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MRS. KEITH'S CRIME

 

 

 

CHAPTER XV

 

 

THIS morning all sense of weariness has gone. Molly looks well, though the doctor looks at her, as he always does, with an anxious expression on his face; it seems sometimes as if he understood all the past, and in some dim way held the secret of the future. But it is a rest and comfort to hear his voice; he is a man in whose presence it seems as if nothing can go very far wrong; it gives one strength to see him. He comes in slowly, and quite naturally taking Molly on his knee begins to talk with her, a little happy, trivial conversation such as children love. When it is over he looks round the room and admires it, and going up to Molly’s portrait on the easel sees the good points and the bad ones and remarks on them. ‘ I ought to get you some commissions from the Spaniards,’ he says. ‘ I do not know the people here very well as yet, but I will find out about them. As yet all Spaniards disappoint me; they are so apathetic.’

            ‘ Apathetic?’ I say, in surprise.

            ‘ They are passionate,’ he explains, ‘ but they are forgetful, as passionate people usually are; and seem capable of no sustained feeling. Lord Bexley was saying this only last night.’

            ‘ Is Lord Bexley interesting?’ I ask.

            ‘ He is pleasant and full of fun,’ he answers. ‘ I only say him last night, when he seemed to be a little inclined to make fun of Mrs. Greenside.  I am afraid she lends herself rather easily to it; but she is a very kind person.’ I notice that Dr. George, as he is called by every one here, always sees the best side of people.  ‘ By the way, Mrs. Keith, I have been wondering if you would care to have a piano in your room. There is my brother’s and it is spoiling for want of use. Why shouldn’t you have it over here?’

            ‘ It would be very nice,’ I answer; ‘ but your brother—perhaps he would not like it to be moved.’

            ‘ Oh yes; I asked him about it before he started, and he said I could do what I liked with anything in the house. I’ll have it brought over, and Molly shall play to me next time I come.’

            ‘ Mummy plays best,’ Molly says; ‘ and she sings, but not like Jack. Jack used to sing lovely songs, and rock on the rocking-horse.’

            He has been told about Jack before, so he makes no answer; only kisses her and lifts her gently off his knee, and gets up to go.

            ‘ Do the Spaniards grieve very much when anyone belonging to them dies?’ something makes me ask.

            ‘ They accept all the inevitables with dignity,’ he answers, ‘ never rejoicing or grieving over-much. But I must go. I think Molly is doing very well. Keep her out-of-doors.’ He is shaking hands with me, when Mrs. Greenside enters. She is delighted to get hold of him.

            ‘ I am so glad to see you,’ she says, in her heavy, earnest manner. ‘ What an interesting talk you had with Lord Bexley last night. He is a delightful man.’

            ‘ He is very pleasant,’ the doctor answers, with a twinkle in his eye.

            ‘ Now, do tell me about Mrs. Keith. Don’t you think she is very fragile?’ she asks suddenly.

            ‘ I am quite well,’ I say emphatically.

            ‘ She is so devoted to her child,’ Mrs. Greenside sighs.

            Dr. George sees that I do not want the subject continued, so abroitly changes it.

            ‘ When are your relations coming, Mrs. Greenside?’ he asks. Every one in the hotel takes an interest in Mrs. Greenside’s relations.

            ‘ To-day. I have just had a telegram, and wanted to tell Mrs. Keith at once, for I knew she would sympathise with me. She understands a sensitive nature like her own; ‘ and Mrs. Greenside sighs again.

            ‘ I am very glad they are coming; it will be a great pleasure to you,’ he says.

            ‘ Oh yes,’ she answers, with another long-drawn sigh, as if no words can measure the happiness it will give her. ‘ I hope you and my brother will be great friends,’ she adds earnestly.

‘ He delights in clever men.’ The doctor’s eye twinkles again.

            ‘ I shall be very glad. But now I fear I must say good-bye. Then, I’ll send the piano over, Mrs. Keith;’ and he escapes.

            ‘ I am so glad to hear your good news, Mrs. Greenside. How did it come?’ I ask her.

            ‘ Oh, they telegraphed the moment they knew where I was, and said they would start immediately,’ she says, as if she wondered whether I had expected they would do anything else. ‘ How charming you have made your room. You have so much taste.’ And then she stands before Molly’s portrait, and seems charmed by it. ‘ It is a great thing to have your talent, Mrs. Keith,’ she says—‘ a most precious thing. I wonder if, when you feel stronger, you would take a commission from me to paint my niece? I would give anything to have a portrait of her; not a full-size one, but one like this of Molly. Oh, there is Miss Martin. Miss Martin, do come and look at this portrait.’ Miss Martin comes slowly into the room and shuts the door; she stands before the easel for a few minutes.

            ‘ Yes, it is very nice; it is very like,’ she says gently, and goes to the window. It is an odd characteristic of Miss Martin that whenever it is possible she looks out of window.

            ‘ I am glad you like it.’ I feel chilly as I speak, and wrap a little black shawl over my shoulders, saying that it is cold.

            ‘ Oh, you are not well,’ Mrs. Greenside says, with great concern in her voice. ‘ I could see you were not well the moment I entered. Miss Martin, where is my white Shetland shawl?’

            ‘ It is in the Indian trunk.’      

            ‘ Will you please get it?’ and Miss Martin goes off obediently. ‘ Mrs. Keith, you ought really to speak to the doctor about yourself.’

            ‘ It is only the reaction after all the worry,’ I answer. ‘ But I will speak to him if I do not get stronger.’

            ‘ You must, indeed.’

            ‘ He is so very kind—’

            ‘ And he is devoted to you; I could see that on board the ship.’

            ‘ Devoted to me?’ I say coldly, the blood going from my face, for I feel that she is making it impossible to ask personal advice from him. ‘ He is not more devoted to me than to any one else.’

            ‘ Oh yes, he is,’ she says earnestly.

            ‘ You must not say that,’ I answer; ‘ please never to say that again, Mrs. Greenside, either to me or to any one else.’

            ‘ But, my dear Mrs. Keith, why should I not say it, and how can he help admiring you?’ Her tone worries me more than I can say.

            ‘ Oh no, indeed; it is all a mistake. Please never think anything of the sort again; it is cruel and untrue—’

            And suddenly the door opens, and Phillip the doctor’s man and Don Carlos the landlady’s friend appear, bringing in the piano, and the former has a basket of fresh oranges for Molly, which Doctor George has sent. Mrs. Greenside looks at me, but before she can make any remark, Miss Martin returns with the shawl. Don Carlos says that señora Manuela (the landlady) will come presently to see that the piano is placed as I like, and he bows and departs with Philip.

            ‘ Mrs. Keith, have you one of these shawls? Mrs. Greenside asks, holding up a soft white Shetland one, so fine that it looks like lave. ‘ Then, you must have this—you must indeed. Let me give it to you—’

            ‘ But indeed, Mrs. Greenside, I do not feel the cold, and I do not like to take so beautiful a thing—

            ‘ Oh, but you must,’ she says. ‘ It was given to me by a very sweet woman two hours before she died. She was very dear to me, and I tried to save her life just as if it had been my own, did I not, Miss Martin?’

            ‘ Yes, Mrs. Greenside, you did,’ Miss Martin answers, still looking out of window, with her face turned in the direction of the sea.

            ‘ And she died?’ I asked Mrs. Greenside, with a shudder. Somehow the history of the shawl fascinates me.

            ‘ Oh yes, she died,’ Mrs. Greenside says, in a voice of compassion, but as if dying had been a matter of course: ‘ and the last time I saw her, she took this shawl off her shoulders and put it on mine. I never saw her afterwards, and I have never worn it since, and now I want you to have it. You won’t mind accepting it as a token of my great admiration for your courage in coming all this way alone with your child.’

            ‘ But there is nothing to admire in that. It is only what any mother would do.’

            ‘ All mothers would not feel so,’ she sighs; ‘ but, dear Mrs. Keith, your little child is so sweet I do not wonder at your devotion to her.’ And so in a minute she makes me grateful. Suddenly Miss Martin turns from the window; I fancy that there are tears in her eyes, but it must be only fancy.

            ‘ Mrs. Keith,’ she says, ‘ Mrs. Greenside does not want me just now. Shall I take your little girl for a walk?’ I look at her in surprise. She is generally too much like a machine to think of this kind of thing. ‘ Perhaps you are not well enough to go out yourself to-day,’ she says;

‘ you look very tired.’

            ‘ I want to stay with you, mother,’ Molly pleads. Miss Martin’s offered kindness.

            ‘ I wish you would go, darling. You might gather some flowers for me,’ I say; and she asserts. So I tie on her little white calico hood, and she goes off in the sunshine with Miss Martin towards the walk by the sea.

            ‘ Have the Vincents made up their picnic?’ I ask Mrs. Greenside.

            ‘ Yes,’ she answers. ‘ The Vincents and Lord and Lady Bexley, and that Mr. Bicknell.’

            ‘ Tell me what Mr. Bicknell is like.’

            ‘ He is nothing remarkable,’ she answers. ‘ But no doubt the Vincents are anxious to see their daughter married. Girls are great responsibilities until they are married; they are like trees waiting to be planted.’

            ‘ But you are not anxious to see your niece married?’ I say maliciously.

            ‘ Oh, but she is like my own child; and I should be glad to see her married too, only I feel that so few young men of the present day are worthy of her. I shall bring her in to see you as soon as she comes, if you are not downstairs. Sometimes when you are tired you must make her play to you,’ she adds.

            ‘ Is she very musical?’

            ‘ Oh yes,’ she answers, in a tone that signifies that as a matter of course she is everything. It is quite certain that Mrs. Greenside is very staunch to her relations; it is impossible to help liking her for it.

            I wonder a great deal what Miss Josephs will be like, and whether she cares for the sardine, and if people here will take kindly to Mrs. Greenside’s relations, for they do not care much about her. They will stay three or four weeks at least, Mrs. Greenside thinks, and the only thing that appears to disturb her is that Lord and Lady Bexley are going away soon. They (the Bexleys) want to go back to Italy, to a villa they have somewhere near Bordighera, and where they expect friends from England immediately after Christmas. ‘ Of course, my brother will delight in meeting Lord Bexley,’ Mrs. Greenside explains; ‘ he is so very interesting, and full of information.’

            When Molly comes back, Mrs. Greenside and Miss Martin go away together, and leave me with the remembrance of their kindness, and with the dead woman’s shawl about my shoulders. As they go out of the door, Molly runs after Miss Martin and puts her arms round her neck and kisses her.

            ‘ Take me out again another day,’ she says.

            Miss Martin colours, and says in her mechanical manner, ‘ I will, if Mrs. Greenside can spare me;’ and follows her employer from the room.

            It takes me by surprise; she took no notice of Molly on board ship, and has no ways that please a child. I wonder what has happened, and yet I do not like to question Molly; it would seem like looking into some recess into which I am not meant to see. But Molly soon tells me all about it of her own accord.

            ‘ Oh, mummy dear,’ she says, ‘ we went a little way, and sat down and looked at the ships, and then Miss Martin began to cry because her brother had gone a long way across the sea and hadn’t said good-bye to her. And then I told her about Jack, and how he used to sing; and then she told me that once her brother was a little boy, and she used to love him very much, and they used to have all manner of games together, but now he is a man, and it isn’t half so nice as when he was a little boy; and then she cried, and I didn’t know what to do, so I cuddled her up and kissed her and told her not to cry, and she called me a little darling.’

            ‘ Poor Miss Martin.’

            ‘ Yes; and she has got a little tiny penknife in her purse, and it has been there ever since her brother was a little—’

            She stops and looks tired and faint; the fatigue has been too much for her. I take her on my lap to rest, and soon she is asleep; but her breathing is short, the fever burns on her face, and for a moment all the old fears come back.

            The landlady enters to arrange a place for the piano; she looks at Molly carelessly, and shrugs her shoulders. She dislikes children, and it is an unfortunate thing that the only woman-servant in the house seems also to dislike them. Señora Manuela stops before Molly for a moment with a curious expression on her face.

            ‘ Ah!’ she says, ‘ she will never be strong. It is no use wishing the weak to live. What are they to do with life?’

            ‘ One’s own child,’ I answer, while my heart turns cold.

            ‘ It is not oneself, but one’s child, for whom you should desire what is best,’ she says, with another shrug of the shoulders. ‘ Life is not always best;’ she looks at me and laughs, as if to let me see that she says it from no ill feeling, but from calm, philosophical foresight. ‘ My sister had a child; it was ill for three months,’ she goes on. ‘ Ah, poor dear! it was a good thing when it died; it is no good living to bear pain.’ She says all this more to herself than to me as she leaves the room. The door does not fasten easily: without thought of the sleeping child, she rattles the catch, and finally bangs the door.

            Molly awakes with a start, and looks about her. ‘ Poor Miss Martin! I am so sorry for Miss Martin’s little brother, mummy,’ she says, and closes her sweet eyes again; when she is once more asleep, I carry her into the next room and put her gently down on the bed, and sit beside her and watch. She is still sleeping when, two hours later, Mrs. Greenside taps at the sitting-room door again, and enters with a girl beside her.

            ‘ Mrs. Keith,’ she says, ‘ this is my niece. She is very tired with her journey, but I wanted her to come at once to see you and your little Molly.’

            I look at the girl curiously. She is fair and pale. She has a long nose, soft grey eyes, and pretty light hair twisted round her head, much in the fashion that I wear mine. I notice instantly that she has very beautiful hands. She wears a simple black gown, and no ornaments of any kind. I say some polite words of greeting, and as she looks up I see, almost with surprise, the sweetness of the smile that lights up the shy, grave face.

            ‘ I am very glad to meet you,’ she says. ‘ My aunt has told me of your kindness to her. I hope I may come and see your little girl to-morrow, when I am rested.’

            She says it in a low musical voice that makes me long to hear her speak again; but she seems a little frightened, and looks at me with a look that says, ‘ Let me go away,’ and I do not try to keep her.

 

 

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