The dark fantastic (31 page)

She cried, "You're doing this. It's another of your tricks. But you can't frighten me to death as Abigail was frightened. Stop that noise before I scream for Richard."

"But I'm not doing anything," said Thorne.

"You're making that sound. I suppose ventriloquism is among your charlatan's talents. But you can't deceive me. You're dealing with an intelligent woman now, not a crazy fool."

Richard came back into the room with Judith's smelling bottle. He looked from one pale face to the other and asked, "What's the matter?"

Judith pointed to Thorne and said, "She's at it again, Richard."

Thorne said, "She says she hears scissors going. Do you hear anything?"

Richard listened, then shook his head. "Mother may be sewing in the next room."

"Your mother," said Judith, "is in the dining room."

Richard opened the door connecting with the front room and looked inside. There was no one in sight.

"I don't hear a thing," he said.

Judith's voice rose shrilly, accusing Thorne. Richard handed her the smelling bottle, but she thrust it aside. She continued to hear the scissors very clearly. She was beginning to locate

the sound now. Fear lifted her from her chair. She went over to the oaken chest and put her ear to the keyhole.

"It's coming from in here," she cried.

Richard drew his keys from his pocket, selecting, with maddening deliberation, the key to the chest. Judith snatched them impatiently from his hand. She unlocked the chest and raised the lid. Then she stood staring in fascinated horror at what her eyes beheld.

She saw Abigail's quilts neatly folded, one on top of the other, as they had been the last time she looked at them. But the beautiful coverlets, which had been the pride of the dead woman's heart, were now cut through every fold as though sharp shears had slashed them.

CHAPTER 23

Judith's screams brought Richard's mother hurrying down the hall.

"She did it, Richard! It's another of her witch tricks. She cut the quilts to pieces to frighten me, just as she made the doll to frighten Abigail. She made the doll that murdered your first wife, Richard. Remember that!"

Ann Tomlinson entered the room to find her son trying to quiet his distraught wife while she hurled invectives at Thorne.

"Look in the chest, Miss Ann! See what she's done to Abigail's quilts. And she made a sound like scissors to make me think I was going crazy."

Miss Ann went to the chest and bent over the quilts, examining them fold by fold. Richard said, "There's nothing wrong with the quilts, Mother. I've looked."

His mother gave him a significant look. Then, putting her arm around Judith, she said tindly, "You'd better come upstairs." Together they led her from the room.

When Judith was quiet, in drugged sleep upon her bed, Richard and his mother went back to the south bedroom and made a second and more thorough examination of the quilts. To the bottom of the pile they were found to be undamaged.

Richard said, "Judith worked herself into a state of hysteria over some fancied noise. Of course, when she looked at the quilts, she imagined she saw them cut." He told about the sound of scissors which Judith claimed to have heard before the chest was open.

His mother looked at him seriously. "Who made the sound of scissors?"

He flushed defensively. "If you mean Thorne, she's no ventriloquist."

"There's no denying, Richard, someone is trying to frighten your wife."

"Mother! Surely you are not turning against me."

"Against you, my son?"

"If you can believe this of Thorne, then you must believe that I am capable of shielding someone guilty of criminal mischief. What do you think of me. Mother?"

She looked into the troubled eyes of this best loved of all her children and said gravely, "I think I blame myself, Richard, for not warning you."

"About what?"

"About the haste of your second marriage. There is good reason, besides propriety', for not being in too great a hurry sometimes."

There was no mention of Thorne's name, but because there w-as understanding between them Richard said to his mother, "You don't take seriously what Judith said about Abigail's death, do you?"

"No. I'm sure Thorne made that doll innocently, to amuse the children. But I think you should talk to her about what happened this afternoon. After all, she used to be with a carnival show. No doubt she learned strange tricks with her voice as well as her hands."

It was late that night before he found a chance to talk with Thorne. There was another visit from the doctor, and Richard spent most of the evening by his wife's bedside. Dr. Caxton pronounced Judith's condition critical. It was his belief there was something preying upon her mind. Unless she got relief, she was heading for a mental collapse. Only the old doctor put it more bluntly.

"You know she could be going bugs, Richard."

But Richard had his own theory, as yet unacknowledged, regarding Judith's state.

When he finally came downstairs he found Thorne sitting by the kitchen fire, her head between her hands, like a weary little old woman. Such of the work had devolved upon her this evening.

"How's Judith?" She looked up quickly.

He told her what the doctor had said.

"Does she still blame me?"

He sat down heavily in the nearest chair and spread his hands to the fire. "I don't think she knows what she's saying."

"what does she mean by saying the doll murdered Abigail?"

"Abigail had a weak heart. And a superstitious fear of the doll. I suppose, if she had suddenly seen it, the shock might have been fatal."

"But she didn't see it. It was never found. Was it?"

He was silent, considering which course to take. And then he decided to be frank with her.

"The night Abigail died she claimed to have found the doll on her pillow with a tight string tied round its neck."

"I see. And everyone thinks I put it there."

"Certainly not. No one knows about it except Judith and me."

"Judith thinks I put it there."

"What Judith thinks is beside the point."

"What do you think?"

"I think Abigail imagined the whole thing. At least, that's what I thought at the time "

"And what do you think now?"

"It's possible that one of the children had it in his mother's room—or something " He sounded vague.

"What made you change your mind?"

"The doll was found the night Lucius and Otis Huse slept in the south room."

He told her everything then, and he watched her keenly while he talked. If there was any unacknowledged doubt of her innocence in his mind, it was expelled once and forever. It was impossible to believe that she had guilty knowledge of what he was telling her.

When he had finished she said, "I swear to you, Richard, I don't know how the doll got there. But if Abigail saw it, she probably died believing that I murdered her." They were both silent as this thought, in all its significance, gripped them. Then she asked, "Did Lucius think it was her hand he saw at the window?"

Richard said, "Lucius has always inclined to a belief in such things."

"What do you think?"

"I think Lucius had a nightmare. But if Abigail's spirit is roaming this house, I don't intend to let her intimidate me."

There was a sound in the covered passage. For a moment both Richard and Thorne felt a thrill of terror. Then they realized that one of Millie's traps must have caught a rat.

Thorne said, "It's not you she's trying to intimidate, it's me. She's still trying to drive me away, just as she did while living. And that's what seems so strange "

"What's strange?"

"That Abigail should mind about me, when it was Judith you married."

''But she knows it is you I love."

"Yes, I suppose she does."

They both spoke so matter-of-factly that they experienced a shock when they realized what they had said. Their eyes met gravely in silence while that clear statement of truth sank in.

Then Thorne asked curiously, "What do you mean by saying that you love me, Richard?"

"You know very well what I mean. You're dearer to me than anything else in life.'' He spoke gruffly, almost angrily, as though in protest that he could use nothing but words to tell her. "Abigail knew it before I did. That's why she was jealous. But you weren't to blame. I never loved Abigail."

She asked, in that same puzzled tone, "Why did you marry Judith?"

He colored violently, as though surprised in transgression.

"It was one of those things—that happen sometimes. But it wasn't love. I've never loved anyone but you."

She sighed, and her sigh was weighted with sadness, as though she were years older than he.

A lump swelled in his throat. He spoke thickly. "Thorne— you—what I heard this afternoon—about you and Will—it isn't true, is it?"

"It's true that he's asked Miss Ann for me."

"But you haven't "

"I'll do whatever Miss Ann thinks best."

"Good heavens! You can't "

"I'll have to marry someone, Richard, if I stay here."

"Not for years and years yet."

"Not so many years."

"Thorne, has he"—his voice was a tortured whisper—"has he ever touched you? Answer me! Those sleigh rides—has he ever "

She turned grave eyes upon him. "Is it any business of yours,

Richard, if he has?" And then, because she could see the wound she had given him, she added quickly, "He hasn't though. He's been very nice."

"Thorne, do you actually mean you could love my brother? Tell me the truth. If you think you could, then I'll never say another word upon the subject. But please be honest with me."

She was lost in thought for a moment. And then she spoke quietly, as though telling a thing long past.

"When your wife died, Richard, I was sorry. I couldn't understand why. But now I know it was because I was afraid you would marry Judith,"

He started to speak, but she went on: ''And then Judith went away and all that long summer I had you to myself. I decided my fears were imaginary. That summer was the first time I dreamed about what it would be like to love a man— the way Nancy talked about. And of course the man was you. I couldn't imagine loving anyone else. I'm afraid I never shall."

The thickness in his throat would not let him speak.

"And then that day we went to Terre Haute—and you told us Judith was going to be your wife " She paused, as though reliving the darkest hour of her short life.

"I wantcd to die. But I couldn't. I wanted to run away. But there was no place to go. And then your mother was so kind. I believe she understood. Weill's not bad either. Only sulky, sometimes. I was surprised-and rather flattered—when he asked me to marry him. I thought, 'If I marry Will I'll always have a home close to Richard.' So I said yes."

A sound like a sob came from the man beside her. There was nothing now for Richard to say.

But there was more for Thorne to say. "That was before I knew you loved me. Before I had told you how I felt about vou. Now that we have told each other it wouldn't be right for me to marry Will."

"It would be monstrous," muttered Richard.

She agreed. "It wouldn't be right for me to marry anyone around here. That's why I think I should go away."

To her surprise he said, "Yes. I think you should. And I'll go with you."

She looked at him incredulously. "You mean—you would?"

"I mean I wilL" He was suddenly alive with energy and purpose. "There's nothing to hold me here. The children have belonged to Mother since they were born. Will has always been the best farmer in the family. I'll never be missed."

Thorne said, "There's Judith."

He reddened. "We're nothing to each other any more."

She sat looking at him, lost in wonder and heartache unbearably sweet. She would have this for a memory always.

"But of course I can't let you do it," she said.

"What do you mean, you can't let me?"

"I won't let you ruin your life. That's what you'd do if you ran off from your wife and family with a girl who most people think is a witch. You'd be eternally damned by your neighbors, if not by God."

They argued heatedly. He pleaded with all the eloquence he possessed, but in vain. Thorne proved to have unsuspected rigidity of principle, on one subject at least. She was opposed to any course which would bring disgrace upon Richard.

In the end they compromised. She would remain at Timber-lev for the present, if for no other reason than to keep Richard from leaving his family. As for the pledge she had made to Will, time could take care of that.

CHAPTER 24

The torment of the bricks began again next day. Judith was seated at her dressing table in nightgown and wrapper, when she heard the unmistakable thud in the room below. She had slept late that morning. The rest of the family were already at breakfast. She hurried downstairs to investigate, and as she passed the open dining-room door she called excitedly, "It's begun again," and sped down the hall to the south bedroom to view the brick.

She saw it near the door, where the other bricks had fallen. The door was open, the windows raised; the fresh morning breeze swept through the room. She noted it was a half brick, as usual.

There was a general exodus from the dining room. Judith could hear the footsteps coming down the hall. She turned eagerly as young Will, the first to reach her, demanded, "Where's the brick?"

"There!" Judith pointed triumphantly. This time she had not left the spot until she had witnesses to corroborate what she had seen,

"Where?" said Will. "I don't see anything."

"There, by the door " Her voice broke with a gasp. In the split second in which she had removed her eyes from the brick to look at wall the thing was gone.

She was not frightened; she was furiously, frantically angry.

"It was there a moment ago! Look outside and you'll catch the imp who snatched it away from under my very nose."

Will, Jesse, and Richard's boys swarmed outdoors to search the premises, but neither the brick nor the brick thrower was in sight.

Judith said, ''Where's Thorne?"