_ CHAPTER XXVII
They were not a happy pair, Lawrence Croft and Annie Peyton, as they stood together in the arbor, after old Mrs Keswick had left them. They were both a good deal shaken by the storm they had passed through.
"Lawrence," said Annie, looking up to him with her large eyes full of earnestness, "there surely is no truth in what she said about your being legally bound to Miss March?"
"None in the least," said Lawrence. "No man, under the circumstances, would consider himself engaged to a woman. At any rate, there is one thing which I wish you to understand, and that is that I am not engaged to Miss March, and that I am engaged to you. No matter what is said or done, you and I belong to each other."
Annie made no answer, but she pressed his hand tightly as she looked up into his face. He kissed her as she stood, notwithstanding his belief that old Mrs Keswick was fully capable of bounding down on him, umbrella in hand, from an upper window.
"What do you think she is going to do?" Annie asked presently.
"My dear Annie," said he, "I do not believe that there is a person on earth who could divine what your Aunt Keswick is going to do. As to that, we must simply wait and see. But, for my part, I know what I must do. I must write a letter to Miss March, and inform her, plainly and definitely, that I have ceased to be a suitor for her hand. I think also that it will be well to let her know that we are engaged?"
"Yes," said Annie, "for she will be sure to hear it now. But she will think it is a very prompt proceeding."
"That's exactly what it was," said Lawrence, smiling, "prompt and determined. There was no doubt or indecision about any part of our affair, was there, little one?"
"Not a bit of it," said Annie, proudly.
At dinner that day Annie took her place at one end of the table, and Lawrence his at the other, but the old lady did not make her appearance. She was so erratic in her goings and comings, and had so often told them they must never wait for her, that Annie cut the ham, and Lawrence carved the fowl, and the meal proceeded without her. But while they were eating Mrs Keswick was heard coming down stairs from her room, the front door was opened and slammed violently, and from the dining-room windows they saw her go down the steps, across the yard, and out of the gate.
"I do hope," ejaculated Annie, "that she has not gone away to stay!"
If Annie had remembered that the boy Plez, in a clean jacket and long white apron, officiated as waiter, she would not have said this, but then she would have lost some information. "Ole miss not gone to stay," he said, with the license of an untrained retainer. "She gone to Howlettses, an' she done tole Aun' Letty she'll be back agin dis ebenin'."
"If Aunt Keswick don't come back," said Annie, when the two were in the parlor after dinner, "I shall go after her. I don't intend to drive her out of the house."
"Don't you trouble yourself about that, my dear," said Lawrence. "She is too angry not to come back."
"There is one thing," said Annie, after a while, "that we really ought to do. To-morrow Aunt Patsy is to be buried, and before she is put into the ground, those little shoes should be returned to Aunt Keswick. It seems to me that justice to poor Aunt Patsy requires that this should be done. Perhaps now she knows how wicked it was to steal them."
"Yes," said Lawrence, "I think it would be well to put them back where they belong; but how can you manage it?"
"If you will give them to me," said Annie, "I will go up to aunt's room, now that she is away, and if she keeps the box in the same place where it used to be, I'll slip them into it. I hate dreadfully to do it, but I really feel that it is a duty."
When Lawrence, with some little difficulty, walked across the yard to get the shoes from his trunk, Annie ran after him, and waited at the office door. "You must not take a step more than necessary," she said, "and so I won't make you come back to the house."
When Lawrence gave her the shoes, and her hand a little squeeze at the same time, he told her that he should sit down immediately and write his letter.
"And I," said Annie, "will go, and see what I can do with these."
With the shoes in her pocket, she went up stairs into her aunt's room, and, after looking around hastily, as if to see that the old lady had not left the ghost of herself in charge, she approached the closet in which the sacred pasteboard box had always been kept. But the closet was locked. Turning away she looked about the room. There was no other place in which there was any probability that the box would be kept. Then she became nervous; she fancied she heard the click of the yard gate; she would not for anything have her aunt catch her in that room; nor would she take the shoes away with her. Hastily placing them upon a table she slipped out, and hurried into her own room.
It was about an hour after this, that Mrs Keswick came rapidly up the steps of the front porch. She had been to Howlett's to carry a letter which she had written to Miss March, and had there made arrangements to have that letter taken to Midbranch very early the next morning. She had wished to find some one who would start immediately, but as there was no moon, and as the messenger would arrive after the family were all in bed, she had been obliged to abandon this more energetic line of action. But the letter would get there soon enough; and if it did not bring down retribution on the head of the man who lodged in her office, and who, she said to herself, had worked himself into her plans, like the rot in a field of potatoes, she would ever after admit that she did not know how to write a letter. All the way home she had conned over her method of action until Mr Brandon, or a letter, should come from Midbranch.
She had already attacked, together, the unprincipled pair who found shelter in her house, and she now determined to come upon them separately, and torment each soul by itself. Annie, of course, would come in for the lesser share of the punishment, for the fact that the wretched and depraved Null was no more, had, in a great measure, mitigated her offence. She was safe, and her aunt intended to hold her fast, and do with her as she would, when the time and Junius came. But upon Lawrence she would have no mercy. When she had delivered him into the hands of Mr Brandon, or those of Roberta's father, or the clutches of the law, she would have nothing more to do with him, but until that time she would make him bewail the day when he deceived and imposed upon her by causing her to believe that he was in love with another when he was, in reality, trying to get possession of her niece. There were a great many things which she had not thought to say to him in the arbor, but she would pour the whole hot mass upon his head that evening.
Stamping up the stairs, and thumping her umbrella upon every step as she went, hot vengeance breathing from between her parted lips, and her eyes flashing with the delight of prospective fury, she entered her room. The light of the afternoon had but just begun to wane, and she had not made three steps into the apartment, before her eyes fell upon a pair of faded, light blue shoes, which stood side by side upon a table. She stopped suddenly, and stood, pale and rigid. Her grasp upon her umbrella loosened, and, unnoticed, it fell upon the floor. Then, her eyes still fixed upon the shoes, she moved slowly sidewise towards the closet. She tried the door, and found it still locked; then she put her hand in her pocket, drew out the key, looked at it, and dropped it. With faltering steps she drew near the table, and stood supporting herself by the back of a chair. Any one else would have seen upon that table merely a pair of baby's shoes; but she saw more. She saw the tops of the little socks which she had folded away for the last time so many years before; she saw the first short dress her child had ever worn; it was tied up with pink ribbons at the shoulders, from which hung two white, plump, little arms. There was a little neck, around which was a double string of coral fastened by a small gold clasp. Above this was a face, a baby face, with soft, pale eyes, and its head covered with curls of the lightest yellow, not arranged in artistic negligence, but smooth, even, and regular, as she so often had turned, twisted, and set them. It was indeed her baby girl who had come to her as clear and vivid in every feature, limb, and garment, as were the real shoes upon the table. For many minutes she stood, her eyes fixed upon the little apparition, then, slowly, she sank upon her knees by the chair, her sun-bonnet, which she had not removed, was bowed, so the pale eyes of the little one could not see her face, and from her own eyes came the first tears that that old woman had shed since her baby's clothes had been put away in the box.
* * * * *
Lawrence's letter to Miss March was a definitely expressed document, intended to cover all the ground necessary, and no more; but it could not be said that it was entirely satisfactory to himself. His case, to say the least of it, was a difficult one to defend. He was aware that his course might be looked upon by others as dishonorable, although he assured himself that he had acted justly. It might have been better to wait for a positive declaration from Miss March, that she had not truly accepted him, before engaging himself to another lady. But then, he said to himself, true love never waits for anything. At all events, he could write no better letter than the one he had produced, and he hoped he should have an opportunity to show it to Annie before he sent it.
He need not have troubled himself in this regard, for he and Annie were not disturbed during the rest of that day by the appearance of Mrs Keswick; but after the letter had been duly considered and approved, he found it difficult to obtain a messenger. There was no one on the place who would undertake to walk to Midbranch, and he could not take the liberty of using Mrs Keswick's horse for the trip, so it was found necessary to wait until the morrow, when the letter could be taken to Howlett's, where, if no one could be found to carry it immediately, it would have to be entrusted to the mail which went out the next day. Lawrence, of course, knew nothing of Mrs Keswick's message to Midbranch, or he would have been still more desirous that his letter should be promptly dispatched.
The evening was not a very pleasant one; the lovers did not know at what moment the old lady might descend upon them, and the element of unpleasant expectancy which pervaded the atmosphere of the house was somewhat depressing. They talked a good deal of the probabilities of Mrs Keswick's action. Lawrence expected that she would order him away, although Annie had stoutly maintained that her aunt would have no right to do this, as he was not in a condition to travel. This argument, however, made little impression upon Lawrence, who was not the man to stay in any house where he was not wanted; besides, he knew very well that for any one to stay in Mrs Keswick's house when she did not want him, would be an impossibility. But he did not intend to slip away in any cowardly manner, and leave Annie to bear alone the brunt of the second storm. He felt sure that such a storm was impending, and he was also quite certain that its greatest violence would break upon him. He would stay, therefore, and meet the old lady when she next descended upon them, and, before he went away, he would endeavor to utter some words in defence of himself and Annie.
They separated early, and a good deal of thinking was done by them before they went to sleep.
The next morning they had only each other for company at breakfast, but they had just risen from that meal when they were startled by the entrance of Mrs Keswick. Having expected her appearance during the whole of the time they were eating, they had no reason to be startled by her coming now, but for their subsequent amazement at her appearance and demeanor, they had every reason in the world. Her face was pale and grave, with an air of rigidity about it, which was not common to her, for, in general, she possessed a very mobile countenance. Without speaking a word, she advanced towards Lawrence, and extended her hand to him. He was so much surprised that while he took her hand in his he could only murmur some unintelligible form of morning salutation. Then Mrs Keswick turned to Annie, and shook hands with her. The young girl grew pale, but said not a word, but some tears came into her eyes, although why this happened she could not have explained to herself. Having finished this little performance, the old lady walked to the back window, and looked out into the flower garden, although there was really nothing there to see. Now Annie found voice to ask her aunt if she would not have some breakfast.
"No," said Mrs Keswick, "my breakfast was brought up-stairs to me." And with that she turned and went out of the room. She closed the door behind her, but scarcely had she done so, when she opened it again and looked in. It was quite plain, to the two silent and astonished observers of her actions, that she was engaged in the occupation, very unusual with her, of controlling an excited condition of mind. She looked first at one, and then at the other, and then she said, in a voice which seemed to meet with occasional obstructions in its course: "I have nothing more to say about anything. Do just what you please, only don't talk to me about it." And she closed the door.
"What is the meaning of all this?" said Lawrence, advancing towards Annie. "What has come over her?"
"I am sure I don't know," said Annie, and with this she burst into tears, and cried as she would have scorned to cry, during the terrible storm of the day before.
That morning, Lawrence Croft was a very much puzzled man. What had happened to Mrs Keswick he could not divine, and at times he imagined that her changed demeanor was perhaps nothing but an artful cover to some new and more ruthless attack.
Annie took occasion to be with her aunt a good deal during the morning, but she reported to Lawrence that the old lady had said very little, and that little related entirely to household affairs.
Mrs Keswick ate dinner with them. Her manner was grave, and even stern; but she made a few remarks in regard to the weather and some neighborhood matters; and before the end of the meal both Lawrence and Annie fancied that they could see some little signs of a return to her usual humor, which was pleasant enough when nothing happened to make it otherwise. But expectations of an early return to her ordinary manner of life were fallacious; she did not appear at supper; and she spent the evening in her own room. Lawrence and Annie had thus ample opportunity to discuss this novel and most unexpected state of affairs. They did not understand it, but it could not fail to cheer and encourage them. Only one thing they decided upon, and that was that Lawrence could not go away until he had had an opportunity of fully comprehending the position, in relation to Mrs Keswick, in which he and Annie stood.
About the middle of the evening, as Lawrence was thinking that it was time for him to retire to his room in the little house in the yard, Letty came in with a letter which she said had been brought from Midbranch by a colored man on a horse; the man had said there was no answer, and had gone back to Howlett's, where he belonged.
The letter was for Mr Croft and from Miss March. Very much surprised at receiving such a missive, Lawrence opened the envelope. His letter to Miss March had not yet been sent, for the new state of affairs had not only very much occupied his mind, but it also seemed to render unnecessary any haste in the matter, and he had concluded to mail the letter the next day. This, therefore, was not in answer to anything from him; and why should she have written?
It was with a decidedly uneasy sensation that Lawrence began to read the letter, Annie watching him anxiously as he did so. The letter was a somewhat long one, and the purport of it was as follows: The writer stated that, having received a most extraordinary and astounding epistle from old Mrs Keswick, which had been sent by a special messenger, she had thought it her duty to write immediately on the subject to Mr Croft, and had detained the man that she might send this letter by him. She did not pretend to understand the full purport of what Mrs Keswick had written, but it was evident that the old lady believed that an engagement of marriage existed between herself (Miss March) and Mr Croft. That that gentleman had given such information to Mrs Keswick she could hardly suppose, but, if he had, it must have been in consequence of a message which, very much to her surprise and grief, had been delivered to Mr Croft by Mr Keswick. In order that this message might be understood, Miss March had determined to make a full explanation of her line of conduct towards Mr Croft.
During the latter part of their pleasant intercourse at Midbranch during the past summer, she had reason to believe that Mr Croft's intentions in regard to her were becoming serious, but she had also perceived that his impulses, however earnest they might have been, were controlled by an extraordinary caution and prudence, which, although it sometimes amused her, was not in the least degree complimentary to her. She could not prevent herself from resenting this somewhat peculiar action of Mr Croft, and this resentment grew into a desire, which gradually became a very strong one, that she might have an opportunity of declining a proposal from him. That opportunity came while they were both at Mrs Keswick's, and she had intended that what she said at her last interview with Mr Croft should be considered a definite refusal of his suit, but the interview had terminated before she had stated her mind quite as plainly as she had purposed doing. She had not, however, wished to renew the conversation on the subject, and had concluded to content herself with what she had already said; feeling quite sure that her words had been sufficient to satisfy Mr Croft that it would be useless to make any further proposals.
When, on the eve of her departure from the house, Mr Keswick had brought her Mr Croft's message, she was not only amazed, but indignant; not so much at Mr Croft for sending it, as at Mr Keswick for bringing it. Miss March was not ashamed to confess that she was irritated and incensed to a high degree that a gentleman who had held the position towards her that Mr Keswick had held, should bring her such a message from another man. She was, therefore, seized with a sudden impulse to punish him, and, without in the least expecting that he would carry such an answer, she had given him the one which he had taken to Mr Croft. Having, until the day on which she was writing, heard nothing further on the subject, she had supposed that her expectations had been realized. But on this day the astonishing letter from Mrs Keswick had arrived, and it made her understand that not only had her impulsive answer been delivered, but that Mr Croft had informed other persons that he had been accepted. She wished, therefore, to lose no time in stating to Mr Croft that what she had said to him, with her own lips, was to be received as her final resolve; and that the answer given to Mr Keswick was not intended for Mr Croft's ears.
Miss March then went on to say that it might be possible that she owed Mr Croft an apology for the somewhat ungracious manner in which she had treated him at Mrs Keswick's house; but she assured herself that Mr Croft owed her an apology, not only for the manner of his attentions, but for the peculiar publicity he had given them. In that case the apologies neutralized each other. Miss March had no intention of answering Mrs Keswick's letter. Under no circumstances could she have considered, for a moment, its absurd suggestions and recommendations; and it contained allusions to Mr Croft and another person which, if not founded upon the imagination of Mrs Keswick, certainly concerned nothing with which Miss March had anything to do.
The proud spirit of Lawrence Croft was a good deal ruffled when he read this letter, but he made no remark about it. "Would you like to read it?" he said to Annie.
She greatly desired to read it, but there was something in her lover's face, and in the tone in which he spoke, which made her suspect that the reading of that letter might be, in some degree, humiliating to him. She was certain, from the expression of his face as he read it, that the letter contained matter very unpleasant to Lawrence, and it might be that it would wound him to have another person, especially herself, read them; and so she said: "I don't care to read it if you will tell me why she wrote to you, and the point of what she says."
"Thank you," said Lawrence. And he crumpled the letter in his hand as he spoke. "She wrote," he continued, "in consequence of a letter she has had from your aunt."
"What!" exclaimed Annie. "Did Aunt Keswick write to her?"
"Yes," said Lawrence, "and sent it by a special messenger. She must have told her all the heinous crimes with which she charged you and me, particularly me; and this must have been the first intimation to Miss March that her cousin had given me the answer she made to him; therefore Miss March writes in haste to let me know that she did not intend that that answer should be given to me, and that she wishes it generally understood that I have no more connection with her than I have with the Queen of Spain. That is the sum and substance of the letter."
"I knew as well as I know anything in the world," said Annie, "that that message Junius brought you meant nothing." And, taking the crumpled letter from his hand, she threw it on the few embers that remained in the fireplace; and, as it blazed and crumbled into black ashes, she said: "Now that is the end of Roberta March!"
"Yes," said Lawrence, emphasizing his remark with an encircling arm, "so far as we are concerned, that is the end of her." _