Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 (11 page)

 
          
“The lady in black not Diana.
On another
scent now.
If that fails, home at night.”

 
          
No
one knew how much they leaned upon this hope, until it failed and all was
uncertainty again. Harry searched house, garden, park, and riverside, but found
no trace of the lost girl beyond the point where her footprints ended on the
hard gravel of the road. So the long afternoon wore on, and at dusk the
gentlemen returned, haggard, wet, and weary, bringing no tidings of good cheer.
The lady in black proved to be a handsome young governess, called suddenly to
town by her father’s dangerous illness. The second search was equally
fruitless, and nowhere had Diana been seen.

           
Their despondent story was scarcely
ended when the bell rang. Every servant in the house sprang to answer it, and
every occupant of the drawing room listened breathlessly. A short parley
followed the ring; then an astonished footman showed in a little farmer lad,
with a bundle under his arm.

 
          
“He
wants to see my lady, and would come in,” said the man, lingering, as all eyes
were fixed on the newcomer.

 
          
The
boy looked important, excited, and frightened, but when Lady Lennox bade him to
do his errand without fear, he spoke up briskly, though his voice shook a
little, and he now and then gave a nervous clutch at the bundle under his arm.

 
          
“Please,
my lady, Mother told me to come up as soon as ever I got home, so I ran off
right away, knowing you’d be glad to hear something, even if it weren’t good.”

 
          
“Something
about Miss Stuart, you mean?”

 
          
“Yes,
my lady, I know where she is.”

 
          
“Where?
Speak
quickly,
you shall be
paid for your tidings.”

 
          
“In
that pit, my lady,” and the boy began to cry.

 
          
“No!”

 
          
Douglas
spoke, and turned on the lad a face that
stopped his crying, and sent the words to his lips faster than he could utter
them, so full of mute entreaty was its glance of anguish.

 
          
“You
see, sir, I was here this
noon
, and heard about it. Mrs. Mason’s dream
scared me, because my brother was drowned in the pit. I couldn’t help thinking
of it all the afternoon, and when work was done, I went home that way. The
first thing I saw were tracks in the red clay, coming from the lodge way. The
pit has overflowed and made a big pool, but just where it’s deepest, the tracks
stopped, and there I found these.”

 
          
With
a sudden gesture of the arm, he shook out the bundle; a torn mantle, heavily
trimmed, and a crushed crepe bonnet dropped upon the floor. Lady Lennox sank
back in her chair, and George covered up his face with a groan; but Earl stood
motionless, and Mrs. Vane looked as if the sight of these relics had confirmed
some wordless fear.

 
          
“Perhaps
she is not there, however,” she said below her breath. “She may have wandered
on and lost herself. Oh, let us look!”

 
          
“She
is there, ma’am, I see her sperrit,” and the boy’s eyes dilated as they glanced
fearfully about him while he spoke. “I was awful scared when I see them things,
but she was good to me, and I loved her, so I took ’em up and went on round the
pool, meaning to strike off by the great ditch. Just as I got to the bit of
brush that grows down by the old clay pits, something flew right up before me,
something like a woman, all black but a white face and arms. It gave a strange
screech, and seemed to go out of sight all in a minute, like as if it vanished
in the pits. I know it warn’t a real woman, it flew so, and looked so awful
when it wailed, as Granny says the sperrits do.”

 
          
The
boy paused, till
Douglas
beckoned solemnly, and left the room with
the one word “Come.”

 
          
The
brothers went, the lad followed, Mrs.
Vane hid
her
face in Lady Lennox’s lap, and neither stirred nor spoke for one long dreadful
hour.

 
          
“They
are coming,” whispered Mrs. Vane, when at length her quick ear caught the sound
of many approaching feet. Slowly, steadily they came on, across the lawn, up
the steps through the hall; then there was a pause.

 
          
“Go
and see if she is found, I cannot,” implored Lady Lennox, spent and trembling
with the long suspense.

 
          
There
was no need to go, for as she spoke, the wail of women’s voices filled the air,
and
Lennox
stood in the doorway with a face that made
all question needless.

 
          
He
beckoned, and Mrs. Vane went to him as if her feet could hardly bear her, while
her face might have been that of a dead woman, so white and stony had it grown.
Drawing her outside, he said, “My mother must not see her yet. Mrs. Mason can
do all that is necessary, if you will give her orders, and spare my mother the
first sad duties.
Douglas
bade me come for you, for you are always
ready.”

 
          
“I
will come; where is she?”

 
          
“In the library.
Send the servants away, in pity to poor
Earl. Harry can’t bear it, and it kills me to see her look so.”

 
          
“You
found her there?”

 
          
“Yes,
quite underneath the deepest water of the pool. That dream was surely sent by
heaven. Are you faint? Can you bear it?”

 
          
“I
can bear anything. Go on.”

 
          
Poor
Diana! There she lay, a piteous sight, with stained and dripping garments,
slimy weeds entangled in her long hair, a look of mortal woe stamped on her
dead face, for the blue lips were parted, as if by the passage of the last
painful breath, and the glassy eyes seemed fixed imploringly upon some stern
specter, darker and more dreadful even than the most desperate death she had
sought and found.

 
          
A
group of awestricken men and sobbing women stood about her. Harry leaned upon
the high arm of the couch where they had laid her, with his head down upon his
arm, struggling to control himself, for he had loved her with a boy’s first
love, and the horror of her end unmanned him.
Douglas
sat at the head of the couch, holding the
dead hand, and looking at her with a white tearless anguish, which made his
face old and haggard, as with the passage of long and heavy years.

 
          
With
an air of quiet command, and eyes that never once fell on the dead girl, Mrs.
Vane gave a few necessary orders, which cleared the room of all but the
gentlemen and
herself
. Laying her hand softly on
Earl’s shoulder, she said, in a tone of tenderest compassion, “Come with me,
and let my try to comfort you, while George and Harry take the poor girl to her
room, that these sad tokens of her end may be removed, and she made beautiful
for the eyes of those who loved her.”

 
          
He
heard, but did not answer in words, for waving off the brothers, Earl took his
dead love in his arms, and carrying her to her own room, laid her down
tenderly, kissed her pale forehead with one lingering kiss, and then without a
word shut himself into his own apartment.

 
          
Mrs.
Vane watched him go with a dark glance, followed him upstairs, and when his
door closed, muttered low to
herself
, “He loved her
better than I knew, but she has made my task easier than I dared to hope it
would be, and now I can soon teach him to forget.”

 
          
A
strange smile passed across her face as she spoke, and still, without a glance
at the dead face, left the chamber for her own, whither Jitomar was soon
summoned, and where he long remained.

THE FOOTPRINT BY THE POOL

 
          
THREE
sad and solemn days had passed, and now the house was still again. Mr. Berkeley
had removed his wife, and the remains of his niece, and
Lennox
had gone with him. Mrs. Vane devoted
herself to her hostess, who had been much affected by the shock, and to Harry,
who was almost ill with the excitement and the sorrow.
Douglas
had hardly been seen except by his own
servant, who reported that he was very quiet, but in a stern and bitter mood,
which made solitude his best comforter. Only twice had he emerged during those
troubled days. Once, when Mrs. Vane’s sweet voice came up from below singing a sacred
melody in the twilight, he came out and paced to and fro in the long gallery,
with a softer expression than his face had worn since the night of Diana’s
passionate farewell. The second time was in answer to a tap at his door, on
opening which he saw Jitomar, who with the graceful reverence of his race, bent
on one knee, as with dark eyes full of sympathy, he delivered a lovely bouquet
of the flowers Diana most loved, and oftenest wore. The first tears that had
been seen there softened Earl’s melancholy eyes, as he took the odorous gift,
and with a grateful impulse stretched his hand to the giver. But Jitomar drew
back with a gesture which signified that his mistress sent the offering, and
glided away.
Douglas
went straight to the drawing room, found Mrs.
Vane alone, and inexpressibly touched by her tender thought of him, he thanked
her warmly, let her detain him for an hour with her soothing conversation, and
left her, feeling that comfort was possible when such an angel administered it.

 
          
On
the third day, impelled by an unconquerable wish to revisit the lonely spot
hereafter, and forever to be haunted by the memory of that tragic death, he
stole out, unperceived, and took his way to the pool. It lay there dark and
still under a gloomy sky, its banks trampled by many hasty feet; and in one
spot the red clay still bore the impress of the pale shape drawn from the water
on that memorable night. As he stood there, he remembered the lad’s story of
the spirit which he believed he had seen. With a dreary smile at the
superstition of the boy, he followed his tracks along the bank as they branched
off toward the old pits, now half-filled with water by recent rains. Pausing
where the boy had passed when the woman’s figure sprang up before him with its
old-witch cry,
Douglas
looked keenly all about, wondering if it
were possible for any human being to vanish as the lad related. Several yards
from the clump of bushes and coarse grass at his feet lay the wide pit; between
it and the spot where he stood stretched a smooth bed of clay, unmarked by the
impress of any step, as he first thought. A second and more scrutinizing glance
showed him the print of a human foot on the very edge of the pit. Stepping
lightly forward, he examined it. Not the boy’s track, for he had not passed the
bushes, but turned and fled in terror, when the phantom seemed to vanish. It
was a child’s footprint, apparently, or that of a very small woman; probably
the latter, for it was a slender, shapely print, cut deep into the yielding
clay, as if by the impetus of a desperate spring. But whither had she sprung?
Not across the pit, for that was impossible to any but a very active man, or a
professional gymnast of either sex.
Douglas
took the leap, and barely reached the other side, though a tall agile man. Nor
did he find any trace of the other leaper, though the grass that grew to the
very edge of that side might have concealed a lighter, surer tread than his
own.

 
          
With
a thrill of suspicion and dread, he looked down into the turbid water of the
pit, asking himself if it were possible that two women had found their death so
near together on that night. The footprint was not Diana’s; hers was larger,
and utterly unlike; whose was it, then? With a sudden impulse he cut a long,
forked pole, and searched the depths of the pit. Nothing was found; again and
again he plunged in the pole and drew it carefully up, after sweeping the
bottom in all directions. A dead branch, a fallen rod, a heavy stone were all
he found.

 
          
As
he stood pondering over the mysterious mark, having recrossed the pit, some
sudden peculiarity in it seemed to give it a familiar aspect. Kneeling down, he
examined it minutely, and as he looked, an expression of perplexity came into
his face, while he groped for some recollection in the dimness of the past, the
gloom of the present.

 
          
“Where
have I seen a foot like this, so dainty, so slender, yet so strong, for the
tread was firm here, the muscles wonderfully elastic to carry this unknown
woman over that wide gap? Stay! It was not a foot, but a shoe that makes this
mark so familiar. Who wears a shoe with a coquettish heel like this stamped
here in the clay? A narrow sole, a fairylike shape, a slight pressure downward
at the top, as if the wearer walked well and lightly, yet danced better than
she walked? Good heavens! Can it be? That word ‘danced’ makes it clear to
me—but it is impossible—unless—can she have discovered me, followed me, wrought
me fresh harm, and again escaped me? I will be satisfied at all hazards, and if
I find her, Virginie shall meet a double vengeance for a double wrong.”

 
          
Up
he sprang, as these thoughts swept through his mind, and like someone bent on
some all-absorbing purpose, he dashed homeward through bush and brake, park and
garden, till, coming to the lawn, he restrained his impetuosity, but held on
his way, turning neither to the right nor the left, till he stood in his own
room. Without pausing for breath, he snatched the satin slipper from the case,
put it in his breast, and hurried back to the pool. Making sure that no one
followed him, he cautiously advanced, and bending, laid the slipper in the mold
of that mysterious foot. It fitted exactly! Outline, length, width, even the
downward pressure at the toe corresponded, and the sole difference was to the
depth of heel, as if the walking boot or shoe had been thicker than the
slipper.

 
          
Bent
on assuring himself,
Douglas
pressed the slipper carefully into the
smooth clay beside the other print, and every slight peculiarity was repeated
with wonderful accuracy.

 
          
“I
am satisfied,” he muttered, adding, as he carefully effaced both the little
tracks, “no one must follow this out but
myself
. I
have sworn to find her and her accomplice, and henceforth it shall be my life
business to keep my vow.”

 
          
A
few moments he stood buried in dark thoughts and memories, then putting up the
slipper, he bent his steps toward the home of little Wat, the farmer’s lad. He
was watering horses at the spring, his mother said, and
Douglas
strolled that way, saying he desired to
give the boy something for the intelligence he brought three days before. Wat
lounged against the wall, while the tired horses slowly drank their fill, but
when he saw the gentleman approaching, he looked troubled, for his young brain
had been sadly perplexed by the late events.

 
          
“I
want to ask you a few questions, Wat; answer me truly, and I will thank you in
a way you will like better than words,” began
Douglas
, as the boy pulled off his hat and stood
staring.

           
“I’m ready; what will I say, sir?”
he asked.

 
          
“Tell
me just what sort of a thing or person the spirit looked like when you saw it
by the pit.”

 
          
“A
woman, sir, all black but her face and arms.”

 
          
“Did
she resemble the person we were searching for?”

 
          
“No,
sir; leastways, I never saw Miss looking so; of course she wouldn’t when she
was alive, you know.”

 
          
“Did
the spirit look like the lady afterward? When we found her, I mean?”

 
          
The
boy pondered a minute, seemed perplexed, but answered slowly, as he grew a
little pale, “No, sir, then she looked awful, but the spirit seemed scared
like, and screamed as any woman would if frightened.”

 
          
“And
she vanished in the pit, you say?”

 
          
“She
couldn’t go
nowhere
else, sir, ’cause she didn’t
turn.”

 
          
“Did
you see her go down into the water, Wat?”

 
          
“No,
sir, I only see her fly up out of the bushes, looking at me over her shoulder,
and giving a great leap, as light and easy as if she hadn’t
no
body. But it started me, so that I fell over backward, and when I got up, she
was gone.”

 
          
“I
thought so. Now tell me, was the spirit large or small?”

 
          
“I
didn’t mind, but I guess it wasn’t very big, or
them
few bushes wouldn’t have hid it from me.”

 
          
“Was
its hair black or light?”

 
          
“Don’t
know, sir, a hood was all over its head, and I only see the face.”

 
          
“Did
you mind the eyes?”

 
          
“They
looked big and dark, and scared me horridly.”

 
          
“You
said the face was handsome but white, I think?”

 
          
“I
didn’t say anything about handsome, sir; it was too dark to make out much, but
it was white, and when she threw up her arms, they looked like snow. I never
see any live lady with such white ones.”

 
          
“You
did not go down to the edge of the pit to leap after her, did you?”

 
          
“Lord,
no, sir. I just scud the other way, and never looked back till I see the
lodge.”

 
          
“Is
there any strange lady down at the inn, or staying anywhere in the village?”

 
          
“Not
as I know, sir. I’m down there every day, and guess I’d hear of it if there
was. Do you want to find anyone, sir?”

 
          
“No,
I thought your spirit might have been some live woman, whom you frightened as
much as she did you. Are you quite sure it was not?”

 
          
“I
shouldn’t be sure, if she hadn’t flown away so strange, for no woman could go
over the pit, and if she’d fell in, I’d have heard the splash.”

 
          
“So
you would. Well, let the spirit go, and keep away from the pit and the pool,
lest you see it again. Here is a golden thank-you, my boy, so good-bye.”

 
          
“Oh,
sir, that’s a deal too much! I’m heartily obliged.
Be
you going to leave these parts, please, sir?”

 
          
“Not
yet; I’ve much to do before I go.”

 
          
Satisfied
with his inquiries,
Douglas
went on, and Wat, pulling on his torn hat
as the gentleman disappeared, fell to examining the bit of gold that had been
dropped into his brown palm.

 
          
“Do
you want another, my lad?” said a soft voice behind him, and turning quickly,
he saw a man leaning over the wall, just below the place where he had lounged a
moment before.

 
          
The
man was evidently a gypsy; long brown hair hung about a brown face with black
eyes, a crafty mouth, and glittering teeth. His costume was picturesquely ragged
and neglected, and in his hand he held a stout staff. Bending farther over, he
eyed the boy with a nod, repeating his words in a smooth low tone, as he held
up a second halfsovereign between his thumb and finger.

 
          
“Yes,
I do,” answered Wat sturdily, as he sent his horses trotting homeward with a
chirrup and a cut of his long whip.

 
          
“Tell
me what the gentleman said, and you shall have it,” whispered the gypsy.