Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 (8 page)

 
          
“I
never have it; neither do I walk in my sleep, and seldom dream,” replied
Douglas
. “I perfectly remember rising, partially
dressing, and going down to the library, up the private stairs, and examining
the door. This may be proved by the key, now changed to my side of the lock,
and the train of wax which dropped from my candle as I hurried along.”

 
          
“What
woke you?” asked Mrs. Vane.

 
          
“I
cannot tell; some slight sound, probably, although I do not remember hearing
any, and fancy it was an instinctive sense of danger.”

 
          
“That
door could not have been opened without much noise, for the key was rusted in
the lock. We tried to turn it the other day, and could not, so were forced to
go round by the great gallery to reach that room.”

 
          
Diana
spoke, and for the first time since they parted in the park,
Douglas
looked at and addressed her.

 
          
“You
have explored the private passage then, and tried the door? May I ask when?”

 
          
“Harry
was showing us the house; anything mysterious pleased
us
,
so we went up, tried the rusty key, and finding it immovable, we came down
again.”

 
          
“Of
whom was the party composed?”

 
          
“My aunt, Mrs. Vane, and myself, accompanied by Harry.”

 
          
“Then
I must accuse Harry of the prank, for both key and lock have been newly oiled,
and the door opens easily and noiselessly, as you may prove if you like. He
must have had an accomplice among the housemaids, for it was a woman's hand
that took the ring. She doubtless passed it to him, and while I was preparing
to sally forth, both ran away —one to hide, the other to wait till I left my
room, when he slipped in and restored the ring. Was that it, Hal?”

 
          
As
Douglas
spoke, all looked at Harry; but the boy
shook his head, and triumphantly replied to his brother:

 
          
“George
will tell you that your accusation is entirely unjust; and as he sat up till
dawn, writing poetry, I could not have left him without his knowledge.”

 
          
“True,
Hal—you had nothing to do with it, I know. Did you distinctly see the hand that
purloined your ring, Earl?” asked
Lennox
,
anxious to divert attention from the revelation of his poetical amusements.

 
          
“No;
the room was dusky, and the hand muffled in something dark. But it was no
ghostly hand, for as it was hastily withdrawn when I sprang up, the wrapper
slipped aside, and I saw white human flesh, and the outlines of a woman’s arm.”

 
          
“Was
it a beautiful arm?” asked
Lennox
,
with his eyes upon Mrs. Vane’s, which lay like a piece of sculptured marble
against the red velvet cushion of her chair.

 
          
“Very
beautiful, I should say; for in that hasty glimpse it looked too fair to belong
to any servant, and when I found this hanging to the lock, I felt assured that
my spirit was a lady, for housemaids do not wear anything like this, I fancy,”
and Douglas produced a shred of black lace, evidently torn from some costly
flounce or scarf.

           
The ladies put their heads together
over the scrap, and all pronounced it quite impossible for any dressing maid to
have come honestly by such expensive trimming as this must have been.

 
          
“It
looks as if it had belonged to a deeply scalloped flounce,” said Mrs. Vane.
“Who of us wears such? Miss Stuart, you are in black; have I not seen you with
a trimming like this?”

 
          
“You
forget—I wear no trimming but crepe. This never was a part of a flounce. It is
the corner of a shawl. You see how unequally rounded the two sides are; and no
flounce was ever scalloped so deeply as this,” returned Diana.

 
          
“How
acute you are, Di! It is so, I really believe. See how exactly this bit
compares with the corner of my breakfast shawl, made to imitate lace. Who wears
a black lace shawl? Neither Di nor myself,” said Mrs. Berkeley.

 
          
“Mrs.
Vane often wears one.”

 
          
Diana
uttered the name with significance, and
Douglas
stirred a little, as if she put into words
some vague idea of his own. Mrs. Vane shrugged her shoulders, sipped her
coffee, and answered tranquilly, “So does Lady Lennox; but I will bear all the
suspicions of phantom folly, and when I dress for dinner will put on every rag
of lace I possess, so that you may compare this bit, and prove me guilty if it
gives you pleasure. Though what object I could have in running about in the
dark, oiling door locks, stealing rings, and frightening gentlemen is not as
clear to me as it appears to be to you—probably because I am not as much
interested in the sufferer.”

 
          
Diana
looked embarrassed, Lady Lennox grave, and, as if weary of the subject,
Douglas
thrust the shred of lace into his waistcoat
pocket, and proposed a riding party. Miss Stuart preferred driving her aunt in
the pony carriage, but Mrs. Vane accepted the invitation, and made George
Lennox wretched by accepting the loan of one of Earl’s horses in preference to
his own, which she had ridden the day before. When she appeared, ready for the
expedition, glances of admiration shone in the eyes of all the gentlemen, even
the gloomy Douglas, as he watched her, wondering if the piquant figure before
him could be the same that he had seen in the garden, looking like a lovely,
dreaming child. Her black habit, with its velvet facings, set off her little
lithe figure to a charm; her hair shone like imprisoned sunshine through the
scarlet net that held it, and her face looked bewilderingly brilliant and arch
in the shadow of a cavalier hat, with its graceful plume.

 
          
As
Douglas
bent to offer his hand in mounting her, she
uttered an exclamation of pain, and caught at his arm to keep
herself
from falling. Involuntarily he sustained her, and
for an instant she leaned upon him, with her face hidden in his breast, as if
to conceal some convulsion of suffering.

 
          
“My
dear Mrs. Vane, what is it? Let me take you in—shall I call for help?” began
Douglas
, much alarmed.

 
          
But
she interrupted him and, looking up with a faint smile, answered quietly, as
she attempted to stand alone, “It is nothing but the cramp in my foot. It will
be over in a moment; Gabrielle fastened my boot too tightly—let me sit down,
and I will loosen it.”

 
          
“Allow
me; lean on my shoulder; it's but a moment.”

 
          
Down
knelt
Douglas
; and, with one hand lightly touching his
shoulder to steady
herself
, the other still closely
folded, as if not yet out of pain, Mrs. Vane stood glancing from under her long
lashes at Diana, who was waiting in the hall for her aunt, and observing the
scene in the avenue with ill-concealed anxiety. The string was in a knot, and
Douglas
set about his little service very
leisurely, for the foot and ankle before him were the most perfect he had ever
seen. While so employed, Jitomar, Mrs. Vane's man, appeared, and, tossing him
the gloves she had taken off, she signed to him to bid her maid bring her
another pair, as some slight blemish in these had offended her fastidious
taste. He comprehended with difficulty, it seemed, for words were useless to a
deaf-mute, and the motions of his mistress's hands appeared at first without
meaning to him. The idea came with a
flash,
and
bowing, he bounded into the house, with his white robes streaming, and his
scarlet slippers taking him along as if enchanted, while the grooms wondered,
and Mrs. Vane laughed.

 
          
Jitomar
hurried to his lady’s room, delivered his message, and while Gabrielle went
down with a fresh pair of gloves, he enacted a curious little scene in the
deserted chamber. Carefully unfolding the discarded gloves, he took from the
inside of one of them the shred of lace that
Douglas
had put into his waistcoat pocket at the
breakfast table. He examined it with a peculiar smile; then going to a
tiger-skin rug that lay beside the bed, he lifted it and produced a black lace
shawl, which seemed to have been hastily hidden there. One corner was gone; but
laying the torn bit in its place, it fitted exacdy, and, as if satisfied,
Jitomar refolded both, put them in his pocket, glided to his own room, prepared
himself for going out, and, unobserved by anyone, took the next train to
London. Mrs. Vane meanwhile had effaced the memory of her first failure by
mounting her horse alone, with an elasticity and grace that filled her escort
with astonishment and admiration. Laughing her enchanting laugh, she settled
herself in the saddle, touched her hat to Lady Lennox, and cantered away with
Douglas
, while Harry followed far behind, for
George had suddenly remembered that an engagement would prevent his joining
them, having no mind to see Mrs. Vane absorbed by another.

 
          
As
they climbed a long hill, Mrs. Vane suddenly paused in her witty badinage, and
after a thoughtful moment, and a backward glance at Harry, who followed
apparently out of earshot, she said, earnestly yet timidly, “Mr. Douglas, I
desire to ask a favor of you—not for myself, but for the sake of one who is dear
to both of us.”

 
          
“Mrs.
Vane can ask no favor that I shall not be both proud and happy to grant for her
own sake,” returned Earl, eyeing her with much surprise.

 
          
“Well,
then, I shall be most grateful if you will shun me for a few days; ignore my
presence as far as possible, and so heal the breach which I fear I may
unconsciously have caused between Miss Stuart and yourself.”

 
          
“I
assure you that you are mistaken regarding the cause of the slight coolness
between us, and it is impossible to ignore the existence of Mrs. Vane, having
once had the happiness of seeing her.”

 
          
“Ah,
you take refuge in evasion and compliments, as I feared you would; but it is my
nature to be frank, and I shall compass my end by leaving you no subterfuge and
no power to deny me. I met you both this morning, and read a happy secret in
your faces; I hoped when next I saw you to find your mutual happiness secured.
But no—I found you grave and cold; saw trouble in your eyes, jealousy and pain
in Diana’s. I have seen the latter sentiment in her eyes before, and could not
but think that I was the unhappy cause of this estrangement. She is peculiar;
she does not like me, will not let me love her, and wounds me in many ways. I
easily forgive her, for she is not happy, and I long to help her, even against
her will—therefore I speak to you.”

 
          
“Again
I assure you that you are wrong. Diana is jealous, but not of you alone, and
she has placed me in a cruel strait. I, too, will be frank, and confess that
she will not listen to me, unless I betray a secret that is not my own.”

 
          
“You
will not do this, having sworn to keep it?”

 
          
“Never!
A
Douglas
cannot break his word.”

 
          
“I
comprehend now,” said Mrs. Vane. “Diana wishes to test her power, and you
rebel. It is not natural in both; yet I beseech you not to try her too much,
because at a certain point she will become unmanageable. She comes of an
unhappy race, and desperate things have been done in her family. Guard your
secret, for honor demands it, but take my warning and shun me, that you may add
nothing to the trouble she has brought upon herself.”

 
          
“I
have no wish to do so; but she also must beware of testing her power too
severely, for I am neither a patient nor a humble man, and my will is
inflexible when once I am resolved. She should see this, should trust me, and
let us both be happy.”