Man and Wife

by Wilkie Collins

an oath--sprang back into the hall--and shut himself into the

  dining-room from the sight of her. The panic which had seized him

  once already in the kitchen-garden at Windygates, under the eyes

  of the dumb cook, had fastened its hold on him once more.

  Frightened--absolutely frightened--of Hester Dethridge!

  The gate bell rang. Julius had returned with the doctor.

  Anne gave the key to the girl to let them in. Hester wrote on her

  slate, as composedly as if nothing had happened: "They'll find me

  in the kitchen, if they want me. I sha'n't go back to my bedroom.

  My bedroom's full of bad dreams." She descended the stairs. Anne

  waited in the upper passage, looking over into the hall below.

  "Your brother is in the drawing-room," she called down to Julius.

  "The landlady is in the kitchen, if you want her." She returned

  to her room, and waited for what might happen next.

  After a brief interval she heard the drawing-room door open, and

  the voices of the men out side. There seemed to be some

  difficulty in persuading Geoffrey to ascend the stairs; he

  persisted in declaring that Hester Dethridge was waiting for him

  at the top of them. After a little they persuaded him that the

  way was free. Anne heard them ascend the stairs and close his

  bedroom door.

  Another and a longer interval passed before the door opened

  again. The doctor was going away. He said his parting words to

  Julius in the passage. "Look in at him from time to time through

  the night, and give him another dose of the sedative mixture if

  he wakes. There is nothing to b e alarmed about in the

  restlessness and the fever. They are only the outward

  manifestations of some serious mischief hidden under them. Send

  for the medical man who has last attended him. Knowledge of the

  patient's constitution is very important knowledge in this case."

  As Julius returned from letting the doctor out, Anne met him in

  the hall. She was at once struck by the worn look in his face,

  and by the fatigue which expressed itself in all his movements.

  "You want rest," she said. "Pray go to your room. I have heard

  what the doctor said to you. Leave it to the landlady and to me

  to sit up."

  Julius owned that he had been traveling from Scotland during the

  previous night. But he was unwilling to abandon the

  responsibility of watching his brother. "You are not strong

  enough, I am sure, to take my place," he said, kindly. "And

  Geoffrey has some unreasoning horror of the landlady which makes

  it very undesirable that he should see her again, in his present

  state. I will go up to my room, and rest on the bed. If you hear

  any thing you have only to come and call me."

  An hour more passed.

  Anne went to Geoffrey's door and listened. He was stirring in his

  bed, and muttering to himself. She went on to the door of the

  next room, which Julius had left partly open. Fatigue had

  overpowered him; she heard, within, the quiet breathing of a man

  in a sound sleep. Anne turned back again resolved not to disturb

  him.

  At the head of the stairs she hesitated--not knowing what to do.

  Her horror of entering Geoffrey's room, by herself, was

  insurmountable. But who else was to do it? "The girl had gone to

  bed. The reason which Julius had given for not employing the

  assistance of Hester Dethridge was unanswerable. She listened

  again at Geoffrey's door. No sound was now audible in the room to

  a person in the passage outside. Would it be well to look in, and

  make sure that he had only fallen asleep again? She hesitated

  once more--she was still hesitating, when Hester Dethridge

  appeared from the kitchen.

  She joined Anne at the top of the stairs--looked at her--and

  wrote a line on her slate: "Frightened to go in? Leave it to Me."

  The silence in the room justified the inference that he was

  asleep. If Hester looked in, Hester could do no harm now. Anne

  accepted the proposal.

  "If you find any thing wrong," she said, "don't disturb his

  brother. Come to me first."

  With that caution she withdrew. It was then nearly two in the

  morning. She, like Julius, was sinking from fatigue. After

  waiting a little, and hearing nothing, she threw herself on the

  sofa in her room. If any thing happened, a knock at the door

  would rouse her instantly.

  In the mean while Hester Dethridge opened Geoffrey's bedroom door

  and went in.

  The movements and the mutterings which Anne had heard, had been

  movements and mutterings in his sleep. The doctor's composing

  draught, partially disturbed in its operation for the moment

  only, had recovered its sedative influence on his brain. Geoffrey

  was in a deep and quiet sleep.

  Hester stood near the door, looking at him. She moved to go out

  again--stopped--and fixed her eyes suddenly on one of the inner

  corners of the room.

  The same sinister change which had passed over her once already

  in Geoffrey's presence, when they met in the kitchen-garden at

  Windygates, now passed over her again. Her closed lips dropped

  apart. Her eyes slowly dilated--moved, inch by inch from the

  corner, following something along the empty wall, in the

  direction of the bed--stopped at the head of the bed, exactly

  above Geoffrey's sleeping face--stared, rigid and glittering, as

  if they saw a sight of horror close over it. He sighed faintly in

  his sleep. The sound, slight as it was, broke the spell that held

  her. She slowly lifted her withered hands, and wrung them above

  her head; fled back across the passage; and, rushing into her

  room, sank on her knees at the bedside.

  Now, in the dead of night, a strange thing happened. Now, in the

  silence and the darkness, a hideous secret was revealed.

  In the sanctuary of her own room--with all the other inmates of

  the house sleeping round her--the dumb woman threw off the

  mysterious and terrible disguise under which she deliberately

  isolated herself among her fellow-creatures in the hours of the

  day. Hester Dethridge spoke. In low, thick, smothered accents--in

  a wild litany of her own--she prayed. She called upon the mercy

  of God for deliverance from herself; for deliverance from the

  possession of the Devil; for blindness to fall on her, for death

  to strike her, so that she might never see that unnamed Horror

  more! Sobs shook the whole frame of the stony woman whom nothing

  human moved at other times. Tears poured over those clay-cold

  cheeks. One by one, the frantic words of her prayer died away on

  her lips. Fierce shuddering fits shook her from head to foot. She

  started up from her knees in the darkness. Light! light! light!

  The unnamed Horror was behind her in his room. The unnamed Horror

  was looking at her through his open door. She found the

  match-box, and lit the candle on her table--lit the two other

  candles set for ornament only on the mantle piece--and looked all

  round the brightly lighted little room. "Aha!" she said to

  herself, wiping the cold sweat of her agony
from her face.

  "Candles to other people. God's light to _me._ Nothing to be

  seen! nothing to be seen!" Taking one of the candles in her hand,

  she crossed the passage, with her head down, turned her back on

  Geoffrey's open door, closed it quickly and softly, stretching

  out her hand behind her, and retreated again to her own room. She

  fastened the door, and took an ink-bottle and a pen from the

  mantle-piece. After considering for a moment, she hung a

  handkerchief over the keyhole, and laid an old shawl longwise at

  the bottom of the door, so as to hide the light in her room from

  the observation of any one in the house who might wake and come

  that way. This done, she opened the upper part of her dress, and,

  slipping her fingers into a secret pocket hidden in the inner

  side of her stays, produced from it some neatly folded leaves of

  thin paper. Spread out on the table, the leaves revealed

  themselves--all but the last--as closely covered with writing, in

  her own hand.

  The first leaf was headed by this inscription: "My Confession. To

  be put into my coffin, and to be buried with me when I die."

  She turned the manuscript over, so as to get at the last page.

  The greater part of it was left blank. A few lines of writing, at

  the top, bore the date of the day of the week and month on which

  Lady Lundie had dismissed her from her situation at Windygates.

  The entry was expressed in these terms:

  "I have seen IT again to-day. The first time for two months past.

  In the kitchen-garden. Standing behind the young gentleman whose

  name is Delamayn. Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you. I

  have resisted. By prayer. By meditation in solitude. By reading

  good books. I have left my place. I have lost sight of the young

  gentleman for good. Who will IT stand behind? and point to next?

  Lord have mercy upon me! Christ have mercy upon me!"

  Under this she now added the following lines, first carefully

  prefixing the date:

  "I have seen IT again to-night. I notice one awful change. IT has

  appeared twice behind the same person. This has never happened

  before. This makes the temptation more terrible than ever.

  To-night, in his bedroom, between the bed-head and the wall, I

  have seen IT behind young Mr. Delamayn again. The head just above

  his face, and the finger pointing downward at his throat. Twice

  behind this one man. And never twice behind any other living

  creature till now. If I see IT a third time behind him--Lord

  deliver me! Christ deliver me! I daren't think of it. He shall

  leave my cottage to-morrow. I would fain have drawn back from the

  bargain, when the stranger took the lodgings for his friend, and

  the friend proved to be Mr. Delamayn. I didn't like it, even

  then. After the warning to-night, my mind is made up. He shall

  go. He may have his money back, if he likes. He shall go.

  (Memorandum: Felt the temptation whispering this time, and the

  terror tearing at me all the while, as I have

  never felt them yet. Resisted, as before, by prayer. Am now

  going down stairs to meditate against it in solitude--to fortify

  myself against it by good books. Lord be merciful to me a

  sinner!)"

  In those words she closed the entry, and put the manuscript back

  in the secret pocket in her stays.

  She went down to the little room looking on the garden, which had

  once been her brother's study. There she lit a lamp, and took

  some books from a shelf that hung against the wall. The books

  were the Bible, a volume of Methodist sermons, and a set of

  collected Memoirs of Methodist saints. Ranging these last

  carefully round her, in an order of her own, Hester Dethridge sat

  down with the Bible on her lap to watch out the night.

  CHAPTER THE FIFTY-THIRD.

  WHAT had happened in the hours of darkness?

  This was Anne's first thought, when the sunlight poured in at her

  window, and woke her the next morning.

  She made immediate inquiry of the servant. The girl could only

  speak for herself. Nothing had occurred to disturb her after she

  had gone to bed. Her master was still, she believed, in his room.

  Mrs. Dethridge was at her work in the kitchen.

  Anne went to the kitchen. Hester Dethridge was at her usual

  occupation at that time--preparing the breakfast. The slight

  signs of animation which Anne had noticed in her when they last

  met appeared no more. The dull look was back again in her stony

  eyes; the lifeless torpor possessed all her movements. Asked if

  any thing had happened in the night, she slowly shook her stolid

  head, slowly made the sign with her hand which signified,

  "Nothing."

  Leaving the kitchen, Anne saw Julius in the front garden. She

  went out and joined him.

  "I believe I have to thank your consideration for me for some

  hours of rest," he said. "It was five in the morning when I woke.

  I hope you had no reason to regret having left me to sleep? I

  went into Geoffrey's room, and found him stirring. A second dose

  of the mixture composed him again. The fever has gone. He looks

  weaker and paler, but in other respects like himself. We will

  return directly to the question of his health. I have something

  to say to you, first, about a change which may be coming in your

  life here."

  "Has he consented to the separation?"

  "No. He is as obstinate about it as ever. I have placed the

  matter before him in every possible light. He still refuses,

  positively refuses, a provision which would make him an

  independent man for life."

  "Is it the provision he might have had, Lord Holchester, if--?"

  "If he had married Mrs. Glenarm? No. It is impossible,

  consistently with my duty to my mother, and with what I owe to

  the position in which my father's death has placed me, that I can

  offer him such a fortune as Mrs. Glenarm's. Still, it is a

  handsome income which he is mad enough to refuse. I shall persist

  in pressing it on him. He must and shall take it."

  Anne felt no reviving hope roused in her by his last words. She

  turned to another subject.

  "You had something to tell me," she said. "You spoke of a

  change."

  "True. The landlady here is a very strange person; and she has

  done a very strange thing. She has given Geoffrey notice to quit

  these lodgings."

  "Notice to quit?" Anne repeated, in amazement.

  "Yes. In a formal letter. She handed it to me open, as soon as I

  was up this morning. It was impossible to get any explanation

  from her. The poor dumb creature simply wrote on her slate: 'He

  may have his money back, if he likes: he shall go!' Greatly to my

  surprise (for the woman inspires him with the strongest aversion)

  Geoffrey refuses to go until his term is up. I have made the

  peace between them for to-day. Mrs. Dethridge. very reluctantly,

  consents to give him four-and-twenty hours. And there the matter

  rests at present."

  "What can her motive be?" said Anne.

  "It's useless to inquire. Her mind is evid
ently off its balance.

  One thing is clear, Geoffrey shall not keep you here much longer.

  The coming change will remove you from this dismal place--which

  is one thing gained. And it is quite possible that new scenes and

  new surroundings may have their influence on Geoffrey for good.

  His conduct--otherwise quite incomprehensible--may be the result

  of some latent nervous irritation which medical help might reach.

  I don't attempt to disguise from myself or from you, that your

  position here is a most deplorable one. But before we despair of

  the future, let us at least inquire whether there is any

  explanation of my brother's present behavior to be found in the

  present state of my brother's health. I have been considering

  what the doctor said to me last night. The first thing to do is

  to get the best medical advice on Geoffrey's case which is to be

  had. What do you think?"

  "I daren't tell you what I think, Lord Holchester. I will try--it

  is a very small return to make for your kindness--I will try to

  see my position with your eyes, not with mine. The best medical

  advice that you can obtain is the advice of Mr. Speedwell. It was

  he who first made the discovery that your brother was in broken

  health."

  "The very man for our purpose! I will send him here to-day or

  to-morrow. Is there any thing else I can do for you? I shall see

  Sir Patrick as soon as I get to town. Have you any message for

  him?"

  Anne hesitated. Looking attentively at her, Julius noticed that

  she changed color when he mentioned Sir Patrick's name.

  "Will you say that I gratefully thank him for the letter which

  Lady Holchester was so good us to give me last night," she

  replied. "And will you entreat him, from me, not to expose

  himself, on my account, to--" she hesitated, and finished the

  sentence with her eyes on the ground--"to what might happen, if

  he came here and insisted on seeing me."

  "Does he propose to do that?"

  She hesitated again. The little nervous contraction of her lips

  at one side of the mouth became more marked than usual. "He

  writes that his anxiety is unendurable, and that he is resolved

  to see me," she answered softly.

  "He is likely to hold to his resolution, I think," said Julius.

  "When I saw him yesterday, Sir Patrick spoke of you in terms of

  admiration--"

  He stopped. The bright tears were glittering on Anne's eyelashes;

  one of her hands was toying nervously with something hidden

  (possibly Sir Patrick's letter) in the bosom of her dress. "I

  thank him with my whole heart," she said, in low, faltering

  tones. "But it is best that he should not come here."

  "Would you like to write to him?"

  "I think I should prefer your giving him my message."

  Julius understood that the subject was to proceed no further. Sir

  Patrick's letter had produced some impression on her, which the

  sensitive nature of the woman seemed to shrink from

  acknowledging, even to herself. They turned back to enter the

  cottage. At the door they were met by a surprise. Hester

  Dethridge, with her bonnet on--dressed, at that hour of the

  morning, to go out!

  "Are you going to market already?" Anne asked.

  Hester shook her head.

  "When are you coming back?"

  Hester wrote on her slate: "Not till the night-time."

  Without another word of explanation she pulled her veil down over

  her face, and made for the gate. The key had been left in the

  dining-room by Julius, after he had let the doctor out. Hester

  had it in her hand. She opened he gate and closed the door after

  her, leaving the key in the lock. At the moment when the door

  banged to Geoffrey appeared in the passage.

  "Where's the key?" he asked. "Who's gone out?"

  His brother answered the question. He looked backward and forward

  suspiciously between Julius and Anne. "What does she go out for

  at his time?" he said. "Has she left the house to avoid Me?"