Cast down.-- "Trifles."-- A charitable Offering.--
Dreariness.-- Going Crazy.-- An interrupted Seance.-- A
new Form of the Devil.-- The Red-herring Expedition and
its Result.-- A mad Dutchman.-- Desolation.-- An order for
a Coffin.-- The sympathizing Undertaker, Mr. Boxem.
Mrs. Winslow now began to show great perturbation of spirits. In
conversation with my detectives, who endeavored to cheer her up and lead
her to regard these surprises as mere jokes not worth any person's
notice, she constantly argued the opposite, and thus arguing, conjured
up countless possibilities of harm, gradually working herself into that
condition of mind where every little unusual noise or movement of any
person in the building or upon the street was a signal for some
querulous inquiry or complaint.
She was also very much worried concerning her suit, and went about among
the Spiritualists seeking their advice and encouragement, and giving and
receiving a good deal of scandal concerning the case. From one she would
hear that Lyon was employing certain other mediums in his behalf, and
that she had better look out for them. Another would inform her that
Lyon had several other mistresses, among them a Miss Susie Roberts, and
a Madame La Motte, both Spiritualists and mediums, from whom Lyon
intended to prove her bad character, and whom she, in turn, vowed she
would have subpoenaed in her own behalf, and impeach their testimony
through what she could compel them to admit of both themselves and Lyon.
At other places she learned that these persecutions were Lyon's work
entirely, or rather, the work of his agents, principal among whom were
the two ladies mentioned. And, in fact, wherever she went she heard or
found something to give her uneasiness or cause her unrest.
"Yes," she said sadly to my operatives, "I can't stand this sort of
thing much longer."
"Oh, nonsense!" rejoined Bristol; "you haven't been hurt, have you?"
"No; but I can't tell when I shall be. That's what I can't bear."
"But I thought you were a woman of too great force of character to allow
trifles to trouble you," exclaimed Fox tauntingly.
"Trifles!" said she hotly; "trifles! Is expecting every moment to be
murdered, or blown up, a trifle? Is fearing that everything you taste
will poison you, or everything you touch do you deadly harm, a trifle?"
"People will think you deserve to be annoyed if you show them you are
annoyed," argued Fox.
"I have long since ceased to care what people think. Sometimes I am sure
I hate every human being; and I do believe the more the world hates me,
the more money I make. If these things are not stopped soon, I tell
you," she continued in a tone of voice that seemed to say they could
stay the annoyances if they would, "I'll go to St Louis and attend to my
cases there!"
This opened the eyes of my operatives, and they simultaneously conveyed
the intimation to each other that careful working might secure some
information about any St. Louis cases the woman might have which would
be desirable; and in a short time, by gradually leading Mrs. Winslow on,
they discovered that the brazen adventuress, according to her own story,
had pending no less than seven cases in the Circuit Court at St. Louis,
every one of them being suits on some trivial, trumped-up charge.
It seemed fated that Mrs. Winslow should leave Rochester, if her
remaining depended upon these mysterious offerings ceasing, for while
they were yet in conversation upon the subject, a colored porter called
with a great basket-load of provisions, and without a word, after
spreading a newspaper upon the carpet, began unloading his store.
"In heaven's name, who sent you here with those?" she entreated of the
colored gentleman.
"It's all right; it's all right," he said soothingly, and winking hard
at my operatives.
"But it isn't all right; it's all wrong!" she retorted, warming.
"Guess not, missus; lemme see: Quart split peas, quart beans, one
punking, jug m'lasses, 'n a mackerel. Done got 'em all, sure!"
"Where did they come from, you black imp?" the woman demanded,
advancing threateningly.
He grabbed his basket quickly, and, slowly retreating towards the door,
winked again very knowingly at Bristol and Fox, tapped his forehead and
shook his head deploringly, and then nodded towards Mrs. Winslow, very
plainly saying in pantomime, "Poor thing!--badly demented!" and, as Mrs.
Winslow, in the excess of her anger, made a dive at him, he sprang back
through the door, ejaculating, "Lo'd, _ain't_ she crazy, though!" and
made good his escape, laughing with that expression of complete
enjoyment which only an Ethiopian can give.
Mrs. Winslow was now thoroughly convinced that the two men who had been
her constant companions of late had had something to do with annoying
her, and she cunningly followed the negro to the store where he was
employed, where she at once sharply questioned the proprietor, who told
her just as sharply that only a few minutes before, a ministerial-looking
man, claiming to be city missionary for some church up-town, called and
purchased the goods, remarking that they were for some crazy woman
living in the block next to Meech's opera-house, whom he had just
visited, and found to be possessed of the peculiar mania that she would
receive no provisions save in full dress in the presence of her
physicians, and that it was his desire to so humor her. So he had
entrusted the errand to the colored man, who had carried out the
instructions given him; and that that was all there was about it.
When she returned crestfallen to the apartments, and Bristol and Fox
had heard her story, they so derided it, claiming that the groceryman
had fallen in love with her and invented the story upon the spur of the
moment, fearing to disclose his languishing affection, she now believed
that they were innocent of complicity in the matter and seemed to lapse
into a bewildered sort of condition, where she would wander about the
rooms, suspiciously pass and repass my operatives and searchingly
scrutinize their faces, and for long periods stand at the dreary window
peering into the street as if into a dead blank, never noticing the
scurrying snow-flakes which were coming as a silent prelude to another
winter, and only occasionally breaking the silence by murmuring, "Crazy?
crazy? Yes, I _shall_ become so if these terrible things are not
stopped!"
But Mrs. Winslow had seen too much of life and was too hard a citizen
generally to be terribly borne down by these manifestations for any
great length of time, though they completely overpowered her at their
occurrence, and she was allowed to become quite cheery before being
favored with another materialization, which came in the following
manner.
They were having a pleasant little seance in the rooms one evening soon
after the colored grocery porter had accused Mrs. Winslow of being
crazy, and the several ladies and gentlemen collected there were engaged
in communing with the Spiritualistic heaven in the old and very common
table-rapping method. They were, as a rule, lank, lean people, the
ladies wearing short hair, and the gentlemen wearing long hair. This,
with a few other affectations and irregularities, was nothing against
them, had it not been equally as true that, according to my operatives'
subsequent inquiries, every member of this company was either living in
open adultery or practising all manner of lewdness without even the
convenient cloak of an assumption or pretension that the marriage
relations existed. But, good or bad as they were, they were at the
threshold of heaven, and had very appropriately darkened the room to get
as near to it as possible without being seen, and only the faintest
possible jet flickered in the chandelier. They had all, save Mrs.
Winslow, been served with a message, and she was now the inquirer,
solemnly asking of another medium some information from the dear
departed from over the river.
"Shall I soon receive word from an absent friend?"--(evidently meaning
Le Compte, who had disappeared a month or two previous). Three
affirmative raps followed.
"Shall I succeed in my case against Lyon?" The spirits were certain that
she would.
"Shall I be rewarded for all my trouble?" she asked, waiting tremblingly
for an answer.
To this inquiry three thundering raps were heard at the door.
What could it mean?
The members of the little circle were completely unnerved. And it was
not strange either. Here were nearly a dozen people closely huddled in
the centre of a room so dark that only the dim, indistinct outline of
any person, or thing, could be seen in the ghostly gloaming. They
believed, pretended they believed, or acquiesced in the belief or
pretension, that they were in direct communication with the spirit-land.
In the most ridiculous condition of mind which any person might enter
into such a performance, the secrecy and mysteriousness of the seance,
the hushed silence, the darkness, and that tension of the mind caused by
a constant expectation of some startling manifestation, will compel in
the most sceptical mind a strange feeling of solemnity akin to awe; so
that when Mrs. Winslow's last inquiry was answered so pat, as well as
with such an alarming loudness, the entire company sprang to their feet,
and on this occasion there was genuine surprise in the faces of my
detectives.
Bang, bang, bang! came the second series of raps, which promised Mrs.
Winslow she should be "rewarded for all her trouble."
But the answer, in the way it came, didn't seem to satisfy her. Somebody
stepped to the chandelier and turned on the light, which showed all the
company to have been considerably startled; but the hostess was white
from fear.
"Won't _somebody_ see what new form of the devil has been sent here to
annoy me?" she asked passionately.
Fox, as "somebody," stepped briskly to the door and turned the key just
as the first "Bang!" of another series of raps was begun, and opening
it quickly discovered a dapper young fellow with a big black bottle held
by the neck in his hand, which was raised for the purpose of giving the
door bang number two.
In response to Fox's loud and sharp inquiry as to what on earth was
wanted, he reversed the position of the bottle with the dexterity of a
bar-tender, took from the floor a huger basket than that brought by the
colored porter, and slipping into the room, nodded familiarly to Mrs.
Winslow, and then coolly to the company, after which he quietly
proceeded to unload his store.
"Great heavens!" said she despairingly, "I _don't_ want those things
left here. I have no need for anything of the kind. I take my meals at
the Osborne House!"
"Gettin' 'toney' lately!" responded the intruder with a shrug, piling
the packages up neatly in one corner and taking no heed of her expressed
wish concerning them.
There was no response to this, and he resumed in a light and airy tone:
"Times has changed, Mrs. ----; eh? What _was_ it at Memphis and Helena,
anyhow?"
This reference to the less aristocratic, though quite as respectable,
vocation of a female camp-follower, though it caused the woman to change
color rapidly, only brought from her the remark, "I don't know what you
mean, sir! I'll get even with whoever is responsible for this
outrage"--here she glared around upon the company as if to ascertain
whether any one present was guilty--"if it costs me a thousand dollars!"
The new-comer only smiled sarcastically at this and checked off his
packages, concluding the operation by carefully counting two dozen red
herrings, whose aroma was sufficient to announce their presence if he
had not exhibited them at all; while members of the company looked about
them and at each other as if for some explanation of the strange
proceeding.
Finally, Mrs. Winslow, with a mighty effort to restrain herself,
advanced and asked the young man if he would not please give her the
name of the person to whom she was indebted for the articles.
He arose, and smiling blandly, remarked, "You didn't used to be so
particular about presents and such things!" Then he added with a meaning
leer: "At Helena and St. Louis, ye know, old girl!"
"Old girl!" the ladies all screamed. "Why what _does_ this mean, Mrs.
Winslow?"
"Nothing, nothing!" she replied hastily; and then she hurried the too
talkative young fellow away, and came back into the room with a show of
gayety. But it broke up the little party, and soon after the ladies,
with frigid excuses about not having very much time, and the gentlemen,
with peculiar glances out of the corners of their eyes towards the woman
who had been so familiarly termed an "old girl," took their departure,
leaving Bristol, Fox, Mrs. Winslow and the melancholy pile of packages
surmounted by aromatic red herrings in a state of solemn, moody silence.
Bristol was first to break the stillness, which he did by asking rather
testily:
"You think Fox and I have had something to do with this, don't you?"
She looked at him a moment as if she would read his innermost thoughts,
and replied: "No, I don't! It comes from some of those strumpets of
mediums, and I would give a good deal--a good deal, mind you,
Bristol!--to know who it was. I'd--I'd----"
"What would you do?" asked Fox, putting her on her mettle for a savage
answer.
"I would either burn them out, poison them, push them over the falls, or
lie in wait for them and shoot them!"
Mrs. Winslow said this with as much sincerity and coolness as if giving
an estimate on any ordinary business transaction, and evidently meant
it.
"Oh, you wouldn't kill anybody, Winslow," replied Fox airily.
"Wouldn't I, though, Mr. Fox?" she rejoined with the old glitter in her
eyes and paleness upon her upper lip that had at an earlier period
worried the Rev. Mr. Bland; "wouldn't I? If you had fifty thousand
dollars in your trunk, I would kill you, appropriate the money, cut you
up and pack you in the trunk and ship you to the South--or some other
hot climate by the next express!"
She was just as earnest about the remark as she would have been in
carrying out the act; and after Fox had congratulated himself, both
aloud cheerfully and in his own mind very thankfully, that neither his
trunk, or for that matter his imagination, contained any such gorgeous
sum, he went to his own room for the night, leaving the very excited
Mrs. Winslow and the very calm Mr. Bristol to contemplate the groceries
and each other.
After a few minutes' brown study she suddenly turned to her companion
with: "Bristol, you and I are pretty good friends, aren't we?"
"Certainly," he replied.
"And haven't I always treated you pretty well?"
"Yes; with one exception."
"What is that?"
"The sleep-walking you did in my room."
"Oh, that's nothing, Bristol. Never happened but once, and won't occur
again. Otherwise I have treated you pretty well, haven't I?"
Bristol felt compelled to confess that she had.
"Well, then," she continued wheedlingly, "will you do me a favor?"
"What is it?"
"I want you to take a walk with me."
"Pretty late, Winslow, pretty late; nearly ten o'clock," replied the
detective, looking at his watch.
"The later the better," she replied earnestly. "I want to use those
herrings."
"Use those herrings! Why, there are at least two dozen. How on earth
will you use them all?"
"Some of these humbug mediums," replied Mrs. Winslow in a style of
expression that showed her to be very familiar with the Spiritualists,
"or old Lyon himself, have sent me these things. I'm going to adorn the
door knob of every one of their places with a string of herrings. In
that way I'll hit the right one sure. Come, won't you go?"
Bristol saw that the woman would go anyhow, and fearing that she might
get into some trouble that would cause her arrest and thus expose him
and Bristol to public notice, which a capable detective will always
avoid, consented to accompany the woman, which so pleased her that she
immediately sent out for brandy, and not only imbibed an inordinate
amount of it herself, but also pressed it upon Bristol unsparingly.
Her mind seemed filled with the idea that Lyon had become the "affinity"
of nearly every female medium of prominence in the city in order to
further his designs against her; and to remind them that they were
watched, she had Bristol write "Lyon-La Motte," "Lyon-Roberts," "Lyon-
----," etc., upon about a half-dozen couples of herrings, and upon all
the rest, save those intended for the Misses Grim, which were labelled
"Tabitha, Amanda, and Hannah," she had written the names of the
different ladies who, in her imagination, had supplanted her, and tied
all the herrings so labelled together with one very dilapidated herring
marked "Lyon." It is needless to say that the latter bundle of sarcasm
was intended for the ornamentation of Mr. Lyon's residence.
Bristol felt like a very bad thief, and Mrs. Winslow acted like a very
foolish one. The moment they gained the street she began a series of
absurd performances that well-nigh distracted Bristol and greatly
increased the danger of police surveillance. She laughed hysterically,
chuckled, and expressed her delight in a noisy effort to repress it,
until the tears would roll down her face. Occasionally they would meet
or pass parties who knew her, who would say to companions, in the tone
and manner with which they would have probably spoken of other
sensations, "There's the Winslow!" when she would shrink and shudder up
to Bristol's side, begging for the shelter and protection of his
capacious cloak. Again, imagining she saw somebody following them, or
was sure that loungers lingering in deserted doorways or at the entrance
to dark hallways or alleys were detectives on their trail, she would
give the patient Bristol such nudges as nearly took his breath away,
and, at his lively protest, would whimper and tremble like a querulous
child.
Their first work was to be done on State Street, near Main, and when
they had arrived at a certain hallway, Mrs. Winslow insisted that
Bristol should accompany her to the rooms which she desired to decorate.
This he flatly refused to do, when she began moaning something about
want of spirit, and then, with a sudden gathering of the admirable
quality for her own use, stole quietly up stairs and in a moment after
came plunging down, as if the inmates of the entire block had turned out
to give her chase. But this was not the case, and the expedition
progressed without any developments of note, Mrs. La Motte, Miss Susie
Roberts, and the Misses Grim being properly remembered, until they
arrived at Mr. Lyon's residence, some little distance from the thickly
settled portions of the city.
The house was one of the rambling, moss-covered buildings of ancient
style and structure, and was set back from the road some distance among
a score of trees quite as grand and ancient as the mansion itself; and
the old pile did have a gloomy appearance to the adventurous couple that
paused breathlessly before the gates.
"Bristol," said Mrs. Winslow shiveringly, "do you know that sometimes,
when I see that great black pile up there, I'm glad he didn't marry me?"
"Why?" her companion impatiently asked. He was getting cold and tired,
and was in no condition to appreciate maudlin melancholy.
"Because I'm sure I'd die in the old rack-o'-bones of a place; and
besides that, I'm sure there are spooks there!"
"Pooh, pooh!" sneered Bristol angrily; "go along and attend to your
business, or I'll go back and leave you!"
Thus admonished, the sentimental lady proceeded with her work.
For some reason the gate was very hard to open, and considerable time
was consumed in getting into the grounds. Then it was a long walk to the
house. Bristol anxiously watched the woman move slowly along the broad
walk until she disappeared in the shadows which surrounded the house and
the darkness of the night; and it seemed an age to him, as he stamped
his feet as hard as he dare upon the stone pavement and whipped his
hands about his shoulders to drive away the chilliness which he found
creeping on.
He heard her footsteps first, then saw her emerge from the gloom, and
finally saw her stop as if to listen. He also listened very intently,
and thought he heard somebody moving about the house; and was
immediately satisfied of the correctness of his hearing by noticing that
Mrs. Winslow suddenly turned towards the road and made remarkably good
time to the gate, which, feeling sure of trouble, he made strenuous
efforts to open.
"For heaven's sake, Bristol," she gasped, "why _don't_ you open this
gate. I'll be eaten up with the dogs, and we'll both be caught!"
The last clause of Mrs. Winslow's remark roused Bristol to a vigorous
exercise of his muscle. He tugged away at the gate, shook it, threw
himself against it from one side, and his companion threw herself
against it from the other side; but all in vain. Not a moment was to be
lost. Lights were seen flashing to and fro in the great mansion, angry
voices came to them, with the by nowise cheering short, gruff, savage
responses of loosened bulldogs, and in a moment more the front door was
passed by two men and as many dogs that came dashing out in full
pursuit.
Matters at the gate were approaching a crisis. The gate could not be
opened, and Mrs. Winslow must pass it or get captured.
"Climb or die!" urged Bristol, reaching through the pickets of the
gate, which was a high one, and lifting on the portly form of the
excited woman.
"I will, Bristol!" she returned, with a gasp.
And she did climb!
[Illustration: _"And she did climb!"--_]
It was best that she did so, as a good deal of trouble was coming down
that brick walk like a small hurricane, and it would logically strike
her in a position and from a direction that would not enable her to
respond; and if either or both of those dogs had been able to have
grasped the situation, partially impaled as she was upon the pickets,
the fascinating Mrs. Winslow would have fallen an easy prey.
She was very clumsy about it, but in her desperation she in some way
managed to scale the gate, leaving a good portion of her skirts and
dress flying signals of distress upon the pickets, and finally fell into
Bristol's arms. It was a moment when silk and fine raiment were as
bagatelle in the estimate of chances for escape, and it was but the work
of an instant for Bristol to tear her like a ship from her fastenings
and make a grand rush towards home.
Those portions of Mrs. Winslow's garments which were left flaunting upon
the gate not only set the dogs wild, but served to detain them. The men
were also halted a minute by the natural curiosity they awakened, after
which they made a furious onslaught upon the gate, that only yielded
after sufficient time had elapsed to enable the culprits to get some
distance ahead, when the men and dogs started pell-mell down the street
after them.
Bristol fortunately remembered that when they were nearing Lyon's
house, he had noticed that the door leading to an alley in the rear of a
pretentious residence had been blown open and was then swaying back and
forth in the wind. With the advantage in the chase given by the dog's
criticism upon Mrs. Winslow's wearing apparel and the men's hinderance
at the gate, they were able to seek shelter here, which they did with
the utmost alacrity, fastening the gate behind them, where they
tremblingly listened to the pursuers tearing by.
Mrs. Winslow insisted on immediately rushing out and taking the other
direction, but Bristol, feeling sure that the party would go but a short
distance, held on to her until the two men returned with the dogs,
swearing at their luck, and telling each other wonderful tales of
burglaries that never took place, while Bristol thoughtfully put in the
time by making Mrs. Winslow's skirts as presentable as possible, by the
aid of the pins which every prudent man carries under the right-hand
collar of his coat, and hurriedly ascertaining from her that she had
unfortunately tied the herrings upon the door-bell instead of the
door-knob, thus involving pursuit.
After everything had become quiet, and Bristol had made several
expeditions of observation to doubly assure himself of the coast being
clear, the couple stole cautiously out of the alley into the deserted
street, and after much precaution and many alarms, caused by the
creaking of signs, the sudden flaring of gas-lamps, and the fierce gusts
of wind dashing after and into them around the sharp corners of
buildings, they at last arrived at home past midnight; and, having
ordered it as they neared the block, for a half-hour longer they sipped
hot toddy by a rousing coal fire, recounting their exploits of the
night, and eventually retiring with something of the spirit of
conquerors upon them.
Down came the snow and the wind next morning, two things which will
usually in early winter call a whole cityful out of bed, and set the
human tides in a rapid motion. Fox and Bristol had long before got into
the streets and had heartily enjoyed some newspaper items, one
recounting racily the outrage of labeled herrings being hung to the
door-knobs of the houses of many respectable citizens, and another,
under glaring head-lines, giving the minutest details of a desperate
attempt at burglary of Mr. Lyon's house, and a double-leaded editorial
which agonizedly asked in every variety of form, "Where are our police?"
But Mrs. Winslow, from her adventures and toddy of the previous night,
slept late and long, and when she did come creeping out into the
sleeping-room, half dressed and altogether unlovely in disposition and
appearance, she looked out upon the snow-flakes and the crowds of people
without any emotion save that of anger at being aroused.
The only thing to be seen of anything like an unusual object was a very
large load of hay standing at the entrance of the building; but of
course this had no particular interest to a Spiritualist. She had had a
half-formed impression that she had heard knocking at the door, and she
turned from the window to ascertain whether that impression had been
correct. Throwing a shawl about her head and shoulders, she unlocked the
door and peered out cautiously. There was nobody there, and the wind
whistled up the stairs so drearily that she closed the door with a slam,
and after starting up the fire, which was slumbering on the hearth, she
crept into bed again.
She had no more than got at the drowsy threshold of dreamland than she
was startled by a loud knocking, this time proceeding from something
besides an impression of the mind, each knock being accompanied by some
lively expression of German impatience. The demonstration was
intelligible, if the words were not, and Mrs. Winslow bounded out of her
bed and into the reception-room in no pleasant frame of mind.
On protecting her form as much as her indelicate disposition
required--and that was not much--she flung the door open and savagely
asked:
"What's wanted?"
"Ef you keep a man skivering and frozing to died mit der vind und
schnow-vlakes, I guess mebby I charge more as ten dollars a don for
'em!"
He was all smiles at first, but he resented her brusque manner as
swiftly and severely as he could with his broken brogue. He was an
honest, broad-shouldered, big-headed German farmer, and though wrapped
and wound from head to foot in woollens, the only thing that seemed warm
about him was his glowing pipe and his disturbed temper. He shook his
head at the woman, and again began a stammering recital of his wrongs,
when she cut him short with:
"You're crazy!"
"Grazy? Of I make a foolishness of a fellar like as you do--well, dot's
all right!" and he stood up very straight and puffed great clouds of
smoke past her into her elegant room.
She had got a stolid customer on hand, and she saw it. So she asked him
civilly what he wanted at _her_ door.
"Yust told me vere ish der parn, und I don't trouble you no more."
"Whose barn?"
"Vere der hay goes."
"Hay? What hay? I don't know anything about any hay," she replied,
laughing at his perplexity.
"I shtand here an hour already, und ven I got you up no satisfagtion
comes. Py Shupiter, dot goes like a schwindle!"
He was very mad by this time, and walked back and forth in front of her
door, shaking his fists and gesticulating wildly; and to prevent a
scene, which might cause a collection of the inmates of the building,
she quieted him as much as possible, and ascertained that some obliging
person, more enthusiastic about the amount than the character of some
token of esteem, had taken the trouble to order a load of hay to be
delivered at her number, describing the place, room, and woman so
minutely that there could be no possibility of mistake, where the owner
was to collect all additional charges above two dollars, which had been
paid.
It took Mrs. Winslow a long time to persuade the farmer that she owned
no barn, kept no animals, had no use for hay, and that there had been
some mistake, or that some person had deliberately played a joke upon
_him_, but finally, after a shivering argument of fully fifteen minutes,
and the expenditure of a dollar bill, with the seductive offer that she
would give him ten dollars if he would find and bring to her the man who
ordered the load, her obstinate visitor departed, roundly swearing in
good German that he would have the _Gottferdamter schwindler_ brought up
by der city gourts and hung, to which Mrs. Winslow groaned a hearty
approval as she shut the door of the--to her--desolate room.
If there had previously been any doubts in her mind as to there being a
preconcerted plan to annoy and exasperate her beyond endurance, they
were now entirely removed, and the woman broke down completely, wringing
her hands in mute expression of bitter anguish. The storm without was
not half so violent as the storm within, and the blinding flakes which
swept from the bitter sky raged upon a no more barren, frozen, desolate
soil than her own selfish heart.
There may be a kind of pity for such a woman; there should be pity for
every form of human suffering, or even depravity; but in my mind there
should be none to verge from pity into palliation and excuse for this
woman. Great as was her mental suffering, there was in it not a single
touch of remorse. Terribly as her mind was racked and tortured with
doubt, uncertainty, fear, and despair, there was in it no trace of the
womanhood which, however low it may descend, is still capable of regret.
She was not heart-sick for the life she was leading, but dreaded the
punishment she knew it deserved. Her nature had never shrunk from the
countless miseries she had entailed on others, and her heart never
misgave her only in the absence of her kind of happiness or in the
superstitious fear of the evils which she felt assured were constantly
her due. She was, as far as I ever knew, or can conceive, a soulless
woman whose troubles only produced vindictiveness, whose utter aim in
life was social piracy, whose injuries only begat hate, and whose
sufferings only concentrated her exhaustless hunger and thirst for
revenge.
After the first burst of rage and passion, she settled down into a
condition of deep study and planning, and about the middle of the
afternoon began passing in and out and visiting various places, in a way
which, though it might not particularly attract attention, yet betokened
some business project being resolutely and quietly carried out.
During one of the periods when she was within her apartments, quite a
commotion was raised in the lower story, the stores of which were
occupied by a tobacconist and milliner, by a call from a prominent
undertaker of Main Street, who with a mysterious air exhibited the
following note, at the same time asking whispered conundrums about it.
"MR. BOXEM:
"DEAR SIR--Please quietly deliver a full-sized coffin at No.
-- South St. Paul Street, at the first room to the right of
the stairway as it reaches the third floor. Enclosed please
find five dollars, in part payment. Will make it an object to
you to ask no questions below, and deliver the coffin as soon
after dark as possible.
(Signed) "MRS. A. J. W----."
Mr. Boxem was by no means a solemn man; but he had a heavy bass voice,
which he used to such great effect in asking questions below stairs,
that he succeeded in creating a fine horror there, so that by the time
he had proceeded to Mrs. Winslow's rooms, it was settled in the minds of
the tobacconist and the milliner, their employees, and any customers of
either who had happened in during Mr. Boxem's preliminary investigation,
that each and every one's previous solemn prediction as to "_something_
being wrong upstairs" had now come true, as they each and every one
reminded the other that "Oh, I told you so!"
Mr. Boxem, finding Mrs. Winslow's door ajar, quietly stepped in and
reverently removed his sombre crape hat.
"Evening, ma'am," he said politely, but with a professional shade of
sympathy in the greeting.
"And what do _you_ want?" she asked in a kind of desperation, noticing
an open letter in his hand.
"Your order, you know," he replied tenderly; "these things are sad and
have to be borne. Can't possibly be helped, more 'n one can help coming
into the world."
Mrs. Winslow could not reply from rage and anger, and hiding her face in
her hands, walked to the window.
"No, it's the _way_ of the world," continued Boxem, with a sigh;
"ah--hem!--might I ask if _it_ is in there?" he concluded, producing a
tape-line case.
"It?--in God's name, what _it_!" sobbed the woman.
"Why--the--the"--stammered her visitor somewhat abashed, "the body--the
corpse, you know! Have come to measure it. Painful, I know; but business
is business, if it's only coffin business; and I can't possibly do a
neat job without I get a good measure. Something like the tailoring
trade, you see!"
"Body?--corpse?--come to measure it? Oh, I shall go wild, I shall go
wild," persisted the woman, half frantic at the intimation which came to
her that a corpse was not only in her place, but in the very room where
she slept, and that this fiend who was pursuing her--this Nemesis, who
struck her pride, her ambition, her desires, her very life, at every
move she made, had actually sent an undertaker there to measure the dead
body.
It is hard to tell what would have happened if the good sense of the
undertaker had not come to the relief of the situation; and, hastily
answering her that there had probably been some mistake, that the order
was probably meant for the next block, and offering other similar
excuses while hastily apologizing for the intrusion, Mr. Boxem very
sensibly went back to his business and his coffins, five dollars ahead
until more promising inquiries should bring to light the friend of the
alleged dead, and the owner of the money, who, fortunately for Mr.
Boxem, has not appeared to this day.