The Bat. Mary Roberts Rinehart
Читать онлайн книгу.
housemaid, Lizzie! You don't mean to tell me—"
Lizzie nodded her head. "Yes'm. They're leaving. Both of 'em. Today."
"But good heav—Lizzie, why on earth didn't you tell me before?"
Lizzie spoke soothingly, all the blarney of Kerry in her voice. "Now, Miss Neily, as if I'd wake you first thing in the morning with bad news like that! And thinks I, well, maybe 'tis all for the best after all—for when Miss Neily hears they're leavin'—and her so particular—maybe she'll go back to the city for just a little and leave this house to its haunts and its bats and—"
"Go back to the city? I shall do nothing of the sort. I rented this house to live in and live in it I will, with servants or without them. You should have told me at once, Lizzie. I'm really very much annoyed with you because you didn't. I shall get up immediately—I want to give those two a piece of my mind. Is Billy leaving too?"
"Not that I know of—the heathern Japanese!" said Lizzie sorrowfully. "And yet he'd be better riddance than cook or housemaid."
"Now, Lizzie, how many times have I told you that you must conquer your prejudices? Billy is an excellent butler—he'd been with Mr. Fleming ten years and has the very highest recommendations. I am very glad that he is staying, if he is. With you to help him, we shall do very well until I can get other servants." Miss Cornelia had risen now and Lizzie was helping her with the intricacies of her toilet. "But it's too annoying," she went on, in the pauses of Lizzie's deft ministrations. "What did they say to you, Lizzie—did they give any reason? It isn't as if they were new to the country like you. They'd been with Mr. Fleming for some time, though not as long as Billy."
"Oh, yes, Miss Neily—they had reasons you could choke a goat with," said Lizzie viciously as she arranged Miss Cornelia's transformation. "Cook was the first of them—she was up late—I think they'd been talking it over together. She comes into the kitchen with her hat on and her bag in her hand. 'Good morning,' says I, pleasant enough, 'you've got your hat on,' says I. 'I'm leaving,' says she. 'Leaving, are you?' says I. 'Leaving,' says she. 'My sister has twins,' says she. 'I just got word—I must go to her right away.' 'What?' says I, all struck in a heap. 'Twins,' says she, 'you've heard of such things as twins.' 'That I have,' says I, 'and I know a lie on a face when I see it, too.'"
"Lizzie!"
"Well, it made me sick at heart, Miss Neily. Her with her hat and her bag and her talk about twins—and no consideration for you. Well, I'll go on. 'You're a clever woman, aren't you?' says she—the impudence! 'I can see through a millstone as far as most,' says I—I wouldn't put up with her sauce. 'Well!' says she, 'you can see that Annie the housemaid's leaving, too.' 'Has her sister got twins as well?' says I and looked at her. 'No,' says she as bold as brass, 'but Annie's got a pain in her side and she's feared it's appendycitis—so she's leaving to go back to her family.' 'Oh,' says I, 'and what about Miss Van Gorder?' 'I'm sorry for Miss Van Gorder,' says she—the falseness of her!—'But she'll have to do the best she can for twins and appendycitis is acts of God and not to be put aside for even the best of wages.' 'Is that so?' says I and with that I left her, for I knew if I listened to her a minute longer I'd be giving her bonnet a shake and that wouldn't be respectable. So there you are, Miss Neily, and that's the gist of the matter."
Miss Cornelia laughed. "Lizzie—you're unique," she said. "But I'm glad you didn't give her bonnet a shake—though I've no doubt you could."
"Humph!" said Lizzie snorting, the fire of battle in her eye. "And is it any Black Irish from Ulster would play impudence to a Kerrywoman without getting the flat of a hand in—but that's neither here nor there. The truth of it is, Miss Neily," her voice grew solemn, "it's my belief they're scared—both of them—by the haunts and the banshees here—and that's all."
"If they are they're very silly," said Miss Cornelia practically. "No, they may have heard of a better place, though it would seem as if when one pays the present extortionate wages and asks as little as we do here—but it doesn't matter. If they want to go, they may. Am I ready, Lizzie?"
"You look like an angel, ma'am," said Lizzie, clasping her hands.
"Well, I feel very little like one," said Miss Cornelia, rising. "As cook and housemaid may discover before I'm through with them. Send them into the livingroom, Lizzie, when I've gone down. I'll talk to them there."
An hour or so later, Miss Cornelia sat in a deep chintz chair in the comfortable living-room of the Fleming house going through the pile of letters which Lizzie's news of domestic revolt had prevented her reading earlier. Cook and housemaid had come and gone—civil enough, but so obviously determined upon leaving the house at once that Miss Cornelia had sighed and let them go, though not without caustic comment. Since then, she had devoted herself to calling up various employment agencies without entirely satisfactory results. A new cook and housemaid were promised for the end of the week—but for the next three days the Japanese butler, Billy, and Lizzie between them would have to bear the brunt of the service. Oh, yes—and then there's Dale's gardener, if she gets one, thought Miss, Cornelia. "I wish he could cook—but I don't suppose gardeners can—and Billy's a treasure. Still, its inconvenient—now, stop—Cornelia Van Gorder—you were asking for an adventure only this morning and the moment the littlest sort of one comes along, you want to crawl out of it."
She had reached the bottom of her pile of letters—these to be thrown away, these to be answered—ah, here was one she had overlooked somehow. She took it up. It must be the one Lizzie had wanted to throw away—she smiled at Lizzie's fears. The address was badly typed, on cheap paper—she tore the envelope open and drew out a single unsigned sheet.
If you stay in this house any longer—DEATH. Go back to the city at once and save your life.
Her fingers trembled a little as she turned the missive over but her face remained calm. She looked at the envelope—at the postmark—while her heart thudded uncomfortably for a moment and then resumed its normal beat. It had come at last—the adventure—and she was not afraid!
CHAPTER THREE
PISTOL PRACTICE
She knew who it was, of course. The Bat! No doubt of it. And yet—did the Bat ever threaten before he struck? She could not remember. But it didn't matter. The Bat was unprecedented—unique. At any rate, Bat or no Bat, she must think out a course of action. The defection of cook and housemaid left her alone in the house with Lizzie and Billy—and Dale, of course, if Dale returned. Two old women, a young girl, and a Japanese butler to face the most dangerous criminal in America, she thought grimly. And yet—one couldn't be sure. The threatening letter might be only a joke—a letter from a crank—after all. Still, she must take precautions; look for aid somewhere. But where could she look for aid?
She ran over in her mind the new acquaintances she had made since she moved to the country. There was Doctor Wells, the local physician, who had joked with her about moving into the Bat's home territory—He seemed an intelligent man—but she knew him only slightly—she couldn't call a busy Doctor away from his patients to investigate something which might only prove to be a mare's-nest. The boys Dale had met at the country club—"Humph!" she sniffed, "I'd rather trust my gumption than any of theirs." The logical person to call on, of course, was Richard Fleming, Courtleigh Fleming's nephew and heir, who had rented her the house. He lived at the country club—she could probably reach him now. She was just on the point of doing so when she decided against it—partly from delicacy, partly from an indefinable feeling that he would not be of much help. Besides, she thought sturdily, it's my house now, not his. He didn't guarantee burglar protection in the lease.
As for the local police—her independence revolted at summoning them. They would bombard her with ponderous