Books: The Mayor\'s Wife
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Anna Katherine Green >> The Mayor\'s Wife
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That it was a belief and nothing more seemed sufficiently clear to
me in the cold-blooded analysis to which I now subjected the whole
matter.
Phantoms have no place in the economy of nature. That Mrs. Packard
thought herself the victim of one was simply a proof of how deeply,
though perhaps unconsciously, she had been affected by the
traditions of the house. Such sensitiveness in a mind naturally
firm and uncommonly well poised, called for attention. Yet a
physician had asserted that he could do nothing for her. Granting
that he was mistaken, would an interference of so direct and
unmistakable a character be wise in the present highly strung
condition of her nerves? I doubted it. It would show too plainly
the light in which we regarded her. I dared not undertake the
responsibility of such a course in Mayor Packard's absence. Some
other way must be found to quiet her apprehensions and bring her
into harmony again with her surroundings. I knew of only one
course. If the influence of the house had brought on this
hallucination, then the influence of the house must be destroyed.
She must be made to see that, despite its unfortunate reputation,
no specter had ever visited it; that some purely natural cause was
at the bottom of the various manifestations which had successively
driven away all previous tenants.
Could I hope to effect this? It was an undertaking of no small
moment. Had I the necessary judgment? I doubted it, but my
ambition was roused. While Mr. Steele was devoting himself to the
discovery of Mayor and Mrs. Packard's political enemy, I would
essay the more difficult task of penetrating the mystery
threatening their domestic peace. I could but fail; a few
inquiries would assure me of the folly or the wisdom of my course.
Having reached this point and satisfied myself as to my real duty,
I rose to leave my room for another word or two with Ellen. As I
did so my eyes fell on the shade still drawn between me and the
next house. The impulse to raise it was irresistible. I must see
if either of the two old faces still occupied that gable window.
It was not likely. It was not in ordinary human nature to keep up
so unremitting a watch. Yet as the shade flew up at my touch I
realized that my astonishment would have been great and my
expectations altogether disappointed if I had not encountered the
fixed countenance and the set stare with which I had come to
connect this solitary window. Miss Charity was there, and, though
I now knew what underlay her senile, if not utterly mad watch, the
impression made upon me by her hopeless countenance was as keen as
it had ever been, and lent point and impetus to the task I had just
set for myself.
It was apparent that Mrs. Packard had forgotten or changed her mind
about joining me in her own room, but nevertheless I went out, to
discover what possible duties she might have laid out for me.
Ascertaining from Ellen that Mrs. Packard had engagements which
would take her out at noon, I waited for that hour to pass, then
excused myself and went out also.
The owner of the house whose shaded history I was now determined to
learn was John Searles, a real estate agent. To his office in Main
Street I at once proceeded, not without doubts and much inward
trepidation, but buoyed up by the assurance of Mayor Packard's
approval of any attempt, however far-fetched or unpromising, which
held out the least possibility of relieving Mrs. Packard from her
superstitious fears and restoring the peace and happiness of the
household. If only Mr. Searles should prove to be an approachable
man!
I had never seen him or heard him spoken of, or I should not have
encouraged myself with this hope. At my first glimpse of his tall,
gaunt figure, hard features, and brisk impatient movements, I knew
that my wit and equanimity would be put to their full test in the
interview.
He was engaged, at my entrance, in some harsh dispute with a couple
of other men, but came forward quickly enough when he saw me.
Recognizing at once that any attempt at ingratiation would fail
with this man, I entered at once upon my errand by asking a
question direct enough to command his attention, if it did not
insure the desired reply.
"Mr. Searles, when you purchased the house on Franklin Street, did
you know enough about it to have an answer ready for any one who
might declare it haunted?"
The abruptness of the attack produced its effect. Annoyance swept
every hint of patience from face and manner, and he exclaimed in a
tone which conveyed, only too openly, how disagreeable the subject
was to him.
"Again!"
I smiled. It would not do to show how much I felt the total lack
of sympathy in his manner.
"You will have trouble," said I, "until it is proved that the
occurrences which have provoked this report have a very natural and
quite human source."
He stopped in his nervous fidgeting and gave me a quick hard look.
"Who are you?" he asked, "and why has Mrs. Packard made you her
messenger instead of coming herself?"
"I am her companion, engaged by Mayor Packard to stay with her
during his contemplated absence. I am here instead of Mrs. Packard
because it is she herself who is the present sufferer from the
disagreeable experiences which attend life in the Franklin Street
house."
"Mrs. Packard?" His tone betrayed a complete incredulity. "Mrs.
Packard? a woman of such strong good sense! I think you must have
been misled by some foolish attempt at humor on her part. Does she
know that you have come to me with this complaint?"
"She does not. She is not in a condition to be consulted on the
subject. I am Mayor Packard's emissary. He is very anxious about
his wife." Then as Mr. Searles continued unmoved, I added in a
straightforward manner, and with all the earnestness I felt: "Mrs.
Packard believes herself to have come face to face with an
undoubted specter in the library of the house they have rented from
you. She related the circumstances to her husband and to myself
this very morning. It occurred, according to her story, several
days ago; meantime her manner and appearance have shown a great
change. Mayor Packard is not the only one who has noticed it. The
whole household has been struck by her condition, though no one
knew its cause until to-day. Of course, we do not believe in the
specter; that was pure hallucination on her part. This we no more
doubt than you do."
"Then what do you want here?" he asked, after a moment of harsh
scrutiny.
"Proof which will convince her that it was an hallucination and
without the least basis in any spiritual fact," I returned. "If
you will give me a few minutes of your time, I will explain just
what I mean and also make known to you my wishes. I can wait till
you have finished your business with the gentlemen I see over
there."
He honored me with a look, which for the first time showed any
appreciation of my feelings, and pushing open a door near by,
called out to some one within:
"Here, Robinson, talk with this lady. Her business is not in my
line." Then, turning to me with a quick, "Step in, Madam," he left
me with the greatest abruptness and hurried back to the gentlemen
awaiting him on the other side of the room.
I was considerably taken aback by this move, but knew no other
course than to enter the room he had pointed out and pursue my
conversation with whomever I should find there.
Alas! the gentleman who rose at my entrance was also one of the
tall, thin and nervous type. But he was not without heart, like
the other, as was soon made apparent to me. Very few human faces
are plainer than the one I now searched for the encouragement of
which I stood in such sore need, but also very few faces, handsome
or otherwise, have the attraction of so pleasant a smile. Its
affable greeting was followed by the hasty pushing forward of a
chair and a kind inquiry as to what he could do for me.
My answer woke an immediate interest. "My name is Saunders," I
said. "I am at present an inmate of Mayor Packard's house--a house
belonging to Mr. Searles, and one which has its drawbacks."
The meaning look with which I uttered the last sentence called
forth an answering one. A flash of excitement broke over his
features and he cast a quick glance at the door which fortunately
had swung to at my entrance.
"Has--have they--has anything of a disagreeable nature happened to
any one in this house?" he asked with ill-concealed perturbation.
"I did not expect it during their tenantry, but if such has
occurred, I am obliged to Mrs. Packard for letting me know. She
promised to, you see, and--"
"She promised!" I cried.
"Yes; in joke no doubt, being at the time in a very incredulous
state of mind. She vowed that she would let me know the very day
she saw the lights or encountered anything in the house, which
could be construed into a spiritual visitation. Has such a
manifestation occurred?" he eagerly inquired. "Has it? has it? Am
I to add her name to the list of those who have found the house
uninhabitable?"
"That I am not ready to say," was my cautious response. "Mrs.
Packard, during the period of her husband's candidacy, would
scarcely wish to draw public attention to herself or these
supernatural happenings by any such move. I hope that what I say
to you on this subject will go no further."
"You may rest assured that it will never become public property,"
he assured me. "One person I am bound to tell; but that is all.
That person is too much interested in the house's good name to
spread so damaging a story. An experience, more or less
disagreeable, must have occurred to some member of the family,"
continued Mr. Robinson. "Your presence here assures me of that.
What kind of experience? The--manifestations have not always been
of the same nature."
"No; and that is what so engages my attention. These experiences
differ so much in their character. Do you happen to know the exact
nature of each? I have a theory which I long to substantiate. May
I trust you with it?"
"You certainly may, Miss. No one has thought over this matter more
earnestly than I have. Not because of any superstitious tendency
on my part; rather from the lack of it. I don't believe in
spirits. I don't believe in supernatural agencies of any kind; yet
strange things do happen in that house, things which we find it
hard to explain."
"Mrs. Packard's experience was this. She believes herself to have
encountered in the library the specter of a man; a specter with a
gaze so terrifying that it impressed itself upon her as an omen of
death, or some other dire disaster. What have your other tenants
seen?"
"Shadows mostly; but not always. Sometimes the outline of an arm
projecting out of darkness; sometimes, the trace of steps on the
hall floors, or the discovery in the morning of an open door which
had been carefully closed at bedtime. Once it was the trailing of
ghostly fingers across the sleeper's face, and once a succession of
groans rising from the lower halls and drawing the whole family
from their beds, to find no one but themselves within the whole
four walls. A clearly outlined phantom has been scarce. But Mrs.
Packard has seen one, you say."
"Thinks she has seen one," I corrected. "Mayor Packard and myself
both look upon the occurrence as a wholly imaginary one, caused by
her secret brooding over the very manifestations you mention. If
she could be convinced that these manifestations had a physical
origin, she would immediately question the reality of the specter
she now believes herself to have seen. To bring her to this point
I am ready to exert myself to the utmost. Are you willing to do
the same? If so, I can assure you of Mayor Packard's
appreciation."
"How? What? You believe the whole thing a fraud? That all these
tenants coming from various quarters manufactured all these stories
and submitted to endless inconvenience to perpetuate a senseless
lie?"
"No, I don't think that. The tenants were honest enough, but who
owned the house before Mr. Searles?" I was resolved to give no hint
of the information imparted to me by Mrs. Packard.
"The Misses Quinlan, the two maiden ladies who live next door to
Mayor Packard."
"I don't know them," said I truthfully.
"Very worthy women," Mr. Robinson assured me. "They are as much
disturbed and as completely puzzled as the rest of us over the
mysterious visitations which have lessened the value of their
former property. They have asked me more than once for an
explanation of its marked unpopularity. I felt foolish to say
ghosts, but finally I found myself forced to do so, much to my
lasting regret."
"How? Why?" I asked, with all the force of a very rapidly
increasing curiosity.
"Because its effect upon them has been so disastrous. They were
women of intelligence previous to this, one of them quite markedly
so, but from that day they have given evidence of mental weakness
which can only be attributed to their continual brooding over this
mysterious topic. The house, whose peculiarities we are now
discussing, was once their family homestead, and they shrink from
the reproach of its unfortunate reputation. What! you don't think
so?" he impetuously asked, moved, perhaps, by my suggestive
silence. "You are suspicious of these two poor old women? What
reason have you for that, Miss Saunders? What motive could they
have for depreciating the value of what was once their own
property?"
So he knew nothing of the lost bonds! Mrs. Packard had made no
mistake when she assured me of the secrecy with which they had
endured their misfortune. It gave me great relief; I could work
more safely with this secret unshared. But the situation called
for dissimulation. It was with anything but real openness that I
declared:
"You can not calculate the impulses of an affected mind. Jealousy
of the past may influence these unfortunate women. They possibly
hate to see strangers in the rooms made sacred by old
associations."
"That is possible, but how could they, shut up in a house,
separated from yours by a distance of several feet, be held
accountable for the phenomena observed in 393? There are no means
of communication between the two buildings; even the doors, which
once faced each other across the dividing alley, have been closed
up. Interference from them is impossible."
"No more impossible than from any other outside source. Is it a
fact that the doors and windows of this strangely haunted house
were always found securely locked after each occurrence of the
phenomena you have mentioned?"
"So I have been told by every tenant I have questioned, and I was
careful to question them, I assure you."
"That settles the matter in my mind," I asserted. "These women
know of some means of entrance that has escaped general discovery.
Cunning is a common attribute of the unsettled brain."
"And they are very cunning. Miss Saunders, you have put a totally
new idea into my head. I do not place much stress upon the motive
you have attributed to them, nor do I see how the appearances noted
could have been produced by these two antiquated women; but the
interest they have displayed in the effect these have had upon
others has been of the most decided nature. They have called here
after the departure of every fresh tenant, and it was all that I
could do to answer their persistent inquiries. It is to them and
not to Mr. Searles I feel bound to report the apparition seen by
Mrs. Packard."
"To them!" I ejaculated in amazement. "Why to them? They no
longer have a proprietary interest in the house."
"Very true, but they long ago exacted a promise from me to keep a
strict account of such complaints as were raised against the house.
They, in short, paid me to do so. From time to time they have come
here to read this account. It annoys Mr. Searles, but I have had
considerable patience with them for reasons which your kind heart
will instantly suggest."
I thought of the real pathos of the situation, and how much I might
increase his interest by giving him the full details of their
pitiful history, and the maddening hopes it engendered of a
possible discovery of the treasure they still believed to be hidden
in the house. What I said, however, was this:
"You have kept an account, you say, of the varied phenomena seen in
this house? You have that account now?"
"Yes, Miss Saunders."
"Let us look it over together. Let us see if it does not give us
some clue to the mystery puzzling us."
He eyed me doubtfully, or as much so as his great nature would
allow. Meantime, I gauged my man. Was he to be thoroughly and
unequivocally trusted? His very hesitation in face of his
undoubted sympathy with me seemed to insure that he was. At all
events, the occasion warranted some risk on my part. At least I
persuaded myself that it did; so without waiting for his reply, I
earnestly remarked:
"The matter is more serious than you suppose. If the mayor were
not unavoidably called away by his political obligations, he would
add his entreaties to mine for a complete sifting of this whole
affair. The Misses Quinlan may very well be innocent of inciting
these manifestations; if so, we can do them no harm by a little
confidential consideration of the affair from the standpoint I have
given you. If they are not, then Mr. Searles and Mayor Packard
should know it."
It appeared to convince him. His homely face shone with the fire
of sudden interest and resolve, and, reaching for a small drawer at
the right of his desk, he opened it and drew forth a folded paper
which he proceeded to open before me with the remark:
"Here is a report that I have kept for my own satisfaction. I do
not feel that in showing it to you I am violating any trust reposed
in me by the Misses Quinlan. I never promised secrecy in the
matter."
I glanced at the paper, all eagerness. He smiled and pushed it
toward me. This is what I read:
First tenant, Mr. Hugh Dennison and family.
Night 1: Heard and saw nothing.
Night 2: The entire household wakened by a scream seemingly
coming from below. This was twice repeated before Mr. Dennison
could reach the hall; the last time in far distant and smothered
tones. Investigation revealed nothing. No person and no trace
of any persons, save themselves, could be found anywhere in the
house. Uncomfortable feelings, but no alarm as yet.
Night 3: No screams, but a sound of groaning in the library.
The tall clock standing near the drawing-room door stopped at
twelve, and a door was found open which Mr. Dennison is sure he
shut tight on retiring. A second unavailing search. One servant
left the next morning.
Night 4: Footfalls on the stairs. The library door, locked by Mr.
Dennison's own hand, is heard to unclose. The timepiece on the
library mantel-shelf strikes twelve; but it is slightly fast, and
Mr. and Mrs. Dennison, who have crept from their room to the
stair-head, listen breathlessly for the deep boom of the great
hall clock--the one which had stopped the night before. No light
is burning anywhere, and the hall below is a pit of darkness, when
suddenly Mrs. Dennison seizes her husband's arm and, gasping out,
"The clock, the clock!" falls fainting to the floor. He bends to
look and faintly, in the heart of the shadows, he catches in dim
outline the face of the clock, and reaching up to it a spectral
hand. Nothing else--and in another moment that, too, disappears;
but the silence is something awful--the great clock has stopped.
With a shout he stumbles downward, lights up the hall, lights up
the rooms, but finds nothing, and no one. Next morning the second
servant leaves, but her place is soon supplied by an applicant we
will call Bess.
Night 5: Mrs. Dennison sleeps at a hotel with the children. Mr.
Dennison, revolver in hand, keeps watch on the haunted stairway.
He has fastened up every door and shutter with his own hand, and
with equal care extinguished all lights. As the hour of twelve
approaches, he listens breathlessly. There is certainly a stir
somewhere, but he can not locate it, not quite satisfy himself
whether it is a footfall or a rustle that he hears. The clock
in the library strikes twelve, then the one in the hall gives one
great boom, and stops. Instantly he raises his revolver and
shoots directly at its face. No sound from human lips answers
the discharge of the weapon. In the flash which for a moment has
lighted up the whole place, he catches one glimpse of the broken
dial with its two hands pointing directly at twelve, but nothing
more. Then all is dark again, and he goes slowly back to his own
room.
The next day he threw up his lease.
Second tenant: Mrs. Crispin.
Stayed but one night. Would never tell us what she saw.
Third tenant: Mrs. Southwick. Hires Bess for maid-of-all-work, the
only girl she could get.
Night 1: Unearthly lights shining up through the house, waking
the family. Disappeared as one and all came creeping out into the
hall.
Night 2: The same, followed by deep groans. Children waked and
shrieked.
Night 3: Nothing.
Night 4: Lights, groans and strange shadows on the walls and
ceilings of the various hallways. Family give notice the next day,
but do not leave for a week, owing to sickness. No manifestations
while doctor and nurses are in the house.
House stands vacant for three months. Bess offers to remain in it
as caretaker, but her offer is refused.
Police investigate.
An amusing farce.
One of them saw something and could not be laughed out of it by his
fellows. But the general report was unsatisfactory. The mistake
was the employment of Irishmen in a task involving superstition.
Fourth tenant: Mr. Weston and family.
Remain three weeks. Leaves suddenly because the nurse encountered
something moving about in the lower hall one night when she went
down to the kitchen to procure hot water for a sick child. Bess
again offered her services, but the family would not stay under any
circumstances.
Another long period without tenant.
Mr. Searles tries a night in the empty house. Sits and dozes in
library till two. Wakes suddenly. Door he has tightly shut is
standing open. He feels the draft. Turns on light from dark
lantern. Something is there--a shape--he can not otherwise
describe it. As he stares at it, it vanishes through doorway. He
rushes for it; finds nothing. The hall is empty; so is the whole
house.
This finished the report.
"So Mr. Searles has had his own experiences of these Mysteries!" I
exclaimed.
"As you see. Perhaps that is why he is so touchy on the subject."
"Did he ever give you any fuller account of his experience than is
detailed here?"
"No; he won't talk about it."
"He tried to let the house, however."
"Yes, but he did not succeed for a long time. Finally the mayor
took it."
Refolding the paper, I handed it back to Mr. Robinson. I had its
contents well in mind.
"There is one fact to which I should like to call your attention,"
said I. "The manifestations, as here recorded, have all taken
place in the lower part of the house. I should have had more faith
in them, if they had occurred above stairs. There are no outlets
through the roof."
"Nor any visible ones below. At least no visible one was ever
found open."
"What about the woman, Bess?" I asked. "How do you account for her
persistency in clinging to a place her employers invariably fled
from? She seems to have been always on hand with an offer of her
services."
"Bess is not a young woman, but she is a worker of uncommon
ability, very rigid and very stoical. She herself accounts for her
willingness to work in this house by her utter disbelief in
spirits, and the fact that it is the one place in the world which
connects her with her wandering and worthless husband. Their final
parting occurred during Mr. Dennison's tenancy, and as she had
given the wanderer the Franklin Street address, you could not
reason her out of the belief that on his return he would expect to
find here there. That is what she explained to Mr. Searles."
"You interest me, Mr. Robinson. Is she a plain woman? Such a one
as a man would not be likely to return to?"
"No, she is a very good-looking woman, refined and full of
character, but odd, very odd,--in fact, baffling."
"How baffling?"
"I never knew her to look any one directly in the eye. Her manner
is abstracted and inspires distrust. There is also a marked
incongruity between her employment and her general appearance. She
looks out of place in her working apron, yet she is not what you
would call a lady."
"Did her husband come back?"
"No, not to my knowledge."
"And where is she now?"
"Very near you, Miss Saunders, when you are at your home in
Franklin Street. Not being able to obtain a situation in the house
itself, she has rented the little shop opposite, where you can find
her any day selling needles and thread."
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