The Whisper on the Stair/Chapter 29
In the little cottage on the Pomeroy estate, two people faced each other across the table; Jessica dull, defeated, tense; Teck nonchalant, the light of victory in his greenish eyes, sprawling hugely on a chair, his stumps in his pockets, his characteristic attitude, a sneer curling his lips; hard and unyielding lips.
“Thank you,” he was saying. “That should send this Morley cub about his business. I am in your debt.” He was mockingly polite, the while he held her eyes with his. She, unable to wrench her gaze away, sat there looking into his burning orbs as though he were a serpent and she a bird; the light had burned out of her eyes now; she could only look at him, tired and surrendered.
“Don’t be sarcastic, Ignace,” she replied, and her voice was like her gaze, even, monotonous, dull, without a high light or a quiver in it. “I sent him away because you ordered me to. If there is nothing else to-night, you might go away⸺”
“There is nothing else to-night, Jessica,” he said, and there was an attempt at softness in his tone, and a relaxing of the lines about his mouth. “But to-morrow⸺” he trailed off into silence, a pregnant significant silence.
“To-morrow?” she intoned. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you know?” he asked, and the mocking light slipped into his eyes again She shook her head quietly as if she did not greatly care This man had possession of her, body and soul—or so it was, at the moment. What did it matter what to-morrow had to bring?
“To-morrow,” he said slowly enunciating each word carefully, permitting it to sink in spacing out his words so that she could catch the full import of what he was saying. “To-morrow you are going with me to Norfolk. We will take out a marriage license in the morning. In the afternoon we will be⸺”
“No! No! Not that!” she burst out, galvanized for an instant into life, a fleeting instant that was gone almost as it came. “I cannot do that⸺”
“Yes, you can,” he said, slowly, gazing full into her eyes. The color that had flamed up in her receded from her cheeks as quickly as it had come, leaving her listless, languid, and complaisant—his to order, his to do with whatever he willed.
“To-morrow you will do as I ask, Jessica,” he said again, repeating the sentence once more, slowly.
“Yes, Ignace,” she replied, in a whisper so low he could scarcely catch it. She was careless of what he asked again; it was of no consequence. Had he asked her to accompany him to a justice of the peace or a minister to-night, she would have done so unquestioningly now.
“Ah, exactly, my dear,” he said. “I knew you would see it my way.” He was courtly now, and attentive—the attitude fitting in a man towards the woman he is about to take to his bosom as wife.
“I’m tired, Ignace,” she said unexpectedly. “I want to rest. Now that I have promised⸺”
“Of course, my dear,” he replied to this. “Of course.” He rose and faced to the door. “I’ll go now. To-morrow I’ll be here early. And in the meantime⸺” he turned to her again and his voice grew hard, flinty, “In the meantime, don’t try any nonsense. I’ve had just about all of that that I can stand from you—and from that Morley nuisance. I haven’t been hard with you, because I always thought that eventually you would come to your senses about this matter—but my patience has its limits, Jessica, and I want to warn you that I intend to carry my program through regardless of what it costs. If persuasion won’t work, why, there are other ways.” His voice now purred softly, confidentially, like a cat’s, with the same suggestion of sheathed claws and sharp, wicked teeth.
She succeeded, finally, in wrenching away her gaze. “Good night,” she said quietly, evenly, not trusting herself to look full upon his face. He made as though to take her in his arms, but she evaded him with a heedless, natural movement that carried her beyond him; her cheeks now flamed with color, and had he looked closely he would have been able to see the fighting will that, dormant until now, was awakening in her depths.
“Good night,” she said again.
“Good night,” he replied, and turned toward the door.
At the door he paused once more. “And remember what I just told you—you know I don’t joke about such things.”
She regarded him in silence as he let himself out, but a surprising change came over her as the door closed upon him. Her form straightened out, new life came into her glorious eyes, and her breath came and went more rapidly. She was a different woman; she was purposeful and awake, vibrant with energy and life; a woman fighting for her own.
“Elizabeth,” she called into the kitchen.
That old woman appeared at the door, her eyes tired, her figure sagging. “Has that old he-devil gone?” she asked. “I thought he’d never go. He⸺” She caught the expression on her mistress’ face then.
“Why, Jessica, honey⸺” she exclaimed, going to her and stroking her hand, “what’s the matter? What is it?” She saw fright in her mistress’ face, fright, fear, mingled with determination, sudden, unchangeable resolve. “Why, Jessica⸺”
“I’m all right, Elizabeth. Tell Germinal to harness up the horse and get the trap ready. We’re going to Norfolk—and back to New York to-night?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Germinal’s gone,” she said.
Jessica stared her astonishment. “Gone!” she said. “When, and where—why?”
“A few minutes ago—that crippled old fathead was in here, so I couldn’t tell you. If a nigger can get pale, that’s the way Germinal looked, the black old fool. He came running into the kitchen, nearly dead with fright—you could actually see him pale under that brown skin of his. He could scarcely talk—his tongue didn’t seem to be able to work, somehow—frozen to the roof of his mouth. Finally, all I was able to get from him was that he had seen something, a ghost, I guess—he kept talking about how the grave gives up its dead⸺”
“The grave!” interjected Jessica.
“Yes. He said graveyards were yawning—his hair was actually standing on end. I do declare to goodness, I never saw a man so scared as that man Germinal. Said he wouldn’t stay in this place another minute—he said it was full of ‘hants’ and that he just saw a dead man disappear into the bushes. He hitched up his wagon and went to town lickety-split before I had a chance to argue with him or to find out what it was all about. The last I seen of him he was layin’ the whip on good—you’d be surprised at all the speed he could get out of that old bundle of skin and bones that he used to say was a horse. I declare to goodness gracious I never in all my born days⸺”
“Gone!” said Jessica. “Just when I need him so badly, too. I wonder what it really is that people manage to see around here at night; I never saw anything; did you?” Elizabeth shook her head.
“But we must get back to Norfolk to-night, Elizabeth. I must get away from those eyes—those green eyes that look right into me; I’m not my own master when he’s looking at me, Elizabeth—he could get me to do anything. He seems to project his own will into me, somehow; fills me up with himself; he takes possession of my senses, Elizabeth—Oh, Elizabeth, I’m afraid of him—afraid of what he’ll make me do!” She was wild eyed in her momentary terror.
“There, there, honey!” Elizabeth soothed her. “It’ll be all right—he won’t make you do anything—just say the word and I’ll empty a teakettle of boiling water on his head, and give him something really to worry about. I’ll⸺”
“You don’t understand, Elizabeth. The man’s a demon—he will stop at nothing, and I’m powerless when those terrible eyes catch me like a fish on a hook. I must get away⸺”
“We’ll walk, then,” decided Elizabeth. “It’s not so far, even if it is dark. Get your things, honey, and I’ll get dressed, too. We won’t stop for a suitcase. The rain’s stopped, and we’d better get right along. Hurry,” she called after the girl, who was already on her way to her room to get her hat and coat. “We’ll give that filthy beast something to think about—when he comes to-morrow and finds we’ve gone. Once back in New York and⸺” her voice was lost in the retreat to her room.
A few minutes later they extinguished the lamp in the living room and stepped out of the door, closing it carefully, and turning the key in the lock.
“Is there another boat to-night, I wonder,” remarked Jessica anxiously. “It seems to me⸺”
“Not to-night, I think. Miss Jessica,” replied the old woman, “the way I remember these boats. But I think we’ll do better to go to Newport News for the night—stop in one of the hotels there—and take the early morning boat from the Point to Willoughby Spit—he’ll never expect us to do that; in fact, he’ll probably be on his way out here.”
“I wonder where Mr. Morley is now,” remarked the older woman irrelevantly.
“I wonder,” came softly from Jessica. “I’d feel a whole lot safer if he was with us,” she confessed. “Well, come on, Elizabeth,” she said to the old woman, who had been lagging behind. “Let’s go as quickly as we can.”
They stepped out into the black road, lined with shrubbery, rutted and hard, in the early autumn night. Hardly had they gone ten yards when a figure stepped in front of them, appearing silently out of the black bushes like the veriest apparition.
“My goodness gracious!” exclaimed Elizabeth in a voice that was almost a shriek, so sudden had been the appearance of the figure. Jessica did not speak; she had been too frightened, momentarily. Her hand went to her bosom, and she stood there, pale, and almost swaying from the fright and the shock.
“Just where does youse folks t’ink youse is goin’, huh?” growled the apparition, which now turned out to be the young man who had accompanied Teck earlier in the evening.
“Why—why—we’re—ah—weVe going for a walk, though I don’t see what business it is of yours⸺” began Jessica.
“Oh, youse is goin’ fer er promenahd, huh?” mocked the young man. “Well, it is me bizness, an’ don’t let nobuddy tell yer diff’runt, see! Just promenahd yerselves back to de porch an’ do yer walkin’ on de porch. Dis here night air ain’t none too healthy fer young female wimmen—nor fer no old hens, neither,” he glared malevolently at Elizabeth, who glared back at him as though she would like to scratch his eyes out.
“Yer see, yer might git yer tootsies wet, walkin’ so late,” he explained. “Come on, now,” he ordered, seeing that the women were about to remonstrate indignantly. “Don’t gimme none er yer guff about it—I got me orders an’ dey gits carried out, see! Me orders sez yer stays in dat dere house to-night, an’ dat’s where yer stays⸺” he stepped up to the women threateningly—“dat is, if yer don’t want ter be knocked fer a can of Swedish sardines. Get me?”
There was a brief silence, with Jessica struggling hard to keep back the tears of rage and disappointment. This man Teck thought of everything. Being a trickster himself, he expected trickery in everybody—even in the woman he wanted to marry. And the maddening part about it was that he had been correct in his assumption—that he had outguessed her.
“Come on! Snap inta it, before I carries yer back to der house,” he threatened.
Jessica and Elizabeth turned without a word, and made their way back to the house.
Jessica was dully conscious of her defeat. It was plain to her that she would not get away from that house this night—that she would be here in the morning, when Teck called for her. Her only hope was that Val would call first—Elizabeth told her that she had explained to Val, and that he would certainly not return to New York without first trying to see her. He would come in the morning—of that she was certain; but it was important that he come early; that he make his appearance before Teck came upon the scene. Otherwise it might be too late.