CHAPTER XXVI.
On Tuesday afternoon, while I was helping Haidee to dress her doll in the dining-room, there was a ring at the front-door bell, and shortly afterwards Jane came in, looking rather frightened, saying a gentleman was in the hall asking for Sarah.
“And I’ve told him she is ill, Miss Christie; but he won’t believe me; and he won’t go away, and Mr. Rayner is out; and please will you speak to him?”
I got up, and, following her into the hall, found, not a gentleman, but a respectably-dressed man, who very civilly apologized for disturbing me.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am; but are you Miss Rayner?”
“Oh, no!”
“Mrs. Rayner?”
“No. Mrs. Rayner is an invalid, and I am afraid you cannot see her. I am the governess. If you have any message for Mr. Rayner, I will give it to him; or, if you like, you can write him a note, and it shall be given him when he returns.”
“Thank you, miss.”
Still he hesitated.
“Would you like to wait for Mr. Rayner? He will be back in about an hour.”
“Thank you. Could I speak to you in private for a few minutes, miss?”
“Oh, yes, certainly! Will you come in here?”—and I opened the door of the schoolroom.
He followed me in and shut it carefully.
“I am the brother of Sarah Gooch, miss, who is a servant here.”
I nodded assent.
“I’ve been abroad and worked myself into a good position, and now I want my sister to leave service. And I don’t want the other servants to know I’m her brother. It may be pride; but perhaps you’ll excuse it, miss. Would you mind sending for her without saying it’s her brother wants her?”
How could I break the fact of her illness to the poor man?
“Oh, please be prepared for bad news! I’m so sorry!” said I gently. “She is ill—very ill.”
To my surprise, he looked more incredulous than unhappy. He said very suddenly—
“She was quite well last Friday afternoon.”
“Yes—an accident happened to her on Friday night. She fell down a flight of stairs and injured herself severely. If you will only wait until Mr. Rayner comes, he will speak to you. Sarah is a very old servant in this family, and much respected, and she has every possible care, I assure you.”
But he still seemed more curious than anxious about her, I thought.
“She has been in the family a long time then? Excuse me, miss, but I’ve been away so long that she is almost like a stranger to me, and I had great difficulty in finding her out. But I’m very glad to hear she is thought so well of.”
“Oh, yes! Mr. Rayner has the greatest confidence in her.”
I did not want to say anything disagreeable about the woman now that she was ill, especially to her brother, whose affection did not seem very warm as it was.
“Ah, that’s the great thing! We’ve always been a family to hold our heads high, and I couldn’t hear anything to please me more about her. But I expect it’s little use my coming home and wanting her to keep house for me. She was a good-looking girl, and I’ve no doubt she’s looking forward to marrying on her savings, and then we shall be just as far apart as ever. Do you know, miss—if it’s not troubling you too much, and you won’t take it a liberty—if she’s got a sweetheart?”
I hesitated. The man’s cold curiosity seemed so unlike the warm interest of a brother that I began to wonder whether I was right in giving him the information he wanted. My doubts were so vague and his questions so very harmless, however, that, when he said—
“I beg your pardon, miss—of course it is not for a lady like you to interest yourself in the likes of us—”
I broke out—
“Oh, pray don’t think that! Sarah has an admirer, I know—”
I stopped. I could not say anything reassuring about Tom Parkes.
“Ah! An honest hard-working fellow, I hope, who’ll make her a good husband.”
He was more interested now, and was looking at me very searchingly.
“I can’t speak to a man’s prejudice behind his back,” said I slowly; “but—”
He was very much interested at last, and was waiting impatiently for my next words, when Mr. Rayner quietly entered the room. There had been no ring at the front door. He looked inquiringly at the man, whom I was just going to introduce as Sarah’s brother, when the latter anticipated me by saying quietly—
“From Scotland Yard, sir.”
“Scotland Yard?” echoed Mr. Rayner inquiringly. But the name did not seem new to him, as it did to me.
“Yes, sir; I’ve been sent after a woman named Sarah Gooch, from information received that she was in your service. Mr. Gervas Rayner I believe, sir?”
Why did he not own he was her brother? I thought to myself.
“Yes, that is my name. But what on earth do you want with my servant, Sarah Gooch?”
The man glanced at me. Mr. Rayner said—
“Go on. Never mind this lady; she is as much interested in the woman as I am. What do you want with my old servant Sarah?”
“Suspected of complicity in the Denham Court robbery, sir—some of the property traced to her.”
I started violently. This man, then, was not Sarah’s brother at all, but a detective who had been trying to extract information from me by a trick! Mr. Rayner stared full in his face for a few moments, as if unable to find words; then he exclaimed, in a low voice—
“Impossible!”
“Sorry to shake your trust in an old servant, sir; but proof is proof.”
“But what proof have you?” asked Mr. Rayner earnestly.
“Last Friday afternoon, between half-past four and twenty minutes to five, your servant Sarah Gooch was seen to give the contents of a black bag to a man in Beaconsburgh. The fact excited no suspicion. The man took the next train to London, travelling second-class. But south of Colchester he was seized with a fit; he was taken out at the next station, the bag he had with him examined for his address, jewels found in it, and the police at Scotland Yard communicated with. The man escaped; but, on inquiries being made, witnesses were found to prove conclusively that the biscuit-tin which contained the jewel had been handed to him in a street in Beaconsburgh, on Friday afternoon, between half-past four and twenty minutes to five, by a woman who was identified as Sarah Gooch.”
I remembered seeing Sarah pass through the plantation on Friday afternoon, on her way to Beaconsburgh, with the black bag. But I was too horror-stricken to speak, even if I had not been, now that the blow had fallen, as anxious to screen her as Mr. Rayner himself was to prove her innocence.
“But I cannot believe it!” said Mr. Rayner. “She is a rough, harsh woman; but I have always found her honest as the day.”
“She may have been instigated,” suggested the detective. “It’s wonderful what things women will do for their lovers, and she had a lover—not of the best possible character.”
Mr. Rayner gave a quick glance at me, and I felt guilty, for it was indeed I who had given this piece of information.
“Do you know his name?” asked Mr. Rayner.
“I am not in a position to state it yet; but we have our suspicions,” said the man cautiously.
Mr. Rayner gave no sign of incredulity; but I knew his face well enough now to be able to tell that he did not believe him.
“The main point now is, having traced the jewels to the woman Sarah Gooch, to find out how they came into her possession. I must ask you to let me see the woman and question her. Taken by surprise, she may confess everything.”
“You shall see her,” said Mr. Rayner gravely, “and then judge for yourself whether she is in a state to answer questions. I will ask the nurse if you can see her now. Miss Christie, would you mind going up with me and watching in her place while Mrs. Saunders comes out to speak to me?”
We went up together, scarcely speaking a word; and I sent out the nurse to him and stood watching in her place. Sarah, looking more hideous than ever with the white bandage round her head and against her leather-colored face and black hair, was turning her head from side to side, and moaning and muttering feebly. The only words one could catch seemed to refer to the pain she was in. Then the door opened, the nurse re-entered, and the detective, with Mr. Rayner behind him, peeped in. A glance at the hollow face and dry lips of the sick woman might have satisfied him that her illness was no sham; but he watched her and listened to her mutterings for some minutes before he retired. I left the room as quickly as I could—the sight of the ghastly figure of the guilty woman sickened me.
“You see,” Mr. Rayner was saying as I got outside, “she is quite unable at present to speak for herself. I hope, and indeed believe, that, when she can do so, she will be able to clear herself of anything worse than perhaps the innocent passing of the stolen goods from one rogue to another, without herself having the least idea of the crime she was being made to participate in. I will do all in my power to assist the course of justice. The doctor will be here in the morning, and he will tell you when she is likely to be able to give an account of herself. In the mean time you shall spend the night here. Miss Christie, will you kindly tell Mrs. Jennings to prepare the room next to mine and Mrs. Rayner’s?”
The name “Mrs. Jennings” for the moment puzzled me; then I remembered it was that of the cook, and I wondered why he had not said Jane. His room and Mrs. Rayner’s! Did Mr. Rayner then sleep in the house since his wife’s change of apartment?
The cook grumbled a good deal when I gave her the order. What was the house being turned topsy-turvy for? Why had Mr. Rayner just sent Jane off to Wright’s Farm to pay the corn-bill, to-day of all days, when there was a visitor and more to do? Telling her she might stop the night too, if the fog came on, as it was doing, when he might have known she wouldn’t want telling twice when that hulking young Peter Wright was about the farm! She knew what it was; Jane would not be back till late to-morrow afternoon, if she was then, and—
And so the cook went on, until suddenly Mr. Rayner appeared upon the scene, and she broke off in her complaints, startled.
“I am afraid I have entailed a good deal of trouble upon you, cook, by thoughtlessly giving Jane permission to spend the night at the farm if the fog grew thick; so I have just asked Mrs. Saunders to take her upstairs duties till Jane comes back, in return for which you will be kind enough to watch by Sarah during her unavoidable absences.”
This silenced the cook at once. It was a just punishment for her grumbling, for there was no duty she would not rather have undertaken than that of watching by the unconscious Sarah even in her quiet moments. She said to me afterwards that the nurse was very good; directly Sarah began to talk or grow excited, Mrs. Saunders always managed to hear, and came in to relieve her from the unpleasant task of listening to the sick woman’s ravings.
I left Mr. Rayner talking to the cook, and went back to Haidee in the dining-room. When tea-time came, Mr. Rayner entered with the detective, whom he now addressed as “Mr. Maynard,” and treated as a distinguished guest. Mr. Maynard talked rather interestingly when his host drew him out, and was elaborately courteous to Mrs. Rayner, whose cold manner rather overawed him, and to me. He went to his room early, and, when Mrs. Rayner had gone to hers, I remained in the drawing-room putting the music in order, as Mr. Rayner had told me to do.
“This day’s events have upset me more than you can imagine, child,” said he, passing his hand through his hair wearily. “That vixen Sarah has always seemed honest—and yet I don’t know what to believe.”
“And, you know, the portmanteau I found in the cellar,” I whispered timidly.
Mr. Rayner started.
“Good Heaven, I had forgotten that! Or rather I had dismissed it from my mind as a fancy brought about by the excitement of Sarah’s accident, and hastily connected in your mind with your view of poor old Tom Parkes carrying a box across the lawn. Where are the store-room keys, child?” asked he excitedly. “We must go at once to the cellar, and— Heaven help us if what I took for your fancy should prove to be the truth!”
I tremblingly produced the keys, which I carried about with me; and, much against my will, I accompanied Mr. Rayner into the left wing. He took the keys from me; but he was so very excited that he could not find the right one to fit into the door, and I opened it for him. We crossed the store-room. There lay the black bag on one side of the trap-door, where I had put it down on catching sight of the little ring in the floor. I put my finger through this and raised it again, not without a shudder at the remembrance of my last visit, and Mr. Rayner went down hastily, while I held the candle for him to see by.
“No, my child, I see nothing,” said he, as he peered about.
“Look through the ladder; it is behind there,” said I.
Mr. Rayner looked through it, then looked round it, stretched his arm out, and again raised his face to mine, this time however with a look of unutterable relief.
“Thank Heaven, it was your fancy, child!” said he. “There is nothing there.”
“Not a deal table?” I gasped.
“No—nothing but water.”
“Perhaps the water has risen higher and covered it?”
“Come down yourself and see. Or are you afraid to come down again?”
“No, I am not afraid,” said I uncertainly.
He came up and took the candle from me, while I descended. The water, I knew by the number of steps which were dry above it, was at the same level as before. I looked through the ladder and round it. Table and portmanteau had utterly disappeared. As I looked up suddenly, Mr. Rayner’s face, distorted by the weird light thrown on it by the flickering candle, seemed to me to wear a mocking smile which made the handsome features hideous and alarming.
“Let me come up,” said I sharply.
He held out his hand, and, when I, trembling and tottering, reached the top of the ladder, he flung his arm round me to support me. But I was so sick with the horror of finding my story—my true story—disproved, and with the fancy I had had on looking up at Mr. Rayner’s face, that I slid from his arm, ran out of the store-room, along the passage and through the swing-door, and leaned against the hall-table to recover myself. Mr. Rayner was at my side in a few minutes, and, almost unconsciously, I let him lead me back into the drawing-room. He brought me some brandy-and-water and made me drink it, and bathed my forehead, and told me gently not to be frightened, for I should soon be out of this dreary place and among beautiful scenes where I should forget the gloom of this sepulchral, dead-alive house, which was turning my poor little brain.
“But indeed I did see the portmanteau the first time!” said I piteously.
“Yes, dear child, I know,” said Mr. Rayner.
But I saw he did not believe me; and the tears began to roll down my cheeks.
“You must not cry, you must not cry! You will spoil your pretty face if you cry,” said Mr. Rayner almost angrily.
I knew he hated the sight of anything ugly or distressing—it was part of an artist’s nature, he said; so I forced back my tears as fast as I could, and tried to smile.
“There is my lovely girl again!” said he, stopping in front of me—he had walked up and down the room while I wept. “We will never mention Sarah’s name again when once we are away from her, little one,” said he. “But until we go, or until our respected friend Mr. Maynard goes, I am afraid she must still occupy a good deal of our thoughts. She will certainly not be able to submit to any cross-examination on his part to-morrow, or for a long time to come—if she ever is,” said he gravely. “And in the mean time he will try to trump up a story and to criminate as many persons as he can, just to show his superiors that he has not wasted his time here. And certainly he will leave our poor Sarah without a rag of character.”
“But, do you know, Mr. Rayner, I don’t think Sarah has always been as nice a woman as you suppose,” said I timidly. “From what I have heard her say, I think, when she was young, she must have had some horrid friends who made her do all sorts of wrong things; and that is why I cannot be as much surprised as you are at her doing wicked things now.”
“Did you tell Mr. Maynard that?”
“No, I only answered his questions. He said he was her brother—and of course I did not want to make him doubt his own sister. But, Mr. Rayner, I want to ask you something. Have you ever heard of a James Woodfall?”
He was sitting by me on the sofa, with his head turned away. He did not answer my question at once. Then he said very quietly—
“Did Mr. Maynard ask you that?”
He turned slowly as he said so, until his eyes met mine.
“Oh, no! I heard Sarah say the name when she was delirious—the first night—Friday night,” I whispered.
“Oh! Was he a friend of Sarah’s?”
“Oh, yes! I think she must have been in love with him when she was young, and he must have been a very bad man who made her do anything he liked; and the most curious part of it is that she—she mixes his name up with the people she knows now,” said I, lowering my voice still more.
“How?” asked Mr. Rayner. “Whose name does she mix his up with?”
“Why, with—with mine, Mr. Rayner!” said I, blushing uncomfortably at the very thought. “She kept saying in her ravings that this wicked forger—for she said he was a forger—James Woodfall, was in love with me and wanted to marry me, and that he wanted her to help to marry this common thief to me. Wasn’t it dreadful to have to listen to that?” whispered I excitedly.
“Did she say James Woodfall was a common thief?”
“No, I gathered that from what she said. Did you ever hear of him, Mr. Rayner?”
“Yes, I have heard of him, and I believe he is alive now,” said he.
“Then I believe that she is in love with him still, and that he is at the bottom of this dreadful robbery!” cried I, much excited. “Oh, Mr. Rayner, couldn’t you find out from Sarah where he is now, while the detective is here, and get him caught?” I said breathlessly.
Mr. Rayner shook his head thoughtfully.
“I am afraid not, my dear child. If James Woodfall is the man I mean, he will never be taken alive,” said he.