The Dead Secret, Wilkie Collins [best historical biographies .TXT] 📗

so. She slowly closed her eyes as the nurse looked at her, partly to convey the notion that she was composing herself to sleep⁠—partly to gain time to think of some safe excuse for summoning her maid. The flurry of her spirits, however, interfered with the exercise of her ingenuity. Minute after minute dragged on heavily, and still she could think of no assignable reason for ringing the bell.

She was just doubting whether it would not be safest to send Mrs. Jazeph out of the room, on some message to her husband, to lock the door the moment she was alone, and then to ring⁠—she was just doubting whether she would boldly adopt this course of proceeding or not, when she heard the rustle of the nurse’s silk dress approaching the bedside.

Her first impulse was to snatch at the bell-rope; but fear had paralyzed her hand; she could not raise it from the pillow.

The rustling of the silk dress ceased. She half unclosed her eyes, and saw that the nurse was stopping midway between the part of the room from which she had advanced and the bedside. There was nothing wild or angry in her look. The agitation which her face expressed was the agitation of perplexity and alarm. She stood rapidly clasping and unclasping her hands, the image of bewilderment and distress⁠—stood so for nearly a minute⁠—then came forward a few steps more, and said inquiringly, in a whisper:

“Not asleep? not quite asleep, yet?”

Rosamond tried to speak in answer, but the quick beating of her heart seemed to rise up to her very lips, and to stifle the words on them.

The nurse came on, still with the same perplexity and distress in her face, to within a foot of the bedside⁠—knelt down by the pillow, and looked earnestly at Rosamond⁠—shuddered a little, and glanced all round her, as if to make sure that the room was empty⁠—bent forward⁠—hesitated⁠—bent nearer, and whispered into her ear these words:

“When you go to Porthgenna, keep out of the Myrtle Room!”

The hot breath of the woman, as she spoke, beat on Rosamond’s cheek, and seemed to fly in one fever-throb through every vein of her body. The nervous shock of that unutterable sensation burst the bonds of the terror that had hitherto held her motionless and speechless. She started up in bed with a scream, caught hold of the bell-rope, and pulled it violently.

“Oh, hush! hush!” cried Mrs. Jazeph, sinking back on her knees, and beating her hands together despairingly with the helpless gesticulation of a child.

Rosamond rang again and again. Hurrying footsteps and eager voices were heard outside on the stairs. It was not ten o’clock yet⁠—nobody had retired for the night⁠—and the violent ringing had already alarmed the house.

The nurse rose to her feet, staggered back from the bedside, and supported herself against the wall of the room, as the footsteps and the voices reached the door. She said not another word. The hands that she had been beating together so violently but an instant before hung down nerveless at her side. The blank of a great agony spread over all her face, and stilled it awfully.

The first person who entered the room was Mrs. Frankland’s maid, and the landlady followed her.

“Fetch Mr. Frankland,” said Rosamond, faintly, addressing the landlady. “I want to speak to him directly.⁠—You,” she continued, beckoning to the maid, “sit by me here till your master comes. I have been dreadfully frightened. Don’t ask me questions; but stop here.”

The maid stared at her mistress in amazement; then looked round with a disparaging frown at the nurse. When the landlady left the room to fetch Mr. Frankland, she had moved a little away from the wall, so as to command a full view of the bed. Her eyes were fixed with a look of breathless suspense, of devouring anxiety, on Rosamond’s face. From all her other features the expression seemed to be gone. She said nothing, she noticed nothing. She did not start, she did not move aside an inch, when the landlady returned, and led Mr. Frankland to his wife.

“Lenny! don’t let the new nurse stop here tonight⁠—pray, pray don’t!” whispered Rosamond, eagerly catching her husband by the arm.

Warned by the trembling of her hand, Mr. Frankland laid his fingers lightly on her temples and on her heart.

“Good Heavens, Rosamond! what has happened? I left you quiet and comfortable, and now⁠—”

“I’ve been frightened, dear⁠—dreadfully frightened, by the new nurse. Don’t be hard on her, poor creature; she is not in her right senses⁠—I am certain she is not. Only get her away quietly⁠—only send her back at once to where she came from. I shall die of the fright, if she stops here. She has been behaving so strangely⁠—she has spoken such words to me⁠—Lenny! Lenny! don’t let go of my hand. She came stealing up to me so horribly, just where you are now; she knelt down at my ear, and whispered⁠—oh, such words!”

“Hush, hush, love!” said Mr. Frankland, getting seriously alarmed by the violence of Rosamond’s agitation. “Never mind repeating the words now; wait till you are calmer⁠—I beg and entreat of you, wait till you are calmer. I will do everything you wish, if you will only lie down and be quiet, and try to compose yourself before you say another word. It is quite enough for me to know that this woman has frightened you, and that you wish her to be sent away with as little harshness as possible. We will put off all further explanations till tomorrow morning. I deeply regret now that I did not persist in carrying out my own idea of sending for a proper nurse from London. Where is the landlady?”

The landlady placed herself by Mr. Frankland’s side.

“Is it late?” asked Leonard.

“Oh no, Sir; not ten o’clock yet.”

“Order a fly to be brought to the door, then, as soon as possible, if you please. Where is the nurse?”

“Standing behind you, Sir, near the wall,” said the maid.

As Mr. Frankland turned in that direction, Rosamond whispered to him: “Don’t