Lord John in New York

by C. N. Williamson; A. M. Williamson

"This must mean Maida," my heart said. Certainly it could not refer to the Head Sister! But, after all, how did I know that the "woman dressed like a nurse" was Anne Garth? So far, I merely surmised. Eagerly I turned over the leaves. Often the writer spoke of herself, or of things that had no special meaning for me. Then came a note which held my eyes. "I've confessed to her the truth. She says I was more sinned against than sinning. Heaven bless her! She has confided in me what is making her ill. The poor child suffers! I never heard of one as sane as she, having illusions. I suppose they are illusions. She can have no enemies."

Again, on the next page: "She has told me her history. What a strange one! She has enemies. But none of them can have got in here? I'm glad she has a love story. I pray it may have a happier end than mine."

A few blank leaves, and then: "There's a room with a locked door over hers. Nobody sleeps in it. I wonder why they keep it locked? I suppose it's a coincidence. If they wished her harm why should they send for a nurse to take care of her, when she isn't ill, except for dreams.... A beautiful thing she said last night. 'I should die of horror if I didn't make his face come between me and the wicked face. His love saves me.' I envy her the saving love! Through mine I was lost. I wish I were allowed to sleep in her room. She wouldn't ask, because she thought it cowardly, but I did, and was refused. I'm needed at night for the children's room."

Further on, after more blanks: "It's against the rules for men to come here, but I saw a man going upstairs—or a ghost. They say there are ghosts in this house. A woman told me that the room over my sweet girl's is haunted. That's why it's locked. I wonder if the man-ghost was going to it? I wish it hadn't been dark in the hall, so I could have seen what he was like. He seemed a tall moving shadow."

Later: "I hope there's nothing wrong with my head! I was going to the room of our H.S. for orders. I thought the message was for me to tap at her door at nine o'clock, but before I had time to knock she came out and met me. She shut the door as she asked what I wanted—the first time she's spoken sharply! But I caught one glimpse of the room inside. Opposite the door, there's a picture of the desert by moonlight, and the Sphinx. It's in a carved black frame, set in the middle of a bookcase. The frame is part of the bookcase. But as I looked into the room this time—I didn't mean to look or spy—the picture of the Sphinx wasn't there. It seemed to have opened out like a door of a cabinet, and behind it was a white space with names and dates written in red. On top was a sign like an eye, and underneath I thought I saw the words, 'I watch, I wait.' Then came the dates. I can't be sure what they were, but I think the first was 1865. There was a General and a Captain, and a Madeleine or Margaret, all of the same name, which I think was Annesley. Anyhow, there were three dates and four names, and opposite the fourth name—that of my beautiful girl—was a question mark. A black line had been drawn through the other names as if they were done with, but there was no line through hers.

"It's queer how quickly one sees things—all in a flash. I'd only time to draw in my breath before the door of the room was closed, yet I kept the impression, as one goes on seeing the sun with one's eyes shut. Now, could I have imagined the whole thing? I did imagine things at night in my cell, but I knew they weren't there. They never seemed as real as this."

These notes, hastily pencilled, covered several of the blue-lined pages. There were more blanks; and then, in a shaky hand was written: "I'm frightened. I caught H.S. dropping something from a tiny bottle into the glass of milk on the tray I was getting ready to take upstairs. I'd turned my back to fetch a bunch of violets H.S. had brought in for me to put with the breakfast. I don't know if she knew I caught her, but she said she put phosferine for a tonic into the milk twice a week, and asked if I approved. Perhaps I oughtn't to say I 'caught' her. Perhaps it's all right. But if we had a cat in the house I'd have tried to make it drink the milk. I tasted it, and there was a faint bitter tang, yet phosferine would give that. I dared not drink more, because if anything were wrong, and I were ill or died, I couldn't protect her. But I poured out the milk and got fresh, in another glass, when I was sure H.S. was back in her study with the door shut. This can't go on. If anything is wrong, I mayn't be able to save her. And the fear is getting on my nerves. Yet I can't bear to give the poor child a warning. She has enough to worry about. All day this horrid thought has been in my head. Was I chosen because if she died, I could be blamed—a prison bird, with a black heart too full of evil to be reclaimed by kindness? If my darling girl will give me the name of the man who loves her and where he is, I'll make some excuse to get a day off—perhaps to meet my brother Larry—and tell her lover what has been going on."

This was the last entry in the book, and it gave me the certainty for which I groped. The nurse must have come from the Sisterhood House and from Maida; and—Maida cared for me more than I had made her confess.

I could hardly wait to get to the ball. My first object in going was forgotten in anxiety to find Anne Garth, to hear all she'd meant to tell me when she called, and missed me. It was still important—more than ever important, perhaps—to identify Dr. Rameses as a conspirator against Maida; but I could no longer concentrate my thoughts upon him. My fear was that Anne Garth might not have been admitted, lacking the card of invitation which every guest was asked to bring. But I judged that she would not give up easily. If her costume (which she might make pass as fancy dress) and her determination did not get her into the ballroom, I believed that she would think of some other plan.

Though the Dominion Hotel is new, its Arabian room is famous. It might be called "Aladdin's Cave," so gorgeous are its glimmering gold walls, and the stage jewels which star the ceiling and the gilded carvings of its boxes. Even its drapery is of gold tissue, embroidered with jewelled peacock feathers: its polished floor gleams like gold, reflecting thousands of golden lights, and its gold-framed panel-mirrors repeat again and again a golden vision. I was an early arrival, but there were many before me, because Prince Murad Ali had a reputation for un-oriental promptness, and lovers of pageants wished to see his entrance with his suite. If Doctor Rameses were present among the gorgeous groups scattered like bouquets about the ballroom, my most searching glances failed to pick him out. I had no intention of giving up the quest, however; and wishing to be independent I tried to evade my hostess's offer of pretty partners who "danced like angels." Unfortunately, as I thought, fortunately as it turned out, the lady conquered. I evaded a "Fox trot" on the plea that my wounded leg was too stiff: but I could not refuse to sit out with a countrywoman of mine, just over from England, who had "come to look on." We had known each other slightly at home, and I was obliged to sit through a dance telling Lady Mary Proudfit who people were.