“I shall certainly not take that advice; I was invited to Rangoon to be a companion to Aunt Flora, and the moment that I find she has something frightful to fight against is surely not the time for me to run away and leave her in the lurch. No, I shall stay here and do what I can.”
“Ah, if you only could; but, my dear girl, I’m afraid it is too late. I have been questioning Pat FitzGerald—of course without letting him know that I had any ‘case’ in my mind’s eye. From what I have gathered, Mrs. Krauss has been taking this drug for a long time—and is past all help.”
“Then do you mean, Fuchsia, that I am to sit by, utterly helpless, whilst my aunt slowly puts herself to death?”
“Of course you might try various things. You could make it your business to find out and destroy the hypodermic syringe—or perhaps your aunt takes it in pellets. I should interview the ayah and inform her that you know the nature of her mistress’s complaint; threaten that you will tell Mr. Krauss and have her discharged. I expect she gets enormous wages and has feathered her nest handsomely. If you could inveigle your aunt into taking a voyage to Australia, that might be of use. But these are just suggestions; in any way that I can help or back you up I will. All the same, I must return to my first statement, which is, that no matter how you strive, and hope and fear, your effort will come too late.”
CHAPTER XXXI
SEEING IS BELIEVING
The recent enlightenment had given Sophy a painful shock; thoughts troublesome and insistent buzzed about her all day long and kept her awake at night. At first she had wept and abandoned herself to misery; then she summoned her strength and will and made plans, hoping that she would have the courage to carry them out. She resolved to invade her aunt’s bedroom and discover the true state of affairs. During the last two or three days Mrs. Krauss had withdrawn into seclusion, being threatened with one of her so-called “attacks.” On these occasions no one but Lily was permitted to cross the threshold of her apartment.
Late on the following evening, when the house was quiet and the servants had departed to their godowns, or the bazaar, and the “missy” was supposed to have retired, Sophy slipped on a dressing-gown and soft slippers and made her way into the anteroom, usually occupied in the day-time by her aunt, now dimly illuminated by one electric light. Before the door of the next apartment hung a heavy curtain which, when drawn aside, revealed a thick darkness, a peculiar odour, and the sound of rapid breathing. Sophy groped with her hand along the wall, found the switch, and the room and its contents were instantly revealed. A richly-carved bedstead, a masterpiece of Burmese work, stood in the middle of the floor; at either side were small tables, one heaped with an untidy pile of books and magazines; on the other were bottles, glasses and little boxes. In turning the switch Sophy had lit the bulb which hung directly over Mrs. Krauss’s couch, and there, by its pitiless glare, she lay fully exposed, sunken in a sleep resembling a swoon, her splendid black hair lying loose upon the pillows. She looked woefully old and shrunken, her arms, displayed by an open-sleeved silk nightgown, were thin and strangely discoloured.
As Sophy stood surveying the scene the bathroom door opened softly and Lily stepped over the threshold. “Oh, my missy! Whatever are you doing here?” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
“I am searching for the hypodermic syringe by which you reduce my aunt,” pointing to the bed, “to this horrible condition. Come with me, Lily,” leading the way to the outer room. “I have something to say to you.”
The ayah’s face was almost green; she was shaking all over, but after a moment’s hesitation she ultimately obeyed in sullen silence.