Devlin the Barber

"'Ah,' said Devlin with a grin, pulling my apern away, 'I thought you'd be overcome when you set eyes on it. It's a rare piece of work, ain't it? Why, it almost speaks!'

"It was as like Lemon as like could be-I couldn't deny that; but there was the sly, wicked look which you've noticed in that there stuffed bird and in the stone image on the mantelshelf. Devlin made us a present of them things after he'd painted the portraits, and told me to treasure 'em for his sake, and that whenever I looked at 'em I was to think of him. He said they was worth ever so much money, but that I was never, never to part with 'em.

"'If you do,' he said, laughing in my face, 'I'll haunt you day and night.'

"So things went on, gitting worser and worser every day, and Lemon got that thin that you could almost blow him away. And now, sir, I'm coming to the most dreadful part of the whole affair, something that has frightened me more than all the rest put together. What I'm going to speak of now is that awful murder in Victoria Park. Don't think I'm making it up out of my head. I ain't clever enough or wicked enough. If I was I should deserve a judgment to fall on me.

"I've told you of Lemon speaking in his sleep-never did he go to bed without saying things in the night that'd send my heart into my mouth. He seemed as if he was haunted by shadders and spirits, and as if there was always something weighing on his soul that he daren't let out when he was awake. When I found it was no good arguing with him I give it up, and I bore with his writhes and groans, without telling him in the morning of the dreadful night I'd passed. But the day before yesterday, sir, things come to a head.

"He went out early with Devlin as usual, and they both come home together a deal later than they was in the habit of doing. I fixed the time in my dairy, sir; it was half-past eight o'clock. Before that I'd wrote my letter to you and posted it-the letter you got yesterday morning. Little did I dream of what was going to happen after I sent it off.

"I noticed that Lemon was more trembly than ever, and there was that in his eyes which made my heart bleed for him. It wasn't a wandering look, because he was afraid to look behind him; it was as if he was trying to shut out something horrible. But I didn't say a word to him while Devlin was with us. He didn't remain long.

"'I'm going to my room,' he said; 'I've got a lot of writing to do. Bring me up a pot of tea before you go to bed. Lemon and me's been spending a pleasant hour at the Twisted Cow.'

"'Lemon looks as if he'd been spending a pleasant hour,' I thought, as I looked at his white face.

"Then Devlin went to his room on the second floor, and I breathed more free.

"The Twisted Cow, sir, is a public which Devlin is fond of. You may be sure he'd pick out a house with a outlandish name.

"'O, Lemon, Lemon,' I said, 'you look like a ghost!'

"'Hush!' he said, with his hand to his ear; he was afraid Devlin might be listening. 'Don't speak to me, Fanny; I want to be quiet, very quiet. How horrible, how horrible!'

"'What's horrible. Lemon?' I asked, putting my arms round his neck.

"He pushed me away and asked what I meant.

"'You said "How horrible, how horrible!" jest now, Lemon.'

"To my surprise, he answered 'I didn't. You must have fancied it. Let me be quiet.'

"I didn't dispute with him, and we set here in the parlour for more than an hour without saying a word to each other. Lemon hadn't been drinking, sir; he was as sober as I am this minute.

"'I think I'll go to bed, Fanny,' he said.

"The tears come into my eyes, he spoke so soft.

"'Shall I go and git your supper-beer, Lemon?' I asked.

"'No,' he said, ketching hold of me. 'I won't be left alone in the house with that-that devil up-stairs! I don't want no supper-beer.'

"It was the first time he'd ever spoke of Devlin in that way, and I knew that something out of the common must have happened. Perhaps they'd quarrelled. O, how I hoped they had! It might put a end to their partnership, and there would be a chance of peace and happiness once more.

"'I won't leave you. Lemon,' I said. 'I'll take that wretch his tea, and I hope it'll choke him, and then I'll come to bed too. Shall I make you some gruel, Lemon, or anything else you fancy?'

"'No,' he answered. 'I don't want nothing-only to sleep, to sleep!'

"I made the tea for Devlin, and it's a mercy I didn't have any poison in the house, because I might have been tempted to put it in the pot-though perhaps that wouldn't have hurt him. I knocked at his door, and he said as pleasant as pleasant can be, 'Come in, Mrs. Lemon. What a treasure you are! How happy Lemon ought to be with sech a wife!'

"But I didn't stop to talk to him. I put the tea on the table and went down to Lemon. He was already in bed, and his head was covered with the bedclothes.

"'I'll jest run down,' I whispered, 'and put up the chain on the street-door. I won't be a minute. Lemon.'

"I was back in less than that, and I went to bed. Lemon never moved. I spoke to him, but he didn't answer me; and after a little while I went to sleep.

"I woke up as the clock struck twelve all in a prespiration. Lemon was talking in his sleep, and this is what he said:

"'Victoria Park. Eighteen years old. Golden hair. With a bunch of daisies in her belt. A bunch of white daisies, with blood on 'em! With blood on 'em! With blood on 'em! O Lord, have mercy on her! Near the water. Lord, have mercy on her! Lord, have mercy on her!'

"And then, sir, he give a scream that curdled right through me, and cried, 'Don't let him-don't let him! Save her-save her!'

"How would you feel, sir, if you heard some one laying by your side saying sech things in the dead of night?"

CHAPTER XIII

IN WHICH FANNY NARRATES HOW HER HUSBAND HAD A FIT, AND WHAT THE DOCTOR THOUGHT OF IT

"Nothing more took place before we got up in the morning. Lemon torsed about as usual, and kept groaning and talking to hisself, but, excep what I've told you, I couldn't make head or tail of his mumblings. Devlin come down to breakfast, and said, as gay as gay can be,

"'I've had a lovely night.'

"'Have you?' said I. I wouldn't have spoke if I could have helped it, but he's got a way of forcing the words out of you.

"'Yes,' he answered, 'a most lovely night. I've slep the sleep of the just.' What he meant by it I don't know, but it's what he said. 'You look tired, Mrs. Lemon.'

"He grinned in my face, sir, as he made the remark, and my blood begun to boil.

"I've got enough to make me look tired,' I said. 'Lemon hasn't had a decent night's rest for months.'

"'You don't say so! But why not, why not?' asked Devlin, pitching into the ham and eggs.

"'You can answer that better than I can,' I said, jumping from the table; 'You; yes, you!'

"'Fanny!' cried Lemon.

"'I don't care,' I said, feeling reckless; I think it must have been because I was sure you'd come to my help, sir. 'I don't care. Things aren't as they should be, and it stands to reason they can't go on like this much longer.'

"'O,' said Devlin, helping hisself to the last rasher. 'It stands to reason, does it?'

"'Yes, it does,' I answered. 'I'm Lemon's wife, and if he can't take care of hisself it's my duty to do it for him.'

"'Can't you take care of yourself?' asked Devlin of my poor husband. 'That's sad, very sad!'

"'I can, I can,' cried Lemon. 'Fanny don't know what she's talking about.'

"'I thought as much,' said Devlin. 'Nerves unstrung. She wants bracing up. I must prescribe for her.'

"'Not if I know it,' I said. 'I've had enough of you and your prescribing to last me a lifetime. Don't look at me like that, or you'll drive me mad!'

"'Was there ever sech an unreasonable woman?' said Devlin, and he come and laid his hand upon me. 'Jest see how she's shaking. Lemon. She's low, very low; I really must prescribe for her. Leave her to me. I'll see that no harm comes to her.'

"What with his great staring eyes piercing me through and through, and his hand patting my shoulder, and his mocking voice, and the grin on his face, all my courage melted clean away, and I burst out crying and run into the kitchen. There I stayed till I heard the street-door slam, and then I went back to clear the breakfast-things, with a thankful heart that Devlin was gone. If he'd only have left my husband behind him I should have been satisfied, but Lemon was gone too. There was a bottle on the table with something in it, and a label on it in Devlin's writing-

"For my dear kind friend, Mrs. Lemon. A tonic for her nerves. A tablespoonful, in water, three times a day.'

"'A tablespoonful, in water, three times a day,' thinks I to myself. 'Not if I know it.'

"I was going to throw the bottle in the dusthole, but I thought I'd better not, and I put it away on the top shelf of the cupboard, right at the back. After that I went about my work, wondering how it was all going to end, and casting about in my mind whether there was anything I could do to get rid of the creature as was making our lives a misery. But I couldn't think of nothing.

"Lemon was never very fond of politics, but he likes to know what's going on, and we take in a penny weekly newspaper as gives all the news from one end of the week to the other, and how they do it for the money beats me holler. The boy brings it every Sunday morning, and it ain't once in a year that Lemon buys a daily paper. You'll see presently why I mention it.

"It was five o'clock in the afternoon, and I was setting sewing when I hears the latchkey in the street-door. Now, Saturday is always a late day with Lemon and Devlin; they don't generally come home till ten or eleven o'clock at night, and I was surprised when I heard the key in the lock. I knew it must be one or the other of 'em, because nobody but them and me has a latchkey. I set and listened, wondering whether it was Lemon and what had brought him home so early, and I made up my mind, if it was him, to have a good talk with him, and try and persuade him once more to give up Devlin altogether. 'But why don't he come in?' thought I. There he was in the street, fumbling about with the key as though there was something wrong with it; and he stayed there so long that I couldn't stand it no longer, so I goes to the door and opens it myself. The minute it was open Lemon reels past me, behaving hisself as if he was mad or drunk. I picked up the latchkey which he'd dropped, and follered him into the parlour here. What made him ketch hold of me, and moan, and cry, and look round as if he'd brought a ghost in with him, and it was standing at his elber? And what made him suddingly cover his face with his hands, and after trembling like a aspen leaf, tumble down on the floor in a fit right before my very eyes? There he laid, sir, twisting and foaming, a sight I pray I may never see agin.

"I knelt down quick and undid his neck-handkercher, and tried to bring him to, but he got worse and worse, and all I could do wasn't a bit of good.

"There was nobody in the house but Lemon and me, and, almost distracted, I run like mad to the chemist's shop at the corner of the second turning to the right, who's got a son walking the horspitals, and begged him to come with me and see my poor man. He come at once, sir, and there was Lemon still on the floor in his fit. The doctor unclarsped Lemon's hands and put something in 'em, and I slipped a cold key down his back because his nose was bleeding.

"'That's a good sign,' said the doctor, as he forced Lemon's jaws apart and put a spoon between his teeth, which Lemon almost bit in two. Then he threw a jug of cold water into Lemon's face, completely satcherating him, and after that Lemon wasn't so violent; but he didn't recover his senses or open his eyes.

"'Let's git him to bed,' said the doctor.

"He helped me carry Lemon up-stairs, where we undressed him, and it wasn't before we got him between the sheets that he come to.

"'Feel better?' asked the doctor.

"But Lemon never spoke.

"'Don't leave him,' said the doctor to me, and he went back to his shop and brought a sleeping draught, which Lemon took, and soon afterwards fell asleep.

"'He won't wake,' said the doctor, 'for twelve hours at least. Is he subject to fits?'

"'No, sir,' I answered; 'this is the first he's ever had. Can you tell me what's the matter with him? He ain't been drinking, has he?'

"There's no sign of drink,' said the doctor, 'and no smell of it. Does he drink?'

"'Not more than is good for him,' I said. 'I've never seen Lemon the worse for liquor.'

"'What I don't like about him,' the doctor then said, 'was the look in his eyes when he come to his senses-as if he'd had a shock. Has he taken a religious turn?'

"'No, sir.'

"'Is he sooperstitious at all?'

"'No, sir.'

"'The reason I ask, Mrs. Lemon,' said the doctor, 'is because this don't seem to me a ordinary fit. Is there any madness in your husband's family?'

"'I never heard of any,' I answered, 'and I think I should have been sure to know it if there was.'

"'Very likely,' said the doctor, 'though sometimes they keep it dark. All I can say is, there's something on Mr. Lemon's mind, or he's received a mental shock.'

"With that he went away.

"Lemon by that time was sound as a top. The doctor must have given him a strong dose to overcome him so, and it did my heart good to see him laying so peaceful. But I couldn't help thinking over what the doctor had said of him. There was either something on Lemon's mind or he'd received a mental shock. And that was said without the doctor knowing what I knew, for I'd kep my troubles to myself. I didn't as much as whisper what Lemon had said in his sleep the night before about the young girl in Victoria Park with golden hair and a bunch of white daisies in her belt, covered with blood.

"'Perhaps Lemon's been reading a story,' I thought, 'with something like that in it, and it's took hold of him.'

"There was nothing to wonder at in that. The penny newspaper we take in always has a story in it that goes on from week to week, and always ending at such a aggravating part that I can hardly wait to git the next number. I fly for it the first thing Sunday morning, before I read anything else. Lemon goes for the police-courts, and takes the story afterwards.

"My mind was running on in that way as I picked up Lemon's clothes, which the doctor and me had tore off him and throwed on the floor; and I don't mind telling you, sir, that I felt in the pockets. First, his trousers. There was nothing in 'em but a few coppers and two-and-six in silver. Then his westcoat. There was nothing in that but his silver watch and a button that had come off. Then his coat. What I found there was his handkercher, his spectacles, and a evening newspaper, I folded his clothes tidy, and come down-stairs with the paper in my hand. There must be something particular in it, thinks I, as I set down in the parlour here, and opened it in the middle, and smoothed it out. There was, sir.

"The very first words I saw, in big letters, at the top of the column was-'Dreadful and Mysterious Discovery in Victoria Park. Ruthless Murder of a Young Girl. Stabbed to the Heart! A Bunch of Blood-stained Daisies!'

"Can you imagine my feelings, sir?

"I could scarce believe my eyes. But there it was, staring me in the face, like a great bill on the walls printed in red. The ink was black, of course, but as I looked at the awful words they grew larger and larger, and their colour seemed to change to the colour of blood."

CHAPTER XIV

DEVLIN APPEARS SUDDENLY, AND HOLDS A CONVERSATION WITH FANNY ABOUT THE MURDER

"Now, sir, while I was looking in a state of daze at the paper, and trying to pluck up courage to read it, I felt a chill down the small of my back, and I knew that our lodger Devlin had crep into the room unbeknown, without me hearing of him.

"'What is this I've been told as I come along?' he said. 'My friend Lemon, your worthy husband, taken ill? It is sad news. Is he very ill? Let me see him.'

"What did I do, sir, but run out of the room, and up-stairs where Lemon was sleeping, and whip out the key from the inside of the door and put it in the outside, and turn the lock. Then I felt I could breathe, and I went down-stairs to Devlin.

"'Why do you lock the poor man in?' he asked.

"'How do you know?' I said, 'that I have locked him in, unless you've been spying me?'

"'How do I know what I know?' he said, laughing. 'Ah, if I egsplained you might not understand. Perhaps there's little I don't know. I've travelled the world over, Mrs. Lemon, and there's no saying what I've learnt. As for spying, fye, fye, my dear landlady! But you must be satisfied, I suppose, being a woman. Have you ever heard of second sight? It's a wonderful gift. Perhaps I've got it; perhaps I can see with my eyes shut. Sech things are. But this is trifling. Poor Lemon! I am really concerned for him. You musn't keep me away from him. I'm a doctor, and can do him a power of good.'

"'Not,' I said, and where I got the courage from in the state I was in, goodness only knows, 'while there's breath in my body shall you doctor my husband. Mischief enough you've done; you don't do no more.'

"'Mischief, you foolish woman!' he said. 'What mischief? Have you took leave of your senses?' But I didn't answer him. 'Ah, well,' he said, shrugging his shoulders, 'let it be as you wish with my poor friend Lemon. I yield always to a lady. What is this?' And he took up the newspaper. 'You've been reading, I see, the particulars of this sad case. It is more than sad; it is frightful.'

"'I haven't read it,' I said.

"'But you was going to?'

"'I won't bemean myself by denying it,' I said. 'Yes, I was going to, when you come into the room unbeknown and unbeware.'

"I had it in my mind to say that it was a liberty to come into a room as didn't belong to him without first knocking at the door, but his black eyes was fixed on me and his moustache was curling up to his nose, and I didn't dare to.

"'When I come into the room,' he said, 'unbeknown and unbeware, as you egspress it, you had no ears for anything. You was staring at the paper, and your eyes was wild. What for? Is it a murder that frightens you? Foolish, stupid, because murders are so common. How many people go to bed at night and never rise from it agin, because of what happens while they sleep! This murder is strange in a sort of way, but not clever-no, not clever. A young girl, eighteen years of age, beautiful, very beautiful, with hair of gold and eyes of blue, receives a letter. From her lover? Who shall say? That is yet to be discovered in the future. "Meet me," the letter says, "in Victoria Park, at the old spot" – which proves, my dear landlady, that they have met before in the same place-"at eleven o'clock to-night." An imprudent hour for a girl so young; but, then, what will not love dare? When you and Lemon was a-courting didn't you meet him whenever he asked you at all sorts of out-of-the-way places? It is what lovers do, without asking why. "And wear," the letter goes on, "in your belt a bunch of white daisies, so that I may know it is you." Now, why that? It is the request of a bungler. If the letter was wrote by her lover-and there is at present no reason to suppose otherwise-he would recognise his sweetheart without a bunch of white daisies in her belt. What, then, is the egsplanation? That, also, is in the future to be discovered. Let us imagine something. Say that between the young girl with the hair of gold and the eyes of blue and the man that writes the letter there is a secret, the discovery of which will be bad for him. Pardon, you wish to ask something?'

"'Yes,' I said, 'about the letter. How do you know it was wrote?'

"'Did I say I know?' he answered, with his slyest, wickedest look. 'Ain't we imagining, simply imagining? Being in the dark, we must find some point to commence at, and nothing can be more natural than a letter.'

"'Was it found in the young lady's pocket?' I asked.

"'Nothing was found,' he answered, 'in the young lady's pocket.'

"'Then it ain't possible,' I said, 'that the letter could have been wrote.'

"'Sweet innocence!' said Devlin, and with all these dreadful goings on, sir, that was making me tremble in my shoes, he had the impidence to chuck me under the chin-and Lemon up-stairs in the state he was! 'What could be easier than to empty a young lady's pockets when she's laying dead before you. A job any fool could do. But the letter may be found.'

"'And the murderer, too,' I said, with a shudder, 'and hanged, I hope!'

"'I share your hope,' he said, with one of his strange laughs,' by the neck till he is dead. The more the merrier. To continue our imaginings. Between the young lady and her lover, as I said, there's a secret as would be bad for him if it was made public-as might, indeed, be the ruin of him. This secret may be revealed in the correspondence as passed between them. The chances are that those letters are not destroyed. Men are so indiscreet! Why, they often forgit there's a to-morrer. The young lady is described as being beautiful. More's the pity. Beauty's a snare. If ever I marry-which ain't likely, Mrs. Lemon-I'll marry a fright. Beautiful as the young lady is, her lover wishes to git rid of her. Perhaps he's tired of her; perhaps he's got another fancy; perhaps he's seen her twin sister, and is smit with her. There's any number of perhapses to fit the case. But the poor girl, having been brought to shame-'

"'Is that in the paper?' I asked, interrupting him.

"'No,' he answered, 'but it may be. It is always so with those girls; there's hardly a pin to choose between 'em. Naturally, she won't consent to let him get rid of her-won't consent to release him-won't consent to let him go free. They quarrel, and make it up. They quarrel agin, and make it up agin. Days, weeks go by, till yesterday comes, and she is to meet him at night. She's got a mother, she's got a father; they set together, and she goes to bed early. She's got a headache, she says, and so, "Good-night, mother; good-night, father;" a kiss for each of 'em; and there's a end of kisses and good-nights. The last page of her little book of life is reached. There's a lot in that scene to make a body think-it's full of pictures of the past. Think of all the days of childhood wasted; think of all the love, laughter, hopes, joys-wasted; flowers, ribbons, fancies, dreams-wasted; all that good men say is sweetest in life, and that's played its part for so many, many years-all wasted. Better to have been wicked at once, better to have been sinful and deceitful all through-think you not so? "Good-night, mother; good-night, father," and so-to bed? No. To go up to her little room and lock the door, to dress herself in her best clothes, to make herself still more beautiful-for that, you see, may melt her lover's heart-to put the bunch of white daisies in her belt, to wait till the house is quiet-so quiet, so quiet! – and then to steal out softly, softly! She stops at mother's door and listens. Not a sound. Mother and father sleep in peace. Remembrances of the past come to her in the dark, and she cries a little, very quietly. Then she departs. It is done. From that home she is gone for ever, and she is walking to her grave! The park is still and quiet at that hour of the night; excep for a few hungry wretches who prowl or sleep, the girl and the man have it all to themselves. First-love passages. Twelve o'clock. They stop and listen to the tolling of the bell-they all do that. Some smile and sing at the chimes, some shiver and groan. Next-arguments, entreaties to be released. He will be so good to her, O, so good, if she will only release him! One o'clock. Next-more love-making and coaxing, then threats, passionate reproaches, defiance. Ah, it has come to that-the end is near! Two o'clock. He stabs her, quick and sudden, to the heart? Hark! do you hear the wild scream? Her body is dead, and her soul-? But that and other mysteries remain to be unravelled-which may be-Never!'"

CHAPTER XV

FANNY DESCRIBES HOW SHE MADE UP HER MIND WHAT TO DO WITH LEMON

"Devlin put down the newspaper, and waited for me to speak. I think, sir, I've told you egsactly what he said, and as fur as possible in his own words. They are so printed on my mind that I couldn't forgit 'em if I tried ever so hard. As he described what had took place it was as if he was painting pictures, and he made me see 'em. I saw the poor girl's home; I saw her setting with her father and mother in jest sech a little room as this-for they are only humble people, sir; I saw her kiss 'em good-night; I saw her in her bedroom a-doing herself up before the looking-glass; I saw her put the bunch of white daisies in her belt; I saw her steal out of the house to the park; I saw the man and her walking about among the trees, and sometimes setting down to talk; I heard a scream-another! – another! – and I covered my eyes with my hands to shut it all out. I was so overcome that I hadn't strength to wrench myself away from Devlin, who was smoothing my hair with his hands. But presently I managed to scream: