She wrote these four words on the slate: "The wall is damp."
Anne looked at the wall. There was no sign of damp on the paper. She pa.s.sed her hand over it. Feel where she might, the wall was dry.
"That is not your reason," she said.
Hester stood immovable.
"There is no dampness in the wall."
Hester pointed persistently with her pencil to the four words, still without looking up--waited a moment for Anne to read them again--and left the room.
It was plainly useless to call her back. Anne"s first impulse when she was alone again was to secure the door. She not only locked it, but bolted it at top and bottom. The mortise of the lock and the staples of the bolts, when she tried them, were firm. The lurking treachery--wherever else it might be--was not in the fastenings of the door.
She looked all round the room; examining the fire place, the window and its shutters, the interior of the wardrobe, the hidden s.p.a.ce under the bed. Nothing was any where to be discovered which could justify the most timid person living in feeling suspicion or alarm.
Appearances, fair as they were, failed to convince her. The presentiment of some hidden treachery, steadily getting nearer and nearer to her in the dark, had rooted itself firmly in her mind. She sat down, and tried to trace her way back to the clew, through the earlier events of the day.
The effort was fruitless: nothing definite, nothing tangible, rewarded it. Worse still, a new doubt grew out of it--a doubt whether the motive which Sir Patrick had avowed (through Blanche) was the motive for helping her which was really in his mind.
Did he sincerely believe Geoffrey"s conduct to be animated by no worse object than a mercenary object? and was his only purpose in planning to remove her out of her husband"s reach, to force Geoffrey"s consent to their separation on the terms which Julius had proposed? Was this really the sole end that he had in view? or was he secretly convinced (knowing Anne"s position as he knew it) that she was in personal danger at the cottage? and had he considerately kept that conviction concealed, in the fear that he might otherwise encourage her to feel alarmed about herself? She looked round the strange room, in the silence of the night, and she felt that the latter interpretation was the likeliest interpretation of the two.
The sounds caused by the closing of the doors and windows reached her from the ground-floor. What was to be done?
It was impossible, to show the signal which had been agreed on to Sir Patrick and Arnold. The window in which they expected to see it was the window of the room in which the fire had broken out--the room which Hester Dethridge had locked up for the night.
It was equally hopeless to wait until the policeman pa.s.sed on his beat, and to call for help. Even if she could prevail upon herself to make that open acknowledgment of distrust under her husband"s roof, and even if help was near, what valid reason could she give for raising an alarm?
There was not the shadow of a reason to justify any one in placing her under the protection of the law.
As a last resource, impelled by her blind distrust of the change in the position of the bed, she attempted to move it. The utmost exertion of her strength did not suffice to stir the heavy piece of furniture out of its place, by so much as a hair"s breadth.
There was no alternative but to trust to the security of the locked and bolted door, and to keep watch through the night--certain that Sir Patrick and Arnold were, on their part, also keeping watch in the near neighborhood of the cottage. She took out her work and her books; and returned to her chair, placing it near the table, in the middle of the room.
The last noises which told of life and movement about her died away. The breathless stillness of the night closed round her.
CHAPTER THE FIFTY-SIXTH.
THE MEANS.
THE new day dawned; the sun rose; the household was astir again. Inside the spare room, and outside the spare room, nothing had happened.
At the hour appointed for leaving the cottage to pay the promised visit to Holchester House, Hester Dethridge and Geoffrey were alone together in the bedroom in which Anne had pa.s.sed the night.
"She"s dressed, and waiting for me in the front garden," said Geoffrey.
"You wanted to see me here alone. What is it?"
Hester pointed to the bed.
"You want it moved from the wall?"
Hester nodded her head.
They moved the bed some feet away from the part.i.tion wall. After a momentary pause, Geoffrey spoke again.
"It must be done to-night," he said. "Her friends may interfere; the girl may come back. It must be done to-night."
Hester bowed her head slowly.
"How long do you want to be left by yourself in the house?"
She held up three of her fingers.
"Does that mean three hours?"
She nodded her head.
"Will it be done in that time?"
She made the affirmative sign once more.
Thus far, she had never lifted her eyes to his. In her manner of listening to him when he spoke, in the slightest movement that she made when necessity required it, the same lifeless submission to him, the same mute horror of him, was expressed. He had, thus far, silently resented this, on his side. On the point of leaving the room the restraint which he had laid on himself gave way. For the first time, he resented it in words.
"Why the devil can"t you look at me?" he asked
She let the question pa.s.s, without a sign to show that she had heard him. He angrily repeated it. She wrote on her slate, and held it out to him--still without raising her eyes to his face.
"You know you can speak," he said. "You know I have found you out.
What"s the use of playing the fool with _me?_"
She persisted in holding the slate before him. He read these words:
"I am dumb to you, and blind to you. Let me be."
"Let you be!" he repeated. "It"s a little late in the day to be scrupulous, after what you have done. Do you want your Confession back, or not?"
As the reference to the Confession pa.s.sed his lips, she raised her head.
A faint tinge of color showed itself on her livid cheeks; a momentary spasm of pain stirred her deathlike face. The one last interest left in the woman"s life was the interest of recovering the ma.n.u.script which had been taken from her. To _that_ appeal the stunned intelligence still faintly answered--and to no other.
"Remember the bargain on your side," Geoffrey went on, "and I"ll remember the bargain on mine. This is how it stands, you know. I have read your Confession; and I find one thing wanting. You don"t tell how it was done. I know you smothered him--but I don"t know how. I want to know. You"re dumb; and you can"t tell me. You must do to the wall here what you did in the other house. You run no risks. There isn"t a soul to see you. You have got the place to yourself. When I come back let me find this wall like the other wall--at that small hour of the morning you know, when you were waiting, with the towel in your hand, for the first stroke of the clock. Let me find that; and to-morrow you shall have your Confession back again."
As the reference to the Confession pa.s.sed his lips for the second time, the sinking energy in the woman leaped up in her once more. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her slate from her side; and, writing on it rapidly, held it, with both hands, close under his eyes. He read these words:
"I won"t wait. I must have it to-night."
"Do you think I keep your Confession about me?" said Geoffrey. "I haven"t even got it in the house."
She staggered back; and looked up for the first time.