THE postmark and the handwriting on the address (admirably imitated from
the original) warned Mrs. Lecount of the contents of the letter before
she opened it.
After waiting a moment to compose herself, she read the announcement of
her brother's relapse.
There was nothing in the handwriting, there was no expression in
any part of the letter which could suggest to her mind the faintest
suspicion of foul play. Not the shadow of a doubt occurred to her that
the summons to her brother's bedside was genuine. The hand that held
the letter dropped heavily into her lap; she became pale, and old, and
haggard in a moment. Thoughts, far removed from her present aims and
interests; remembrances that carried her back to other lands than
England, to other times than the time of her life in service, prolonged
their inner shadows to the surface, and showed the traces of their
mysterious passage darkly on her face. The minutes followed each other,
and still the servant below stairs waited vainly for the parlor bell.
The minutes followed each other, and still she sat, tearless and quiet,
dead to the present and the future, living in the past.
The entrance of the servant, uncalled, roused her. With a heavy sigh,
the cold and secret woman folded the letter up again and addressed
herself to the interests and the duties of the passing time.
She decided the question of going or not going to Zurich, after a
very brief consideration of it. Before she had drawn her chair to the
breakfast-table she had resolved to go.
Admirably as Captain Wragge's stratagem had worked, it might have
failed--unassisted by the occurrence of the morning--to achieve this
result. The very accident against which it had been the captain's chief
anxiety to guard--the accident which had just taken place in spite of
him--was, of all the events that could have happened, the one event
which falsified every previous calculation, by directly forwarding the
main purpose of the conspiracy! If Mrs. Lecount had not obtained the
information of which she was in search before the receipt of the letter
from Zurich, the letter might have addressed her in vain. She would have
hesitated before deciding to leave England, and that hesitation might
have proved fatal to the captain's scheme.
As it was, with the plain proofs in her possession, with the gown
discovered in Magdalen's wardrobe, with the piece cut out of it in her
own pocketbook, and with the knowledge, obtained from Mrs. Wragge, of
the very house in which the disguise had been put on, Mrs. Lecount had
now at her command the means of warning Noel Vanstone as she had never
been able to warn him yet, or, in other words, the means of guarding
against any dangerous tendencies toward reconciliation with the Bygraves
which might otherwise have entered his mind during her absence at
Zurich. The only difficulty which now perplexed her was the difficulty
of deciding whether she should communicate with her master personally or
by writing, before her departure from England.
She looked again at the doctor's letter. The word "instantly," in the
sentence which summoned her to her dying brother, was twice underlined.
Admiral Bartram's house was at some distance from the railway; the time
consumed in driving to St. Crux, and driving back again, might be time
fatally lost on the journey to Zurich. Although she would infinitely
have preferred a personal interview with Noel Vanstone, there was no
choice on a matter of life and death but to save the precious hours by
writing to him.
After sending to secure a place at once in the early coach, she sat down
to write to her master.
Her first thought was to tell him all that had happened at North
Shingles that morning. On reflection, however, she rejected the idea.
Once already (in copying the personal description from Miss Garth's
letter) she had trusted her weapons in her master's hands, and Mr.
Bygrave had contrived to turn them against her. She resolved this time
to keep them strictly in her own possession. The secret of the missing
fragment of the Alpaca dress was known to no living creature but
herself; and, until her return to England, she determined to keep it to
herself. The necessary impression might be produced on Noel Vanstone's
mind without venturing into details. She knew by experience the form of
letter which might be trusted to produce an effect on him, and she now
wrote it in these words:
"DEAR MR. NOEL--Sad news has reached me from Switzerland. My beloved
brother is dying and his medical attendant summons me instantly to
Zurich. The serious necessity of availing myself of the earliest means
of conveyance to the Continent leaves me but one alternative. I must
profit by the permission to leave England, if necessary, which you
kindly granted to me at the beginning of my brother's illness, and I
must avoid all delay by going straight to London, instead of turning
aside, as I should have liked, to see you first at St. Crux.
"Painfully as I am affected by the family calamity which has fallen
on me, I cannot let this opportunity pass without adverting to another
subject which seriously concerns your welfare, and in which (on that
account) your old housekeeper feels the deepest interest.
"I am going to surprise and shock you, Mr. Noel. Pray don't be agitated!
pray compose yourself!
"The impudent attempt to cheat you, which has happily opened your eyes
to the true character of our neighbors at North Shingles, was not
the only object which Mr. Bygrave had in forcing himself on your
acquaintance. The infamous conspiracy with which you were threatened
in London has been in full progress against you under Mr. Bygrave's
direction, at Aldborough. Accident--I will tell you what accident when
we meet--has put me in possession of information precious to your
future security. I have discovered, to an absolute certainty, that
the person calling herself Miss Bygrave is no other than the woman who
visited us in disguise at Vauxhall Walk.
"I suspected this from the first, but I had no evidence to support my
suspicions; I had no means of combating the false impression produced
on you. My hands, I thank Heaven, are tied no longer. I possess absolute
proof of the assertion that I have just made--proof that your own eyes
can see--proof that would satisfy you, if you were judge in a Court of
Justice.
"Perhaps even yet, Mr. Noel, you will refuse to believe me? Be it so.
Believe me or not, I have one last favor to ask, which your English
sense of fair play will not deny me.
"This melancholy journey of mine will keep me away from England for a
fortnight, or, at most, for three weeks. You will oblige me--and you
will certainly not sacrifice your own convenience and pleasure--by
staying through that interval with your friends at St. Crux. If, before
my return, some unexpected circumstance throws you once more into the
company of the Bygraves, and if your natural kindness of heart inclines
you to receive the excuses which they will, in that case, certainly
address to you, place one trifling restraint on yourself, for your own
sake, if not for mine. Suspend your flirtation with the young lady
(I beg pardon of all other young ladies for calling her so!) until my
return. If, when I come back, I fail to prove to you that Miss Bygrave
is the woman who wore that disguise, and used those threatening words,
in Vauxhall Wall, I will engage to leave your service at a day's
notice; and I will atone for the sin of bearing false witness against my
neighbor by resigning every claim I have to your grateful remembrance,
on your father's account as well as on your own. I make this engagement
without reserves of any kind; and I promise to abide by it--if my proofs
fail--on the faith of a good Catholic, and the word of an honest woman.
Your faithful servant,
"VIRGINIE LECOUNT."
The closing sentences of this letter--as the housekeeper well knew when
she wrote them--embodied the one appeal to Noel Vanstone which could be
certainly trusted to produce a deep and lasting effect. She might have
staked her oath, her life, or her reputation, on proving the assertion
which she had made, and have failed to leave a permanent impression on
his mind. But when she staked not only her position in his service, but
her pecuniary claims on him as well, she at once absorbed the ruling
passion of his life in expectation of the result. There was not a doubt
of it, in the strongest of all his interests--the interest of saving his
money--he would wait.
"Checkmate for Mr. Bygrave!" thought Mrs. Lecount, as she sealed and
directed the letter. "The battle is over--the game is played out."
While Mrs. Lecount was providing for her master's future security at Sea
View, events were in full progress at North Shingles.
As soon as Captain Wragge recovered his astonishment at the
housekeeper's appearance on his own premises, he hurried into the house,
and, guided by his own forebodings of the disaster that had happened,
made straight for his wife's room.
Never, in all her former experience, had poor Mrs. Wragge felt the full
weight of the captain's indignation as she felt it now. All the little
intelligence she naturally possessed vanished at once in the whirlwind
of her husband's rage. The only plain facts which he could extract from
her were two in number. In the first place, Magdalen's rash desertion
of her post proved to have no better reason to excuse it than Magdalen's
incorrigible impatience: she had passed a sleepless night; she had
risen feverish and wretched; and she had gone out, reckless of all
consequences, to cool her burning head in the fresh air. In the second
place, Mrs. Wragge had, on her own confession, seen Mrs. Lecount, had
talked with Mrs. Lecount, and had ended by telling Mrs. Lecount the
story of the ghost. Having made these discoveries, Captain Wragge wasted
no time in contending with his wife's terror and confusion. He withdrew
at once to a window which commanded an uninterrupted prospect of Noel
Vanstone's house, and there established himself on the watch for events
at Sea View, precisely as Mrs. Lecount had established herself on the
watch for events at North Shingles.
Not a word of comment on the disaster of the morning escaped him when
Magdalen returned and found him at his post. His flow of language seemed
at last to have run dry. "I told you what Mrs. Wragge would do," he
said, "and Mrs. Wragge has done it." He sat unflinchingly at the window
with a patience which Mrs. Lecount herself could not have surpassed. The
one active proceeding in which he seemed to think it necessary to engage
was performed by deputy. He sent the servant to the inn to hire a chaise
and a fast horse, and to say that he would call himself before noon that
day and tell the hostler when the vehicle would be wanted. Not a sign of
impatience escaped him until the time drew near for the departure of the
early coach. Then the captain's curly lips began to twitch with anxiety,
and the captain's restless fingers beat the devil's tattoo unremittingly
on the window-pane.
The coach appeared at last, and drew up at Sea View. In a minute
more, Captain Wragge's own observation informed him that one among the
passengers who left Aldborough that morning was--Mrs. Lecount.
The main uncertainty disposed of, a serious question--suggested by
the events of the morning--still remained to be solved. Which was the
destined end of Mrs. Lecount's journey--Zurich or St. Crux? That she
would certainly inform her master of Mrs. Wragge's ghost story, and of
every other disclosure in relation to names and places which might have
escaped Mrs. Wragge's lips, was beyond all doubt. But of the two ways at
her disposal of doing the mischief--either personally or by letter--it
was vitally important to the captain to know which she had chosen. If
she had gone to the admiral's, no choice would be left him but to follow
the coach, to catch the train by which she traveled, and to outstrip her
afterward on the drive from the station in Essex to St. Crux. If, on the
contrary, she had been contented with writing to her master, it would
only be necessary to devise measures for intercepting the letter.
The captain decided on going to the post-office, in the first place.
Assuming that the housekeeper had written, she would not have left the
letter at the mercy of the servant--she would have seen it safely in the
letter-box before leaving Aldborough.
"Good-morning," said the captain, cheerfully addressing the postmaster.
"I am Mr. Bygrave of North Shingles. I think you have a letter in the
box, addressed to Mr.--?"
The postmaster was a short man, and consequently a man with a proper
idea of his own importance. He solemnly checked Captain Wragge in full
career.
"When a letter is once posted, sir," he said, "nobody out of the office
has any business with it until it reaches its address."
The captain was not a man to be daunted, even by a postmaster. A bright
idea struck him. He took out his pocketbook, in which Admiral Bartram's
address was written, and returned to the charge.
"Suppose a letter has been wrongly directed by mistake?" he began. "And
suppose the writer wants to correct the error after the letter is put
into the box?"
"When a letter is once posted, sir," reiterated the impenetrable
local authority, "nobody out of the office touches it on any pretense
whatever."
"Granted, with all my heart," persisted the captain. "I don't want to
touch it--I only want to explain myself. A lady has posted a letter
here, addressed to 'Noel Vanstone, Esq., Admiral Bartram's, St.
Crux-in-the-Marsh, Essex.' She wrote in a great hurry, and she is not
quite certain whether she added the name of the post-town, 'Ossory.' It
is of the last importance that the delivery of the letter should not be
delayed. What is to hinder your facilitating the post-office work, and
obliging a lady, by adding the name of the post-town (if it happens to
be left out), with your own hand? I put it to you as a zealous officer,
what possible objection can there be to granting my request?"
The postmaster was compelled to acknowledge that there could be no
objection, provided nothing but a necessary line was added to the
address, provided nobody touched the letter but himself, and provided
the precious time of the post-office was not suffered to run to waste.
As there happened to be nothing particular to do at that moment, he
would readily oblige the lady at Mr. Bygrave's request.
Captain Wragge watched the postmaster's hands, as they sorted the
letters in the box, with breathless eagerness. Was the letter there?
Would the hands of the zealous public servant suddenly stop? Yes! They
stopped, and picked out a letter from the rest.
"'Noel Vanstone, Esquire,' did you say?" asked the postmaster, keeping
the letter in his own hand.
"'Noel Vanstone, Esquire,'" replied the captain, "'Admiral Bartram's,
St. Crux-in-the-Marsh.'"
"Ossory, Essex," chimed in the postmaster, throwing the letter back
into the box. "The lady has made no mistake, sir. The address is quite
right."
Nothing but a timely consideration of the heavy debt he owed to
appearances prevented Captain Wragge from throwing his tall white hat up
in the air as soon as he found the street once more. All further doubt
was now at an end. Mrs. Lecount had written to her master--therefore
Mrs. Lecount was on her way to Zurich!
With his head higher than ever, with the tails of his respectable
frock-coat floating behind him in the breeze, with his bosom's native
impudence sitting lightly on its throne, the captain strutted to the inn
and called for the railway time-table. After making certain calculations
(in black and white, as a matter of course), he ordered his chaise to
be ready in an hour--so as to reach the railway in time for the
second train running to London--with which there happened to be no
communication from Aldborough by coach.
His next proceeding was of a far more serious kind; his next proceeding
implied a terrible certainty of success. The day of the week was
Thursday. From the inn he went to the church, saw the clerk, and gave
the necessary notice for a marriage by license on the following Monday.
Bold as he was, his nerves were a little shaken by this last
achievement; his hand trembled as it lifted the latch of the garden
gate. He doctored his nerves with brandy and water before he sent
for Magdalen to inform her of the proceedings of the morning. Another
outbreak might reasonably be expected when she heard that the last
irrevocable step had been taken, and that notice had been given of the
wedding-day.
The captain's watch warned him to lose no time in emptying his glass. In
a few minutes he sent the necessary message upstairs. While waiting for
Magdalen's appearance, he provided himself with certain materials which
were now necessary to carry the enterprise to its crowning point. In the
first place, he wrote his assumed name (by no means in so fine a hand as
usual) on a blank visiting-card, and added underneath these words: "Not
a moment is to be lost. I am waiting for you at the door--come down to
me directly." His next proceeding was to take some half-dozen envelopes
out of the case, and to direct them all alike to the following address:
"Thomas Bygrave, Esq., Mussared's Hotel, Salisbury Street, Strand,
London." After carefully placing the envelopes and the card in his
breast-pocket, he shut up the desk. As he rose from the writing-table,
Magdalen came into the room.
The captain took a moment to decide on the best method of opening the
interview, and determined, in his own phrase, to dash at it. In two
words he told Magdalen what had happened, and informed her that Monday
was to be her wedding-day.
He was prepared to quiet her, if she burst into a frenzy of passion; to
reason with her, if she begged for time; to sympathize with her, if she
melted into tears. To his inexpressible surprise, results falsified
all his calculations. She heard him without uttering a word, without
shedding a tear. When he had done, she dropped into a chair. Her large
gray eyes stared at him vacantly. In one mysterious instant all her
beauty left her; her face stiffened awfully, like the face of a
corpse. For the first time in the captain's experience of her,
fear--all-mastering fear--had taken possession of her, body and soul.
"You are not flinching," he said, trying to rouse her. "Surely you are
not flinching at the last moment?"
No light of intelligence came into her eyes, no change passed over her
face. But she heard him--for she moved a little in the chair, and slowly
shook her head.
"You planned this marriage of your own freewill," pursued the captain,
with the furtive look and the faltering voice of a man ill at ease. "It
was your own idea--not mine. I won't have the responsibility laid on
my shoulders--no! not for twice two hundred pounds. If your resolution
fails you; if you think better of it--?"
He stopped. Her face was changing; her lips were moving at last. She
slowly raised her left hand, with the fingers outspread; she looked at
it as if it was a hand that was strange to her; she counted the days on
it, the days before the marriage.
"Friday, one," she whispered to herself; "Saturday, two; Sunday, three;
Monday--" Her hands dropped into her lap, her face stiffened again; the
deadly fear fastened its paralyzing hold on her once more, and the next
words died away on her lips.
Captain Wragge took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"Damn the two hundred pounds!" he said. "Two thousand wouldn't pay me
for this!"
He put the handkerchief back, took the envelopes which he had addressed
to himself out of his pocket, and, approaching her closely for the first
time, laid his hand on her arm.
"Rouse yourself," he said, "I have a last word to say to you. Can you
listen?"
She struggled, and roused herself--a faint tinge of color stole over her
white cheeks--she bowed her head.
"Look at these," pursued Captain Wragge, holding up the envelopes. "If
I turn these to the use for which they have been written, Mrs. Lecount's
master will never receive Mrs. Lecount's letter. If I tear them up, he
will know by to-morrow's post that you are the woman who visited him in
Vauxhall Walk. Say the word! Shall I tear the envelopes up, or shall I
put them back in my pocket?"
There was a pause of dead silence. The murmur of the summer waves on the
shingle of the beach and the voices of the summer idlers on the Parade
floated through the open window, and filled the empty stillness of the
room.
She raised her head; she lifted her hand and pointed steadily to the
envelopes.
"Put them back," she said.
"Do you mean it?" he asked.
"I mean it."
As she gave that answer, there was a sound of wheels on the road
outside.
"You hear those wheels?" said Captain Wragge.
"I hear them."
"You see the chaise?" said the captain, pointing through the window as
the chaise which had been ordered from the inn made its appearance at
the garden gate.
"I see it."
"And, of your own free-will, you tell me to go?"
"Yes. Go!"
Without another word he left her. The servant was waiting at the door
with his traveling bag. "Miss Bygrave is not well," he said. "Tell your
mistress to go to her in the parlor."
He stepped into the chaise, and started on the first stage of the
journey to St. Crux.