seven o'clock was striking out on a dark winter's night, as a hired carriage with a pair of post-horses drew up near to the gates of dallory hall. apparently the special hour had been agreed upon as a rendezvous; for before the clock had well told its numbers, a small group of people might have been seen approaching the carriage from different ways.
there issued out from the hall gates, mr. north, leaning on the right arm of his son richard. richard had quitted his chamber to join in this expedition. his left arm was in a sling, and he looked pale; but he was fast progressing towards recovery; and mr. seeley, confidentially consulted, had given him permission to go forth. mrs. gass came up from the direction of dallory; and dr. rane came striding from the ham. a red-faced, portly gentleman in plain clothes, standing near the carriage, greeted them: without his official costume and in the dark night, few would have recognized him for inspector jekyll, who had been directing affairs in the churchyard the previous day. mrs. gass, mr. north and richard, entered the carriage. the inspector was about to ascend the box, the postillion being on the horses, but dr. rane said he would himself prefer to sit outside. so mr. jekyll got inside, and the doctor mounted; and the carriage drove away down dallory ham.
peering after it, in the dark night, behind the gates, was mrs. north. some one beside her--it was only a servant-boy--ran off, at a signal, towards the stables with a message, as fast as his legs would carry him. there came back in answer madam's carriage--which must have been awaiting the signal---with a pair of fresh fleet horses.
"catch it up, and keep it in sight at a distance," were her orders to the coachman, as she stepped in. so the post-carriage was being tracked and followed: a fact none of its inmates had the slightest notion of.
in her habit of peeping and prying, of listening at doors, of glancing surreptitiously into other people's letters, and of ferreting generally, madam had become aware during the last twenty-four hours that something unusual was troubling the equanimity of mr. north and richard: that some journey, to be taken in secret by mr. north, and kept secret, was being decided upon. conscience--when it is not an easy one--is apt to suggest all sorts of unpleasant things, and madam's whispered to her that this hidden expedition had reference to herself; and--perhaps--to a gentleman who had recently arrived in england--william adair.
madam's cheeks turned pale through rouge and powder, and she bit her lips in impotent rage. she could have found means, no doubt, to keep mr. north within doors, though she had broken his leg to accomplish it; she could have found means to keep richard also, had she known he was to be of the party: but of what avail? never a cleverer woman lived, than madam, and she had the sense to know that a meeting with mr. adair (and she believed the journey had reference to nothing else) could not thus be prevented: it must take place sooner or later.
a carriage was to be in waiting near the hall gates after dark, at seven o'clock--madam had learned so much. where was it going to? in which direction? for what purpose? that at least madam could ascertain. she gave private orders of her own: and as night approached, retired to her room with a headache, forbidding the household to disturb her. mr. north, as he dined quietly in his parlour, thought how well things were turning out. he had been haunted with a fear of madam's pouncing upon him, at the moment of departure, with a demand to know the why and the wherefore of his secret expedition.
madam, likewise attired for a journey, had escaped from the hall long before seven, and taken up her place amidst the shrubs near the entrance-gates, her position commanding both the way from the house and the road without. on the stroke of seven, steps were heard advancing; and madam strained her gaze.
richard! who had not yet left his sick-room! but for his voice, as he spoke to his father, madam would have thought the night was playing tricks with her eyesight.
she could not see who else got into the carriage: but she did see dr. rane come striding by; and she thought it was he upon the box when the carriage passed. dr. rane? madam, catching her breath, wondered what private histories mrs. cumberland had confided to him, and how much he was now on his way to bear witness to. madam was altogether on the wrong scent--the result of her suggestive conscience.
almost in a twinkling, she was shut up in her own carriage, as described, her coachman alone outside it.
the man had no difficulty in obeying orders. the post-carriage was not as light as madam's. keeping at a safe distance, he followed in its wake, unsuspected. first of all, from the ham down the back lane, and then through all sorts of frequented, cross-country by-ways. altogether, as both drivers thought, fifteen or sixteen miles.
the post-carriage drew up at a solitary house, on the outskirts of a small hamlet. madam's carriage halted also, further away. alighting, she desired her coachman to wait: and stole cautiously along under cover of the hedge, to watch proceedings. it was then about nine o'clock.
they were all going into the house: a little crowd, as it seemed to madam; and the post-carriage went slowly away, perhaps to an inn. what had they gone to that house for? was mr. adair within it? madam was determined to see. she partly lost sight of prudence in her desperation, and was at the door just as it closed after them. half a minute and she knocked softly with her knuckles. it was opened by a young girl with a broad country face, and red elbows.
"law!" said she. "i thought they was all in. do you belong to 'em?"
"yes," said mrs. north.
so she went in also, and crept up the dark staircase, after them, directed by the girl. "fust door you comes to at the top." madam's face was growing ghastly: she fully expected to see william adair.
the voices alone would have guided her. several were heard talking within the room: her husband's she distinguished plainly: and, she thought, madam certainly thought, he was sobbing. madam went into a heat at the sound. what revelation had mr. adair been already making? he had lost no time apparently.
the door was not latched. madam cautiously pushed it an inch or two open so as to enable her to see in. she looked very ugly just now, her lips drawn back from her teeth with emotion, something like a hyena's. madam looked in: and saw, not mr. adair, but--bessy rane.
bessy rane. she was standing near the table, whilst dr. rane was talking. standing quite still, with her placid face, her pretty curls falling, and wearing a violet-coloured merino gown, that madam had seen her in a dozen times. in short, it was just like bessy rane in life. on the table, near the one solitary candle, lay some white work, as if just put out of hand.
in all madam's life she had perhaps never been so frightened as now. the truth did not occur to her. she surely thought it an apparition, as jelly had thought before; or that--or that bessy had in some mysterious manner been conveyed hither from that disturbed grave. in these confused moments the mind is apt to run away with itself. madam's was not strong enough to endure the shock, and be silent. with a piercing shriek, she turned to fly, and fell against the whitewashed chimney that the architect of the old-fashioned house had seen fit to carry up through the centre of it. the next moment she was in hysterics.
bessy was the first to run to attend her. bessy herself, you understand, not her ghost. in a corner of the capacious old room, built when ground was to be had for an old song, was bessy's bed; and on this they placed mrs. north. madam was not long in recovering her equanimity: but she continued where she was, making believe to be exhausted, and put a corner of her shawl up to her face. for once in her life that face had a spark of shame in it.
yes: bessy was not dead. humanly speaking, there had never been any more probability of bessy's demise than there was of madam's at this moment. dr. rane is giving the explanation, and the others are standing to listen; excepting mr. north, who has sat down in an old-fashioned elbow-chair, whilst richard leans the weight of his undamaged arm behind it. mrs. gass has pushed back her bonnet from her beaming face; the inspector looks impassive as befits his calling, but on the whole pleased.
"i am not ashamed of what i have done," said dr. rane, standing by bessy's side; "and i only regret it for the pain my wife's supposed death caused her best friends, mr. north and richard. i would have given much to tell the truth to mr. north, but i knew it would not be safe to trust him, and so i wished it to wait until we should have left the country. for all that has occurred you must blame the tontine. that is, blame the ticknells, who obstinately, wrongfully, cruelly kept the money from us. there were reasons--my want of professional success one of them--why i wished to quit dallory, and start afresh in another place; i and my wife talked of it until it grew, with me, into a disease; and i believe bessy grew to wish for it at last almost as i did."
"yes, i did, oliver," she put in.
"look at the circumstances," resumed dr. rane, in his sternest tones, and not at all as though he were on his defence. "there was the sum of two thousand pounds belonging to me and my wife conjointly, and they denied our right to touch it until one of us should be dead and gone! it was monstrously unjust. you must acknowledge that much, mr. inspector."
"well--it did seem hard," acknowledged that functionary.
"i know i thought it so," said mrs. gass.
"it was more than hard," spoke the doctor passionately. "i used to say to my wife that if i could get it out of the old trustees' hands by force, or stratagem, i should think it no shame to do it. idle talk! never meant to be anything else. but to get on. the fever broke out in dallory, and bessy was taken ill. she thought it was the fever, and so did i. i had fancied her a little afraid of it, and was in my heart secretly thankful to mr. north for inviting her to the hall. but for putting off her visit for a day--through the absence of molly green--what happened later could never have taken place."
dr. rane paused, as if considering how he should go on with his story. after a moment he resumed it, looking straight at them, as he had been looking all along.
"i wish you to understand that every word i am telling you--and shall tell you--is the strict truth. the truth, upon my honour, and before heaven. and yet, perhaps, even after this, you will scarcely credit me when i say--that i did believe my wife's illness was the fever. all that first day--she had been taken ill during the night with sickness and shivering--i thought it was the fever. seeley thought it also. she was in a very high state of feverishness, and no doubt fear for her served somewhat to bias our judgment. bessy herself said it was the fever, and would not hear a word to the contrary. but at night--the first night, remember--she had nearly an hour of sickness; and was so relieved by it, and grew so cool and collected, that i detected the nature of the case. it was nothing but a bad bilious attack, accompanied by an unusual degree of fever; but it was not the fever. 'you have cheated me, my darling,' i said jestingly, as i kissed her, 'i shall not get the tontine money.'--here she stands by my side to confirm it," broke off dr. rane, but indeed they could all see he was relating the simple truth. "'can you not pretend that i am dead?' she answered faintly, for she was still exceedingly ill; 'i will go away, and you can say i died.' now, of course bessy spoke jestingly, as i had done: nevertheless the words led to what afterwards took place. i proposed it--do not lay the blame on bessy--that she really should go away, and i should give it out that she had died."
a slight groan from the region of the bed. dr. rane continued.
"it seemed very easy of accomplishment--very. but had i foreseen all the disagreeable proceedings, the artifice, the trouble, that must inevitably attend such an attempted deceit, i should never have entered upon it. had i properly reflected, i might of course have foreseen it: but i did not reflect. nearly all that night bessy and i conversed together: chiefly planning how she should get away and where she should stay. by morning, what with the fatigue induced by this prolonged vigil, and the exhaustion left by her illness, she was thoroughly worn out. it had been agreed between us that she should simulate weariness and a desire to sleep, the better to avert a discovery of her restoration; but there was no need for simulation; she was both sleepy and exhausted."
"i never was so sleepy before in all my life," interrupted bessy.
"the day went on. at ten o'clock, when phillis left, i went up to my wife's room, and told her the time for acting had come," pursued dr. rane. "next i crossed over to seeley's with the news that my wife was gone: and i strove to exhibit the grief i should have felt had it been true. crossing to my home again, i saw frank dallory, and told him. 'the play has begun,' i said to bossy when i went in--and then i went forth to mr. north's; and then on to hepburn's. do you remember, sir, how i tried to soothe your grief?--speaking persistently of hope--though of course you could not see that any hope remained," asked dr. rane, turning to mr. north. "i dared not speak more plainly, though i longed to do so."
"ay, i remember," answered mr. north.
"the worst part of all the business was the next; bringing in the shell," continued the doctor. "worse, because i had a horror of my wife seeing it. i contrived that she did not see it. hepburn's men brought it up to the ante-room: bessy was still in bed in the front-room, and heard them: i could not help that. when they left, i put it down by the wall with the trestles, threw some coats carelessly upon it, and so hid it out of sight. it was time then for bessy to get up. whilst she was dressing, i went round to the stables, where the horse and gig i use are kept, to make sure that the ostler had gone to bed--for he had a habit sometimes of sitting up late. it was during this absence of mine that bessy went to the landing to listen whether or not i had come in. the chamber-door was open, so that light shone on to the landing. it happened to be at that moment that jelly was at the opposite window, and--later--thought it was mrs. rane's ghost that she had seen."
mrs. gass's amused face was something good to witness. she nodded in triumph.
"i thought it might have been the effects of beer," said she. "i told jelly what an idiot she was. i knew it was no ghost!"
"bessy made herself ready, took some refreshment, and i brought the gig to the garden-door and drove my wife away. the only place open at that time of night--or rather morning--would be some insignificant railway-station. we fixed on hewley. i drove her there; and there left her sitting under cover in solitary state--for i had to get back with the horse and gig before people were astir. as soon as the morning was pretty well on, bessy walked to churchend, about five miles' distance, and took a lodging in this very house--this very same room. here she has been ever since--and it is a great deal longer time than we either of us ever anticipated. poison my wife!" added dr. rane, with some emotion, as he involuntarily drew her towards him, with a gesture of genuine affection. "she is rather too precious to me for that. you know; don't you, my darling."
the happy tears stood in her eyes as she met his. he stooped and kissed her, very fondly.
"if my wife were taken from me, the ticknells might keep the tontine money, and welcome; i should not care for it without bessy. it was chiefly for her sake that my desire to possess it arose," he added emphatically. "i could not bear that she should be reduced to so poor a home after the luxury of dallory hall. bessy constantly said that she did not mind it, but i did; minded it for her and for her alone."
"couldn't you have managed all this without the funeral?" asked richard north, speaking for the first time.
"how could i?" returned dr. rane. "it was not possible. when my wife was given out as dead, she had to be buried, or mr. inspector jekyll, there, might have been coming in to ask the reason why. had i properly thought of all that must be done, i should, as i say, never have attempted it. it was hateful to me; and i declare that i don't know how i could, or did, carry it through. once or twice i thought i must give in, and confess, to my shame, that bessy was living--but i felt that might be worse, of the two, than going on with it to the end. i hope the ticknells will suffer for what they have cost me."
"jelly says she saw the ghost twice," observed mrs. gass,
"ah! that was bessy's fault," said dr. rane, shaking his head at his wife, in mock reproval, as we do at a beloved child when it is naughty. "she was so imprudent as to come home for a few hours--walking across country by easy stages and getting in after nightfall. it was about her wardrobe. i have been over twice at night--or three times, is it not, bessy?--and brought her things each time. but bessy said she must have others; and at last, as i tell you, she came over herself. i think the clothes were nothing but an excuse--eh, bessy?"
"partly," acknowledged bessy. "for, oh! i longed for a sight of home. just one more sight as a farewell. i had quitted it in so bewildered a hurry. it again led to jelly's seeing me. i was at my large chest-of-drawers, papa," she continued, addressing mr. north. "oliver had gone round for the gig to bring me back again; i thought i heard him come in again, and went to the landing to listen. it was not he, but jelly; and we met face to face. i assure you she frightened me quite as much as i frightened her."
"and bessy, my dear, what have the people here thought about it, all the time?" inquired mrs. north. "do they know who you are?"
"why of course not, papa. they think i am a lady in bad health; staying here for the sake of country air--and i did feel and look very ill when i came. an old widow lady has the house, and the girl you saw is her servant. they are not at all inquisitive. they know us only as mr. and mrs. oliver, and think we live at bletchley. i want to know who pushed matters to extremities in regard to these proceedings against my husband," added mrs. rane, after a pause. "it was not you, papa: and richard was doing his best to hush it all up. richard had known the truth since an interview he held with oliver. who was it, papa?"
madam tumbled off the bed, moaning a little, as if she were weak and ill. bessy had not the slightest idea that madam had been the culprit.
"who was it, mr. jekyll?" continued bessy.
the inspector looked up to the ceiling and down to the floor; and then thought the candle wanted snuffing. which it certainly did. madam cried in a shrill voice as he was putting down the snuffers, that she must depart. if the others chose to stay and countenance all this unparalleled iniquity, she could not do so.
she stood, upright as ever, tossing back her head, all her impudence returning to her. dr. rane quietly put himself in her path as she was gaining the door.
"mrs. north, pardon me if i request you to give me a little information ere you depart, as it is probably the last time we shall ever meet. what has been the cause of the long-continued and persistent animosity you have borne towards me?"
"animosity towards you!" returned madam, flippantly. "i have borne none."
the coolness of the avowal, in the very face of facts, struck them as almost ludicrous. mr. north raised his head and gazed at her in surprise.
"you have pursued me with the most bitter animosity since the first moment that i came to dallory, madam," said dr. rane, quietly and steadily. "you have kept practice from me; you have done what you can to crush me. it is you who urged on this recent charge against me--a very present proof of what i assert. but for you it might never have been made."
madam was slightly at bay: she seemed just a little flurried. rallying her powers, she confronted dr. rane and told him that she did not think him skilful and did not personally like him; if she had been biassed against him, the feeling must have taken its rise in that--there was nothing else to cause it.
another of her shuffling untruths--and they all knew it for one. but they would get nothing better from her.
the fact was this. madam had feared that mrs. cumberland could, and perhaps would, throw light on a certain episode of the past years: a contingency madam had dreaded above anything earthly: for this she had wished and hoped to drive mrs. cumberland from the place, and had thought that if she could drive away oliver rane, his mother would follow him. that was the actual truth: but no living person, excepting madam, suspected it.
she quitted the room with the last denial, conscious that she did not just now appear to advantage--for the sneaking act of tracking them this night, madam, with all her sophistry, could not plead an excuse. they let her go. even the inspector did not pay her the courtesy of opening the door for her, or of lighting her down the crooked old wooden stairs. it was bessy who ran to do it.
"when you found things were going against you, sir, why did you not declare the truth?" asked the inspector of dr. rane.
"i knew that the moment i declared the truth, all hope of the tontine money would be at an end; i should have done what i had done for nothing," answered dr. rane. "richard north undertook to give me timely notice if things went too far; but he was disabled, you know, and could not do so. until they were in the act of disturbing the grave, i had no warning of it whatever."
a silence followed the answer. dr. rane resumed.
"ill-luck seems to have attended it from the first. perhaps nothing else was to be expected. jelly's having seen my wife was a great misfortune. and then look at the delay as to the tontine money! had the trustees paid it over at once, bessy and i should have been safe away long ago."
"where gone?" asked mrs. gass.
"to america. it is where we shall go now, in any case. as i have not the money to join dr. jones as partner, i dare say he will take me as an assistant."
"see here," said mrs. gass. "i don't say that what you've done is anything but very wrong, doctor; but it might have been worse: and, compared to what a lot of fools were saying, it seems a trifle. i was once about to make you an offer of money. finding you couldn't get the tontine paid to you and your wife; which, as i've told you, i thought was a shame, all things considered; i resolved to advance it to you myself. mrs. rane's death stopped me from doing it; i mean, her reported death. you won't get it now, doctor, from the ticknells--for i suppose they'll have to be told the truth: and so you shall have it from me. two thousand pounds is ready for you, at your command."
the red flush of emotion mounted to dr. rane's pale face. he gazed eagerly at mrs. gass, as if asking whether it could be true.
"it's all right, doctor. you are my late husband's nephew, you know, and all the money was his. you'll find yourself and your wife substantially remembered in my will; and as two thousand pounds of it may do you good now, it shall be advanced to you."
bessy stole round to mrs. gass, and burst into tears on her bosom. happy, grateful tears. the doctor, the flush deepening on his face, took mrs. gass's hand and clasped it.
"and i wish to my very heart i had made no delay in the offer at first," cried mrs. gass. "it'll always be a warning to me not to put off till tomorrow what should be done to-day. and so, doctor, there's the money ready; and bessy, my dear, i don't see why you and he need banish yourselves to america. you might find a good practice, doctor, and not go further than london."
"i must go to america; i must," said the doctor, hastily. "neither i nor bessy would like now to remain in england."
"well, perhaps you may be right," acquiesced mrs. gass.
"but it's a long way off," said mr. north.
"it may not be for ever, sir," observed dr. rane, cheerfully. "i know i shall do well there; and when i have made a fortune perhaps we may come back and live in london. never again in dallory. the old and the new world are brought very near each other now, sir."
is it of any use pursuing the interview to its close? when they went out again, after it was over, madam's carriage was only then driving off. madam's coachman had put up his horses somewhere; and neither he nor they could readily be found. there was apparently no house open in the primitive village, and madam had the pleasure of undergoing an hour or two's soaking in a good, sound, down-pouring rain.
"i shall have to make things right with the authorities; and i suppose hepburn may keep the coffins for his pains," quaintly remarked mr. inspector jekyll.
but the carriage took back one less than it had brought. for dr. rane did not return again to dallory.
