Annie Haynes Premium Collection – 8 Murder Mysteries in One Volume. Annie Haynes

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СКАЧАТЬ “I don’t know as I was ever one to put much faith in that kind of thing before, my lady, but I mind when I was a child how my mother used to set great store by them—messages from the other world, she used to call them, and she was a practical woman, my lady, and a Scotchwoman too. But she used to tell of some queer things as she had learnt from dreams. Of late I have begun to think she must have been right, for these past weeks Mary has come to me every night—sometimes in the morning. I can’t remember all about it clearly, only I know she always tells me as it won’t last much longer, this separation.”

      “There, you see, then surely you ought to feel more hopeful!” Lady Davenant remarked in a relieved tone.

      “Ay! But it isn’t that sort of ending she means. Mary never comes to me as a living breathing woman—it is always as a disembodied spirit—one who has done with the troubles of this world and sees as it has all been for the best. Sometimes she tells me she isn’t far off. I don’t rightly know whether she means that her body is near here or that her spirit is hovering around,” the old woman finished speculatively.

      Lady Davenant’s face grew obviously paler and she shivered.

      “Oh, I don’t think you should take any notice of that sort of thing!” she said, trying to speak naturally. “You are thinking of her all the time, and you are likely to dream of her.”

      Mrs. Marston shook her head.

      “Not such dreams as them, my lady,” she said obstinately. “It is my Mary as can’t make herself happy, knowing what I’m going through here, as is doing her best to prepare me for what is coming. I am prepared to hear as she is dead, my lady—nay, I could be thankful to know she was laid in her quiet grave. The other night I dreamt I asked her how she come not to let any of us know what was happening to her. ‘I did my best, mother,’ she made answer, ‘but they was too cunning for me altogether.’ It was her shriek as Miss Dorothy heard, my lady, as I take it. That’s what she meant by doing her best, poor thing!”

      The tears were running down Lady Davenant’s cheeks now.

      “Oh, you poor mother—poor thing, I am sorry for you!” she said. “I do hope things will turn out better than you think; but I wish we could do something for you in the meantime. You have some one with you in the house, my son told me.”

      “Yes, my lady, my son Tom’s wife, she come first, but she couldn’t bide so long from her children, so now her sister’s come—a tidy, well-respecting woman enough. She has never known Mary, though, and seems to make up her mind as she will come back all right in a day or two. Still, I have nothing against her, and it is better than being in the house alone, for often in the night I fancy I hear my girl calling me and stepping about at her work, and it is so lonesome when you have nobody to speak to.”

      “I should think so,” Lady Davenant said with a shudder as she rose. “I am glad you have some one with you though we should have taken care you were not alone. Mr. Garth asked about that the very first thing. But I must not keep the horses standing—Sir John is always so particular about that. Good-bye, and I do hope you will have better news soon! Be sure you send up to us if there is anything you want!”

      “Thank you kindly for coming in, my lady. It does me a bit of good to talk to some one as has known what trouble is herself, like your ladyship.”

      “Indeed I have, sore trouble too, Mrs. Marston.” Lady Davenant pulled down her veil to hide the traces of her tears.

      “Mr. Garth was telling me that as soon as Sir Arthur’s coming of age was over, him and Miss Mavis was going to get married and live at Overdeen. When your ladyship has them, and later on it may be, their children, coming over to see you, it will brighten you up and Sir John.”

      “Ah, well, I hope so!” Lady Davenant concluded, as, nodding her good-bye to the old woman, she walked down the path.

      Left alone, Mrs. Marston picked up her knitting and made a pretense of putting in a few stitches, but she could not settle herself to work, and soon she gave it up and sat with her hands idle before her, her eyes glancing restlessly from side to side or peering anxiously down the village street.

      Presently, however, she started violently and sprang up from her chair. It seemed to her that a figure coming down the long dusty road leading from the station had a curiously familiar air. She hurried down the path as fast as her trembling limbs would carry her, only stopping to call out loudly:

      “Ruth! Ruth!”

      A comely, pleasant-looking woman of middle age came out of the cottage, drying her wet hands on her apron.

      “La, Mrs. Marston, what is the matter? I declare you quite frighted me! What call have you to put yourself in this state? Didn’t Dr. Grieve say as you was not to excite yourself?”

      The old woman paid scant heed to her words; she drew her to the gate and laid her shaking hand on her arm.

      “Who—what is it as you see a-comin’ down the road, Ruth Carson?” she demanded. “Is it my old eyes is deceiving me or—”

      Ruth shaded her eyes with her hand.

      “The sun is right ahead me, but it is someone dressed like a nurse—I can see that much,” she said slowly.

      “What is she like? Can’t you see nothing more?” Mrs. Marston interrupted eagerly. “My head is all of a swim,” clutching at the gate.

      Ruth glanced at her anxiously ere she looked up the street again.

      “I can see as she is short and inclined to be stout, and I think she is dark,” Ruth said after a pause, during which Mrs. Marston’s eyes were strained on her face with pitiful intentness.

      She gave a cry as the woman ended.

      “If it should be her! If it should be my Mary! Go at once and see, woman, go and see—tell her as her old mother is a-waiting for her! Tell—her—”

      In the intensity of her excitement the old woman was falling back against the gatepost, a waxy paleness was overspreading her drawn features, her eyes were closed. Ruth caught her round the waist and looked up for help.

      The nurse whom they had been watching was coming straight down the street, walking briskly along with quick, decided steps. Ruth Carson, her helpless burden still supported in her arms, watched her drawing nearer in a species of half-terrified fascination.

      Was this indeed the Mary whose disappearance had caused more talk than anything that had ever happened at Lockford, and of whose safe return even her nearest and dearest were beginning to despair? Ruth was inclined to think that the description she had heard of the missing woman tallied in some particulars with the new-comer’s appearance as she came within speaking distance.

      The nurse halted outside the cottage-gate and looked at the two women in evident surprise.

      “Is there anything the matter?” she demanded.

      “Mrs. Marston is just overcome with the shock,” Ruth Carson explained. “She will soon be better if it turns out as—you are Mary, aren’t you? It was seeing you so sudden-like.”

      Chapter X

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