I Say No by Wilkie Collins (reader novel txt) 📖

a satirical turn. ‘Allow me to ask, sir, whether your eyes were shut, when our housekeeper found herself unexpectedly in your presence?’ I referred the old lady to her brother’s opinion. ‘Sir Jervis believes Mrs. Rook to be crazy,’ I reminded her. ‘Do you refuse to trust me, sir?’ ‘I have no information to give you, madam.’ She waved her skinny old hand in the direction of the door. I made my bow, and retired. She called me back. ‘Old women used to be prophets, sir, in the bygone time,’ she said. ‘I will venture on a prediction. You will be the means of depriving us of the services of Mr. and Mrs. Rook. If you will be so good as to stay here a day or two longer you will hear that those two people have given us notice to quit. It will be her doing, mind—he is a mere cypher. I wish you good-morning.’ Will you believe me, when I tell you that the prophecy was fulfilled?”

“Do you mean that they actually left the house?”

“They would certainly have left the house,” Alban answered, “if Sir Jervis had not insisted on receiving the customary month’s warning. He asserted his resolution by locking up the old husband in the pantry. His sister’s suspicions never entered his head; the housekeeper’s conduct (he said) simply proved that she was, what he had always considered her to be, crazy. ‘A capital servant, in spite of that drawback,’ he remarked; ‘and you will see, I shall bring her to her senses.’ The impression produced on me was naturally of a very different kind. While I was still uncertain how to entrap Mrs. Rook into confirming my suspicions, she herself had saved me the trouble. She had placed her own guilty interpretation on my appearance in the house—I had driven her away!”

Emily remained true to her resolution not to let her curiosity embarrass Alban again. But the unexpressed question was in her thoughts—“Of what guilt does he suspect Mrs. Rook? And, when he first felt his suspicions, was my father in his mind?”

Alban proceeded.

“I had only to consider next, whether I could hope to make any further discoveries, if I continued to be Sir Jervis’s guest. The object of my journey had been gained; and I had no desire to be employed as picture-cleaner. Miss Redwood assisted me in arriving at a decision. I was sent for to speak to her again. The success of her prophecy had raised her spirits. She asked, with ironical humility, if I proposed to honor them by still remaining their guest, after the disturbance that I had provoked. I answered that I proposed to leave by the first train the next morning. ‘Will it be convenient for you to travel to some place at a good distance from this part of the world?’ she asked. I had my own reasons for going to London, and said so. ‘Will you mention that to my brother this evening, just before we sit down to dinner?’ she continued. ‘And will you tell him plainly that you have no intention of returning to the North? I shall make use of Mrs. Rook’s arm, as usual, to help me downstairs—and I will take care that she hears what you say. Without venturing on another prophecy, I will only hint to you that I have my own idea of what will happen; and I should like you to see for yourself, sir, whether my anticipations are realized.’ Need I tell you that this strange old woman proved to be right once more? Mr. Rook was released; Mrs. Rook made humble apologies, and laid the whole blame on her husband’s temper: and Sir Jervis bade me remark that his method had succeeded in bringing the housekeeper to her senses. Such were the results produced by the announcement of my departure for London—purposely made in Mrs. Rook’s hearing. Do you agree with me, that my journey to Northumberland has not been taken in vain?”

Once more, Emily felt the necessity of controlling herself.

Alban had said that he had “reasons of his own for going to London.” Could she venture to ask him what those reasons were? She could only persist in restraining her curiosity, and conclude that he would have mentioned his motive, if it had been (as she had at one time supposed) connected with herself. It was a wise decision. No earthly consideration would have induced Alban to answer her, if she had put the question to him.

All doubt of the correctness of his own first impression was now at an end; he was convinced that Mrs. Rook had been an accomplice in the crime committed, in 1877, at the village inn. His object in traveling to London was to consult the newspaper narrative of the murder. He, too, had been one of the readers at the Museum—had examined the back numbers of the newspaper—and had arrived at the conclusion that Emily’s father had been the victim of the crime. Unless he found means to prevent it, her course of reading would take her from the year 1876 to the year 1877, and under that date, she would see the fatal report, heading the top of a column, and printed in conspicuous type.

In the meanwhile Emily had broken the silence, before it could lead to embarrassing results, by asking if Alban had seen Mrs. Rook again, on the morning when he left Sir Jervis’s house.

“There was nothing to be gained by seeing her, “Alban replied. “Now that she and her husband had decided to remain at Redwood Hall, I knew where to find her in case of necessity. As it happened I saw nobody, on the morning of my departure, but Sir Jervis himself. He still held to his idea of having his pictures cleaned for nothing. ‘If you can’t do it yourself,’ he said, ‘couldn’t you teach my secretary?’ He described the lady whom he had engaged in your place as a ‘nasty middle-aged woman with a perpetual cold in her head.’ At the same time (he remarked) he was a friend to the women, ‘because he got them cheap.’ I declined to teach the unfortunate secretary the art of picture-cleaning. Finding me determined, Sir Jervis was quite ready to say good-by. But he made use of me to the last. He employed me as postman and saved a stamp. The letter addressed to you arrived at breakfast-time. Sir Jervis said, ‘You are going to London; suppose you take it with you?’”

“Did he tell you that there was a letter of his own inclosed in the envelope?”

“No. When he gave me the envelope it was already sealed.”

Emily at once handed to him Sir Jervis’s letter. “That will tell you who employs me at the Museum, and what my work is,” she said.

He looked through the letter, and at once offered—eagerly offered—to help her.

“I have been a student in the reading-room at intervals, for years past,” he said. “Let me assist you, and I shall have something to do in my holiday time.” He was so anxious to be of use that he interrupted her before she could thank him. “Let us take alternate years,” he suggested. “Did you not tell me you were searching the newspapers published in eighteen hundred and seventy-six?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. I will take the next year. You will take the year after. And so on.”

“You are very kind,” she answered—“but I should like to propose an improvement on your plan.”

“What improvement?” he asked, rather sharply.

“If you will leave the five years, from ‘seventy-six to ‘eighty-one, entirely to me,” she resumed, “and take the next five years, reckoning backward from ‘seventy-six, you will help me to better purpose. Sir Jervis expects me to look for reports of Central American Explorations, through the newspapers of the last forty years; and I have taken the liberty of limiting the heavy task imposed on me. When I report my progress to my employer, I should like to say that I have got through ten years of the examination, instead of five. Do you see any objection to the arrangement I propose?”

He proved to be obstinate—incomprehensibly obstinate.

‘Let us try my plan to begin with,” he insisted. “While you are looking through ‘seventy-six, let me be at work on ‘seventy-seven. If you still prefer your own arrangement, after that, I will follow your suggestion with pleasure. Is it agreed?”

Her acute perception—enlightened by his tone as wall as by his words—detected something under the surface already.

“It isn’t agreed until I understand you a little better,” she quietly replied. “I fancy you have some object of your own in view.”

She spoke with her usual directness of look and manner. He was evidently disconcerted. “What makes you think so?” he asked.

“My own experience of myself makes me think so,” she answered. “If I had some object to gain, I should persist in carrying it out—like you.”

“Does that mean, Miss Emily, that you refuse to give way?”

“No, Mr. Morris. I have made myself disagreeable, but I know when to stop. I trust you—and submit.”

If he had been less deeply interested in the accomplishment of his merciful design, he might have viewed Emily’s sudden submission with some distrust. As it was, his eagerness to prevent her from discovering the narrative of the murder hurried him into an act of indiscretion. He made an excuse to leave her immediately, in the fear that she might change her mind.

“I have inexcusably prolonged my visit,” he said. “If I presume on your kindness in this way, how can I hope that you will receive me again? We meet tomorrow in the reading-room.”

He hastened away, as if he was afraid to let her say a word in reply.

Emily reflected.

“Is there something he doesn’t want me to see, in the news of the year ‘seventy-seven?” The one explanation which suggested itself to her mind assumed that form of expression—and the one method of satisfying her curiosity that seemed likely to succeed, was to search the volume which Alban had reserved for his own reading.

For two days they pursued their task together, seated at opposite desks. On the third day Emily was absent.

Was she ill?

She was at the library in the City, consulting the file of The Times for the year 1877.

 

CHAPTER XXIV.

MR. ROOK.

Emily’s first day in the City library proved to be a day wasted.

She began reading the back numbers of the newspaper at haphazard, without any definite idea of what she was looking for. Conscious of the error into which her own impatience had led her, she was at a loss how to retrace the false step that she had taken. But two alternatives presented themselves: either to abandon the hope of making any discovery—or to attempt to penetrate Alban ‘s motives by means of pure guesswork, pursued in the dark.

How was the problem to be solved? This serious question troubled her all through the evening, and kept her awake when she went to bed. In despair of her capacity to remove the obstacle that stood in her way, she decided on resuming her regular work at the Museum—turned her pillow to get at the cool side of it—and made up her mind to go asleep.

In the case of the wiser animals, the Person submits to Sleep. It is only the superior human being who tries the hopeless experiment of making Sleep submit to the Person. Wakeful on the warm side of the pillow, Emily remained wakeful on the cool side—thinking again and again of the interview with Alban which had ended so strangely.

Little by little, her mind passed the limits which had restrained it thus far. Alban’s conduct in keeping his secret, in the matter of the newspapers, now