Tales and Sketches.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 54, 3 February 1872, Page 16

Tales and Sketches.

MRS HADDAN’S HISTORY. ' IN FOUR CHAPTERS. CHAPTER IT. For a long time there was no sound of voices or footsteps in the garden behind me ; and I was . about to go away disappointed, when I caught the crackling of gravel in the distance, and the murmur of voice coming nearer to me. They were talking fast and low ; but Becket a voice was a little the louder, and its words reached me. ‘ Not even to you, ma am, she said. lou are safe, and Lewis is safe. But as long as I I could not catch what Mrs Haddan said, though she interrupted her here, but Becket answered in a still louder tone : ‘ Safe!’ she exclaimed, scornfully ; ‘ wo agreed it was safer with me than with you. No, no. I’ve kept it so long, that I must keep it still. I should have nothing to live for else I’m as strong as ever I was in my life. Let anybody try my strength by trying to get it from me ’ The last words came back to me from a distance, for they had already passed my hidingplace. A threat sounded in them for me, and my heart quailed. Suppose this mad woman should detect my purpose, and murder me ! What would George do ? I wished for the moment he knew where I was, and what I was risking for his sake. But my weakness lasted only for the instant. I shook it off, and was strong again. c I retraced my steps to the road, thinking ot Mrs Hadden's* failure to get back the papers she had entrusted to Becket’s care. Would she give them up .when Lewis came of age, and could make a will ? Or would her monomania be strong .enough to retain them—a continual torment and anxiety to Mrs Haddan ? Lewis would be of age in a few weeks, and then she might enter into complete triumph, if Becket would release the charge she had once committed to her. But if she would not! The carriage had disappeared when I regained the road, and I ventured to go on to the house. Mrs Townshend herself opened the door to me, in her best headdress and with a bland smile. ‘You have just missed seeing Mrs Haddan, of Haddan Lodge,’ she said. ‘ I should have taken the liberty of introducing you to her if you’d only been iu. She’d have bought some of your paintings, .perhaps.’ Here was a peril I had escaped by my fortunate absence ! I could not help wondering what would have been the result of Mrs Haddan finding me in the same house as Becket; and I stood silent at the foot of the staircase, staring at Mrs Townshend. ‘Have you met with better luck to-day?’ she asked. * A little,’ I answered stammering. • I have not failed altogether this time.’ I went on, up into my dreary room. From its window I could see Becket striding to and fro in a state of suppressed excitement, with a firm, despotic tread, and with her hands tightly clenched in front of her. She saw me at the window, and nodded with an air of friendly patronage. It aggravated me sorely, hut I nodded in return, and went away, lest she should suspect that I was watching her. For the next few days I never lost sight of her, whenever I could ‘possibly be in her prnsence. My new satchel was carefully concealed under my dress, at hand if any chance should offer itself for substituting it for the other. But I might as well have dreamed of changing the moon in the sky. If only my eyes rested upon it, some subtle sixth sense made her aware of my notice of it. As for loosing it over her hand at any time, it never so much as fell forward towards her wrist, even when she was eating ; for in order to secure my object more fully, I made arrangements for taking my meals wi(h her and the family at the same table. From the first moment when she quitted her bedroom in the morning till the last when she withdrew to it at night, the satchel never left its place upon her arm. * Whatever has Mrs Becket got in her satchel ?’ I asked Mrs Townshend one day, in a careless tone. ‘ Oh, nothing!’ she answered, evidently believing what she said, ‘ or a few pounds, perhaps. That’s where her madness is, you know. She’s as right as you are but for that. You’d far better never mention it to her, for she’d be fit to strangle you if you did, for all she’s so foud of you. I ought to have told you before. She frightened one of our ladies almost to death for nothing but looking at it too close. There’s nothing at all in it; Mrs Haddan says so ; only its her mania.’ ‘ But should not you like to know for certain ?’ I asked. ‘ Oh, dear no! she replied, * I don’t care. I don’t say but what I was curious a bit at first, but then she’s been here near ten years, and I’m grown used to it. It’s too small to hold much, and it’s very flat looking.’ * Does she never let it off her arm ?’ I said. * Never that I know of,’ answered Mr 3 Townshend. ' I daresay she sleeps with it on her arm.’ That was what I resolved to find out; but how was it to be done ? I was friendly enough with Becket to follow her up to her own room when she was there ; and she had admitted me inside it without any reluctance. It was a very comfortable attic, over the drawing room, which had an unusually large bay window at the end of it. The attic opened upon the leads of this bay, which formed a kind of balcony before it, where she could go out at any hour to look over the garden she was so fond of. Some choice flowers in pots were arranged upon it, and ivy and Virginian creepers were trained about her window, which opened inwards with two leaves like folding doors. There was a blind to this casement, but it was plainly to be seen that it was seldom drawn down } in fact Becket was a very early riser,

and she did not need it from any fear of being overlooked. The fastening of the window was broken, and she told me that when the wind blew against that side of the house she was obliged to set a chair against it to keep it closed. I had paid very little heed to these details at first, but now they recurred vividly to my memory, as offering me helps towards the fulfilment of my purpose.

I complained of headache, and went early to bed, locking my sitting room door upon myself, as it was my custom to do. Then I dressed myself in a warm, dark dress, and threw over me a large black cloak; for it was possible that I should have to spend the whole night out of doors, but it was already hot summer weather, and I did not dread that. As soon as it was dusk, but before any of the household were come up-stairs, I glided noiselessly out of my own room, and locked the door behind me, carrying away the key. If anybody should knock there, however loudly, they could only come to the conclusion that I was soundly asleep in the bedroom beyond, to which there was no accesß except through the sitting room. I made my way as cautiously as I could through the darkness to the attic floor, and passed through Becket’s room to the leads beyond. I knew that the gardener, who had been trimming the creepers, had left his long ladder just in the angle of the bay, and that the highest step was no more than a foot below the leads ; so that if I could not return through the room, a retreat was still open for me into the garden. The greatest risk I ran was that Becket might step out herself to glance over the garden lying below in the darkness ; but I had taken careful notice of a wooden rainpipe fully six inches square, which with the thick creepers clustering about it formed a dark recess, where I could very well hide in ray black cloak, and brave the keen search of her eyes. The night came on with profound gloom, and with dense masses of thunder clouds moving heavily across the heavens. All below me lay in thick darkness, and I could scarcely discern the dusky boughs of the trees against the ebony sky. The birds were silent, but for a sleepy twitter now and then, but the moan from the city wa3 louder and more continuous, sadder and more solemn in the night. A few large drops of rain fell, splashing noisily on the leads, and pattering among the broad leaves of a sycamore close to me. If George only knew where I was now. He thought I was following my own pleasure and amusement, while he was losing heart day by day ; but if he could only see me! The tears smarted under my eyelids, and I wiped them away. Looking up again the moment after, I saw a bright stream of light shining through the window across the leads.

Becket opened the casement as if she were coming out, but just then the thunder drops pattered down with fresh fierceness, and she closed it at once. I crept cautiously forward, crouching down to look through tko lower panes of the window. She undressed leisurely, and folded each one of her clothes with the minute neatness of a lady’s maid; but she never once put the satchel out of her hands. When she wished to draw any of her sleeves over her left arm she passed it to her right, and then back again. Her caution was as vigilant as if she had had a hundred eyes upon her. At length she deliberately unlocked a large trunk, and after some searching brought out of it a little trinket box, which also she had to unlock with a key hidden in a pocket in her dress. I did not suffer my eyelids to wink once while I watched her. From the box sbe produced a parcel tied up in silk and a soft ball of cotton wool, where there was wrapped carefully a third key. She rubbed it fondly with her fingers, lifted it to her lips, and then drawing a chair to the dressing-table, she fitted it into the lock of her satchel, and opened that. My suspense while Becket sat gazing down into the gaping satchel was horrible and inexpressible. What was it her eyes saw there ? Could it be only, as everybody supposed, a purse containing her poor savings, which she had grown to love with an irrational covetousness ? Or was it possible that it could be some cherished relic of her only child, the baby who died before Lewis was born P Would she take out the invisible treasure so that I could see it for myself ? Her fingers went down into the satchel, and handled the contents, whatever they were, while her eye-balls glistened with a savage and threatening light. She looked up once towards the unenrtained window with a glare so fascinating in its fierceness that, instead of shrinking back, I leaned forward, transfixed with terror, till my face almost touched the panes. She detected nothing, however, in the blackness of the night outside her window ; and with an angry snap she closed the satchel, re-locked it, wrapped up the key in its padding, locked that inside the trinket box, which she hid low down amongst her clothes in the trunk, and turned the strong key twice upon it. Then she knelt down, and said her prayers. I waited a long time after she had put out her candle. The room was not absolutely dark, for she had lit a rushlight; and a very feeble, glow-worm-like light flickered about it, just showing the great outlines of her large frame, and her swarthy face asleep upon the pillow. 1 pushed softly and persistently at the casement until it yielded with a noiseless motion to my steady pressure. The inner door had to be unlocked and opened before I could venture to approach the sleeper; for I must secure a quick means of escape should she show any signs of awaking. I managed it with equal success, and left it open. All the house was still and soundless, only as I lingered for a moment listening, the clock in the kitchen, which was a long way off, struck one. I could hear, too, the nightingales, which had been silent for nearly two hours, begin to call to one another, and to tune up like some busy orchestra. In another ten minutes they would be in full concert, and Becket’s sleep would be more

readily disturbed. I stepped to the side of her bed, and looked down upon her. The great strong face, set like iron, was darker in sleep than when waking, and the purple veins in her forehead were knotted and swollen. Her arms, as thick and muscular as a man’s, were crossed upon herbreast, pressing down the satchel upon it. What could Ido ? I might as easily have snatched it from some sleeping lynx. Yet our future depended upon it—mine and George’s. Lewis would soon be of age, and then the papers, if they were there, would be destroyed, and we should lose our only chance. What could Ido ? I stretched out my hands slowly, almost unwillingly, and touched the satchel upon her bosom—only touched it.

Such a wild, maniacal shriek broke from the lips of the mad woman, that but for the sheer instinct of self-preservation I should have been paralysed by it. How I fled in time Ido not know ; but before the frantic cry was repeated, and before any of the household were out of their rooms, I was back in mine, quaking with panic, and harkening intently for a repetition of the scream, which provoked one from me, in spite of myself, as soon as it rung through the house. I ran out into the lobby with the rest, my face white and my fright more evident than any of theirs. Becket was standing in her doorway, storming and raging like a fury, and defying any of us to go near her. Mrs Townshend talked and reasoned with her from a safe distance, until she calmed down a little, and retreated, locking her door with a loud noise, and dragging her heavy trunk against it. I was very ill for some time after that night. The reaction from the excitement produced a low nervous fever, which made me feel as weak and helpless as a child. Mrs Townshend’s doctor saw me, and pronounced me suffering from some severe mental shock. He said so in Becket’s hearing, and her conscience accused her of being the cause of my illness. She grew very kind to me, and fonder of me than before, ordering for me all sorts of delicacies to tempt my appetite, and urging me to take short walks about the garden, leaning upon her strong arm. I became better, but the satchel was constantly under my eyes, and a mania to the full, as dominant as Becket’s, was gaining possession of me. I ceased to think even of George, and left his letters unanswered. The sole and simple purpose of my life seemed to be to obtain it by any means, and to put in its place the one I always carried about with me. I was on the very verge of madness myself. Hot sultry weather had come in with June ; weather which made the house intolerable, and the garden the only place to live in. Becket herself had not been as well as usual since the night when she had aroused the household, and she was looking anxiously for the next, visit of Mrs Haddan, who, no doubt, would come again before Lewis’s birthday arrived. I heard her —for all my senses had grown preternaturallv acute, and my ears listened, even in my sleep —leave her attic one morning at the earliest moment of the dawn, and go quietly downstairs into the garden. It must be insufferably hot in the attics, I thought, and she has gone out to enjoy the cool freshness of the morning. After that I could not sleep myself, and I tossed about thinking of the garden, with the dew upon the flowers, and the soft grey clouds of the dawn floating across the sky. My head felt hot and feverish, and ray temples throbbed. I got up at last languidly, and put on my dross over my nightgown. It was not four o’clock yet, and nobody would be about for two hours, except Becket; who was already enjoying herself out of doors. I went down stairs, as she had done, quietly, and entered the garden. There was an unutterable beauty and peace about it, a bloom and freshness which would vanish away quickly when the sun rose hotly above the shadowing trees. I paced leisurely to and fro, looking first at one flower and then at another. My brain grew calmer, and my temples cooler. I began to think I would write to George, and tell him all, promising to submit to whatever he should wish me to do. The green alley of trees stretched invitingly before me, with the sunbeams already playing through the quivering of the leaves ; and I strolled down it, with gentler and clearer thoughts than had been in my mind for many a day. I recollect stopping to look at a whole nest full of young fledglings clamouring for food ; and then I went on very slowly and calmly till I came within sight of the alcove, and saw —what ?

My feet felt rooted to the ground for a minute or two, and my heart throbbed painfully. There sat Becket in her favorite corner, with her face turned from me, but evidently fast asleep ; so soundly asleep that her left arm had fallen to her side, and the satchel had slipped from it to the floor at her feet. I could not believe my own eyes, or be sure that I was not dreaming ; but, seeing that she did not move, I unfastened my duplicate satchel from within my dress, and stole noiselessly forward, ready to assume my ordinary aspect if she should wake. Waa it possible that I was so near success at last ? Within reach of her powerful arm I stopped again, looking, not at her, but at the satchel. There was still no sign of waking, no stir or movement about her ; there was not even a sound of breathing through her lips, though she was close enough for me to touch. I raised my eyes from the satchel to her face, and saw hers wide open, but with no sight in them : they were looking at me, but could not see me. Her listless hand, upon which my fingers fell for an instant, was cold like frozen iron. She was dead!

I was more fearful of stooping to size possession of the satchel now than I had been before. I could not move to touch it. My own fell from my powerless fingers to the ground beside it. There sat the dead woman in her awful slumber, never to be broken, and I stood beside her, while the morning light grew stronger, and the sounds of life came oftener to my ears. Yet after a long while I remem-

ber I knelt down, still looking up into her terrible face, and groped with my shaking hands about her feet. It struck against the satchel, and I started up, and fled guiltily back to my room, only just strong enough and prudent enough to lock the door before my consciousness forsook me.

It was full day, when I came to myself, and there was a great stir and commotion in the house. I dressed, and put on my bonnet and shawl, for now I had nothing to do but get to London, to George, if my power did not again fail. I fastened the satchel safely round my waist, where I could not loose it, and went down the stairs a step at a time, holding by the banisters. I wished to get away without seeing any one, but Mrs Townshend met me in the hall, too much excited to be surprised by anything strange in my appearance. ‘Do you know,’ she exclaimed, hastily, ‘ Townshend has found Mrs Becket in the garden, dead, stone dead ? It was apoplexy the doctor says. Townshend has taken away her satchel to Haddan Lodge according to orders ; and I daresay Mrs Haddan will com® over herself about the funeral.’

I made only an incoherent answer, saying I was going up to London. How I reached there is a mystery to me this day; but the first thing I recollect is seeing the door of a gloomy sitting-room opened, and George sitting alone before a table. He did not move or look round, and the fancy smote upon me that he, too, was dead. With a cry which rang through the hotel, I ran to him, and threw my arms about him, asking over and over again if he was alive. But when I came to myself I told him, sobbing between each word, to open the satchel for himself. The lock was a strong one, and he could not unfasten it, and I bade him cut it open with his knife. The missing documents were all there; George Haddan’s letter to his father, his will and the marrige certiGcate. ■ After all it proved that Mrs Haddan had not been married in London, but in a small church out at Stroke Newington, which had been sold and removed stone for stone to make a chapel for soma Dissenters. There was also Mrs Haddan’s letter to her Aunt Becket, a simple, girlish letter, which George keeps to this day. I carried Mrs Haddan once, when George wan away, to the chapel which had once been the church where she was married, and though the arrangement of the interior had been a good deal altered, she had that sensation of its being the very spot so strongly that I wa3 in great fear of her fainting. George tajok the recovered documents to Mr Newill, and together they went to Haddan Lodge and demanded an interview with Mrs Haddan. Of course she had already discavered that she had lost them, though she had no notion, and has none to this day, how or when they went out of Becket’s possession. She was glad to hear of any arrangement by which the matter could be hushed up. It was never made known, but all the world, including Lewis, believed that George Haddan’s children had only just come forward to lay their claim to the estate. Instead of dying Lewis became quite well, and married his cousin Margaret; but they were by no means badly off, as he had all the property of his mother, who had been the only child of a wealthy banker; they live near to us ; but the dowager Mrs Haddan has never entered the doors of Haddan Lodge after once quitting it, nor even looked on the face of George’s mofcherMrs Haddan has a suite of rooms in our house, and continues to be the meakest and most tearful of women. This is the end of her history.