CHAPTER XLV. — LADY DUDLEIGH IS SHOWN TO HER ROOM.
After driving for about a mile Sir Lionel and Lady Dudleigh took the train, securing a compartment to themselves.
During this part of the journey Sir Lionel's face lost much of that gloom which of late had pervaded it, and assumed an expression which was less dismal, though not quite like the old one. The old look was one of serene and placid content, an air of animal comfort, and of easy-going self-indulgence; but now the expression was more restless and excited. There was a certain knowing look—a leer of triumphant cunning—combined with a tendency to chuckle over some secret purpose which no one else knew. Together with this there was incessant restlessness; he appeared perpetually on the look-out, as though dreading discovery; and he alternated between exultant nods of his head, with knowing winks at vacancy, and sudden sharp furtive glances at his companion. Changed as Sir Lionel's mood was, it can hardly be said that the change was for the better. It would have been obvious even to a more superficial observer than that vigilant “keeper” who accompanied him that Sir Lionel had lost his self-poise, and was in rather a dangerous way. Lady Dudleigh must have noticed this; but it made no difference to her, save that there was perhaps a stonier lustre in her eyes as she turned them upon him, and a sharper vigilance in her attitude.
In this way they rode on for several hours; and whatever Sir Lionel's plans might have been, they certainly did not involve any action during the journey. Had he been sufficiently violent he might have made an assault upon his companion in the seclusion of that compartment, and effectually prevented any trouble ever arising to him from her. He might have done this, and made good his escape in the confusion of some station. But no such attempt was made; and so in due time they reached the place where they were to get out.
“This is the nearest station to Dudleigh Manor,” said Sir Lionel, gayly. “This road has been made since your time.”
Lady Dudleigh said nothing, but looked around. She saw nothing that was familiar. A neat wayside station, with the usual platform, was nearest; and beyond this arose trees which concealed the view on one side, while on the other there were fields and hedges, and one or two houses in the distance. It was a commonplace scene, in a level sort of country, and Lady Dudleigh, after one short survey, thought no more about it. It was just like any other wayside station.
A common-looking hack, with a rather ill-dressed driver, was waiting, and toward this Sir Lionel walked.
“This,” said he, “is the Dudleigh coach. It isn't so grand an affair as it used to be; but my means have dwindled a good deal since your day, you know, and I have to economize—yes—ha, ha, ha!—economize—queer thing too, isn't it? Economizing—ha, ha, ha!”
Sir Lionel's somewhat flighty manner was not at all congenial to Lady Dudleigh, and she treated him as the vigilant “keeper” always treats his flighty prisoner—that is, with silent patience and persistent watchfulness.
In a few minutes they were both seated inside the coach, and were driving away. The coach was a gloomy one, with windows only in the doors. The rest was solid woodwork. These windows in the doors were small, and when let down were scarcely large enough for one to put his head through. When sitting down it was impossible for Lady Dudleigh to see the road. She could see nothing but the tops of the trees, between which the sky appeared occasionally. She saw that she was driving along a road which was shaded with trees on both sides; but more than this she could not see.
They drove for about an hour at a moderate pace, and during this time Sir Lionel preserved that same peculiar demeanor which has already been described, while Lady Dudleigh maintained her usual silent watchfulness.
At length they stopped for a moment. Voices sounded outside, and then Lady Dudleigh saw that she was passing through a gateway. Thinking that this was Dudleigh Manor, she made no remark, but calmly awaited the time when she should reach the house. She did not have to wait long. Sooner than she expected the coach stopped. The driver got down and opened the door. Sir Lionel sprang out with surprising agility, and held out his hand politely to assist his companion. She did not accept his offer, but stepped out without assistance, and looked around.
To her surprise, the place was not Dudleigh Manor at all, but one which was entirely different, and quite unfamiliar. It was a brick house of no very great size, though larger than most private houses, of plain exterior, and with the air of a public building of some sort. The grounds about were stiff and formal and forbidding. The door was open, and one or two men were standing there. It did not look like an inn, and yet it certainly was not a private residence.
“I have to stop here for a little while,” said Sir Lionel, “to see a friend on business. We are not half-way to Dudleigh Manor yet; it's further than you think.”
He turned and went up the steps. Lady Dudleigh looked around once more, and then followed him. The men at the head of the steps looked at her curiously as she went in. She took no notice of them, however, but walked past them, looking calmly beyond them.
On entering the house she saw a bare hall covered with slate-colored oil-cloth, and with a table against the wall. A gray-headed man came out of one of the rooms, and advanced to meet Sir Lionel, who shook hands with him very cordially, and whispered to him a few words. The gray-headed man wore spectacles, was clean shaven, with a double chin, and a somewhat sleek and oily exterior.
“Lady Dudleigh,” said Sir Lionel, leading the gray-headed man forward by the arm, “allow me to make you acquainted with my particular friend, Dr. Leonard Morton.”
Lady Dudleigh bowed slightly, and Dr. Morton made a profound obeisance that seemed like a caricature of politeness.
“Will you have the kindness to walk up stairs?” said he, and led the way, while the others followed him. Ascending the stairs, they reached a large room at the back of the house, which was furnished in the same stiff and formal way as the hall below. Over the mantel-piece hung an engraving, somewhat faded out, and on the table were a Bible and a pitcher of water.
The doctor politely handed Lady Dudleigh a chair, and made one or two remarks about the weather.
“Sir Lionel,” said he, “if Lady Dudleigh will excuse us for a few moments, I should like to speak with you in private.”
“Will you have the kindness, Lady Dudleigh,” asked Sir Lionel, “to excuse us for a few moments? We shall not leave you long alone. And here is a book—an invaluable book—with which you may occupy your time.”
He said this with such exaggerated politeness, and with such a cunning leer in his eyes, that his tone and manner were most grotesque; and as he concluded he took up the large Bible with ridiculous solemnity.
Lady Dudleigh merely bowed in silence.
“A thousand thanks,” said Sir Lionel, turning away; and thereupon he left the room, followed by the doctor. Lady Dudleigh heard their footsteps descending the stairs, and then they seemed to go into some room.
For some time she forgot all about him. The place had at first surprised her, but she gave it little thought. She had too much to think of. She had before her a task which seemed almost impossible; and if she failed in this, there was before her that dread alternative which Sir Lionel had presented to her so plainly. Other things too there were besides her husband—connected with all who were dearest to her—her brother, perhaps, dying before he had accomplished his work; her son so mysteriously murdered; her other son awaiting her command to assist in bringing his father to death. Besides, there was the danger that even now might be impending over these—the danger of discovery. Sir Lionel's desperate threats might have some meaning, and who could tell how it might result if he sought to carry out those threats?
Brooding over such thoughts as these, she forgot about the lapse of time, and at last was roused to herself by the entrance of a woman. She was large and coarse and fat.
At the door stood another woman.
“Your room's ready, missus,” said the woman, bluntly.
Lady Dudleigh rose.
“I don't want a room,” said she. “I intend to go in a few minutes.”
“Anyway, ye'd better come to your room now, and not keep us waitin',” said the woman.
“You needn't wait,” said Lady Dudleigh.
“Come along,” said the woman, impatiently. “It's no use stayin' here all day.”
Lady Dudleigh felt annoyed at this insolence, and began to think that Sir Lionel had run away while she had forgotten about him. She said nothing to the women, but walked toward the door. The two stood there in the way.
“I will go down,” said she, haughtily, “and wait below. Go and tell Sir Lionel.”
The women stared at one another.
{Illustration: “SHE WAS DRAGGED ALONG HELPLESSLY."}
“Sir Lionel Dudleigh,” said Lady Dudleigh, “is with Dr. Morton on business. Tell him that I am tired of waiting, or take me to the room where he is.”
“Oh yes, 'm,” said one of the women; and saying this, she went down stairs.
In a few moments Dr. Morton came up, followed by the women. The two men who had been standing at the door came into the hall, and stood there at the foot of the stairs.
“Where is Sir Lionel?” was Lady Dudleigh's first words.
The doctor smiled blandly.
“Well, he has just gone, you know; but he'll soon be back—oh yes, quite soon. You wait here, and you may go to your room.”
He spoke in an odd, coaxing tone, as though he were addressing some fretful child whom it was desirable to humor.
“Gone!” exclaimed Lady Dudleigh.
“Yes, but he'll soon be back. You needn't wait long. And these women will take you to your own room. You'll find it very pleasant.”
“I have no room here,” said Lady Dudleigh, haughtily. “If Sir Lionel has gone, I shall go too;” and with these words she tried to move past the woman who was in front of her. But the woman would not move, and the other woman and the doctor stood there looking at her. All at once the truth dawned upon her, or a part of the truth. She had been brought here, and they would keep her here. Who they were she could not imagine, but their faces were not at all prepossessing.
“Oh, it's all right,” said the doctor, in a smooth voice. “You shall go to-morrow. We'll send for Sir Lionel.”
“Dr. Morton,” said Lady Dudleigh, solemnly, “beware how you detain me. Let me go, or you shall repent it. I don't know what your motive is, but it will be a dangerous thing for you. I am Lady Dudleigh, and if you dare to interfere with my movements you shall suffer.”
“Oh yes, oh yes,” said the doctor. “You are Lady Dudleigh. Oh, of course. And now come, Lady Dudleigh; you shall be treated just like a lady, and have a nice room, and—”
“What do you mean?” cried Lady Dudleigh, indignantly. “This insolence is insufferable.”
“Oh yes,” said the doctor; “it'll be all right, you know. Come, now; go like a good lady to your room.”
“Are you mad?” exclaimed Lady Dudleigh, in amazement.
The doctor smiled and nodded.
“What do you intend to do?” asked Lady Dudleigh, restraining herself with a strong effort.
“Oh, nothing; we shall put you in a nice room, you know—all so pleasant—for you are not very well; and so. Susan, you just take the lady's hand, and, Martha, you take the other, and we'll show her the way to her room.”
At this each of the women seized one of Lady Dudleigh's hands quickly and dextrously, the result of long practice, and then they drew her out of the room. Lady Dudleigh resisted, but her strength was useless. She was dragged along helplessly, while all the time the doctor walked after her, prattling in his usual way about “the nice room,” and how “comfortable” she would find it. At length they reached a room, and she was taken in. One of the women entered with her. Lady Dudleigh looked around, and saw that the walls were bare and whitewashed; the floor was uncarpeted; an iron bedstead and some simple furniture were around her, and a small grated window gave light.
It looked dreary enough, and sufficiently prison-like to appall any one who might be thus suddenly thrust in there. Lady Dudleigh sank into a chair exhausted, and the woman began to make her bed.
“My good woman,” said Lady Dudleigh, anxious to get some clue to her position, “can you tell me what all this means?”
“Sure it's all for the good of your health,” said the woman.
“But I'm not ill.”
“No, not to say ill; but the body's often all right when the mind's all wrong.”
“The mind? There's nothing the matter with my mind. Dr. Morton has been deceived. He would not dare to do this if he knew it.”
“Sure, now, it's nothing at all, and you'll be well soon.”
At these simple words of the woman Lady Dudleigh began to understand the situation. This must be a lunatic asylum, a private one. Sir Lionel had brought her here, and told the doctor that she was insane. The doctor had accepted his statement, and had received her as such. This at once accounted for his peculiar mode of addressing her.
“There's a mistake,” said Lady Dudleigh, quietly. “Dr. Morton has been deceived. Let me see him at once, please, and I will explain. He does not know what a wrong he is doing. My good woman, I am no more mad than you are.”
“Dear, dear!” said the woman, going on placidly with her work; “that's the way they all talk. There's not one of them that believes they're mad.”
“But I'm not mad at all,” said Lady Dudleigh, indignant at the woman's obtuseness.
“There, there; don't you go for to excite yourself,” said the woman, soothingly. “But I s'pose you can't help it.”
“So this is a mad-house, is it?” said Lady Dudleigh, gloomily, after a pause.
“Well, 'm, we don't call it that; we call it a 'sylum. It's Dr. Morton's 'sylum.”
“Now see here,” said Lady Dudleigh, making a fresh effort, and trying to be as cool as possible, “I am Lady Dudleigh. I have been brought here by a trick. Dr. Morton is deceived. He is committing a crime in detaining me. I am not mad. Look at me. Judge for yourself. Look at me, and say, do I look like a madwoman?”
The woman, thus appealed to, good-naturedly acquiesced, and looked at Lady Dudleigh.
“'Deed,” she remarked, “ye look as though ye've had a deal of sufferin' afore ye came here, an' I don't wonder yer mind give way.”
“Do I look like a madwoman?” repeated Lady Dudleigh, with a sense of intolerable irritation at this woman's stupidity.
“'Deed, then, an' I'm no judge. It's the doctor that decides.”
“But what do you say? Come, now.”
“Well, then, ye don't look very bad, exceptin' the glare an' glitter of the eyes of ye, an' yer fancies.”
“Fanciest? What fancies?”
“Why, yer fancies that ye're Lady Dudleigh, an' all that about Sir Lionel.”
Lady Dudleigh started to her feet.
“What!” she exclaimed. “Why, I am Lady Dudleigh.”
“There, there!” said the woman, soothingly; “sure I forgot myself. Sure ye are Lady Dudleigh, or any body else ye like. It's a dreadful inveiglin' way ye have to trap a body the way ye do.”
At this Lady Dudleigh was in despair. No further words were of any avail. The woman was determined to humor her, and assented to every thing she said. This treatment was so intolerable that Lady Dudleigh was afraid to say any thing for fear that she would show the excitement of her feelings, and such an exhibition would of course have been considered as a fresh proof of her madness.
The woman at length completed her task, and retired.
Lady Dudleigh was left alone. She knew it all now. She remembered the letter which Sir Lionel had written. In that he had no doubt arranged this plan with Dr. Morton, and the coach had been ready at the station. But in what part of the country this place was she had no idea, nor could she know whether Dr. Morton was deceived by Sir Lionel, or was his paid employé in this work of villainy. His face did not give her any encouragement to hope for either honesty or mercy from him.
It was an appalling situation, and she knew it. All the horrors that she had ever heard of in connection with private asylums occurred to her mind, and deepened the terror that surrounded her. All the other cares of her life—the sorrow of bereavement, the anxiety for the sick, the plans for Frederick Dalton—all these and many others now oppressed her till her brain sank under the crushing weight. A groan of anguish burst from her.
“Sir Lionel's mockery will become a reality,” she thought. “I shall go mad!”
Meanwhile Sir Lionel had gone away. Leaving Lady Dudleigh in the room, he had gone down stairs, and after a few hurried words with the doctor, he left the house and entered the coach, which drove back to the station.
All the way he was in the utmost glee, rubbing his hands, slapping his thighs, chuckling to himself, laughing and cheering.
“Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha!” he laughed. “Outwitted! The keeper—the keeper caught! Ha, ha, ha! Why, she'll never get out—never! In for life, Lionel, my boy! Mad! Why, by this time she's a raving maniac! Ha, ha, ha! She swear against me! Who'd believe a madwoman, an idiot, a lunatic, a bedlamite, a maniac—a howling, frenzied, gibbering, ranting, raving, driveling, maundering, mooning maniac! And now for the boy next—the parricide! Ha, ha, ha! Arrest him! No. Shut him up here—both—with my friend Morton—both of them, mother and son, the two—ha, ha, ha!—witnesses! One maniac! two maniacs! and then I shall go mad with joy, and come here to live, and there shall be three maniacs! Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha-a-a-a-a-a-a!”
Sir Lionel himself seemed mad now.
On leaving the coach, however, he became calmer, and taking the first train that came up, resumed his journey.