CHAPTER VI
THE WOMAN WITH ONE HAND
"Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor's compliments, sir, and would you mind steppingupstairs?"
I had a lighted match in my hand, and was in the very act of applyingit to the bowl of my pipe when the latest importation in waitersbrought me the message.
"Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor?" I let the match go out. "And pray who mayMrs. Lascelles-Trevor be?"
"The lady who arrived to-day, sir, and who has taken a privatesitting-room--No. 8."
"Indeed! And what does Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor want with me?"
"I don't know, sir; she asked me to give you her compliments, andwould you be so kind as to step upstairs."
I stepped upstairs, wondering. I was received by a tall and somewhatponderous woman, who was dressed in a dark-blue silk costume, almostas if she were going to a ball. She half rose from the couch as I camein, inclining her head in my direction with what struck me as aslightly patronising smile. She spoke in a loud, hearty tone of voice,which was marked by what struck me as being a Yorkshire twang.
"It is so good of you to come to see me, Mr. Southam. I was reallymore than half afraid to ask you. As it is, I beg ten thousandpardons, but I do so want you to write me a letter."
"To write you a letter? I am afraid I am a little slow ofcomprehension."
"I have lost my hand." She stretched out her right arm. Both arms werebare to the shoulder. I could not but notice how beautifully they weremoulded, their massive contours, their snowy whiteness. She woregloves which reached nearly to her elbows. So far as I could judgethere appeared to be a hand inside of both. She seemed to read mythoughts, still continuing to hold her right arm out in front of her.
"You think my hand is gloved? I always wear it so. But the gloveconceals a dummy. Come and feel it." I bowed. I was content to takeher at her word; I had no wish to put her to the actual test. "I havenever been able to gain complete control over my left hand--to use itas if it were my right. I suppose it is because I am not cleverenough. I can scribble with it, but only scribble. When I desire tohave a letter properly written I am dependent upon outsiders' help.Will you write one for me now?"
It was an odd request for a new-comer at an hotel to address to aperfect stranger, but I complied. The letter she dictated, and which Iwrote at her dictation, seemed to me the merest triviality--a scribblewould have served the purpose just as well. She chattered all the timethat I was writing, and, when I had finished, she went on chatteringstill. All at once she broke into a theme to which I ought to havebecome accustomed, but had not.
"Do you know, Mr. Southam, that I have been reading about thisdreadful murder case? How the papers have all been full of it! And Idon't mind telling you, as a matter of fact, that in a sort of a wayit was that which has brought me to this hotel."
If that were so, I retorted, then her tastes were individual; sheperceived attractions where the average man saw none. She laughed.
"I don't know that it was exactly that, but the truth is, Mr. Southam,I was interested in you." The way in which she emphasised the pronouna little startled me. "I made up my mind that I would ferret you outdirectly I got to the hotel, and that then, if I liked the look ofyou, would make you an offer. You see how frank I am."
She certainly was frank to a fault, in one sense. And yet I wondered.As I replied to her my tone was grim.
"It is very good of you. And now that, as I take it for granted thatyou do like the look of me--as you can scarcely fail to do--may Iinquire what is the nature of the offer you propose to make?"
She laughed again. Possibly my perceptions were unusually keen,but, all the time, it occurred to me that there was about her asomething--an atmosphere, if you will--which was not exactlysuggestive of laughter. Unless I was mistaken, her faculties were asmuch on the alert as mine were. She was engaged in summing me up whenshe feigned to be least observant.
"You must understand, Mr. Southam, that I know all about you which thepapers had to tell, and that was not a little! So we are not exactlystrangers. At least, that is, you are not wholly a stranger to me.Besides which, I myself once knew a person whose name was Southam."
I started. The woman's eyes were fixed on me, although she pretendedto be trifling with her dress.
"You knew a person whose name was Southam. Indeed! Who was it, a manor a woman?"
She ignored my question.
"Have you any relatives of your own name?
"Not that I am aware of, though there seems to be more than oneSoutham about in the world. What Southam was it you knew?"
Her tone was ostentatiously indifferent. "Oh, it doesn't matter. Itwas a long time ago, and, as you say, I suppose there are heaps ofSouthams about in the world. I only wanted to explain to you that youwere not so absolutely unknown to me as the fact that this is ourfirst actual meeting might lead you to imagine. Will you allow me toask if you are still seeking employment? I thought, from what I readin the papers, that it was just possible you might be."
"You have supposed correctly. I am."
"Would you like to fill the post of secretary?"
"Of secretary?" I paused for a moment to consider--not the suggestionof such a post, but the source from whence the suggestion came. "Towhom?"
"To me."
"It is very kind of you, but do you clearly understand, madam, thatyou are speaking to a person whose character is under a cloud?"
"Because you were suspected of having murdered that man?"
Her question was brutal in its candour.
"Precisely. Because I was suspected, and, for all I know, still am."
"The people who suspected you were fools. I will back my capacity as ajudge of character, even at sight, against their suspicions. You arenot of the stuff of which murderers are made."
Her tone was short and sharp--I had almost written sarcastic--as ifshe thought it a shame to a man not to be made of the stuff of whichmurderers are. She went on, speaking quickly, even brusquely.
"I will trust you, if you, on your part, will trust me. As I have toldyou, and as I will prove to you, if--as I almost believe--you doubtme, I have lost my hand. See!" Hastily, before I could stop her, shebegan to unbutton her right glove. She only unloosed a button or two,when the whole thing, glove, hand and all, came clean away, and sheheld out towards me her handless arm. I stared, at a loss for words,not a little shocked--the disfigurement was so dreadful, and seemed tohave been so recent. Her voice grew bitter. "I lost that hand undercircumstances which impressed its loss upon my memory. As it were, Iseem to be losing it anew, every hour of every day. It has left meimpotent. Will you relieve my impotence? Will you become my secretary?There will not be much for you to do, but there will be something; thesalary which I shall pay you will not be a large one, but it will,perhaps, suffice till something better offers; I will give you ahundred pounds a year, and, as they say in the advertisements, allfound. Do not give me your answer at once. It may be that I shall stayin the hotel some time, and, at any rate, while I am here, possiblyyou will not refuse to act as my amanuensis. You can see with your owneyes how much I am in want of one."
Again she drew my attention to her mangled arm. As she suggested, Ineither accepted nor declined her offer there and then; it was onewhich needed consideration from more points than one. For instance,while she did know something of me--if what she had read in thenewspaper reports could be called knowledge--I knew literally nothingof her; for all I could tell, she might be an adventuress lately freedfrom the purlieus of a gaol. I did consent to do any secretarial workshe might require during her stay in the hotel. By the time she leftit I might be able to see my way more clearly than I did just then.
I saw a good deal of Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor during the few days whichfollowed, and the more I saw of her the less I could make her out.There was a good deal of work for me to do, such as it was. I wonderedif she had brought it with her in order to furnish her with an excuseto give me occupation. There were papers for
me to copy--papers whichseemed to be of the very slightest importance. While I was supposed tobe engaged in copying them, she interrupted me without remorse, andtalked and talked and talked. During those conversations she learned agreat deal of my history, while I ascertained nothing at all of hers.I found that she was a woman of quick and imperious temper: to fencewith one of her interminable questions annoyed her; to have declinedpoint-blank to answer one would have involved an immediate breach. IfI took service with her, it would be with my eyes open; I should haveto be prepared for squalls. Though she gave me employment as if shewere bestowing charity, she would expect and require perfect obediencefrom me in return.
I do not think that, as a rule, I am quick in taking dislike at aperson, but there did, in spite of myself, grow up in my mind a senseof antipathy towards Mrs. Lascelles-Trevor. I felt as if she werewatching me; pumping me, turning me inside out, as if I were some oldglove; playing with me with that cruel sort of enjoyment with which acat plays with a mouse, and I did not find the feeling an agreeableone.
To add to my comfort, I had an uneasy consciousness that the newwaiter had an attentive eye upon my movements in a non-waiterialsense. It was an eye for which I did not thank him; I almost suspectedthat he was playing the part of a sleepless spy. I half believed that,not infrequently, he was an unseen auditor of my interviews with Mrs.Lascelles-Trevor--I should like to have caught him in the act! Onenight I could not sleep, I found that I had left my pipe downstairs. Istarted off to get it; I had scarcely got outside the bedroom doorwhen I all but stumbled over the new waiter. Before I had discoveredwho it was, I had pinned him to the floor. He was profuse in hisapologies, but I do not think that he could altogether have liked theway in which I handled him.
The Woman with One Hand, and Mr. Ely's Engagement Page 7
