Chapter XI: I See Double

THE certainty that I possessed an employer with a mind more or less unhinged deepened throughout a long afternoon during which I found it difficult to adapt myself to the varying pursuits of my fellow-Members of the Band. To let Judy and Jack out of my sight would not have been prudent; they were filled with a wild yearning to go burglar-hunting, and, had they been alone, I think no warnings from Dr. Firth would have kept them from the neighbourhood of his house; wherefore I attached myself firmly to them, and tried to show that I was indeed qualified to belong to the illustrious ranks of their limited association. We played at burglars and bushrangers in the scrub—no game without some criminal element would have had the slightest attraction for Judy and Jack that day. I believe I climbed trees; I certainly crawled into hollow logs and miry hollows, to the utter wreck of a clean frock. Finally we decided to be pirates and possessed ourselves of the small motor-launch, in which we attacked and captured several of the small islands of Porpoise Bay, in spite of gallant resistance from the gannets and gulls that inhabited them. It was a bloodthirsty and exciting afternoon, and I should have enjoyed it had it not been for the turmoil of my mind.

I had the usual theoretical dread of anyone insane. But, somewhat to my own surprise, I did not feel at all afraid. Perhaps it was difficult to realize that any danger might be feared from Mrs. McNab, who, dour and grim though she undoubtedly was at times, was always gentle—if one excepted the night when she had so violently beaten Jack, down by the sea. That in itself, looked at in the new light, was like the sudden strength and fury of insanity. But it was only one instance. And, after all, many quite sane people must have wanted at times to spank Jack; Beryl would have said that the desire to do so was a proof of sanity. Apart from that one uncontrollable moment, Mrs. McNab had never been violent: she was only deeply unhappy. And, remembering her haggard face, I could only feel sorry for her. She was not an object of fear—only of pity.

The question of what I ought to do beat backwards and forwards in my brain while I bushranged and pillaged and led my band of cut-throats to the Spanish Main—as represented by Porpoise Bay. One could not go to Beryl and Harry McNab and express doubts as to their parent’s sanity: it did not seem to be the kind of thing expected of governesses. If I wrote to Colin I knew very well that he would appear by the earliest train—even if he had to turn burglar himself to raise the money for the journey: caring not at all for the McNabs or their concerns, but only bent on snatching me from an environment so doubtful. Poor old Colin, who believed me enjoying “rest and change”! The thought brought a short laugh from me, which must have had something grim in it, since Jack, who was at the moment delivering an oration on skulls and cross-bones, evidently accepted it as a tribute to his blood-curdling words, and was inspired to yet higher flights. No, I could not worry Colin, unless it became quite necessary to do so: that was certain. Yet, it seemed to me that something must be done: if my fears were well-founded, I ought not to conceal the matter from every one. Then, with a great throb of relief, I thought of Dr. Firth.

Beyond doubt, he was the person to be told. A doctor, even if he did not practise, would be able to confirm my suspicions or to laugh at them as ridiculous: and he would know what to do. The heavy sense of responsibility lifted from me as I thought of his strong, kind face. I had a wild impulse to escape from the children and make my way to his house immediately; but common sense came to my aid, and I remembered that I had promised Mrs. McNab not to let Judy and Jack out of my sight. Besides, he might not be at home; and if he were, in all probability he would be overwhelmed with business resulting from the burglary, with policemen proffering him documents at short intervals. A little delay could do no harm, I thought, especially if I were very watchful of the children: the other inmates of The Towers could take care of themselves. He was sure to be over within a day or two: very likely to-morrow would bring him, and I could make an opportunity of speaking to him alone. So I tried to put away my anxiety, and to be a good and thorough pirate, as befitted a Member of the Band.

We became sated with bloodshed about six o’clock, and ran the launch home, singing “Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest!” with intense feeling. Not one of the Band was fit to be seen, wherefore we sneaked in at the kitchen entrance and made our way up the back stairs, gaining, unobserved, the shelter of the bathroom we so sorely needed. Half an hour later we descended, using the main stairway, a well-scrubbed trio, clad in fresh raiment, so that we looked patronizingly on the picnic party, all of whom presented that part-worn appearance that follows a long day in the bush. They had just returned, and were excitedly discussing the burglary, news of which had just reached them. Several of the girls looked nervous, and declared their intention of sleeping with locked doors and windows—whereat Jack ejaculated “Frowsts!” disgustedly, elevating a nose that was already tilted heavenwards.

“Well, if they come here they’ll get a warm reception,” Dicky Atherton declared. “How about taking it in turns to sit up and watch?”

“Surely that is quite unnecessary, Dicky,” Mrs. McNab said in a hurried voice. “The burglars are probably well out of the district by now; in any case, they would never commit a robbery the very night after they had broken into Dr. Firth’s. You had all better go to bed as usual and forget about them.”

I wondered did any of the others see what was so plain to me—her restless eyes, her hand that clenched and unclenched as she spoke. Surely they must notice her strained and haggard face. But apparently they thought it nothing unusual—Mrs. McNab never was quite like other people, and anyone might be excited over a crime so near at hand. Dicky Atherton laughed as he answered her.

“Well, that is true enough: I should think the beggars would lie quiet for a bit, anyhow, and we should all get pretty sick of sitting up for nothing.”

“We’ll go over to Dr. Firth’s in the morning, shall we, Dick?” said Harry. “I’ve always wanted a chance of seeing black trackers at work.”

“How do they manage?” asked some one. “You let them smell a finger-print, don’t you? And then they put their noses to the ground and never stop until they’ve found the criminal!”

“Something like that,” grinned Harry. “They’re no end clever at picking up a trail from next to no evidence. It would be a lark if they tracked these fellows down to some hiding-place in the bush—I’d like to be in at the death!”

Mrs. McNab looked more troubled than ever.

“I think the whole idea of getting in black trackers is very foolish,” she said. “It will only alarm the district and cause a great deal of unnecessary publicity. The daily papers always make a fuss about a case when they are employed.”

“Yes, they think it’s romantic!” said Dicky. “We’ll have all the Press photographers down, and the place will be overrun with them, taking snapshots. We had all better go about in our best clothes, because if they meet us in a body they will attack us with their cameras, and it would be painful if ‘Mrs. McNab’s house-party at The Towers’ appeared as we’re looking now!”

“I will not have that!” Mrs. McNab exclaimed heatedly. “Harry, I insist that no one shall take photographs here—if you meet any newspaper people you are to discourage them, no matter what they say. To photograph a private house for a newspaper is an unwarrantable impertinence! Do not let there be any mistake about it.”

“Be polite, if you must, Harry, but be plain!” laughed Dicky.

“I’ll be plain, all right,” rejoined Harry. “My boot shall, if necessary, defend the sanctity of our home! What are you getting in such a fuss about, Mother? I don’t for a moment suppose that any newspaper would bother its head about us.”

“Newspapers nowadays would do anything for sensation,” answered his mother gloomily. “And I hate publicity given to one’s private affairs: it is insupportable. They would drag all one’s family history through the mire for the sake of selling a few copies.” Her voice rose angrily. “This robbery is spoiling all our peace! I warned Dr. Firth, but he would not be careful—he might have saved himself if he had listened to me.”

Every one was looking at her now curiously. Harry frowned.

“Oh, what’s the use of bothering your head about it, Mother! It’s not going to spoil my peace—not if I know it: or my dinner either. I’m as hungry as a hunter, and, thank goodness, there’s the dressing-gong! Come along, everybody: I mean to have a jolly good dance to-night, burglar or no burglar!”

The dressing-gong was the signal also for the schoolroom dinner, so I herded the children upstairs, glad to escape from a scene that had had its unpleasant side. Looking out for a moment as I closed the schoolroom door I caught a glimpse of Mrs. McNab coming up the wide staircase. I was glad that she did not see me, for she was uttering incoherent words in a harsh whisper, with a little curious gesture of helplessness. There was a look in her eyes that struck fear into my heart. I longed for to-morrow and for Dr. Firth.

I kept my fellow-pirates with me in the schoolroom that evening. To go down to the drawing-room and be drawn into dancing would have been hateful to me; to my overwrought mind there seemed an air of mystery, almost of tragedy, overhanging the house, and I wanted the children to be where I could watch them all the time. They were sufficiently tired to be willing to remain quietly while I read to them. I remember the book was Newbolt’s _Happy Warrior_, and when I had finished the story of Bayard we talked of the old ideals of knighthood and chivalry. It was the point I liked best about my outlaws that they were perfectly sound on matters of honour. A lie was to either an unthinkable thing, and they held very definite views about betraying a confidence.

“Father says that’s the one thing a gentleman can’t do,” said Judy, who had no intention of letting the mere accident of sex exclude her from the knightly code. “He says that even when a secret is made public it isn’t the square thing to let on that you knew about it beforehand.”

My father had taught us the same thing. I felt my heart warm towards the absent Mr. McNab.

“Judy and I swore a Hearty Oath about it,” said Jack, who was lying full length on the hearth-rug. “We said, cross-our-hearts we’d never do it. It’s awful tempting, too, sometimes.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Judy agreed. “I’d just love to be able to say, ‘Oh yes, I knew all about that long ago!’ with my nose in the air, very often. But it isn’t done, in the Band. Father’s a Member of the Band, too, you know. He won’t let us swear many Hearty Oaths, ’cause he says they’d get cheap, and they ought to be solemn. But he approved of that one, and he swore it, too.”

“He told us lots of secrets,” Jack said. “’Cause he knew jolly well he could trust us not to split.”

“Yes, he said it was good practice for us, even if we were pretty young. He’d say, ‘This is confidential, kids,’ and of course that was all there was about it.” Judy’s eyes were very bright. “Father’s awfully splendid, you know, Miss Earle. He never asked us to promise to be good before he went away——”

“I spec’s he knew that wasn’t a bit of use!” Jack interposed.

“That was why. But he said, ‘You’re awful scamps, but I know I can trust you.’ And we’d just rather die than let him down.”

“Well, that is something to live up to,” I said. “Bayard hadn’t anything better. I think I like being a Member of the Band. Shall we have that meeting in Melbourne when your father comes back, so that Colin can meet him too?”

“You do have the splendidest ideas!” Jack said. They beamed on me; and when I went to tuck them in, later, they hugged me vigorously. My charges were not, as a rule, demonstrative people, and I was fairly dazzled by the honour.

I went back to the schoolroom, and sat down feeling rather at a loose end. Strains of the gramophone were wafted upwards from the drawing-room where the house-party were apparently fox-trotting with an ardour undiminished by either picnics or burglars. I wondered was Mrs. McNab working, or if she were prowling round in the night, a prey to her own disordered and troubled mind. Then I remembered, with a start, that I had not been up to renew the dressings on her injured hand. It was later than I usually went: probably she had been waiting for me, feeling neglected and annoyed. I was annoyed with myself as I ran swiftly up the narrow stairs.

The door of the lower room was partly open: a faint scent of Turkish tobacco drifted out. Since her injury, Mrs. McNab had left it ajar each evening until I had paid my visit: I would hear the lock click as I went back, before I had crossed the landing. Forgetting my customary tap, I hurried in.

The tall figure in the grey gown was standing by the window, looking out upon the moonlit garden far below. She did not turn as I entered and I began my apology nervously.

“I’m afraid I’m late,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. McNab——”

The watching figure wheeled round swiftly. The words died on my lips as I looked: looked at the tall, spare form, the straight shoulders, the close-cropped iron-grey hair: looked most of all at the white, haggard face. It was the face of my employer as I had learned to know it during my four weeks in her house. But—_it was not Mrs. McNab!_

The moments dragged by as we stood, giving back stare for stare: I, bewildered, terrified, unable to move, the other grim and watchful. I caught my breath in a gasp at last, and a threat came to me like the lash of a whip.

“You will be wise if you make no noise!”

I could not have made a noise if my life had depended upon it. I could only gape and shiver, my eyes glued to the apparition that was, and yet was not, Mrs. McNab. Yet so like was it that I began to think it was my brain that had turned. Height, features, dress, voice—all were the same; and still, the face was the face of a stranger.

Then came quick feet on the stair, a stifled exclamation of dismay behind me, the door slammed—and I was looking at, not one Mrs. McNab, but two! Each the very counterpart of the other, they stood together, and I looked from one to the other with dazed eyes, utterly bewildered. Then my glance fell on the hands of the first, and in a moment light came to me. I pointed a shaking forefinger at those tell-tale hands.

“Why—you’re a man!” I cried feebly.

The room began to swim round me, so that at one instant the two figures seemed to merge into one, and then divided and became two, four, ten, twenty, long, grey forms, still and silent. Faster and faster they whirled; and then came darkness, and when I opened my eyes I was lying on the big couch, with Mrs. McNab rubbing my hands. Beyond her, the other grey figure sat in her office-chair, smoking: all the time watching me with steady eyes.

“You poor child!” Mrs. McNab said gently.

That was almost too much for me, and I sobbed suddenly. The form in the chair became alert.

“Make her understand she must be quiet, Marie.”

“She will be quiet,” Mrs. McNab said, with a touch of impatience. “Don’t be afraid, my dear Miss Earle: you have nothing to fear. You have only managed to blunder upon a secret, that is all. I know you will give me your word to keep it to yourself.”

“Of course I will,” I managed to stammer. “I am very sorry.”

“So am I—for my stupidity in leaving the door open. I had run down to the bathroom for some hot water, and I forgot the door until I was on my way back. Then it was too late. I would not have had it happen for the world.”

I struggled to a sitting position and faced them. There had been excuse for my collapse, for surely never were man and woman so amazingly alike! Save for the hands, and now, I could see, the feet, no eye could detect any outward difference. The man in the chair gave a short laugh, and rose.

“Well, I’ll leave you, Marie,” he said, in the low, deep voice that was the echo of her own. “You must get through a certain amount of explanation, I suppose—but don’t let your tongue run away with you. This young lady has too recently graduated from the schoolroom to be oppressed with our affairs.” He bent a keen, cold gaze on me. “I trust you are old enough to be able to hold your tongue.”

“I have no wish to do anything else,” I said, mustering what spirit I could; and, somehow, from that moment there was never the slightest confusion in my mind between Mrs. McNab and her duplicate. Like they might be in every feature; but in him there was a cold wickedness akin to that of a snake. I hated him then and afterwards, and he knew it.

“Well, good night,” he said lightly, and vanished up the steps into the upper room. Mrs. McNab and I looked at each other, and there was something in her eyes that made me ache with pity.

“Oh, you are unhappy!” I cried. “I wish I could help you.”

She caught my hand, holding it tightly.

“I am indeed unhappy,” she said. “I will tell you about it—I know I can trust you.”

It was a queer story—the kind of thing that I had thought happened only in romances. The man—Ronald Hull was his name—was her twin-brother: she touched lightly on his career, but I gathered that from his boyhood he had never been anything but an anxiety. Before the death of their parents he had been compelled to leave the bank in which he was a clerk, narrowly escaping prosecution for embezzling bank money. Then he had gone from bad to worse, living on his wits, constantly appealing to her for funds, always on the edge of trouble and disgrace. Her husband had established him in an auctioneer’s firm in New South Wales some years before, and they hoped that they had done with him; but during the previous year he had again contrived to steal a large sum, and this time they could not protect him. He had been arrested, convicted, and sentenced to two years’ imprisonment.

Her voice failed when she told me this. I patted her hand—never had I felt so helpless and so young.

“Don’t you think you have talked enough?” said a cold voice at the opening above our heads. “I warned you to be careful, Marie.”

“Be quiet!” she said angrily. “Do you want your voice to be heard?” She turned to me. “Go down to your room—I will come presently.”

When she came, she was flushed, and there was a light of battle in her eyes.

“He is very angry with me,” she said. “But you must know enough to make you understand. And I am worn out with silence and secrecy.” I put her into a comfortable chair, and she went on with her story.

“We were almost thankful to know he was beyond the possibility of troubling us for two years,” she said. “At least, so we thought; and my husband went away with an easy mind. But two months ago Ronald came here in the middle of the night, saying that I must hide him: he had escaped from jail, and was penniless and in dread of recapture. What could I do? I took him in—Harry and Beryl were away—and hid him in the Tower rooms. It was easy enough: I had for years been in the habit of shutting myself up here, and the place is like a little house in itself. I procured dresses for him, like my own, so that if by chance he were seen he would be mistaken for me—you have seen how remarkable is the resemblance between us. I pretended to be almost always at work, so that meals were sent up here—for him: and laid in a store of biscuits and tinned foods for the times when I had to be downstairs.” She gave a weary little laugh. “One of the minor problems of my life has been the disposing of the empty tins!”

“And what have you lived on?” I demanded.

“Oh, anything. I had a good meal downstairs occasionally. Indeed, I have had no appetite. It has been ceaseless misery; the dread of being found out, the constant concealments and deceptions, the strain of being much with him—for he is no easy companion to live with at close quarters. Lately he has become very irritable, and almost from the first he rebelled against his imprisonment and insisted on going out at night. What I have endured on those nights, waiting here in fear and suspense! Of course, he was always dressed in my clothes; but I knew that sooner or later someone would meet him and speak to him—as you did one night upon the stairs!”

“Then it was he!” I exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so glad—I never could make out why you looked so cross and brushed past me so rudely!”

“I knew nothing about it until to-day,” she said. “He forgot to tell me. And he encountered Julia, the housemaid, one night downstairs—he was thoroughly frightened that time, and made sure he was found out.”

“And of course—it was he who caught Jack on the shore at night, and thrashed him!” I cried. “He need not have done it: the little chap was only playing.”

“Did the children tell you?”

“I saw it,” I said. “I had followed the children down, to see that they were safe. They have puzzled over your unexpected strength ever since.”

“Ronald told me as a great joke,” she said. “No wonder my poor little Jack was puzzled—I have not punished him in that fashion in his life.”

“As a matter of fact, he said he respected you highly!” I told her, and she smiled a little.

“It might have made a difference in his feelings towards me if he were not a sweet-tempered boy,” she said. “I was very angry with Ronald. Oh, my dear, if you knew what these weeks have been, you would pity me! The constant fear—the terrible uncertainty!” She shuddered. “There have been many times when I have been tempted to send him away and let him take his chance. But I could not do it. After all, though I cannot feel any affection for him now, he was my little brother once—just such a boy as Jack. That is the time I try to remember. And my mother left him to my care.”

Her eyes were suddenly kind and soft. I wondered how I could ever have thought her cold—or mad.

“But how long is it to go on?” I asked. “You can’t keep such a secret for ever.”

“There is a chance of getting him out of Australia,” she said. “He has a friend connected with a ship which will leave Adelaide next week—ten days from now, or thereabouts. It is a cargo-ship only, and this friend has promised to arrange a passport for him and get him on board, if I can get him to Adelaide. We have been trying to work out a plan to go to Southport farther down the coast; from there he could make his way up to the main line and reach Adelaide by train. But now we are afraid to move, for everything is complicated by the robberies in the neighbourhood. With the police on the alert—with those terrible black trackers about!—what can we dare to do? I am at my wits’ end.”

“But they will not come here,” I said. “Dr. Firth’s place is three miles away, and there is nothing to bring the police to The Towers.”

“I do not know,” she said slowly. She was silent, gripping my hand so tightly that it ached. Suddenly she dropped it, sprang up, and began to pace the room, wrapped in thought; and I sat watching her helplessly. The minutes went by while she went back and forth, like a caged animal. Then she came back.

“It has been a relief to tell you,” she said. “I have longed to talk to some one—the thing has been too hard to bear all alone. Listen—I will tell you the worst fear of all.”

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