the time of day is it? I saw that curtain move.I fancy now, Miss Ella Duncan, that I've caught you--you are amusingyourself inside. I'll give that knocker a hammering which I'll engageto say you shall hear."
She was as good as her word--so far as the hammering was concerned.She kept up a hideous tattoo for some three or four minutes withoutcessation. But though it is not impossible that the din was audible onthe other side of the Common, within none heeded. She was becomingannoyed. Going to the sitting-room window, she tapped sharply at theframe.
"Ella, I saw you! Don't be so silly! Open the door! You'll have allthe neighbourhood about the place. It's too bad of you to keep meoutside like this."
It might be too bad; but the offender showed no sign of relenting.Madge struck her knuckles against the pane with force enough to breakthe glass.
"Ella!"
Still silence.
"How can you be so stupid--and unkind! Ella, open the door! Or is ityou, Jack? Don't think I didn't see you, because I did--I saw you movethe curtain."
She might have done, but the curtain was motionless enough now. Madgewas losing her temper fast. In her estimation, to be kept out of thehouse like this was carrying a sufficiently bad joke a good deal toofar.
"If you don't open the door at once, I shall break the glass and letmyself in that way!"
She assailed the window-pane with a degree of violence which suggestedthat she meant what she said; then flattened her nose against it in anendeavour to discover who might be within. While she peered, the doorwas opened, and some one did come in. She started back.
"Who on earth----"
She was going to say. "Who on earth is that?" But when she got so far,she stopped--because she knew. At least in part.
First through the door there came a woman. And, although she couldscarcely credit the evidence of her own eyesight, in her sherecognised the visitor of the day but one before--the creature who hadpersisted in calling herself "the ghost's wife." At her heels therewas a man, a perfect stranger to Madge. Having recognised the woman,she looked to see in her companion the loafer of the previousafternoon--but this certainly was not he. This was a miserable,insignificant-looking fellow, very much down at heel--and apparentlyvery much down at everything else. The woman, with impudent assurance,came striding straight to the window. The man hung back, exhibiting inhis bearing every symptom of marked discomfort.
The female, as brazen-faced as if she was on the right side of thewindow, stared at Madge. And Madge stared at her--amazed.
So amazed, indeed, that for a moment or two she was at a loss forwords. When they came at last, they came in the form of an inquiry.
"What," she asked, "are you doing there?"
The woman waved her hand--in fact, she waved both her hands--as ifrepelling some noxious insect.
"Go away!" she cried; "go away! This house is mine--mine!"
Madge gasped. That the creature was mad, at the best, she made nodoubt. But that conviction, in the present situation, was of smallassistance. What was she to do?
As she asked herself this question, with no slight sense ofhelplessness, the gate clicked behind her. Some one entered thegarden.
It was Bruce Graham.
Tom Ossington's Ghost Page 10
