 Chapter 41 Part 2 of That Affair Next Door. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read for you today by Don Larson in Minnesota. That Affair Next Door by Anna K. Green Chapter 41 Part 2. Secret History. Or rather it is thus that I account for my conduct now, and yet the precaution I took not to change the shoes in which my money was hidden may argue that I was not without some underlying doubt of his complete sincerity. But if so, I hid it from myself, and as I have every reason to believe from him also, doubtless excusing my action to myself by considering that I would be none the worse off for a few dollars of my own, even if he was my husband and had promised me no end of pleasure and comfort. That he did intend to make me happy he had assured me more than once. Indeed before we had been long in this hotel room he informed me that great experiences lay before me, that he had prospered much in the last five years and had now a house of his own to offer me, and a large circle of friends to make our life in it agreeable. We will go to our house to-night, said he. I have not been living in it lately, and you may find it a little uncomfortable, but we will remedy that to-morrow. Anything is better than staying here under a false name, and I cannot take you to my bachelor apartment. I had doubted some of his previous statements, but this one I implicitly believed. Why should not so elegant a man have a house of his own? And if he had told me it was built of marble and hung with Florentine tapestries I should still have credited it all. I was in fairyland and he was my knight of romance, even when he had hung his head in leaving the hotel and looked at one so ordinary and uninteresting. The ruse he made use of to cut off all connection between ourselves and Mr. and Mrs. James Pope, who had registered at the Hotel D., was accepted by me with the same lack of suspicion. That he should wish to carry no remembrance of our old life into our new home I thought a delightful piece of folly, and when he proposed that we should bequeath my gossamer, and his own disfiguring duster to the coachman in whose hack we were riding, I laughed gleefully and helped him fold them up and place them under the cushions, though I did wonder why he cut a piece out of the neck of the former and pouted with the happy freedom of a self-confident woman when he said, It is the first thing I ever bought for you, and I am foolish enough to wish to preserve this much of it for a keepsake. Do you object, my dear? As I was conscious of cherishing a similar folly in his regard, and could have pressed even that old duster of his to my heart, I offered him a kiss and said no, and he put the scrap away in his pocket. That it was the portion on which was stamped the name of the firm from which it was bought did not occur to me. When the coach stopped he urged me away on foot in a direction entirely strange to me, saying we would take another hack as soon as we had disposed of the bundles we were carrying. How he intended to do this I did not know. But presently he drew me towards a Chinese laundry where he bade me leave one of them as washing, and the other he dropped before the opening of a sewer as we stepped up a neighboring curb-stone. And still I did not suspect. Our ride to Gramercy Park was short, but during it he had time to put a bill in my hand and tell me I was to pay the driver. He had also time to secure the weapon upon which he had probably had as I fixed from the first. His manner of doing this I could never forgive, for it was a lover's manner, and as such intended to deceive and conjure me. Drawing my head down on his shoulder he drew off my veil saying that it was the only article left of my buying and that we would leave it behind us in this coach as we left the gossamer and the other. Only I will make sure that no other woman ever wears it he laughed, slitting it up and down with his knife. When this was done he kissed me and then while my heart was tender and the warm tears stood in my eyes he drew out the pin from my hat, meeting my remonstrances with the assurance that he hated to see my head covered and that no hat was as pretty as my own brown hair. As this was nonsense and as the coach was beginning to stop I shook my head at him and put my hat on, but he had dropped the pin or so he said, and I had to alight without it. When I had paid the driver and the coach had driven off I had a chance to look up at the house before which we had stopped. Its height and imposing appearance daunted me in spite of the great expectations I had formed, and I ran up the stoop after him in a condition of mingled awe and wild delight that was the poorest preparation possible for what lay before me in the dark interior we were entering. He was fumbling nervously in the keyhole with his key and I heard a whispered oath escape him, but presently the door fell back and we stepped into what looked to me like a cavern of darkness. To not be frightened he admonished me I will strike a light in a moment, and after carefully closing the street door behind us he stretched out his hand to take mine or so I judge, for I heard him whisper impatiently, where are you? I was on the threshold of the parlor to which I had groped my way while he was closing the front door, so I whispered back, here, but found voice for nothing further, for at that instant I heard a sound proceeding from the depths of the darkness in front of me, and was so struck with terror that I fell back against the staircase, just as he passed me and entered the room from which that stealthy noise had issued. Darling, he whispered, darling, and went stumbling on in the void of darkness before me till suddenly by some power I cannot explain I seemed to see faintly but distinctly as if with my mind's eye rather than with my bodily one. I perceived the shadowy form of a woman standing in the space before him, and beheld him suddenly grasp her with what he meant to be a loving cry, but which to my ears at that moment sounded strangely ferocious, and after holding her a moment suddenly released her, at which she uttered one low, curdling moan and sink at his feet. At the same instant I heard a click which I did not understand then, but which I now know to have been the head of the hat-pin striking the register. Horrified past all power of speech and action, for I saw that he had intended this blow for me, I cowered against the stairs waiting for him to pass out. This he did not do at once, though the delay must have been short. He stopped long enough by the prostrate form to stir it with his foot, probably to see if life was extinct, but no longer, yet it seemed an eternity before I perceived him groping his way over the threshold, an eternity in which every act of my life passed before me, and every word and every expression with which he had beguiled me came to rack my soul and made the horror of this mad awakening greater. No thought of her or of the guilt with which he had forever damned his soul came to me in that first moment of misery, my loss, my escape, and the danger in which I still stood if the least hint reached him of the mistake he had made filled my mind too entirely for me to dwell on any less impersonal theme. His words, for he muttered several in that short passage out, showed me in what a fool's paradise I had been reveling and how certainly I had turned his every thought towards murder when I seized him in the street and proclaimed myself his wife. The satisfaction with which he uttered, well struck, gave little hint of remorse, and the gloating delight with which he added something about the devil having assisted him to make it a safe blow as well as a deadly one, was proof not only of his having used all his cunning in planning this crime but of his pleasure in its apparent success. That he continued in this frame of mind and that he never lost confidence in the precautions he had taken and in the mystery with which the deed was surrounded is apparent from the fact that he revisited the Van Burnham office on the following morning and hung again on its accustomed nail the keys of the Gramercy Park house. When the front door had closed and I knew that he had gone away, in the full belief that it was my form he had left lying behind him on that midnight floor, all the accumulated tears of the situation came to me in full force, and I began to think of her as well as of myself, and longed for courage to approach her or even the daring to call out for help. But the thought that it was my husband who had committed this crime held me tongue-tied, and though I soon began to move inch by inch in her direction, it was some time before I could so far overcome my terror as to enter the room where she lay. I had supposed and still supposed, as was natural after seeing him open the door with the keys he took from his pocket, that the house was his and the victim a member of his own household. But when, after innumerable hesitations and a bodily shrinking that was little short of torment, I managed to drag myself into the room and light a match which I found on a farther mantel shelf. I saw enough in the general appearance of the rooms and of the figure at my feet to make me doubt the truth of both these suppositions. Yet no other explanation came to lighten the mystery of the occasion, and dazed as I was by the horror of my position, and the mortal dread I felt of the man who in one instant had turned the heaven of my love into a hell of fathomless horrors, I soon had eyes for the one fact only, that the woman lying before me was sufficiently like myself to inspire me with the hope of preserving my secret, and keeping from my would-be slayer the knowledge of my having escaped the doom he had prepared for me. For ascribe it to what motive you will, that was the one idea now dominating my mind. I wanted him to believe me dead. I wanted to feel that all connection between us was severed forever. He had killed me. By killing my love and faith in him he had murdered the better part of myself, and I shrank with inconceivable horror from anything that would bring me again under his eye, or force me to assert claims that it would be the future business of my life to forget. When the first match went out I had not the courage to light another, so I crept away in the darkness to listen at the foot of the stairs. There was no sound from above and a terrifying sense began to pervade me that I was in that house alone. Yet there was safety in the thought and opportunity for what I was planning. And finally under the stress of the purpose that was every moment developing within me I went softly upstairs and listened at all the doors till I was certain that the house was unoccupied. Then I came down and walked resolutely back into the parlor, for I knew if I allowed any time to pass I could never again summon up strength to cross its grisly threshold. Yet I did nothing for hours but crouch in one of its dismal corners, waiting for mourning. But I did not go mad in that awful interval is a wonder. I must have been near it more than once. I have been asked and Miss Butterworth has been asked how in the light of what we now know concerning this poor victim's present there we account for her being in the darkness and showing so little terror at our entrance and Mr. Stone's approach. I account for it in this way. Two half-burned matches were found in the parlor grate, one eye flung there and the other had probably been used by her to light the dining-room gas. If this was still lighted when we drove up, as it may have been, then alarmed by the sound of the stopping coach she had put it out with a vague idea of hiding herself till she knew whether it was the old gentleman who was coming or only her suspicious and unreasonable husband. If it was not lighted then she was probably aroused from asleep on the parlor sofa and was for the moment two days to cry out or resent and embrace she had not time to understand before she succumbed to the cruel stab that killed her. Miss Butterworth, however, thinks the poor creature took the intruder for Franklin till she heard my voice when she probably became so amazed that she was in a measure paralyzed and found it impossible to move or cry out. As Miss Butterworth is a woman of great discretion I should think her explanation the truest if I did not consider her a little prejudiced against Mrs. Van Burnham. But to return to myself, with the first glimmer of light that came through the closed shutters, I rose and began my dreadful task. Upheld by a purpose as relentless as that which drove the author of this horror into murder, I stripped the body and put upon it my own clothing, with the one exception of the shoes. Then when I had redressed myself in hers I steadied up my heart and with one wild pull dragged down the cabinet upon her so that her face might lose its traits and her identification become impossible. How I had the strength to do this and how I could contemplate the result without shrieking I could not now imagine. Perhaps I was hardly human at this crisis. Perhaps something of the demon which had informed him in his awful work had entered into my breast making this thing possible. I only know that I did what I have said and I did it calmly. More than that, that I had mind and judgment left to give to my own appearance. Observing that the dress I had put on was of a conspicuous plaid, I exchanged the skirt portion with the brown silk petticoat under it, and when I observed that it hung below the other, as of course it would, I went through the house till I came upon some pins with which I pinned it up out of sight. Thus equipped I was still a person to attract attention, especially as I had no hat to put on, my own having fallen from my head, and been covered by the dead woman's body, which nothing would induce me to move again. But I had confidence in my own powers to escape question, toned up as I was in every nerve by the dreadfulness of my situation, and as soon as I was in decent shape for flight I opened the front door and prepared to slip out. But here the intense dread I felt of my husband, a dread which had actuated all my movements and sustained me in his harrowing a task as ever woman performed, seized me with renewed force, and I quailed at the prospect of entering the streets alone. Supposing he should be on the stoop, supposing he should be in an opposite window even, could I encounter him again and live? He was not far away or so I felt. A murderer, it is said, cannot help haunting the scene of his crime, and if he should see me alive and well what might I not expect from his astonishment and alarm? I did not dare go out. But neither did I dare remain, so after quaking for a good five minutes on the threshold I made one wild dash through the door. There was no one in sight, and I reached Broadway before I ran across man or woman. Even then I got by without anyone speaking to me, and, favored by Providence, found a nook at the end of an alleyway where I remained undiscovered till it was late enough in the morning for me to enter a shop and buy a hat. The rest of my movements are known, I found my way to Mrs. Desperger's this time without interruption, and from that place sought and found a situation with Miss Althorpe. That her fate was in any way connected with mine, or that the Randolph stone she was engaged to marry was the John Randolph from whose clutches I had just escaped was, of course, unsuspected by me, and, incredible as it may seem, continued to be unsuspected as long as I remained in the house. There was reason for this. My duties were such as I could well attend to in my own room, and feeling a horror of the world and everything in it I kept my room as much as possible, and never went out of it when I knew that he was in the house. The very thought of love awakened intolerable emotions in me, and much as I admired and revered Miss Althorpe. I could not bring myself to meet or even talk of the man to whom she was in expectation of being so soon united. There was another thing of which I was ignorant, and that was the circumstances which had invested with so much interest the crime of which I had been witness. I did not know that the victim had been recognized, or that an innocent man had been arrested for her murder. In fact I knew nothing concerning the affair save what I had seen with my own eyes, no one having mentioned the murder in my presence, and I having religiously avoided the very sight of a paper for fear that I should see some account of the horrible affair, and so lose what small remnants of courage I still possessed. This apathy concerning a matter so important to myself, or rather this almost frenzy determination to cut myself loose from my dreadful past may seem strange and unnatural, but it will seem stranger yet when I say that for all these efforts I was haunted night and day by one small fact connected with this past which made forgetfulness impossible. I had taken the rings from the hands of the dead woman as I had taken away her clothes, and the possession of these valuables, probably because they represented so much money, weighed on my conscious and made me feel like a thief. The purse which I found in a pocket of the skirt I had put on was a trouble to me, but the rings were a source of constant terror and disturbance. I hid them finally in a ball of yarn I was using, but even then I experienced but little peace, for they were not mine, and I lacked the courage to avow it, or seek out the person to whom they now rightfully belonged. When therefore in the intervals of fever which attacked me in Miss Althorpe's house I overheard enough of a conversation between her and Miss Butterworth to learn that the murdered woman had been a Mrs. Van Burnham and that her husband or relatives had an office somewhere downtown, I was so seized by the instinct of restitution that I took the first opportunity that offered to leave my bed and hunt up these people, that I would injure them in any way by secretly restoring these jewels I never dreamed. Indeed I did not exercise my mind at all on the subject, but only followed the instincts of my delirium, and while to all appearance I showed all the cunning of an insane person, in the pursuit of my purpose, I fail to remember now how I found my way to Dwayne Street, or by what suggestion of my diseased brain I was induced to slip these rings upon the hook attached to Mr. Van Burnham's desk. Probably the mere utterance of this well-known name into the ears of passersby was enough to obtain for me such directions as I needed, but however that may be, the result was misapprehension, and the complications which followed, serious. Of the emotion caused in me by the unaccountable discovery of my connection with this crime I need not speak. The love which I had one time felt for John Randolph had turned to gall and bitterness, but enough sense of duty remained in my bruised and broken heart to keep me from denouncing him to the police. Till, by a sudden stroke of fate or providence, I saw him in the carriage with Miss Althorpe, and realized that he was not only the man with whom she was upon the point of allying herself, but that it was to preserve his place in her regard, and to attain the lofty position promised by this union he had attempted to murder me, and had murdered another woman only less unfortunate and miserable than myself. It was the last and bitterest blow that could come from his hand, and though instinct led me to throw myself into the carriage before which I stood, and thus escape a meeting which I felt I could never survive, I was determined from that moment not only to save Miss Althorpe from an alliance with this villain, but to revenge myself upon him in some never-to-be-forgotten manner. That this revenge involved her in a public shame, from which her angelic goodness to me should have saved her, I regret now as deeply as even she can wish. But the madness that was upon me made me blind to every other consideration than that of the boundless hatred I bore for him. And while I can look for no forgiveness from her on that account, I still hope the day will come when she will see that in spite of my momentary disregard for her feelings I cherish for her an affection that nothing can he face or make other than the ruling passion of my life. End of Chapter 41 CHAPTER 42 With Miss Butterworth's compliments they tell me that Mr. Gice has never been quite the same man since the clearing up of this mystery, that his confidence in his own powers is shaken, and that he hints more often than is agreeable to his superiors, that when a man has passed his seventy-seventh year it is time for him to give up active connection with police matters. I do not agree with him. His mistakes, if we may call them such, were not those of failing faculties, but of a man made oversecure in his own conclusions by a series of old successes. Had he listened to me, but I will not pursue this suggestion, you will accuse me of egotism, an imputation I cannot bear with equanimity, and will not risk, modest depreciation of myself being one of the chief attributes of my character. FOOTNOAT D My attention has been called to the fact that I have not confessed whether it was owing to a mistake made by Mr. Gice or myself, that Franklin Van Burnham was identified as the man who had entered the adjoining house on the night of the murder. Well, the truth is, neither of us was to blame for that. The man I identified, it was while watching the guests who attended Mrs. Van Burnham's funeral, you remember, was really Mr. Stone, but owing to the fact that this latter gentleman had lingered in the vestibule till he was joined by Franklin, and that they had finally entered together, some confusion was created in the mind of the man on duty in the hall, so that when Mr. Gice asked him who it was that came in immediately after the four who arrived together, he answered Mr. Franklin Van Burnham, being anxious to win his superior's applause, and considering that person much more likely to merit the detective's attention than a mere friend of the family like Mr. Stone. In punishment for this momentary display of egotism he has been discharged from the force, I believe. A. B. End of Footnote D. Howard Van Burnham bore his release, as he had his arrest, with great outward composure. Mr. Gice's explanation of his motives in perjuring himself before the coroner was correct. And while the mass of people wondered at that instinct of pride, which led him to risk the imputation of murder sooner than have the world accuse his wife of an unwomenly action, there were others who understood his peculiarities and thought his conduct quite in keeping with what they knew of his warped and oversensitive nature. That he has been greatly moved by the unmerited fate of his weak but unfortunate wife is evident from the sincerity with which he still mourns her. I had always understood that Franklin had never been told of the peril in which his good name had stood for a few short hours. But since a certain confidential conversation which took place between us one evening, I have come to the conclusion that the police were not so reticent as they made themselves out to be. In that conversation he professed to thank me for certain good offices I had done him and his, and waxing warm in his gratitude, confessed that without my interference he would have found himself in a strait of no ordinary seriousness. For, said he, there has been no overstatement of the feelings I cherished toward my sister-in-law, nor was there any mistake in thinking that she uttered some very desperate threats against me during the visit she paid me at my office on that Monday. But I never thought of ridding myself of her in any way. I only thought of keeping her and my brother apart till I could escape the country. When, therefore, he came into the office on Tuesday morning for the keys of our father's house, I felt such a dread of the two meeting there that I left immediately after my brother for the place where she had told me she would await a final message from me. I hoped to move her by one final plea, for I loved my brother sincerely, not withstanding the wrong I once did him. I was therefore with her in another place at the very time I was thought to be with her at the Hotel D., a fact which greatly hampered me, as you can see, when I was requested by the police to give an account of how I spent that day. When I left her it was to seek my brother. She had told me of her deliberate intention of spending the night in the Gramercy Park house, and as I saw no way of her doing this without my brother's connivance, I started in search of him, meaning to stick to him when I found him, and keep him away from her till that night was over. I was not successful in my undertaking. He was locked in his rooms it seemed, packing up his effects for flight. We always had the same instinct, even when boys. And receiving no answer to my knock, I hastened away to Gramercy Park, to keep a watch over the house against my brother coming there. This was early in the evening, and for hours afterwards I wandered like a restless spirit in and out of those streets, meeting no one I knew, not even my brother, though he was wandering about in very much the same manner, and with very much the same apprehensions. The duplicity of the woman became very evident to me the next morning. In my last interview with her she had shown no relenting in her purpose towards me, but when I entered my office after this restless night in the streets, I found lying on my desk her little handbag, which had been sent down from Mrs. Parker's. In it was the letter, just as you, Divine Miss Butterworth. I had hardly got over the shock of this most unexpected good fortune, when the news came that a woman had been found dead in my father's house. What was I to think? That it was she, of course, and that my brother had been the man to let her in there. Miss Butterworth, this is how he ended. I make no demands upon you, as I have made no demands upon the police, to keep the secret contained in that letter from my much abused brother. Or rather, it is too late now to keep it, for I have told him all there was to tell myself. And he has seen fit to overlook my fault, and to regard me with even more affection than he did before this dreadful tragedy came to hero up our lives. Do you wonder I like Franklin Van Burnham? The Mrs. Van Burnham call upon me regularly, and when they say, Dear old thing, now they mean it. Of Miss Althorp I cannot trust myself to speak. She was and is the finest woman I know, and when the great shadow now hanging over her has lost some of its impenetrability she will be a useful one again, or I do not rightly read the patient's smile which makes her face so beautiful in its sadness. I believe Randolph has, at my request, taken up her abode in my house. The charm which she seems to have exerted over others she has exerted over me, and I doubt if I shall ever wish to part with her again. In return she gives me an affection which I am now getting old enough to appreciate. Her feeling for me and her gratitude to Miss Althorp are the only treasures left her out of the wreck of her life, and it shall be my business to make them lasting ones. The fate of Randolph Stone is too well known for me to enlarge upon it, but before I bid farewell to his name I must say that after that curt confession of his, yes I did it in the way and for the motive she alleged. I have often tried to imagine the contradictory feelings with which he must have listened to the facts as they came out at the inquest. And convinced, as he had every reason to be, that the victim was his wife, heard his friend Howard not only accept her for his, but insist that he was the man who accompanied her to the house of death. He has never lifted the veil from those hours, and he never will. But I would give much of the peace of mind which has lately come to me, to know what his sensations were, not only at that time, but when, on the evening after the murder he opened the papers and read that the woman whom he had left for dead with her brain pierced by a hatpin had been found on that same floor, crushed under a fallen cabinet, and what explanation he was ever able to make to himself for a fact so inexplicable. The End of That Affair Next Door by Anna Kay Green