A Woman's Burden: A Novel

"There you will have to give some proof of what you say!"

"I can do so – in one word – Jabez!"

Miriam reeled, deadly white, and but for the support of a chair she caught she would have fallen. The blow was so unexpected, so suddenly delivered, that she knew not how to parry it.

"Jabez," she murmured, pale to the lips; "Jabez!"

"Yes, Jabez," cried Mrs. Darrow, following up her advantage. "Fie on you, you horrible woman! meeting low creatures behind the church and plotting murder!"

"Ah! you followed. Yes, Mr. Barton told me you did."

"Yes, I did follow you in the interests of purity. And it is well I did, for I found out what you are, a low, wicked – "

Miriam held up her hand and stepped forward so suddenly that Mrs. Darrow stopped short.

She saw how perilous was her position; and she nerved herself to cope with it.

"Silence!" she cried peremptorily. "You shall not abuse me in this way. If you have any definite charge to make, state it, and the evidence on which you have it."

"I accuse your lover, Jabez, of killing my poor uncle to steal that will and ruin Gerald Arkel, and I accuse you of aiding and abetting him."

"That is at least concise," said Miriam bitterly; "and your evidence?"

"I heard Jabez say that he would 'knife' Mr. Barton if he interfered with him."

"Quite so; well, as Mr. Barton did not interfere with Jabez, evidently the motive was wanting. As to my having been a party to anything calculated to harm either Mr. Arkel or Mr. Barton, that is a foul lie, such as only yourself could invent."

Mrs. Darrow rose and drew her shawl round her.

"We shall see what the inspector says," she said savagely. "I shall tell him all I overheard, and formally charge you."

"There is no need for you to do that," replied Miriam. "I shall go to the inspector myself and tell him everything."

"You dare not," cried the widow.

"Not only dare, but will! I leave your house at once, and apply to Major Dundas for the salary due to me."

"Yes, and take to your heels, no doubt – but I'll see you don't get very far, my lady."

"As far as Southampton, whither Major Dundas will, I have no doubt, accompany me. There, fortunately, I shall be able to put it out of your power to harm me. I will not say what I think of you further than to pity from the bottom of my heart the poor dear little child who has the misfortune to call you mother." Then, without another word, Miriam left the room.

Upstairs she packed her box, dressed herself, and went off to bid good-bye to Dicky. The child's nervous system had received a severe shock at the sight of the dead man's body. Since the fatal night they had been obliged to keep him in bed. Now, although more composed, he was still acutely nervous. When Miriam entered the nursery he started up with a slight cry. She took him in her arms, and could feel that he was trembling.

"Hush, Dicky dear!" she said, kissing him, "I have come to say good-bye to you just for a little while."

"Oh!" the boy clung to her and wept. "You are not going away, Miss Crane?"

"Yes, dear – I must." She had not the heart to tell him the whole truth. "But I shall come back and see you again very soon. I am only going up to London; and while I am away Dicky is going to be a brave boy, isn't he?"

"I promise – I promise; but I was so afraid when I saw Uncle Barton like that."

"Yes, dear, I know. But poor Uncle Barton is very happy now; you mustn't think any more about him. Tell me, Dicky, do you remember if the library window was open when you went in to see him?"

"Yes, wide open, Miss Crane." Dicky shuddered. "And when I touched Uncle Barton he fell on one side just like a doll. And when I saw his face I was so afraid, and I felt so giddy and I fell right down – "

"Did you see anyone, Dicky?"

"Oh, no, I saw no one."

"Did you hear anything?"

"Oh yes, the wind. I was so afraid of it. And I was so afraid of Uncle Barton too – he was so white, and he couldn't speak, and his mouth was open, and his eyes looked funny. Oh, Miss Crane, dead people are horrid – I can't bear them!"

"Yes, dear; we won't talk any more about it. Look, here is my gold chain, and while I am away I want you to wear it for my sake – will you?"

Dicky's fancy was caught at once.

"Oh, thank you; thank you, Miss Crane," he said, kissing her. "Now I will be your knight. The Knight of the Golden Chain. Oh, I shall always wear it, and I shall never forget you, Miss Crane, never! Must you go?"

"Yes, dear; I must go now. But some day I'll see my Dicky again. Perhaps he'll be a big boy then, and be going to school. You'll think of me even then, dear, won't you? – and of the walks and the talks we used to have? Oh, Dicky, it is so hard for me to leave you! You won't forget me? You must never forget your Miriam!" She pressed the boy's face to her own and let the tears run freely. Then with one last effort she dragged herself from him, and passed quickly out of the room.

She went straight to the village inn and ordered a fly to call and take her to the station in an hour. Then she walked up to the Manor House, and inquired for Major Dundas. He was in, and saw her at once. Indeed, so marked was the eagerness of his greeting that Miriam instinctively became more reserved.

"Major Dundas," she said, coming to the point at once, "I am indeed sorry to trouble you, but I thought it only right to come straight to you and tell you how I am placed. Mrs. Darrow has dismissed me. That of itself is nothing; but on the plea that she did not engage me, she has refused to pay the salary due, so I – "

"My dear Miss Crane," interrupted the Major, "you astonish me. Surely Mrs. Darrow – "

"Mrs. Darrow hates me," said Miriam bitterly. "In that you have the explanation of everything. She is only gratifying her spite by turning me out of her house. Not, as I say, that I mind that; but I felt sure in the circumstances you would rather I came to you."

"Of course; you did perfectly right. I shall certainly remonstrate with Mrs. Darrow about this. Let me see, your salary is – "

"Fifty pounds a year," said Miriam coldly, "and there are six months due to me."

Something in her tone prevented the Major speaking further. In silence he sat down to write a cheque, and in silence he handed it to her. She put it in her purse.

"I should like to write you a receipt for this, Major Dundas, if you don't mind."

"My dear Miss Crane, there is not the least necessity."

"Oh, thanks, I think I should prefer to be quite business-like. And perhaps you will show this to Mrs. Darrow." She sat down to the table, and producing a stamp from her purse, affixed it to her acknowledgment of the money. "There," she said, handing it to him, "I think that is sufficient. And now, before I go, there is something else I must speak to you about. When I leave here, I am going straight to the Police Station at Southampton to see the inspector."

"In Heaven's name what for!" exclaimed the perplexed Major.

"Because Mrs. Darrow accuses me of having aided and abetted someone to murder Mr. Barton and steal his will."

"Mrs. Darrow has dared to say that? She is mad!"

"No, hardly mad – malicious," replied Miriam with a faint smile. "But you will hear all she has got to say very shortly. She is sure to come to you with it."