The Leavenworth Case

by Anna Katharine Green

  XXXI. “THEREBY HANGS A TALE.”

  --Taming of the Shrew.

  “IT was all a hoax; nobody was ill; I have been imposed upon, meanlyimposed upon!” And Mrs. Belden, flushed and panting, entered the roomwhere I was, and proceeded to take off her bonnet; but whilst doing sopaused, and suddenly exclaimed: “What is the matter? How you look at me!Has anything happened?”

  “Something very serious has occurred,” I replied; “you have been gonebut a little while, but in that time a discovery has been made--” Ipurposely paused here that the suspense might elicit from her somebetrayal; but, though she turned pale, she manifested less emotion thanI expected, and I went on--“which is likely to produce very importantconsequences.”

  To my surprise she burst violently into tears. “I knew it, I knew it!” she murmured. “I always said it would be impossible to keep it secretif I let anybody into the house; she is so restless. But I forget,” shesuddenly said, with a frightened look; “you haven’t told me what thediscovery was. Perhaps it isn’t what I thought; perhaps----”

  I did not hesitate to interrupt her. “Mrs. Belden,” I said, “I shall nottry to mitigate the blow. A woman who, in the face of the most urgentcall from law and justice, can receive into her house and harbor there awitness of such importance as Hannah, cannot stand in need of any greatpreparation for hearing that her efforts, have been too successful, thatshe has accomplished her design of suppressing valuable testimony, thatlaw and justice are outraged, and that the innocent woman whom thisgirl’s evidence might have saved stands for ever compromised in the eyesof the world, if not in those of the officers of the law.”

  Her eyes, which had never left me during this address, flashed wide withdismay.

  “What do you mean?” she cried. “I have intended no wrong; I have onlytried to save people. I--I--But who are you? What have you got to dowith all this? What is it to you what I do or don’t do? You said youwere a lawyer. Can it be you are come from Mary Leavenworth to see how Iam fulfilling her commands, and----”

  “Mrs. Belden,” I said, “it is of small importance now as to who I am, orfor what purpose I am here. But that my words may have the more effect,I will say, that whereas I have not deceived you, either as to my nameor position, it is true that I am the friend of the Misses Leavenworth,and that anything which is likely to affect them, is of interest tome. When, therefore, I say that Eleanore Leavenworth is irretrievablyinjured by this girl’s death----”

  “Death? What do you mean? Death!”

  The burst was too natural, the tone too horror-stricken for me to doubtfor another moment as to this woman’s ignorance of the true state ofaffairs.

  “Yes,” I repeated, “the girl you have been hiding so long and so well isnow beyond your control. Only her dead body remains, Mrs. Belden.”

  I shall never lose from my ears the shriek which she uttered, nor thewild, “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it!” with which she dashedfrom the room and rushed up-stairs.

  Nor that after-scene when, in the presence of the dead, she stoodwringing her hands and protesting, amid sobs of the sincerest grief andterror, that she knew nothing of it; that she had left the girl in thebest of spirits the night before; that it was true she had locked herin, but this she always did when any one was in the house; and that ifshe died of any sudden attack, it must have been quietly, for she hadheard no stir all night, though she had listened more than once, beingnaturally anxious lest the girl should make some disturbance that wouldarouse me.

  “But you were in here this morning?” said I.

  “Yes; but I didn’t notice. I was in a hurry, and thought she was asleep;so I set the things down where she could get them and came right away,locking the door as usual.”

  “It is strange she should have died this night of all others. Was sheill yesterday?”

  “No, sir; she was even brighter than common; more lively. I neverthought of her being sick then or ever. If I had----”

  “You never thought of her being sick?” a voice here interrupted. “Why,then, did you take such pains to give her a dose of medicine lastnight?” And Q entered from the room beyond.

  “I didn’t!” she protested, evidently under the supposition it was I whohad spoken. “Did I, Hannah, did I, poor girl?” stroking the hand thatlay in hers with what appeared to be genuine sorrow and regret.

  “How came she by it, then? Where she did she get it if you didn’t giveit to her?”

  This time she seemed to be aware that some one besides myself wastalking to her, for, hurriedly rising, she looked at the man with awondering stare, before replying.

  “I don’t know who you are, sir; but I can tell you this, the girl had nomedicine,--took no dose; she wasn’t sick last night that I know of.”

  “Yet I saw her swallow a powder.”

  “Saw her!--the world is crazy, or I am--saw her swallow a powder! Howcould you see her do that or anything else? Hasn’t she been shut up inthis room for twenty-four hours?”

  “Yes; but with a window like that in the roof, it isn’t so verydifficult to see into the room, madam.”

  “Oh,” she cried, shrinking, “I have a spy in the house, have I? But Ideserve it; I kept her imprisoned in four close walls, and never cameto look at her once all night. I don’t complain; but what was it you sayyou saw her take? medicine? poison?”

  “I didn’t say poison.”

  “But you meant it. You think she has poisoned herself, and that I had ahand in it!”

  “No,” I hastened to remark, “he does not think you had a hand in it. Hesays he saw the girl herself swallow something which he believes to havebeen the occasion of her death, and only asks you now where she obtainedit.”

  “How can I tell? I never gave her anything; didn’t know she hadanything.”

  Somehow, I believed her, and so felt unwilling to prolong the presentinterview, especially as each moment delayed the action which I felt itincumbent upon us to take. So, motioning Q to depart upon his errand, Itook Mrs. Belden by the hand and endeavored to lead her from theroom. But she resisted, sitting down by the side of the bed with theexpression, “I will not leave her again; do not ask it; here is myplace, and here I will stay,” while Q, obdurate for the first time,stood staring severely upon us both, and would not move, though I urgedhim again to make haste, saying that the morning was slipping away, andthat the telegram to Mr. Gryce ought to be sent.

  “Till that woman leaves the room, I don’t; and unless you promise totake my place in watching her, I don’t quit the house.”

  Astonished, I left her side and crossed to him.

  “You carry your suspicions too far,” I whispered, “and I think you aretoo rude. We have seen nothing, I am sure, to warrant us in any suchaction; besides, she can do no harm here; though, as for watching her, Ipromise to do that much if it will relieve your mind.”

  “I don’t want her watched here; take her below. I cannot leave while sheremains.”

  “Are you not assuming a trifle the master?”

  “Perhaps; I don’t know. If I am, it is because I have something in mypossession which excuses my conduct.”

  “What is that? the letter?”

  “Yes.”

  Agitated now in my turn, I held out my hand. “Let me see,” I said.

  “Not while that woman remains in the room.”

  Seeing him implacable, I returned to Mrs. Belden.

  “I must entreat you to come with me,” said I. “This is not a commondeath; we shall be obliged to have the coroner here and others. You hadbetter leave the room and go below.”

  “I don’t mind the coroner; he is a neighbor of mine; his coming won’tprevent my watching over the poor girl until he arrives.”

  “Mrs. Belden,” I said, “your position as the only one conscious of thepresence of this girl in your house makes it wiser for you not to invitesuspicion by lingering any longer than is necessary in the room whereher dead body lies.”

  “As if my neglect of her now
were the best surety of my good intentionstowards her in time past!”

  “It will not be neglect for you to go below with me at my earnestrequest. You can do no good here by staying; will, in fact, be doingharm. So listen to me or I shall be obliged to leave you in charge ofthis man and go myself to inform the authorities.”

  This last argument seemed to affect her, for with one look of shudderingabhorrence at Q she rose, saying, “You have me in your power,” and then,without another word, threw her handkerchief over the girl’s face andleft the room. In two minutes more I had the letter of which Q hadspoken in my hands.

  “It is the only one I could find, sir. It was in the pocket of the dressMrs. Belden had on last night. The other must be lying around somewhere,but I haven’t had time to find it. This will do, though, I think. Youwill not ask for the other.”

  Scarcely noticing at the time with what deep significance he spoke, Iopened the letter. It was the smaller of the two I had seen her drawunder her shawl the day before at the post-office, and read as follows:

  “DEAR, DEAR FRIEND:

  “I am in awful trouble. You who love me must know it. I cannot explain, I can only make one prayer. Destroy what you have, to-day, instantly, without question or hesitation. The consent of any one else has nothing to do with it. You must obey. I am lost if you refuse. Do then what I ask, and save

  “ONE WHO LOVES YOU.”

  It was addressed to Mrs. Belden; there was no signature or date,only the postmark New York; but I knew the handwriting. It was MaryLeavenworth’s.

  “A damning letter!” came in the dry tones which Q seemed to think fit toadopt on this occasion. “And a damning bit of evidence against the onewho wrote it, and the woman who received it!”

  “A terrible piece of evidence, indeed,” said I, “if I did not happen toknow that this letter refers to the destruction of something radicallydifferent from what you suspect. It alludes to some papers in Mrs.Belden’s charge; nothing else.”

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  “Quite; but we will talk of this hereafter. It is time you sent yourtelegram, and went for the coroner.”

  “Very well, sir.” And with this we parted; he to perform his role and Imine.

  I found Mrs. Belden walking the floor below, bewailing her situation,and uttering wild sentences as to what the neighbors would say of her;what the minister would think; what Clara, whoever that was, would do,and how she wished she had died before ever she had meddled with theaffair.

  Succeeding in calming her after a while, I induced her to sit down andlisten to what I had to say. “You will only injure yourself by thisdisplay of feeling,” I remarked, “besides unfitting yourself for whatyou will presently be called upon to go through.” And, laying myself outto comfort the unhappy woman, I first explained the necessities of thecase, and next inquired if she had no friend upon whom she could call inthis emergency.

  To my great surprise she replied no; that while she had kind neighborsand good friends, there was no one upon whom she could call in a caselike this, either for assistance or sympathy, and that, unless I wouldtake pity on her, she would have to meet it alone--“As I have meteverything,” she said, “from Mr. Belden’s death to the loss of most ofmy little savings in a town fire last year.”

  I was touched by this,--that she who, in spite of her weakness andinconsistencies of character, possessed at least the one virtue ofsympathy with her kind, should feel any lack of friends. Unhesitatingly,I offered to do what I could for her, providing she would treat me withthe perfect frankness which the case demanded. To my great relief, sheexpressed not only her willingness, but her strong desire, to tell allshe knew. “I have had enough secrecy for my whole life,” she said.And indeed I do believe she was so thoroughly frightened, that if apolice-officer had come into the house and asked her to reveal secretscompromising the good name of her own son, she would have done sowithout cavil or question. “I feel as if I wanted to take my stand outon the common, and, in the face of the whole world, declare what I havedone for Mary Leavenworth. But first,” she whispered, “tell me, forGod’s sake, how those girls are situated. I have not dared to ask orwrite. The papers say a good deal about Eleanore, but nothing aboutMary; and yet Mary writes of her own peril only, and of the danger shewould be in if certain facts were known. What is the truth? I don’t wantto injure them, only to take care of myself.”

  “Mrs. Belden,” I said, “Eleanore Leavenworth has got into herpresent difficulty by not telling all that was required of her. MaryLeavenworth--but I cannot speak of her till I know what you have todivulge. Her position, as well as that of her cousin, is too anomalousfor either you or me to discuss. What we want to learn from you is, howyou became connected with this affair, and what it was that Hannah knewwhich caused her to leave New York and take refuge here.”

  But Mrs. Belden, clasping and unclasping her hands, met my gaze with onefull of the most apprehensive doubt. “You will never believe me,” shecried; “but I don’t know what Hannah knew. I am in utter ignorance ofwhat she saw or heard on that fatal night; she never told, and I neverasked. She merely said that Miss Leavenworth wished me to secrete herfor a short time; and I, because I loved Mary Leavenworth and admiredher beyond any one I ever saw, weakly consented, and----”

  “Do you mean to say,” I interrupted, “that after you knew of the murder,you, at the mere expression of Miss Leavenworth’s wishes, continued tokeep this girl concealed without asking her any questions or demandingany explanations?”

  “Yes, sir; you will never believe me, but it is so. I thought that,since Mary had sent her here, she must have her reasons; and--and--Icannot explain it now; it all looks so differently; but I did do as Ihave said.”

  “But that was very strange conduct. You must have had strong reason forobeying Mary Leavenworth so blindly.”

  “Oh, sir,” she gasped, “I thought I understood it all; that Mary, thebright young creature, who had stooped from her lofty position to makeuse of me and to love me, was in some way linked to the criminal, andthat it would be better for me to remain in ignorance, do as I wasbid, and trust all would come right. I did not reason about it; I onlyfollowed my impulse. I couldn’t do otherwise; it isn’t my nature. When Iam requested to do anything for a person I love, I cannot refuse.”

  “And you love Mary Leavenworth; a woman whom you yourself seem toconsider capable of a great crime?”

  “Oh, I didn’t say that; I don’t know as I thought that. She might be insome way connected with it, without being the actual perpetrator. Shecould never be that; she is too dainty.”

  “Mrs. Belden,” I said, “what do you know of Mary Leavenworth which makeseven that supposition possible?”

  The white face of the woman before me flushed. “I scarcely know what toreply,” she cried. “It is a long story, and----”

  “Never mind the long story,” I interrupted. “Let me hear the one vitalreason.”

  “Well,” said she, “it is this; that Mary was in an emergency from whichnothing but her uncle’s death could release her.”

  “Ah, how’s that?”

  But here we were interrupted by the sound of steps on the porch, and,looking out, I saw Q entering the house alone. Leaving Mrs. Belden whereshe was, I stepped into the hall.

  “Well,” said I, “what is the matter? Haven’t you found the coroner?Isn’t he at home?”

  “No, gone away; off in a buggy to look after a man that was found someten miles from here, lying in a ditch beside a yoke of oxen.” Then, ashe saw my look of relief, for I was glad of this temporary delay, said,with an expressive wink: “It would take a fellow a long time to go tohim--if he wasn’t in a hurry--hours, I think.”

  “Indeed!” I returned, amused at his manner. “Rough road?”

  “Very; no horse I could get could travel it faster than a walk.”

  “Well,” said I, “so much the better for us. Mrs. Belden has a long storyto tell, and----”

  “Doesn’t wish to
be interrupted. I understand.”

  I nodded and he turned towards the door.

  “Have you telegraphed Mr. Gryce?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you think he will come?”

  “Yes, sir; if he has to hobble on two sticks.”

  “At what time do you look for him?”

  “_You_ will look for him as early as three o’clock. I shall be among themountains, ruefully eying my broken-down team.” And leisurely donninghis hat he strolled away down the street like one who has the whole dayon his hands and does not know what to do with it.

  An opportunity being thus given for Mrs. Belden’s story, she at oncecomposed herself to the task, with the following result.