The House of the Whispering Pines - Anna Katharine Green
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THE HOUSE OF THE WHISPERING PINES
By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
1910
Author of
"The Leavenworth Case," "That Affair Next Door," "One of My Sons," etc.
"Mazes intricate,
Eccentric, interwov'd, yet regular
Then most, when most irregular they seem".
_Milton_
CONTENTS
BOOK I
SMOKE
I.--THE HESITATING STEP
II.--IT WAS SHE--SHE INDEED!
III.--"OPEN!"
IV.--THE ODD CANDLESTICK
V.--A SCRAP OF PAPER
VI.--COMMENTS AND REFLECTIONS
VII.--CLIFTON ACCEPTS MY CASE
VIII.--A CHANCE! I TAKE IT
BOOK II
SWEETWATER TO THE FRONT
IX.--"WE KNOW OF No SUCH LETTER"
X.--"I CAN HELP YOU"
XI.--IN THE COACH HOUSE
XII.--"LILA--LILA!"
XIII.--"WHAT WE WANT IS HERE"
XIV.--THE MOTIONLESS FIGURE
XV.--HELEN SURPRISES SWEETWATER
XVI.--62 CUTHBERT ROAD
XVII.--"MUST I TELL THESE THINGS?"
XVIII.--ON IT WAS WRITTEN--
XIX.--"IT'S NOT WHAT YOU WILL FIND"
BOOK III
HIDDEN SURPRISES
XX.---"HE OR YOU! THERE IS NO THIRD"
XXI.--CARMEL AWAKES
XXII.---"BREAK IN THE GLASS!"
XXIII.--AT TEN INSTEAD OF TWELVE
XXIV.--ALL THIS STOOD
XXV.--"I AM INNOCENT"
XXVI.--THE SYLLABLE OF DOOM
XXVII.--EXPECTANCY
XXVIII.--"WHERE Is MY BROTHER?"
BOOK IV
WHAT THE PINES WHISPERED
XXIX.--"I REMEMBERED THE ROOM"
XXX.--"CHOOSE"
XXXI.--"WERE HER HANDS CROSSED THEN?"
XXXII.--AND I HAD SAID NOTHING!
XXXIII.--THE ARROW OF DEATH
XXXIV.--"STEADY!"
XXXV.--"As IF IT WERE A MECCA"
XXXVI.--THE SURCHARGED MOMENT
BOOK ONE
SMOKE
I
THE HESITATING STEP
To have reared a towering scheme
Of happiness, and to behold it razed,
Were nothing: all men hope, and see their hopes
Frustrate, and grieve awhile, and hope anew;
But--
_A Blot in the 'Scutcheon._
The moon rode high; but ominous clouds were rushing towards it--clouds
heavy with snow. I watched these clouds as I drove recklessly,
desperately, over the winter roads. I had just missed the desire of my
life, the one precious treasure which I coveted with my whole
undisciplined heart, and not being what you call a man of
self-restraint, I was chafed by my defeat far beyond the bounds I have
usually set for myself.
The moon--with the wild skurry of clouds hastening to blot it out of
sight--seemed to mirror the chaos threatening my better impulses; and,
idly keeping it in view, I rode on, hardly conscious of my course till
the rapid recurrence of several well-known landmarks warned me that I
had taken the longest route home, and that in another moment I should be
skirting the grounds of The Whispering Pines, our country clubhouse. _I_
had taken? Let me rather say, my horse; for he and I had traversed this
road many times together, and he had no means of knowing that the season
was over and the club-house closed. I did not think of it myself at the
moment, and was recklessly questioning whether I should not drive in and
end my disappointment in a wild carouse, when, the great stack of
chimneys coming suddenly into view against the broad disk of the still
unclouded moon, I perceived a thin trail of smoke soaring up from their
midst and realised, with a shock, that there should be no such sign of
life in a house I myself had closed, locked, and barred that very day.
I was the president of the club and felt responsible. Pausing only long
enough to make sure that I had yielded to no delusion, and that fire of
some kind was burning on one of the club-house's deserted hearths, I
turned in at the lower gateway. For reasons which I need not now state,
there were no bells attached to my cutter and consequently my approach
was noiseless. I was careful that it should be so, also careful to stop
short of the front door and leave my horse and sleigh in the black depths
of the pine-grove pressing up to the walls on either side. I was sure
that all was not as it should be inside these walls, but, as God lives, I
had no idea what was amiss or how deeply my own destiny was involved in
the step I was about to take.
Our club-house stands, as it may be necessary to remind you, on a knoll
thickly wooded with the ancient trees I have mentioned. These trees--all
pines and of a growth unusual and of an aspect well-nigh hoary--extend
only to the rear end of the house, where a wide stretch of gently
undulating ground opens at once upon the eye, suggesting to all lovers of
golf the admirable use to which it is put from early spring to latest
fall. Now, links, as well as parterres and driveways, are lying under an
even blanket of winter snow, and even the building, with its picturesque
gables and rows of be-diamonded windows, is well-nigh indistinguishable
in the shadows cast by the heavy pines, which soar above it and twist
their limbs over its roof and about its forsaken corners, with a moan and
a whisper always desolate to the sensitive ear, but from this night on,
simply appalling.
No other building stood within a half-mile in any direction. It was
veritably a country club, gay and full of life in the season, but
isolated and lonesome beyond description after winter had set in and
buried flower and leaf under a wide waste of untrodden snow.
I felt this isolation as I stepped from the edge of the trees and
prepared to cross the few feet of open space leading to the main door.
The sudden darkness instantly enveloping me, as the clouds, whose
advancing mass I had been watching, made their final rush upon the moon,
added its physical shock to this inner sense of desolation, and, in some
moods, I should have paused and thought twice before attempting the door,
behind which lurked the unknown with its naturally accompanying
suggestion of peril. But rage and disappointment, working hotly within
me, had left no space for fear. Rather rejoicing in the doubtfulness of
the adventure, I pushed my way over the snow until my feet struck the
steps. Here, instinct caused me to stop and glance quickly up and down
the building either way. Not a gleam of light met my eye from the
smallest scintillating pane. Was the house as soundless as it was dark?
I listened but heard nothing. I listened again and still heard nothing.
Then I proceeded boldly up the steps and laid my hand on the door.
It was unlatched and yielded to my touch. Light or no light, sound or no
sound there was some one within. The fire which had sent its attenuated
streak of smoke up into the moonlit air, was burning yet on one of the
many hearths within, and before it I should presently see--
Whom?
What?
The question scarcely interested me.
Nevertheless I proceeded to enter and close the door carefully behind me.
As I did so, I cast an involuntary glance without. The sky was inky and a
few wandering flakes of the now rapidly advancing storm came whirling in,
biting my cheeks and stinging my forehead.
Once inside, I stopped short, possibly to listen again, possibly to
assure myself as to what I had best do next. The silence was profound.
Not a sound disturbed the great, empty building. My own footfall, as I
stirred, seemed to wake extraordinary echoes. I had moved but a few
steps, yet to my heightened senses, the noise seemed loud enough to wake
the dead. Instinctively I stopped and stood stock-still. There was no
answering cessation of movement. Darkness, silence everywhere. Yet not
quite absolute darkness. As my eyes grew accustomed to the place, I found
it possible to discern the outlines of the windows and locate the stairs
and the arches where the side halls opened. I was even able to pick out
the exact spot where the great antlers spread themselves above the
hatrack, and presently the rack itself came into view, with its row of
empty pegs, yesterday so full, to-day quite empty. That rack interested
me,--I hardly knew why,--and regardless of the noise I made, I crossed
over to it and ran my hand along the wall underneath. The result was
startling. A man's coat and hat hung from one of the pegs.
I knew my business as president of this club. I also knew that no one
should be in the house at this time--that no one could be in it on any
honest errand. Some secret and sinister business must be at the bottom of
this mysterious intrusion immediately after the place had been shut for
the winter. Would this hat and coat identify the intruder? I would strike
a light and see. But this involved difficulties. The gas had been turned
off that very morning and I had no matches in my pocket. But I remembered
where they could be found. I had seen them when I passed through the
kitchen earlier in the day. They were very accessible from the end of the
hall where I stood. I had but to feel my way through a passage or two and
I should come to the kitchen door.
I began to move that way, and presently came creeping back, with a
match-box half full of matches in my hand. But I did not strike one then.
I had just made a move to do so, when the unmistakable sound of a door
opening somewhere in the house made me draw back into as quiet and dark a
place as I could find. This lay in the rear and at the right of the
staircase, and as the sound had appeared to come from above, it was the
most natural retreat that offered. And a good one I found it.
I had hardly taken up my stand when the darkness above gave way to a
faint glimmer, and a step became audible coming from some one of the
many small rooms in the second story, but so slowly and with such
evident hesitation that my imagination had ample time to work and fill
my mind with varying anticipations, each more disconcerting than the
last. Now I seemed to be listening to the movements of an intoxicated
man seeking an issue out of strange quarters, then to the wary approach
of one who had his own reasons for dread and was as conscious of my
presence as I was of his.
But the light, steadily increasing with each lagging but surely advancing
step, soon gave the lie to this latter supposition, since no sane man,
afraid of an ambush, would be likely to offer such odds to the one lying
in wait for him, as his own face illumined by a flaming candle, and I was
yielding to the bewilderment of the moment when the uncertain step paused
and a sob came faintly to my ears, wrung from lips so stiff with human
anguish that my fears took on new shape and the event a significance
which in my present mood of personal suffering and preoccupation was
anything but welcome. Indeed, I was coward enough to contemplate flight
and might in another moment have yielded to the unworthy impulse if the
sound of a second sigh had not struck shudderingly on my ear, followed by
the renewal of the step and the almost immediate appearance on the stairs
of a young girl holding a candle in one hand and shielding her left cheek
with the other.
Life offers few such shocks to any man, whatever his story or whatever
his temperament. I had been prepared by the sob I had heard to see a
woman, but not this woman. Nothing could have prepared me for an
encounter with this woman anywhere that night, after what had passed
between us and the wreck she had made of my life. But here! in a place so
remote and desolate I had hesitated to enter it myself! What was I to
think? How was I to reconcile so inconceivable a fact with what I knew of
her in the past, with what I hoped from her in the future.
To steady my thoughts and bring my whirling brain again under control, I
fixed my eyes on her well-known form and features as upon a stranger's
whom I would understand and judge. I have called her a woman and
certainly I had loved her as such, but as, in this moment of strange
detachment, I watched her descend, swaying foot following swaying foot
falteringly down the stairs, I was able to see that only the emotions
which denaturalised her expression were a woman's; that her features, her
pose, and the peculiar childlike contour of the one cheek open to view
were those of one whose yesterday was in the playroom.
But beautiful! You do not often see such beauty. Under all the
disfigurement of an agitation so great as to daunt me and make me
question if I were its sole cause, her face shone with an individual
charm which marked her out as one of the few who are the making or
marring of men, sometimes of nations. This is the heritage she was born
to, this her lot, not to be shirked, not to be evaded even now at her
early age of seventeen. So much any one could see even in a momentary
scrutiny of her face and figure. But what was not so clear, not even to
myself with the consciousness of what had passed between us during the
last few hours, was why her heart should have so outrun her years, and
the emotion I beheld betray such shuddering depths. Some grisly fear,
some staring horror had met her in this strange retreat. Simple grief
speaks with a different language from that which I read in her distorted
features and tottering, slowly creeping form. What had happened above?
She had escaped me to run upon what? My lips refused to ask, my limbs
refused to move, and if I breathed at all, I did so with such fierceness
of restraint that her eyes never turned my way, not even when she had
reached the lowest step and paused for a moment there, oscillating in
pain or uncertainty. Her face was turned more fully towards me now, and I
had just begun to discern something in it besides its tragic beauty, when
she made a quick move and blew out the candle she held. One moment that
magical picture of superhuman loveliness, then darkness, I might say
silence, for I do not think either of us so much as stirred for several
instants. Then there came a crash, followed by the sound of flying feet.
She had flung the candlestick out of her hand and was hurriedly crossing
the hail. I thought she was coming my way, and instinctively drew back
against the wall. But she stopped far short of me, and I heard her
groping about, then give a sudden spring towards the front door. It
opened and the wind soughed in. I felt the chill of snow upon my face,
and realised the tempest. Then all was quiet and dark again. She had slid
quickly out and the door had swung to behind her. Another instant and I
heard the click of the key as it turned in the lock, heard it and made no
outcry, such the spell, such the bewilderment of my faculties! But once
the act was accomplished and egress made difficult, nay, for the moment,
impossible, I felt all lesser emotions give way to an anxiety which
demanded immediate action, for the girl had gone out without wraps or
covering for her head, and my experience of the evening had told me how
cold it was. I must follow and find her and rescue her if possible from
the snow. The distance was long to town, the cold would seize and perhaps
prostrate her, after which, the wind and snow would do the rest.
Throwing myself against the door, I shook it violently. It was immovable.
Then I flew to the windows. Their fastenings yielded readily enough, but
not the windows themselves; one had a broken cord, another seemed glued
to its frame, and I was still struggling with the latter when I heard a
sound which lifted the hair on my head and turned my whole attention back
to what lay behind and above me. There was still some one in the house. I
had forgotten everything in this apparition of the woman I have described
in a place so disassociated with any conception I could possibly have of
her whereabouts on this especial evening. But this noise, short, sharp,
but too distant to be altogether recognisable, roused doubts which once
awakened changed the whole tenor of my thoughts and would not let me rest
till I had probed the house from top to bottom. To find Carmel Cumberland
alone in this desolation was a mystifying discovery to which I had found
it hard enough to reconcile myself. But Carmel here in company with
another at the very moment when I had expected the fruition of my own
joy,--ah, that was to open hell's door in my breast; a possibility too
intolerable to remain unsettled for an instant. Though she had passed out
before my eyes in a drooping, almost agonised condition, not she, dear as
she was, and great as were my fears in her regard, was to be sought out
first, but the man! The man who was back of all this, possibly back of my
disappointment; the man whose work I may have witnessed, but at whose
identity I could not even guess.
Leaving the window, I groped my way along the wall until I reached the
rack where the man's coat and hat hung. Whether it was my intention to
carry them away and hide them, in my anxiety to secure this intruder and
hold him to a bitter account for the misery he was causing me, or whether
I only meant to satisfy myself that they were the habiliments of a
stranger and not those of some sneaking member of the club, is of little
importance in the light of the fact which presently burst upon me. The
hat and coat were gone. Nothing hung from the rack. The wall was free
from end to end. She had taken these articles of male apparel with her;
she had not gone forth into the driving snow, unprotected, but--
I did not know what to think. No acquaintanceship with her girlish
impulses, nothing that had occurred between us before or during this
night, had prepared me for a freak of this nature. I felt backward
along the wall; I felt forward; I even handled the pegs and counted
them as I passed to and fro, touching every one; but I could not alter
the fact. The groping she had done had been in this direction. She was
searching for this hat and coat (a man's hat,--a derby, as I had been
careful to assure myself at the first handling) and, in them, she had
gone home as she had probably come, and there was no man in the case,
or if there were--
The doubt drove me to the staircase. Making no further effort to unravel
the puzzle which only beclouded my faculties, I began my wary ascent. I
had not the slightest fear, I was too full of cold rage for that.
The arrangement of rooms on the second floor was well known to me. I
understood every nook and corner and could find my way about the whole
place without a light. I took but one precaution--that of slipping off
my shoes at the foot of the stairs. I wished to surprise the intruder. I
was willing to resort to any expedient to accomplish this. The matches I
carried in my pocket would make this possible if once I heard him
breathing. I held my own breath as I stole softly up, and waited for an
instant at the top of the stairs to listen. There was an awesome silence
everywhere, and I was hesitating whether to attack the front rooms first
or to follow up a certain narrow hall leading to a rear staircase, when
I remembered the thin line of smoke which, rising from one of the
chimneys, had first attracted my attention to the house. In that was my
clue. There was but one room on this floor where a fire could be lit.
It lay a few feet beyond me down the narrow hall I have just mentioned.
Why had I trusted everything to my ears when my nose would have been a
better guide? As I took the few steps necessary, a slight smell of smoke
became very perceptible, and no longer in doubt of my course, I pushed
boldly on and entering the half-open door, struck a match and peered
anxiously about.
Emptiness here just as everywhere else. A few chairs, a dresser,--it was
a ladies' dressing-room,--some smouldering ashes on the hearth, a lounge
piled up with cushions. But no person. The sound I had heard had not
issued from this room, yet something withheld me from seeking further.
Chilled to the bone, with teeth chattering in spite of myself, I paused
just inside the door, and when the match went out in my hand remained
shivering there in the darkness, a prey to sensations more nearly
approaching those of fear than any I had ever before experienced in my
whole life.
II
IT WAS SHE--SHE INDEED!
Look on death itself!--up, up, and see
The great doom's visage!
_Macbeth_.
Why, I did not know. There seemed to be no reason for this excess of
feeling. I had no dread of attack; my apprehension was of another sort.
Besides, any attack here must come from the rear--from the open doorway
in which I stood--and my dread lay before me, in the room itself, which,
as I have already said, appeared to be totally empty. What could occasion
my doubts, and why did I not fly the place? There were passage-ways yet
to search, why linger here like a gaby in the dark when perhaps the man I
believed to be in hiding somewhere within these walls, was improving the
opportunity to escape?
If I asked myself this question, I did not answer it, but I doubt if I
asked it then. I had forgotten the intruder; the interest which had
carried me thus far had become lost in a fresher one of which the
beginning and ending lay hidden within the four walls I now stared upon,
unseeing. Not to see and yet to feel--did that make the horror? If so,
another lighted match must help me out. I struck one while the thought
was hot within me, and again took a look at the room.
I noted but one thing new, but that made me reel back till I was half way
into the hall. Then a certain dogged persistency I possess came to my
rescue, and I re-entered the room at a leap and stood before the lounge
and its pile of cushions. They were numerous,--all that the room
contained, and more! Chairs had been stripped, window-seats denuded, and
the whole collection disposed here in a set way which struck me as
unnatural. Was this the janitor's idea? I hardly thought so, and was
about to pluck one of these cushions off, when that most unreasonable
horror seized me again and I found myself looking back over my shoulder
at the fireplace from which rose a fading streak of smoke which some
passing gust, perhaps, had blown out into the room.
I felt sick. Was it the smell? It was not that of burning wood, hardly of
burning paper, I--but here my second match went out.
Thoroughly roused now (you will say, by what?) I felt my way out of the
room and to the head of the staircase. I remembered the candle and
candlestick I had heard thrown down on the lower floor by Carmel
Cumberland. I would secure them and come back and settle these uncanny
doubts. It might be the veriest fool business, but my mind was
disturbed and must be set at ease. Nothing else seemed so important,
yet I was not without anxiety for the lovely and delicate woman
wandering the snow-covered roads in the teeth of a furious gale, any
more than I was dead to the fact that I should never forgive myself if
I allowed the man to escape whom I believed to be hiding somewhere in
the rear of this house.
I had a hunt for the candlestick and a still longer one for the candle,
but finally I recovered both, and, lighting the latter, felt myself, for
the first time, more or less master of the situation.
Rapidly regaining the room in which my interest was now centred, I set
the candlestick down on the dresser, and approached the lounge. Hardly
knowing what I feared, or what I expected to find, I tore off one of the
cushions and flung it behind me. More cushions were revealed--but that
was not all.
Escaping from the edge of one of them I saw a shiny tress of woman's
hair. I gave a gasp and pulled off more cushions, then I fell on my
knees, struck down by the greatest horror which a man can feel. Death lay
before me--violent, uncalled-for death--and the victim was a woman. But
it was not that. Though the head was not yet revealed, I thought I knew
the woman and that she--Did seconds pass or many minutes before I lifted
that last cushion? I shall never know. It was an eternity to me and I am
not of a sentimental cast, but I have some sort of a conscience and
during that interval it awoke. It has never quite slept since.
The cushion had not concealed the hands, but I did not look at
them--I did not dare. I must first see the face. But I did not twitch
this pillow off; I drew it aside slowly, as though held by the
restraining clutch of some one behind me. And I was so held, but not
by what was visible--rather by the terrors which gather in the soul
at the summons of some dreadful doom. I could not meet the certainty
without some preparation. I released another strand of hair; then
the side of a cheek, half buried out of sight in the loosened locks
and bulging pillows; then, with prayers to God for mercy, an icy
brow; two staring eyes--which having seen I let the cushion drop,
for mercy was not to be mine.
It was _she_, she, indeed! and judgment was glassed in the look I
met--judgment and nothing more kindly, however I might appeal to
Heaven for mercy or whatever the need of my fiercely startled and
repentant soul.
Dead! Adelaide! the woman I had planned to wrong that very night, and who
had thus wronged me! For a moment I could take in nothing but this one
astounding fact, then the how and the why woke in maddening curiosity
within me, and seizing the cushion, I dragged it aside and stared down
into the pitiful and accusing features thus revealed, as though to tear
from them the story of the crime which had released me as I would not
have been released, no, not to have had my heart's desire in all the
fulness with which I had contemplated it a few short hours before.