CHAPTER XVII
THE KEY TO THE PUZZLE
She stood, for a second, with the handle of the open door in hergrasp--as if she was glad of its support to aid her stand. Then, witha quick glance backwards, as of pleading to the one who exercised overher so strange a spell, she tottered from the room. She continuedspeaking as she went, as if deprecating the other's wrath.
"I shall be all right--in a moment--if you don't--hurry me at first.I'm only slow because--I'm a little tired. It'll soon go, this tiredfeeling, Tom--and I'll be sure--to be quicker when it's gone."
Ballingall hung back as she passed from the room, seeming, from hisattitude, to be in two minds whether to follow her at all. The others,as if taking their cue from him, seemed hesitating too--until Madge,with head thrown back, and fists hanging clenched at her sides,went after her through the door. Then they moved close on Madge'sheels--Bruce Graham in front, Ballingall bringing up the rear.
The woman was staggering up the stairs, with obviousunwillingness--and, also, with more than sufficient feebleness. It waswith difficulty she could lift her feet from step to step. Each timeshe raised her foot she gave a backward lurch, which threatened toprecipitate her down the whole of the distance she had gained.
Madge's impulse was to dash forward, put her arms about theunfortunate creature's wrist and, if she needs must go forward, bearher bodily to the top of the stairs. But although, at the pitifulsight which the woman presented, her fingers tingled and her pulsesthrobbed, she was stayed from advancing to proffer her the assistancewhich she longed to render by the consciousness, against which shestrove in vain, that between the woman and herself there was asomething which not only did she dare not pass, but which she dare noteven closely approach. Over and over again she told herself that itwas nonsense--but a delusion born of the woman's diseased andconscience-haunted brain. There was absolutely nothing to be seen; andwhy should she, a healthy-minded young woman, suffer herself to befrightened by the vacant air? But in spite of all her efforts atself-persuasion, she allowed a considerable space to continue to existbetween herself and the trembling wretch upon the stairs.
Slowly the queer procession advanced--the woman punctuating, as itwere, with her plaintive wailings every step she took.
"Tom! Tom! Tom!" She continually repeated the name, with all theintonations of endearment, supplication, reproach, and even terror. Tohear her was a liberal education in the different effects which may beproduced by varieties of emphasis.
"Don't hurry me! I'm--going as quickly as I can. I--shall soon be atthe top! It's so--so steep--a staircase--Tom."
At last the top was reached. She stood upon the landing, clinging tothe banisters as she gasped for breath. Her figure swayed backward andforward, in so ominous a fashion that, halfway up the staircase,almost involuntarily Madge stretched out her arms to catch her if shefell. But she did not fall--nor was she allowed much time to recoverfrom her exertions.
"I'm going--if--you'll let me--rest--for just one moment--Tom. Wheredo you wish me to go?"
It seemed as if her question was answered, for she gave a shudderingmovement towards the wall, and burst into a passion of cries.
"No, Tom--not there! not there! not there! Don't make me go into ourbedroom--not into our bedroom!"
The command which had been given her was apparently repeated, for,drawing herself away from the wall, she went with new and shudderinghaste along the passage.
"I'm--I'm going! Only--have mercy--have mercy on me, Tom! I don't wishto anger you, only have mercy, Tom!"
The bedroom in front of the house was the one which was occupied byElla, It was towards this room that the woman was moving with hurried,tremulous steps. Her unwillingness to advance was more marked thanbefore, and yet she seemed urged by something which was both in frontand behind her, which she was powerless to resist. They could see sheshuddered as she went; and she uttered cries, half of terror, half ofpain.
And yet she advanced with a decision, and a firmness, and also arapidity, which was unlike anything she hitherto had shown. On thethreshold of the room she stopped, starting back, and throwing out herhands in front of her.
"It's our bedroom, Tom--it's full of ghosts! Ghosts! Ghosts! Don'tmake me go into the bedroom, Tom."
But the propelling force, whatever it might have been, was beyond herpower to withstand. She gave a sudden, exceeding bitter cry. Turningthe handle, she flung the door right back upon its hinges. With a pealof laughter, which grated on the ears of those who heard almost morethan anything which had gone before, she staggered into the room. Asshe disappeared they stopped, listening, with faces which had suddenlygrown whiter, to her strange merriment.
"This is our bedroom--ha! ha! ha!--where you brought me when we werefirst married! Why, Tom, how many years is it since I was here? Ha,ha, ha!--I never thought I should come back to our bedroom, Tom--never!Ha, ha, ha!"
All at once there was a change in her tone--a note of terror. Thelaughter fled with the dreadful suddenness with which it had come.
"Don't, Tom, Don't! Have mercy--mercy! I'll do as you wish me--youknow I will; I'll--get your money. Only--I didn't know--you keptit--in our bedroom--Tom. You didn't use to."
So soon as the laughter, fading, was exchanged for that panic cry,Madge hurried after her into the room--the others, as ever, hard uponher heels. The woman stood in the centre of the floor, looking abouther with glances of evident bewilderment, as if seeking for somethingshe had been told to look for. She searched in vain. Her eagerness waspitiful. She looked hither and thither, in every direction, as if,urged to the search, she feared, in speechless agony, the penalties ofdisobedience. All the while she kept giving short, sharp cries ofstrained and frenzied fear.
"I'm looking! I'm looking, Tom, as hard as I can, but--I seenothing--nothing, Tom! I'm doing as you tell me--I am--I am--I am! Oh,Tom, I am! But I don't see your money--I don't! I don't! If you'llshow me where it is, I'll get it; but I see nothing of your money,Tom! Where is it?--Here!"
She moved towards the wash-hand stand, which was at the side of theroom.
"Behind the washstand?"
She lifted the piece of furniture on one side with a degree ofstrength of which, light though it was, one would not have thoughtthat she was capable. Getting behind it, she placed against the wallher eager, trembling hand.
"But--your money isn't here. There's nothing but the wall. Take thepaper off the wall? But--how am I to do it?--With my fingers!--I can'ttear off with my fingers, Tom. Oh, Tom, I'll try! Don't speak to melike that--I'll try!"
With feverish haste she dragged the apologies for gloves off herquivering hands.
"Where shall I tear it off?--Here? Yes, Tom, I'll try to tear it offjust here."
Dropping on her knees she attacked with her nails the wall where,while she remained in that posture, it was about the height of herhead--endeavouring to drive the edges through the paper, and to pickit off, as children do.
But her attempts were less successful than are the efforts of theaverage ingenious child.
"I can't, Tom, I can't! My fingers are not strong enough, and my nailsare broken--don't be angry with me, Tom."
She made frantic little dabs at the wall. But her endeavours to makean impression on the paper were without result. It was plain that withher unassisted nails she might continue to peck at it in vain forever.
Madge turned to Mr. Graham.
"'I can't, Tom, I can't! My fingers are not strongenough, and my nails are broken--don't be angry with me, Tom!'" (_Toface p_. 290.)]
"Have you a pocket-knife?"
Without a word he took one from his waistcoat pocket.
Not waiting for him to open it, she took it from him with an actionwhich almost amounted to a snatch. With her own fingers she opened thelargest blade. Making a large, and under the circumstances curiouscircuit, in order to reach her, leaning over the washstand, touchingthe woman on the shoulder, she held out to her the knife.
&nb
sp; Shrinking under Madge's finger, with an exclamation she looked roundto see who touched her.
"Take this," said Madge. "It's a knife. With its help you'll be betterable to tear the paper off the wall."
She took it--without a word of thanks, and, with it in her grasp,returned to the attack with energies renewed.
"I've got a knife, Tom, I've got a knife. Now I'll get the paper offquicker--much quicker. I'll soon get to your money, Tom."
But she did not get to it. On the contrary, the process of strippingoff the paper did not proceed much more rapidly than before, even withthe help of Mr. Graham's knife. It was with the greatest difficultythat she was able to get off two or three square inches.
The disappearance, however, of even this small portion revealed thefact that the paper-hanger who had been responsible for putting itinto place, instead of stripping off the previous wall covering, aspaperhangers are supposed to do, had been content, to save himselfwhat he had, perhaps, deemed unnecessary trouble, to paste this latestcovering on the previous one. This former paper appeared to have beenof that old-fashioned kind which used to be popular in the parlours ofcountry inns, and such-like places, and which was wont to beembellished with "pictorial illustrations." The scraping off, by thewoman, of the small fragments of paper which she had succeeded inremoving, showed that the one beneath it seemed to have beenornamented with more or less striking representations of variousfour-footed animals. On the space laid bare were figures of what mighthave been meant for anything; and which, in the light of the last lineon Mr. Ballingall's manuscript, were probably intended for cats anddogs.
With these the woman was fumbling with hesitating, awkward fingers.
"Cat--dog? I don't--I don't understand, Tom--I see, Tom,--these arethe pictures of cats and dogs. I'm blind, and stupid, and slow. Iought to have seen at once what they were?--I know I ought. But--bepatient with me, Tom. Which one?--This one? Yes, I see--this one.It's--it's--yes, Tom, it's a dog's head, I see it is.--What am Ito do with it? Press?--Yes, Tom, I am pressing.--Press harder? Yes,I'll--I'll try; but I'm--I'm not very strong, and I can't press muchharder. Have mercy!--have mercy, Tom! Say--say you forgive me--forgiveme! but I--I can't press harder, Tom--I can't!"
She could not--so much was plain. Even as the words were passing fromher lips, she relinquished pressing altogether. Uttering a littlethrobbing cry, she turned away from the wall, throwing up her armswith a gesture of entreaty, and sinking on to the floor, she lay therestill. As she dropped, that gentle, mocking laugh rang through thestartled room.
Tom Ossington's Ghost Page 17
