David Lindsay - The Haunted Woman

A minute afterwards a well-dressed man of middle age entered the room. He had a florid German-looking face, and a bald forehead; he was wearing braided trousers, with an irreproachable frock-coat. Isbel took him to be the hotel manage.

"You are Miss Loment, madam?" he asked with suave gravity, gazing at the card in his hand.

She replied in the affirmative.

"You are inquiring for Mrs. Richborough?"

Isbel had risen to her feet.

"Yes; I wish to see her."

"You are a relative, madam?"

"Oh, no. Why?"

"It is my regrettable duty to inform you that Mrs. Richborough was taken suddenly ill in her room last night, and died almost immediately afterwards. A medical man fortunately was in attendance."

"Oh, good heavens!…" Isbel grasped the chair-back to steady herself.

"The precise time was 9.15. It was very sudden, and very sad…Naturally, we are anxious that this should not be known among the other guests. I feel sure that I can rely upon your discretion, madam."

"Oh, what a tragedy!…But surely Mr. Judge know of it?"

"Yes, Mr. Judge does know."

"Could I speak to him a minute, please? Will you send my name up?"

"I regret that it is impossible, madam. Mr. Judge left us this morning."

" Left you?…Do you mean he has gone away-altogether?"

"Yes, madam; he has returned to London."

"But-has he taken his things with him? Isn't he coming back?"

"No, he is not coming back…One moment, madam…" He consulted the card in his hand. "I believe he has left a letter for you in charge of the office. If you will pardon me, I will go and inquire."

Isbel could not even find words to thank him. She sat down, feeling as if the roof had fallen upon her. She understood that a catastrophe had happened, but she was unable to realise its final significance.

It was the clerk who brought the letter in, a moment or two later. She handed it to Isbel with a pleasant smile, and instantly retired.

She broke the seal with clumsy haste. The letter ran as follows:

"My dear Miss Loment.

"I am sorry to inform you that Mrs. Richborough died suddenly last night of heart failure. The doctor who attended her earlier in the evening had ordered her to bed, and she went there, but a little while late, according to her maid's evidence, she insisted upon rising in order to write an urgent letter, which letter she further insisted upon posting in the hotel box with her own hand. The additional strain upon her lowered vitality which this entailed evidently proved too much for her, for half an hour afterwards she ws discovered lying in a dying condition in her room. There will of course be an inquest.

"Under the sad circumstances, I feel that any meeting between us would be improper-doubtless you will agree with me. I have accordingly made my arrangements to return at once to town, and by the time you receive this letter-assuming that you have made your promised visit to Worthing-I shall be already on my way back there.

"I think it will be wise if we allow a considerable time to elapse before attempting to see one another again. We have both, I am afraid, acted rather more impulsively than is altogether consistent with worldly prudence, and, to put it at the lowest, an interval for reflection and a cool weighing of the whole situation will certainly not harm either of us. You will understand, of course, that I blame myself far more than you for the unfortunate happenings of the past few days.

"I am leaving my town address with the hotel people should you desire to write me a line in reply. I do not ask it.

"I do not say adieu, for I sincerely hope that at some future time we shall see a great deal of each other.

"Believe me to be, my dear Miss Loment, your earnest friend and well-wisher.

"Henry Judge"

After flashing through the letter from beginning to end, to extract its message, Isbel allowed it to slip from her hand, while she sat back with close eyes…Then she picked it up again, and twice re-read it, word by word. During the perusal her bosom rose and sank the blood mounting to her face, and once or twice she laughed…

Crushing the sheets into her handbag, she closed it with an angry snap.

So that was over!…

The manager escorted her to the outer door. At the foot of the hotel steps she came to a standstill, not knowing in the least what to do, or where to go. She caught sight of an elegantly dressed lady, in expensive furs, who was in the act of entering a closed car not five yards away from where she was standing. The chauffeur wsa taking his final instructions, preparatory to assuming his seat. The lady's back was towards her, but somehow her figure struck a familiar chord.

"…But first of all, Runhill court," said the unknown, as she stooped to get in.

Isbel felt bemused. It was not the destination named which dismayed her faculties, and made her feel as though she were in a dream-though this destination was extraordinary enough, in all conscience-but the intonation with which the words were uttered. That sweet, sinking whisper belonged only to one person of her acquaintance, and she could not conceive a second voice like it in the world. It was Mrs. Richborough's…

As the car drove off she obtained a single rapid glimpse of the lady's face. Mrs. Richborough was dead, and therefore it could not be she; but, then, it must be her twin sister. The resemblance was absolutely uncanny…Well, it was not difficult to understand why a sister should be there at such a distressful time-but what in the world was she doing at Runhill? What possible interest could she have in that house? Evidently some mystery was afoot…Could it be that Judge had arranged a meeting with her there in order to talk over the affairs of her late sister? But what affairs could there be to discuss between them? And why select that out-of-the-way spot for the interview? What did it all mean?…

She turned to the smart-looking young hotel door-porter, who still stood gazing after the car. "Who is that lady?"

"Lady Brooke, miss."

"Is she in any way related to the late Mrs. Richborough, do you know?"

"I've never seen them together, miss, and I should say it's very unlikely. Lady Brooke is a very exclusive lady."

"She did tell the chauffeur Runhill Court, didn't she?"

"No, miss-Arundel," was the surprised answer.

Isbel was greatly perplexed, but thought it wise to ask no more questions about her. She inquired for, and was directed to the nearest hiring garage in the neighbourhood of the hotel.

It had entered her mind that she, too, must go to Runhill, though what she expected to accomplish by so doing, she had no idea…that the door-porter must have received certain instructions-or, perhaps he had mistaken the person she had referred to. She knew that it was either Mrs. Richborough or her twin-sister. And she knew that that woman had said "Runhill Court." It was absolutely necessary and important that she should follow her there, to see what was on foot…And, of course, Mr. Judge must be waiting for her there…and it was all lies! lies! lies!

She was lucky in getting a landaulette at once. Money was of no account to her, she agreed to the charge demanded without demur, and within five minutes was on her way.

The car was badly sprung, and jolted her abominably; the cushions stank of oil; her tooth started to ache again. Although it was not actually raining, the day was gloomy and forbidding, and everything seemed saturated with damp. Water dripped from the trees. The roads were greasy and they kept skidding. Not a single gleam of light sky promised better things. Isbel squeezed herself in a corner, and closed her eyes.

After passing Steyning, she roused herself. The chauffeur seemed an utter idiot-his work was in this part of the country, and yet he was forever pulling up to ask her for directions. She told him as well as she could…Would this terrible journey never come to an end?…