what I have told you; and you shall have the order to-night."
She passed her apron over her face, and drew a long breath of
relief. Geoffrey turned to the door.
"I will be back at six this evening," he said. "Shall I find it
done?"
She bowed her head.
His first condition accepted, he proceeded to the second.
"When the opportunity offers," he resumed, "I shall go up to my
room. I shall ring the dining room bell first. You will go up
before me when you hear that--and you will show me how you did it
in the empty house?"
She made the affirmative sign once more.
At the same moment the door in the passage below was opened and
closed again. Geoffrey instantly went down stairs. It was
possible that Anne might have forgotten something; and it was
necessary to prevent her from returning to her own room.
They met in the passage.
"Tired of waiting in the garden?" he asked, abruptly.
She pointed to the dining-room.
"The postman has just given me a letter for you, through the
grating in the gate," she answered. "I have put it on the table
in there."
He went in. The handwriting on the address of the letter was the
handwriting of Mrs. Glenarm. He put it unread into his pocket,
and went back to Anne.
"Step out!" he said. "We shall lose the train."
They started for their visit to Holchester House.
CHAPTER THE FIFTY-SEVENTH.
THE END.
AT a few minutes before six o'clock that evening, Lord
Holchester's carriage brought Geoffrey and Anne back to the
cottage.
Geoffrey prevented the servant from ringing at the gate. He had
taken the key with him, when he left home earlier in the day.
Having admitted Anne, and having closed the gate again, he went
on before her to the kitchen window, and called to Hester
Dethridge.
"Take some cold water into the drawing-room and fill the vase on
the chimney-piece," he said. "The sooner you put those flowers
into water," he added, turning to his wife, "the longer they will
last."
He pointed, as he spoke, to a nosegay in Anne's hand, which
Julius had gathered for her from the conservatory at Holchester
House. Leaving her to arrange the flowers in the vase, he went up
stairs. After waiting for a moment, he was joined by Hester
Dethridge.
"Done?" he asked, in a whisper.
Hester made the affirmative sign.
Geoffrey took off his boots and led the way into the spare room.
They noiselessly moved the bed back to its place against the
partition wall--and left the room again. When Anne entered it,
some minutes afterward, not the slightest change of any kind was
visible since she had last seen it in the middle of the day.
She removed her bonnet and mantle, and sat down to rest.
The whole course of events, since the previous night, had tended
one way, and had exerted the same delusive influence over her
mind. It was impossible for her any longer to resist the
conviction that she had distrusted appearances without the
slightest reason, and that she had permitted purely visionary
suspicions to fill her with purely causeless alarm. In the firm
belief that she was in danger, she had watched through the
night--and nothing had happened. In the confident anticipation
that Geoffrey had promised what he was resolved not to perform,
she had waited to see what excuse he would find for keeping her
at the cottage. And, when the time came for the visit, she found
him ready to fulfill the engagement which he had made. At
Holchester House, not the slightest interference had been
attempted with her perfect liberty of action and speech. Resolved
to inform Sir Patrick that she had changed her room, she had
described the alarm of fire and the events which had succeeded
it, in the fullest detail--and had not been once checked by
Geoffrey from beginning to end. She had spoken in confidence to
Blanche, and had never been interrupted. Walking round the
conservatory, she had dropped behind the others with perfect
impunity, to say a grateful word to Sir Patrick, and to ask if
the interpretation that he placed on Geoffrey's conduct was
really the interpretation which had been hinted at by Blanche.
They had talked together for ten minutes or more. Sir Patrick had
assured her that Blanche had correctly represented his opinion.
He had declared his conviction that the rash way was, in her
case, the right way; and that she would do well (with his
assistance) to take the initiative, in the matter of the
separation, on herself. "As long as he can keep you under the
same roof with him"--Sir Patrick had said--"so long he will
speculate on our anxiety to release you from the oppression of
living with him; and so long he will hold out with his brother
(in the character of a penitent husband) for higher terms. Put
the signal in the window, and try the experiment to-night. Once
find your way to the garden door, and I answer for keeping you
safely out of his reach until he has submitted to the separation,
and has signed the deed." In those words he had urged Anne to
prompt action. He had received, in return, her promise to be
guided by his advice. She had gone back to the drawing-room; and
Geoffrey had made no remark on her absence. She had returned to
Fulham, alone with him in his brother's carriage; and he had
asked no questions. What was it natural, with her means of
judging, to infer from all this? Could she see into Sir Patrick's
mind and detect that he was deliberately concealing his own
conviction, in the fear that he might paralyze her energies if he
acknowledged the alarm for her that he really felt? No. She could
only accept the false appearances that surrounded her in the
disguise of truth. She could only adopt, in good faith, Sir
Patrick's assumed point of view, and believe, on the evidence of
her own observation, that Sir Patrick was right.
Toward dusk, Anne began to feel the exhaustion which was the
necessary result of a night passed without sleep. She rang her
bell, and asked for some tea.
Hester Dethridge answered the bell. Instead of making the usual
sign, she stood considering--and then wrote on her slate. These
were the words: "I have all the work to do, now the girl has
gone. If you would have your tea in the drawing-room, you would
save me another journey up stairs."
Anne at once engaged to comply with the request.
"Are you ill?" she asked; noticing, faint as the light now was,
something strangely altered in Hester's manner.
Without looking up, Hester shook her head.
"Has any thing happened to vex you?"
The negative sign was repeated.
"Have I offended you?"
She suddenly advanced a step, suddenly looked at Anne; checked
herself with a dull moan, like a moan of pain; and hurried out of
the room.
Concluding that she had inadvertently said, or done, something to
off
end Hester Dethridge, Anne determined to return to the subject
at the first favorable opportunity. In the mean time, she
descended to the ground-floor. The dining-room door, standing
wide open, showed her Geoffrey sitting at the table, writing a
letter--with the fatal brandy-bottle at his side.
After what Mr. Speedwell had told her, it was her duty to
interfere. She performed her duty, without an instant's
hesitation.
"Pardon me for interrupting you," she said. "I think you have
forgotten what Mr. Speedwell told you about that."
She pointed to the bottle. Geoffrey looked at it; looked down
again at his letter; and impatiently shook his head. She made a
second attempt at remonstrance--again without effect. He only
said, "All right!" in lower tones than were customary with him,
and continued his occupation. It was useless to court a third
repulse. Anne went into the drawing-room.
The letter on which he was engaged was an answer to Mrs. Glenarm,
who had written to tell him that she was leaving town. He had
reached his two concluding sentences when Anne spoke to him. They
ran as follows: "I may have news to bring you, before long, which
you don't look for. Stay where you are through to-morrow, and
wait to hear from me."
After sealing the envelope, he emptied his glass of brandy and
water; and waited, looking through the open door. When Hester
Dethridge crossed the passage with the tea-tray, and entered the
drawing-room, he gave the sign which had been agreed on. He rang
his bell. Hester came out again, closing the drawing-room door
behind her.
"Is she safe at her tea?" he asked, removing his heavy boots, and
putting on the slippers which were placed ready for him.
Hester bowed her head.
He pointed up the stairs. "You go first," he whispered. "No
nonsense! and no noise!"
She ascended the stairs. He followed slowly. Although he had only
drunk one glass of brandy and water, his step was uncertain
already. With one hand on the wall, and one hand on the banister,
he made his way to the top; stopped, and listened for a moment;
then joined Hester in his own room, and softly locked the door.
"Well?" he said.
She was standing motionless in the middle of the room--not like a
living woman--like a machine waiting to be set in movement.
Finding it useless to speak to her, he touched her (with a
strange sensation of shrinking in him as he did it), and pointed
to the partition wall.
The touch roused her. With slow step and vacant face--moving as
if she was walking in her sleep--she led the way to the papered
wall; knelt down at the skirting-board; and, taking out two small
sharp nails, lifted up a long strip of the paper which had been
detached from the plaster beneath. Mounting on a chair, she
turned back the strip and pinned it up, out of the way, using the
two nails, which she had kept ready in her hand.
By the last dim rays of twilight, Geoffrey looked at the wall.
A hollow space met his view. At a distance of some three feet
from the floor, the laths had been sawn away, and the plaster had
been ripped out, piecemeal, so as to leave a cavity, sufficient
in height and width to allow free power of working in any
direction, to a man's arms. The cavity completely pierced the
substance of the wall. Nothing but the paper on the other side
prevented eye or hand from penetrating into the next room.
Hester Dethridge got down from the chair, and made signs for a
light.
Geoffrey took a match from the box. The same strange uncertainty
which had already possessed his feet, appeared now to possess his
hands. He struck the match too heavily against the sandpaper, and
broke it. He tried another, and struck it too lightly to kindle
the flame. Hester took the box out of his hands. Having lit the
candle, she hel d it low, and pointed to the skirting-board.
Two little hooks were fixed into the floor, near the part of the
wall from which the paper had been removed. Two lengths of fine
and strong string were twisted once or twice round the hooks. The
loose ends of the string extending to some length beyond the
twisted parts, were neatly coiled away against the
skirting-board. The other ends, drawn tight, disappeared in two
small holes drilled through the wall, at a height of a foot from
the floor.
After first untwisting the strings from the hooks, Hester rose,
and held the candle so as to light the cavity in the wall. Two
more pieces of the fine string were seen here, resting loose upon
the uneven surface which marked the lower boundary of the
hollowed space. Lifting these higher strings, Hester lifted the
loosened paper in the next room--the lower strings, which had
previously held the strip firm and flat against the sound portion
of the wall, working in their holes, and allowing the paper to
move up freely. As it rose higher and higher, Geoffrey saw thin
strips of cotton wool lightly attached, at intervals, to the back
of the paper, so as effectually to prevent it from making a
grating sound against the wall. Up and up it came slowly, till it
could be pulled through the hollow space, and pinned up out of
the way, as the strip previously lifted had been pinned before
it. Hester drew back, and made way for Geoffrey to look through.
There was Anne's room, visible through the wall! He softly parted
the light curtains that hang over the bed. There was the pillow,
on which her head would rest at night, within reach of his hands!
The deadly dexterity of it struck him cold. His nerves gave way.
He drew back with a start of guilty fear, and looked round the
room. A pocket flask of brandy lay on the table at his bedside.
He snatched it up, and emptied it at a draught--and felt like
himself again.
He beckoned to Hester to approach him.
"Before we go any further," he said, "there's one thing I want to
know. How is it all to be put right again? Suppose this room is
examined? Those strings will show."
Hester opened a cupboard and produced a jar. She took out the
cork. There was a mixture inside which looked like glue. Partly
by signs, and partly by help of the slate, she showed how the
mixture could be applied to the back of the loosened strip of
paper in the next room--how the paper could be glued to the sound
lower part of the wall by tightening the strings--how the
strings, having served that purpose, could be safely removed--how
the same process could be followed in Geoffrey's room, after the
hollowed place had been filled up again with the materials
waiting in the scullery, or even without filling up the hollowed
place if the time failed for doing it. In either case, the
refastened paper would hide every thing, and the wall would tell
no tales.
Geoffrey was satisfied. He pointed next to the towels in his
room.
"Take one of them," he said, "and show me how you did it, with
y
our own hands."
As he said the words, Anne's voice reached his ear from below,
calling for "Mrs. Dethridge."
It was impossible to say what might happen next. In another
minute, she might go up to her room, and discover every thing.
Geoffrey pointed to the wall.
"Put it right again," he said. "Instantly!"
It was soon done. All that was necessary was to let the two
strips of paper drop back into their places--to fasten the strip
to the wall in Anne's room, by tightening the two lower
strings--and then to replace the nails which held the loose strip
on Geoffrey's side. In a minute, the wall had reassumed its
customary aspect.
They stole out, and looked over the stairs into the passage
below. After calling uselessly for the second time, Anne
appeared, crossed over to the kitchen; and, returning again with
the kettle in her hand, closed the drawing-room door.
Hester Dethridge waited impenetrably to receive her next
directions. There were no further directions to give. The hideous
dramatic representation of the woman's crime for which Geoffrey
had asked was in no respect necessary: the means were all
prepared, and the manner of using them was self-evident. Nothing
but the opportunity, and the resolution to profit by it, were
wanting to lead the way to the end. Geoffrey signed to Hester to
go down stairs.
"Get back into the kitchen," he said, "before she comes out
again. I shall keep in the garden. When she goes up into her room
for the night, show yourself at the back-door--and I shall know."
Hester set her foot on the first stair--stopped--turned
round--and looked slowly along the two walls of the passage, from
end to end--shuddered--shook her head--and went slowly on down
the stairs.
"What were you looking for?" he whispered after her.
She neither answered, nor looked back--she went her way into the
kitchen.
He waited a minute, and then followed her.
On his way out to the garden, he went into the dining-room. The
moon had risen; and the window-shutters were not closed. It was
easy to find the brandy and the jug of water on the table. He
mixed the two, and emptied the tumbler at a draught. "My head's
queer," he whispered to himself. He passed his handkerchief over
his face. "How infernally hot it is to-night!" He made for the
door. It was open, and plainly visible--and yet, he failed to
find his way to it. Twice, he found himself trying to walk
through the wall, on either side. The third time, he got out, and
reached the garden. A strange sensation possessed him, as he
walked round and round. He had not drunk enough, or nearly
enough, to intoxicate him. His mind, in a dull way, felt the same
as usual; but his body was like the body of a drunken man.
The night advanced; the clock of Putney Church struck ten.
Anne appeared again from the drawing room, with her bedroom
candle in her hand.
"Put out the lights," she said to Hester, at the kitchen door; "I
am going up stairs."
She entered her room. The insupportable sense of weariness, after
the sleepless night that she had passed, weighed more heavily on
her than ever. She locked her door, but forbore, on this
occasion, to fasten the bolts. The dread of danger was no longer
present to her mind; and there was this positive objection to
losing the bolts, that the unfastening of them would increase the
difficulty of leaving the room noiselessly later in the night.
She loosened her dress, and lifted her hair from her temples--and
paced to and fro in the room wearily, thinking. Geoffrey's habits
were irregular; Hester seldom went to bed early.
Two hours at least--more probably three--must pass, before it
would be safe to communicate with Sir Patrick by means of the
signal in the window. Her strength was fast failing her. If she
persisted, for the next three hours, in denying herself the