Tess of the d'Urbervilles

LVI

Mrs Brooks, the lady who was the householder at The Herons and owner of
all the handsome furniture, was not a person of an unusually curious
turn of mind. She was too deeply materialized, poor woman, by her long
and enforced bondage to that arithmetical demon Profit-and-Loss, to
retain much curiousity for its own sake, and apart from possible
lodgers’ pockets. Nevertheless, the visit of Angel Clare to her
well-paying tenants, Mr and Mrs d’Urberville, as she deemed them, was
sufficiently exceptional in point of time and manner to reinvigorate
the feminine proclivity which had been stifled down as useless save in
its bearings to the letting trade.

Tess had spoken to her husband from the doorway, without entering the
dining-room, and Mrs Brooks, who stood within the partly-closed door of
her own sitting-room at the back of the passage, could hear fragments
of the conversation—if conversation it could be called—between those
two wretched souls. She heard Tess re-ascend the stairs to the first
floor, and the departure of Clare, and the closing of the front door
behind him. Then the door of the room above was shut, and Mrs Brooks
knew that Tess had re-entered her apartment. As the young lady was not
fully dressed, Mrs Brooks knew that she would not emerge again for some
time.

She accordingly ascended the stairs softly, and stood at the door of
the front room—a drawing-room, connected with the room immediately
behind it (which was a bedroom) by folding-doors in the common manner.
This first floor, containing Mrs Brooks’s best apartments, had been
taken by the week by the d’Urbervilles. The back room was now in
silence; but from the drawing-room there came sounds.

All that she could at first distinguish of them was one syllable,
continually repeated in a low note of moaning, as if it came from a
soul bound to some Ixionian wheel—

“O—O—O!”

Then a silence, then a heavy sigh, and again—

“O—O—O!”

The landlady looked through the keyhole. Only a small space of the room
inside was visible, but within that space came a corner of the
breakfast table, which was already spread for the meal, and also a
chair beside. Over the seat of the chair Tess’s face was bowed, her
posture being a kneeling one in front of it; her hands were clasped
over her head, the skirts of her dressing-gown and the embroidery of
her night-gown flowed upon the floor behind her, and her stockingless
feet, from which the slippers had fallen, protruded upon the carpet. It
was from her lips that came the murmur of unspeakable despair.

Then a man’s voice from the adjoining bedroom—

“What’s the matter?”

She did not answer, but went on, in a tone which was a soliloquy rather
than an exclamation, and a dirge rather than a soliloquy. Mrs Brooks
could only catch a portion:

“And then my dear, dear husband came home to me ... and I did not know
it!... And you had used your cruel persuasion upon me ... you did not
stop using it—no—you did not stop! My little sisters and brothers and
my mother’s needs—they were the things you moved me by ... and you said
my husband would never come back—never; and you taunted me, and said
what a simpleton I was to expect him!... And at last I believed you and
gave way!... And then he came back! Now he is gone. Gone a second time,
and I have lost him now for ever ... and he will not love me the
littlest bit ever any more—only hate me!... O yes, I have lost him
now—again because of—you!” In writhing, with her head on the chair, she
turned her face towards the door, and Mrs Brooks could see the pain
upon it, and that her lips were bleeding from the clench of her teeth
upon them, and that the long lashes of her closed eyes stuck in wet
tags to her cheeks. She continued: “And he is dying—he looks as if he
is dying!... And my sin will kill him and not kill me!... O, you have
torn my life all to pieces ... made me be what I prayed you in pity not
to make me be again!... My own true husband will never, never—O God—I
can’t bear this!—I cannot!”

There were more and sharper words from the man; then a sudden rustle;
she had sprung to her feet. Mrs Brooks, thinking that the speaker was
coming to rush out of the door, hastily retreated down the stairs.

She need not have done so, however, for the door of the sitting-room
was not opened. But Mrs Brooks felt it unsafe to watch on the landing
again, and entered her own parlour below.

She could hear nothing through the floor, although she listened
intently, and thereupon went to the kitchen to finish her interrupted
breakfast. Coming up presently to the front room on the ground floor
she took up some sewing, waiting for her lodgers to ring that she might
take away the breakfast, which she meant to do herself, to discover
what was the matter if possible. Overhead, as she sat, she could now
hear the floorboards slightly creak, as if some one were walking about,
and presently the movement was explained by the rustle of garments
against the banisters, the opening and the closing of the front door,
and the form of Tess passing to the gate on her way into the street.
She was fully dressed now in the walking costume of a well-to-do young
lady in which she had arrived, with the sole addition that over her hat
and black feathers a veil was drawn.

Mrs Brooks had not been able to catch any word of farewell, temporary
or otherwise, between her tenants at the door above. They might have
quarrelled, or Mr d’Urberville might still be asleep, for he was not an
early riser.

She went into the back room, which was more especially her own
apartment, and continued her sewing there. The lady lodger did not
return, nor did the gentleman ring his bell. Mrs Brooks pondered on the
delay, and on what probable relation the visitor who had called so
early bore to the couple upstairs. In reflecting she leant back in her
chair.

As she did so her eyes glanced casually over the ceiling till they were
arrested by a spot in the middle of its white surface which she had
never noticed there before. It was about the size of a wafer when she
first observed it, but it speedily grew as large as the palm of her
hand, and then she could perceive that it was red. The oblong white
ceiling, with this scarlet blot in the midst, had the appearance of a
gigantic ace of hearts.

Mrs Brooks had strange qualms of misgiving. She got upon the table, and
touched the spot in the ceiling with her fingers. It was damp, and she
fancied that it was a blood stain.

Descending from the table, she left the parlour, and went upstairs,
intending to enter the room overhead, which was the bedchamber at the
back of the drawing-room. But, nerveless woman as she had now become,
she could not bring herself to attempt the handle. She listened. The
dead silence within was broken only by a regular beat.

Drip, drip, drip.

Mrs Brooks hastened downstairs, opened the front door, and ran into the
street. A man she knew, one of the workmen employed at an adjoining
villa, was passing by, and she begged him to come in and go upstairs
with her; she feared something had happened to one of her lodgers. The
workman assented, and followed her to the landing.

She opened the door of the drawing-room, and stood back for him to pass
in, entering herself behind him. The room was empty; the breakfast—a
substantial repast of coffee, eggs, and a cold ham—lay spread upon the
table untouched, as when she had taken it up, excepting that the
carving-knife was missing. She asked the man to go through the
folding-doors into the adjoining room.

He opened the doors, entered a step or two, and came back almost
instantly with a rigid face. “My good God, the gentleman in bed is
dead! I think he has been hurt with a knife—a lot of blood has run down
upon the floor!”

The alarm was soon given, and the house which had lately been so quiet
resounded with the tramp of many footsteps, a surgeon among the rest.
The wound was small, but the point of the blade had touched the heart
of the victim, who lay on his back, pale, fixed, dead, as if he had
scarcely moved after the infliction of the blow. In a quarter of an
hour the news that a gentleman who was a temporary visitor to the town
had been stabbed in his bed, spread through every street and villa of
the popular watering-place.