The Deeds of the Disturber (34 page)

I got them out the door, at any rate, and I did not wait to see whether they went any farther. I turned to Ramses, who had followed me into the hall.

"I have a feeling you share my suspicions, Ramses."

"Mine are not suspicions, Mama," said Ramses. "I am certain—"

"I see. I don't know whether to commend you for finally learning to hold your tongue, or punish you for not telling me at once."

"I only learned of it yesterday," Ramses explained. "She has been careful to keep out of the way; and the change in her appearance—"

"And the fact that people pay so little attention to the servants. Except your father . . . But he is strangely obtuse about such things, you recall how long Miss Debenham deceived him."

Gargery, who had been listening in bewildered silence, began, "May I ask, madam—"

"It will all be explained at the proper time, Gargery. Please return to the drawing room and tell the children to go to their rooms. I expect Violet has eaten every scrap of food on the tea table by now."

 (And indeed, as it proved, she had.)

I found the housemaid in my room mending the fire. She rose to her feet with a murmured apology when I entered; face averted, she picked up the coal bucket and edged toward the door.

"The jig is up, Miss Minton," I said. "Drop that bucket instantly and turn around."

The bucket tipped, spilling coals onto the carpet. "Never mind that," I said, as she knelt to retrieve them. "Of all the contemptible, shameless tricks ever perpetrated on me by a member of the press (and I include Kevin O'Connell, who is no slouch at shamelessness), this is the worst. You never put my advertisement in the newspaper, did you?"

Slowly Miss Minton rose to her feet. In her black frock, ruffled apron, and neat cap, she made a pretty little maidservant, but I wondered how I could have been so dense, even with the attempts she had made to alter her features. It was more a change of expression—downcast eyes, drooping lips, and lowered chin—than of feature, and it made me realize how cruelly wide is the chasm between the social classes in our society.

After a moment her head came up and her shoulders straightened. She tried to look ashamed, but there was a wicked sparkle in her black eyes and a defiant set to her chin. "I'm glad you found me out," she said. "You have no idea how frustrating it has been! Once in, I could not get out. Your housekeeper, you will be glad to hear, watches over the female servants like a motherly hawk."

"Impertinent girl!" I exclaimed. "What! Not one word of apology or regret?"

"I do apologize. I cannot honestly say I regret what I did—except that I was unable to make good use of my opportunities. I had not a moment to myself; instead of writing the stories and seeing them appear under my name, I was forced to get the information out by whatever means I could, and let someone else take the credit."

"I see. So it was not a coincidence, then, that the police raided the opium den while the professor and I were there, and that the press had been notified in advance."

"That was my greatest success," said the shameless female proudly. "We were about to sit down to supper, in the servants' hall, when Gargery came rushing in, so excited by your talk of opium dens that he couldn't keep the news to himself. I pretended to have a headache and asked permission to step outside for a breath of air. I hoped, of course, to find someone who would take the note I had written to the
editor of my newspaper. A little street arab was hanging about, and I paid him to carry my message. But I overheard a number of other things I was unable to act upon."

I tried to remember what Emerson and I had discussed when she was present; but again the abominable habit of treating servants like pieces of furniture got in my way. I had paid so little attention to her . . . One thing stood out, however, and if I had been in the habit of blushing, which I am not, I might have done so.

"I don't know what Emerson is going to say," I murmured.

Miss Minton's mischievous smile vanished. She clasped her hands. "Oh, must you tell the professor?"

"I don't see why I should not. Marriage, Miss Minton, necessitates straightforward and absolutely honest behavior between . . . But this is not the proper time for such a discussion. I must say, I am annoyed that you seem to care more for his opinion than for mine. Emerson does have that effect on susceptible females; he cannot help it ... Sometimes he cannot help it."

"You don't understand." The rosy color in her cheeks deepened, but she met my eyes steadily. "Listening to the exchanges between you— being privileged to hear, if not actually to behold, the intercourse of two minds so utterly in harmony . . . Mrs. Emerson, it has given me a new idea altogether of what a man can be—of what a woman may expect he
should
be. His humor, his kindness, his strength and tender care ..."

I was relieved to learn she had not actually beheld the intercourse of two such minds. The master thinks he commands the servant, but the servant knows—more than he should. Yet my righteous indignation lessened as I listened, and when her voice faltered and broke, I felt a deep, if unwilling, sympathy. It was clear to me now why she had stayed on after it became apparent her ruse had backfired. How well could I, of all women, understand the spell Emerson casts on a woman with the intelligence to appreciate him! And I rather suspected that in addition to appreciating his humor and his kindness, she had not been blind to his blue eyes and raven hair and his admirable musculature, of which she had probably seen a good deal more than she should.

It was she who broke the deep reverie into which we had both fallen, contemplating, I have no doubt, the same object. "I will go," she said. "I beg, madam, to give notice. Will half an hour be too long?"

"You may not leave your post, you are dismissed," I said. "And without a character. Take half an hour or an hour, but leave my house. I will make some explanation to Mrs. Watson."

"Yes, madam," she said, biting off each syllable. Well, I could hardly blame her for disliking me, who possessed (as she believed) all rights to the object of her adoration. I, who knew only too well the bitter pain of jealousy!

But as she started to go out the door I remembered what Kevin had told me. She had a room in London, but she might not have the money for cab fare or for food. I could not send the girl out of the house, at night, without a penny in her pocket. And there were other considerations.

"Wait," I said. "I have changed my mind. You will stay here tonight—still in your capacity of housemaid, of course. No, don't argue, I will admit no discussion. In the morning you may go where you like and do what you like. Unless, that is, you would prefer to let one of your admirers, who are probably pacing up and down in the square, take charge of you."

"What did you say?" She turned to stare. "Admirers? I have no—"

"Perhaps the word was ill advised. But there are certainly two young gentlemen anxiously awaiting the word I promised to give them-—word of your safety, Miss Minton. It was cruel and thoughtless of you to leave your friends in doubt as to what had happened to you."

"I have no friends," she said wildly. "Only rivals. And there is no man I know whose protection I would accept."

Except one, I thought. And he would give it, too, even after the treacherous trick you played on him. But not the sort of protection you would want, Miss Minton.

"Suit yourself," I said.

"I will leave first thing in the morning, madam. With your permission, madam." But she did not wait for permission, and she slammed the door in a fashion that would have made Mrs. Watson dismiss her on the spot.

After she had gone I began pacing briskly up and down the room, an exercise I find conductive to ratiocination. Accustomed as I am to dealing quickly and decisively with events as they occur, the startling developments of the past hour had taxed my resources to their limits.

I had suspected Mr. Wilson was in love with the young lady, but even my talents, which are particularly refined in that area, had been deceived by O'Connell's pretense of indifference. Yet—I consoled myself—perhaps he had only learned recently to love her, when fear for her safety awakened sensations slumbering deep in his breast. I could not be blamed for failing to perceive something he had not been aware of himself.

The additional complication of Miss Minton's
tendresse
for Emerson was of no importance. He did not reciprocate her feelings, and I would make certain he never did.

Of overpowering importance was the mystery of Emerson's strange caller. What possible message, what appeal or threat could have drawn him out of the house without so much as a word to me? One answer was painfully evident, but it might not be the right one. I hardly knew whether to hope I was wrong—for in that case my estimable spouse might be facing some unknown peril alone—or to hope I was right.

There was nothing I could do at the moment but wait until he returned. But what if he did not? What if the slow hours dragged by with no word? Knowing myself as I did, I knew I would not be able to sit for long with folded hands.

I would deal with that, I decided, when the time came. In the meantime, there were the two young men to be dealt with. I had promised to relieve their anxiety, and Amelia P. Emerson always keeps her word, even when her heart is elsewhere.

Gargery was in the hall, peering out the window. "It is too early to expect him back," I said, with mingled exasperation and sympathy. "He has been gone less than an hour. Open the door, Gargery, if you please."

He did as I asked, but reluctantly. "Madam, don't you go off and disappear, too. The professor would never forgive me—"

"I am only going across the street." For they were there, as I had expected they would be; O'Connell was pacing up and down, but Mr. Wilson stood motionless staring at the house.

"Please, madam, don't—"

I patted his arm. "You can stand in the door and watch me the entire time, Gargery. I only want to say a few words to those gentlemen; I will come straight back."

It was not necessary for me to cross the pavement. As soon as I appeared, both hurried to the gate, and it was there that our conversation took place.

"My surmise was correct," I informed them. "Miss Minton is and has been perfectly safe."

"Your word on it, Mrs. E.?" Kevin asked.

"My word on it. Have I ever misled you, Mr. O'Connell?"

A little smile played around the corners of the young man's lips. "Well ... I will believe you this time."

"But where is she?" Wilson demanded. "I must speak to her, make certain—"

"I am surprised to see you in such a state of agitation, Mr. Wilson."

For indeed he was; he had neglected to remove his hat, which was tilted at a rakish angle, and his hands clutched the rusty iron bars in careless disregard of his elegant gray gloves.

"Forgive me," Wilson muttered. "I don't doubt your word, Mrs. Emerson—"

"You had better not. Miss Minton will be returning to her rooms tomorrow; you can see her then. Go home now, and sleep soundly in the knowledge that she is in no danger."

O'Connell had already turned away, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. "Put on your cap, Mr. O'Connell," I called. "The night air is damp."

He acknowledged the suggestion with a wave of his hand, but did not stop—or obey the order, at least not while he was within eyeshot. Mr. Wilson lingered to thank me and apologize again—and again. I cut short his raptures and ordered him to depart.

Instead of returning immediately to the house I remained at the gate. The night air was damp and permeated with the acrid smell of burning coal, but I am sure I need not tell the Reader why I lingered. If there is any among you who has not, on one occasion or another, stood by a window or at a door, watching with bated breath for a returning wanderer—whose heart has not quickened at the sight of every vehicle turning into the street, or any pedestrian whose form bears the slightest resemblance to the one awaited—who has not felt the sickening pain of disappointment when the vehicle passes without stopping and the form is that of another—then I heartily congratulate that individual on the tranquillity of his or her existence.

Gargery stood in the doorway, watching as intently as I. It was a futile exercise, and well I knew it; after a few moments I gave a deep sigh and started to turn.

The shrubbery beside the gate, now fully leaved, swayed as if in a sudden breeze. But there was no wind. The leaves on the bushes opposite hung limp and still. Something that might have been a giant snow-white spider crawled out of the enclosing branches. It was not a spider; it was a hand, of leprous pallor and skeletal thinness. And it held a piece of paper.

The moment I took the paper the hand disappeared; a faint rustling sound, which would have been inaudible to anyone who was not straining her ears to hear it, faded into silence as the messenger retreated the same way he had come, crawling in reptilian fashion flat on the ground.

Ayesha had said I would know her messenger. It was hardly likely that anyone else would deliver a letter in such a distinctive fashion.

Gargery had not seen anything unusual. I felt sure he would have shouted or run to me if he had. Concealing the paper in the folds of my skirt, I hastened back to the house and went directly to the library.

The paper had been folded twice but not sealed. There was no superscription on the outside. On the inside was a single line of bizarre symbols.

My blurred vision took an unconscionably long time to focus. The symbols were, as I might have expected, those of hieroglyphic writing, but the signs were clumsily written, as though by someone only superficially acquainted with the graceful picture writing of ancient Egypt, and the spelling—if I may use that word to describe a language which is not primarily alphabetic—was appalling. I had to puzzle over it for some time before I deciphered it. The obelisk was unmistakable—there could be only one such in London—but no Egyptian would have used the phrase "the middle of the night" to refer, as I assumed this did, to midnight. There was only one other group of signs—the walking legs, used as determinatives for verbs descriptive of motion, and a single stroke.

"Come alone?" There could be no other meaning. It was the sort of unoriginal suggestion writers of anonymous messages were always making, especially to people they hoped to lure into a trap. An assignation at midnight, on the Embankment, made by a woman who had no cause to love me and every cause to feel otherwise, might well be such a trap.

I decided to arrive at the rendezvous at half past eleven. When one anticipates an ambush, it is strategically advantageous to be on the spot beforehand.

There are few times in my long and (I am happy to say) adventurous life I recall with less pleasure than that spring evening in London. Anticipation and apprehension warred within my breast, and never have the hours dragged so slowly. I dined alone—though to use that verb would be misleading, for Gargery, in a state of perturbation almost equal to my own, whisked the dishes on and off the table so rapidly I could not have eaten of them even if I had felt like eating, which I did not. When I passed through the hall to the stairs, I saw him at his post by the window. He had pulled the curtains back into a bunch and was creasing them horribly, but I did not have the heart to complain.

I hesitate to record the wild theories that barraged my brain. At one moment I was convinced that the rendezvous could only be a trap out of which I would have to fight my way. The next moment I decided Ayesha had after all admitted the bond between us—the sympathy of one oppressed female for another—and was about to give me the information I desired. There was a third possibility—that she had lured Emerson to her with a plea for help or an offer of ... of some sort, and that he was being held against his will. Were that the case, the purpose of the meeting was to demand ransom. How I hoped and prayed it might be so!