Kitabı oku: «Madeline Payne, the Detective's Daughter», sayfa 12

"That is better," releasing the little hand. "Good-night, sister mine. Mind you drink every drop of the wine."

"I will!" quite seriously. "Good-night, Olive."

Olive stooped and kissed her cheek. "Good-night, dear," she said, "and happy dreams."

Dr. Vaughan opened the door for her, and smiled after her as she looked back from the foot of the stairs. Then closing the door he came back, and stood on the hearth-rug, looking thoughtful.

"It is a difficult nature to deal with, and in her present mood, a dangerous one. She is painfully sensitive, and possesses an exceedingly nervous temperament. Then, that episode with Davlin was very humiliating to her, and it is constantly in her mind. Evidently she has lately been under much excitement, and she is hardly herself to-night. I think, however, if I were you, I would make no further effort to dissuade her from her purpose. It will do no good, and harm might come of it."

"Indeed, I will not," said Olive. "How thankful I am that you were here; your calmness and tact has saved us something not pleasant. I don't think I could have managed her myself."

"Probably not; and now I will prepare a soothing and sleeping draught, and then, as it is late, will detain you no longer. Perhaps you had better see that the draught is administered."

Olive gladly accepted the charge, and shortly after Doctor Vaughan took his departure, wise and yet blind; blind as to the true cause of Madeline's outbreak and subsequent submissiveness.

Madeline obeyed to the letter the instructions of Doctor Vaughan. As a result, she fell asleep almost immediately, before calm thought had come to dispel her mood of dreamy happiness.

In the morning she awoke quieted, refreshed, and quite mistress of herself. She did not once refer to the events of the previous evening. Only, before taking leave of Claire, she whispered in her ear:

"Dear Claire, you can make a noble man happy. Let his love atone to you for this present bitterness. God bless you both."

It was an odd speech, truly. But as Madeline turned her back upon the pretty villa, and was driven swiftly to the railroad depot, she wondered why Claire had responded to it only with a passionate kiss and with tears in her beautiful eyes.

And Claire, having seen her driven from the door, fled precipitately to her room. Locking herself in, she fell upon her knees beside a low chair. Burying her face in her hands she wept bitterly, – not for herself, but for the girl who was so heroically resigning to another the man she loved; who was going forth, alone, to encounter hardship, perhaps danger, to fight single-handed, not only her own battles, but those of her friends as well.

"And I dared to judge her," said the girl, indignantly. "I presumed to criticise the delicacy of this grand, brave nature! Why, I ought to be proud to claim her friendship, and I am!"

From that hour, let Madeline's course seem ever so doubtful, let Olive fear and doubt as she would, Claire Keith stoutly defended every act, and averred that Madeline could do nothing wrong. And from that hour, Claire began to plot upon her own responsibility.

In due course Doctor Vaughan called, and was closeted with Olive a very long time – rather, with Olive and Claire, for this young lady had surprised her sister, by expressing a desire to hear what Doctor Vaughan would say of Madeline's adventures. To tell the truth, Claire had fancied that Clarence would criticise more or less, and it was in the capacity of champion for the absent that she appeared at the interview.

After the matter had been fully discussed, Doctor Vaughan addressed himself to Claire: "Miss Keith, you have been a good listener. Won't you give us your opinion as to the achievements of our little friend?"

Claire came forward, with a charming mixture of frankness and embarrassment: "First, let me make the amende honorable, Doctor Vaughan. I presented myself at this interview with the full intention, and for the express purpose, of waging war upon you both, if necessary, and I had no doubt that it would be."

Doctor Vaughan looked much astonished.

"But," pursued Claire, "I have misjudged you. I did not think you would so heartily approve of Madeline's course, and I was bristling with bayonets to defend her."

"I must own to being of Claire's opinion," interposed Olive, looking somewhat amused.

Clarence smiled and then looked thoughtful.

"I can easily understand," he said, seriously, "how you ladies might have looked upon the course Miss Payne has taken, as an objectionable, even an improper, one. The position in which she has placed herself is, certainly, an unusual, a startling one for a woman of refinement and delicacy. But we must consider that the occasion is also an unusual one, and ordinary measures will not apply successfully to extraordinary cases. As to the impropriety, no one need fear to trust his or her honor in the keeping of a woman as brave and noble as Madeline Payne is proving herself."

"Then you do not censure Madeline for refusing to trust the matter in the hands of a detective?" questioned Olive.

"The matter is in the hands of a detective, Mrs. Girard; in the hands of the shrewdest and ablest little detective that could, by any possibility, have been found. Why, Madeline has accomplished, in a short time, what the best detectives on our regular force might have labored at for a year, and then failed of achieving!"

Claire threw a look of triumph at her sister. "Oh, how glad I am to hear you say all this, and how glad Madeline would be." Then she checked herself suddenly.

"I can suggest but one improvement upon the present state of things," said Clarence, after a moment's reflection. "That is, if we can persuade Madeline to permit it, and I think we can, we should set two men at work, neither one to be aware of the employment of the other. One to trace out as much of the past of this man Percy, as may be. The other to perform the same office for Davlin. Of course, they would not be advised of the actual reason for these researches, and so their investigations would in no way interfere with Madeline's pursuit of the game at Oakley. I don't think we could improve upon the present arrangement there."

"And how do you propose to bring this about?" questioned Olive.

"By going down to Bellair, as soon as I can get the necessary permission from our little generalissimo, and talking the matter over with her. I think she will see the propriety of the move, don't you?" appealing to Claire.

"I think she will follow your advice," gravely.

"I hope she will," said Olive.

"I know she will do exactly right," asserted Claire, so positively that they both smiled.

"I think I may venture to agree with you, Miss Keith," said Dr. Vaughan.

"You had better, both of you, where Madeline is concerned," looking ferocious.

"I begin to think that valor is infectious," laughed Olive, and Clarence joined in the laugh.

Altogether the result of their council was pleasing to each of the three. Olive was hopeful; Clarence was full of enthusiasm, and more deeply in love than ever with generous Claire; and she was pleased with his frank admiration of Madeline's courage, and full of hope for Madeline's future.

"He admires her now. He will love her by and by," she assured herself.

CHAPTER XXI.
HAGAR AND CORA

Meanwhile, Lucian Davlin had hastened to Bellair in response to Cora's summons, full of conjectures as to what had "turned up."

When the noon train from the city puffed up to the little platform, Lucian Davlin was among the arrivals, and at the end of the depot platform stood the dainty phæton of Mrs. John Arthur. That lady herself reined in her prancing ponies, and the whole formed an object of admiration for the few depot loungers.

As Lucian Davlin crossed the platform and took his seat beside the lady, an old woman hobbled across the track. Casting a furtive glance in the direction the ponies were taking, she hobbled away toward the wood.

Miss Arthur's maid had surmised aright. It was no part of Cora's plan to permit the inmates of Oakley a view of Mr. Davlin on this occasion. So the ponies were driven briskly away from the town, and when that was left behind, permitted to walk through the almost leafless woods, while Cora revealed to Lucian the extent of the fresh calamity that had befallen them in the advent of Mr. Percy.

"Well, what have you to say to all this?" demanded the lady, pettishly, after she had disburdened herself of the story, with its most minute particulars. "This is a pretty state of affairs, is it not? I am worn out. I wish Oakley and the whole tribe were at the bottom of the sea!"

"Stuff!" with much coolness; then taking a flask containing some amber liquid from a breast pocket he held it between his eyes and the light for critical examination.

"Stuff? where? In that flask?"

"No, in your words. This," shaking the amber liquid, "is simon pure; best French. Have some? I felt as if I needed a 'bracer' this morning."

"Up all night, I presume," eyeing him askant.

"Pretty much;" indifferently. "Won't take any? Then, here's confusion to Percy," and he took a long draught. "Now, then," pocketing the brandy and turning toward her, briskly, "I'm ready for business. How the deuce did we let this fellow pounce down upon us like this? I thought he was safe in Cuba?"

"He will never be safe anywhere, until he gets to – "

"Heaven," suggested he.

"I suppose it was stupid," she went on, gloomily. "But when Ellen Arthur raved of her dear friend Mr. Percy, how was I to imagine that among all the Percys on earth, this especial and particular one should be the Percy. I wrote you that she had a lover of that name; did it occur to you that it might be he?" maliciously.

"Well, candidly, it did not."

"We were a pair of stupid fools, and we are finely caught for our pains."

"First statement correct," composedly; "don't agree with the last, however."

"Why not?"

"Does he know I am on deck?"

"No."

"Didn't inquire after me, or say anything about the documents?"

"No special inquiries."

"Well, then, where is the great danger?"

"Where?" much astonished.

"Yes, where? If you told me all the truth concerning yourself ten years ago, we can make him play into our hands."

"How?"

"Don't go too fast. When you told me that he believed you to have left home because of an unkind step-mother, was that true?"

"It was true. I did leave home and come to the city when I was but sixteen, because my father was a drunkard, and my step-mother abusive, and we were poor and I was proud."

"Don't doubt that fact;" with an outward gesture of the supple hand. "But you told him that you had two big step-brothers!"

Cora laughed. "A big brother is an excellent weapon to hold over the heads of some men," she suggested.

"True," with an amused look. "Why didn't you brandish one over me?"

"Over you?" laughing again. "You and Percy were two different men."

"Much obliged," lifting his hat with mock gravity. "Well, we are 'two different men,' still; just let your pretty little head rest, and leave Percy to me."

"I wish to Heaven you had made an end – "

"'Ah-h-h. I have sighed to rest me,'" warbled Davlin. "Cora, my love, never put your foot on too dangerous ground."

"Well, I do wish so, all the same," said she, with feminine pertinacity.

"Now, tell me what your plan is. We want to understand each other, and have no more bungling."

"All you will have to do will be to keep quiet and follow my cue. When I come down, we must manage it that I meet Percy in Miss Arthur's absence. The rest is easy; this Mr. Percy will not find his path free from obstacles, I think."

"What game will you play?"

"Precisely what I am playing now. I am your brother. That will explain some things that puzzled him some time ago," dryly. "I am your sole protector, saving the old chap, don't you see."

The woman pondered a moment. "I think it will answer," she said, at last. "At any rate, it is the best we can do now."

A little more conversation, and Cora was quite satisfied with that and other arrangements. Then the ponies were headed toward the village, and driven at a brisk pace, thus enabling Mr. Davlin to catch the afternoon train back to the city. No one at Oakley was any the wiser for his visit. It was no uncommon thing for Cora to drive out unattended, and she returned to the manor in a very good humor, considering the situation.

Cora's drive had given her an appetite, and she had partaken of no luncheon. She therefore ordered a very bounteous one to be served in the red parlor. Mr. Arthur was enjoying his usual afternoon siesta; Miss Arthur was invisible, for which Cora felt duly thankful; and so she settled herself down to solitude, cold chicken and other edibles, and her own thoughts.

Ever and anon she gazed listlessly from the window, letting her eyes rove from the terrace to the hedgerow walk, the woods beyond, and back again to the terrace. Suddenly she bent forward, and looked earnestly at some object, moving toward the stile from the grove beyond. A moment later, it appeared in the gap of the hedge.

Cora leaned back in her chair, still observant, muttering:

"I thought so! It is that ugly old woman. Now, what in the world does she want here, for – yes, she is entering the grounds, coming up the terrace."

True enough, old Hagar was coming slowly along the terrace, taking a leisurely survey of the window facing that walk, as she did so. Casting her eyes upward, they met the gaze of Mrs. Arthur. Then, much to the surprise of that lady, she paused and executed a brief pantomime, as grotesque as it was mysterious.

Cora drew back in some astonishment, pondering as to whether or no the old woman might not be partially insane, when Susan, the maid of the romantic mind, appeared before her, and announced that the object of her thoughts was in the kitchen, and begged that Mrs. Arthur would permit her an interview.

Cora was still more surprised. "What can she possibly want with me?" she asked herself, quite audibly.

"If you please, ma'am," volunteered Susan, "she said that it was something important; and that she never would have put her foot inside this house, begging your pardon, only for you."

Flattering though this statement might be, it did not enlighten her much. So, after a moment's reflection, Mrs. Arthur bade the girl, "show the old person up."

Accordingly, in another moment almost, old Hagar was bowing very humbly before the lady with the silken flounces. Susan retired reluctantly, deeply regretting that she could find no time to stop up the key-hole with her ear, thus rendering it impossible for prying eyes to peep through that orifice.

"Well, old woman," began Cora, rather inelegantly, it must be confessed, "what on earth were you making such a fuss about, down on the terrace? And what do you want with me?"

A close observer of the human countenance divine would never have judged, from the small amount of expression that was manifest in the face of Hagar, that her reply would have been such a very humble one. "I want to serve you, dear lady."

The "dear lady" pursed up her lips in surprise. "You – want – "

"To warn you, madame."

Cora was dumb with astonishment, not unmingled with apprehension. What had broken loose now?

"I am only a poor old woman, lady, and nobody thinks that old Hagar has a heart for the wrongs of others. I said that I would never cross John Arthur's threshold again; but I have seen your pretty face, going to and fro through the village streets, and I knew there was no one to warn you but me."

"Oh, you did," remarked Cora, not knowing whether to be alarmed or amused, at the old woman's earnestness. "Well, old – what's your name?"

"Hagar, lady."

"Well, old Hagar, do you mean to tell me that I am in any particular danger just at present?"

"Is the dove in danger when it is in the nest of the hawk?" said Hagar, closing her eyes tight as she uttered the words, but looking otherwise very tragical.

Cora laughed musically. "Good gracious, old lady!" She was modifying her titles somewhat, probably under the influence of Hagar's flatteries. "You mean to compare me to a dove," laughing afresh, "in – a hawk's nest? Oh, dear! oh, dear!" wiping her eyes. "Now, then, please introduce me to the wicked hawk."

Hagar was getting tired of her part, and she made a direct rush at the point of the business, and with very good dramatic effect. "I mean your husband," she said, vehemently. "I mean John Arthur. He is a bad man. If he has not done it already, he will make you miserable by-and-by."

Cora drew herself up and tried to look severe. "Old lady," she said, with supernatural gravity, "don't you know that it is very improper for you to come and talk to me, like this, about my husband?"

"Just hear her!" sniffed Hagar, rather unnecessarily; "all because I think she is too young, and too pretty, to be sacrificed like the others – "

"Like the others? What others?"

"Like his first wife. She was young, like you, and a lovely lady. His cruelty was her death. And then he must worry and abuse her poor daughter, until she runs away and comes to an untimely end. And now – "

"Now, you fear he will make an end of me?" briskly. "Sit down, old lady," becoming still more affable. "So Mr. Arthur ill-used his first wife, my predecessor?"

"Thank you, dear lady; you are very kind to a poor old woman," seating herself gingerly on the edge of a chair opposite Cora. "Yes, indeed, he did ill-use her. She was my mistress, and I shall always hate him for it."

Cora mused. Here was an old servant who hated the master of Oakley; might she not prove useful, after a time? At any rate, it would be well to sound her.

"You were very much attached to the lady, no doubt?" insinuatingly.

"Yes; and who would not be? She was very sweet and good, was my poor mistress. Oh, he is a bad, bad man, madame, and you surely cannot be very happy with him."

"And he was unkind to his step-daughter, too?" ignoring the last supposition.

"Unkind? He was a wretch. Oh, I could almost murder him for his cruelty to that poor dead lassie!" fiercely.

"Perhaps he was none too kind to you," suggested Cora.

"Oh, he never treated me like a human being. He hated me because I tried to stand between her and harm. But he could not get rid of the sight of me. I have a little home where he can't avoid seeing me sometimes. I believe, if I kept always appearing before him, he would go raving mad, he hates me to that extent."

"Um-m! Is that so?"

"Yes, indeed. Why, lady, if I were without house or home, and you, out of the kindness of your heart, were to take me into your employment as the very humblest of your servants, I believe he would kill us both."

"You think he would?"

Cora actually seemed to encourage the old woman in her garrulity.

"Oh, I know it. It's not much in the way of charity, or kindness, you will be able to do in this house. If he don't imprison you in one of these old closed-up musty rooms, you will be lucky. He is very dangerous. Sometimes I used to think he must be insane."

Cora started. "Well, Hagar," she said, sweetly, "it's very good of you to take so much interest in me. He is very cross sometimes, but, perhaps, it won't be so bad as you fear."

"I hope it won't," rising to go and shaking her head dubiously; "but I am afraid for you."

"Well," laughing, "I'll try and not let him lock me up, at any rate. Now, is there anything I can do for you?"

"Oh, no, lady. You looked so pretty, and so good, that I wanted to warn you; that is all. I should be glad if I could serve you, too, but I could never serve him. I don't want for anything, dear lady. Now the old woman will go."

"I won't forget you, Hagar, if I ever need a friend."

Hagar turned toward her. "If you ever want to make him feel what it is to make others suffer, Hagar will help you."

There was a vindictive light in the old woman's eyes, and she hobbled out of the room, looking as if she meant all she had said.

Cora sat, for a time, pondering over the interview, and trying to trace out some motive for insincerity on the old woman's part. But she could see none. She resolved to investigate a little, and all that evening was the most attentive and agreeable of wives. Abundant and versatile was her conversation. Deftly she led the talk up to the proper point, and then said, carelessly:

"Driving through the village, to-day, I passed that queer old woman – Hagar, do they call her? She glared at me, oh! so savagely."

"She is an old hag!" Mr Arthur answered, with unnecessary fierceness. "I don't see what Satan has been about, all these years, that he's not taken her away to her proper atmosphere."

"Why," in pretty surprise, "I thought she used to be one of your servants?"

"She was a servant to my first wife," moodily. "I got rid of the baggage quick enough, when Mrs. Arthur died. She is an old viper, and put more disobedience into that girl Madeline's head, than I ever could get out."

"What a horrid old wretch she must be!" shuddering.

Then the conversation dropped, and Cora was satisfied.

"The old woman shall be my tool," she thought, triumphantly.