The House of the Whispering Pines (35 page)

"I read it as soon as I reached my room. Then I sat still for a
long time."

"Miss Cumberland, pardon my request, but will you tell us what was in
that note?"

She lifted her patient eyes, and looked straight at her brother. He did
not meet her gaze; but the dull flush which lit up the dead-white of his
cheek showed how he suffered under this ordeal. At me she never glanced;
this was the only mercy shown me that dreadful morning. I grew to be
thankful for it as she went on.

"I do not remember the words," she said, finally, as her eyes fell again
to her lap. "But I remember its meaning. It was an invitation for me to
leave town with him that very evening and be married at some place he
mentioned. He said it would be the best way to—to end—matters."

This brought Mr. Fox to his feet. For all his self-command, he had
been perceptibly growing more and more nervous as the examination
proceeded; and he found himself still in the dark as to his opponent's
purpose and the character of the revelations he had to fear. Turning
to the judge, he cried:

"This testimony is irrelevant and incompetent, and I ask to have it
stricken out."

Mr. Moffat's voice, as he arose to answer this, was like honey poured
upon gall.

"It is neither irrelevant nor incompetent, and, if it were, the objection
comes too late. My friend should have objected to the question."

"The whole course of counsel has been very unusual," began Mr. Fox.

"Yes, but so is the case. I beg your Honour to believe that, in some of
its features, this case is not only unusual, but almost without a
precedent. That it may be lightly understood, and justice shown my
client, a full knowledge of the whole family's experiences during those
fatal hours is not only desirable, but absolutely essential. I beg,
therefore, that my witness may be allowed to proceed and tell her story
in all its details. Nothing will be introduced which will not ultimately
be seen to have a direct bearing upon the attitude of my client towards
the crime for which he stands here arraigned."

"The motion is denied," declared the judge.

Mr. Fox sat down, to the universal relief of all but the two persons most
interested—Arthur and myself.

Mr. Moffat, generous enough or discreet enough to take no note of his
opponent's discomfiture, lifted a paper from the table and held it
towards the witness.

"Do you recognise these lines?" he asked, placing the remnants of my
half-burned communication in her hands.

She started at sight of them. Evidently she had never expected to see
them again.

"Yes," she answered, after a moment. "This is a portion of the note I
have mentioned."

"You recognise it as such?"

"I do."

Her eyes lingered on the scrap, and followed it as it was passed back and
marked as an exhibit.

Mr. Moffat recalled her to the matter in hand.

"What did you do next, Miss Cumberland?"

"I answered the note."

"May I ask to what effect?"

"I refused Mr. Ranelagh's request. I said that I could not do what he
asked, and told him to wait till the next day, and he would see how I
felt towards him and towards Adelaide. That was all. I could not write
much. I was suffering greatly."

"Suffering in mind, or suffering in body?"

"Suffering in my mind. I was terrified, but that feeling did not last
very long. Soon I grew happy, happier than I had been in weeks, happier
than I had ever been in all my life before. I found that I loved Adelaide
better than I did myself. This made everything easy, even the sending of
the answer I have told you about to Mr. Ranelagh."

"Miss Cumberland, how did you get this answer to Mr. Ranelagh?"

"By means of a gentleman who was going away on the very train I had
been asked to leave on. He was a guest next door, and I carried the
note in to him."

"Did you do this openly?"

"No. I'm afraid not; I slipped out by the side door, in as careful a way
as I could."

"Did this attempt at secrecy succeed? Were you able to go and come
without meeting any one?"

"No. Adelaide was at the head of the stairs when I came back, standing
there, very stiff and quiet."

"Did she speak to you?"

"No. She just looked at me; but it wasn't a common look. I shall never
forget it."

"And what did you do then?"

"I went to my room."

"Miss Cumberland, did you sec anybody else when you came in at
this time?"

"Yes, our maid Helen. She was just laying down a bunch of keys on the
table in the lower hall. I stopped and looked at the keys. I had
recognised them as the ones I had seen in Mr. Ranelagh's hands many
times. He had gone, yet there were his keys. One of them unlocked the
club-house. I noticed it among the others, but I didn't touch it then.
Helen was still in the hall, and I ran straight upstairs, where I met my
sister, as I have just told you."

"Miss Cumberland, continue the story. What did you do after re-entering
your room?"

"I don't know what I did first. I was very excited—elated one minute,
deeply wretched and very frightened the next. I must have sat down; for I
was shaking very much, and felt a little sick. The sight of that key had
brought up pictures of the club-house; and I thought and thought how
quiet it was, and how far away and—how cold it was too, and how secret.
I would go there for what I had to do;
there
! And then I saw in my
fancy one of its rooms, with the moon in it, and—but I soon shut my eyes
to that. I heard Arthur moving about his room, and this made me start up
and go out into the hall again."

During all this Mr. Fox had sat by, understanding his right to object to
the witness's mixed statements of fact and of feelings, and quite
confident that his objections would be sustained. But he had determined
long since that he would not interrupt the witness in her relation. The
air of patience he assumed was sufficiently indicative of his
displeasure, and he confined himself to this. Mr. Moffat understood, and
testified his appreciation by a slight bow.

Carmel, who saw nothing, resumed her story.

"Arthur's room is near, and Adelaide's far off; but I went to Adelaide's
first. Her door was shut and when I went to open it I found it locked.
Calling her name, I said that I was tired and would be glad to say good
night. She did not answer at once. When she did, her voice was strange,
though what she said was very simple. I was to please myself; she was
going to retire, too. And then she tried to say good night, but she only
half said it, like one who is choked with tears or some other dreadful
emotion. I cannot tell you how this made me feel—but you don't care for
that. You want to know what I did—what Adelaide did. I will tell you,
but I cannot hurry. Every act of the evening was so crowded with purpose;
all meant so much. I can see the end, but the steps leading to it are not
so clear."

"Take your time, Miss Cumberland; we have no wish to hurry you."

"I can go on now. The next thing I did was to knock at Arthur's door. I
heard him getting ready to go out, and I wanted to speak to him before
he went. When he heard me, he opened the door and let me in. He began at
once on his grievances, but I could not listen to them. I wanted him to
harness the grey mare for me and leave it standing in the stable. I
explained the request by saying that it was necessary for me to see a
certain friend of mine immediately, and that no one would notice me in
the cutter under the bear-skins. He didn't approve, but I persuaded him.
I even persuaded him to wait till Zadok was gone, so that Adelaide would
know nothing about it. He looked glum, but he promised.

"He was going away when I heard Adelaide's steps in the adjoining room.
This frightened me. The partition is very thin between these two rooms,
and I was afraid she had heard me ask Arthur for the grey mare and
cutter. I could hear her rattling the bottles in the medicine cabinet
hanging on this very wall. Looking back at Arthur, I asked him how long
Adelaide had been there. He said, 'For some time.' This sent me flying
from the room. I would join her, and find out if she had heard. But I
was too late. As I stepped into the hall I saw her disappearing round
the corner leading to her own room. This convinced me that she had heard
nothing, and, light of heart once more, I went back to my own room,
where I collected such little articles as I needed for the expedition
before me.

"I had hardly done this when I heard the servants on the walk outside,
then Arthur going down. The impulse to see and speak to him again was
irresistible. I flew after him and caught him in the lower hall.
'Arthur,' I cried, 'look at me, look at me well, and then—kiss me!' And
he did kiss me—I'm glad when I think of it, though he did say, next
minute: 'What is the matter with you? What are you going to do? To meet
that villain?'

"I looked straight into his face. I waited till I saw I had his whole
attention; then I said, as slowly and emphatically as I could: 'If you
mean Elwood—no! I shall never meet him again, except in Adelaide's
presence. He will not want to meet me. You may be at ease about that.
To-morrow all will be well, and Adelaide very happy,'

"He shrugged his shoulders, and reached for his coat and hat. As he was
putting them on, I said, 'Don't forget to harness up Jenny.' Jenny is the
grey mare. 'And leave off the bells,' I urged. 'I don't want Adelaide to
hear me go out.'

"He swung about at this. 'You and Adelaide are not very good friends it
seems.' 'As good as you and she are,' I answered. Then I flung my arms
about him. 'Don't go down street to-night,' I prayed. 'Stay home for this
one night. Stay in the house with Adelaide; stay till I come home.' He
stared, and I saw his colour change. Then he flung me off, but not
rudely. 'Why don't
you
stay?' he asked. Then he laughed, and added,
'I'll go harness the mare.'

"'The key's in the kitchen,' I said. 'I'll go get it for you. I heard
Zadok bring it in.' He did not answer, and I went for the key. I found
two on the nail, and I brought them both; but I only handed him one, the
key to the stable-door. 'Which way are you going?' I asked, as he looked
at the key, then back towards the kitchen. 'The short way, of course,'
'Then here's the key to the Fulton grounds,'

"As he took the key, I prayed again, 'Don't do what's in your mind,
Arthur. Don't drink to-night. He only laughed, and I said my last word:
'If you do, it will be for the last time. You'll never drink again after
to-morrow.'

"He made no answer to this, and I went slowly upstairs. Everything was
quiet—quiet as death—in the whole house. If Adelaide had heard us, she
made no sign. Going to my own room, I waited until I heard Arthur come
out of the stable and go away by the door in the rear wall. Then I stole
out again. I carried a small bag with me, but no coat or hat.

"Pausing and listening again and again, I crept downstairs and halted at
the table under the rack. The keys were still there. Putting them in my
bag, I searched the rack for one of my brother's warm coats. But I took
none I saw. I remembered an old one which Adelaide had put away in the
closet under the stairs. Getting this, I put it on, and, finding a hat
there too, I took that also; and when I had pulled it over my forehead
and drawn up the collar of the coat, I was quite unrecognisable. I was
going out, when I remembered there would be no light in the club-house. I
had put a box of matches in my bag while I was upstairs, but I needed a
candle. Slipping back, I took a candlestick and candle from the
dining-room mantel, and finding that the bag would not hold them, thrust
them into the pocket of the coat I wore, and quickly left the house.
Jenny was in the stable, all harnessed; and hesitating no longer, I got
in among the bear-skins and drove swiftly away."

There was a moment's silence. Carmel had paused, and was sitting with her
hand on her heart, looking past judge, past jury, upon the lonely and
desolate scene in which she at this moment moved and suffered. An
inexpressible fatality had entered into her tones, always rich and
resonant with feeling. No one who listened could fail to share the dread
by which she was moved.

District Attorney Fox fumbled with his papers, and endeavoured to
maintain his equanimity and show an indifference which his stern but
fascinated glances at the youthful witness amply belied. He was biding
his time, but biding it in decided perturbation of mind. Neither he nor
any one else, unless it were Moffat, could tell whither this tale tended.
While she held the straight course which had probably been laid out for
her, he failed to object; but he could not prevent the subtle influence
of her voice, her manner, and her supreme beauty on the entranced jury.
Nevertheless, his pencil was busy; he was still sufficiently master of
himself for that.

Mr. Moffat, quite aware of the effect which was being produced on every
side, but equally careful to make no show of it, put in a commonplace
question at this point, possibly to rouse the witness from her own
abstraction, possibly to restore the judicial tone of the inquiry.

"How did you leave the stable-door?"

"Open."

"Can you tell us what time it was when you started?"

"No. I did not look. Time meant nothing to me. I drove as fast as I
could, straight down the hill, and out towards The Whispering Pines. I
had seen Adelaide in her window as I went flying by the house, but not a
soul on the road, nor a sign of life, near or far. The whistle of a train
blew as I stopped in the thicket near the club-house door. If it was the
express train, you can tell—"

"Never mind the
if
" said Mr. Moffat. "It is enough that you heard the
whistle. Go on with what you did."

"I tied up my horse; then I went into the house. I had used Mr.
Ranelagh's key to open the door and for some reason I took it out of the
lock when I got in, and put the whole bunch back into my satchel. But I
did not lock the door. Then I lit my candle and then—I went upstairs."