CHAPTER XIX.
IN THE HALLS AT MIDNIGHT.
OCTOBER 10, 1791.
I was not mistaken. Madame is not only interested in, but has seriousdesigns upon the oak parlor. Not content with roaming up and down thehallway leading to it, she was detected yesterday morning trying to openits door, and when politely questioned as to whom she was seeking,answered that she was looking for the sitting room, which, by the way,is on the other side of the house. And this is not all. As I lay in mybed last night resting as only a weary woman can rest, I heard a lighttap at my door. Rising, I opened it, and was astonished to see standingbefore me the light figure of mademoiselle.
"Excuse me for troubling you," said she, in her pure English--they bothspeak good English, though with a foreign accent--"I am sorry to wakeyou, but I am so anxious about my mother. She went to bed with me, andwe fell asleep; but when I woke a little while ago she was missing, andthough I have waited for her a long time, she does not return. I am notwell, and easily frightened! Oh, how cold it is."
I drew her in, wrapped a shawl about her, and led her back to her room.
"Your mother will return speedily," I promised. "Doubtless she feltrestless, and is taking a turn or two up and down the hall."
"Perhaps; for her dressing gown and slippers are gone. But she never didanything like this before, and in a strange house--"
A slight trembling stopped the young lady from continuing.
Urging her to get into bed, I spoke one or two further words of acomforting nature, at which the lovely girl seemed to forget her pride,for she threw her arms about my neck with a low sigh, and then, pushingme softly from her, observed:
"You are a kind woman; you make me feel happier whenever you speak tome."
Touched, I made some loving reply, and withdrew. I longed to linger,longed to tell her how truly I was her friend; but I feared the mother'sreturn--feared to miss the knowledge of madame's whereabouts, which mysecret suspicion made important; so I subdued my feelings and hastenedquickly to my room, where I wrapped myself in a long, dark cloak. Thusequipped, I stole back again to the hall, and gliding with as noiselessa step as possible, found my way to the back stairs, down which I crept,holding my breath, and listening intently.
To many who read these words the situation of those back stairs is wellknown; but there may be others who will not understand that they leaddirectly, after a couple of turns, to that hall upon which opens the oakparlor. Five steps from the lower floor there is a landing, and uponthis landing there is a tall Dutch clock, so placed as to offer a verygood hiding place behind it to any one anxious to gaze unobserved downthe hall. But to reach the clock one has to pass a window, and as thislooks south, and was upon this night open to the moonlight, I felt thatthe situation demanded circumspection.
I, therefore, paused when I reached the last step above the platform,and listened intently before proceeding further. There was no noise; allwas quiet, as a respectable house should be at two o'clock in themorning. Yet from the hall below came an undefinable something whichmade me feel that she was there; a breathing influence that woke everynervous sensibility within me, and made my heart-beats so irregular thatI tried to stop them lest my own presence should be betrayed. She wasthere, a creeping, baleful figure, blotting the moonshine with her tallshadow, as she passed, panther-like, to and fro before that closed door,or crouched against the wall in the same attitude of listening which Imyself assumed. Or so I pictured her as I clung to the balustrade above,asking myself how I could cross that strip of moonlight separating mefrom that vantage-point I longed to gain. For that I knew her to bethere was not enough. I must see her, and learn, if possible, what theattraction was which drew her to this fatal door. But how, how, how? Ifshe were watching, as secrecy ever watches, I could not take a step uponthat platform without being discerned. Not even if a friendly cloud cameto obscure the brightness of the moon, could I hope to project my darkfigure into that belt of light without discovery. I must see what was tobe seen from the step where I stood, and to do this I knew but one way.Taking up the end of my long cloak, I advanced it the merest triflebeyond the edge of the partition that separated me from the hall below.Then I listened again. No sound, no stir. I breathed deeply and thrustmy arm still further, the long cloak hanging from it dark andimpenetrable to the floor below. Then I waited. The moonlight was notquite as bright as it had been; surely that was a cloud I saw careeringover the face of the sky above me, and in another moment, if I couldwait for it, the hall would be almost dark. I let my arm advance an inchor so further, and satisfied now that I had got the slit which answersfor an arm-hole into a position that would afford me full opportunity oflooking through the black wall I had thus improvised, I watched thecloud for the moment of comparative darkness which I so confidentlyexpected. It came, and with it a sound--the first I had heard. It wasfrom far down the hall, and was, as near as I could judge, of a jinglingnature, which for an instant I found it hard to understand. Then thequick suspicion came as to what it was, and unable to restrain myselflonger I separated the slit I have spoken of with the fingers of myright hand, and looked through.
There she was, standing before the door of the oak parlor, fitting keys.I knew it at my first glimpse, both from her attitude and the slightnoise which the keys made. Taken aback, for I had not expected this, Isank out of sight, cloak and all, asking myself what I should do. Ifinally decided to do nothing. I would listen, and if the leastintimation came to prove that she had succeeded in her endeavor, I wouldthen spring down the steps that separated us and hold her back by thehair of her head. Meanwhile I congratulated myself that the lock of thatroom was a peculiar one, and that the only key I knew of that wouldunlock it was under the pillow of the bed I had just left.
She worked several minutes; then the moon came out. Instantly all wasstill. I knew whither she had gone. Near the door she was tampering withis a short passageway leading to another window. Into this she hadslipped, and I could look out now with impunity, sure that she would notsee me.
But I remained immovable. There was another cloud rushing up from thesouth, and in another moment I was confident that I should hear againthe slight clatter of the key against the lock. And I did, and not onlyonce, but several times, which fact assured me that she had not onlybrought a handful of keys with her, but that these keys must have comefrom some more distant quarter than the town; that indeed she had comeprovided to the Happy-Go-Lucky for this nocturnal visit, and that anydoubts I might cherish were likely to have a better foundation in factthan is usual with women circumstanced like myself.
She did not succeed in her efforts. Had she brought burglar's tools Ihardly think she would have been able to open that lock; as it was,there was no hope for her, and presently she seemed to comprehend this,for the slight sounds ceased and, presently, I heard a step, and peeringrecklessly from my corner, I perceived her gliding away toward the frontstairs. I smiled, but it could not have been in a way she would haveenjoyed seeing, and crept noiselessly to my own room, and our doorsclosed simultaneously.
This morning I watched with some anxiety for her first look. It wasslightly inquiring. Summoning up my best smile, I gave her a cheerfulgood-morning, and then observed:
"I am glad to see you look so well this morning! Your daughter seemed tobe concerned about you in the night because you had left your bed. But Itold her I was sure all was right, that you were feeling nervous, andonly wanted a breath of the fresh air you would find in the halls." Andmy glance did not flinch, nor my mouth lose its smile, though shesurveyed me keenly with eyes whose look might penetrate a stone.
"You understand your own sex," was her light reply, after this shortstudy of my face. "Yes; I was very nervous. I have cares on my mind,and, though my daughter does not realize it, I often lie awake at herside, longing for space to breathe in and freedom to move as freely asmy uneasiness demands. Last night my feelings were too much for myself-control, and I arose. I hope I did not seriously disturb you, orawaken anybody, wit
h my restless pacing up and down the hall."
I assured her that it took more than this to disturb me, and that afterquieting her daughter I had immediately fallen asleep; all of which shemay have believed or may not; I had no means of reading her mind, as shehad no means of reading mine.
But whether she was deceived or whether she was not, she certainlylooked relieved, and after some short remarks about the weather, turnedfrom me with the most cheerful air in the world, to greet her daughter.
As for me, I have made up my mind to change my room. I shall not sayanything about it or make any fuss on the subject, but to-night, and forsome nights to come, I intend to take up my abode in a certain smallroom in the west wing, not very far removed from the dreadful oakparlor.
The Forsaken Inn: A Novel Page 19
