Wydanie do czytania BokRobot
Książki
Za darmoBetween the Dark and the Daylight
Richard Marsh
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On the night before their daughter Minnie's wedding, Mr. and Mrs. Staunton gave a grand ball. As the festivities were drawing to a close, Mr. Staunton cornered the bridegroom of the morrow, Charles Burgoyne.
"By the way, Burgoyne, there's one thing with reference to Minnie I wish to speak to you about. I'm not sure I oughtn't to have spoken to you before."
In the ballroom they were playing a waltz, and Burgoyne's heart was with the dancers. He replied, "About Minnie? What about Minnie? Don't you think that the little I don't know about her already, I shall find out soon enough upon my own account?"
"This is something—this is something that you ought to be told." But Mr. Staunton hesitated, and the opportunity was lost. The next morning Burgoyne was married.
During their honeymoon, the newly married pair spent a night at Mont St. Michel. That night, an unpleasant incident occurred. There was a bright moon, and the occupants of the bedrooms gathered on the balconies of the Maison Blanche to enjoy its radiance. The room next to theirs was occupied by two sisters, Brooklyn girls. Their costumes, even in that remote corner of the world, would have made an impression on the Boulevards, and still more in the Park. The married one, a Mrs. Homer Joy, wore striking jewelry, including a diamond brooch that seemed straight from Tiffany's and would have attracted notice on a Shah night at the opera. Burgoyne had noticed it earlier and thought that we must have returned to the days of King Alfred—with several points in our favor—if a woman could travel around the world with that advertisement in diamond work flashing in the sun.
Someone proposed a midnight stroll about the rock, and they went. In the morning, there was a terrible to-do.
The diamond brooch had disappeared—stolen! This proved that, at any rate, the days of King Alfred were no more.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-bb12713f74414f3da77d68bb897c0263
# book_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# chapter_id: 1-between-the-dark-and-the-daylight
# chapter_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# book_page: 1 / 11
# chapter_page: 1
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
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# render_mode: prose
On the night before their daughter Minnie's wedding, Mr. and Mrs. Staunton gave a grand ball. As the festivities were drawing to a close, Mr. Staunton cornered the bridegroom of the morrow, Charles Burgoyne.
"By the way, Burgoyne, there's one thing with reference to Minnie I wish to speak to you about. I'm not sure I oughtn't to have spoken to you before."
In the ballroom they were playing a waltz, and Burgoyne's heart was with the dancers. He replied, "About Minnie? What about Minnie? Don't you think that the little I don't know about her already, I shall find out soon enough upon my own account?"
"This is something—this is something that you ought to be told." But Mr. Staunton hesitated, and the opportunity was lost. The next morning Burgoyne was married.
During their honeymoon, the newly married pair spent a night at Mont St. Michel. That night, an unpleasant incident occurred. There was a bright moon, and the occupants of the bedrooms gathered on the balconies of the Maison Blanche to enjoy its radiance. The room next to theirs was occupied by two sisters, Brooklyn girls. Their costumes, even in that remote corner of the world, would have made an impression on the Boulevards, and still more in the Park. The married one, a Mrs. Homer Joy, wore striking jewelry, including a diamond brooch that seemed straight from Tiffany's and would have attracted notice on a Shah night at the opera. Burgoyne had noticed it earlier and thought that we must have returned to the days of King Alfred—with several points in our favor—if a woman could travel around the world with that advertisement in diamond work flashing in the sun.
Someone proposed a midnight stroll about the rock, and they went. In the morning, there was a terrible to-do.
The diamond brooch had disappeared—stolen! This proved that, at any rate, the days of King Alfred were no more.Mrs. Joy stated that before going on the midnight ramble, she had placed it on her dressing table, not even bothering to put it in a box. She wasn't sure she had closed her bedroom door, so the brooch had obviously caught the eye of the first person who passed. Mont St. Michel was still in a little tumult of excitement when Mr. and Mrs. Burgoyne journeyed on their way.
Oddly enough, this discordant note, once struck, kept striking. At almost every place where the honeymooners stopped for any length of time, something was lost. It seemed like fate. At Morlaix, a set of quaint old hammered silver spoons that had accompanied their coffee vanished—not, according to the indignant innkeeper, into thin air, but into someone's pockets. At Brest, Quimper, Vannes, Nantes, and later through Touraine and up the Loire, the same tale repeated itself: the loss of something of value—other people's property, not theirs—accompanied their stay. The coincidence was singular. But they seemed to have shaken off that long arm of coincidence at last. There had been no unpleasantness at the last two or three places, and when they reached Paris, they were so contented with everything that each seemed to have forgotten all in the existence of the other.
They stayed at the Grand Hotel (for privacy, few places can compete with a large hotel). Directly they arrived, the annoyances began again. It was most singular. On the very morning after their arrival, a notice was posted in the reading room that the night before a lady had lost her fan—something historical in fans, quite unique. She had been seated outside the reading room, at the very moment the Burgoynes must have been arriving, preparing to go to the opera. She laid the fan on a chair beside her; it was only for an instant, yet when she turned, it was gone. The management charitably suggested that one of the lady guests had mistaken it for her own.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-bb12713f74414f3da77d68bb897c0263
# book_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# chapter_id: 1-between-the-dark-and-the-daylight
# chapter_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# book_page: 2 / 11
# chapter_page: 2
# language: en
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Mrs. Joy stated that before going on the midnight ramble, she had placed it on her dressing table, not even bothering to put it in a box. She wasn't sure she had closed her bedroom door, so the brooch had obviously caught the eye of the first person who passed. Mont St. Michel was still in a little tumult of excitement when Mr. and Mrs. Burgoyne journeyed on their way.
Oddly enough, this discordant note, once struck, kept striking. At almost every place where the honeymooners stopped for any length of time, something was lost. It seemed like fate. At Morlaix, a set of quaint old hammered silver spoons that had accompanied their coffee vanished—not, according to the indignant innkeeper, into thin air, but into someone's pockets. At Brest, Quimper, Vannes, Nantes, and later through Touraine and up the Loire, the same tale repeated itself: the loss of something of value—other people's property, not theirs—accompanied their stay. The coincidence was singular. But they seemed to have shaken off that long arm of coincidence at last. There had been no unpleasantness at the last two or three places, and when they reached Paris, they were so contented with everything that each seemed to have forgotten all in the existence of the other.
They stayed at the Grand Hotel (for privacy, few places can compete with a large hotel). Directly they arrived, the annoyances began again. It was most singular. On the very morning after their arrival, a notice was posted in the reading room that the night before a lady had lost her fan—something historical in fans, quite unique. She had been seated outside the reading room, at the very moment the Burgoynes must have been arriving, preparing to go to the opera. She laid the fan on a chair beside her; it was only for an instant, yet when she turned, it was gone. The management charitably suggested that one of the lady guests had mistaken it for her own.That same evening, a truly remarkable story was whispered around the hotel. A certain lady and gentleman—not our pair, but another—were honeymooning there. The husband had left his wife asleep in bed. When she got up and began to dress, she discovered that the larger and more valuable portion of the jewelry she had received as wedding presents had vanished—apparently into thin air. The curious part was this: she had dreamed that she saw a woman—unmistakably a lady—trying on the identical jewelry before the looking glass. Was it a dream? Or had she, lying in bed half asleep, been the unconscious witness of an actual occurrence?
"Upon my word," declared Burgoyne to his wife, "if the thing weren't actually impossible, I should believe that we were the victims of some elaborate practical joke, that people were conspiring to make us believe that ill luck dogged our steps!"
Mrs. Burgoyne smiled. She was putting on her bonnet before the glass, preparing to go out for a quiet dinner on the boulevard.
"You silly Charlie! What queer ideas you get into your head. What does it matter to us if foolish people lose their things? We have no mission to make folks wiser, or to compel them to keep valuable things in secure places."
She came and put her hands on his shoulders. "My dear child, don't look so black. I shall be much better prepared to discuss that, or any subject, when we have dined." She made a little face and kissed him on the lips. Then they went downstairs. But once on their way, the gentleman discovered he had brought no money. Leaving his wife in the reading room, he returned to his bedroom to get it.
The desk where he kept his loose cash was on the chest of drawers. On top of it lay his wife's bag—a bag she set great store by. In it she kept her most precious belongings, and she took such care of it that he never remembered seeing it left out of her locked trunk before. Now, grabbing it in his haste, he was surprised to find it unlocked. Not only that, it flew wide open, and some of its contents fell to the floor. He stooped to pick them up.
The first thing he picked up was a silver spoon, the next an ivory chessman, the next a fan, and the next—a diamond brooch.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-bb12713f74414f3da77d68bb897c0263
# book_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# chapter_id: 1-between-the-dark-and-the-daylight
# chapter_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# book_page: 3 / 11
# chapter_page: 3
# language: en
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That same evening, a truly remarkable story was whispered around the hotel. A certain lady and gentleman—not our pair, but another—were honeymooning there. The husband had left his wife asleep in bed. When she got up and began to dress, she discovered that the larger and more valuable portion of the jewelry she had received as wedding presents had vanished—apparently into thin air. The curious part was this: she had dreamed that she saw a woman—unmistakably a lady—trying on the identical jewelry before the looking glass. Was it a dream? Or had she, lying in bed half asleep, been the unconscious witness of an actual occurrence?
"Upon my word," declared Burgoyne to his wife, "if the thing weren't actually impossible, I should believe that we were the victims of some elaborate practical joke, that people were conspiring to make us believe that ill luck dogged our steps!"
Mrs. Burgoyne smiled. She was putting on her bonnet before the glass, preparing to go out for a quiet dinner on the boulevard.
"You silly Charlie! What queer ideas you get into your head. What does it matter to us if foolish people lose their things? We have no mission to make folks wiser, or to compel them to keep valuable things in secure places."
She came and put her hands on his shoulders. "My dear child, don't look so black. I shall be much better prepared to discuss that, or any subject, when we have dined." She made a little face and kissed him on the lips. Then they went downstairs. But once on their way, the gentleman discovered he had brought no money. Leaving his wife in the reading room, he returned to his bedroom to get it.
The desk where he kept his loose cash was on the chest of drawers. On top of it lay his wife's bag—a bag she set great store by. In it she kept her most precious belongings, and she took such care of it that he never remembered seeing it left out of her locked trunk before. Now, grabbing it in his haste, he was surprised to find it unlocked. Not only that, it flew wide open, and some of its contents fell to the floor. He stooped to pick them up.
The first thing he picked up was a silver spoon, the next an ivory chessman, the next a fan, and the next—a diamond brooch.He stared at these things in a daze, especially at the brooch. He had seen it before. Where? Good God! It came to him in a flash. It was the diamond brooch that had belonged to Mrs. Homer Joy!
He was paralyzed, staring at the brooch as though he had lost the power to move. With an effort, he turned his attention to the other items. He recognized two of them: the spoon was one of the Morlaix spoons; the chessman was one of the set that had disappeared at Vannes. The fan was clearly the one from the notice in the reading room.
For a moment, he couldn't grasp what their presence meant. Then realization hit him, and he was transformed. The Charles Burgoyne standing there was not the one who had entered. Coldly, mechanically, he set the objects aside and emptied the bag onto the dresser.
It was a curious assortment: the rest of the chessmen, the rest of the spoons, knick-knacks, a quaint old silver cream jug, jewelry—bracelets, rings, earrings, necklaces, pins, lockets, brooches—half the contents of a jeweler's shop. As he stared, the door opened and his wife came in.
She smiled, saying, "Charlie, have they taken your money too? Do you know how hungry I am?"
He didn't turn. He stood motionless, staring at the heap. She came closer and saw what he was looking at. Then he turned and faced her.
He never knew what expression he wore. He couldn't have analyzed his feelings. But as he looked at his wife of only days, the woman he loved, she seemed to shrivel up and sank onto the floor. There was silence. She made a small gesture with her hands, then fell forward, hiding her face against the floor at his feet, clutching his legs with her arms.
"How did these things get into your bag?" He didn't recognize his own voice, so dry and harsh. She made no answer.
"Did you steal them?" Still silence. He felt rage rising within him.
"There are one or two questions you must answer. I'm sorry to have to ask them; it's not my fault. You had better get up from the floor." She didn't move. He couldn't have touched her for anything.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-bb12713f74414f3da77d68bb897c0263
# book_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# chapter_id: 1-between-the-dark-and-the-daylight
# chapter_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
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He stared at these things in a daze, especially at the brooch. He had seen it before. Where? Good God! It came to him in a flash. It was the diamond brooch that had belonged to Mrs. Homer Joy!
He was paralyzed, staring at the brooch as though he had lost the power to move. With an effort, he turned his attention to the other items. He recognized two of them: the spoon was one of the Morlaix spoons; the chessman was one of the set that had disappeared at Vannes. The fan was clearly the one from the notice in the reading room.
For a moment, he couldn't grasp what their presence meant. Then realization hit him, and he was transformed. The Charles Burgoyne standing there was not the one who had entered. Coldly, mechanically, he set the objects aside and emptied the bag onto the dresser.
It was a curious assortment: the rest of the chessmen, the rest of the spoons, knick-knacks, a quaint old silver cream jug, jewelry—bracelets, rings, earrings, necklaces, pins, lockets, brooches—half the contents of a jeweler's shop. As he stared, the door opened and his wife came in.
She smiled, saying, "Charlie, have they taken your money too? Do you know how hungry I am?"
He didn't turn. He stood motionless, staring at the heap. She came closer and saw what he was looking at. Then he turned and faced her.
He never knew what expression he wore. He couldn't have analyzed his feelings. But as he looked at his wife of only days, the woman he loved, she seemed to shrivel up and sank onto the floor. There was silence. She made a small gesture with her hands, then fell forward, hiding her face against the floor at his feet, clutching his legs with her arms.
"How did these things get into your bag?" He didn't recognize his own voice, so dry and harsh. She made no answer.
"Did you steal them?" Still silence. He felt rage rising within him.
"There are one or two questions you must answer. I'm sorry to have to ask them; it's not my fault. You had better get up from the floor." She didn't move. He couldn't have touched her for anything."I suppose—" He choked, then said, "I suppose that woman's jewels are some of these?" No answer. Seeing he couldn't get through to her, he gathered the items back into the bag.
"I'm afraid you'll have to dine alone." That was all he said. He left the room, carrying the bag, leaving her in a heap on the floor. He slunk, rather than walked, out of the hotel. He only began to breathe freely once he was in the street, thinking they might catch him red-handed.
That night, few men in Paris passed it more strangely than Burgoyne. He returned at four in the morning, worn out, haggard, the ghost of a man. In the bedroom he found his wife just as he had left her, in a heap on the floor, but fast asleep. She hadn't removed any of her clothes, not even her bonnet or gloves. She had been crying—apparently cried herself to sleep. As he stood looking down at her, he realized how much he loved her—the woman, the creature of flesh and blood, apart from her moral qualities. He put the bag in his trunk and locked it. Then, kneeling beside her, he kissed her as she slept. The kiss woke her gently, and she put her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Not a word was spoken. Then she got up. He helped her undress, put her to bed like a child, undressed himself, and joined her. They fell asleep locked in each other's arms.
That day they returned to London, taking the bag with them. The morning after their arrival, Burgoyne took a cab to the city, the bag on the seat beside him. He went straight to Mr. Staunton's office. When he entered unannounced, his father-in-law started as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Burgoyne! What brings you here? I hope nothing's wrong?"
Burgoyne placed the bag—Minnie's bag—on the table, keeping his eyes fixed on Staunton's face.
"Burgoyne! Why do you look at me like that?"
"I have something here I wish to show you." He opened the bag and emptied it onto the table. "Not a bad haul from Breton peasants, eh?"
Staunton stared at the heap. "Burgoyne," he stammered, "what does this mean?"
"Are you quite sure you don't know?" Staunton caught his eye, read something dreadful there, and covered his face with his hands. At last he whispered, "Minnie?" Burgoyne echoed, "Minnie!"
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-bb12713f74414f3da77d68bb897c0263
# book_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# chapter_id: 1-between-the-dark-and-the-daylight
# chapter_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
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# language: en
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"I suppose—" He choked, then said, "I suppose that woman's jewels are some of these?" No answer. Seeing he couldn't get through to her, he gathered the items back into the bag.
"I'm afraid you'll have to dine alone." That was all he said. He left the room, carrying the bag, leaving her in a heap on the floor. He slunk, rather than walked, out of the hotel. He only began to breathe freely once he was in the street, thinking they might catch him red-handed.
That night, few men in Paris passed it more strangely than Burgoyne. He returned at four in the morning, worn out, haggard, the ghost of a man. In the bedroom he found his wife just as he had left her, in a heap on the floor, but fast asleep. She hadn't removed any of her clothes, not even her bonnet or gloves. She had been crying—apparently cried herself to sleep. As he stood looking down at her, he realized how much he loved her—the woman, the creature of flesh and blood, apart from her moral qualities. He put the bag in his trunk and locked it. Then, kneeling beside her, he kissed her as she slept. The kiss woke her gently, and she put her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Not a word was spoken. Then she got up. He helped her undress, put her to bed like a child, undressed himself, and joined her. They fell asleep locked in each other's arms.
That day they returned to London, taking the bag with them. The morning after their arrival, Burgoyne took a cab to the city, the bag on the seat beside him. He went straight to Mr. Staunton's office. When he entered unannounced, his father-in-law started as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Burgoyne! What brings you here? I hope nothing's wrong?"
Burgoyne placed the bag—Minnie's bag—on the table, keeping his eyes fixed on Staunton's face.
"Burgoyne! Why do you look at me like that?"
"I have something here I wish to show you." He opened the bag and emptied it onto the table. "Not a bad haul from Breton peasants, eh?"
Staunton stared at the heap. "Burgoyne," he stammered, "what does this mean?"
"Are you quite sure you don't know?" Staunton caught his eye, read something dreadful there, and covered his face with his hands. At last he whispered, "Minnie?" Burgoyne echoed, "Minnie!""Good God!" There was silence. Then Burgoyne locked the door and stood before the empty fireplace.
"It's by the merest chance I'm not now on my way to hard labor. Some of those jewels were stolen from a woman's dressing case at the Grand Hotel, with the woman half awake in bed. She talked of having all the guests searched by the police. If she had, you'd have heard from us as soon as prison rules allowed." He paused. Staunton stared at the table.
"That's what I wanted to tell you the night before the wedding, but you wouldn't stop. She's a kleptomaniac." Burgoyne smiled grimly.
"Do you mean she's a habitual thief?"
"It's a disease."
"No doubt. But perhaps you'll be so kind as to define what you mean by disease." Staunton explained: "As a toddler she took things and hid them. When she got into short frocks, she kept grabbing whatever caught her eye. She never used them, just put them away like a magpie and forgot. You had only to find where and take them away; she never noticed. She's irresponsible in that way—it's a disease."
"Have you had it medically treated?"
"She's been under treatment all her life. We've consulted half the specialists in England. Our own doctor, Muir, has kept a journal; he can tell you more than I. You have no idea what a lifelong torture this has been."
"I have a very clear idea. But don't you think you might have told me before?" Staunton paced the room. "I do! I tried at the last moment. But I was talked out of it. It was suggested that marriage might be a turning point; the woman might differ from the girl. Don't misunderstand! She's a good girl—a girl in a million. No better daughter ever lived, and you won't find a better wife. There's just this one point. Some people are sleepwalkers; she's like that. I might put this watch on the table"—he pulled out his watch—"and she'd take it from under my nose and never know she'd done it."
Burgoyne said dryly, "I think I'd better see this doctor, Muir."
"See him, by all means. And Burgoyne, I realize we did you wrong by not telling you. If you want to leave her, I won't oppose it. I'll support her myself, and she'll be as if she never existed to you."
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# book_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
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"Good God!" There was silence. Then Burgoyne locked the door and stood before the empty fireplace.
"It's by the merest chance I'm not now on my way to hard labor. Some of those jewels were stolen from a woman's dressing case at the Grand Hotel, with the woman half awake in bed. She talked of having all the guests searched by the police. If she had, you'd have heard from us as soon as prison rules allowed." He paused. Staunton stared at the table.
"That's what I wanted to tell you the night before the wedding, but you wouldn't stop. She's a kleptomaniac." Burgoyne smiled grimly.
"Do you mean she's a habitual thief?"
"It's a disease."
"No doubt. But perhaps you'll be so kind as to define what you mean by disease." Staunton explained: "As a toddler she took things and hid them. When she got into short frocks, she kept grabbing whatever caught her eye. She never used them, just put them away like a magpie and forgot. You had only to find where and take them away; she never noticed. She's irresponsible in that way—it's a disease."
"Have you had it medically treated?"
"She's been under treatment all her life. We've consulted half the specialists in England. Our own doctor, Muir, has kept a journal; he can tell you more than I. You have no idea what a lifelong torture this has been."
"I have a very clear idea. But don't you think you might have told me before?" Staunton paced the room. "I do! I tried at the last moment. But I was talked out of it. It was suggested that marriage might be a turning point; the woman might differ from the girl. Don't misunderstand! She's a good girl—a girl in a million. No better daughter ever lived, and you won't find a better wife. There's just this one point. Some people are sleepwalkers; she's like that. I might put this watch on the table"—he pulled out his watch—"and she'd take it from under my nose and never know she'd done it."
Burgoyne said dryly, "I think I'd better see this doctor, Muir."
"See him, by all means. And Burgoyne, I realize we did you wrong by not telling you. If you want to leave her, I won't oppose it. I'll support her myself, and she'll be as if she never existed to you."Burgoyne looked at him steadily. "No man shall separate me from my wife—nothing but death. I believe I love her all the more for this. God knows I loved her before."
"I understand. This makes her dearer to us, too." There was a pause; Burgoyne began putting things back in the bag. "I'll go see Muir."
Dr. Muir was at home. Burgoyne was favorably impressed; he had a keen eye for medical charlatans. "Dr. Muir, I've come from Mr. Staunton. My name is Burgoyne. I married his daughter Minnie. It's about my wife I want to consult you." Dr. Muir nodded. "During our honeymoon in Brittany, she stole all these things." Burgoyne opened the bag enough to show its contents. Muir barely glanced, keeping his eyes on Burgoyne's face.
"You weren't told of her peculiarity?"
"No. I don't understand it now. That's why I've come."
"I don't understand it either."
"But you've always studied her case."
"Yes, but I don't understand it any better for that. I'm not a specialist. If you wished to put her in an asylum, you'd have no trouble. I don't hesitate to say that."
"I have no intention. Can you suggest a cure?"
"I could suggest ten thousand, but they'd all be experiments. I've tried several already; they've failed. I thought marriage might cure her. But it appears, so far, it hasn't. Frankly, no man in Europe can help you. You must trust to time. I've always thought a shock might do it, though what kind remains to be seen. Perhaps the shock of childbirth might help. But we can't experiment in shocks. Trust to time."
So Burgoyne arranged his household, trusting to time. He handed the bag with its contents to his solicitor, who restored the stolen property to its owners—it cost Burgoyne a pretty penny. He hired a Mrs. Deal as companion and keeper to his wife. They never knew if Minnie understood Mrs. Deal's real role. Despite utmost vigilance, things were still taken—from shops, from homes, from guests under their roof. Mrs. Deal would discover where they were and return them, living in a constant game of hide-and-seek.
It was a strange life, but a happy one—he loved her, she loved him. And despite Dr. Muir's suggestion that a birth might help, they had no children.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-bb12713f74414f3da77d68bb897c0263
# book_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# chapter_id: 1-between-the-dark-and-the-daylight
# chapter_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
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Burgoyne looked at him steadily. "No man shall separate me from my wife—nothing but death. I believe I love her all the more for this. God knows I loved her before."
"I understand. This makes her dearer to us, too." There was a pause; Burgoyne began putting things back in the bag. "I'll go see Muir."
Dr. Muir was at home. Burgoyne was favorably impressed; he had a keen eye for medical charlatans. "Dr. Muir, I've come from Mr. Staunton. My name is Burgoyne. I married his daughter Minnie. It's about my wife I want to consult you." Dr. Muir nodded. "During our honeymoon in Brittany, she stole all these things." Burgoyne opened the bag enough to show its contents. Muir barely glanced, keeping his eyes on Burgoyne's face.
"You weren't told of her peculiarity?"
"No. I don't understand it now. That's why I've come."
"I don't understand it either."
"But you've always studied her case."
"Yes, but I don't understand it any better for that. I'm not a specialist. If you wished to put her in an asylum, you'd have no trouble. I don't hesitate to say that."
"I have no intention. Can you suggest a cure?"
"I could suggest ten thousand, but they'd all be experiments. I've tried several already; they've failed. I thought marriage might cure her. But it appears, so far, it hasn't. Frankly, no man in Europe can help you. You must trust to time. I've always thought a shock might do it, though what kind remains to be seen. Perhaps the shock of childbirth might help. But we can't experiment in shocks. Trust to time."
So Burgoyne arranged his household, trusting to time. He handed the bag with its contents to his solicitor, who restored the stolen property to its owners—it cost Burgoyne a pretty penny. He hired a Mrs. Deal as companion and keeper to his wife. They never knew if Minnie understood Mrs. Deal's real role. Despite utmost vigilance, things were still taken—from shops, from homes, from guests under their roof. Mrs. Deal would discover where they were and return them, living in a constant game of hide-and-seek.
It was a strange life, but a happy one—he loved her, she loved him. And despite Dr. Muir's suggestion that a birth might help, they had no children.Five years passed. One day came an invitation from Arthur Watson, a friend from Burgoyne's boyhood. They'd met again recently, and Watson insisted the Burgoynes spend the weekend with him up the river, a popular retreat for Londoners. So the married couple went to visit the single man.
After dinner, conversation lagged. But their host stirred it up. "I have something here to show you." He brought a leather case from his pocket. "Do you do much in mines?"
"How do you mean?"
"If you do, here's a tip: buy Mitwaterstraand. There's a boom coming." He opened the case, and Mrs. Burgoyne saw! More than twenty cut diamonds of purest water and unusual size—lumps of light! Beside them were uncut stones, contrasting with their radiant brethren.
"See these?" He took out a dozen cut stones. "Are you a judge of diamonds? I am. African diamonds used to cut badly and have poor color. But now we've changed all that. I stake my reputation—these are the finest in the world. They're from Mitwaterstraand, Griqualand West. Take my tip, Burgoyne."
Burgoyne took the tip, but not in the way Watson meant. He lay awake all night, thinking of his wife and those shining crystals. Suppose they were stolen?
In the morning, he got up while she still slept. He dressed, went downstairs for a smoke, then meant to return to watch her. He'd had a little doze and was frightened—what if he fell into a deep sleep and she acted?
Early as it was, he wasn't the first down. In the room where the diamonds had been shown, he found Watson standing at the table.
"Hullo, Watson! Up so early?"
"I—I've had a shock." Watson's voice trembled.
"A shock? What kind?"
"This morning I found I'd left the case with the diamonds downstairs. Can't think how I did it."
"Careless." Burgoyne shuddered at the risk.
"It was. When I found it missing, I dashed down. I was relieved when I saw it was safe."—he held the case—"I felt like singing a Te Deum." He didn't look like it. "Let's look at you, my beauties." He pressed a spring; the lid flew open. "My God!"
"What's the matter?"
"They're gone!"
The case was empty. The shock was too much for Burgoyne.
"She's taken them after all," he gasped.
"Who?"
"My wife!"
"Your wife! Burgoyne, what do you mean?"
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-bb12713f74414f3da77d68bb897c0263
# book_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# chapter_id: 1-between-the-dark-and-the-daylight
# chapter_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# book_page: 8 / 11
# chapter_page: 8
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Five years passed. One day came an invitation from Arthur Watson, a friend from Burgoyne's boyhood. They'd met again recently, and Watson insisted the Burgoynes spend the weekend with him up the river, a popular retreat for Londoners. So the married couple went to visit the single man.
After dinner, conversation lagged. But their host stirred it up. "I have something here to show you." He brought a leather case from his pocket. "Do you do much in mines?"
"How do you mean?"
"If you do, here's a tip: buy Mitwaterstraand. There's a boom coming." He opened the case, and Mrs. Burgoyne saw! More than twenty cut diamonds of purest water and unusual size—lumps of light! Beside them were uncut stones, contrasting with their radiant brethren.
"See these?" He took out a dozen cut stones. "Are you a judge of diamonds? I am. African diamonds used to cut badly and have poor color. But now we've changed all that. I stake my reputation—these are the finest in the world. They're from Mitwaterstraand, Griqualand West. Take my tip, Burgoyne."
Burgoyne took the tip, but not in the way Watson meant. He lay awake all night, thinking of his wife and those shining crystals. Suppose they were stolen?
In the morning, he got up while she still slept. He dressed, went downstairs for a smoke, then meant to return to watch her. He'd had a little doze and was frightened—what if he fell into a deep sleep and she acted?
Early as it was, he wasn't the first down. In the room where the diamonds had been shown, he found Watson standing at the table.
"Hullo, Watson! Up so early?"
"I—I've had a shock." Watson's voice trembled.
"A shock? What kind?"
"This morning I found I'd left the case with the diamonds downstairs. Can't think how I did it."
"Careless." Burgoyne shuddered at the risk.
"It was. When I found it missing, I dashed down. I was relieved when I saw it was safe."—he held the case—"I felt like singing a Te Deum." He didn't look like it. "Let's look at you, my beauties." He pressed a spring; the lid flew open. "My God!"
"What's the matter?"
"They're gone!"
The case was empty. The shock was too much for Burgoyne.
"She's taken them after all," he gasped.
"Who?"
"My wife!"
"Your wife! Burgoyne, what do you mean?""Watson, my wife has stolen them."
The empty case crashed to the floor. Watson seemed about to fall too. His face was clammy, hands trembling. "Burgoyne, what do you mean?"
"My wife's a kleptomaniac."
"A kleptomaniac! You don't mean she took the stones?"
"I do. Sounds like a joke, doesn't it?"
"A joke! It's no joke for me! There's a meeting, and the stones must be produced. If they're not, I'll have to explain, and those men won't listen to kleptomania. They'll want the stones, not money. At this crisis, they're worth a hundred thousand pounds. It'll be your ruin and mine if they're not found."
"They will be found. It's just a game she plays. She hides, we seek and find. I can produce them within half an hour."
"I hope so," Watson said, still pale.
Burgoyne went upstairs. His wife was still asleep, a pretty picture. He touched her shoulder. "Minnie!" No reply. "Minnie!" She still slept.
When she woke, she stretched out her arms. "Charlie! What time is it?"
"Where are those stones?"
"What?" She rubbed her eyes.
"Where are those stones?"
"I don't know what—" she yawned, "—you mean."
"Minnie! Don't trifle with me! Where have you put those diamonds?"
"Charlie! Whatever do you mean?" Her eyes were wide now, looking at him in innocent surprise.
"What a consummate actress you are!" he said, almost against his will. She seemed startled. "Charlie!" He couldn't meet her gaze and moved about the room.
"Come, Minnie, tell me where they are."
"Where what are?"
"The diamonds!"
"What diamonds? I don't know what you mean."
"You know very well. I mean the Mitwaterstraand diamonds Watson showed us last night, which you took from the case."
"I took from the case?" She stood up in her nightdress, the picture of surprise. "If you leave the room, I can get dressed."
"Minnie, do you think I'm a fool? I've made allowances—God knows I have—but you must tell me where they are before I go."
"Are you accusing me of stealing?"
"Call it what you will. Just tell me where you've put them."
"On what evidence?"
"Evidence? I need none. Minnie, for God's sake, don't argue. You're dearer to me than life. But this time—even at the cost of life—I can't protect you from the consequences."
"Consequences? What do you mean?"
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-bb12713f74414f3da77d68bb897c0263
# book_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# chapter_id: 1-between-the-dark-and-the-daylight
# chapter_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# book_page: 9 / 11
# chapter_page: 9
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"Watson, my wife has stolen them."
The empty case crashed to the floor. Watson seemed about to fall too. His face was clammy, hands trembling. "Burgoyne, what do you mean?"
"My wife's a kleptomaniac."
"A kleptomaniac! You don't mean she took the stones?"
"I do. Sounds like a joke, doesn't it?"
"A joke! It's no joke for me! There's a meeting, and the stones must be produced. If they're not, I'll have to explain, and those men won't listen to kleptomania. They'll want the stones, not money. At this crisis, they're worth a hundred thousand pounds. It'll be your ruin and mine if they're not found."
"They will be found. It's just a game she plays. She hides, we seek and find. I can produce them within half an hour."
"I hope so," Watson said, still pale.
Burgoyne went upstairs. His wife was still asleep, a pretty picture. He touched her shoulder. "Minnie!" No reply. "Minnie!" She still slept.
When she woke, she stretched out her arms. "Charlie! What time is it?"
"Where are those stones?"
"What?" She rubbed her eyes.
"Where are those stones?"
"I don't know what—" she yawned, "—you mean."
"Minnie! Don't trifle with me! Where have you put those diamonds?"
"Charlie! Whatever do you mean?" Her eyes were wide now, looking at him in innocent surprise.
"What a consummate actress you are!" he said, almost against his will. She seemed startled. "Charlie!" He couldn't meet her gaze and moved about the room.
"Come, Minnie, tell me where they are."
"Where what are?"
"The diamonds!"
"What diamonds? I don't know what you mean."
"You know very well. I mean the Mitwaterstraand diamonds Watson showed us last night, which you took from the case."
"I took from the case?" She stood up in her nightdress, the picture of surprise. "If you leave the room, I can get dressed."
"Minnie, do you think I'm a fool? I've made allowances—God knows I have—but you must tell me where they are before I go."
"Are you accusing me of stealing?"
"Call it what you will. Just tell me where you've put them."
"On what evidence?"
"Evidence? I need none. Minnie, for God's sake, don't argue. You're dearer to me than life. But this time—even at the cost of life—I can't protect you from the consequences."
"Consequences? What do you mean?""If those diamonds aren't produced immediately, you'll sleep in jail tonight."
"In jail! Am I dreaming?"
"Oh, my darling, tell me where they are!"
"Charlie, I swear I don't know any more than the man in the moon."
"Then God help us, for we're lost!"
He tore the room apart—ripped open mattresses, looked up the chimney—but found nothing. And that night, she slept in jail.
Watson went to tell his story as best he could. The Burgoynes had stayed behind searching. Around one o'clock, a telegram came to the local police station ordering them to detain Mrs. Burgoyne on a charge of felony, warrant coming by train. Watson had found no sympathy. Mrs. Burgoyne was arrested and taken to the local lock-up; bail was denied. Burgoyne drove to London in near panic. Mr. Staunton was equally distressed. They telegraphed Dr. Muir and held a hurried conference with a famous criminal lawyer. The lawyer told them plainly: "Even if the diamonds turn up now, the case goes before a magistrate. The police won't let you compound a felony. And your medical point may not stand."
However, the lawyer added, "There's no evidence against your wife. You won't be allowed to testify, and you could prove nothing. At the hearing, they'll ask for a remand, probably get it. I'll offer bail, they'll accept. If they have nothing new, the case will be dismissed. Mrs. Burgoyne will leave without a stain."
That night, Burgoyne considered suicide. His beloved, through his folly, was in jail. And if she escaped this time, what about next? She was guilty now; they might prove it later. He thought of all his precautions and how lucky she'd been. He himself was a wreck.
He paced his study like a caged animal, wishing he could share her cell. At two or three in the morning, he thought he heard tapping at the window pane. He opened the window to find Watson outside.
"Watson!"
Watson staggered in. "I saw the light. I didn't want to wake the house." He sank into a chair, his head in his hands. Burgoyne, surprised, was speechless. Finally, he said, "This is a bad job for both of us."
Watson looked up, his face startling Burgoyne. He said, "It's worse for me. Why did you tell me that about your wife?"
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-bb12713f74414f3da77d68bb897c0263
# book_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# chapter_id: 1-between-the-dark-and-the-daylight
# chapter_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# book_page: 10 / 11
# chapter_page: 10
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"If those diamonds aren't produced immediately, you'll sleep in jail tonight."
"In jail! Am I dreaming?"
"Oh, my darling, tell me where they are!"
"Charlie, I swear I don't know any more than the man in the moon."
"Then God help us, for we're lost!"
He tore the room apart—ripped open mattresses, looked up the chimney—but found nothing. And that night, she slept in jail.
Watson went to tell his story as best he could. The Burgoynes had stayed behind searching. Around one o'clock, a telegram came to the local police station ordering them to detain Mrs. Burgoyne on a charge of felony, warrant coming by train. Watson had found no sympathy. Mrs. Burgoyne was arrested and taken to the local lock-up; bail was denied. Burgoyne drove to London in near panic. Mr. Staunton was equally distressed. They telegraphed Dr. Muir and held a hurried conference with a famous criminal lawyer. The lawyer told them plainly: "Even if the diamonds turn up now, the case goes before a magistrate. The police won't let you compound a felony. And your medical point may not stand."
However, the lawyer added, "There's no evidence against your wife. You won't be allowed to testify, and you could prove nothing. At the hearing, they'll ask for a remand, probably get it. I'll offer bail, they'll accept. If they have nothing new, the case will be dismissed. Mrs. Burgoyne will leave without a stain."
That night, Burgoyne considered suicide. His beloved, through his folly, was in jail. And if she escaped this time, what about next? She was guilty now; they might prove it later. He thought of all his precautions and how lucky she'd been. He himself was a wreck.
He paced his study like a caged animal, wishing he could share her cell. At two or three in the morning, he thought he heard tapping at the window pane. He opened the window to find Watson outside.
"Watson!"
Watson staggered in. "I saw the light. I didn't want to wake the house." He sank into a chair, his head in his hands. Burgoyne, surprised, was speechless. Finally, he said, "This is a bad job for both of us."
Watson looked up, his face startling Burgoyne. He said, "It's worse for me. Why did you tell me that about your wife?""God knows I'm in no mood to talk."
"Why did you put that thought into my head? Why, you fool, I had the stones in my pocket all along!" He pulled out a handful of crystals and dashed them on the table. "I was the thief, not her!"
Burgoyne stared. "Watson! Good God!"
"Don't look as if you'd murder me! I feel like murdering you! I'm ruined. The thought came that if I could get away with the diamonds, I could start fresh. Like an idiot, I took them last night, meaning to invent a story that the case was stolen. But I realized how thin that would be. I went to put them back, and you came in just then. I showed you the empty box, and you cried out that your wife had taken them. It was a temptation straight from hell! I let you believe it."
Burgoyne, overcome, fell to the floor in a fit. When he came to, Watson was gone, but the diamonds were piled neatly on the table. Watson had had a curious moment of honesty, though he was ruined.
Mrs. Burgoyne was released without a stain. She never stole again. She'd been guilty many times and never accused; the one time she was innocent, they called her a thief. Dr. Muir said the shock had cured her—just as he'd predicted.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-bb12713f74414f3da77d68bb897c0263
# book_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# chapter_id: 1-between-the-dark-and-the-daylight
# chapter_title: Between the Dark and the Daylight
# book_page: 11 / 11
# chapter_page: 11
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"God knows I'm in no mood to talk."
"Why did you put that thought into my head? Why, you fool, I had the stones in my pocket all along!" He pulled out a handful of crystals and dashed them on the table. "I was the thief, not her!"
Burgoyne stared. "Watson! Good God!"
"Don't look as if you'd murder me! I feel like murdering you! I'm ruined. The thought came that if I could get away with the diamonds, I could start fresh. Like an idiot, I took them last night, meaning to invent a story that the case was stolen. But I realized how thin that would be. I went to put them back, and you came in just then. I showed you the empty box, and you cried out that your wife had taken them. It was a temptation straight from hell! I let you believe it."
Burgoyne, overcome, fell to the floor in a fit. When he came to, Watson was gone, but the diamonds were piled neatly on the table. Watson had had a curious moment of honesty, though he was ruined.
Mrs. Burgoyne was released without a stain. She never stole again. She'd been guilty many times and never accused; the one time she was innocent, they called her a thief. Dr. Muir said the shock had cured her—just as he'd predicted.
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