CHAPTER XXIX.

THE THIRD WARNING.

Susan saw that her opportunity had arrived. She conceived the devilish plan of striking another blow at Mary, while she was in the sensitive condition of approaching maternity.

So maddened by her hate was this woman that she even thought of gaining access to her enemy's baby when it was born, and stealing it from her, or, perhaps, killing it; but she dismissed this as too perilous to be practicable; for her malice had not made her altogether reckless of consequences.

She felt that there must be some other method as sure, though free from danger to herself, by which she might attack the mind of Mary with a sudden shock from which she could never recover. But how to carry out this design? To write another letter was out of the question. Susan Riley dared not commit to writing the venom with which she determined to complete her work.

Time pa.s.sed by and she felt greatly disgusted with herself that she had so far been unable to devise anything. All her ingenuity could not discover a means of satisfying her hate, tempered as it was by cowardice.

One morning she read the announcement of the birth of Mary's child in the papers--"The wife of Dr. H. Duncan of a son." The words seemed to burn themselves into her brain.

So entirely was she the slave of her mania of hate that she now neglected her business and employed the greater portion of each day in watching the home in St. John's Wood.

She did not herself question the doctor's servants, as it might stand in the way of future plans to be recognized by them, but she discovered several shops at which the family dealt, and would go into these under the pretext of buying some small article, and elicit a good deal of information by means of casual inquiries about Mrs. Duncan.

She learnt that Mary was "doing well, but suffering from great weakness."

There was one old woman who kept a newspaper shop. She was very fond of a gossip with a customer, and was also wont to take a deep interest in all her neighbours' affairs, prying a.s.siduously into them whenever possible.

Susan had soon discovered these useful traits in the old woman's character, so often called on her with the object of sounding her.

One day, about a week after the birth of Mary's child, Susan went into the shop and purchased a copy of _The Guardian_ newspaper.

"Good morning, Mrs. Harris," she said, "I have not seen you for some days; I hope you are well."

"As well as can be expected, Miss, in this world of misery and trouble."

"Why, Mrs. Harris, I should not have thought that the world was using you very hardly. But I suppose when one is a sympathetic soul like you, ever thinking over other people's woes, one gets through a good deal of suffering by proxy."

Mrs. Harris hardly understood the meaning of the words, certainly not the sarcastic drift of them, but took them as a complimentary tribute to the tenderness of her heart; so she shook her curls slowly backwards and forwards and looked mournful.

"Ah yes, Miss!" she said, "I really do think that I take as much interest in other peoples' sorrows as in my own."

"As a true Christian should," replied Susan, biting her lips to conceal the smile she could scarcely keep down. "I noticed how feelingly you spoke about that poor lady who had the baby the other day--the doctor's wife--Mrs. Duncan I think her name was. How is she getting on now, by the way, Mrs. Harris--have you heard?"

"Poor thing! Poor thing!" said the old lady in a lackadaisical voice, putting on a very solemn expression and shaking her corkscrew curls again.

"Is she worse then?" asked Susan.

"No, no! It is not that--at least not exactly that. I believe that her confinement has pa.s.sed by in a very satisfactory way; but--" and she shook her head yet once again in a mysterious fashion.

"I do not quite understand you," observed Susan.

"If I were a gossip, which I am glad to say I am not," spoke up Mrs.

Harris in deliberate tones, "I might say strange things about that house."

"Good gracious! what _do_ you mean?"

"Her husband is a popular man hereabouts it is true--but--" and Mrs.

Harris shut her mouth with a snap, as if determined to say no more.

"You don't mean to say that her husband ill-treats her!"

"No, Miss! I don't exactly say that, I don't know that he does. All I say is that it is very, very strange, but I'd rather say nothing more about it, Miss."

Susan made no further remark just then, but proceeded to select and purchase a few copies of _The Family Herald_; she knew that if she waited a little longer, the old lady's gossiping instincts would compel her to tell all her story, even without any questioning.

"Do you think, Miss," Mrs. Harris recommenced at last, "that a lady with everything she can have in the way of comfort around her, could get pale and melancholy and hardly ever speak a word to anyone for weeks, without any reason at all?"

"No, I should think not--that is unless she is becoming mad," replied Susan.

"Now that's exactly it, Miss! _Is_ she becoming mad, or is she ill-treated by her husband--it's one or the other--now which is it?"

"Did you say that they quarrelled?"

"I have spoken with the servants--they come over here to get a paper now and again. _They_ say there never was a kinder husband than the doctor--but they can't tell--it may be all his deceit like. I once read of a husband--he was a doctor too--and his wife began to ail; she got paler and thinner and weaker every day. He pretended to love her so much, and was so concerned about her, and he nursed her himself, and allowed none but himself to prepare her food. Well do you know, Miss, at last she died--and what do you think was discovered afterwards?" At this point of her narrative she put on her spectacles and looked steadfastly at Susan.

"I really cannot imagine--what was it?"

"He had been poisoning her all the time for her money--There!" whispered Mrs. Harris in a melo-dramatic voice.

"Dear me! how shocking! you make my flesh creep. And do you really think that this Dr. Duncan is doing the same?" asked Susan, much amused at the old woman's folly.

"No, no, Miss, don't go away and think I believe that," Mrs. Harris exclaimed in alarm; "all I say is that it's strange--very strange indeed."

"And what do the servants think about it?"

"They think that there's something wrong here," and she tapped her forehead. "The maid says she's got the horrors like. She's very afraid about her baby; she seems to think that there's some harm coming to it; she won't let it out of her sight, and when anyone comes into the room, she starts and trembles fearful. They say, Miss, that it's just as if she had a delusion that everyone wanted to murder the child. Now that ain't natural like, allowing for all a mother's affection."

"It is indeed very strange," said Susan musingly; "but I must not waste your time any longer, Mrs. Harris--I am a sad gossip. Good morning to you, I will see you again soon."

So this was Mary's vulnerable point. Susan had suspected as much. She fancied that it would not be very difficult to make use of this extreme anxiety of the mother for her child.

As she came out of the shop she noticed an old woman, shabbily dressed in black and much bent with age, tottering feebly along the pavement on the opposite side of the street with a large basket on her arm.

Had Susan kept her eyes as open as usual during these expeditions to St.

John's Wood, she would have observed, before this, that she herself was not the only person who was acting the detective round Dr. Duncan's house. On nearly every occasion that she had come to the neighbourhood, the shabby old woman had been there too, d.o.g.g.i.ng her footsteps, watching her movements unsuspected, spying the spy.

Susan had contrived to discover that Dr. Duncan was in the habit every Sat.u.r.day of visiting a patient who lived a considerable way out of London. Failing, as I have said, with all her cleverness, to mature a definite plan of action, she determined to risk all, and call boldly on Mary while her husband was away on the following Sat.u.r.day.

She had a great confidence in her luck; she felt that something would turn up to favour her purpose, if she once gained admittance into the house. Knowing Mary as she did, she considered that it would not be difficult to terrify her again into her former crazed state.

For a few days prior to her contemplated visit Susan was very fidgety; so to occupy her mind and prevent it from dwelling too anxiously on the perils of her task, she employed herself in a way which was peculiarly congenial and interesting to her. She set to work to forge as well as she was able--and she succeeded very fairly--a variety of doc.u.ments; some purported to be letters from Catherine King, and other members of the late Secret Society; there were copies too of imaginary warrants for the arrest of unknown persons, whose appearance was carefully described.