Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 by Plots (and) Counterplots (v1.1) Page A

           “Last
night?” exclaimed Mrs. Berkeley, full of interest at once.
                 “Yes, madam—at one o’clock last night.”
                 “How charming! Tell us all about it; I dote upon ghosts, yet
never saw one,” said Mrs. Vane.
                 Douglas narrated his adventure. The elder ladies
looked disturbed, Diana incredulous; and Mrs. Vane filled the room with her
silvery laughter, as Harry protested that no ghost belonged to the house, and
George explained the mystery as being the nightmare.
                 “I
never have it; neither do I walk in my sleep, and seldom dream,” replied Douglas . “I perfectly remember rising, partially
dressing, and going down to the library, up the private stairs, and examining
the door. This may be proved by the key, now changed to my side of the lock,
and the train of wax which dropped from my candle as I hurried along.”
                 “What
woke you?” asked Mrs. Vane.
                 “I
cannot tell; some slight sound, probably, although I do not remember hearing
any, and fancy it was an instinctive sense of danger.”
                 “That
door could not have been opened without much noise, for the key was rusted in
the lock. We tried to turn it the other day, and could not, so were forced to
go round by the great gallery to reach that room.”
                 Diana
spoke, and for the first time since they parted in the park, Douglas looked at and addressed her.
                 “You
have explored the private passage then, and tried the door? May I ask when?”
                 “Harry
was showing us the house; anything mysterious pleased us ,
so we went up, tried the rusty key, and finding it immovable, we came down
again.”
                 “Of
whom was the party composed?”
                 “My aunt, Mrs. Vane, and myself, accompanied by Harry.”
                 “Then
I must accuse Harry of the prank, for both key and lock have been newly oiled,
and the door opens easily and noiselessly, as you may prove if you like. He
must have had an accomplice among the housemaids, for it was a woman's hand
that took the ring. She doubtless passed it to him, and while I was preparing
to sally forth, both ran away —one to hide, the other to wait till I left my
room, when he slipped in and restored the ring. Was that it, Hal?”
                 As Douglas spoke, all looked at Harry; but the boy
shook his head, and triumphantly replied to his brother:
                 “George
will tell you that your accusation is entirely unjust; and as he sat up till
dawn, writing poetry, I could not have left him without his knowledge.”
                 “True,
Hal—you had nothing to do with it, I know. Did you distinctly see the hand that
purloined your ring, Earl?” asked Lennox ,
anxious to divert attention from the revelation of his poetical amusements.
                 “No;
the room was dusky, and the hand muffled in something dark. But it was no
ghostly hand, for as it was hastily withdrawn when I sprang up, the wrapper
slipped aside, and I saw white human flesh, and the outlines of a woman’s arm.”
                 “Was
it a beautiful arm?” asked Lennox ,
with his eyes upon Mrs. Vane’s, which lay like a piece of sculptured marble
against the red velvet cushion of her chair.
                 “Very
beautiful, I should say; for in that hasty glimpse it looked too fair to belong
to any servant, and when I found this hanging to the lock, I felt assured that
my spirit was a lady, for housemaids do not wear anything like this, I fancy,”
and Douglas produced a shred of black lace, evidently torn from some costly
flounce or scarf.
                The ladies put their heads together
over the scrap, and all pronounced it quite impossible for any dressing maid