Miss Arnott's Marriage

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SOMNAMBULIST

Miss Arnott was not happy. Money had not brought her anything worth having. In her case, fortune had been synonymous with misfortune. Young, rich "beyond the dreams of avarice," good-looking; all those papers which deal with what are ironically called "personal topics," held her up to public admiration as one of the persons in the world who were most to be envied. In plain truth she was one of the most miserable. In her penniless days she was not unhappier. Then her trouble was simple, now it was compound. Not the least of her disasters was the fact that health was failing. That robust habit of mind and body which had, so far, stood her in good stead, was being sapped by the continuous strain. Her imagination was assuming a morbid tinge. Her nights were sleepless, or dream-haunted, which was as bad. She was becoming obsessed by an unhealthy feeling that she lived in a tainted atmosphere. That all the air about her was impregnated with suspicion. That she was becoming the centre of doubting eyes, whispering tongues, furtively pointing fingers.

While she was more or less unconsciously drifting into this physically and mentally unhealthy condition she received a visit from a Mrs Forrester, in the course of which that lady insisted on dwelling on topics of a distinctly disagreeable kind.

Mrs Forrester was a widow, childless, well-to-do. She had two occupations-one was acting as secretary to the local branch of the Primrose League, and the other was minding other people's business. She so managed that the first was of material assistance to her in the second. She was a person for whom Miss Arnott had no liking. Had she had a chance she would have denied herself. But Mrs Forrester came sailing in through the hall just as she was going out of it.

"Oh, my dear Miss Arnott, this is an unexpected pleasure! I am so fortunate in finding you at home, I so seldom do! And there is something of the first importance which I must speak to you about at once-of the very first importance, I do assure you."

The motor was at the door. Miss Arnott's inclination was to fib, to invent a pressing engagement-say, twenty miles off-and so shunt the lady off on to Mrs Plummer. It seemed as if the visitor saw what was in her mind. She promptly gave utterance to her intention not to be shunted.

"Now you mustn't say you're engaged, because I sha'n't keep you a minute, or at most but five. That motor of yours can wait, and you simply must stop and listen to what I have to say. It's in your own interest, your own urgent interest, so I can't let you go."

Miss Arnott stopped, perforce. She led the way into the red drawing-room. Mrs Forrester burst into the middle of the subject, which had brought her there, in her own peculiar fashion.

"Now, before I say a single word, I want you to understand most clearly that the only reason which has brought me here, the one thing I have come for, is to obtain your permission, your authority, to contradict the whole story."

"What story?"

The visitor held up her hands.

"What story! You don't mean to say you haven't heard? It simply shows how often we ourselves are the last persons to hear of matters in which we are most intimately concerned. My dear, the whole world is talking about it, the entire parish! And you say, what story?"

"I say again, what story? I've no doubt that my concerns do interest a large number of persons, even more than they do me, but I've not the vaguest idea to which one of them you're now referring."

"Is it possible? My dear, I was told no longer ago than this morning that you walk every night through the woods in-well, in your nightdress."

"What's that?"

"Of course it's nonsense. No one knows better than I do that such an idea's ridiculous. But there's the story. And, as I've said, I've come on purpose to ask you to allow me to offer an authoritative contradiction."

"But what is the story? I should be obliged to you, Mrs Forrester, if you could manage to make it a little clearer."

"I will make it clear. To me it has been made painfully clear-painfully. I may tell you that I've heard the story, in different forms, from various sources. Indeed I believe it's no exaggeration to say that it's on everybody's tongue, and, on the whole, no wonder. My informant this morning was Briggs, the postman. You know him?"

"I can't claim the honour. However, I'm willing to take your statement as proof of his existence."

"A most respectable man, most respectable. His wife has fifteen children-twins only last March, – but perhaps I oughtn't to speak of it to you. He used to be night watchman at Oak Dene in old Mr Morice's time. Sometimes he takes the letter-bags to and from the mail train, which goes through at half-past one in the morning. He did so last night. He assures me with his own lips that, coming home, as he was passing your place, he heard something moving, and on looking round saw you among the trees in your nightdress. Of course it couldn't have been you. But, at the same time, it is most singular. He is such a respectable man, and his story was most circumstantial. Could it have been you?"

"I was not out last night at all, and it never is my custom to wander about the grounds in the costume you refer to, if that is what you mean, Mrs Forrester-at least, not consciously."

"Exactly, that is the very point, of course-not consciously. But do you do it unconsciously?"

"Unconsciously! What do you mean?"

"My dear, it is my duty to tell you that all sorts of people claim to have seen you wandering-sometimes actually running-through the woods of Exham Park at the most extraordinary hours, clad only in your nightdress. The suggestion is that you are walking in your sleep."

"Walking in my sleep? Mrs Forrester!"

"Yes, my dear, walking in your sleep. It is strange that the story should not have reached you; it is on everybody's tongue. But when, as I tell you, Briggs made that positive statement to me with his own lips, I felt it my bounden duty to come and see you about it at the earliest possible moment. Because, if there is any truth in the tale at all-and they can't all be liars-it is absolutely essential for your own protection that you should have someone to sleep with you-at any rate, in the same room. Somnambulism is a most serious thing. If you are a somnambulist-and if you aren't, what are you? – proper precautions ought to be taken, or goodness only knows what may happen."

"If I am a somnambulist, Mrs Forrester. But am I? In all my life I have never heard it hinted that I am anything of the kind, and I myself have never had any reason to suspect it."

"Still, my dear, there are all those stories told by all sorts of people."

"They may have imagined they saw something. I very much doubt if they saw me."

"But there is Briggs's positive assertion. I have such faith in Briggs. And why should he invent a tale of the sort?"

"Did he see my face?"

"No; he says you were walking quickly from him, almost running, but he is positive it was you. He wanted to come and tell you so himself; but I dissuaded him, feeling that it was a matter about which you would prefer that I should come and speak to you first."

"What time was it when he supposes himself to have seen me?"

"Somewhere about two o'clock."

Miss Arnott reflected.

"To the best of my knowledge and belief I was in bed at two o'clock, and never stirred from it till Evans called me to get into my bath. If, as you suggest, I was out in the woods in my nightdress-delightful notion! – surely I should have brought back with me some traces of my excursion. I believe it rained last night."

"It did; Briggs says it was raining at the time he saw you."

"Then that settles the question; he didn't see me. Was I barefooted?"

"He couldn't see."

"The presumption is that, if I choose to wander about in such an airy costume as a nightgown, it is hardly likely that I should think it necessary to go through the form of putting on either shoes or stockings. Anyhow, I should have been soaked to the skin. When I woke up this morning my nightgown would have shown traces at least of the soaking it had undergone. But not a bit of it; it was as clean as a new pin. Ask Evans! My feet were stainless. My bedroom slippers-the only footwear within reach, were unsoiled. No; I fancy, Mrs Forrester, that those friends of yours have ardent imaginations, and that even the respectable Briggs is not always to be trusted."

"Then you authorise me to contradict the story in toto?

"Yes, Mrs Forrester; I give you the fullest authority to inform anyone and everyone that I never, in the whole course of my life, went out for a stroll in my nightgown, either asleep or waking. Thank you very much indeed for giving me the opportunity of furnishing you with the necessary power."

Mrs Forrester rose from her chair solemnly.

"I felt that I should only be doing my duty if I came."

"Of course you did, and you never miss an opportunity of doing your duty. Do you?"

Before the lady had a chance of replying a door opened. Miss Arnott turned to find that it had admitted Mr Morice. The sight of him was so unexpected, and took her so wholly by surprise that, at a momentary loss for a suitable greeting, she repeated, inanely enough, almost the identical words which she had just been uttering to Mrs Forrester.

"Mr Morice! This is-this is a surprise. I-I was just telling Mrs Forrester, who has been good enough to bring me rather a curious story, that if anyone mentions, in her hearing, that they saw me strolling through the woods in the middle of the night in a state of considerable undress, I shall be obliged if she gives such a statement a point-blank contradiction."

Mr Morice inclined his head gravely, as if he understood precisely what the lady was talking about.

"Certainly. Always advise Mrs Forrester to contradict everything she hears. Mrs Forrester hears such singular things."

CHAPTER XXV

HUGH MORICE EXPLAINS

So soon as Mrs Forrester had gone Mr Morice asked a question.

"What tale has that woman been telling you?"

"She actually says that people have seen me walking about the woods in the middle of the night in my nightdress. That a postman, named Briggs, saw me doing so last night. I believe I am supposed to have been walking in my sleep. Of course it is only some nonsensical rigmarole. I won't say the whole thing is an invention of Mrs Forrester's own brain, but it's the sort of thing she's fond of."

"That's true enough. It is the sort of tale she's fond of; but, for once in a way, she is justified by fact. Since we are on the subject I may as well inform you that, four nights or rather mornings, ago I myself saw you, at two o'clock in the morning, in Cooper's Spinney, in some such costume as that which you describe."

"Mr Morice!"

"I do not know that I should have told you if it had not been for Mrs Forrester; but, since she has intervened, I do so. In any case, it is perhaps as well that you should be on your guard."

"Are you sure you saw me?"

"I am not likely to make a mistake in a matter of that sort."

"But are you sure it was me?"

"Certain."

"What was I doing?"

"You were under the beech tree-our beech tree. You appeared to me to be looking for something on the ground-something which you could not find."

"But four nights ago? I remember it quite well. I was reading and writing till ever so late. Then I fell asleep directly I got into bed. I certainly never woke again until Evans called me."

"The probability is that you got out of bed directly you were asleep. It struck me that there was something singular about your whole proceedings. A doubt crossed my mind at the time as to whether you could possibly be in a somnambulistic condition. As I approached you retreated so rapidly that I never caught sight of you again."

"Do you mean to say I was in my nightdress?"

"As to that I cannot be certain. You had on something white; but it struck me that it was some sort of a dressing-gown."

"I have no white dressing-gown."

"On that point I cannot speak positively. You understand that I only saw you for a few seconds, just long enough to make sure that it was you."

She put her hands up to her face, shuddering.

"This is dreadful! that I should walk in my sleep-in the woods-and everyone see me-and I know nothing! What shall I do?"

"There is one thing I should recommend. Have someone to sleep in your room-someone who is quickly roused."

"That is what Mrs Forrester advised. I will certainly have that done. A bed shall be put in my room, and Evans shall sleep in it to-night. Is it to make this communication that you have favoured me with the very unexpected honour of your presence here, Mr Morice?"

"No, Mrs-I beg your pardon, Miss Arnott-it is not." As she noticed the slip she flushed. "The errand which has brought me here is of a different nature, though not, I regret to say, of a more pleasant one."

"Nothing pleasant comes my way. Do not let unpleasantness deter you, Mr Morice. As you are aware I am used to it."

There was a bitterness in her tone which hurt him. He turned aside, searching for words to serve him as a coating of sugar, and failing to find them.

"Why," he presently asked, "did you instruct Ernest Gilbert to defend Jim Baker?"

She stared in amazement; evidently that was not what she expected.

"Why? Why shouldn't I?"

"For the simple but sufficient reason that he was the very last man whose interference you should have invited in a matter of this particular kind."

"Mr Stacey was of a different opinion. It was he who gave me his name. He said he was the very man I wanted."

"Mr Stacey? Mr Stacey was not acquainted with all the circumstances of the case, Miss Arnott. Had you consulted me-"

"I should not have dreamt of consulting you."

"Possibly not. Still, I happen to know something of Mr Gilbert personally, and had you consulted me I should have warned you that, in all human probability, the result would be exactly what it has turned out to be."

"Result? Has anything resulted?"

"Something has-Mr Gilbert has withdrawn from the case."

"Withdrawn from the case! What do you mean?"

"Here is the £500 which you sent him. He has requested me to hand it back to you."

"A cheque for £500? Mr Morice, I don't understand! Why has Mr Gilbert returned me this?"

"I will tell you plainly. We are, both of us, in a position in which plainness is the only possible course."

"Well, tell me-don't stand choosing your words-tell me plainly! Why has Mr Gilbert sent me back my cheque through you?"

"Because Jim Baker conveyed the impression to his mind that he-Jim-saw you commit the crime with which he stands charged."

"I don't understand."

"I think you do. Gilbert's position is that he finds himself unable to retain your money when his duty to Baker may necessitate his putting you in the dock on the capital charge."

"Mr Morice! It's-it's not true!"

"Unfortunately, it is true. Lest, however, you should think the position worse than it actually is, part of my business here is to reassure your mind on at least one point."

"Reassure my mind! Nothing will ever do that-ever! ever! And reassurance from you! – from you!"

"If matters reach a certain point-before they go too far-it is my intention to surrender myself-say, to Granger-our local representative of law and order-as having been guilty of killing that man in Cooper's Spinney."

"Mr Morice! Do you-do you mean it?"

"Certainly I mean it. Then you will have an opportunity of going into the witness-box and giving that testimony of which you have spoken. That in itself ought to be sufficient to hang me."

"Mr Morice!"

"What we have principally to do is to render it impossible that the case against me shall fail. A very trifling accident may bring the whole business to an end; especially if Ernest Gilbert puts ever such a distant finger in the pie. Against the possibility of such an accident we shall have to guard. For instance, by way of a beginning, where's that knife?"

"Knife?"

"The knife."

"I've lost the key."

"Lost the key? of what?"

"I put it in a wardrobe drawer with my-my things, and locked it, and, somehow, I lost the key."

"I don't quite follow. Do you mean that, having locked up my knife in a drawer with some other articles, you have mislaid the key of the lock?"

"Yes, that's what I mean."

"Then in that case, you had better break that lock open at the earliest possible moment."

"Why?"

"The answer's obvious, in order that you may hand me back my knife. If I'm to be the criminal it will never do for my knife to be found in your possession. It would involve all sorts of difficulties which we might neither of us find it easy to get over. Give me the knife. I will hide it somewhere on my own premises, where I'll take care that, at the proper moment, it is found. Properly managed, that knife ought to make my guilt as plain as the noonday sun; mismanaged, the affair might assume quite a different complexion."

For the first time a doubt entered the girl's mind.

"Mr Morice, do you wish me to understand that you propose to surrender merely to save me?"

"I wish you to understand nothing of the sort. The position is-in its essence-melodrama; but do let us make it as little melodramatic as we conveniently can. Someone must suffer for the-blunder. It may as well be me. Why not?"

"Do you wish me-seriously-to believe that it was not you who-blundered?"

"Of course I blundered-and I've kept on blundering ever since. One blunder generally does lead to another, don't you know. Come-Miss Arnott" – each time, as she noticed, there was a perceptible pause before he pronounced the name to which she still adhered-"matters have reached a stage when, at any moment, events may be expected to move quickly. Your first business must be to get that drawer open-key or no key-and let me have that knife. You may send it by parcel post if you like. Anyhow, only let me have it. And, at latest, by tomorrow night. Believe me, moments are becoming precious. By the way, I hope it hasn't been-cleaned."

"No, it hasn't been cleaned."

"That would have been to commit a cardinal error. In an affair of this sort blood-stains are the things we want; the pièces de conviction which judge and jury most desire. Give me the knife-my knife-that did the deed, with the virginal blood-stains thick upon it. Let it be properly discovered by a keen-nosed constable in an ostentatious hiding-place, and the odds are a hundred to one as to what the verdict will be. A hundred? a million! I assure you that I already feel the cravat about my neck." Hugh Morice put his hand up to his throat with a gesture which made Miss Arnott shiver. "Only, I do beg of you, lose no time. Get that drawer open within the hour, and let me have my hunting-knife before you have your dinner. Let me entreat you to grasp this fact clearly. At any moment Jim Baker may be out of Winchester Gaol; someone will have to take his place. That someone must be me."

CHAPTER XXVI

THE TWO MAIDS

After Hugh Morice had left her, Miss Arnott had what was possibly the worst of all her bad half hours. The conviction of his guilt had been so deeply rooted in her mind that it required something like a cataclysm to disturb its foundations. She had thought that nothing could have shaken it; yet it had been shaken, and by the man himself. As she had listened to what he had been saying, an impression had been taking hold of her, more and more, that she had misjudged him. If so, where was she herself standing? A dreadful feeling had been stealing on her that he genuinely believed of her what she had believed of him. If such was the case, what actually was her position.

Could she have done the thing which he believed her to have done? It was not only, moreover, what he believed; there were others. An array of witnesses was gathering round her, pointing with outstretched fingers. There was Jim Baker-it seemed that he was honestly persuaded that, with his own eyes, he had seen her kill her husband. So transparent was his honesty that he had succeeded-whether intentionally or not she did not clearly understand-in imparting his faith to the indurated lawyer to such a degree, that he had actually thrown her money back at her, as if it had been the price of blood. She had little doubt that if her own retainers were polled, and forced to vote in accordance with the dictates of their consciences, merely on the strength of the evidence they believed themselves to be already in possession of, they would bring her in as guilty. She had had this feeling dimly for some time-she had it very clearly then.

And now she was walking in her sleep. That thing of which she had read and heard, but never dreamt to be-a somnambulist. It seemed that her conscience drove her out at dead of night to revisit-unwittingly-the scene of the crime which stained her soul.

Could that be the interpretation of the stories which Mrs Forrester had told her? and Hugh Morice? She had been seen, it would appear, by half the countryside, clad-how? wandering-conscience-driven-on what errand?