The Whispering Lane/Chapter 4

the evidence condemning Edith Danby was purely circumstantial, Inspector Trant was fully convinced of her guilt. The lacquer box and the opium pipe were, in themselves, sufficient proof of this. Still he did not content himself even with such a certainty; but questioned both Aileen and Jenny rigorously, as to the relations between the living and the dead. From the first girl, he forced the reluctant admission that Slanton had persecuted the accused woman for many months, in the endeavour to bring about a hated marriage; from the second, he learned of the frequent quarrels between them when they came together. Having exhausted all means of information, so far, there remained small doubt in the detective’s mind that the woman had fervently detested the man, and there fore had resorted to violence. If ever a culprit was caught red-handed, in Trant’s opinion, that culprit was Edith Danby.

As to Edith herself—she became silent and presumably indifferent after the hysterical outburst, revealing nothing of her thoughts, however enlightening these might be. As the worst had come, she was facing the worst with sullen defiance; and although Aileen implored her again and yet again, to offer some defence, however inadequate, she remained obstinately dumb. Even when the Inspector ordered her to go with him to Tarhaven, she said nothing, but walked mutely down the avenue with Kemp at her heels. Trant remained behind to exchange a few last words with Aileen. The girl was pale, but tearless, and the officer approved of her reasonable attitude. “Many girls would have broken down under the stress and strain of these circumstances,” said Trant, patting her.

“I am nearer breaking down than you know of,” she answered, breathing hard.

“All the same you won’t give way, Aileen.”

“Aileen!” the girl repeated her own name, looking at the officer indignantly, as she by no means approved of this familiarity.

Trant’s benignity broke like sunshine through his usual official severity, as he took both her hands within his own. “You don’t remember me!”

“No! Yet you say that you knew my father.”

“I knew your father and I knew you. When you were a little child I nursed you many a time on my knee. George More was my very good friend and I owe him much for helping me out of serious financial difficulties at a time when all others left me in the lurch. And it is fortunate for you, Aileen, that I do not forget my obligation.”

“Why?” the girl looked distinctly puzzled. “Of course I am glad to meet anyone who knew my father; especially you, who speak so kindly of him. But I fail to understand how your gratitude to him can effect me.”

The Inspector released her hands with a grave smile, “Think of your position.”

“It is a very uncomfortable one,” sighed Aileen, disconsolately.

“It is worse than uncomfortable,” corrected the other, pointedly, “it is dangerous—very dangerous.”

“Dangerous!” she started back in dismay.

He nodded. “If anyone but myself was in charge of this case, you might have to accompany your friend to her cell in Tarhaven.”

“But—but I—I know nothing!” gasped Aileen, feeling as though an abyss had opened at her feet.

“Your friend said the same thing,” commented Trant, dryly, “yet we must consider the circumstances from a commonsense point of view. Here are two women in a lonely cottage, visited regularly by a man—possibly a scoundrel—whom they dislike. That man is found dead, under suspicious circumstances, a stone’s throw from the cottage, and evidence is forth coming to indicate clearly that the older woman is guilty of his death. Another officer of the law,” ended Trant, meaningly, “might arrest the younger woman as an accessory before, or after the fact. Now do you understand?”

“Not—not—exactly,” quavered the girl, daunted in spite of her inborn self-control, “what do you mean by—by—an accessory?”

“One who helps another person before the commission of a crime; or one who helps that person to hide the crime after it has been committed.”

“I knew nothing about Dr. Slanton’s death until I came across his body in the wood,” protested the girl, now fully awake to her danger, “and Edith said nothing to lead me to think that she is really and truly guilty.”

“The lacquer box—the opium pipe,” hinted Trant, significantly.

“I never saw the box before and, of course, until you reported that Dr. Slanton had been drugged, I never gave a thought to the opium pipe.”

“H’m!” Trant rubbed his chin, doubtfully, “then you believe that your friend is innocent—and in the face of such damning evidence?”

“Mr. Trant!” Aileen was very earnest, very direct. “I don’t know what to think, or what to say. Miss Danby has been, and is, a good kind friend to me, and, so far as I know her, one of the sweetest and bravest women in the world. It is incredible to me that she should brand this man and kill this man, unless she was out of her mind at the moment. Then, of course, she can’t be held culpable.”

“H’m! Why should she take leave of her senses?”

“If you knew, as I do, how that horrible man persecuted her, you would easily understand. Also her indulgence in opium smoking has weakened her nerves—her will-power.”

“She seems to possess sufficient will-power to keep silent,” commented Trant, grimly. “So you think that she is guilty.”

“I can’t—I can’t!”

“Then you must think of her as innocent.”

“Yes. I do—I must. Unless her trouble unhinged her mind, and made her”

The Inspector silenced her with a gesture. “I understand. You are right in believing in your friend: to find excuses for her. I am assured, that, so far as you know it, you are speaking the truth. But”—Trant shook his head gravely—“your view of the matter is not my view, nor do I think that, on the evidence already to hand, it will be the view of any jury. However, we can leave all this alone for the moment. I cannot keep you entirely out of the business, as you will have to appear at the inquest; afterwards as a witness at the Assizes. But, so far as I can, I shall protect you.”

“I don’t want any protection,” flashed out the girl vehemently, and with an indignant look. “If you think that I am an accessory, as you call it, I am quite willing to go with Edith to Tarhaven.”

Trant laughed outright and patted her shoulder. “There! There! If I were not wholly satisfied that you know nothing I would not leave you at large. Stay here quietly until I see you again. Constable Kemp will look after the cottage.”

“Oh!” Aileen spoke furiously, “Do you think that I’ll run away?”

“No! No! No! Be reasonable. I must observe reasonable precautions. If this cottage is left unguarded, the villagers will come prying round.”

“But you won’t leave the—the body in the wood,” said Aileen, shuddering.

“Certainly not. Before leaving I shall see that it is taken down to the village. I expect the inquest will take place to-morrow, or the next day, when I have looked more closely into matters. Well?”—Trant held out his hand.

Aileen took it with a hearty shake, “You are a good kind friend.”

“I’m all that,” he assured her, as they went to the front door, “as you will find, before we are through with this case.”

“You will try and save Edith?”

“Edith must save herself, if she can, by speaking out,” and with a reassuring nod Inspector Trant swung down the avenue, while Aileen returned with a sinking heart to the parlour.

For a young person of such a self-reliant nature, and with such clear vision, she felt singularly helpless. Her good friend had spoken truly. Edith alone, could save herself. And if she refused to do so, by speaking out, there seemed nothing for it, but to let the law take that course, which would land her, innocent or guilty, on the gallows. Dark as was the outlook—and not the very faintest ray of light was visible to dispel that darkness—Aileen still clung to the belief that Edith was guiltless. She must be, she must be, she must be, insisted the thinker, again and again, and if she would only confess, she would be able to prove herself guiltless. But—here came the doubt—if that was the case, why did she not protect herself and immediately. There was no answer to this.

The girl, seeking for what she could not find, groaned in the bitterness of despair, and flung herself on to the couch in a state of utter prostration. It was impossible to solve the riddle: at the best it could only be explained on the assumption that the unhappy woman had slain her persecutor, in a moment of madness, induced by opium. In her sane senses—and these were very sane, as the girl knew—Edith would never have drugged and marked and murdered the wretch, however great the provocation. And yet—and yet—Aileen could think calmly no longer, and buried her face in the sofa cushion, almost crazy with conflicting thoughts. Round and round these swirled, in a mental maelstrom of perpetually repeating bewilderment.

Then Jenny Walton entered the parlour, stolid, slow-footed, but helpful, since she brought tea and comfortable advice. “Come, come, Miss Aileen,” coaxed this red-haired angel of sympathy, in her heavy dragging voice, “there ain’t no use in taking on so. ‘’Earts up,’ as mother ses, she being a Baptist and ’appy in ’er sorrers as never was. ’Ere’s bread and butter and tea: both uf them will ’elp you to bear up. Y’ can’t be jiful with an empty inside, nohow.”

“You’re very kind, Jenny.” Aileen sat up with a sigh and accepted a cup of tea thankfully, “I am thirsty, but not hungry.”

“Shell I boil y’ an egg, or grill a rasher of bacon, you pore dear?”

“No thank you, Jenny. I’ll drink this tea, and then try to sleep for an hour.”

The servant nodded approvingly. “You’re fair wore out, and small wonder with the goings on of ’er.”

“Not a word against Miss Danby,” commanded Aileen energetically.

“But they ses in the village”

“I don’t care what they say. Miss Danby is innocent. Do you hear? Innocent.”

“Oh I ’ear,” sniffed Jenny, disbelievingly, “and I only ’ope as the judge and jury’ll ’ear likewise. I knows as you’re true blue, stickin’ to ’er, Miss Aileen, but she’s gone and done it, as sure as sure. And I dunno as I blame ’er much,” ended Jenny, rubbing her nose thoughtfully. “I’d hev put a knife inter ’im meself fur ’arf the things es he chucked at ’er. ‘Wimen ’ave their feelings,’ as mother ses, and feelings is feelings, smother them es you like.”

“Oh let me sleep, Jenny,” said Aileen wearily and handing back the cup, “that is, if I can, with all this trouble.”

“Don’t let yourself be worrited, Miss Aileen. It’ll be over sooner or later, when they try ’er and ’ang ’er and bury ’er, and then we’ll be ’appy agin. Oh, I’m going—I’m going!” Jenny took up the tray hastily, for there was an ominous look of rebuke in the eyes of her young mistress, “But I never did see anyone as stuck closer nor a mustard plaster to ’er, as you’re doing. It’s a case of ‘’Old the fort and keep yer tail up,’ es mother ses, she being given to clever ways of putting things,” and she retreated from the parlour with the tread of an elephant, unrebuked, since Aileen could find no reply. All she wanted to do was to sleep, and sleep, and sleep. And sleep she did shortly, utterly exhausted by the tumultuous doings of the day.

Jenny returned to her kitchen, after acting as a, and sat down to consider how she could help the girl. This phlegmatic damsel had her likes and dislikes very clearly defined. She objected to Miss Danby’s cold dominance, and keep-at-your-distance attitude, which “froze her marrer,” as she put it; but she had a warm corner in her plebeian heart for the younger woman. Aileen had been her friend from the first, treating her as a human being, and not as a machine. Always suspicious of the better classes and their aloof attitude, Jenny was moved out of her ordinary stolidity by the unusual sympathy of the girl. Aileen had given her ribbons and gloves, sometimes sweets and cheap jewellery; she had advised her as to the colour and cut of ambitious Sunday frocks; and once, on a red-letter day, had presented her with a pair of real silk stockings. Finally this paragon of mistresses had taken an interest in Jenny’s family troubles, in Jenny’s love-affairs, and had made useful suggestions for the betterment of both.

This being so, the grateful servant cast about in her slow-thinking mind to find some means of helping the girl in her dire trouble. The name of Mr. Richard Hustings, the attentions of Mr. Richard Hustings, occurred to her, and she nodded approval of the thought. Here was a helper, if Miss More was willing to accept him as such. He was a lawyer, as well as a lover, and the qualities of both were admirably fitted to deal with things as they were. Having reached this point in her meditations, Jenny decided to take action, and meanwhile occupied herself with various domestic duties until the day was waning. Then she went through the village and beyond the village on an errand, which resulted in a surprise to Aileen. For the girl awoke from long hours of restorative slumber to find Mr. Richard Hustings comfortably seated in an arm-chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. She sat up hurriedly and stared, while the young man stood up and smiled. “I thought it was best to let you sleep on, and waken naturally,” he said in a soothing voice.

“How on earth did you come here?” asked Aileen, somewhat dazed.

“Jenny thought that I might be a friend in need, and came to tell me of your trouble. I hope you don’t think that I am taking a liberty?”

“No!” she rose wearily, “you are very kind to come. I need help.”

“All that I can give is at your disposal,” said Hustings, earnestly. “Let me light the lamp, and tell Jenny to bring you something to eat. Then we can talk.”

When the dingy old parlour was illuminated, the new-comer revealed himself as a brown-locked, brown faced young fellow; clean-shaven, well-groomed, with the whitest of even teeth and the brightest of brown eyes. He suggested less the lawyer than the soldier, and even in his civilian suit of darkly blue serge looked the genuine military commander. And naturally so, since it is difficult to discard five years of army discipline in a moment, if, indeed, such can ever be discarded. Aileen liked him more than a little, and knew instinctively that he loved her dearly. Had she permitted her innermost feelings to sway her, she could easily have drawn a declaration from him on many occasions. But, so far, an innate maidenly fear had prevented her from casting her net. Aileen was never Diana the huntress, and preferred to fly, rather than to follow. Yet so heavy with woe was the hour that she wished it were possible for her to throw herself on to his broad breast, to nestle within the circle of his comforting arms. The poor child, utterly exhausted with groping her way through the very misty present, longed to find an immediate future of perfect rest.

The young man, sensitive lover as he was, guessed this swiftly, and forthwith took advantage of the weakness. Not meanly, be it understood, since he realized that only by establishing intimate relations between them, could be help truly. The so-far offensive attitude on his part and defensive on hers interposed a barrier, which must needs be removed if the sure confidence necessary for working harmoniously and understandingly together, was to be attained. So Mr. Richard Hustings went blithely over the top—that is, he deliberately removed the barrier. “Aileen,” he said bluntly, adding in answer to her startled look, “Oh yes, I know you think that I am taking a liberty, but if I am to help you, it is necessary to be bold. For the time being—until we clear up things—I am your big brother, and you are my little sister. Understand? So you must call me Dick, and I shall call you Aileen. Is that plain?”

“Very plain,” she retorted, dryly, “but”

“No ‘buts.’ Let us be primitive man and woman—pals—comrades—partners, while this trouble lasts. Afterwards we can return to the civilized keep-your-distance stunt.”

“I never kept you at your distance,” said the feminine in Aileen, tartly.

“Some unprejudiced observer might have thought so. Anyhow, if that poor creature is to be saved we must have a common ground of understanding.”

Aileen shirked a direct answer. “You call Edith a poor creature, and that term suggests pity. Do you believe her to be innocent?”

“As a lawyer and in the face of what evidence I have heard, it is impossible for me to do that; but as a man, I can’t think that she would act in so cold-blooded a manner. What does she say in the way of excuse?”

“Nothing!”

“Then you and I will have to find out what is at the back of that nothing.”

“And in the meantime you agree to think her innocent?”

“As a lawyer I am bound to do so, until she is proved guilty.”

“Mr. Trant thinks that he has proved it.”

“So I gathered from the fact that Trant has taken her to Tarhaven. So far, the evidence is against her: but we may find, by looking into things, that she is not so black as our worthy Inspector paints her.”

“Then you will help me—really and truly do your best—Dick!” Aileen said the name, and held out her hand to show that she accepted the brotherly-and-sisterly partnership.

“Aileen!” he grasped her hand warmly, restraining himself by a great effort from kissing it. Then feeling that, mere man as he was, this suggested playing with fire, he hastily dropped her hand, and became advisedly common-place. “I think you might ask me to have some dinner,” he said, reproachfully, “I’m starving.”

“Strange to say, so am I,” replied the girl, knowing full well that he was suggesting the meal mainly for her sake. “It seems heartless though,” she added, soberly, “when Edith is locked up and in such dire straits.”

“Nonsense!” cried Dick, bluffly, “you need all your strength to assist her, and silly fasting would only prevent your doing it. Eat, drink, and be—sensible!” said he, striding to open the door and cry the cry of the famished to Jenny.

“You are—very brotherly,” gasped Aileen, amazed at these masterful ways.

He looked at her with twinkling eyes. “Oh, Eve, why should not Adam give you the apple to eat occasionally?”

“Meaning?”—but what he did mean by this cryptic speech was never revealed, for Jenny interrupted, by entering with a full tray, just as she spoke.

“I knowed you’d eat and hev bin cooking this larst hour,” stated the damsel, proceeding to cover the round table with a snow-white cloth, “fried chops and pertaters, rice puddin’ with custerd to toiler. There ain’t no drinks.”

“We’ll have tea,” said Aileen, helping the domestic to place plates and spoons and knives and forks, “if you?”—she looked questioningly at her guest.

“Of course,” he nodded, “I learned tea-drinking in the Army. ‘The cup that cheers’—quite so. I agree with Cowper.” He brought a chair to the table. “Sit, madam.”

With a smile at his humour, Aileen observed, when Jenny left the room to prepare the tea, “I wish I could tempt your appetite with daintier food.”

“It is your appetite I’m concerned with,” said Hustings, drawing in his chair. “To me this food and drink are the nectar and ambrosia of Olympus.”

“What imagination!”

“Coué suggestion!” smiled Dick, well-pleased to wean her from dismal brooding. “To think a thing, is to have the thing. Let us consider this a banquet.”

And a banquet they made of it, despite dreary circumstances, eating the untempting chops, devouring the rice pudding, and emptying the tea-pot. At the end of the meal, Hustings, gay throughout, became grave. “Now for business,” said he.