The whole mystery really began the next afternoon. But I must begin by
telling of what happened in the morning. I got up and met my aunt. She
sent for me, and I went to her room, where she, dressed in a beautiful
négligé, was eating her breakfast.
She looked a little tired and white, but she didn’t let herself seem so
when she talked.
“My dear child,” she said, “we are so happy to have you here. Sit
down--not there, dear; that’s a frock I’ve had sent up on approval, and
one doesn’t like to crush them more than so much. . . . I was so sorry I
couldn’t meet you last night, but I was persuaded to stay down-town and
go to see something light with a group of friends. . . . So seldom have
an evening free. . . . Not _that_ blouse, Jane! . . . Now let me see
you, Natalie. Stand up.”
I did so, and she said, “Hum----” in a lingering, speculative way. I
didn’t feel very comfortable.
“Well, we must go shopping,” she said with a sigh. “Jane, go ask Miss
Evelyn to be kind enough to come here a moment----”
Jane vanished, and my aunt went on looking me over.
“Some gray mixture for your day frocks, I think,” she said at length.
“With your gray eyes--yes, gray. And we’ll look at something soft in
rose and in pink for evening. . . . Lovely hair you have, dear. Like
your mother’s. But it looks more like New Orleans than Virginia. I
wonder whether there _was_ Creole blood in your mother’s mother’s
family?”
I said I didn’t know, and then Evelyn came in. She spoke to me
pleasantly, although carelessly, and then to her mother. The way she
spoke to her was not pleasant. “What is it?” she almost whined. “I was
right in the middle of notes, mother!”
“I wanted you to telephone Mrs. Lethridge-Guth; tell her I’m
indisposed--can’t play this morning. . . . This child will _have_ to
have some clothes. . . .”
Evelyn looked at me.
“She most certainly _will_!” she admitted. “I should think some of that
braid could come off before you go out----”
Aunt Penelope nodded, got a scissors, and I slipped from my frock. Then
I sat down and began to rip off the braid which I had so painfully
attached.
“My dear _child_,” Evelyn broke out, after a look at my arm, “where did
you get that? Have you been in my things?”
I hated that last, and I suppose I showed it, for I know my head went
up, and I answered coldly.
“That,” I said, “is the Jumel bracelet, and it is mine. It belonged to
my mother.”
“Almost forgotten it,” said Aunt Penelope; “let’s see the thing. . . .”
I slipped it off and handed it to her.
“Evelyn’s father had one like this made for her,” said Aunt Penelope.
“He had Tiffany send a man up to the Jumel Mansion and make drawings of
the mate of this, which is in a case by the painting. I think Eve is a
little annoyed at your having the real one while hers is a copy.” And
Aunt Penelope looked shrewdly at Evelyn and laughed a little.
“How _silly_ of you, mother!” said Evelyn hotly. “I’m nothing of the
sort!” And then she spoke of the dent in mine, and handed it back to me.
You could see she thought mine was very unimportant. After that, she
asked some fretful questions about what she should say at the telephone
and left.
“A little out of sorts,” said my aunt, as Jane came back with her street
things; “late hours, you know. . . . We’ll have to get you something
that you can put on immediately, for there is a friend of your mother’s
coming in to tea, whom you must see--dear old soul. Not _that_ one,
Jane. . . . Mercy, my girl, can I never teach you--no, the _gray_----”
After my aunt had dressed for forty-five minutes, she was at last ready
to start, and we did. But we didn’t go down to the shopping district by
motor, for aunt said that took too long, so we walked a little way and
then went in the subway, which was hot, and that made everyone look
sleepy and yawn. Aunt Penelope bought me a great many things, and enough
underclothes to change every day! They were very pretty. And I must say
I did enjoy trying on the soft things I was to wear in the house at
night. There was a white crêpe de chine, with a broad yellow sash and
hand-embroidered scallops done in yellow around the collar. The woman
who sold us things, who had a beautiful voice, and who was very polite
_and_ complimentary, said: “Beautiful with her hair and skin. The two
are a rare combination.”
And my aunt said: “Yes, let me see that gray, with the rose girdle----”
And she bought that too. And then she bought a rose-coloured dress which
was untrimmed except for broad collars and cuffs of scrim, and a plain
heavy white dress, untrimmed except for buttons and stitching. And she
bought stockings to match all these. She selected shoes for me, skirts
for me, morning frocks, as she called them, a motor-coat, a suit, and
several hats, all of which were very plain, and a squashy black tam made
of lovely soft velvet. I could only gasp. Oh, yes--I almost forgot. She
bought brushes and combs for me too, and a little tiny brush to brush my
eyebrows with! I almost fainted. And all that took us quite a while, of
course. We had lunch in the store, but I didn’t enjoy it much, because
my aunt selected it, and naturally it was nourishing, which always
detracts from the interest of food.
And then we went home.
As we walked down a side street I saw the loveliest white house on a
hill and realized it stood only a few blocks from aunt’s. I asked what
it was, and found it was the Jumel Mansion.
Some of the things had reached home before we had--those that we bought
first--and it was while I was standing and gazing rapturously at that
pink dress that I saw the note.
It was scrawled on my telephone pad, and it said: “Do not wear the Jumel
bracelet to-day. It is my wish that you do not.--E.J.” I read it two or
three times and then I went to the drawing-room. Jane was dusting, and I
asked her what I wanted to know.
“Jane,” I said, “what was Madam Jumel’s first name?”
“I can’t say, miss,” she replied, “but if she is important, you’ll find
her in the New York Guide, perhaps.”
I thanked her and went to look it up. And I found that Madam Jumel’s
name was Eliza. . . . Well, I’d heard of spirits writing, but I hadn’t
believed it before; and I really didn’t believe it then; I thought it
was a joke. But I decided I would go over to the Jumel Mansion for a few
moments if my aunt would let me. I felt as if I must. So I asked her,
and she said I might--for “just a little while.” . . . I put on my new
suit and the tam (which I had worn home), defiantly clasped that
bracelet around my arm, and started.
And when I got there I found that it was open and that anyone might go
in, so I did, and I did enjoy it! . . . In the first place, it is a
lovely old house, and it has in it everything in the way of interesting
relics that you can imagine. It was Washington’s headquarters for more
than a month during the Revolution, and the room where he slept
especially interested me. It proved to me that good deeds don’t die. For
Washington, who did lots of them, is remembered because he always did
his best and was upright and fine and true. And now--every little thing
that he even touched is kept and treasured. I stood looking at the
Washington relics for a long time, and then one of the curators asked me
whether I would like to see the door through which the Indian braves
came to pledge allegiance to Washington, and I said I would. So he
showed it to me.
“Through this,” he said, “they trooped in; soft-footed, I suppose they
were, since they all wore moccasins; and they carried laurel branches as
an outward sign of the tune of their spirits.”
And then he told me that the British occupied the house later--they
captured it November 16, 1776, to be exact--but he said there was no
soft-footed approach with them. He said they were a noisy crowd who
liked their ale.
I said: “Perhaps they were homesick and had to do something to cheer
themselves up.” I could understand _that_.
“Why,” he said, “perhaps they were!” and he smiled at me. Then he asked
me if I was from the South. He said he rather noticed it in my voice,
and he smiled again. I told him yes, and then I thought perhaps he would
be interested in my bracelet, and so I showed it to him, and my! the
confusion that ensued! . . . He called everyone else who took care of
the house, and they all came, and I had to tell my story at least six
separate times, and quite an interested crowd of visitors listened and
looked at it too. . . . I simply told them how it came to me, and not
about the tragic happenings that it made, for at that time I had made up
my mind I would not believe in that tale!
Well, we stood around talking and then we went over to the painting of
Madam Jumel, and near that I saw the bracelet she had kept. It was in a
little case.
“A great many people admire that,” said one of the women who stayed
there, “especially the women. There was a little Spanish woman in here
the other day who was simply mad about it. All she could say was, ‘Es
incomparable lindo y yo lo deseo!’” which the man said meant:
“Incomparably beautiful! How greatly do I desire it! . . .” She said
that men liked the Washington things best, but that women almost always
liked the bracelet.
Then, because it was growing late, I knew I must go, although I hated
to. The people who took care of the house all asked me to come soon
again, and I said I would, for I liked them and the house. And, after
good-byes and a promise to return and show them the bracelet again, I
hurried off.
And outside it began. . . . I don’t know how you know that you are being
followed, but I did then. And suddenly--I heard soft, scuddy footsteps
drawing closer to me at every second. . . . I ran, and then--I stopped,
for I meant to be brave and face it, and I give you my word, although
not a second before I had heard those hurrying feet, when I turned there
was no one in sight except an old man, who was sitting on the kerb and
holding out a tin cup. He wore dark glasses, so I knew he was
blind. . . . I went back to him.
“Did you,” I asked, and foolishly, I realized afterward, “see anyone
pass?”
“I am blind,” he replied.
And then I said that I knew that was silly to say and that I was sorry.
And I gave him fifteen cents, which was all I had with me. . . . I went
on, and I began to hear those footsteps again, coming closer and
closer--and then ahead of me I saw the man that Evelyn said was
“romantically thrilling,” and I ran for him.
“Someone,” I gasped, “is following me.”
He stopped and looked down, and I saw that he didn’t recognize me, and
then he looked back, as I had, and saw nothing.
“There’s no one in sight,” he said soothingly, “and I’m sure there’s
nothing to be frightened about.”
“Perhaps not,” I answered, “but if you are going home, I’ll go with
you.” And then I told him that I was Evelyn’s cousin, and when he said
he hadn’t recognized me I told him my aunt had bought me a lot of new
clothes. And I told him quite a little about them, because he was
sympathetic and easy to talk to. He is a little lame and has to use a
cane all the time, and somehow his being not just like other people
makes you want to be kind to him; and that--or something else--has made
him very kind.
As we turned in the apartment-house I saw the blind man going along the
other side of the street, his cane doing the feeling for him, and his
movements awkward and stiff. There are a great many things that are sad
in New York, which seems strange, for so many people are so wealthy.
Now, in Queensburg no one has much money, but no one could go in want,
for the people who have just a little more than they have wouldn’t let
them.
I told Mr. Kempwood a little about Queensburg too, and he was really
interested. And that helped me, for not even Amy will listen to that. He
rode up to our floor with me, and stepped off to wait until I got in.
Then he shook hands and said good-bye. As he rang for the elevator he
said: “If that hat is one of the new ones, you did well. It’s a corker!”
I thanked him and admitted it had some sense, for you could keep it on
if you wanted to make a home run. He said I seemed to be doing that when
we met, and then the elevator came and he went down. And I went in,
remembering his smile so hard that I almost forgot about being followed.
My mother’s friend was there, and I liked her, and I enjoyed the tea,
although Aunt Penelope suppressed my natural tendency to engulf cakes
and indicated thin bread and butter sandwiches. Then Amy came in, and I
went with her to dress. Aunt told me to bathe and put on one of my soft
frocks, and to do that each evening at the same hour; but not to wear
one frock continually, simply because I liked it. I said I wouldn’t, and
decided to wear the pink one every _other_ evening.
I slipped off the bracelet and laid it on my bureau. When I was bathing
I heard a little noise, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I thought
that Amy had come in my room to get a pin, or to borrow some hairpins.
She uses invisible ones to make her hair look curlier around her face.
But when I got out and was doing my hair I saw another note. It lay
where my bracelet had been. On it was written:
“I told you not to wear this. My warnings are not given without reason.
When I deem it wise this will be returned.--E. J.”