Cursed by a Fortune

Garstang saw the brightening of her face, and interpreted it wrongly.

“A means of escape from me?” he said. “What a foolish, childish thought! Too romantic for a woman of your strength of mind, Kate. No, I shall not let you leave me like that. There, you must be faint and hungry; so am I. Take off your things, and come and face your guardian at the table, in the old fashion. No? You prefer to go back to your room this morning? Well, let it be so. Only try and be sensible. It is so childish to let the servants be witnesses to such a little trouble as this. There, your head is bad, of course; and you altered your mind about going for a walk.”

He opened the door for her to pass out, and then rang the bell.

“Mrs Plant answered the bell last night,” he said, meaningly. “Poor woman, she had gone to bed, and came here in alarm; so she knows that you were taken ill and went to your room. I would not let her come and disturb you, as you were so agitated. – Ah, Mrs Plant, your mistress does not feel equal to staying down to breakfast. Go and get a tray ready, and take it up to her in her room.”

The woman hurried to carry out Garstang’s wishes, and Kate rose to her feet, while he drew back to let her pass.

“The front door is fastened,” he said, with a quiet smile, “and there is no window that you can open to call for help. Even if you could, and people came to inquire what was the matter, a few words respecting the sick and delirious young lady upstairs would send them away. It is curious what a wholesome dread ordinary folk have of an illness being infectious. Will you come down to dinner, or sooner, dearest?” he said, sinking his voice to a whisper, full of tenderness. “I shall be here, and only too glad to welcome you when you come, sweet dove, with the olive branch of peace between us, and take it as the symbol of love.”

A prisoner, indeed, and the chains seemed to fetter and weigh her down as, without a word, her eyes fixed and gazing straight before her, she walked by him into the hall, mastered the wild agonising desire to fling herself at the door and call for help, and went slowly to the stairs, catching sight of the pale bandaged face peering over the balustrade and then drawn back to disappear.

But as Kate saw it a gleam of hope shot through the darkness. Poor Becky – letters – appeals for help to Jenny Leigh. Could she not get a message sent by the hand of the strange-looking, shrinking girl?

She went on steadily up towards her room, without once turning her head, feeling conscious that Garstang was standing below watching her; but by the time she reached the first landing there was the sound of a faint cough and steps crossing to the dining-room, and she breathed more freely, and glanced downward as she turned to ascend the second flight.

The hall was vacant, and looking toward the doorway through which Becky had glided, she called to her in a low, excited whisper:

“Becky! Becky!”

But there was no reply, and hurrying up the rest of the way she followed the girl, entered the room into which she had passed, and found her standing in the attitude of one listening intently.

“Becky, I want to speak to you,” she whispered; but the girl darted to a door at the other end, and was gliding through into the dressing-room, through which she could reach the staircase.

This time Kate was too quick for her, and caught her by the dress, the girl uttering a low moan, full of despair, and hanging away with all her might, keeping her face averted the while.

“Don’t, don’t do that,” whispered Kate, excitedly. “Why are you afraid of me?”

“Let me go; oh! please let me go.”

“Yes, directly,” whispered Kate, still holding her tightly; “but please, Becky, I want you to help me. I am in great trouble, dear – great trouble.”

“Eh?” said the girl, faintly, “you?”

“Yes, and I do so want help. Will you do something for me?”

“No, I can’t,” whispered the girl. “I’m no use; I oughtn’t to be here; don’t look at me, please; and pray, pray let me go.”

“Yes, I will, dear; but you will help me. Come to my room when your mother has been.”

The girl turned her white grotesque face, and stared at her with dilated eyes.

“You will, won’t you?”

Becky shook her head.

“Not to help a poor sister in distress?” said Kate, appealingly.

“You ain’t my sister, and I must go. If he knew I’d talked to you he’d be so cross.”

With a sudden snatch the girl released her dress and fled, leaving Kate striving hard to keep back her tears, as she went on to the broad landing and reached her room, thinking of the little library and the account she had heard of the former occupant, who found life too weary for him, and had sought rest.

Her first impulse was to lock her door, but feeling that she had nothing immediate to fear, and that perhaps a display of acquiescence in Garstang’s plans might help her to escape, she sat down to think, or rather try to think, for her brain was in a whirl, and thought crowded out thought before she had time to grasp one.

But she had hardly commenced her fight when there was a tap at the door, and Sarah Plant entered with a breakfast tray, looking smiling and animated.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am; but I’ve made you a very strong cup of tea, and your breakfast will do you good. There. Now let me help you off with your things.”

“No, no, never mind now. Mrs Plant, will you do something to help me?”

“Of course, I will, ma’am. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

“Why are you smiling at me in that way?”

“Me smiling, ma’am? Was I? Oh, nothing.”

“I insist upon your telling me. Ah, you know what has taken place.”

“Well, well, ma’am, please don’t be angry with me for it. You did give the bell such a peal last night, you quite startled me.”

“Then you do know everything?”

“Well, yes, ma’am; you see, I couldn’t help it. Me and poor Becky always knew that you were to be the new missis here from the day you came.”

“No, it is impossible. I must go away from here at once.”

“Lor’, my dear, don’t you take it like that! Why, what is there to mind? Master is one of the dearest and best of men; and think what a chance it is for you, and what a home.”

“Oh, silence; don’t talk like that! I tell you it is impossible.”

“Ah, that’s because you’re thinking about Master being a bit older than you are. But what of that? My poor dear man was twice as old as me, and he never had but one fault – he would die too soon.”

“I tell you it is impossible, my good woman,” cried Kate, imperiously. “I have been entrapped and deceived, and I call upon you, as a woman, to help me.”

“Yes, ma’am, of course I’ll help you.”

“Ah! then wait here while I write a few lines to one of my father’s old friends.”

“A letter? Yes, ma’am; but if you please, Master said that all letters were to be taken to him.”

“As they were before?” said Kate, with a light flashing in upon her clouded brain.

“Yes, ma’am; he said so a week or two before you came.”

“Planned, planned, planned!” muttered Kate, despairingly.

“Yes, ma’am, and of course I must take them to him. You see, he is my master, and I will say this of him – a better and kinder master never lived. Oh, my dear, don’t be so young and foolish. You couldn’t do better than what he wishes, and make him happy, and yourself, too.”

“Will you help me, woman, to get away from here? I will pay you enough to make you rich if you will,” said Kate, desperately.

“I will do anything I can for you, ma’am, that isn’t going against Master; of that you may be sure.”

“Then will you post a couple of letters for me?” cried Kate, desperately.

“No, ma’am, please, I mustn’t do that.”

“Go away,” cried Kate, fiercely now. “Leave me to myself.”

“Oh, my dear, don’t, pray, go on like that I know you’re young, and the idea frightens you; but it isn’t such a very dreadful thing to be married to a real good man.”

Kate darted to the door, flung it open, and stood with flashing eyes, pointing outward.

“Oh, yes, ma’am, of course I’ll go; but do, pray, take my advice. You see, you’re bound to marry him now, and – ”

The door was closed upon her, and Kate began to pace up and down, like some timid creature freshly awakened to the fact of its being caged, and grown desperate at the thought.

“Helpless, and a prisoner!” she groaned to herself. “What shall I do? Is there no way of escape?” And once more the thought of Jenny Leigh and her brother came to her mind, and the feeling grew stronger that she might find help there.

But it seemed impossible unless she could write and stamp a letter and throw it from the window, trusting to some one to pick it up and post it.

No; the idea seemed weak and vain, and she cast it from her, as she paced up and down, with her hands clasped and pressed to her throbbing breast.

“There is no help – no help!” she moaned, and then uttered a faint cry of alarm, for the door behind her was softly opened, and the idea that it was Garstang flashed through her brain as she looked wildly round.

Becky’s white tied-up face was just thrust in, and the door held tightly to, as if about to act as a perpendicular guillotine and shave through her neck.

Chapter Thirty Nine

Kate uttered a gasp of relief on finding her fear needless, and darted towards the door, when, to her despair, the grotesque head was snatched back.

“Becky! Becky!” she cried piteously, as the door was closing; and she stood still, not daring to approach.

Her action had its effect, for the door was slowly pressed open again, and the bow of the washed-out cotton handkerchief which bandaged the woman’s face gradually appeared, the ends, which stuck up like a small pair of horns, trembling visibly. Then by very small degrees the woman’s forehead and the rest of the face appeared, with the eyes showing the white all round, as their owner gazed at the prisoner with her usual scared look intensified.

“Pray come in, Becky,” said Kate, softly; and she drew back towards a chair, so as to try and inspire a little confidence.

The head was slowly shaken, and the door drawn once more tightly against the woman’s long thin neck.

“Whatcher want?” she said, faintly.

“I want you to come in and talk to me,” said Kate in a low, appealing tone. “I want you to help me.”

“Dursn’t.”

“Yes, yes, you dare. Pray, pray don’t say that I have no one to ask but you. Oh, Becky, Becky, I am so unhappy. If you have a woman’s heart within your breast, have pity on me!”

“Gug!”

A spasm contracted the pallid face as a violent sob escaped from her lips, and the tears began to flow from the dilated eyes, and were accompanied by unpleasant sniffs.

“Don’t make me cr-cr-cry, miss, please.”

“No, no, don’t cry, Becky dear, pray,” whispered Kate, anxiously.

“You make me, miss – going on like that; and d-don’t call me dear, please. I ain’t dear to nobody; I’m a miserable wretch.”

“I always pitied you, Becky, but you never would let me be kind to you.”

“N-no, miss. It don’t do no good. On’y makes me mis’rable.”

“But I must be; I will be kind to you, Becky, and try and make you happy,” whispered Kate.

“Tain’t to be done, miss, till I die,” said the woman, sadly; and then there was a triumphant light in her eyes, and her face lit up as she said more firmly, “but I’m going to be happy then.”

“Yes, yes, and I’ll try to make you happy while you live; but you will help me, dear?”

The poor creature shook her head.

“Yes, you will – I’m sure you will,” pleaded Kate. “But pray come in.”

“Dursn’t, miss.”

“But I am in such trouble, Becky.”

“Yes, I know; he wants to marry you, and he’s going to keep you locked up till he does. I know.”

“Yes, yes; and I want to get away.”

“But you can’t,” whispered the woman, and she withdrew her head, and Kate in her despair thought she had gone. But the head reappeared slowly. “Nobody watching,” she whispered.

“I must go away, and you must help me, Becky,” whispered Kate.

“It’s no good. He won’t let you, miss. But don’t you marry him.”

“Never!” cried Kate.

“Hush, or they’ll hear you; and mother’s siding with him, and going to help him. She says he’s an angel, but he’s all smooth smiles, and talks to you like a saint, but he’s a horrid wretch.”

“Yes, yes. But now listen to me.”

“Yes, I’m a-listening, miss. It’s all because you’re so pretty and handsome, and got lots o’ money, aintcher?”

“Yes, unhappily,” sighed Kate.

“That’s what he wants. He got all poor old master’s money, and the house and furniture out of him.”

“He did?” whispered Kate, excitedly.

“Yes, miss; I know. Mother says it’s all nonsense, and that we ought to love him, because he’s such a good man. But I know better. Poor old master used to tell me when I took him up his letters: ‘Ah, Becky, my poor girl, you are disappointed and unhappy,’ he says, ‘but I’m more unhappy still. That man won’t be satisfied till he has ground the last farthing out of me, and there’s nothing left but my corpse.’ I didn’t believe him, and I said, ‘Don’t let him have it, sir.’ ‘Ah, Becky,’ he says, ‘I’m obliged; signed papers are stronger than iron chains,’ he says, ‘and he’s always dragging at the end. But he shall have it all, and heavy pounds o’ flesh at the end, and the bones too.’ I didn’t know what he meant, miss; and I didn’t believe as anyone could be as unlucky as me. But I believed him at last, when I went to his room and found him dead on the floor; and then I knew he must be worse than I was, for I couldn’t have done what he did.”

“Becky,” whispered Kate, fixing the trembling woman with her eyes, “I can understand how people who are very unhappy seek for rest in death. Do you wish to come here some morning, and find me lying dead?”

“Oh, miss!” cried the woman, excitedly, pushing the door more open; “don’t, please don’t you go and do a thing like that. You’re too young and beautiful, and – oh, oh, oh! Please don’t talk so; I can’t abear it – pray!”

“Then help me, Becky, for I tell you I would sooner die.”

“What, than marry him?”

“Yes, than marry this dreadful man.”

“Then – then,” whispered the woman, after withdrawing her head to gaze back, “I feel that I dursn’t, and p’raps he’ll kill me for it – not as I seem to mind much, and mother would soon get over it, for I ain’t o’ no use – but I think I will try and help you. You want to get away?”

In her wild feeling of joy and excitement, Kate sprang toward the door, and she would have flung her arms round the unhappy woman’s neck. But before she could reach her the head was snatched back, and the fastening gave a loud snap, while when she opened it, Becky had disappeared and her mother was coming up the stairs to fetch the breakfast tray.

“And not touched a bit, my dear,” said the housekeeper, with a reproachful shake of the head. “Now you must, you know; you must, indeed. And do let me advise you, my dear. Mr Garstang is such a good man, and so indulgent, and it’s really naughty of you to be so foolish as to oppose his wishes.”

Kate turned upon her with a look that astounded the woman, who stood with parted lips, breathless, while a piece of bread was broken from the loaf on the tray, and a cup of tea poured out and placed aside.

“Take away that tray,” said Kate, imperiously; “and remember your place. Never presume to speak to me again like that.”

“No, ma’am – certainly not, ma’am,” said the woman, hastily. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, I am sure.”

“Leave the room, and do not come again until I ring.”

“My!” ejaculated the woman, as soon as she was on the landing, “to think of such a gentle-looking little thing being able to talk like that! P’raps master’s caught a tartar now.”

There was a gleam of hope, then, after all. Poor Becky was not the vacant idiot she had always appeared. Kate felt that she had made one friend, and trembling with eagerness she went to the writing-table and wrote quickly a few lines to Jenny Leigh, briefly explaining her position, and begging her to lay the matter before her brother and ask his help and advice.

This she inclosed and directed, and then sat gazing before her, conjuring the scene to follow at the cottage, and the indignation of Leigh. And as she thought, the warm blood tinged her pale cheeks once more, and she covered her face with her hands, to sit there sobbing for a few minutes before slowly tearing up the letter till the fragments were too small ever to be found and read by one curious to know their contents.

Gladly as she would have seen Pierce Leigh appear and insist upon her taking refuge with his sister, she felt that she could not send such an appeal to those who were comparative strangers; and though she would not own to it even to herself, she felt that there were other reasons why she could not write.

An hour of intense mental agony and dread passed, and she had to strive hard to keep down the terrible feeling of panic which nearly mastered her, and tempted her to rush down the stairs to try once more to escape, or to go to one of the front windows, throw it open, and shriek for help.

“It would be an act of madness,” she sighed, as she recalled Garstang’s words respecting the sick lady. “And they would believe him!” she cried, while the feeling of helplessness grew and grew as she felt how thoroughly she was in Garstang’s power.

Then came the thought of her aunt and uncle, her natural protectors, and she determined to write to them. James Wilton would fetch her away at once, for he was her guardian; and surely now, she told herself, she was woman enough to insist upon proper respect being paid to her wishes. She could set at defiance any of her cousin’s advances; and her conduct in leaving showed itself up in its strongest colours, as being cowardly – the act of a child.

With a fresh display of energy she wrote to her aunt, detailing everything, and bidding her – not begging – to tell her uncle to come to her rescue at once. But no sooner was the letter written than she felt that her aunt would behave in some weak, foolish way, and there would be delay.

She tore up that letter slowly, and after hiding the pieces, she sat there thinking again, with her brow wrinkled, and the look of agony in her face intensifying.

“I have right on my side. He is my guardian, and he dare not act otherwise than justly by me. I am no longer the weak child now.”

And once more she took paper, and wrote this time to James Wilton himself, telling him that Garstang had lured her away by the promise of protection, but had shown himself in the vilest colours at last.

“He must – he shall protect me,” she said, exultantly, and she hastily directed the letter.

But as she sat there with the letter in her hand, she shrank and trembled. For in vivid colours her imagination painted before her the trouble and persecution to which she would expose herself. She knew well enough what were James Wilton’s aims, and that situated as he was, he would stand at nothing to gain them. It was in vain she told herself that anything would be preferable to staying there at John Garstang’s mercy, the horror of rushing headlong back to her guardian, and the thoughts of his triumphant looks as he held her tightly once again, proved too much for her, and this letter was slowly torn up and the pieces hidden.

As she sat there, with every nerve on the rack, a strange feeling of faintness came over her, and she started up in horror at the idea of losing her senses, and being at this man’s mercy. And as she walked hurriedly to and fro, trembling as she felt the faintness increasing, some relief came, for she grasped the fact that her faintness was due to want of food, and it was past mid-day.

There was the bread close at hand, though, and turning to it she began to crumble up the pieces and to eat, though it was only with the greatest difficulty that she accomplished her task.

But it had the required effect – the sensation of sinking passed off. And now she set herself the task of trying to think of some one among the very few friends she had known before her father’s death to whom she could send for help; but there did not occur to her mind one to whom she could apply in such a strait. There were the people at the bank, and the doctor who had attended her father in his last illness, but they were comparatively such strangers that she shrank from writing to them; and at last, unnerved, and with her mind seeming to refuse to act, she sat there feeling that there was not a soul in the world whom she could trust but the Leighs. She could send to Jenny, who would, she knew, be up in arms at once; but there was her brother. She could not, she dared not, ask him; and it would be, she felt, asking him. It would be so interpreted if she wrote.

And then came the question which sent a shiver through her frame – what must he think of her, and would he come to her help as he would have done before she committed so rash an act?

Kate’s weary ponderings were interrupted by a tap at the door, which produced a fit of trembling, and she glided to it to slip the bolt, which had hardly passed into its socket before the housekeeper’s voice was heard.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but lunch is ready, and master would be glad to know if you are well enough to come down.”

A stern negative was the reply, and for about a quarter of an hour she was undisturbed. Then came another tap, and the rattling of china and glass.

“If you please, ma’am, I’ve brought your lunch.”

She hesitated for a few moments. The desire was strong to refuse to take anything, but she felt that if she was to keep setting Garstang at defiance till she could escape, she must have energy and strength. So, unwillingly enough, she unfastened the door, the housekeeper entered with a tray, and set it down upon the table.

“Can I bring you up anything more, ma’am, and would you like any wine?”

“No,” was the abrupt answer, in tones that would bear no reply, and the woman went away, the door being fastened after her.

The lunch tray looked dainty enough, but it remained untouched for a time. A desperate resolve had come upon the prisoner, and once more seating herself, she wrote a piteous letter to Jenny, imploring help, directed it, and placed it ready for giving to poor Becky when she came again. Stamps she had none, but she had a little money, and doubtless the girl would dispatch her note in safety.

The desperate step taken, she felt more at ease, and feeling that her state of siege must last for a couple of days longer, she sat down and once more forced herself to eat, but she shrank from touching the water in the carafe, looking at it suspiciously, and preferring to partake of some that was in the room.

The tray was fetched in due time, and the housekeeper smiled her satisfaction; but she went off without a word, and Kate felt that she would go straight to Garstang and report that the lunch had been eaten.

She winced at this a little, but felt that it was inevitable, and feeling in better nerve she went to the door, which she had fastened, opened it a little, and stood there to watch for the coming of Becky.

But the hours glided by, and with a creeping sense of horror she saw the wintry evening coming rapidly on, and thought of the night.

Whenever a footstep was heard she was on the qui vive, but each time it was the mother. The daughter, who had before this seemed to be always gliding ghost-like about the place, was now invisible, and as Kate watched she saw the housekeeper light the hall jets and then descend to the kitchen region.

Twice over she shrank back and secured the door, for she heard Garstang cough slightly, and saw him cross the hall from library to dining-room, and in each case she let some minutes elapse before she dared open and peer out again. The last time it was to be aware of the fact that the dinner hour had come once more, and soon after the woman began to ascend the stairs, Kate retiring within and slipping the bolt, to stand and listen for the message she knew would be delivered.

“Master’s compliments, and are you well enough to come down, ma’am?”

The brief negative sent the messenger down again, and the prisoner was left undisturbed for a few minutes, when there was the sound of a tray being brought to the door, but this time it was refused entrance.

Kate watched again eagerly now, feeling that in all probability Becky would try to see her while her mother was occupied in the dining-room, but the time passed on and there was no sign of her, and thoughts of desperate venturing to try and reach the front door attacked the listener, but only to be dismissed.