"She left him ten thousand pounds," Marianne exclaimed. "Such a paltry sum!"
"You can afford to sneer at it, since you were left almost two hundred thousand."
"I have no intention of keeping it. I told you that." Marianne twisted the ring on her finger. "This is the only keepsake I want."
"How high-minded you are! Ten thousand pounds is a great sum of money for a poor doctor, I assure you, especially when he has a wounded son to take care of. But therein lies the greatest irony of all, to my mind; the only way Gruffstone could get his inheritance was by getting someone else much more. He knew the Duchess had put off making a will; it was likely that she would never do so. Hence the mad, brilliant scheme occurred to him – why not supply an heir whom she would wish to benefit, and so be inspired to do what she had postponed so long? He knew she would remember him, she had often expressed her intentions of doing so. And – mark the irony – the only heir who might rouse such an interest in her was another David Holmes. Holmes could not be resurrected – so the doctor believed, little knowing the truth – nor would he want to do so. But the Duchess had often mentioned her fantasy about a child of Holmes – that was all it was, her desire to believe that something of the man she loved remained on earth. Gruffstone hit on this as his means to an inheritance, and subtly fanned her vague hope into a burning obsession. He of all people knew how seriously ill the Duchess was. Time was growing short. So he began his search for a girl who could pass as Holmes's daughter. It took him almost two years, for finding the right person was difficult. She had to be an orphan, without kin who could prove her true parentage. And she had to be a lady of breeding; the Duchess would never accept a common girl of the streets as her dear David's child. He even used me in the search," Carlton added, with a disgusted look. "When I mentioned you -"
Here he came to a stop; and Marianne said sweetly, "I wonder why you did. What was it about me that struck you?"
"You were only one of many young – er- ladies whom I have had cause to mention to other men," Carlton replied. "And admit it, my dear; you were an anomaly in that place, it was part of your charm. To proceed- if your vanity is satisfied? – Gruffstone was growing desperate by the time you so providentially appeared. Your appearance and manners suited his requirements, and by a skillful use of drugs and mesmerism he managed to get some rather nice performances out of you before your conscience, exacerbated by St. John's threats of damnation, rose up in arms and overcame Gruffstone's suggestions.
"Unfortunately, though you were an orphan, there were people who could prove beyond a doubt that you were Squire Ransom's daughter. Gruffstone could not afford to wait any longer. So he lied about his investigations. Naturally I did not think of doubting him at first, but when my suspicions awoke I made a journey there myself and discovered he had been less than candid. It was not at all difficult to trace your mother's personal maid, who had been with her when you were born. Emily Bateson is an old woman now, but her mind is perfectly clear, and she certainly is not dead.
"So then I knew Gruffstone was guilty. But I had a frightful time getting proof. Every clue I investigated failed me; I even found it was exactly what it purported to be. I suppose that when he wanted to drug you he slipped the stuff into your glass of wine or your cup of tea. But he did not resort to such means often; he had already established his mesmeric power over your mind, and so long as he did not ask you to do anything contrary to your moral sense you slid in and out of trances very obligingly."
"You went to Yorkshire!" Marianne exclaimed, ignoring the remainder of his speech. "So that was where you were when I was so nearly stolen away. Whom else did you see, besides my mother's maid?"
"I saw Mrs. Jay." Carlton looked seriously at her. "Marianne, I had not wanted to tell you this so soon after… but perhaps you are strong enough to bear it now."
"You need not tell me," Marianne said quietly. "I know. Mrs. Jay is dead."
"She was a dying woman when I saw her. The doctor gave her only a short time. But she may still -"
"No. She died last week. I expect I will receive a letter today or tomorrow."
"How do you know?"
"I saw her. One night, in my room, as I sat by the fire. She smiled at me and made a gesture of farewell. You needn't raise your eyebrows and look skeptical! There has been a great deal of hocus-pokery in this affair, but that does not mean some true visions have not occurred. She loved me and she was deeply concerned for me; and she came."
"I would not for all the world destroy such a comforting idea," Carlton said. "So what will you do now?"
"Go back to London. Mrs. Shortbody will take me in, I daresay; I will find another post. Surely there cannot be two Mrs. Pettibones looking for a governess."
She spoke cheerfully, but she could not bring herself to look at Carlton. Knowing her heart at last, the thought of leaving him was almost more than she could bear. However, she was not totally despondent; for some of the things he had said, she thought she could guess why he had arbitrarily removed her from the unenviable position of chief suspect.
"Then you were sincere when you spoke of giving up your inheritance?" Carlton asked.
"Certainly."
"That makes things more difficult. I don't know that I could marry a girl with less than two hundred thousand pounds."
Then at last Marianne looked him in the face. But only for a moment; he caught her in his arms, and her eyes closed as his lips found hers.
He let her go at last, but only to fold her close and press her head against his breast.
"I will give you the spirit of Mrs. Jay," he said, breathless with laughter and another, more satisfactory, emotion. "But I really must insist on no more experiments with the occult. It is all nonsense, my dear; absolute balderdash, as the doctor used to… What is the matter with you?"
Marianne shook her head dizzily. "But that is what he said," she stuttered.
"I know he did. I was quoting him."
"No, no. That is what he said just before I went into one of those spells you were talking about. I remember now. For an instant, when you spoke the words, I felt quite giddy."
"Ah, so that was it. Posthypnotic suggestion, according to MacGregor; and that was the key phrase that would send you tumbling into your trance. All explained rationally and scientifically, you see. No spirits."
"All but one thing," Marianne said. They linked arms and began strolling up and down before the castle, reluctant to resume the mundane duties that awaited them.
"Oh? And what is that?"
"Mr. Holmes. How did he know to come back just when he did?"
Carlton looked utterly taken aback. "The anniversary of his death?" he hazarded.
"Why this one? There have been many others. Oh, I know what you are going to say – the newspaper story. But can you imagine Mr. Holmes, or any of the other priests, reading that scandalous sheet?"
"He had been staying at the inn for some days," Carlton muttered.
"That only makes his presence more remarkable. He knew, Roger. And you must admit that, but for him, the doctor would still be free and enjoying his legacy. You could never have proved him guilty of anything."
"Curse it." Carlton scowled. "Give me time. I'll think of an explanation."
"I am sure you will," Marianne said.
Barbara Michaels
