CHAPTER LXI. INSIDE THE ROOM.
A decent elderly woman was seated at the bedside. She rose, and spoketo Emily with a mingling of sorrow and confusion strikingly expressed onher face. "It isn't my fault," she said, "that Mrs. Rook receives you inthis manner; I am obliged to humor her."
She drew aside, and showed Mrs. Rook with her head supported by manypillows, and her face strangely hidden from view under a veil. Emilystarted back in horror. "Is her face injured?" she asked.
Mrs. Rook answered the question herself. Her voice was low and weak; butshe still spoke with the same nervous hurry of articulation which hadbeen remarked by Alban Morris, on the day when she asked him to directher to Netherwoods.
"Not exactly injured," she explained; "but one's appearance is amatter of some anxiety even on one's death-bed. I am disfigured by athoughtless use of water, to bring me to when I had my fall--and I can'tget at my toilet-things to put myself right again. I don't wish to shockyou. Please excuse the veil."
Emily remembered the rouge on her cheeks, and the dye on her hair,when they had first seen each other at the school. Vanity--of all humanfrailties the longest-lived--still held its firmly-rooted place inthis woman's nature; superior to torment of conscience, unassailable byterror of death!
The good woman of the house waited a moment before she left the room."What shall I say," she asked, "if the clergyman comes?"
Mrs. Rook lifted her hand solemnly "Say," she answered, "that a dyingsinner is making atonement for sin. Say this young lady is present, bythe decree of an all-wise Providence. No mortal creature must disturbus." Her hand dropped back heavily on the bed. "Are we alone?" sheasked.
"We are alone," Emily answered. "What made you scream just before I camein?"
"No! I can't allow you to remind me of that," Mrs. Rook protested. "Imust compose myself. Be quiet. Let me think."
Recovering her composure, she also recovered that sense of enjoymentin talking of herself, which was one of the marked peculiarities in hercharacter.
"You will excuse me if I exhibit religion," she resumed. "My dearparents were exemplary people; I was most carefully brought up. Are youpious? Let us hope so."
Emily was once more reminded of the past.
The bygone time returned to her memory--the time when she had acceptedSir Jervis Redwood's offer of employment, and when Mrs. Rook had arrivedat the school to be her traveling companion to the North. The wretchedcreature had entirely forgotten her own loose talk, after she haddrunk Miss Ladd's good wine to the last drop in the bottle. As she wasboasting now of her piety, so she had boasted then of her lost faith andhope, and had mockingly declared her free-thinking opinions to be theresult of her ill-assorted marriage. Forgotten--all forgotten, in thislater time of pain and fear. Prostrate under the dread of death, herinnermost nature--stripped of the concealments of her later life--wasrevealed to view. The early religious training, at which she hadscoffed in the insolence of health and strength, revealed its latentinfluence--intermitted, but a living influence always from first tolast. Mrs. Rook was tenderly mindful of her exemplary parents, and proudof exhibiting religion, on the bed from which she was never to riseagain.
"Did I tell you that I am a miserable sinner?" she asked, after aninterval of silence.
Emily could endure it no longer. "Say that to the clergyman," sheanswered--"not to me."
"Oh, but I must say it," Mrs. Rook insisted. "I _am_ a miserable sinner.Let me give you an instance of it," she continued, with a shamelessrelish of the memory of her own frailties. "I have been a drinker, inmy time. Anything was welcome, when the fit was on me, as long as it gotinto my head. Like other persons in liquor, I sometimes talked of thingsthat had better have been kept secret. We bore that in mind--my old manand I---when we were engaged by Sir Jervis. Miss Redwood wanted toput us in the next bedroom to hers--a risk not to be run. I might havetalked of the murder at the inn; and she might have heard me. Please toremark a curious thing. Whatever else I might let out, when I was in mycups, not a word about the pocketbook ever dropped from me. You will askhow I know it. My dear, I should have heard of it from my husband, if Ihad let _that_ out--and he is as much in the dark as you are. Wonderfulare the workings of the human mind, as the poet says; and drink drownscare, as the proverb says. But can drink deliver a person from fear byday, and fear by night? I believe, if I had dropped a word about thepocketbook, it would have sobered me in an instant. Have you any remarkto make on this curious circumstance?"
Thus far, Emily had allowed the woman to ramble on, in the hope ofgetting information which direct inquiry might fail to produce. It wasimpossible, however, to pass over the allusion to the pocketbook. Aftergiving her time to recover from the exhaustion which her heavy breathingsufficiently revealed, Emily put the question:
"Who did the pocketbook belong to?"
"Wait a little," said Mrs. Rook. "Everything in its right place, is mymotto. I mustn't begin with the pocketbook. Why did I begin with it? Doyou think this veil on my face confuses me? Suppose I take it off. Butyou must promise first--solemnly promise you won't look at my face. Howcan I tell you about the murder (the murder is part of my confession,you know), with this lace tickling my skin? Go away--and stand therewith your back to me. Thank you. Now I'll take it off. Ha! the airfeels refreshing; I know what I am about. Good heavens, I have forgottensomething! I have forgotten _him_. And after such a fright as he gaveme! Did you see him on the landing?"
"Who are you talking of?" Emily asked.
Mrs. Rook's failing voice sank lower still.
"Come closer," she said, "this must be whispered. Who am I talking of?"she repeated. "I am talking of the man who slept in the other bed atthe inn; the man who did the deed with his own razor. He was gone when Ilooked into the outhouse in the gray of the morning. Oh, I have done myduty! I have told Mr. Rook to keep an eye on him downstairs. You haven'tan idea how obstinate and stupid my husband is. He says I couldn't knowthe man, because I didn't see him. Ha! there's such a thing as hearing,when you don't see. I heard--and I knew it again."
Emily turned cold from head to foot.
"What did you know again?" she said.
"His voice," Mrs. Rook answered. "I'll swear to his voice before all thejudges in England."
Emily rushed to the bed. She looked at the woman who had said thosedreadful words, speechless with horror.
"You're breaking your promise!" cried Mrs. Rook. "You false girl, you'rebreaking your promise!"
She snatched at the veil, and put it on again. The sight of her face,momentary as it had been, reassured Emily. Her wild eyes, made wilderstill by the blurred stains of rouge below them, half washed away--herdisheveled hair, with streaks of gray showing through the dye--presenteda spectacle which would have been grotesque under other circumstances,but which now reminded Emily of Mr. Rook's last words; warning her notto believe what his wife said, and even declaring his conviction thather intellect was deranged. Emily drew back from the bed, consciousof an overpowering sense of self-reproach. Although it was only for amoment, she had allowed her faith in Mirabel to be shaken by a woman whowas out of her mind.
"Try to forgive me," she said. "I didn't willfully break my promise; youfrightened me."
Mrs. Rook began to cry. "I was a handsome woman in my time," shemurmured. "You would say I was handsome still, if the clumsy fools aboutme had not spoiled my appearance. Oh, I do feel so weak! Where's mymedicine?"
The bottle was on the table. Emily gave her the prescribed dose, andrevived her failing strength.
"I am an extraordinary person," she resumed. "My resolution has alwaysbeen the admiration of every one who knew me. But my mind feels--howshall I express it?--a little vacant. Have mercy on my poor wicked soul!Help me."
"How can I help you?"
"I want to recollect. Something happened in the summer time, when wewere talking at Netherwoods. I mean when that impudent master at theschool showed his suspicions of me. (Lord! how he frightened me, when heturned up afterward at Sir Jervis's h
ouse.) You must have seen yourselfhe suspected me. How did he show it?"
"He showed you my locket," Emily answered.
"Oh, the horrid reminder of the murder!" Mrs. Rook exclaimed. "_I_didn't mention it: don't blame Me. You poor innocent, I have somethingdreadful to tell you."
Emily's horror of the woman forced her to speak. "Don't tell me!" shecried. "I know more than you suppose; I know what I was ignorant of whenyou saw the locket."
Mrs. Rook took offense at the interruption.
"Clever as you are, there's one thing you don't know," she said. "Youasked me, just now, who the pocketbook belonged to. It belonged to yourfather. What's the matter? Are you crying?"
Emily was thinking of her father. The pocketbook was the last presentshe had given to him--a present on his birthday. "Is it lost?" she askedsadly.
"No; it's not lost. You will hear more of it directly. Dry your eyes,and expect something interesting--I'm going to talk about love. Love,my dear, means myself. Why shouldn't it? I'm not the only nice-lookingwoman, married to an old man, who has had a lover."
"Wretch! what has that got to do with it?"
"Everything, you rude girl! My lover was like the rest of them; he wouldbet on race-horses, and he lost. He owned it to me, on the day when yourfather came to our inn. He said, 'I must find the money--or be off toAmerica, and say good-by forever.' I was fool enough to be fond of him.It broke my heart to hear him talk in that way. I said, 'If I find themoney, and more than the money, will you take me with you wherever yougo?' Of course, he said Yes. I suppose you have heard of the inquestheld at our old place by the coroner and jury? Oh, what idiots! Theybelieved I was asleep on the night of the murder. I never closed myeyes--I was so miserable, I was so tempted."
"Tempted? What tempted you?"
"Do you think I had any money to spare? Your father's pocketbook temptedme. I had seen him open it, to pay his bill over-night. It was full ofbank-notes. Oh, what an overpowering thing love is! Perhaps you haveknown it yourself."
Emily's indignation once more got the better of her prudence. "Have youno feeling of decency on your death-bed!" she said.
Mrs. Rook forgot her piety; she was ready with an impudent rejoinder."You hot-headed little woman, your time will come," she answered. "Butyou're right--I am wandering from the point; I am not sufficientlysensible of this solemn occasion. By-the-by, do you notice my language?I inherit correct English from my mother--a cultivated person, whomarried beneath her. My paternal grandfather was a gentleman. Did I tellyou that there came a time, on that dreadful night, when I could stay inbed no longer? The pocketbook--I did nothing but think of that devilishpocketbook, full of bank-notes. My husband was fast asleep all the time.I got a chair and stood on it. I looked into the place where the two menwere sleeping, through the glass in the top of the door. Your fatherwas awake; he was walking up and down the room. What do you say? Was heagitated? I didn't notice. I don't know whether the other man was asleepor awake. I saw nothing but the pocketbook stuck under the pillow, halfin and half out. Your father kept on walking up and down. I thought tomyself, 'I'll wait till he gets tired, and then I'll have another lookat the pocketbook.' Where's the wine? The doctor said I might have aglass of wine when I wanted it."
Emily found the wine and gave it to her. She shuddered as sheaccidentally touched Mrs. Rook's hand.
The wine helped the sinking woman.
"I must have got up more than once," she resumed. "And more than once myheart must have failed me. I don't clearly remember what I did, till thegray of the morning came. I think that must have been the last time Ilooked through the glass in the door."
She began to tremble. She tore the veil off her face. She cried outpiteously, "Lord, be merciful to me a sinner! Come here," she said toEmily. "Where are you? No! I daren't tell you what I saw; I daren't tellyou what I did. When you're pos sessed by the devil, there's nothing,nothing, nothing you can't do! Where did I find the courage to unlockthe door? Where did I find the courage to go in? Any other woman wouldhave lost her senses, when she found blood on her fingers after takingthe pocketbook--"
Emily's head swam; her heart beat furiously--she staggered to the door,and opened it to escape from the room.
"I'm guilty of robbing him; but I'm innocent of his blood!" Mrs. Rookcalled after her wildly. "The deed was done--the yard door was wideopen, and the man was gone--when I looked in for the last time. Comeback, come back!"
Emily looked round.
"I can't go near you," she said, faintly.
"Come near enough to see this."
She opened her bed-gown at the throat, and drew up a loop of ribbon overher head. 'The pocketbook was attached to the ribbon. She held it out.
"Your father's book," she said. "Won't you take your father's book?"
For a moment, and only for a moment, Emily was repelled by theprofanation associated with her birthday gift. Then, the lovingremembrance of the dear hands that had so often touched that relic,drew the faithful daughter back to the woman whom she abhorred. Her eyesrested tenderly on the book. Before it had lain in that guilty bosom,it had been _his_ book. The beloved memory was all that was left to hernow; the beloved memory consecrated it to her hand. She took the book.
"Open it," said Mrs. Rook.
There were two five-pound bank-notes in it.
"His?" Emily asked.
"No; mine--the little I have been able to save toward restoring what Istole."
"Oh!" Emily cried, "is there some good in this woman, after all?"
"There's no good in the woman!" Mrs. Rook answered desperately. "There'snothing but fear--fear of hell now; fear of the pocketbook in the pasttime. Twice I tried to destroy it--and twice it came back, to remind meof the duty that I owed to my miserable soul. I tried to throw it intothe fire. It struck the bar, and fell back into the fender at my feet.I went out, and cast it into the well. It came back again in the firstbucket of water that was drawn up. From that moment, I began to savewhat I could. Restitution! Atonement! I tell you the book found atongue--and those were the grand words it dinned in my ears, morning andnight." She stooped to fetch her breath--stopped, and struck her bosom."I hid it here, so that no person should see it, and no person take itfrom me. Superstition? Oh, yes, superstition! Shall tell you something?_You_ may find yourself superstitious, if you are ever cut to the heartas I was. He left me! The man I had disgraced myself for, deserted me onthe day when I gave him the stolen money. He suspected it was stolen; hetook care of his own cowardly self--and left me to the hard mercy of thelaw, if the theft was found out. What do you call that, in the wayof punishment? Haven't I suffered? Haven't I made atonement? Be aChristian--say you forgive me."
"I do forgive you."
"Say you will pray for me."
"I will."
"Ah! that comforts me! Now you can go."
Emily looked at her imploringly. "Don't send me away, knowing no moreof the murder than I knew when I came here! Is there nothing, reallynothing, you can tell me?"
Mrs. Rook pointed to the door.
"Haven't I told you already? Go downstairs, and see the wretch whoescaped in the dawn of the morning!"
"Gently, ma'am, gently! You're talking too loud," cried a mocking voicefrom outside.
"It's only the doctor," said Mrs. Rook. She crossed her hands over herbosom with a deep-drawn sigh. "I want no doctor, now. My peace is madewith my Maker. I'm ready for death; I'm fit for Heaven. Go away! goaway!"