Works of Ellen Wood

by Ellen Wood

  “My ladies, the likeness I saw could only be accidental,” said Judith, still avoiding a direct answer. “It may exist in my fancy only.”

  Laura stamped her foot. “You must speak, Judith,” said Lady Jane. “Like whom do you think the child?”

  “Like Mr. Carlton,” was the low reply.

  Lady Jane stood dumb. It was anything but the answer she had expected, for she had believed Laura’s notion to be pure fancy. A triumphant glance shot from Laura’s eyes, and certain ill-advised words dropped from her lips. The avowal seemed so complete a confirmation of her suspicions, that she looked upon the case as proved against Mr. Carlton, She sat down in her chair again, battling with the jealous anger that was causing her bosom to heave and throb tumultuously. Jane repudiated the idea, repudiated it utterly, whatever accidental resemblance might exist to Mr. Carlton. She turned to Judith. As so much had been spoken before the girl, it was well that more should be said.

  “We had a sister who was lost, Judith — you once before heard me allude to her. She has never been heard of; but latterly I have learned facts which induce me to conclude that she married. In that little child at Tupper’s cottage I trace a very great likeness to her, and I cannot divest myself of the idea that it must be her child. Laura, don’t you see how feasible it is? Clarice may have gone abroad with her husband, leaving her child in England at nurse.”

  For once a tinge of colour came into Judith’s white face. “What name did you say, my lady? Clarice?”

  “Clarice,” repeated Jane in surprise, for the emphasis was involuntary. “Lady Clarice. Why?”

  Judith turned away. “Oh, nothing, my lady; nothing. I thought the name uncommon.”

  “It is rather uncommon. We have some reason to think she married a Mr. West: a gentleman who afterwards went abroad and died. What are you looking at, Judith?”

  The girl had turned again, in open genuine surprise this time. “I once knew a Mr. West, my lady; a gentleman who was visiting old Mrs. Jenkinson in Palace Street, where my sister lives. He was Mrs. Jenkinson’s nephew.”

  “Was his name Thomas?” asked Jane eagerly.

  “I don’t know, my lady. I can’t remember. Margaret could tell me.”

  “And what was he? Had he any profession?”

  Judith shook her head. Margaret knew, no doubt, she said: she would inquire of her, if her lady pleased.

  Her lady did please, and told her to do so. But Lady Jane did not think much of this: West was rather a common name.

  This same afternoon at dusk, Mr. Carlton was in his surgery alone, preparing some mixture for Lucy — for her medicines had been supplied by him, not by Mr. Grey. It grew too dark to measure the proportions with exactness, and he lighted one of the gas-burners. The flame went flaring up, and Mr. Carlton turned to the counter again, which was under the window, and took a bottle into his hand.

  Reader, when your room has been lighted up, and the window left exposed, have you ever felt a dread, a horror of what you might witness there? — Of seeing something unearthly, or what you may fear as such, standing outside the glass, and peering in? I believe that it is a sensation which has been experienced by many, causing them to drag down the blind, or to order the shutters to be closed with all speed. Was it this feeling which induced Mr. Carlton to look up from his employment, at the window before him? Or was his mind guided by some subtle instinct, whispering that some one was there?

  The face, imperfectly seen, was pressed against the glass, immediately facing him: that dread face, with its white complexion and its black whiskers, and the dark handkerchief round its chin, terrible to Mr. Carlton’s reminiscence. It appeared to be eagerly watching, not himself, but his movements, as he made up the medicine.

  Mr. Carlton, impassive Mr. Carlton, found that he had nerves for once in his life. He cried out in the moment’s impulse; a wild cry, not unlike that of a sea-gull, and the glass jar dropped from his hand to the floor and was shivered into fragments. Mr. Jefferson rushed in to see his principal staring at the surgery window, and all the good syrup of taraxacum spilled and wasted.

  CHAPTER XVI.

  MISS STIFFING’S EXPEDITION.

  DECEMBER came in. On a cold, bitter evening, a night or two after the above, a young woman might have been seen hurrying through the streets of South Wennock. She wore a warm cloak, and kept her black Shetland veil tightly over her face, for the wind was howling and the sleet was beating. It was Miss Stiffing, Lady Laura Carlton’s maid.

  “Such a freak of my lady’s!” she grumbled discontentedly, as she went along. “Sending one out in this pelting weather! But that’s just like her! She takes a thing into her head, and then it must be done off-hand, convenient or unconvenient. Bother take that cupboard. What did she go and lose the key for, if she wants it opened?”

  She reached a locksmith’s shop and turned into it. It was lighted only by a solitary candle, and that placed so as to give little light beyond the counter. Consequently the maid stumbled over some fire-irons that stood out from the wall. They came down with a run, and she nearly came down with them.

  “Now then! Why the plague, White, can’t you keep your shop free for folks to enter?” she testily exclaimed, whilst the unoffending locksmith hastened round, and meekly picked up his property.

  “Is it you, Miss Stiffing? And how are you, ma’am?”

  “Why, I’m as cranky as those bell-rests of yours, that’s what I am,” returned Miss Stiffing. “She has no more consideration than an owl, hasn’t my lady. Fancy her sending me slopping in my thin shoes through the streets to-night!”

  “Couldn’t you put on boots?” asked the locksmith, sensibly. “No, I couldn’t. When one’s dressed for the evening one doesn’t want to be bothered changing shoes and boots. And you, White! why don’t you have gas in your shop, like other Christians?”

  “I can’t afford it, Miss Stiffing. And I mostly work in the back room by candle-light; the shop’s so precious cold in winter. What can I do for you, miss?”

  “I want a skeleton key.”

  “A skeleton key!” repeated the tradesman.

  “Yes, a skeleton key. Is there anything so odd in that? If I had said a skeleton, you might stare, perhaps.”

  “What is it for?” he asked, scratching his head, and trying to remember whether the law allowed skeleton keys to be handed over indiscriminately to servants.

  “Well, it’s for my lady, if you must get to the bottom of everything. She goes and loses the key of the big cupboard, that stands in the recess by her bedroom door. ‘ Where’s the key of that cupboard?’ says she to me, this afternoon. ‘My lady, it’s in the keyhole,’ says I. ‘ It’s not,’ says she; ‘ you just go and find it.’ Upon that I called to mind that I had put the key into her key-drawer only yesterday morning, and I told her so, but it can’t be found. Of course she has gone and lost it herself.”

  “I dare say it’s only mislaid,” remarked the man.

  “Nothing else in the world; dropped down, perhaps, behind the furniture, or something of that sort, and will be found in the morning. I said so to my lady. But no, not a minute’s waiting will do for her. She must have the door opened to-night, and off she sends me here for a skeleton key. ‘I won’t have the lock picked or damaged, in case the key does turn up,’ says she. ‘Tell White to send me a skeleton key, one that will pick any lock of about that size, and he shall have it back in a day or two.’ And so off I came. And now, just look sharp, for I’d like to get home again to the fire.”

  “I’d have sent one of the men-servants.”

  “I dare say you would; but you don’t live under Lady Laura Carlton. If I told another servant to go when she had sent me, I might pack my boxes. Is this the article? It looks simple enough.”

  “It’s simple enough, miss,” said the man, as he proceeded to explain its use. “And it’s good night to you, and wishing you a pleasanter walk back again, Miss Stiffing.”

  “Which you must be an idiot to wish,” irascibly returne
d Miss Stiffing. “Is the sleet and rain falling incessant, likely to make it pleasanter?”

  The young woman made her way home as speedily as circumstances and her shoes permitted. Lady Laura Carlton was waiting for her in her dressing-room; waiting impatiently, as might be seen. What project was in her mind that night, flushing her cheeks to emotion, rendering her eyes restless? Could it be that these external signs of agitation were caused by the simple mislaying of a key? — and the key of a place that was not in particular request?

  “What a time you have been, Stiffing!” she exclaimed, as the maid entered.

  “Time, my lady!” returned Stiffing, whose manner and voice, be it remarked, were subdued to meekness in Lady Laura’s presence, whatever they might be out of it. “I went as quickly as the sleet and slush allowed me; and this is what White has sent. Shall I open the cupboard now, my lady?”

  “No,” sharply answered Lady Laura. “It is time for my port-wine jelly.”

  Stiffing went down, muttering something about caprice, and brought up a small mould of dark jelly on a handsome glass dish, a glass plate, and a teaspoon. As she was putting the things on the sofa table before her mistress, Lady Laura looked at her.

  “I cannot think how you could have been so carelessly stupid as to lose the key!”

  “All I can say, my lady, is that I put it into the key-drawer yesterday morning. I am as positive of it—”

  “That will do, Stiffing,” interrupted Lady Laura. “It is of no use to go over the old assertion again. You can go down, and get warm after your walk. I shall not want you for at least an hour. When I do, I’ll ring. And, Stiffing, you will not forget the injunction I gave you — to hold your tongue. I won’t allow the servants to know that I admit skeleton keys into my house: it might teach some of them tricks.”

  Stiffing departed, saying she would remember: and she meant to keep her word. With all Lady Laura’s exactions and caprice, she was a generous mistress, and the servants liked her. Stiffing made herself comfortable in the servants’ sitting-room before a blazing fire. They seemed curious to know what had taken her out. “Only a little errand for my lady,” was the indifferent answer. They were all shut up snugly enough there, and Judith was with them. Lady Jane was with Lucy, and Mr. Carlton had gone out.

  The stairs were creaking — as stairs will creak when a stealthy footstep is upon them, and the house is in silence. They were the back-stairs; and, cautiously descending them, a thick black silk scarf tied over her head, and a shawl muffled round her, to guard against cold, was Lady Laura Carlton, bearing the skeleton key. The stairs were dark, for those back-stairs were never lighted, and she felt her way by the balustrades. They brought her in time to the cellar. She groped her way through it, entered the room beyond, and struck a light. She struck the match and lighted the taper she had brought down from her writing-table. Laura! Laura Carlton! what are you about to do? To pry into your husband’s private affairs, into things which he deems it right and fitting to keep from you? Take care. Secrets, dishonourably sought out, rarely benefit the seeker.

  She was not in a mood to take care. Had a very angel from heaven appeared to warn her against what she was doing, she had scarcely heeded it. In her present state of exasperation she cared not what the result might be. What precise secrets or mementos Mr. Carlton kept in that iron safe before her, she knew not; her suspicions were absolutely vague; but the idea had taken possession of her that something or other might be ferreted out of it, and it was only her illness which had caused her to delay the search. The doubt arose simply from that trifling act of Mr. Carlton’s — that closing hastily of the safe-door the day Laura penetrated to the cellar. From that hour she had determined to open it. Not that she supposed the contents of the iron safe would help her in the particular suspicion she had lately taken up: not at all. Though there was little doubt that the unwilling avowal regarding the likeness, drawn recently from Judith, had helped to work her mind up to its present state of rebellion.

  Is it not remarkable to trace the chain of events, so trivial in themselves, by which the detection of crime is sometimes worked out? Twelve months before, an accidental circumstance had made Laura Carlton familiar with the use of a skeleton key. She attached no importance to the knowledge — how should she? and yet, but for that circumstance, she might never have succeeded in opening that safe in her husband’s cellar.

  She did open it now: readily; and she stood the taper, in its elegant glass holder, inside, while her eyes ranged over its contents. There were two shelves: the upper one appeared to be filled with chemical matters, and the lower one partially.

  Near to her hand was a cash-box, locked; and there was a small note-case, not locked, for the very good reason that there was no lock to it.

  Lady Laura took up the cash-box, rather a large one, and shook it. If it contained money, it must have been bank-notes, for neither gold nor silver rattled. She put it down again, and opened the note-case. To describe her disappointment when she found it contained what she emphatically termed “rubbish,” would be a difficult task. Scraps of writing, Latin and Greek: some receipted bills of a bygone date; various private memoranda, not of a nature to bear upon her jealous fears; two or three prescriptions bearing the names of celebrated physicians; a receipt for compounding “sherbet,” and another for walnut catsup. In short, by the cursory glance afforded to Lady Laura in her haste, it appeared to contain neither more nor less than worthless scraps of paper.

  She was closing it with a petulant gesture, when her eye fell upon an opening in the leather, and she found there a pocket which had escaped her notice. Pulling it apart, a note lay disclosed; nothing else; and she took it out.

  “Lewis Carlton, Esq.,” was the address, and Lady Laura thrust it into her pocket for perusal at her leisure. But a sudden recollection flashed upon her, and she took it out again, to devour the address with her eyes. If ever she had seen the handwriting of her sister Clarice, she thought she saw it then. But there was not time to satisfy herself now, for she stood upon thorns, metaphorically speaking, and she returned it to her pocket.

  She placed the note-case in its former position. She took the taper in her hand and held it so that its rays fell on the upper shelf; but nothing was really there, except what concerned his profession. Nothing else was on the lower shelf, except the cash-box, and some bundles of receipted bills. Lady Laura was thinking how much she should like to see inside the cash-box, when Mr. Carlton’s voice on the stairs startled her.

  Startled her nearly out of her senses. What she did, in her terror, she scarcely knew. He was evidently coming down, but had halted momentarily to call out some order to one of the servants in the distance, or to the surgery boy. Instinct caused Lady Laura to gaze round for a hiding-place, and she espied a barrel in a corner. She blew out the light, grasped the crystal candlestick and the skeleton key, pushed-to the safe-door firmly, and crouched down between the barrel and the wall, her heart beating as it had never yet beat in all her life.

  She would almost rather die than that he should discover her; for although she had not shrunk from committing the act, to be detected during its actual perpetration would be more than her pride could well endure. Laura was honourable by nature. Yes, she was so, however you may feel inclined to demur to the assertion, seeing what you do see. She hated meanness as much as ever did the late earl; and to be detected in this, to be caught in its actual perpetration, would be a blow to her self-esteem for ever. In that moment there flashed a faint view on her mind of the wrong she was committing, of how utterly unjustifiable it was, how despicable its nature.

  Mr. Carlton came in, a candle in his hand. Drawing from his pocket a bunch of keys, he inserted one into the lock. But he found the lock was not fastened.

  “Why — what the deuce!” he uttered; half aloud and in careless tones. “Did I leave it so?”

  And then, as if a suspicion occurred to him, he turned and peered round the room. His wife saw it, and she felt sick nearly unto deat
h, lest he should discern her.

  But she cowered in the shadow of the dark corner. Moreover, her dress was dark, and his eye passed her over. He next turned his attention to the lock, but could find nothing the matter with it. He then applied himself to the object he had come for, which appeared to be some chemical apparatus, for he began moving the different things about on the upper shelf, in order to get at a glass cylinder.

  He held it in his hand, when the voice of his assistant was heard, speaking down the stairs.

  “Are you there, Mr. Carlton?”

  “Yes,” responded the surgeon. “Anything wanted?”

  “That child at Tupper’s cottage is taken worse; dying, they think.”

  “And the sooner it dies the better,” was Mr. Carlton’s rejoinder to himself, in a voice of-pity. “I can’t do it any good, poor little fellow, or ease its pain. — Who has come?” he called aloud.

  “Only a neighbour,” replied Mr. Jefferson. “Perhaps you would like to hear what she says.”

  “Coming,” said Mr. Carlton.

  He put down the cylinder, left the safe-door open, and went up; intending, no doubt, to return in a twinkling. As his footsteps died away, Lady Laura sprang from her hiding-place, and winged her flight up the stairs. She succeeded in gaining the top of the cellar stairs, and noiselessly stole round a corner which would take her to the others. A few paces from her was the surgery door, and she heard voices within. At a time of less terror, she might have stopped to listen, hearing where the messenger came from; but her own safety was above every consideration now; even above her jealous surmises. Arrived in her room, she sat there panting, not knowing whether she should faint or not.

  She took some of the jelly, which still remained on the table, and leaned back in her easy-chair to rest. After a while, it must have been nearly half-an-hour, when her heart had ceased to beat so violently, she rose from her chair, felt in her pocket, and drew something out of it.

  It was the missing key, the key of the cupboard. Had it been snugly reposing there all the time? What would Miss Stiffing have said? Lady Laura calmly unlocked the cupboard, leaving the door open, and then carried the key into her bedroom, and dropped it in a quiet nook on the floor, close to the key-drawer, where Miss Stiffing’s eyes would be charmed with its sight the first thing in the morning.