A Terrible Secret Part 11

Lady Helena wrung her hands and turned away.

"Ride for your life after your master!" she said. "I will follow you as soon as I can."

She went back to her husband's side. He was no worse--he seemed if anything, better. She might leave him in her housekeeper's charge until morning.

She ordered the carriage and rapidly changed her dress. It was about one in the morning when she reached Catheron Royals. The tall turrets were silvered in the moonlight, the windows sparkled in the crystal light. The sweet beauty and peace of the September night lay like a benediction over the earth. And, amid all the silence and sweetness, a foul, a most horrible murder had been done.

She encountered Mrs. Marsh, the housekeeper, in the hall, her face pale, her eyes red with weeping. Some dim hope that up to this time had upheld her, that, after all, there _might_ be a mistake, died out then.

"Oh, Marsh," she said, piteously, "_is_ it true?"

Mrs. Marsh's answer was a fresh burst of tears. Like all the rest of the household, the gentle ways, the sweet face, and soft voice of Sir Victor's wife had won her heart from the first.

"It is too true, my lady--the Lord have mercy upon us all. It seems too horrid for belief, but it is true. As she lay asleep there, four hours ago, in her own house, surrounded by her own servants, some monster in human form stabbed her through the heart--through the heart, my lady--Dr. Dane says one blow did it, and that death must have been instantaneous. So young, so sweet, and so lovely. Oh, how could they do it--how could any one do it?"

Mrs. Marsh's sobs grew hysterical. Lady Helena's own tears were flowing.

"I feel as though I were guilty in some way myself," the housekeeper went on. "If we had only woke her up, or fastened the window, or anything! I know the monster, whoever he was, got in through the window. And, oh, my lady!"--Mrs. Marsh wiped her eyes suddenly, and lowered her voice to an excited whisper--"I wish you would speak to Jane Pool, the nurse. She doesn't dare say anything out openly, but the looks she gives, and the hints she drops, are almost worse than the murder itself. You can see as clear as day that she suspects--Miss Inez."

"Mars.h.!.+ Great Heaven!" Lady Helena cried, recoiling in horror. "Miss Inez!"

"Oh, my lady, _I_ don't say it--_I_ don't think it--Heaven forbid!--it's only that wicked, spiteful nurse, Pool. She hates Miss Inez--she has hated her from the first--and she loved my lady. Ah! who could help being fond of her--poor, lovely young lady!--with a sweet smile and pleasant word for every one in the house? And you know Miss Inez's high, haughty way. Jane Pool hates her, and will do her mischief if she can. A word from you might check her. No one knows the harm a babbling tongue may do."

Lady Helena drew herself up proudly.

"I shall not say one word to her, Marsh. Jane Pool can do my niece no harm. The bare repet.i.tion of it is an insult. Miss Catheron--that I should have to say such a thing!--is above suspicion."

"My lady, I believe it; still, if you would only speak to her. You don't know all. She saw Miss Inez coming out of the nursery a quarter of an hour before we found Lady Catheron dead. She wished to enter, and Miss Inez ordered her away. She has been talking to the police, and I saw that Inspector Darwin watching Miss Inez in a way that made my blood run cold."

But Lady Helena waived the topic away haughtily.

"Be silent, Mars.h.!.+ I will not hear another word of this--it is too horrible! Where is Miss Inez?"

"In her own room, my lady. And--I beg your pardon for alluding to it again--but I think she suspects. She seemed dazed-like, stupefied at first; she is more like herself now. Will you not go in and see _her_, poor soul, before you go to Miss Inez? Oh, my lady, my lady! it breaks my heart when I look at her--when I look at Sir Victor."

For a moment Lady Helena shrank.

"Sir Victor is in there--with her?" she faltered.

"Yes, my lady--like a man all struck stupid. It frightens me to see him. If he would only speak, or cry, or fly out against the murderer--but he just sits there as if turning to stone."

His aunt covered her face for an instant with both hands, heart-sick with all these horrors; then she looked up, and moved forward.

"Where is she?" she asked--"in which room?"

"In the white drawing-room, my lady; the doctors brought her there.

Sir Victor is with her, alone."

Lady Helen slowly advanced. At the door she paused a moment to nerve herself for what she must see; then she turned the handle and went in.

It was one of the stateliest rooms in the house--all white and gold, and dimly lit now by wax tapers. Lying on one of the white velvet sofas she saw a rigid figure, over which a white covering was drawn; but the golden hair and the fair, marble face gleaming in the waxlights as beautiful as ever in life.

He sat beside his dead--almost as motionless, almost as cold, almost as white. He had loved her with a love that was akin to idolatrous--he had grudged that the eye of man should rest on his treasure--and now he sat beside her--dead.

If he heard the door open, he neither moved nor stirred. He never once looked up as his aunt came forward; his eyes were riveted upon that ineffably calm face with a vacant, sightless sort of stare that chilled her blood.

"Victor!" she cried out, in a frightened voice; "Victor speak to me.

For pity's sake, don't look like that?"

The dull, blinded eyes looked up at her, full of infinite, unutterable despair.

"She is dead," he said, in a slow, dragging sort of voice--"dead!

And last night I left her well and happy--left her to be murdered--to--be--murdered."

The slow words fell heavily from his lips--his eyes went back to her face, his dulled mind seemed lapsing into its stupefied trance of quiet. More and more alarmed, his aunt gazed at him. Had the death of his wife turned his brain?

"Victor!" she exclaimed, almost angrily, "you must rouse yourself. You must not stay here. Be a man! Wake up. Your wife has been murdered. Go and find her murderer."

"Her murderer," he replied, in the same slow tone of unnatural quiet; "her murderer. It seems strange, Aunt Helena, doesn't it, that any one _could_ murder her? 'I must find her murderer.' Oh," he cried, suddenly, in a voice of anguish; "what does it matter about her murderer! It won't bring her back to life. She is dead I tell you--dead!"

He flung himself off his chair, on his knees by the couch. He drew down the white satin counterpane, and pointed to that one dark, small stab on the left side.

"Look!" he said, in a shrill, wailing voice, "through the heart--through the heart! She did not suffer--the doctors say _that_. Through the heart as she slept. Oh, my love, my darling, my wife!"

He kissed the wound--he kissed the hands, the face, the hair. Then with a long, low moan of utter desolation, he drew back the covering and buried his face in it.

"Leave me alone," he said, despairingly; "I will not go--I will never go from her again. She was mine in life--mine only. Juan Catheron lied, she is mine in death. My wife--my Ethel!"

He started up as suddenly as he had flung himself down, his ghastly face flaming dark red.

"Leave me alone, I tell you! Why do you all come here? I will _not_ go! Leave me, I command you--I am master here!"

She shrank from him in absolute physical terror. Never over-strong at any time, her worst fears were indeed true, the shock of his wife's tragic death was turning Sir Victor's brain. There was nothing to be done--nothing to be said--he must be obeyed--must be soothed.

"Dear Victor," she said, "I will go. Don't be hard with poor Aunt Helena. There is no one in all this world as sorry for you as I am.

Only tell me this before I leave you--shall we not send for her father and mother?"

"No," he answered, in the same fierce tone; "they can't bring her back to life--no one can now. I don't want them. I want n.o.body. Ethel is mine I tell you--mine alone!"

He motioned her imperiously to leave him--a light in his eye--a flush on his face there was no mistaking. She went at once. How was it all to end she wondered, more and more sick at heart--this mysterious murder, this suspicion against Inez, this dreadful overthrow of her nephew's mind?

"May Heaven help us!" she cried. "What have we done that this awful trouble should come upon us!"

"Aunt Helena."

She looked round with a little cry, all her nerves trembling and unstrung. Inez stood before her--Inez with dark, resolute eyes, and stony face.

"I have been waiting for you--they told me you were _there_." She pointed with a shudder to the door. "What are we to do?"