The House of Mystery Page 7

  VII

  ROSALIE'S FIRST REPORT

  Rosalie Le Grange, upon assuming her position as housekeeper in theMarkham establishment, had written Dr. Blake that Tuesday was herafternoon out, and suggesting that he meet her every Tuesday afternoonat three in the ladies' parlor of the old Hotel Greenwich, which layfar from main lines of traffic and observation. So they sat on thefaded velvets of the Greenwich that fall afternoon, heads together inclose conference.

  "You're wastin' your money," began Rosalie.

  "Tell me about Miss Markham first," he interrupted; "is she well?"

  "As well as she ever is--that girl's far from strong. The more I thinkof this job"--she reverted to her subject--"the more meechin' I feelabout it, spyin' on a good woman an' a great medium like her. Git thegirl away from _her_! Let me tell you, Dr. Blake, your girl's theluckiest girl in the world, and I don't care if I have to say it rightinto your face. If _I'd_ had a chance to develop my mediumship straightfrom a great vessel of the spirit like that, I wouldn't be fakin' testbooks, and robbin' card cases, and givin' demonstrations to store girlsat a dollar a trance. To learn from Mrs. Markham! She ought to thankGod for the chance."

  Then, perceiving that she had left his feelings out ofconsideration--noticing by the droop of his eyes how much she haddepressed him--she patted his knee and let a tender smile flutter overher dimples.

  "Of course, Boy," she said, with the sweet patronage of woman, "I don'ttake no stock in the notion that the girl has got to put aside earthlylove, and that kind of talk. We've all got our notions and ourplaces--where we don't follow the spirit guides. Perhaps that's justMrs. Markham's weak spot. Maybe her own love affairs was ashes in hermouth. Come to think of it, I never did know who Mr. Markham was. WhatI'm tryin' to tell you is that you've got your pig by the wrong ear,for you can't expose what's genuine. And I'm ashamed of what I'm doin',and if I hadn't promised to stay a month, I'd leave this very day." Hercompanion made an involuntary motion of alarm.

  "Don't be afraid--I'm not goin' to yet. Gettin' the place was easy. Youwant a housekeeper stupid and respectable; I was all that. I wasbothered, before I got started, to get the letters of recommendation,but I got 'em--never mind how. And they were good, too. I'm Mrs.Granger, as I told you, and I'm a widow. So I took the place away froma Swede, an Irishwoman, and a French ginny. Right at the start, I founda line on Mrs. Markham. When she was alone with me, after we come toterms, she was just as kind and good as any lady in the land. I don'tsuppose that means anythin' to you, but it did to me. Big fakirs andcrooks just live their lives in terror, afraid of their own shadows.They've got to be sweet and kind on the outside, and so they take outtheir crossness and irritation on the help. I'd rather be keeper in anasylum than cook to a burglar. But Mrs. Markham was _fine_--and no airsand no softness. If the spirit ever hallowed a face, it's hers. I knowyou don't like her, and you can't be blamed--her keeping your littlegirl from you! But you must have noticed her voice, how pretty it is ifshe _does_ talk English fashion. Now that was my first sight into her.Whatever she's done, she's never done materializin', which is justwhere pure, proved fakin' begins. It's as soft as a girl's. It wouldn'tbe if she'd worked up her voices for men controls. I've beencomplimented on my voice myself, but you must have noticed the way itslides down and gits deep every little while. That's left to show I didmaterializin' in St. Paul; and I'm ashamed of it, too. My, how I wanderaround in Robin Hood's barn! But I'm full of it."

  "Tell me everything," he said, "and in your own way."

  "'You know my profession?' says Mrs. Markham.

  "'No, Ma'am,' says I.

  "'I'm a religious teacher, in a way,' says she. 'A medium if you careto call it that. I prefer another name.'

  "'A medium!' says I. 'My! I was to a medium last week!'

  "Perhaps you don't see why I done that. 'T was to give her an opening.First move, when you're fakin' on a big scale, is to make dopes out ofyour servants. Git 'em to swallow the whole thing; then find the yellowspot, work it, and pull 'em into your fakin'. But she never followedthe lead, even so much as to seem interested. 'Indeed?' says she.'Well, I see only a few callers, and usually in the evening. I'm alittle particular about bein' disturbed at such times, and I must askyou not to come below the top floor on such evenings. Ellen, the parlormaid, always sits by the front door to answer the bell.' That was arelief. I was afraid I'd have to answer bells, which would have beenrisky. Dopes that follow big mediums go to little ones sometimes; therewas a chance that I'd let in one of my own sitters and be recognized.And the arrangement didn't look faky to me as it may to you; for afact, you're just a bundle of nerves when you're coming in and out ofreal control.

  "'And I hope you'll be comfortable,' says she, 'I'm coming up thisevening to see if your room is all right and if there's anything youwant. You'll like my servants, I think.'

  "Right there I began to be ashamed of our game, and it hasn't got anyless, I'll tell _you_.

  "It was hard work getting the job to runnin', and I didn't have muchtime for pokin' into things. When I did git room to turn around, I wentthrough that whole house pretendin' to take inventories. I didn't finda thing that looked out of place, or faky. Not a scrap of notes onsitters, not a trap, not a slate, not a thread of silk mull, not aspark of phosphorus. I wasn't fool enough to break the rule aboutcoming downstairs when she had sitters. Let her catch me spyin', andthe bird's gone. But last Sunday night I had a fair chance. I knew itwould come if I waited. There's three servants under me--Mary the cook,who's a hussy; and Martin the furnace man, who's a drunk; and Ellen,who's a fool. I'd listened to 'em talking and I'd pumped 'em gradual,but I couldn't git a definite thing--and what the help don't know aboutthe crooked places in their bosses ain't generally worth knowin'.Ellen, the maid, ought to 'a' been my best card--her sittin' everynight at the door catchin' what comes out of the parlors. She couldn'ttell a thing. All she knew was that she heard a lot of talk in lowtones, and it was something about spirits and the devil, and then shecrossed herself. As help goes, they like Mrs. Markham, which is a goodsign.

  "Last Sunday, at supper, Ellen begins to complain of a pain in herhead. It seemed to me that I'd better take, just once, the chance ofbeing recognized by a sitter, an' 'tend door for the seance. So I begunwith Ellen.

  "'You're sick, child,' says I, havin' her alone at the time. 'It looksto me like neuralgia.'

  "Well, you're a doctor--I don't have to tell you how easy it is to makea person _think_ they're sick. And that's my specialty--makin' peoplethink things. In half an hour, I had that girl whoop-in' an' Martintelephonin' for a doctor. Then I broke the news over the housetelephone to Mrs. Markham. She waited ten minutes, and called me down.It come out just as I figured. She wanted me to 'tend door. I'd beenplayin' the genteel stupid, you know, so she trusted me. And I must sayI'd rather she hated me, the way I'm out to do her. She told me that Iwas to sit by the door and bring in the names of callers, and if anyonecome after eight o'clock, I was to step into the outside hall and getrid of 'em as quick as I could. Now let me tell you, that killedanother suspicion. One way, the best way of fakin' in a big house, isto have the maid rob the pockets of people's wraps for letters an'calling cards an' such. I'd thought maybe Ellen played that game, sheacted so stupid; but here I was lettin' in the visitors, me only, aweek in the house. I took the coats off her callers myself and Iwatched them wraps all the time. Nobody ever approached 'em while Ilooked. She had only four sitters, two men and two women--an oldmarried couple an' a brother an' sister, I took it from their looks an'the way they acted toward each other. The old couple were rich andtony. They didn't flash any jewelry, but her shoes and gloves were madeto order and her coat had a Paris mark inside. The brother and sistermust be way up, too; he was dressed quiet but rich, and he had aBankers' Association pin in his buttonhole. Yes, they wasn't paupers,and that's the only fake sign I've seen about Mrs. Markham. But that'snothin'. Stands to reason the best people go to the best mediums, justlike they go to the best doctors and preachers.

/>   "That sittin', you hear me, was real. I got by the double doors where Icould listen. You just hear me--it was real. You ain't a sensitive.You've followed knowledge and not influences, and it's going to be hardfor me to git this into you. So I'll tell you first how it would havelooked to you, and then how it looked to me. I'm not sayin' what shegave wasn't something she got out of test books and memorandums,because I don't know her people or yet how much she'd had to do withthem. It was the way it come out that impressed me. First place, shedidn't go into trance. That's a fake to impress dopes, nine times outof ten. If you ever git anything real from me, you'll git it out ofhalf trance. Then she didn't feel around an' fish, an' neither did shehit the bull's eye every time. She'd get the truth all tangled up. Johnwould say a true thing, that only _he_ knew, and she'd think she got itfrom James. Her sitters were fine acknowledgers, especially the oldmaid, and I could tell. That's how I would 'a' looked to you, and nowlet me tell you how it struck me. You don't have to believe it.

  "I was sittin' there just takin' it all in, when I began to getinfluences. Now laugh; but you won't stop me. It never struck me sostrong in my life as it did right there. And it all come from Mrs.Markham. It was like a sweet smell radiatin' from that room, and justmakin' me drunk. It was like--maybe you've heard John B. Gough speak.Remember how he had you while you listened? Remember how you believedlike he did and felt everything was right and you could do anything?Now that is as near like it as I can tell you and yet that _ain't_ itby half. You ain't a sensitive. You can't git just what I mean.

  "An' then _I_ begun to see. I can't tell you all; I was half out; butjust this for a sample: I had a sitter last week, an old lady; an' thesittin' was a failure. Yes, I was fishin' and pumpin', but she wasclose-mouthed an' suspicious. I got it out of her that she was worriedabout her boy. I tried a bad love affair for a lead, an' there wasnothing doing. I tried bad habits and it was just as far away; and Igive it up and was thankful I got fifty cents out of her. Well, while Isat there listenin' to Mrs. Markham, right into my mind came apicture--the old lady leanin' over a young man--her pale and shaky andhim surprised an' mad,--and he held a pen in his hand, an' I got theword 'forgery!' That's one of the things I saw while that influencecome from Mrs. Markham; and if you only knew how seldom I git anythingreal nowadays, you'd be as crazy as me about her. I just had to use allthe force I've got to look stupid when the sitters went out."

  Rosalie had talked on, oblivious to Dr. Blake's anxieties and feelings.He sat there, the embodiment of disappointment.

  "As perfect a case of auto-suggestion as I ever knew," his professionalmind was thinking. But he expressed in words his deeper thought:

  "Then that line fails."

  "I'm sorry, boy," responded Rosalie, "but I'm doin' my job straight,and you wouldn't want it done any other way. And I feel you'll git hersomehow; if not this way, some other. And the longer the wait thestronger the love, _I_ say. She don't seem any too happy, even if Mrs.Markham does treat her well."

  "Doesn't she?" he asked, his face lighting with a melancholy relief.

  "Good symptom for you, ain't it? And I can't think of nothing else thatcan be on her mind. But how that girl passes her days, I don't know. Itmust be dull for her, poor little bird. She and Mrs. Markham ain't muchapart. She looks at Mrs. Markham like a dog looks at his master, she'sthat fond of her. Seems to read a lot, and twice they've been out inthe evening--theater, or so the chauffeur said. We don't have noprivate car. We hire one by the month from a garage. An' if I everliked a girl and wanted to see her happy, that's the one!"

  Rosalie rose. "Must do some shoppin'. Can't say I hope for better newsnext week, not the kind of good news you're looking for. But I'm hopin'for good news in the end."

  Dr. Blake remained sitting, his head dropped in depression on hisbreast. Rosalie stooped to pat it with a motherly gesture.

  "Just remember this," she said, "you love her and she loves you or Imiss my guess, an' there ain't no beatin' that combination. If I wasfakin' with you I wouldn't need no more than that to make me see yourtwo names in a ring. And remember this, too, boy! There never wasanything that turned out just the way you expected. You figure on ittwenty ways. It always beats you; and yet when you look back, you say,'Of course; what a fool I was.' Good-by, boy--here next Tuesday atthree unless I tell you different by letter." Rosalie was gone.

  Dr. Blake walked in the park that night until dawn broke over the cityroofs. And he drew out a dull and anxious existence,--shot and brokenwith whims, fancies, all the irregularities of a lover,--during theweek in which he awaited Rosalie's next report.