Books: Jezebel

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"What makes you so curious to see what the dose is?" she said. "Do you
think you are likely to want some of it yourself?"

His eyes looked longingly at the poison. "It cures you when you are tired
or troubled in your mind," he answered, repeating her own words. "I am
but a little fellow--and I'm more easily tired sometimes than you would
think."

She passed her handkerchief over her forehead. "The fire makes the room
rather warm," she said.

Jack took no notice of the remark; he had not done yet with the
confession of his little infirmities. He went on proving his claim to be
favored with some of the wonderful remedy.

"And as for being troubled in my mind," he said, "you haven't a notion
how bad I am sometimes. If I'm kept away from Mistress for a whole
day--when I say or do something wrong, you know--I tell you this, I'm fit
to hang myself! If you were to see me, I do think your heart would be
touched; I do indeed!"

Instead of answering him, she rose abruptly, and hurried to the door.

"Surely there's somebody outside," she exclaimed--"somebody wanting to
speak to me!"

"I don't hear it," said Jack; "and mine are the quickest ears in the
house."

"Wait a minute, and let me see."

She opened the door: closed it again behind her; and hurried along the
lonely corridor. Throwing up the window at the end, she put her head out
into the keen wintry air, with a wild sense of relief. She was almost
beside herself, without knowing why. Poor Jack's innocent attempts to
persuade her to his destruction had, in their pitiable simplicity, laid a
hold on that complex and terrible nature which shook it to its center.
The woman stood face to face with her own contemplated crime, and
trembled at the diabolical treachery of it. "What's the matter with me?"
she wondered inwardly. "I feel as if I could destroy every poison in the
chest with my own hands."

Slowly she returned along the corridor, to her room. The refreshing air
had strung up her nerves again! she began to recover herself. The
strengthened body reacted on the wavering mind. She smiled as she
recalled her own weakness, looking at the bottle of poison which she had
mechanically kept in her hand. "That feeble little creature might do some
serious mischief, between this and the wedding-day," she thought; "and
yet----and yet----"

"Well, was there anybody outside?" Jack asked.

"Nothing to matter," she said. The answer was spoken mechanically.
Something in him or something in herself, it was impossible to say which,
had suddenly set her thinking of the day when her husband had dragged him
out of the jaws of death. It seemed strange that the memory of the dead
Doctor should come between them in that way, and at that time.

Jack recalled her to the passing moment. He offered her the
medicine-measuring-glass left on the table. "It frightens me, when I
think of what I did," he said. "And yet it's such a pretty color--I want
to see it again."

In silence, she took the glass; in silence, she measured out the fatal
two drachms of the poison, and showed it to him.

"Do put it in something," he pleaded, "and let me have it to keep: I know
I shall want it."

Still in silence, she turned to the table, and searching again in her
dressing-case, found a little empty bottle. She filled it and carefully
fitted in the glass stopper. Jack held out his hand. She suddenly drew
her own hand back. "No," she said. "On second thoughts, I won't let you
have it."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't govern your tongue, and can't keep anything to
yourself. You will tell everybody in the house that I have given you my
wonderful medicine. They will all be wanting some--and I shall have none
left for myself."

"Isn't that rather selfish?" said Jack. "I suppose it's natural, though.
Never mind, I'll do anything to please you; I'll keep it in my pocket and
not say a word to anybody. Now?"

Once more, he held out his hand. Once more Madame Fontaine checked
herself in the act of yielding to him. Her dead husband had got between
them again. The wild words he had spoken to her, in the first horror of
the discovery that his poor imbecile servant had found and tasted the
fatal drug, came back to her memory--"If he dies I shall not survive him.
And I firmly believe I shall not rest in my grave." She had never been,
like her husband, a believer in ghosts: superstitions of all sorts were
to her mind unworthy of a reasonable being. And yet at that moment, she
was so completely unnerved that she looked round the old Gothic room,
with a nameless fear throbbing at her heart.

It was enough--though nothing appeared: it was enough--though
superstitions of all sorts were unworthy of a reasonable being--to shake
her fell purpose, for the time. Nothing that Jack could say had the least
effect on her. Having arrived at a determination, she was mistress of
herself again. "Not yet," she resolved; "there may be consequences that I
haven't calculated on. I'll take the night to think of it." Jack tried a
last entreaty as she put her hand into her pocket, searching for the
cupboard key, and tried it in vain. "No," she said; "I will keep it for
you. Come to me when you are really ill, and want it."

Her pocket proved to be entangled for the moment in the skirt of her
dress. In irritably trying to disengage it, she threw out the key on the
floor. Jack picked the key up and noticed the inscription on the handle.
"Pink-Room Cupboard," he read. "Why do they call it by that name?"

In her over-wrought state of mind, she had even felt the small irritating
influence of an entangled pocket. She was in no temper to endure simple
questions patiently. "Look at the pink curtains, you fool!" she said--and
snatched the key out of his hand.

Jack instantly resented the language and the action. "I didn't come here
to be insulted," he declared in his loftiest manner.

Madame Fontaine secured the poison in the cupboard without noticing him,
and made him more angry than ever.

"Take back your new gloves," he cried, "I don't want them!" He rolled up
his gloves, and threw them at her. "I wish I could throw all the cake
I've eaten after them!" he burst out fervently.

He delivered this aspiration with an emphatic stamp of his foot. The
hysterical excitement in Madame Fontaine forced its way outwards under a
new form. She burst into a frantic fit of laughter. "You curious little
creature," she said; "I didn't mean to offend you. Don't you know that
women will lose their patience sometimes? There! Shake hands and make it
up. And take away the rest of the cake, if you like it." Jack looked at
her in speechless surprise. "Leave me to myself!" she cried, relapsing
into irritability. "Do you hear? Go! go! go!"

Jack left the room without a word of protest. The rapid changes in her,
the bewildering diversity of looks and tones that accompanied them,
completely cowed him. It was only when he was safe outside in the
corridor, that he sufficiently recovered himself to put his own
interpretation on what had happened. He looked back at the door of Madame
Fontaine's room, and shook his little gray head solemnly.

"Now I understand it," he thought to himself "Mrs. Housekeeper is mad.
Oh, dear, dear me--Bedlam is the only place for her!"

He descended the first flight of stairs, and stopped again to draw the
moral suggested by his own clever discovery. "I must speak to Mistress
about this," he concluded. "The sooner we are back in London, the safer I
shall feel."

CHAPTER VI

Mrs. Wagner was still hard at work at her desk, when Jack Straw made his
appearance again in the private office.

"Where have you been all this time?" she asked. "And what have you done
with your new gloves?"

"I threw them at Madame Fontaine," Jack answered. "Don't alarm yourself.
I didn't hit her."

Mrs. Wagner laid down her pen, smiling. "Even business must give way to
such an extraordinary event as this," she said. "What has gone wrong
between you and Madame Fontaine?"

Jack entered into a long rambling narrative of what he had heard on the
subject of the wonderful remedy, and of the capricious manner in which a
supply of it had been first offered to him, and then taken away again.
"Turn it over in your own mind," he said grandly, "and tell me what your
opinion is, so far."

"I think you had better let Madame Fontaine keep her medicine in the
cupboard," Mrs. Wagner answered; "and when you want anything of that
sort, mention it to me." The piece of cake which Jack had brought away
with him attracted her attention, as she spoke. Had he bought it himself?
or had he carried it off from the housekeeper's room? "Does that belong
to you, or to Madame Fontaine?" she asked. "Anything that belongs to
Madame Fontaine must be taken back to her."

"Do you think I would condescend to take anything that didn't belong to
me?" said Jack indignantly. He entered into another confused narrative,
which brought him, in due course of time, to the dropping of the key and
the picking of it up. "I happened to read 'Pink-Room Cupboard' on the
handle," he proceeded; "and when I asked what it meant she called me a
fool, and snatched the key out of my hand. Do you suppose I was going to
wear her gloves after that? No! I am as capable of self-sacrifice as any
of you--I acted nobly--I threw them at her. Wait a bit! You may laugh at
that, but there's something terrible to come. What do you think of a
furious person who insults me, suddenly turning into a funny person who
shakes hands with me and bursts out laughing? She did that. On the honor
of a gentleman, she did that. Follow my wise example; keep out of her
way--and let's get back to London as soon as we can. Oh, I have got a
reason for what I say. Just let me look through the keyhole before I
mention it. All right; there's nobody at the keyhole; I may say it
safely. It's a dreadful secret to reveal--Mrs. Housekeeper is mad! No,
no; there can be no possible mistake about it. If there's a creature
living who thoroughly understands madness when he sees it--by Heaven, I'm
that man!"

Watching Jack attentively while he was speaking. Mrs. Wagner beckoned to
him to come nearer, and took him by the hand.

"No more now," she said quietly; "you are beginning to get a little
excited."

"Who says that?" cried Jack.

"Your eyes say it. Come here to your place."

She rose, and led him to his customary seat in the recess of the
old-fashioned window. "Sit down," she said.

"I don't want to sit down."

"Not if I ask you?"

He instantly sat down. Mrs. Wagner produced her pocket-book, and made a
mark in it with her pencil. "One good conduct-mark already for Jack," she
said. "Now I must go on with my work; and you must occupy yourself
quietly, in some way that will amuse you. What will you do?"

Jack, steadily restraining himself under the firm kind eyes that rested
on him, was not in the right frame of mind for discovering a suitable
employment. "You tell me," he said.

Mrs. Wagner pointed to the bag of keys, hanging over his shoulder. "Have
you cleaned them yet?" she asked.

His attention was instantly diverted to the keys; he was astonished at
having forgotten them. Mrs. Wagner rang the bell, and supplied him with
sandpaper, leather, and whiting. "Now then," she said, pointing to the
clock, "for another hour at least--silence and work!"

She returned to her desk; and Jack opened his bag.

He spread out the rusty keys in a row, on the seat at his side. Looking
from one to the other before he began the cleansing operations, he
started, picked out one key, and held it up to the light. There was
something inscribed on the handle, under a layer of rust and dirt. He
snatched up his materials, and set to work with such good will that the
inscription became visible in a few minutes. He could read it
plainly--"Pink-Room Cupboard." A word followed which was not quite so
intelligible to him--the word "Duplicate." But he had no need to trouble
himself about this. "Pink-Room Cupboard," on a second key, told him all
he wanted to know.

His eyes sparkled--he opened his lips--looked at Mrs. Wagner, busily
engaged with her pen--and restrained himself within the hard limits of
silence. "Aha! I can take Mrs. Housekeeper's medicine whenever I like,"
he thought slily.

His faith in the remedy was not at all shaken by his conviction that
Madame Fontaine was mad. It was the Doctor who had made the remedy--and
the Doctor could not commit a mistake. "She's not fit to have the keeping
of such a precious thing," he concluded. "I'll take the whole of it under
my own charge. Shall I tell Mistress, when we have done work?"

He considered this question, cleaning his keys, and looking furtively
from time to time at Mrs. Wagner. The cunning which is almost invariably
well developed in a feeble intelligence, decided him on keeping his
discovery to himself. "Anything that belongs to Madame Fontaine must be
taken back to her"--was what the Mistress had just said to him. He would
certainly be ordered to give up the duplicate key (which meant giving up
the wonderful remedy) if he took Mrs. Wagner into his confidence. "When I
have got what I want," he thought, "I can throw away the key--and there
will be an end of it."

The minutes followed each other, the quarters struck--and still the two
strangely associated companions went on silently with their strangely
dissimilar work. It was close on the time for the striking of the hour,
when a third person interrupted the proceedings--that person being no
other than Madame Fontaine again.

"A thousand pardons, Mrs. Wagner! At what time can I say two words to you
in confidence?"

"You could not have chosen your time better, Madame Fontaine. My work is
done for to-day." She paused, and looked at Jack, ostentatiously busy
with his keys. The wisest course would be to leave him in the
window-seat, harmlessly employed. "Shall we step into the dining-room?"
she suggested, leading the way out. "Wait there, Jack, till I return; I
may have another good mark to put in my pocket-book."

The two ladies held their conference, with closed doors, in the empty
dining-room.

"My only excuse for troubling you, madam," the widow began, "is that I
speak in the interest of that poor little Jack, whom we have just left in
the office. May I ask if you have lately observed any signs of excitement
in him?"

"Certainly!" Mrs. Wagner answered, with her customary frankness of reply;
"I found it necessary to compose him, when he came to me about an hour
ago--and you have just seen that he is as quiet again as a man can be. I
am afraid you have had reason to complain of his conduct yourself?"

Madame Fontaine lifted her hands in gently-expressed protest. "Oh, dear,
no--not to complain! To pity our afflicted Jack, and to feel, perhaps,
that your irresistible influence over him might be required--no more."

"You are very good," said Mrs. Wagner dryly. "At the same time, I beg you
to accept my excuses--not only for Jack, but for myself. I found him so
well behaved, and so capable of restraining himself in London, that I
thought I was running no risk in bringing him with me to Frankfort."

"Pray say no more, dear madam--you really confuse me. I am the innocent
cause of his little outbreak. I most unfortunately reminded him of the
time when he lived with us at Wurzburg--and in that way I revived one of
his old delusions, which even your admirable treatment has failed to
remove from his mind."

"May I ask what the delusion is, Madame Fontaine?"

"One of the commonest delusions among insane persons, Mrs. Wagner--the
delusion that he has been poisoned. Has he ever betrayed it in your
presence?"

"I heard something of it," Mrs. Wagner answered, "from the superintendent
at the madhouse in London."

"Ah, indeed? The superintendent merely repeated, I suppose, what Jack had
told him?"

"Exactly. I was careful not to excite him, by referring to it myself,
when I took him under my charge. At the same time, it is impossible to
look at his hair and his complexion, without seeing that some serious
accident must have befallen him."

"Most unquestionably! He is the victim, poor creature--not of poison--but
of his own foolish curiosity, in my husband's surgery, and you see the
result. Alas! I cannot give you the scientific reasons for it."

"I shouldn't understand them, Madame Fontaine, if you could."

"Ah, dear lady, you kindly say so, because you are unwilling to humiliate
me. Is there anything Jack may have said to you about me, which seems to
require an explanation--if I can give it?"

She slipped in this question, concealing perfectly the anxiety that
suggested it, so far as her voice and her eyes were concerned. But the
inner agitation rose to the surface in a momentary trembling of her lips.

Slight as it was, that sign of self-betrayal did not escape Mrs. Wagner's
keen observation. She made a cautious reply. "On the contrary," she said,
"from what Jack has told me, the conclusion is plain that you have really
done him a service. You have succeeded in curing that delusion you spoke
of--and I applaud your good sense in refusing to trust him with the
medicine."

Madame Fontaine made a low curtsey. "I shall remember those kind words,
among the happy events of my life," she said, with her best grace.
"Permit me to take your hand." She pressed Mrs. Wagner's hand
gratefully--and made an exit which was a triumph of art. Even a French
actress might have envied the manner in which she left the room.

But, when she ascended the stairs, with no further necessity for keeping
up appearances, her step was as slow and as weary as the step of an old
woman. "Oh, my child," she thought sadly, with her mind dwelling again on
Minna, "shall I see the end of all these sacrifices, when your
wedding-day comes with the end of the year?" She sat down by the fire in
her room, and for the first time in her life, the harmless existence of
one of those domestic drudges whom she despised began to seem enviable to
her. There were merits visible now, in the narrow social horizon that is
bounded by gossip, knitting, and tea.

Left by herself in the dining-room, Mrs. Wagner took a turn up and down,
with her mind bent on penetrating Madame Fontaine's motives.

There were difficulties in her way. It was easy to arrive at the
conclusion that there was something under the surface; but the obstacles
to advancing beyond this point of discovery seemed to defy removal. To
distrust the graceful widow more resolutely than ever, and to lament that
she had not got wise David Glenney to consult with, were the principal
results of Mrs. Wagner's reflections when she returned to the office.

There was Jack--in the nursery phrase, as good as gold--still in his
place on the window seat, devoted to his keys. His first words related
entirely to himself.

"If this isn't good conduct," he said, "I should like to know what is.
Give me my other mark."

Mrs. Wagner took out her pocket-book and made the new mark.

"Thank you," said Jack. "Now I want something else. I want to know what
Mrs. Housekeeper has been saying. I have been seriously alarmed about
you."

"Why, Jack?"

"She hasn't bitten you, has she? Oh, they do it sometimes! What lies has
she been telling you of me? Oh, they lie in the most abominable manner!
What? She has been talking of me in the kindest terms? Then why did she
want to get out of my hearing? Ah, they're so infernally deceitful! I do
hate mad people."

Mrs. Wagner produced her pocket-book again. "I shall scratch out your
mark," she said sternly, "if I hear any more talk of that sort."

Jack gathered his keys together with a strong sense of injury, and put
them back in his leather bag. "You're a little hard on me," he said, "when
I'm only warning you for your own good. I don't know why it is, you're
not as kind to me here, as you used to be in London. And I feel it, I
do!" He laid himself down on the window seat, and began to cry.

Mrs. Wagner was not the woman to resist this expression of the poor
little man's feeling. In a moment she was at the window comforting him
and drying his eyes, as if he had been a child. And, like a child, Jack
took advantage of the impression that he had made. "Look at your desk,"
he said piteously; "there's another proof how hard you are on me. I used
to keep the key of your desk in London. You won't trust it to me here."

Mrs. Wagner went to the desk, locked it, and returned to Jack. Few people
know how immensely an act of kindness gains in effect, by being performed
in silence. Mrs. Wagner was one of the few. Without a word, she opened
the leather bag and dropped the key into it. Jack's gratitude rushed
innocently to an extreme which it had never reached yet. "Oh!" he cried,
"would you mind letting me kiss you?"

Mrs. Wagner drew back, and held up a warning hand. Before she could
express herself in words, Jack's quick ear caught the sound of footsteps
approaching the door. "Is she coming back?" he cried, still suspicious of
Madame Fontaine. Mrs. Wagner instantly opened the door, and found herself
face to face with Joseph the footman.

"Do you know, ma'am, when Mr. Keller will be back?" he asked.

"I didn't even know that he was out, Joseph. Who wants him?"

"A gentleman, ma'am, who says he comes from Munich."

CHAPTER VII

On further inquiry, it turned out that "the gentleman from Munich" had no
time to spare. In the absence of Mr. Keller, he had asked if he could see
"one of the other partners." This seemed to imply that commercial
interests were in some way connected with the stranger's visit--in which
case, Mrs. Wagner was perfectly competent to hear what he had to say.

"Where is the gentleman?" she asked.

"In the drawing-room," Joseph answered.

Mrs. Wagner at once left the office. She found herself in the presence of
a dignified elderly gentleman, dressed entirely in black, and having the
ribbon of some order of merit attached to the buttonhole of his long
frock-coat. His eyes opened wide in surprise, behind his gold spectacles,
when he found himself face to face with a lady. "I fear there is some
mistake," he said, in the smoothest of voices, and with the politest of
bows; "I asked to see one of the partners."

Mrs. Wagner added largely to his amazement, by informing him of the
position that she held in the firm. "If you come on a matter of
business," she proceeded, "you may trust me to understand you, sir,
though I am only a woman. If your visit relates to private affairs, I beg
to suggest that you should write to Mr. Keller--I will take care that he
receives your letter the moment he returns."

"There is not the least necessity for my troubling you," the stranger
replied. "I am a physician; and I have been summoned to Frankfort to
consult with my colleagues here, on a serious case of illness. Mr.
Keller's sister is one of my patients in Munich. I thought I would take
the present opportunity of speaking to him about the state of her
health."

He had just introduced himself in those words, when Mr. Keller entered
the room. The merchant and the physician shook hands like old friends.

"No alarming news of my sister, I hope?" said Mr. Keller.

"Only the old trouble, my good friend. Another attack of asthma."

Mrs. Wagner rose to leave the room. Mr. Keller stopped her. "There is not
the least necessity for you to leave us," he said. "Unless my
presentiments deceive me, we may even have occasion to ask your advice.
--Is there any hope, doctor, of her being well enough to leave Munich,
towards the end of the month?"

"I am sorry to say it," answered the physician--"having heard of the
interesting occasion on which she had engaged to be one of your
guests--but, at her age, I must ask for a little more time."

"In other words, it is impossible for my sister to be with us, on the day
of my son's marriage?"

"Quite impossible. She has so few pleasures, poor soul, and she is so
bitterly disappointed, that I volunteered to take advantage of my
professional errand here, to make a very bold request. Let me first do
your excellent sister justice. She will not hear of the young people
being disappointed by any postponement of the wedding, on her account.
And here is the famous necklace, committed to my care, to prove that she
is sincere."

He took his little traveling-bag from the chair on which he had placed
it, and produced the case containing the necklace. No woman--not even a
head-partner in a great house of business--could have looked at those
pearls, and preserved her composure. Mrs. Wagner burst out with a cry of
admiration.

Mr. Keller passed the necklace over without notice; his sister was the
one object of interest to him. "Would she be fit to travel," he asked,
"if we put off the marriage for a month?"

"She shall be fit to travel, barring accidents," said the physician, "if
you can put off the marriage for a fortnight. I start this evening on my
return to Munich, and not a day shall pass without my seeing her."

Mr. Keller appealed to Mrs. Wagner. "Surely, we might make this trifling
sacrifice?" he said. "The pleasure of seeing her nephew married is likely
to be the last pleasure of my sister's life."

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