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177 pages

English

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Early detective novelist Anna Katharine Green was a unique writer in several respects, including the fact that many of the detectives featured in her novels are women. In The Mill Mystery, protagonist Constance Sterling takes on the seemingly impossible task of uncovering the true culprits behind the drowning death of a popular young pastor who is believed to have killed himself.

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 janvier 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775450924
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE MILL MYSTERY
* * *
ANNA KATHARINE GREEN

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The Mill Mystery First published in 1886 ISBN 978-1-775450-92-4 © 2011 The Floating Press While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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I - The Alarm II - A Fearful Question III - Ada IV - The Pollards V - Doubts and Queries VI - Mrs. Pollard VII - Advances VIII - A Flower from the Pollard Conservatory IX - An Unexpected Discovery X - Rhoda Colwell XI - Under the Mill Floor XII - Dwight Pollard XIII - Guy Pollard XIV - Correspondence XV - A Gossip XVI - The Green Envelope XVII - David Barrows XVIII - A Last Request XIX - A Fatal Delay XX - The Old Mill XXI - The Vat XXIIthe Cypher XXIII - Too Late XXIV - Confronted XXV - The Final Blow XXVI - A Feline Touch XXVII - Reparation XXVIII - Two or One Endnotes
I - The Alarm
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Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning. —MRS. BROWNING.
I had just come in from the street. I had a letter in my hand. Itwas for my fellow-lodger, a young girl who taught in the HighSchool, and whom I had persuaded to share my room because of herpretty face and quiet ways. She was not at home, and I flung theletter down on the table, where it fell, address downwards. Ithought no more of it; my mind was too full, my heart too heavy withmy own trouble.
Going to the window, I leaned my cheek against the pane. Oh, thedeep sadness of a solitary woman's life! The sense of helplessnessthat comes upon her when every effort made, every possibilitysounded, she realizes that the world has no place for her, and thatshe must either stoop to ask the assistance of friends or starve! Ihave no words for the misery I felt, for I am a proud woman,and—But no lifting of the curtain that shrouds my past. It has fallenfor ever, and for you and me and the world I am simply ConstanceSterling, a young woman of twenty-five, without home, relatives, ormeans of support, having in her pocket seventy-five cents of change,and in her breast a heart like lead, so utterly had every hopevanished in the day's rush of disappointments.
How long I stood with my face to the window I cannot say. With eyesdully fixed upon the blank walls of the cottages opposite, I stoodoblivious to all about me till the fading sunlight—or was it somestir in the room behind me?—recalled me to myself, and I turned tofind my pretty room-mate staring at me with a troubled look that fora moment made me forget my own sorrows and anxieties.
"What is it?" I asked, going towards her with an irresistibleimpulse of sympathy.
"I don't know," she murmured; "a sudden pain here," laying her handon her heart.
I advanced still nearer, but her face, which had been quite pale,turned suddenly rosy; and, with a more natural expression, she tookme by the hand, and said:
"But you look more than ill, you look unhappy. Would you mindtelling me what worries you?"
The gentle tone, the earnest glance of modest yet sincere interest,went to my heart. Clutching her hand convulsively, I burst intotears.
"It is nothing," said I; "only my last resource has failed, and Idon't know where to get a meal for to-morrow. Not that this is anything in itself," I hastened to add, my natural pride reassertingitself; "but the future! the future!—what am I to do with myfuture?"
She did not answer at first. A gleam—I can scarcely call it aglow—passed over her face, and her eyes took a far-away look thatmade them very sweet. Then a little flush stole into her cheek, and,pressing my hand, she said:
"Will you trust it to me for a while?"
I must have looked my astonishment, for she hastened to add:
"Your future I have little concern for. With such capabilities asyours, you must find work. Why, look at your face!" and she drew meplayfully before the glass. "See the forehead, the mouth, and tellme you read failure there! But your present is what is doubtful, andthat I can certainly take care of."
"But—" I protested, with a sensation of warmth in my cheeks.
The loveliest smile stopped me before I could utter a word more.
"As you would take care of mine," she completed, "if our positionswere reversed." Then, without waiting for a further demur on mypart, she kissed me, and as if the sweet embrace had made us sistersat once, drew me to a chair and sat down at my feet. "You know," shenaively murmured, "I am almost rich; I have five hundred dollarslaid up in the bank, and—"
I put my hand over her lips; I could not help it. She was such afrail little thing, so white and so ethereal, and her poor fivehundred had been earned by such weary, weary work.
"But that is nothing, nothing," I said. "You have a future toprovide for, too, and you are not as strong as I am, if you havebeen more successful."
She laughed, then blushed, then laughed again, and impulsivelycried:
"It is, however, more than I need to buy a wedding-dress with, don'tyou think?" And as I looked up surprised, she flashed out: "Oh, it'smy secret; but I am going to be married in a month, and—and then Iwon't need to count my pennies any more; and, so I say, if you willstay here with me without a care until that day comes, you will makeme very happy, and put me at the same time under a real obligation;for I shall want a great many things done, as you can readilyconceive."
What did I say—what could I say, with her sweet blue eyes lookingso truthfully into mine, but—"Oh, you darling girl!" while my heartfilled with tears, which only escaped from overflowing my eyes,because I would not lessen her innocent joy by a hint of my ownsecret trouble.
"And who is the happy man?" I asked, at last, rising to pull downthe curtain across a too inquisitive ray of afternoon sunshine.
"Ah, the noblest, best man in town!" she breathed, with a burst ofgentle pride. "Mr. B—"
She went no further, or if she did, I did not hear her, for justthen a hubbub arose in the street, and lifting the window, I lookedout.
"What is it?" she cried, coming hastily towards me.
"I don't know," I returned. "The people are all rushing in onedirection, but I cannot see what attracts them."
"Come away then!" she murmured; and I saw her hand go to her heart,in the way it did when she first entered the room a half-hourbefore. But just then a sudden voice exclaimed below: "Theclergyman! It is the clergyman!" And giving a smothered shriek, shegrasped me by the arm, crying: "What do they say? ' Theclergyman '? Do they say 'The clergyman'?"
"Yes," I answered, turning upon her with alarm. But she was alreadyat the door. "Can it be?" I asked myself, as I hurriedly followed,"that it is Mr. Barrows she is going to marry?"
For in the small town of S— Mr. Barrows was the only man whocould properly be meant by "The clergyman"; for though Mr. Kingston,of the Baptist Church, was a worthy man in his way, and theCongregational minister had an influence with his flock that was notto be despised, Mr. Barrows, alone of all his fraternity, had so wonupon the affections and confidence of the people as to merit theappellation of "The clergyman."
"If I am right," thought I, "God grant that no harm has come tohim!" and I dashed down the stairs just in time to see the frailform of my room-mate flying out of the front door.
I overtook her at last; but where? Far out of town on that dark anddismal road, where the gaunt chimneys of the deserted mill rise froma growth of pine-trees. But I knew before I reached her what shewould find; knew that her short dream of love was over, and thatstretched amongst the weeds which choked the entrance to the oldmill lay the dead form of the revered young minister, who, by hisprecept and example, had won not only the heart of this youngmaiden, but that of the whole community in which he lived andlabored.
II - A Fearful Question
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Nay, yet there's more in this: I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate; and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words. —OTHELLO.
My room-mate was, as I have intimated, exceedingly frail andunobtrusive in appearance; yet when we came upon this scene, thegroup of men about the inanimate form of her lover partedinvoluntarily as if a spirit had come upon them; though I do notthink one of them, until that moment, had any suspicion of therelations between her and their young pastor. Being close behindher, I pressed forward too, and so it happened that I stood by herside when her gaze first fell upon her dead lover. Never shall Iforget the cry she uttered, or the solemn silence that fell overall, as her hand, rigid and white as that of a ghost's, slowly roseand pointed with awful question at the pallid brow upturned beforeher. It seemed as if a spell had fallen, enchaining the roughestthere from answering, for the truth was terrible, and we knew it;else why those dripping locks and heavily soaked garments oozing,not with the limpid waters of the stream we could faintly heargurgling in the distance, but with some fearful substance that dyedthe forehead blue and left upon the grass a dark stain that floodsof rain would scarcely wash away?
"What is it? Oh, what does it mean?" she faintly gasped, shudderingbackward with wondering dread as one of those tiny streams ofstrange blue moisture found its way to her feet.
Still that ominous silence.
"Oh, I must know!" she whispered. "I was his betrothed"; and hereyes wandered for a moment with a wild appeal upon those about her.
Whereupon a kindly voice spoke up. "He has been drowned, miss. Theblue—" and there he hesitated.
"The blue is from the remains of some old dye that must hav