I Say No. Wilkie CollinsЧитать онлайн книгу.
how long ago?”
His manner still suggested that he was idly talking about what she had told him, while some more important subject for reflection was in possession of his mind.
“I don’t know that I said anything about the time that had passed since the crime was committed,” she answered, sharply. “What does the murder matter to us? I think Cecilia told me it happened about four years since. Excuse me for noticing it, Mr. Morris—you seem to have some interests of your own to occupy your attention. Why couldn’t you say so plainly when we came out here? I should not have asked you to help me, in that case. Since my poor father’s death, I have been used to fight through my troubles by myself.”
She rose, and looked at him proudly. The next moment her eyes filled with tears.
In spite of her resistance, Alban took her hand. “Dear Miss Emily,” he said, “you distress me: you have not done me justice. Your interests only are in my mind.”
Answering her in those terms, he had not spoken as frankly as usual. He had only told her a part of the truth.
Hearing that the woman whom they had just left had been landlady of an inn, and that a murder had been committed under her roof, he was led to ask himself if any explanation might be found, in these circumstances, of the otherwise incomprehensible effect produced on Mrs. Rook by the inscription on the locket.
In the pursuit of this inquiry there had arisen in his mind a monstrous suspicion, which pointed to Mrs. Rook. It impelled him to ascertain the date at which the murder had been committed, and (if the discovery encouraged further investigation) to find out next the manner in which Mr. Brown had died.
Thus far, what progress had he made? He had discovered that the date of Mr. Brown’s death, inscribed on the locket, and the date of the crime committed at the inn, approached each other nearly enough to justify further investigation.
In the meantime, had he succeeded in keeping his object concealed from Emily? He had perfectly succeeded. Hearing him declare that her interests only had occupied his mind, the poor girl innocently entreated him to forgive her little outbreak of temper. “If you have any more questions to ask me, Mr. Morris, pray go on. I promise never to think unjustly of you again.”
He went on with an uneasy conscience—for it seemed cruel to deceive her, even in the interests of truth—but still he went on.
“Suppose we assume that this woman had injured your father in some way,” he said. “Am I right in believing that it was in his character to forgive injuries?”
“Entirely right.”
“In that case, his death may have left Mrs. Rook in a position to be called to account, by those who owe a duty to his memory—I mean the surviving members of his family.”
“There are but two of us, Mr. Morris. My aunt and myself.”
“There are his executors.”
“My aunt is his only executor.”
“Your father’s sister—I presume?”
“Yes.”
“He may have left instructions with her, which might be of the greatest use to us.”
“I will write to-day, and find out,” Emily replied. “I had already planned to consult my aunt,” she added, thinking again of Miss Jethro.
“If your aunt has not received any positive instructions,” Alban continued, “she may remember some allusion to Mrs. Rook, on your father’s part, at the time of his last illness—”
Emily stopped him. “You don’t know how my dear father died,” she said. “He was struck down—apparently in perfect health—by disease of the heart.”
“Struck down in his own house?”
“Yes—in his own house.”
Those words closed Alban’s lips. The investigation so carefully and so delicately conducted had failed to serve any useful purpose. He had now ascertained the manner of Mr. Brown’s death and the place of Mr. Brown’s death—and he was as far from confirming his suspicions of Mrs. Rook as ever.
CHAPTER XI. THE DRAWING-MASTER’S CONFESSION.
“Is there nothing else you can suggest?” Emily asked.
“Nothing—at present.”
“If my aunt fails us, have we no other hope?”
“I have hope in Mrs. Rook,” Alban answered. “I see I surprise you; but I really mean what I say. Sir Jervis’s housekeeper is an excitable woman, and she is fond of wine. There is always a weak side in the character of such a person as that. If we wait for our chance, and turn it to the right use when it comes, we may yet succeed in making her betray herself.”
Emily listened to him in bewilderment.
“You talk as if I was sure of your help in the future,” she said. “Have you forgotten that I leave school to-day, never to return? In half an hour more, I shall be condemned to a long journey in the company of that horrible creature—with a life to look forward to, in the same house with her, among strangers! A miserable prospect, and a hard trial of a girl’s courage—is it not, Mr. Morris?”
“You will at least have one person, Miss Emily, who will try with all his heart and soul to encourage you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” said Alban, quietly, “that the Midsummer vacation begins to-day; and that the drawing-master is going to spend his holidays in the North.”
Emily jumped up from her chair. “You!” she exclaimed. “You are going to Northumberland? With me?”
“Why not?” Alban asked. “The railway is open to all travelers alike, if they have money enough to buy a ticket.”
“Mr. Morris! what can you be thinking of? Indeed, indeed, I am not ungrateful. I know you mean kindly—you are a good, generous man. But do remember how completely a girl, in my position, is at the mercy of appearances. You, traveling in the same carriage with me! and that woman putting her own vile interpretation on it, and degrading me in Sir Jervis Redwood’s estimation, on the day when I enter his house! Oh, it’s worse than thoughtless—it’s madness, downright madness.”
“You are quite right,” Alban gravely agreed, “it is madness. I lost whatever little reason I once possessed, Miss Emily, on the day when I first met you out walking with the young ladies of the school.”
Emily turned away in significant silence. Alban followed her.
“You promised just now,” he said, “never to think unjustly of me again. I respect and admire you far too sincerely to take a base advantage of this occasion—the only occasion on which I have been permitted to speak with you alone. Wait a little before you condemn a man whom you don’t understand. I will say nothing to annoy you—I only ask leave to explain myself. Will you take your chair again?”
She returned unwillingly to her seat. “It can only end,” she thought, sadly, “in my disappointing him!”
“I have had the worst possible opinion of women for years past,” Alban resumed; “and the only reason I can give for it condemns me out of my own mouth. I have been infamously treated by one woman; and my wounded self-esteem has meanly revenged itself by reviling the whole sex. Wait a little, Miss Emily. My fault has received its fit punishment. I have been thoroughly humiliated—and you have done it.”
“Mr. Morris!”
“Take no offense, pray, where no offense is meant. Some few years since it was the great misfortune of my life to meet with a Jilt. You know what I mean?”
“Yes.”