Up The Hill And Over Part 55

For a second Mary hesitated. If she made the murderous spring which every baffled nerve in her tortured body urged her to make, Amy would scream. A scream would mean, Miss Philps--Esther--the doctor: agony and defeat. With a mighty effort she held herself. She tried to speak quietly.

"Don't be a fool, Amy. This is some medicine the doctor gave me himself.

Hand it to me at once."

Aunt Amy smiled. It was a sly little smile. It made Mary want to rave, for it said more plainly than words that Aunt Amy knew. Swiftly she changed her tactics. Her face softened, became gentle, entreating--

"Amy--dear. I am only going to use a little. If you love me, give me the box."

Useless! Aunt Amy still smiled. She put the box behind her. With her other hand she felt for the door k.n.o.b.

"Amy, give it to me! What have I ever done to you?"

"You stole my ring." In exactly the same tone she might have said, "You are a murderess."

The ring! Mary had forgotten the ring. Wait, perhaps it was not hopeless even yet. Amy placed an absurd value on that ring--and she, Mary, had the gem in her possession. She did not know that Esther had found and restored it. To her it was still in the box at the bottom of her drawer.

A dazzling plan flashed through her excited brain. She would bribe Amy with the ring. The thought nerved her.

"Do you really want your ring back?" she asked sweetly.

Aunt Amy paused with her hands on the door k.n.o.b.

"I have it back."

"Oh, no. You haven't. It is in a box in my drawer."

"It is not. Esther gave it to me!" But there was a spark of fear in Amy's eyes. Contradiction so easily confused her. _Had_ Esther given her the ring? She felt oddly uncertain.

Mary laughed, and the laugh increased Aunt Amy's confusion. After all it was quite possible that Mary had taken the ring again. It had been locked away and hidden, but locks and hiding-places were never an obstacle to "Them."

"I've got it safe enough!" taunted Mary, tormentingly.

The spark of fear flamed. Amy took a swift step forward. "Give it to me!"

"Give me the box--and I will."

Aunt Amy had ceased to care about the box. Almost she placed it in the outstretched hand, then, with quick cunning, caught it back.

"The ring first."

Mary shrugged her shoulders. She felt cool enough now. It was going to be easy. She turned to the bureau and began to pull things out of the drawer, scattering them anywhere. She could not remember exactly where she had put the ring. As she searched, she talked.

"There is nothing to be tragic about," she said. "I intended to give you your ring anyway--some day. And the medicine is nothing that will hurt.

It is only something to make me sleep so that I shan't look a sight to-morrow. I am taking only a little. No one will know. I shall not even oversleep. But if Esther or any of them knew, they would make a fuss.

You must promise not to tell them--before I give you the ring. Just tell Esther that I do not want to be disturbed early. I'll wake myself, in plenty of time for the wedding."

"In plenty of time for the wedding!" For a moment Amy wondered what it was about the phrase which sounded familiar? Then she seemed to see, as in a dream, the vision of a young girl all in white, with flowers in her hands, sitting alone in a room waiting, watching a clock--a clock which never quite came round to the hour of eleven on Tuesday. Time has a great deal to do with weddings, evidently. People who wish to be married must be ready at the fateful moment, otherwise they have to wait--forever, perhaps. "Plenty of time"--suddenly a flash of direct inspiration seemed to coordinate her scattered faculties. She saw clearly a plan, a beautiful, simple plan to prevent the marriage. What if Mary should _not_ wake in plenty of time for the wedding? What if the hour, the wedding hour, should not find her ready? The thing was so simple! If one tablet would make Mary sleep, two would make her sleep longer. For the moment she forgot even the ruby ring in her childish pleasure at such a clever idea. Her worn face was lit by a satisfied smile as she swiftly, quietly dropped more tablets from the box into the gla.s.s--one--two--she was not quite sure how many!

"Here is the ring," said Mary turning at last from the disturbed drawer with a cardboard box in her hand. It was the box from which Esther had taken the ring long before, but Mary was in too great a hurry to open it. She did not doubt that it contained the ring. For once in her life Mary thought she was playing fair.

They completed the exchange in silence, Mary wondering a little at the pleasant change which she saw in Amy's face. But she was too hurried to enquire into the cause of it. She hardly waited to hear her promise not to tell Esther but fairly pushed her from the room. Then, secure behind her locked door, she wiped the perspiration from her forehead and sank exhausted into the nearest chair.

When her strength came back her first care was to hide the remaining tablets in a safe place in her travelling bag, she never intended to use them again, never! But it would do no harm to feel that she could trust herself to leave them alone, as of course she could. Then she loosened her hair, not pausing to brush it, and, slipping off her dress, wrapped herself in a certain flowered dressing gown. Not one of the dainty new ones, but a gown whose lace was yellowed and torn, a gown which felt like an old friend but which, after to-night, she would wear no more--

Listen! Was that some one at the door?

Only Miss Philps calling good-night. Mary answered "Good-night" in a sleepy voice, and the step pa.s.sed on. It left her shaking like a leaf in the wind. What else indeed was she? A fluttering, fading leaf shaken in the teeth of a wind of dread and mad desire.

All was quiet now. She would be disturbed no more that night. Her shaking hands rattled the spoon which stirred the mixture in the gla.s.s.

The familiar motion quieted her. Here, right in her hands, was peace, rest, a swift and magical release from the torment of appet.i.te denied.

To-morrow--but why think of to-morrow? She might be stronger then.

Everything might be easier. All she really needed was a long night's sleep.

She turned out the light and throwing up the blind stood for a moment looking out into the soft moonlight. The moon was clear. It would be a beautiful day for the wedding! Smiling, she picked up the gla.s.s and with a whispered, "Here's to the bride!" raised it to her eager lips and drank.

Silence settled down upon the Elms. There was a harvest moon that night, a glorious rounded moon more golden than silver. The garden slumbered, wrapped in mellow light, even the shadows gleamed faintly luminous. The breeze, roaming at will, shook drowsy perfume from the lingering flowers, but for all it aped the summer it was unmistakably an autumn breeze, melancholy, earth-scented. It stirred the curtains at Mary's window; rustled through the great bowlful of crimson leaves upon Esther's writing table and softly stirred the dark hair of the girl as she sat with her face hidden in her curved arms. For a very long time she sat there while the moon looked in and looked away again and who can tell what her thoughts were, or if she thought at all.

By and by she rose and went to the window, looking out to where a month ago she had stood by the garden gate under the stars. It was drenched with moonlight now and the shadow under the elm tree was dark.

What was that? A darker shadow in the shadow? Esther's hand caught at the curtain, her heart gave a great leap and then grew still. She knew who stood there. This was the good-bye he could not speak. Tears fell unheeded down the girl's pale cheeks. If during those last days she had had any doubt of the love which loyalty to Mary had helped him hide so well, they were all swept away now. A warm spot grew and glowed in her heart and a line from that old immortal love lyric which she had learned in her school days came back vivid with eternal truth.

"I had not loved thee, dear, so much Loved I not honour more."

CHAPTER x.x.xV

It was a perfect day for the wedding. Autumn at her brightest and gayest before her new bright robes began to brown. Soft air, mellow sun, cool-lipped breeze, horizon veiled in tinted mist--a gem of a day, the jewel of a season.

"Them as has, gets," murmured Mrs. Sykes, gloomily, as she tied on her Sunday bonnet. She rather resented the kindness of nature upon this present occasion. A nice rain would have suited her mood better.

Nevertheless, much as her mind misgave her in regard to the wedding, she was early on her way to the Elms to see if she could help.

"They're sure to be fl.u.s.trated," she told herself. "Aunt Amy's just as likely as not to lose what little bit of head she has and hired help are broken reeds. Esther will have the brunt of it. She'll be glad enough to see me, I'll be bound."

Do not imagine that Mrs. Sykes was curious. Curiosity was a failing which she systematically repudiated. But she was a very helpful person and it was wonderful how many opportunities of helpfulness she found upon solemn or joyous occasions. If, while helping, her ears were open, and her eyes shrewd, can she be blamed for that? There may be people with ears who hear not but they do not live in Coombe. The only difficulty is to manage to be, like Mr. Micawber, on the spot.

Mrs. Sykes was early, but not too early. When she slipped in at the side door there was already a stir of unusual movement in the house but the final flutter was still measurably distant. Jane dashed past with crimped hair and white ribbons flying. Miss Philps, very stately in a new gown, was arranging flowers in geometrical patterns. Dr. Callandar, self-possessed as ever, talked upon the veranda with Professor Willits who had arrived the night before. Aunt Amy was busy in the kitchen.

Esther, flushed and excited, with eyes that flashed blue fire, seemed everywhere at once.

"Oh, Mrs. Sykes," she exclaimed, "how nice of you to come! Won't you please get Jane and tie her up--her ribbons, I mean? It is almost time to dress."

"Would you like me to a.s.sist?" asked Miss Philps, looking up from a geometrical pattern.

"Oh, thanks, Miss Philps. There are some hooks I cannot manage. But mother will probably need a lot of help. I thought you were with her now."