 SCIEN 4 CHAPTER IX If Captain Rag could have looked into Mrs. Lacount's room while he stood on the parade watching the light in her window, he would have seen the housekeeper sitting absorbed in meditation over a worthless little morsel of brown stuff which lay on her toilet table. However exasperating to herself the conclusion might be, Mrs. Lacount could not fail to see that she had been thus far met and baffled successfully at every point. What was she to do next? If she sent for Mr. Pendrell when he came to Aldborough, with only a few hours spared from his business at her disposal, what definite course would there be for him to follow? If she showed no advance on the original letter from which her note had been copied, he would apply instantly to the writer for an explanation, would expose the fabricated story by which Mrs. Lacount had succeeded in imposing on Miss Garth, and would, in any event, still declare, on the evidence of his own eyes, that the test by the marks on the neck had utterly failed. Miss Vanstone the Elder, whose unexpected presence at Aldborough might have done wonders, whose voice in the hall at North Shingles, even if she had been admitted no further, might have reached her sister's ears, Miss Vanstone the Elder was out of the country, and was not likely to return for a month at least. Look as anxiously as Miss Lacount might's of on the course which she had hitherto followed, she failed to see her way through the accumulated obstacles which now barred her advance. Other women in this position might have waited until circumstances altered and helped them. Mrs. Lacount boldly retraced her steps, and determined to find her way to her end in a new direction. Resigning for the present all further attempt proved that the false Miss Bygrave was the true Magdalen Vanstone she resolved to narrow the range of her next efforts, to leave the actual question of Magdalen's identity untouched, and to rest satisfied with convincing her master of this simple fact, that the young lady who was charming him at North Shingles, and the disguised woman who had terrified him in Voxhall Walk, were one and the same person. The means of attaining this new object were, to all appearance, far less easy of attainment than the means of affecting the object which Miss Lacount had just resigned. Here no help was to be expected from others, no ostensibly benevolent motives could be put forward as a blind, no appeal could be made to Mr. Pendrell or to Miss Garth. Here the housekeeper's only chance of success depended, in the first place, on her being able to effect a stolen entrance into Mr. Bygrave's house, and in the second place, on her ability to discover whether that memorable out-packed dress from which she had secretly cut the fragment of stuff happened to form part of Miss Bygrave's wardrobe. Taking the difficulties now before her in their order as they occurred, Mrs. Lacount first resolved to devote the next few days to watching the habits of the inmates of North Shingles, from early in the morning to late at night, and to testing the capacity of the one servant in the house to resist the temptation of a bribe. Assuming that results prove successful, and that, either by money or by stratagem, she gained admission to North Shingles without the knowledge of Mr. Bygrave or his niece, she turned next to the second difficulty of the two, the difficulty of obtaining access to Miss Bygrave's wardrobe. If the servant proved corruptible, all obstacles in this direction might be considered as removed beforehand. But, if the servant proved honest, the new problem was no easy one to solve. Long and careful consideration of the question led the housekeeper at last to the bold resolution of obtaining an interview, if the servant failed her, with Mrs. Bygrave herself. What was the true cause of this lady's mysterious seclusion? Was she a person of the strictest and the most inconvenient integrity, or a person who could not be depended on to preserve a secret, or a person who was as artful as Mr. Bygrave himself, and who was kept in reserve to forward the object of some new deception which has yet to come? In the first two cases, Mrs. LaCount could trust in her own powers of dissimulation, and in the results which they might achieve. In the last case, if no other end was gained, it might be of vital importance to her to discover an enemy hidden in the dark. In any event, she determined to run the risk. Of the three chances in her favour on which she had reckoned at the outset of the struggle, the chance of entrapping Magdalen by word of mouth, the chance of entrapping her by the help of her friends, and the chance of entrapping her by means of Mrs. Bygrave, two had been tried, and two had failed. The third remained to be tested yet, and the third might succeed. Although the captain's enemy plotted against him in the privacy of her own chamber, while the captain watched the light in her window from the beach outside. Before breakfast the next morning, Captain Ragh posted the forge letter to Zurich with his own hand. He went back to North Shingles with his mind not quite decided on the course to take with Mrs. LaCount during the all-important interval of the next ten days. According to his surprise, his doubts on this point were abruptly decided by Magdalen herself. He found her waiting for him in the room where the breakfast was laid. She was walking restlessly to and fro, with her head drooping on her bosom, and her hair hanging disordered over her shoulders. The moment she looked up on his entrance, the captain felt the fear which Mrs. Ragh had felt before him. The fear that her mind would be struck prostrate again, as it had been struck once already when Frank's letter reached her in Voxhall Walk. "'Is he coming again today?' she asked, pushing away from her the chair which Captain Ragh offered, with such violence that she threw it on the floor. "'Yes,' said the captain, wisely answering her in the fewest words, he is coming at two o'clock. "'Take me away,' she exclaimed, tossing her hair back wildly from her face, "'Take me away before he comes. I can't get over the horror of marrying him while I am in this hateful place. Take me somewhere where I can forget it, or I shall go mad. Give me two days' rest, two days out of sight of that horrible sea, two days out of prison in this horrible house, two days anywhere in the wide, wild world away from Old Burrow. I'll come back with you, I'll go through with it to the end. Only give me two days' escape from that man and everything belonging to him. Do you hear me, you villain?' she cried, seizing his arm and shaking it in a frenzy of passion. "'I have been tortured enough. I can bear it no longer.'" There was but one way of quieting her, and the captain instantly took it. "'If you will try to control yourself,' he said, "'you shall leave Old Burrow in an hour's time.'" She dropped his arm and leaned back heavily against the wall behind her. "'I'll try,' she answered, struggling for breath, but looking at him less wildly. "'You shan't complain of me if I can help it.' She attempted confusedly to take her handkerchief from her apron pockets and failed to find it. The captain took it out for her. Her eyes softened, and she drew her breath more freely as she received the handkerchief from him. "'You are a kinder man than I thought you were,' she said. "'I am sorry I spoke so passionately to you just now. I am very, very sorry.'" The tears stalled into her eyes, and she offered him her hand with the native grace and gentleness of happier days. "'Be friends with me again,' she said pleadingly. "'I'm only a girl, Captain Ragh. I'm only a girl.'" He took her hand in silence, patted it for a moment, and then opened the door for her to go back to her own room again. There was genuine regret in his face as he showed her that trifling attention. He was a vagabond and a cheat. He had lived a mean, shuffling, degraded life, but he was human, and she had found her way to the lost sympathies in him which not even self-profonation of a swindler's existence could wholly destroy. "'Damn the breakfast,' he said, when the servant came in for her orders. Go to the inn directly, and say I want a carriage and pair at the door in an hour's time.' He went out into the passage, still chafing under a sense of mental disturbance which was new to him, and shouted to his wife more fiercely than ever. "'Pack up what we want for a week's absence, and be ready in half an hour.' Having issued those directions, he returned to the breakfast-room, and looked at the half-spread table with an impatient wonder at his disinclination to do justice to his own meal. She has rubbed off the edge of my appetite,' he said to himself with a forced laugh. "'I'll try a cigar, and a turn in the fresh air.' If he had been twenty years younger, those rabidies might have failed him. But where is the man to be found whose internal policy succumbs to revolution when that man is on the wrong side of fifty? Exercise and change of place gave the captain back into the possession of himself. He recovered the lost sense of the flavour of his cigar, and recalled his wandering attention to the question of his approaching absence from Alburo. A few minutes' consideration satisfied his mind that Magdalene's outbreak had forced him to take the course of all others, which, on a fair review of existing emergencies, it was now most desirable to adopt. Captain Ragh's inquiries on the evening when he and Magdalene had drunk tea at Seaview had certainly informed him that the housekeeper's brother possessed a modest competence, that his sister was his nearest living relative, and that there were some unscrupulous cousins on the spot who were anxious to usurp the place in his will which properly belonged to Mrs. Lacount. Here were strong motives to take the housekeeper to Zurich when the false report of her brother's relapse reached England. But if any idea of Noel Vanstone's true position donned on her in the meantime, who could say whether she might not, at the eleventh hour, prefer asserting her large pecuniary interest in her master to defending her small pecuniary interest at her brother's bedside. While that question remained undecided, the plain necessity of checking the growth of Noel Vanstone's intimacy with the family at North Shingles did not admit of a doubt, and of all means of affecting that object, none could be less open to suspicion than the temporary removal of the household from their residence at Oldborough. Thoroughly satisfied with the soundness of his conclusion, Captain Ragh made straight for Seaview Cottage to apologize and explain before the carriage came and the departure took place. Noel Vanstone was easily accessible to visitors. He was walking in the garden before breakfast. His disappointment and vexation were freely expressed when he heard the news which his friend had to communicate. The captain's fluent tongue, however, soon impressed on him the necessity of resignation to present circumstances. The bare hint that the pious fraud might fail after all, if anything happened in the ten days' interval to enlighten Mrs. LeCount, had an instant effect on making Noel Vanstone as patient and as submissive as could be wished. I won't tell you where we are going for two good reasons, said Captain Ragh, when his preliminary explanations were completed. In the first place I haven't made up my mind yet, and in the second place, if you don't know where our destination is, Mrs. LeCount can't worm it out of you. I have not the least doubt she is watching us at this moment from behind her window curtain. Once she asks what I wanted with you this morning, tell her I came to say good-bye for a few days, finding my niece not so well again and wishing to take her on a short visit to some friends to try change of air. If you could produce an impression on Mrs. LeCount's mind, without overdoing it, that you are a little disappointed in me, and that you are rather inclined to doubt my heartiness in cultivating your acquaintance, you will greatly help our present object. You may depend on our return to North Jingles in four or five days at furthest. If anything strikes me in the meanwhile, the post is always at your service, and I won't fail to write to you. Won't Miss Bygrave write to me? inquired Noel Vanstone piteously. Did she know you were coming here? Did she send me no message? Unpardonable on my part you have forgotten it, cried the Captain. She sent you her love. Noel Vanstone closed his eyes in silent ecstasy. When he opened them again, Captain Ragh had passed through the garden gate and was on his way back to North Jingle. As soon as his own door had closed on him, Mrs. LeCount descended from the post of observation which the Captain had rightly suspected her of occupying, and addressed the inquiry to her master which the Captain had rightly foreseen would follow his departure. The reply she received produced but one impression on her mind. She at once headed down as a falsehood, and returned to her own window to keep watch over North Jingles more virginately than ever. To her utter astonishment, after a lapse of less than half an hour, she saw an empty carriage draw up to Mr. Bygrave's door. Luggage was brought out and packed on the vehicle. Miss Bygrave appeared and took her seat in it. She was followed into the carriage by a lady of great size and stature, whom the housekeeper conjectured to be Mrs. Bygrave. The servant came next and stood waiting on the path. The last person to appear was Mr. Bygrave. He locked the house door and took the key away with him to a cottage near at hand, which was the residence of the landlord of North Jingles. On his return he nodded to the servant, who walked away by herself toward the humbler quarter of the little town, and joined the ladies in the carriage. The coachman mounted the box, and the vehicle disappeared. Mrs. LeCount laid down the opera glass through which she had been closely investigating these proceedings, with a feeling of helpless perplexity which she was almost ashamed to acknowledge to herself. The secret of Mr. Bygrave's object, in suddenly emptying his house in Alburo of every living creature in it, was an impenetrable mystery to her. Submitting herself to circumstances with a ready resignation, which Captain Rag had not shown on his side in a similar situation, Mrs. LeCount wasted neither time nor temper in unprofitable guesswork. She left the mystery to thicken nor to clear, as the future might decide, and looked exclusively at the uses to which she might put the morning's event in her own interests. Whatever might have become of the family of North Jingles, the servant was left behind, and the servant was exactly the person whose assistance might now be of vital importance to the housekeeper's projects. Mrs. LeCount put on her bonnet, inspected the collection of loose silver in her purse, and set forth on the spot to make the servant's acquaintance. She went first to the cottage at which Mr. Bygrave had left the key of North Jingles to discover the servant's present address from the landlord. So far as this object was concerned, her errand proved successful. The landlord knew that the girl had been allowed to go home for a few days to her friends, and knew in what part of Oldborough her friends lived. But here his sources of information suddenly dried up. He knew nothing of the destination to which Mr. Bygrave and his family had be taken themselves, and he was perfectly ignorant of the number of days over which their absence might be expected to extend. All he could say was that he had not received a notice to quit from his tenant, and that he had been requested to keep the key of the home in his possession until Mr. Bygrave returned to claim it in his own person. Baffled but not discouraged, Mrs. LeCount turned her steps next toward the back street of Oldborough, and astonished the servant's relatives by conferring on them the honour of a morning call. Easily imposed on at starting by Mrs. LeCount's pretense of calling to engage her under the impression that she had left Mr. Bygrave's service, the servant did her best to answer the questions put to her. But she knew as little as the landlord of her master's plans. All she could say about them was that she had not been dismissed, and that she was to await the receipt of a note recalling her when necessary to her situation at North Shingles. Not having expected to find her better informed on this part of the subject, Mrs. LeCount smoothly shifted her ground and led the woman into talking generally of the advantages and defects of her situation in Mr. Bygrave's family. Profiting by the knowledge gained in this indirect manner of the little secrets of the household, Mrs. LeCount made two discoveries. She found out, in the first place, that the servant, having enough to do in attending to the coarser part of her domestic work, was in no position to disclose the secrets of Mrs. Bygrave's wardrobe, which were known only to the young lady herself and to her aunts. In the second place, the housekeeper ascertained that the true reason of Mrs. Bygrave's rigid seclusion was to be found in the simple fact that she was little better than an idiot, and that her husband was probably ashamed of allowing her to be seen in public. These apparently trivial discoveries enlightened Mrs. LeCount on a very important point which had been previously involved in doubt. She was now satisfied that the likeliest way to obtaining a private investigation of Magdalen's wardrobe lay through deluding the imbecile lady, and not through bribing the ignorant servant. Having reached that conclusion, pregnant with coming assaults on the weakly fortified discretion of poor Mrs. Rag, the housekeeper cautiously abstained from exhibiting herself any longer under an inquisitive aspect. She changed the conversation to local topics, waited until she was sure of leaving an excellent impression behind her, and then took her leave. Three days passed, and Mrs. LeCount and her master, each with their widely different ends of view, watched with equal anxiety for the first signs of returning life in the direction of North Schingles. In that interval, no letter either from the uncle or the niece arrived from Noel Vanstone. His sincere feeling of irritation under this neglectful treatment greatly assisted the effect of those feigned doubts on the subject of his absent friends which the captain had recommended him to express in the housekeeper's presence. He confessed his apprehensions of having been mistaken, not in Mr. Bygrave only, but even in his niece as well, that he actually contributed a new element of confusion to the existing perplexities of Mrs. LeCount. On the morning of the fourth day Noel Vanstone met the postman in the garden, and to his great relief discovered among the letters delivered to him a note from Mr. Bygrave. The date of the note was Woodbridge, and it contained a few lines only. Mr. Bygrave mentioned that his niece was better, and that she sent her love as before. He proposed returning to Aldborough on the next day, when he would have some new considerations of a strictly private nature to present to Mr. Noel Vanstone's mind. In the meantime he would beg Mr. Vanstone not to call at North Schingles until he received a special invitation to do so, which invitation should certainly be given on the day when the family returned. The motive of this apparently strange request should be explained to Mr. Vanstone's perfect satisfaction when he was once more united to his friend. Until that period arrived the strictest caution was enjoined on him in all his communications with Mrs. LeCount, and the instant destruction of Mr. Bygrave's letter, after duper rules a love it, was, if the classical phrase might be pardoned, a sine qua non. The fifth day came. Noel Vanstone, after submitting himself to the sine qua non and destroying the letter, waited anxiously for results, while Mrs. LeCount, on her side, watched patiently for events. Toward three o'clock in the afternoon the carriage appeared again at the gate of North Schingles. Mr. Bygrave got out and tripped away bristly to the landlord's cottage for the key. He returned with the servant at his heels. Miss Bygrave left the carriage, her giant relative followed her example. The house door was opened, the trunks were taken off, the carriage disappeared, and the Bygrave's were at home again. Four o'clock struck, five o'clock, six o'clock, and nothing happened. In half an hour more Mr. Bygrave, spruce, speckless, and respectable as ever, appeared on the parade, sauntering composedly in the direction of Seaview. Instead of at once entering the house, he passed it, stopped, as if struck by a sudden recollection, and, retracing his steps, asked for Mr. Van Stone at the door. Mr. Van Stone came out hospitably into the passage. Pitching his voice to a tone which could be easily heard by any listening individual through any open door in the bedroom regions, Mr. Bygrave announced the object of his visit on the doormat in the fewest possible words. He had been staying with a distant relative. The distant relative possessed two pictures, gems by the old masters, which he was willing to dispose of, and which he had entrusted for that purpose to Mr. Bygrave's care. If Mr. Noel Van Stone, as an amateur in such matters wished to see the gems, they would be visible in half an hour's time, but Mr. Bygrave would have returned to North Shingles. Having delivered himself of this incomprehensible announcement, the arch-conspirator laid his significant forefinger along the side of his short Roman nose, said, Fine weather, isn't it? Good afternoon, and sauntered out inscrutably to continue his walk on the parade. On the exploration of the half-hour, Noel Van Stone presented himself at North Shingles with the ardour of a lover burning inextinguishably in his bosom through the super-incumbent mental fog of a thoroughly bewildered man. To his inexpressible happiness he found Magdal and alone in the parlour. Never yet had she looked so beautiful in his eyes. The rest and relief of her four days' absence from Alburo had not failed to produce their results. She had more than recovered her composure. Vibrating perpetually from one violent extreme to another, she had now passed from the passionate despair of five days since to a feverish exultation of spirits which defied all remorse and confronted all consequences. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks were bright with colour. She talked incessantly with a four-lord mockery of the girlish gaiety of past days. She laughed with a deplorable persistency in laughing. She imitated Mrs. LeCount's smooth voice and Mrs. LeCount's insinuating graces of manner with an overcharged resemblance to the original which was but the coarse reflection of the delicately accurate mimicry of former times. Noah Vanstone, who had never yet seen her as he saw her now, was enchanted. His weak head whirled with an intoxication of enjoyment. His whizz and cheeks flushed as if they had caught the infection from hers. When that time had elapsed and when she suddenly left him to obey a previously arranged summons to her aunt's presence, miser as he was, he would have paid at that moment five golden sovereigns out of his pocket for five golden minutes more passed in her society. The door had hardly closed on Magdalen before it opened again, and the captain walked in. He entered on the explanations which his visitor naturally expected from him with the unceremonious abruptness of a man hard-bressed for time and determined to make the most of every moment at his disposal. Since we last saw each other, he began, I have been reckoning up the chances for and against us as we stand at present. The result on my mind is this. If you are still at Old Burl when that letter from Zurich reaches Mrs. Lacount, all the pains we have taken will have been pains thrown away. If your housekeeper had fifty brothers all dying together, she would throw the whole fifty over sooner than leave you alone at Seaview while we are your neighbors at North Jingles. Noah Vanstone's flushed cheek turned pale with dismay. His own knowledge of Mrs. Lacount told him that this view of the case was the right one. If we go away again, proceeded the captain, nothing will be gained. For nothing would persuade your housekeeper in that case that we have not left you the means of following us. You must leave Old Burl this time, and what is more, you must go without leaving a single visible trace behind you for us to follow. If we accomplish this object in the course of the next five days, Mrs. Lacount will take the journey to Zurich. If we fail, she will be a fixture at Seaview to a dead certainty. Don't ask questions. I have got your instructions ready for you, and I want your closest attention to them. Your marriage with my niece depends on your not forgetting a word of what I am going to tell you. One question first. Have you followed my advice? Have you told Mrs. Lacount you are beginning to think yourself mistaken in me? I did worse than that, replied Noel Vanstone penitently. I committed an outrage on my own feelings. I disgraced myself by saying that I doubted Miss Bygrave. Go on disgracing yourself, my dear sir. Doubt us both with all your might, and I'll help you. One question more. Did I speak loud enough this afternoon? Did Mrs. Lacount hear me? Yes. Lacount opened her door. Lacount heard you. What made you give me that message? I see no pictures here. Is this another pious fraud, Mr. Bygrave? Admirably guests, Mr. Vanstone, you will see the object of my imaginary picture-dealing in the very next word which I am now about to address to you. When you get back to Seaview, this is what you ought to say to Mrs. Lacount. Tell her that my relative's works of art are two worthless pictures, copies from the old masters, which I have tried to sell you as originals at an exorbitant price. Say you suspect me of being little better than a plausible imposter and pity my unfortunate niece for being associated with such a rascal as I am. There is your text to speak from. Say, in many words, what I have just said in a few. You can do that, can't you? Of course I can do it, said no Vanstone, but I can tell you one thing. Lacount won't believe me. Wait a little, Mr. Vanstone. I have not done with my instructions yet. You understand what I have just told you? Very good. We may get on from to-day to to-morrow. Go out to-morrow with Mrs. Lacount at your usual time. I will meet you in the parade and bow to you. Instead of returning my bow, look the other way. In plain English, cut me. That is easy enough to do, isn't it? She won't believe me, Mr. Bygway. She won't believe me. Wait a little again, Mr. Vanstone. There are more instructions to come. You have got your directions for to-day, and you have got your directions for to-morrow. Now for the day after. The day after is the seventh day since we sent the letter to Zurich. On the seventh day, declined to go out walking, as before, from dread of the annoyance of meeting me again. Crumble about the smallness of the place, complain of your health, wish you had never come to Oldborough, and never made acquaintances with the Bygraves, and when you have well worried Mrs. Lacount with your discontent, ask her, on a sudden, if she can't suggest a change for the better. If you put that question to her naturally, do you think she can be depended on to answer it? She won't want to be questioned at all, replied Noel Vanstone irritably. I have only got to say I am tired of Oldborough, and if she believes me, which she won't, I'm quite positive Mr. Bygraves she won't. She will have her suggestion ready before I can ask for it. Aye, aye, said the Captain eagerly. There is some place, then, that Mrs. Lacount wants to go to this autumn. She wants to go there, hang her, every autumn. To go where? To Admiral Bartrams. You don't know him, do you? At St. Croc's in the marsh. Don't lose your patience, Mr. Vanstone. What you are now telling me is of the most vital importance to the subject we have in view. Who is Admiral Bartram? An old friend of my father's. My father laid him under obligations. My father lent him money when they were both young men. I am like one of the family at St. Croc's. My room is always kept ready for me. Not that there's any family at the admirals, except his nephew, George Bartram. George is my cousin. I'm as intimate with George as my father was with the admiral. And I've been sharper than my father, for I haven't lent my friend any money. Lacount always makes a show of liking George. I believe to annoy me. She likes the admirable too. He flatters her vanity. He always invites her to come with me to St. Croc's. He lets her have one of the best bedrooms and treats her as if she was a lady. She is as proud as Lucifer. She likes being treated like a lady. And she pesters me every autumn to go to St. Croc's. What's the matter? What are you taking out your pocket-book for? I want the admiral's address, Mr. Vanstone, for a purpose which I will explain immediately. With these words, Captain Rag opened his pocket-book and wrote down the address from Noble Vanstone's dictation as follows. Admiral Bartram, St. Croc's in the marsh, near Ossary, Essex. Good! cried the captain, closing his pocket-book again. The only difficult that stood in our way is now cleared out of it. Patience, Mr. Vanstone, patience. Let us take up my instructions again at this point where we drop them. Give me five minutes more attention, and you will see your way to your marriage as plainly as I see it. On the day after tomorrow you declare you are tired of Aldeborough, and Mrs. Lacan suggests St. Croc's. You don't say yes or no on the spot. You take the next day to consider it, and you make up your mind the last thing at night to go to St. Croc's the first thing in the morning. Are you in the habit of super-intending your own packing up, or do you usually shift all the trouble of it on Mrs. Lacan's shoulders? Lacan has all the trouble, of course. Lacan is paid for it, but I don't really go, do I? You go as fast as horses can take you to the railway, without having held any previous communication with this house, either personally or by letter. You leave Mrs. Lacan behind to pack up your curiosities, to settle with the trade's people, and to follow you to St. Croc's the next morning. The next morning is the tenth morning. On the tenth morning she receives the letter from Zurich, and if you only carry out my instructions, Mr. Van Stone, as sure as you sit there to Zurich she goes. No, Van Stone's collar began to rise again, as the Captain's stratagem dawned on him at last in its true light. And what am I to do at St. Croc's, he inquired. Wait there till I call for you, replied the Captain. As soon as Mrs. Lacan's back is turned, I will go to the church here and give the necessary notice of the marriage, the same day or the next. I will travel to the address written down in my pocketbook, pick you up at the admirals, and take you on to London with me to get the license. With that document in our possession, we shall be on our way back to Oldmorrow, while Mrs. Lacan is on her way to Zurich. And before she starts on her return journey, you and my niece will be man and wife. There are your future prospects for you. What do you think of them? Oh, what a head you have got, cried Noel Van Stone, in a sudden outburst of enthusiasm. You are the most extraordinary man I ever met with. One would think you had done nothing all your life, but take people in. Captain Ragh received that unconscious tribute to his native genius with the complacency of a man who felt that he thoroughly deserved it. I have told you already, my dear sir, he said modestly, that I never do things by halves. Pardon me for reminding you that we have no time for exchanging mutual civilities. Are you quite sure about your instructions? I dare not write them down for fear of accidents. Try the system of artificial memory. Count your instructions off after me on your thumb and your four fingers. Today you tell Mrs. Lacan I have tried to take you in with my relatives' works of art. Tomorrow you cut me on the parade. The day after you refuse to go out, you get tired of Aldeborough and you allow Mrs. Lacan to make her suggestion. The next day you accept the suggestion, and the next day to that you go to St Crocs. Once more, my dear sir, thumb, works of art. Four finger, cut me on the parade. Middle finger, tired of Aldeborough. Third finger, take Lacan's advice. Little finger, off to St Crocs. Nothing can be clearer. Nothing can be easier to do. Is there anything you don't understand? Anything that I can explain over again before you go? Only one thing, said Noel Vanstone, is it settled that I am not to come here again before I go to St Crocs? Most decidedly, answered the captain, the whole success of the enterprise depends on your keeping away. Mrs. Lacan will try the credibility of everything you say to her by one test. The test of your communicating or not with this house. She will watch you night and day. Don't call here. Don't send messages. Don't write letters. Don't even go out by yourself. Let her see you start for St Crocs on her suggestion with the absolute certainty in her own mind that you have followed her advice without communicating it in any form, whatever, to me or to my niece. Do that, and she must believe you on the best of all evidence for our interests and the worst for hers, the evidence of her own senses. With these last words of caution, he shook the little man warmly by the hand and sent him home on the spot. And of scene four, chapter nine, scene four, chapter ten of no name. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. On returning to sea view, Nel Van Stone executed the instructions which prescribed his line of conduct for the first of the five days with unimpeachable accuracy. A faint smile of contempt hovered about Mrs La Count's lips while the story of Mr Bygrave's attempt to pass off his spurious pictures as originals was in progress. But she did not trouble herself to utter a single word of remark when it had come to an end. Just what I said, thought Nel Van Stone, cunningly watching her face. She doesn't believe a word of it. The next day the meeting occurred on the parade. Mr Bygrave took off his hat and Nel Van Stone looked the other way. The captain's start of surprise and scowl of indignation were executed to perfection, but they plainly failed to impose on Mrs La Count. I am afraid, sir, you have offended Mr Bygrave today, she ironically remarked. Happily for you he is an excellent Christian, and I venture to predict that he will forgive you tomorrow. Nel Van Stone wisely refrained from committing himself to an answer. Once more he privately applauded his own penetration. Once more he triumphed over his ingenious friend. Thus far the captain's instructions had been too clear and simple to be mistaken by anyone, but they advanced in complication with the advance of time. And on the third day Nel Van Stone fell confusedly into the commission of a slight error. After expressing the necessary weariness of Aldbra, and the consequent anxiety for a change of scene, he was met, as he had anticipated, by an immediate suggestion from the housekeeper recommending a visit to St Crooks. In giving his answer to the advice thus tendered, he made his first mistake. Instead of deferring his decision to the next day, he accepted Mrs La Count's suggestion on the day when it was offered to him. The consequences of this error were of no great importance. The housekeeper merely set herself to watch her master one day earlier than had been calculated on. A result which had already been provided for by the wise precautionary measure, a forbidding Nel Van Stone all communication with North Shingles. Doubting, as Captain Rag had foreseen, the sincerity of her master's desire to break off his connection with the by-graves by going to St Crooks, Mrs La Count tested the truth or falsehood of the impression produced on her own mind by vigilantly watching for signs of secret communication on one side or on the other. The close attention with which she had hitherto observed the outgoings and incomings at North Shingles was now entirely transferred to her master. For the rest of that third day she never let him out of her sight. She never allowed any third person who came to the house, on any pretense whatever, a minute's chance of private communication with him. At intervals through the night she stole to the door of his room to listen and assure herself that he was in bed, and before sunrise the next morning the Coast Guardsman going his rounds was surprised to see a lady who had risen as early as himself engaged over her work at one of the upper windows of Seaview. On the fourth morning Nel Van Stone came down to breakfast, conscious of the mistake that he had committed on the previous day. The obvious course to take for the purpose of gaining time was to declare that his mind was still undecided. He made the assertion boldly when the housekeeper asked him if he meant to move that day. Again Mrs La Count offered no remark, and again the signs and tokens of incredulity showed themselves in her face. Vassilation of purpose was not at all unusual in her experience of her master, but on this occasion she believed that his caprice of conduct was assumed for the purpose of gaining time to communicate with North Shingles, and she accordingly set her watch on him once more with doubled and trebled vigilance. No letters came that morning. Toward noon the weather changed for the worse, and all idea of walking out as usual was abandoned. Hour after hour while her master sat in one of the parlours, Mrs La Count kept watching the other with the door into the passage open, and with a full view of North Shingles through the convenient side window at which she had established herself. Not a sign that was suspicious appeared. Not a sound that was suspicious caught her ear. As the evening closed in, her master's hesitation came to an end. He was disgusted with the weather, he hated the place. He foresaw the annoyance of more meetings with Mr Bygrave, and he was determined to go to St Crookes, the first thing the next morning. La Count could stay behind to pack up the curiosities, and settle with the tradespeople, and could follow him to the admirals on the next day. The housekeeper was a little staggered by the tone and manner in which he gave these orders. He had, to her own certain knowledge, affected no communication of any sort with North Shingles, and yet he seemed determined to leave Old Bra at the earliest possible opportunity. For the first time she hesitated, in her adherence to her own conclusions. She remembered that her master had complained of the Bygraves before they returned to Old Bra, and she was conscious that her own incredulity had once already misled her, when the appearance of the travelling carriage at the door had proved even Mr Bygrave himself to be as good as his word. Still Mrs La Count determined to act with unrelenting caution to the last. That night, when the doors were closed, she privately removed the keys from the door in front and the door at the back. She then softly opened her bedroom window, and sat down by it, with her bonnet and cloak on, to prevent her taking cold. Noel Van Stone's window was on the same side of the house as her own. If anyone came in the dark to speak to him from the garden beneath, they would speak to his housekeeper as well. Prepared at all points to intercept every form of clandestine communication which stratagem could invent, Mrs La Count watched through the quiet night. When morning came, she stole downstairs before the servant was up, restored the keys to their places, and reoccupied her position in the parlor, until Noel Van Stone made his appearance at the breakfast table. Had he altered his mind? No. He declined posting to the railway on account of the expense, but he was as firm as ever in his resolution to go to St Crooks. He desired that an inside place might be secured for him in the early coach. Suspicious to the last, Mrs La Count sent the baker's man to take the place. He was a public servant, and Mr Bygrave would not suspect him of performing a private errand. The coach called at sea view. Mrs La Count saw her master established in his place, and ascertained that the other three inside seats were already occupied by strangers. She inquired of the coachmen if the outside places, all of which were not yet filled up, had their full complement of passengers also. The man replied in the affirmative. He had two gentlemen to call for in the town, and the others would take their places at the inn. Mrs La Count, forthwith, turned her steps toward the inn, and took up her position on the parade opposite, from a point of view which would enable her to see the last of the coach on its departure. In ten minutes more, it rattled away, full outside and inn, and the housekeeper's own eyes assured her that neither Mr Bygrave himself, nor anyone belonging to North Shingles, was among the passengers. There was only one more precaution to take, and Mrs La Count did not neglect it. Mr Bygrave had doubtless seen the coach call at sea view. He might hire a carriage and follow it to the railway on pure speculation. Mrs La Count remained within view of the inn, the only place at which a carriage could be obtained, for nearly an hour longer waiting for events. Nothing happened. No carriage made its appearance. No pursuit of Noel Van Stone was now within the range of human possibility. The long strain on Mrs La Count's mind relaxed at last. She left her seat on the parade, and returned in higher spirits than usual, to perform the closing household ceremonies at sea view. She sat down alone in the parlour, and drew a long breath of relief. Captain Ragh's calculations had not deceived him. The evidence of her own senses had at last conquered the housekeeper's incredulity, and had literally forced her into the opposite extreme of belief. Estimating the events of the last three days from her own experience of them, knowing, as she certainly knew, that the first idea of going to St Crooks had been started by herself, and that her master had found no opportunity, and shown no inclination to inform the family at North Shingles that he had accepted her proposal, Mrs La Count was fairly compelled to acknowledge that not a fragment of foundation remained to justify the continued suspicion of treachery in her own mind. Looking at the succession of circumstances under the new light thrown on them by results, she could see nothing unaccountable, nothing contradictory anywhere. The attempt to pass off the forged pictures as originals was in perfect harmony with the character of such a man as Mr Bygrave. Her master's indignation at the attempt to impose on him, his plainly expressed suspicion that Mrs Bygrave was privy to it, his disappointment in the niece, his contemptuous treatment of the uncle on the parade, his weariness of the place which had been the scene of his rash intimacy with strangers, and his readiness to quit it that morning, all commended themselves as genuine realities to the housekeeper's mind for one sufficient reason. Her own eyes had seen Nelvann Stone take his departure from Albre, without leaving or attempting to leave a single trace behind him for the Bygraves to follow. Thus far the housekeeper's conclusions led her, but no further. She was too shrewd a woman to trust the future to chance and fortune. Her master's variable temper might relent. Accident might at any time give Mr Bygrave an opportunity of repairing the error that he had committed, and of artfully regaining his lost place in Nelvann Stone's estimation. Admitting that circumstances had at last declared themselves unmistakably in her favour, Mrs La Count was not the less convinced that nothing would permanently assure her master's security for the future, but the plain exposure of the conspiracy which she had striven to accomplish from the first, which she was resolved to accomplish still. I always enjoyed myself at St Crocs, thought Mrs La Count, opening her account books, and sorting the tradesman's bills. The admiral is a gentleman. The house is noble. And the table is excellent. No matter. Here at Seaview I stay by myself till I have seen the inside of Mrs Bygrave's wardrobe. She packed her master's collection of curiosities in their various cases, settled the claims of the tradespeople, and superintended the covering of the furniture in the course of the day. Toward nightfall she went out, bent on investigation, and ventured into the garden at North Shingles under cover of the darkness. She saw the light in the parlor window, and the lights in the windows of the rooms upstairs, as usual. After an instant's hesitation she stole to the house door, and noiselessly tried the handle from the outside. It turned the lock as she had expected, from her experience of houses at Aldborough and at other watering places. But the door resisted her. The door was distrustfully bolted on the inside. After making that discovery she went round to the back of the house, and ascertained that the door on that side was secured in the same manner. Bolt your doors, Mr Bygrave, as fast as you like, said the housekeeper, stealing back again to the parade. You can't bolt the entrance to your servant's pocket. The best lock you have may be opened by a golden key. She went back to bed. The ceaseless watching, the unrelenting excitement of the last two days, had worn her out. The next morning she rose at seven o'clock. In half an hour more she saw the puncture Mr Bygrave, as she had seen him on many previous mornings at the same time, issue from the gate of North Shingles with his towels under his arm, and make his way to a boat that was waiting for him on the beach. Swimming was one among the many personal accomplishments of which the captain was master. He was rowed out to sea every morning, and took his bath luxuriously in the deep blue water. Mrs La Count had already computed the time consumed in this recreation by her watch, and had discovered that a full hour usually elapsed from the moment when he embarked on the beach to the moment when he returned. During that period she had never seen any other inhabitant of North Shingles leave the house. The servant was no doubt at her work in the kitchen. Mrs Bygrave was probably still in her bed, and Miss Bygrave, if she was up at that early hour, had perhaps received directions not to venture out in her uncle's absence. The difficulty of meeting the obstacle of Magdalen's presence in the house had been, for some days past, the one difficulty which all Mrs La Count's ingenuity had thus far proved unable to overcome. She sat at the window for a quarter of an hour after the captain's boat had left the beach, with her mind hard at work, and her eyes fixed mechanically on North Shingles. She sat considering what written excuse she could send to her master for delaying her departure from Aldbra for some days to come, when the door of the house she was watching suddenly opened, and Magdalen herself appeared in the garden. There was no mistaking her figure and her dress. She took a few steps hastily toward the gate, stopped and pulled down the veil of her garden hat, as if she felt the clear morning light too much for her, then hurried out on the parade and walked away northward, in such haste, or in such preoccupation of mind, that she went through the garden gate without closing it after her. Mrs La Count started up from her chair, with a moment's doubt of the evidence of her own eyes. Had the opportunity, which she had been vainly plotting to produce, actually offered itself to her of its own accord? Had the chances declared themselves at last in her favour, after steadily acting against her for so long? There was no doubt of it. In the popular phrase, her luck had turned. She snatched up her bonnet and mantilla, and made for north shingles without an instant's hesitation. Mr Bygrave out at sea? Miss Bygrave away for a walk? Mrs Bygrave and the servant both at home? And both easily dealt with? The opportunity was not to be lost. The risk was well worth running. This time the house door was easily opened. No one had bolted it again after Magdalene's departure. Mrs La Count closed the door softly, listened for a moment in the passage, and heard the servant, noisily occupied in the kitchen, with her pots and pans. If my lucky star leads me straight into Miss Bygrave's room, thought the housekeeper, stealing noiselessly up the stairs, I may find my way to her wardrobe without disturbing anybody. She tried the door nearest to the front of the house, on the right hand side of the landing. Capricious Chance had deserted her already. The lock was turned. She tried the door opposite, on her left hand. The boots ranged symmetrically in a row, and the razors on the dressing table told her at once that she had not found the right room yet. She returned to the right side of the landing, walked down a little passage leading to the back of the house, and tried a third door. The door opened, and the two opposite extremes of female humanity, Mrs Rag and Mrs La Count, stood face to face in an instant. I begged ten thousand pardons, said Mrs La Count, with the most consummate self-possession. Lord bless us and save us! cried Mrs Rag, with the most helpless amazement. The two exclamations were uttered in a moment, and in that moment Mrs La Count took the measure of her victim. Nothing of the least importance escaped her. She noticed the oriental cashmere robe lying half-made, and half-unpicked again on the table. She noticed the imbecile foot of Mrs Rag surging blindly in the neighbourhood of her chair for a lost shoe. She noticed that there was a second door in the room, besides the door by which she had entered, and a second chair within easy reach, on which she might do well to seat herself in a friendly and confidential way. Pray don't resent my intrusion, pleaded Mrs La Count, taking the chair. Pray allow me to explain myself. Speaking in her softest voice, surveying Mrs Rag with a sweet smile on her insinuating lips, and a melting interest in her handsome black eyes, the housekeeper told her little introductory series of falsehoods with an artless truthfulness of manner which the father of lies himself might have envied. She had heard from Mr Bygrave that Mrs Bygrave was a great invalid. She had constantly reproached herself, in her idle half-hours at sea view, where she filled the situation of Mr Noel Vanstone's housekeeper, for not having offered her friendly services to Mrs Bygrave. She had been directed by her master, doubtless well known to Mrs Bygrave, as one of her husband's friends, and naturally one of her charming nieces, admirers, to join him that day at the residence to which he had removed from Aldbra. She was obliged to leave early, but she could not reconcile it to her conscience to go without calling to apologise for her apparent want of neighbourly consideration. She had found nobody in the house. She had not been able to make the servant here. She had presumed, not discovering that apartment downstairs, that Mrs Bygrave's boudoir might be on the upper story. She had thoughtlessly committed an intrusion of which she was sincerely ashamed, and she could now only trust the Mrs Bygrave's indulgence to excuse and forgive her. A less elaborate apology might have served Mrs La Count's purpose. As soon as Mrs Rag's struggling perceptions had grasped the fact that her unexpected visitor was a neighbour well known to her by repute, her whole being became absorbed in admiration of Mrs La Count's ladylike manners, and Mrs La Count's perfectly fitting gown. What a noble way she has of talking, thought poor Mrs Rag, as the housekeeper reached her closing sentence. And, oh, my heart alive, how nicely she's dressed! I see I disturb you, pursued Mrs La Count, artfully availing herself of the oriental cashmere robe, as a means ready at hand of reaching the end she had in view. I see I disturb you, ma'am, over an occupation which I know by experience requires the closest attention. Dear, dear me, you are unpicking the dress again I see after it has been made. This is my own experience again, Mrs Bygrave. Some dresses are so obstinate. Some dresses seem to say to one, in so many words, No, you may do what you like with me, I won't fit. Mrs Rag was greatly struck by this happy remark. She burst out laughing and clapped her great hands in hearty approval. That's what this gown has been saying to me ever since I first put the scissors into it, she exclaimed cheerfully. I know I've got an awful big back, but that's no reason. Why should a gown be weeks on hand and then not meet behind you after all? It hangs over my bosom like a sack it does. Look here, ma'am, at the skirt. It won't come right. It dragles in front and cocks up behind. It shows my heels and Lord knows I get in the scrapes enough about my heels without showing them into the bargain. May I ask a favour, inquired Mrs LeCount, confidentiality? May I try, Mrs Bygrave, if I can make my experience of any use to you? I think our bosom's, ma'am, are our great difficulty. Now, this bosom of yours, shall I say in plain words what I think? This bosom of yours is an enormous mistake. Don't say that, cried Mrs Rag imploringly. Don't please, there is a good soul. It's an awful big one, I know, but it's modelled for all that from one of Magdalen's own. She was far too deeply interested on the subject of the dress to notice that she had forgotten herself already, and that she had referred to Magdalen by her own name. Mrs LeCount's sharp ears detected the mistake at the instant it was committed. So, so, she thought, one discovery already, if I had ever doubted my own suspicions, here is an estimable lady who would now have set me right. I beg your pardon, she proceeded aloud. Did you say this was modelled from one of your niece's dresses? Yes, said Mrs Rag, it's as like as two peas. Then, replied Mrs LeCount adroitly, there must be some serious mistake in the making of your niece's dress. Can you show it to me? Bless your heart, yes, cried Mrs Rag. Step this way, ma'am, and bring the gown along with you please. It keeps sliding off, out of pure aggravation. If you lay it on the table, there's lots of room on the bed in here. She opened the door of communication and led the way eagerly into Magdalen's room. As Mrs LeCount followed, she stole a look at her watch. Never before had time flown as it flew that morning. In twenty minutes more, Mr Bygrave would be back from his bath. There, said Mrs Rag, throwing open the wardrobe, and taking a dress down from one of the pegs. Look there, there's plaits on her bosom and plaits on mine. Six of one and a half a dozen of the other, and mine are the biggest, that's all. Mrs LeCount shook her head gravely, and entered forthwith into subtleties of disquisition on the art of dressmaking, which had the desired effect of utterly bewildering the proprietor of the Oriental Kashmir robe in less than three minutes. Don't, cried Mrs Rag imploringly, don't go on like that. I'm miles behind you, and my head's buzzing already. Tell us, like a good soul, what's to be done. You said something about the pattern just now. Perhaps I'm too big for the pattern. I can't help it, if I am. Men is the good cry I had when I was a growing girl over my own size. There's half too much of me, ma'am. Measure me along or measure me across, I don't deny it. There's half too much of me, anyway. My dear madam, protested Mrs LeCount, you do yourself a wrong. Permit me to assure you that you possess a commanding figure, a figure of maneuver, a majestic simplicity in the form of a woman, imperatively demands a majestic simplicity in the form of that woman's dress. The laws of costume are classical. The laws of costume must not be trifled with. Plats for Venus, puffs for Juno, folds for Minerva. I venture to suggest a total change of pattern. Your niece has other dresses in her collection. Why may we not find a Minerva pattern among them? As she said those words, she led the way back to the wardrobe. Mrs Rag followed, and took the dresses out one by one, shaking her head despondently. Silk dresses appeared, muslin dresses appeared. The one dress which remained invisible was the dress of which Mrs LeCount was in search. There's a lot of them, said Mrs Rag. They may do for Venus and the two other ones. I've seen them in pictures without a morsel of decent linen among the three, but they won't do for me. Surely there is another dress left, said Mrs LeCount, pointing to the wardrobe, but touching nothing in it. Surely I see something hanging in the corner behind that dark shawl. Mrs Rag removed the shawl. Mrs LeCount opened the door of the wardrobe a little wider. There, hitched carelessly on the innermost peg, there, with its white spots and its double flanks, was the brown alpaca dress. The suddenness and completeness of the discovery through the house keeper practised December, as she was, completely off her guard. She started at the sight of the dress. The instant afterward her eyes turned uneasily toward Mrs Rag. Had the start been observed? It had passed entirely unnoticed. Mrs Rag's whole attention was fixed on the alpaca dress. She was staring at it incomprehensibly, with an expression of the utmost dismay. You seem alarmed, ma'am, said Mrs LeCount. What is there in the wardrobe to frighten you? I'd have given a crownpiece out of my pocket, said Mrs Rag, not to have set my eyes on that gown. It had gone clean out of my head. And now it's come back again. Cover it up! cried Mrs Rag, throwing the shawl over the dress in a sudden fit of desperation. If I look at it much longer, I shall think I'm back again in Vox or Walk. Vox or Walk. Those two words told Mrs LeCount she was on the brink of another discovery. She stole a second look at her watch. There was barely ten minutes to spare before the time when Mr Bygrave might return. There was not one of those ten minutes which might not bring his niece back to the house. Caution, counseled Mrs LeCount to go, without running any more risks. Curiosity rooted her to the spot, and gave the courage to stay at all hazards until the time was up. Her amiable smile began to harden a little as she probed her way tenderly into Mrs Rag's feeble mind. You have some unpleasant remembrances of Vox or Walk? She said, with the gentlest possible tone of inquiry in her voice. Or perhaps I should say unpleasant remembrances of that dress belonging to your niece. The last time I saw her with that gown on, said Mrs Rag, dropping into a chair and beginning to tremble, was the time when I came back from shopping and saw the ghost. The ghost, repeated Mrs LeCount, clasping her hands in graceful astonishment. Dear Madam, pardon me. Is there such a thing in the world? Where did you see it? In Vox or Walk? Tell me. You are the first lady I ever met who has seen a ghost. Pray tell me. Flattered by the position of importance which she had suddenly assumed in the housekeeper's eyes, Mrs Rag entered at full length into the narrative of her supernatural adventure. The breathless eagerness with which Mrs LeCount listened to her description of the spectre's costume, the spectre's hurry on the stairs, and the spectre's disappearance in the bedroom. The extraordinary interest which Mrs LeCount displayed on hearing that the dress in the wardrobe was the very dress in which Magdalen happened to be attired at the awful moment when the ghost vanished encouraged Mrs Rag to wade deeper and deeper into details and to involve herself in a confusion of collateral circumstances out of which there seemed to be no prospect of her emerging for hours to come. Faster and faster the inexorable minutes flew by. Nearer and nearer came the fatal moment of Mr Bygrave's return. Mrs LeCount looked at her watch for the third time without an attempt on this occasion to conceal the action from her companion's notice. There were literally two minutes left for her to get clear of north shingles. Two minutes would be enough if no accident happened. She had discovered the alpaca dress. She had heard the whole story of the adventures in Vauxhall Walk, and more than that she had even informed herself of the number of the house which Mrs Rag happened to remember because it answered to the number of years in her own age. All that was necessary to her master's complete enlightenment she had now accomplished. Even if there had been time to stay longer there was nothing worth staying for. I'll strike this worthy idiot done with a coup d'état, thought the housekeeper, and vanished before she recovers herself. Horrible, cried Mrs LeCount, interrupting the ghostly narrative by a shrill little scream and making for the door to Mrs Rag's unutterable astonishment without the least ceremony. You freeze the very marrow of my bones. Good morning! She coolly tossed the oriental cashmere robe into Mrs Rag's expansive lap and left the room in an instant. As she swiftly descended the stairs she heard the door of the bedroom open. Where are your manners? cried a voice from above, hailing her feebly over the banisters. What do you mean by pitching my gown at me in that way? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, pursued Mrs Rag, turning from a lamb to a lioness, as she gradually realized the indignity offered to the cashmere robe. You nasty foreigner, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Pursued by this valedictory address Mrs LeCount reached the house door and opened it without interruption. She glided rapidly along the garden path, passed through the gate, and finding herself safe on the parade stopped and looked toward the sea. The first object which her eyes encountered was the figure of Mr Bygrave standing motionless on the beach, a petrified bather with his towels in his hand. One glance at him was enough to show that he had seen the housekeeper passing out through his garden gate. Rightly conjecturing that Mr Bygrave's first impulse would lead him to make instant inquiries in his own house, Mrs LeCount pursued her way back to Seaview, as composedly as if nothing had happened. When she entered the parlor where her solitary breakfast was waiting for her, she was surprised to see a letter lying on the table. She approached to take it up with an expression of impatience, thinking it might be some tradesman's bill which she had forgotten. It was the forged letter from Zurich. End of Chapter 10, Fourth Scene Scene 4, Chapter 11 of No Name This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Hannah Schoenberg. No Name by Wilkie Collins, Scene 4, Chapter 11 The postmark and the handwriting on the address, admirably imitated from the original, warned Mrs LeCount of the contents of the letter before she opened it. After waiting a moment to compose herself, she read the announcement of her brother's relapse. There was nothing in the handwriting, there was no expression in any part of the letter which could suggest to her mind the faintest suspicion of foul play. Not the shadow of a doubt occurred to her that the summons to her brother's bedside was genuine. The hand that held the letter dropped heavily onto her lap. She became pale and old and haggard in a moment. Thoughts far removed from the present aims and interests, remembrances that carried her back to other lands in England, to other times in the time of her life in service, prolonged their inner shadows to the surface, and showed the traces of the mysterious passage directly on her face. The minutes followed each other, and still the servant below stairs waited vainly for the parlor bell. The minutes followed each other, and still she sat, tearless and quiet, dead to the present and the future, living in the past. The entrance of the servant, uncalled, roused her. With a heavy sigh, the cold and secret woman folded the letter up again and addressed herself to the interests and the duties of the passing time. She decided the question of going or not going to Zurich after a very brief consideration of it. Before she had drawn her chair to the breakfast table, she had resolved to go. Admittedly, as Captain Rags' strategy had worked, it might have failed, unassisted by the occurrence of the morning, to achieve this result. The very accident against which it had been the Captain's chief anxiety to guard, the accident which had just taken place in spite of him, was of all the events that could have happened, the one event which falsified every previous calculation, by directly forwarding the main purpose of the conspiracy. If Mrs. Lee Count had not obtained the information of which she was in search before the receipt of the letter from Zurich, the letter might have addressed her in vain. She would have hesitated before deciding to leave England, and that hesitation might have proved fatal to the Captain's scheme. As it was, with the plain proofs in her procession, with the gown discovered in Magdalen's wardrobe, with the piece cut out of it in her own pocketbooks, and with the knowledge obtained from Mrs. Rags, of the very house in which the disguise had been put on, Mrs. Lee Count had now at her command, the means of warning Noelle Vanstone, as she had never been able to warn him yet, or in other words, the means of guarding against any dangerous tendencies toward reconciliation with a by-graves, which might otherwise have entered his mind during her absence at Zurich. The only difficulty which now perplexed her was the difficulty of deciding whether she should communicate with her master personally or by writing before her departure from England. She looked again at the doctor's letter. The word instantly in the sentence which summoned her to her dying brother was twice underlined. Admiral Batrem's house was at some distance from the railway. The time consumed in driving to St. Crookes and driving back again might be time fatally lost on the journey to Zurich, although she would infinitely have preferred a personal interview with Noelle Vanstone. There was no choice on the matter of life and death but to save the precious hours by writing to him. After ascending to secure a place at once in the early coach, she sat down to write to her master. Her first thought was to tell him all that had happened at North Shingles that morning. On reflection, however, she rejected that idea. Once already, in copying the personal description from Miss Garth's letter, she had trusted her weapons in her master's hands, and Mr. Bygrave hiked and prived to turn them against her. She resolved this time to keep them strictly in her own possession. The secret of the missing fragment from the alpaca dress was known to no living creature but herself, and until her return to England, she determined to keep it to herself. The necessary impression might be produced on Noelle Vanstone's mind without venturing into details. She knew by experience the form of letter which might be trusted to produce an effect on him, and she now wrote it in these words. Dear Mr. Noelle, sad news has reached me from Switzerland. My beloved brother is dying, and his medical attendant summons me instantly to Zurich. The serious necessity of availing myself to the earliest means of conveyance to the continent leaves me but one alternative. I must profit by the permission to leave England if necessary, which you kindly granted me at the beginning of my brother's illness. I must avoid all delay by going straight to London instead of turning aside as I should have liked to see you first at St. Crookes. Painfully, as I am affected by the family calamity which has befallen on me, I cannot let this opportunity pass without averting to another subject, which seriously concerns your welfare, in which, on that account, your old housekeeper feels the deepest interest. I am going to surprise and shock you, Mr. Noelle. Pray don't be agitated. Pray compose yourself. The impudent attempt to cheat you which has happily opened your eyes to the true character of our neighbors at North Shingles was not the only object which Mr. Bygrave had enforcing himself on your acquaintance. The infamous conspiracy with which you were threatened in London has been in full progress against you under Mr. Bygrave's direction at Alderborough. Accident, I will tell you what accident when we met, has put me in procession of information precious to your future security. I have discovered to an absolute certainty that the person calling herself Miss Bygrave is no other than the woman who visited us in disguise at Vox Hill Walk. I suspected this from the first, but I had no evidence to support my suspicions. I had no means of combating the false impression produced on you. My hands, I thank heaven, are tied no longer. I possess absolute proof of the assertion that I have just made, proof that your own eyes can see, proof that would satisfy you if you were judged in a court of justice. Perhaps even yet, Mr. Noelle, you will refuse to believe me? Believe it be it so, believe me or not, I have one last favor to ask, which your English sense of fair play will not deny me. This melancholy journey of mine will keep me away from England for a fortnight, or at most for three weeks. You will oblige me, and you will certainly not sacrifice your own convenience and pleasure by staying through that interval with your friends at St. Crookes. If before my return, some unexpected circumstance throws you once more into the company of the Bygraves, and if your natural kindness of heart inclines you to receive the excuses which they will in that case certainly address to you, place one trifling restraint on yourself for your own sake if not for mine. Suspend your flirtation with the young lady. I beg pardon of all other young ladies for calling her so. Until my return, if when I come back I fail to prove to you that Miss Bygrave is the woman who wore that disguise and used those threatening words in Vox Hill Wall, I will engage to leave your service at a day's notice, and I will atone for the sin of bearing false witness against my neighbor by resigning every claim I have to your grateful remembrance on your father's account as well as on your own. I make this engagement without reserves of any kind, and I promise to abide by it if my proofs fail on the faith of a good Catholic and the word of an honest woman, your faithful servant, Virginia the Count. The closing sentences of this letter, as the housekeeper well knew when she wrote them, embodied the one appeal to Noel Vanstone which could be certainly trusted to produce a deep and lasting effect. She might have staked her oath, her life, or her reputation on proving the assertions which she had made, and have failed to leave a permanent impression on his mind. But when she staked not only her position in his service, but her pecuniary claims on him as well, she had once absorbed the ruling passion of his life. In expectation of the result, there was not a doubt of it. In the strongest of all of his interest, the interest of saving his money, he would wait. Checkmate for Mr. Bygrave thought Mrs. Le Count as she sealed the directed letter, the battle is over, the game is played out. While Mrs. Le Count was providing for her master's future security at Seaview, events were in full progress at North Shingles. As soon as Captain Wragg recovered his astonishment at the housekeeper's appearance on his own premises, he hurried into the house and, guided by his own forebodings of the disaster that had happened, made straight for his wife's room. Never in all her former experience had poor Mrs. Wragg felt the full weight of the captain's indignation as she felt it now. All the little intelligence she naturally possessed vanished at once in the whirlwind of her husband's rage. The only plain facts which he could extract from her were two a number. In the first place, Magdalen's rash assertion of her post proved to have no better reason to excuse it than Magdalen's incorrigible impatience. She had passed a sleepless night, she had risen feverish and wretched, and she had gone out reckless of all consequences to cool her burning head in the fresh air. In the second place, Mrs. Wragg had, on her own confession, seen Mrs. LeCount and talked with Mrs. LeCount and had ended up telling Mrs. LeCount the story of the ghost. How they made these discoveries, Captain Wragg wasted no time in contending with his wife's terror and confusion. He withdrew at once to a window which commanded an uninterrupted prospect of Noelle Vanstone's house, and there established himself on the watch for events at sea view precisely as Mrs. LeCount had established herself on the watch for events at noir shingles. Not a word of comment on the disaster of the morning escaped him when Magdalen returned and found him at his post. His flow of language seemed at least to have run dry. I told you what Mrs. Wragg would do, he said, and Mrs. Wragg has done it. He sat unflinchingly at the window with a patience which Mrs. LeCount herself could not have surpassed. The one active proceeding in which he seemed to think it necessary to engage was performed by a deputy. He sent the servant to the inn to hire a chaise and a fast horse to say that he would call himself before noon that day and tell the hostler when the vehicle would be wanted. Not a sign of impatience escaped him until the time junior for the departure of the early coach. Then the captain's curly lips began to twitch with anxiety and the captain's restless fingers beat the devil's tattoo unremittingly on the window pane. The coach appeared at last and drew up at sea view in a minute more. Captain Wragg's own observation informed him that one among the passengers who left Aldeboro that morning was Mrs. LeCount. The main uncertainty disposed of, a serious question suggested by the events of the morning, still remained to be solved, which was the destined event of Mrs. LeCount's journey, Zurich or St. Crocs, that she would certainly inform her master of Mrs. Wragg's ghost story and of every other disclosure in relation to names and places which might have escaped Mrs. Wragg's lips was beyond all doubt. But of the two ways that her disposal of doing the mischief, either personally or by letter, it was vitally important to the captain to know which she had chosen. If she had gone to the admirals, no choice would be left him but to follow the coach, to catch the train by which she traveled and to outstrip her afterwards on the drive from the station in Essex to St. Crocs. If, on the contrary, she had been contented with writing to her master, it would only be necessary to devise measures for intercepting the letter. The captain decided on going to the post office in the first place, assuming that the housekeeper had written. She would not have left the letter at the mercy of the servant. She would have seen it safely in the letter box before leaving Aldeboro. Good morning, said the captain cheerfully addressing the postmaster. I am Mr. Bygrave of Norcheshingles. I think you have a letter in a box addressed to Mr. Bygrave. The postmaster was a short man and consequently a man with a proper idea of his own importance. He solemnly checked Captain Ragh in full career. When a letter is once posted, sir, he said, nobody out of the office has any business with it until it reaches its address. The captain was not a man to be daunted, even by a postmaster. A bright idea struck him. He took out his pocketbook in which Admiral Barton's address was written and returned to the charge. Suppose the letter has been wrongly directed by a mistake, he began, and suppose the rider wants to correct the error after the letter is put into the box. When the letter is once posted, sir reiterated the impenetrable local authority. Nobody out of the office touches it on any pretense, whatever. Granted, with all my heart, persists to the captain. I don't want to touch it. I only want to explain myself. A lady has posted a letter here addressed to Noelle Van Stone, Esquire, Admiral Bartrams, St. Crookes in the Marsh Essex. She wrote in a great hurry, and she is not quite certain whether she addressed the name of the post town, Ossary. It is of the last importance the delivery of the letter should not be delayed. What is to hinder you facilitating the post office work and obliging a lady by addressing the name of the post town if it happens to be left out with your own hand? I put it to you as a zealous officer. What possible objection can there be to granting my request? The postmaster was compelled to acknowledge that there could be no objection, providing nothing but a necessary line was added to the address, provided nobody touched the letter but himself, provided that the precious time of the post office was not suffered to run to waste. And here happened to be nothing particular to do with the moment. We would readily oblige the lady at Mr. Byrae's request. Captain Ragnan watched the postmaster's hands as they sorted the letters in the box with breathless eagerness. Was the letter there? With the hands of a zealous public servant suddenly stopped? Yes, they stopped, and picked out a letter from the rest. Noel Vanstone Esquire, did you say? Asked the postmaster, keeping the letter in his own hand. Noel Vanstone Esquire, replied the captain, Admiral Bartram St. Crocs in the march. Ossary, Essex, chimed the postmaster, throwing the letter back into the box. The lady's name made no mistake at all, sir. The address is quite right. Nothing but a timely consideration of the heavy debt he owed to appearances prevented Captain Ragnan from throwing his tall white hat in the air as soon as he found the street once more. All further doubt was now at an end. Mrs. LeCount had written to her master, therefore Mrs. LeCount was on her way to Zurich. With his head higher than ever, with the tails of his respectable frockcoat floating behind him in the breeze, with his bosom's native impudence sitting lightly on his throne, the captain strutted to the inn and called for the railway timetable. After making certain calculations in black and white as a matter of course, he ordered his chase to be ready in an hour, so as to reach the railway in time for the second train running to London, with which there happened to be no communication from Alderborough by coach. His next proceeding was of a far more serious kind. His next proceeding implied a terrible certainty of success. The day of the week was Thursday. From the inn he went to the church, saw the clerk, and gave the necessary notice for a marriage by license on the following Monday. Bold as he was, his nerves were a little shaken by the last achievement. His hand trembled as it lifted the latch of the garden gate. He doctored his nerves with brandy and water before he sent for Magdalene to inform her of the proceedings of the morning. Another outbreak might reasonably be expected when she heard that the last irrevocable step had been taken and that notice had been given of the wedding day. The captain's watch warned him to lose no time in emptying his glass, and a few minutes he sent the necessary message upstairs. While waiting for Magdalene's appearance, he provided himself with certain materials, which were now necessary to carry the enterprise to its crowning point. In the first place, he wrote his assumed name, by no means so fine a hand as usual, on a blank visiting card, and addressed underneath these words. Not a moment is to be lost. I am waiting for you at the door. Come down to me directly. His next proceeding was to take some half-dozen envelopes out of the case and to direct them all alike to the following address. Thomas Bygrave Esquire, Musard's Hotel, Salisbury Street, Strand, London. After carefully placing the envelopes and the card in his breast pocket, he shut up the desk. As he rose from the writing table, Magdalene came into the room. The captain took a moment to decide on the best method of opening the interview and determined in his own phrase to dash at it. In other words, he told Magdalene what had happened and informed her that Monday was to be her wedding day. He was prepared to quiet her if she burst into a frenzy of passion, to reason with her if she begged for time, to sympathize with her if she melted into tears. To his inexpressible surprise, results falsified all his calculations. She heard him without uttering a word, without shedding a tear. When he had done, she dropped into a chair. Her large gray eyes stared at him vacantly. In one mysterious instant, all her beauty left her. Her face stiffened offly, like the face of a corpse. For the first time in the captain's experience of her, fear, all mastering fear, had taken possession of her body and soul. You are not flinching, he said drawing to rouse her. Surely, you are not flinching at the last moment. No light of intelligence came into her eyes. No change passed over her face. But she heard him, for she moved a little in the chair and slowly shook her head. You planned this marriage of your own free will. Pursued the captain with a furtive look and the faltering voice of a man ill at ease. It was your own idea, not mine. I wouldn't have the responsibility laid on my shoulders, no. Not for twice, two hundred pounds. If your resolution fails you, if you think better of it. He stopped. Her voice was changing. Her face was changing. Her lips were moving at last. She slowly raised her head left hand, with the fingers outspread. She looked at it as if it was a hand that was strange to her. She counted the days on it, the days before the marriage. Friday, one, she whispered to herself. Saturday, two. Sunday, three. Monday, her hands dropped into her lap. Her face stiffened again, and the deadly fear fastened its paralyzing hold on her once more, and the next words died away on her lips. Captain Ragh took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. Damn the two hundred pounds he said. Two thousand wouldn't pay me for this. He put the handkerchief back, took the envelopes which he had addressed to himself, out of his pocket, and approaching her closely for the first time, laid his hand on her arm. Rouse yourself, he said. I have a last word to say to you. Can you listen? She struggled, and roused herself. A faint tinge of color stole over her white cheeks. She bowed her head. Look at these, pursued Captain Ragh, holding up the envelopes. If I turn these to the use for which they have been written, Mrs. La Count's master will never receive Mrs. La Count's letter. If I tear them up, he will know by tomorrow's post that you are the woman who visited him in Voxel Walk. Say the word. Shall I tear the envelopes up, or shall I put them back in my pocket? There was a pause of dead silence. The murmur of the summer waves on the shingle of the beach, and the voices of the summer idlers on the parade floated through the open window and filled the empty stillness of the room. She raised her head. She lifted her hand and pointed steadily to the envelopes. Put them back, she said. Do you mean it? He asked. I mean it. As she gave that answer, there was a sound of wheels on the road outside. Do you hear those wheels? Said Captain Ragh. I hear them. You see the chaise? Said the captain, pointing to the window, at the chaise which had been ordered from the inn made its appearance at the garden gate. I see it. And if your own free will you tell me to go? Yes, go. Without another word he left her. The servant was waiting at the door with his travelling bag. Miss Bygrave is not well, he said. Tell your mistress to go to her in the parlor. He stepped into the chaise and started on the first stage of the journey to St Crocs. End of Scene 4, Chapter 11. Fourth Scene, Chapter 12 of No Name. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Gesina. No Name by Wilkie Collins. Fourth Scene, Chapter 12. Towards three o'clock in the afternoon, Captain Ragh stopped at the nearest station to Ossary, which the railway passed in its course through Essex. Inquiries made on the spot informed him that he might drive to St Crocs, remained there for a quarter of an hour and returned to the station in time for an evening train to London. In ten minutes more the Captain was on the road again, driving rapidly in the direction of the coast. After proceeding some miles on the highway, the carriage turned off, and the coachman involved himself in an intricate network of crossroads. Are we far from St Crocs? asked the Captain, growing impatient, after mile on mile had been passed without a sign of reaching the journey's end. You'll see the house, sir. At the next turn in the road, said the man. The next turn in the road brought them within view of the open country again. Ahead of the carriage, Captain Ragh saw a long dark line against the sky, the line of the sea wall which protects the low coast of Essex from inundation. The flat intermediate country was intersected by a labyrinth of tidal streams, winding up from the invisible sea in strange fantastic curves, rivers at high water, and channels of mud at low. On his right hand was a quaint little village, mostly composed of wooden houses, straggling down the brink of one of the tidal streams. On his left hand, further away, rose the gloomy ruins of an abbey, with the desolate pile of buildings which covered two sides of a square attached to it. One of the streams from the sea, called in Essex, backwaters, curled almost entirely round the house. Another, from an opposite quarter, appeared to run straight through the grounds, and to separate one side of the shapeless mass of buildings, which was in moderate repair, from another, which was little better than a ruin. Bridges of wood and bridges of brick crossed the stream, and gave access to the house from all points of the compass. No human creature appeared in the neighbourhood, and no sound was heard, but the horse-barking of a house-dog from an invisible courtyard. Which door shall I drive to, sir? asked the coachman. The front or the back? The back, said Captain Ragh, feeling that the less notice he attracted in his present position, the safer that position might be. The carriage twice crossed the stream before the coachman made his way through the grounds into a dreary enclosure of stone. At an open door on the inhabited side of the place sat a weather-beaten old man, busily at work on a half-finished model of a ship. He rose and came to the carriage door, lifting up his spectacles on his forehead, and looking disconcerted at the appearance of a stranger. Is Mr. Nill Vanston staying here? asked Captain Ragh. Yes, sir, replied the old man. Mr. Nill came yesterday. Take that card to Mr. Vanston, if you please, said the Captain, and say I am waiting here to see him. In a few minutes Nill Vanston made his appearance, breathless and eager, absorbed an anxiety for news from Alpra. Captain Ragh opened the carriage door, seized his outstretched hand, and pulled him in without ceremony. Your housekeeper has gone, whispered the Captain, and you are to be married on Monday. Don't agitate yourself and don't express your feelings. There isn't time for it. Get the first active servant you can find in the house to pack your bag in ten minutes, take leave of the admiral, and come back at once with me to the London train. Nill Vanston faintly attempted to ask a question. The Captain declined to hear it. As much talk as you like on the road, he said, time is too precious for talking here. How do we know the Count may not think better of it? How do we know she may not turn back before she gets to Zurich? That starting consideration terrified Nill Vanston into instant submission. What shall I say to the admiral? He asked helplessly. Tell him you are going to be married, to be sure. What does it matter? Now the Count's back has turned. If he wonders you didn't tell him before, say it's a runaway match, and the bride is waiting for you. Stop. Any letters addressed to you in your absence will be sent to this place, of course. Give the admiral these envelopes, and tell him to forward your letters undercover to me. I am an old customer at the hotel we are going to, and if we find the place full, the landlord may be depended on to take care of any letters with my name on them. A safe address in London for your correspondence may be of the greatest importance. How do we know the Count may not write to you on her way to Zurich? What a head you have got! cried Nill Vanston, eagerly taking the envelopes. You think of everything. He left the carriage in high excitement and ran back into the house. In ten minutes more Captain Ragh had him in safe custody, and the horses started on their return journey. The travellers reached London in good time that evening and found accommodation at the hotel. Knowing the restless inquisitive nature of the man he had to deal with, Captain Ragh had anticipated some little difficulty and embarrassment in meeting the questions which Nill Vanston might put to him on the way to London. To his great relief, a startling domestic discovery absorbed his travelling companion's whole attention at the outset of the journey. By some extraordinary oversight, Miss Bygrave had been left on the eve of her marriage unprovided with the maid. Nill Vanston declared that he would take the whole responsibility of correcting this deficiency in the arrangements on his own shoulders. He would not trouble Mr. Bygrave to give him any assistance. He would confer, when they got to their journey's end, with the landlady of the hotel, and would examine the candidates for the vacant office himself. All the way to London he returned again and again to the same subject. All the evening at the hotel he was in and out of the landlady's sitting-room until he fairly obliged her to lock the door. In every other proceeding which related to his marriage he had been kept in the background. He had been compelled to follow in the footsteps of his ingenious friend. In the matter of the lady's maid he claimed his fitting position had last. He followed nobody. He took the lead. The forenoon of the next day was devoted to obtaining the licence. The personal distinction of making the declaration on oath being eagerly accepted by Nill Vanston, who swore in perfect good faith, on information previously obtained from the captain, that the lady was of age. The document procured, the bridegroom returned to examine the characters and qualifications of the women's servants out of the place whom the landlady had engaged to summon to the hotel. While Captain Ragh turned his steps, on business personal to himself, toward the residence of a friend in a distant quarter of London, the captain's friend was connected with the law and the captain's business was of a twofold nature. His first object was to inform himself of the legal bearings of the approaching marriage on the future of the husband and the wife. His second object was to provide beforehand for destroying all traces of the destination to which he might be take himself when he left Albro on the wedding day. Having reached his end successfully in both these cases, he returned to the hotel and found Nill Vanston nursing his offended dignity in the landlady's sitting-room. Three ladies' maids had appeared to pass their examination and had all, on coming to the question of wages, impudently declined accepting the place. A fourth candidate was expected to present herself on the next day, and, until she made her appearance, Nill Vanston positively declined removing from the metropolis. Captain Ragh showed his annoyance openly at the unnecessary delay thus occasioned in the return to Albro, but without producing any effect. Nill Vanston shook his obstinate little head and solemnly refused to trifle with his responsibilities. The first event which occurred on Sunday morning was the arrival of Mrs. LeCount's letter to her master, enclosed in one of the envelopes which the captain had addressed to himself. He received it, by previous arrangement, with a waiter, in his bedroom, read it with the closest attention, and put it away carefully in his pocket-book. The letter was ominous of serious events to come when the housekeeper returned to England, and it was due to Magdalene, who was the person threatened, to place the warning of danger in her own possession. Later in the day the fourth candidate appeared for the maid's situation, a young woman of small expectations and subdued manners, who looked, as the landlady remarked, like a person overtaken by misfortune. She passed the ordeal of examination successfully, and accepted the wages offered without a murmur. The engagement having been ratified on both sides fresh delays ensued, of which Neil Vanston was once more the cause. He had not yet made up his mind whether he would or would not give more than a guinea for the wedding-ring, and he wasted the rest of the day to such disastrous purpose in one jeweler's shop after another that he and the captain and the new ladies made, who travelled with them, were barely in time to catch the last train from London that evening. It was late at night when they left the railway at the nearest station to Alborough. Captain Rag had been strangely silent all through the journey. His mind was ill at ease. He had left Magdalene under very critical circumstances, with no fit person to control her, and he was wholly ignorant of the progress of events in his absence at North Shingles.