expose yourself so? The child has done no harm. She has not even been
disobedient, that I see, though she may have been indiscreet. Let her
have her mother's trunks—she has the best right to them—and say no more
about the matter."
"How dare you!" said Miss Priscilla, turning furiously upon her. "You
are no better than she. Do you think I don't know you? Don't I know how
you fell in love with Richard Stanfield and tried to get him, though he
cared no more for you than for his old shoes, and so you take the part
of his girl now. You shall leave my house. Yes, all of you. I won't
have such a crew of spies and thieves about me any longer."
Miss Druett looked straight at Priscilla all the time she was speaking,
without uttering a word or moving a muscle of her countenance. Then she
said quite calmly, without a tremor in her singular, musically harsh
voice:
"Very well, Priscilla; you shall not tell me twice to leave your house
after all these years. But I advise you to think again before you
disgrace yourself without remedy."
So saying, she went into her own room and shut the door.
Miss Priscilla looked after her a moment. Then she pushed Calista into
her own room, and threw after her a heap of the musty-smelling woollen
garments which she had taken down from the nails.
"There is some fancy work for you, since you want amusement," said she.
"You shall cut every one of them into carpet-rags before you leave that
room."
She closed the door, and Calista heard her lock that and the room
opposite before she went down stairs.
Calista, though she had been so cool with her aunt, was in a tempest of
rage and mortification. She had never met with any personal violence
before, except a box on the ear now and then when she was a little
girl. And now to be so insulted and degraded before the servants;
to hear her father and mother abused and slandered; to see her own
mother's property, and not to be allowed to touch it,—it was too much.
Her head swam, her eyes seemed full to bursting, and she felt as though
she could have killed Aunt Priscilla on the spot. A burst of tears came
at last to her relief. She cried passionately for a long time, till her
mood calmed itself. And she began to consider her situation and think
what she had better do.
Look at it as she would, she could not see that she had done anything
very wrong. True, she had put the working-case in her pocket, but she
certainly had no intention of stealing it; and though she had been
tempted to take the gold pieces, she had not touched them with her
little finger. She did not feel that she had wronged Miss Priscilla in
any way. Neither could she feel under any obligation to her. Kindness
she had had none, and as to support, it was clear from Mr. Settson's
story that her grandfather had intended to give her father his share
of the estate, which, therefore, owed her much more than the bare
maintenance she had received from it.
She felt that she could not stay longer with Miss Priscilla if Miss
Druett went away, and that she would go Calista was pretty sure. At
last she made up her mind. She would go to Mr. Settson, lay the whole
matter before him, and be guided by his advice. At another time she
would have looked forward with pleasure to residing in his family, but
Mary's conduct in the morning had thrown a cloud over that prospect.
Perhaps Miss McPherson would let her live in the school for the help
she would give Miss Meeks and Miss Jessie. Miss Priscilla could not
keep her shut up always, and as soon as she was at liberty, she would
hasten to town, lay the case before her best friends, and be guided by
their opinion.
Having settled this matter in her mind, Calista felt comfortable. She
bathed her eyes, arranged her hair and her dress, and looked about for
something wherewith to divert herself. She could not perform the task
of cutting carpet-rags, even if she had been so disposed, for the very
sufficient reason that she had no scissors; so she hung the garments
away in a disused closet, after examining the pockets of the coats, in
one of which she actually found an old sixpence.
"Really, what a treasure!" said Calista. "I think I will hand it over
to Aunt Priscilla; or shall I buy a lead pencil with it?"
There was nothing else to be found except an old pocketbook, which
contained nothing whatever.
She took down her treasured "Cecelia" from its niche; but even the
story of the silver gauze and the trouble resulting from its purchase
could not fix her attention, so she took out her knitting, and found a
more effectual diversion in the intricacies of feather stitch.
Calista had almost forgotten her trouble for the moment, when the door
was unlocked, and Chloe put her head into the room.
"You are to go down to supper, Miss Calista, if that is any great
privilege," said she.
"Who says so?" asked Calista.
"Miss Priscilla. She says you are to come down now. Reckon she's afraid
to stay alone any longer. Well, I know one thing—if I didn't believe in
the Lord, I wouldn't be so dreadful afraid of the devil."
"Perhaps you would, now," said Calista, as she took up her work and
prepared to go down stairs. "I rather think those who fear the Lord
most are just those who have fewest fears of anything else."
"I reckon you are about right there," said Chloe. "Anyhow, I know one
thing: I ain't a-going to stay here much longer. But I must go and get
supper."
Calista descended to the sitting-room, wondering what kind of a
reception she should meet, and determining if her aunt laid hands on
her again, to leave the house at once. But Miss Priscilla's mood had
worked itself out for the time.
"Well, Miss Stanfield—so you have condescended to come down?" said she,
in the bitter, sarcastic tone in which she usually spoke to her niece.
"And, pray, how many carpet-rags have you cut this afternoon."
"None at all," answered Calista, concisely.
"Oh! I suppose such work is not fine enough for your mother's daughter."
"Neither my mother's daughter nor any one else can cut carpet-rags
without scissors, and you know very well I have none," answered Calista.
"Oh! Is it possible? But if you had them, no doubt you would not use
them. Of course, Miss Folsom's daughter would not stoop to anything
so ungenteel. She must keep her hands white and soft, so that she may
catch a rich husband, like her mother."
"Miss Stanfield," said Calista firmly, "if you say another word about
my mother, I will leave this house and never enter it again while you
are in it!"
Miss Priscilla looked at Calista, as she stood tall and stately in her
young beauty, and seemed to think she had gone far enough.
"Don't be a fool, child," said she. "Sit down and be quiet! Who cares
for your mother?"
"I do!" said Calista, firmly. "And I will not hear her abused."
"Well, well, sit down! What is that in your hand?"
"The knitting I am doing for Miss McPherson."
Miss Priscilla gave a kind of grunt, and the two sat in silence till
Chloe came in to set the table.
Now, setting a tea-table is, in itself considered, an act of a peaceful
and even softening nature; but Chloe converted it into a declaration of
war by her manner of performing the same. She reproached Miss Stanfield
with the bread, upbraided her with the butter, defied her with the
milk, and, so to speak, threw at her head every article she put down.
She knew that Miss Stanfield detested anything like a clatter, and she
hit every spoon against every other spoon and every dish against every
other dish on the table. She made separate journeys to the kitchen for
everything she wanted, and slammed more doors than would have been
supposed to be in the famous palace of the one-eyed Calender.
"Supper is ready!" said Chloe at last, when she could by no possibility
spin her preparations out any longer.
"Well, why don't you ring the bell, then?" asked Miss Priscilla,
fretfully. "Where is Miss Druett?"
"Miss Druett ain't a-coming down!" answered Chloe.
"Not coming down! Why not?"
"She says she is too busy. And I have took her tea up to her."
"Why, what is she doing?" asked Miss Priscilla.
"She is a-taking of her things out of her drawers and a-looking of them
over, and a-laying of them in her trunks," answered Chloe, with great
deliberation and an evident enjoyment of her words and of the annoyance
produced by them. "David and me has brought her trunks down out of
the garret, and David is a-going to take the biggest of 'em over to
Cohansey to be mended when he goes in the morning. And I have took her
tea up to her room, and she is a-drinking of it there, so there is no
use of waiting for her."
Miss Priscilla took her place at the tea-board with an impatient—"Well,
there, you may go!"
And Chloe retired, firing off another volley of what Mr. Sydney Smith
calls "wooden swearing," on her way to her own quarters.
Miss Priscilla did not like to make her own tea, and that for an odd
reason. She liked it very sweet, and she never could bring herself to
put in as much sugar as she wanted. However, she poured out the weak
beverage and handed a cup to Calista, who received it with a formal
"Thank you."
No more was said till, to her surprise, Miss Priscilla asked Calista if
she would have another cup of tea.
"If you please," said Calista, with equally formal politeness,
determined to give no opening for another outbreak if she could help it.
Not another word was spoken.
Miss Priscilla composed herself for her usual nap, and Calista was
about to leave the room when she was recalled by a—
"Don't go. Sit here with your work," which she could not but think had
something rather imploring in its tone.
"I wonder whether she really is afraid to stay alone," thought Calista,
as she resumed her seat.
She knitted in silence till it was too dark to see; and then, leaning
on the window-seat, she meditated on the various things which had
happened during the day.
She was gaining the mastery over her own spirit. Mary had treated her
not only unkindly, but, what was much worse, treacherously; for she
argued with herself that it was impossible for Mary so to misunderstand
her as to think that she was really laughing at Miss Meeks. Mary had
been at once her idol and her pattern for nearly two years; a pattern
unapproachable in its perfection, it was true, but still her model
of all that was good and lovely. And now that idol was fallen—a very
Dagon—in helpless ruin, and the fair model was chipped and stained—no
more to be a model, but only a sad warning. As Calista thought of it,
in her girlish exaggeration and passion, she said to herself, more than
once, "I wish she had died, like poor little Julia Lawrence, last year."
Calista did not know what death meant, any more than any other young
creature who has only seen it at a distance. It is curious, but, I
believe, quite true, that young people are apt to think of death just
in this way, as an easy method of escape. She did not realize what
it would be to have no Mary anywhere within reach; no possibility of
explanation or "making up;" no possibility of finding Mary any more,
though she should go all over the world to look for her.
She was but a child, after all, with a child's experiences. Still, as
she thought of the dead girl, with whom she had had a merry game only
the day before she had seen her laid out on her narrow white bed, her
heart grew soft toward her friend, and she said to herself that she
would try to forgive Mary.
"I am sure she will be sorry when she thinks about it," she said to
herself. "I need forgiveness enough myself, for that matter; and Mary
has done nothing worse than I was tempted to do. To be sure, I was not
overcome by the temptation; but that was no thanks to me."
And then Calista went back to her childish days, and began to recall
all she could remember about them and Miss Malvina.
"I am sure those are mother's trunks. I remember Miss Malvina making
me spell out the name on the end—'Calista Folsom'—and telling me that
it was my dear mother's name, and that those were her things. Oh, if I
could only get possession of them! I mean to ask Mr. Settson if there
is anything to be done. There, Aunt Priscilla is waking up."
In fact, Miss Priscilla roused herself and Chloe brought in the candles
at one and the same moment.
"Druey—why, where is Druey?" asked Miss Priscilla, rubbing her eyes.
"Chloe, where is Miss Druett?"
"She is up in her room, and she ain't a-coming down to-night, either,"
was Chloe's answer, as she slapped down first the candlesticks and then
the snuffer-tray. "I've took her up a candle, half an hour ago."
"But she must come down. What does she think I am going to do all the
evening? Go up to her, Chloe, and tell her—no, ask her if she isn't
coming down to play cribbage."
"Oh, well, I can go, of course," said Chloe, "but it won't do any good."
She departed on her errand, accordingly, and returned with the message
that Miss Druett was very tired and must be excused to-night.
Miss Priscilla fretted, and all but cried, like a child deprived of a
plaything.
"And you are no good—no good at all," she said to Calista. "I don't
suppose you could ever learn cribbage."
"I don't know, I am sure," answered Calista; and then, moved by a
feeling of compassion for which she could hardly account herself, she
added, "but I will try, Aunt Priscilla, if it will amuse you to teach
me."
Miss Priscilla seemed to think even the prospect of teaching Calista
better than no game at all, and the board was set out. But cribbage
is a difficult game to learn under the most favorable circumstances.
Perhaps Miss Priscilla was not a patient or skillful teacher, or
Calista was more than usually dull. Certain it is that after a short
trial, she abandoned the attempt in despair.
"There, it is of no use, I never could teach anybody anything. Put the
things away, child."
"I am sorry," said Calista, and she really was sorry to see the poor
withered, peevish woman deprived of one of the very few pleasures she
allowed herself; "perhaps if I were to try again—"
"No, no, never mind. Take your knitting. It is very good-natured of
you, though, I must allow."
Calista listened in amazement. It was literally the very first word of
commendation she had ever received Aunt Priscilla. She took up her work
again, and the two sat in silence till Miss Priscilla said, abruptly
but not angrily—
"Calista, what made you go into that room?"
"Only curiosity," answered Calista. "I was looking in the book-case,
and picked out some old books and papers to read. Then I tried the door
of grandfather's room and found it would open, so I went in to see what
was there."
"And what did you see there? Come, tell me," said Miss Priscilla,
almost coaxingly.
"Surely, aunt, you know what is there as well as I do, or better."
"Well, never mind that. Tell me what you saw."
"A great many moths, for one thing," said Calista; "the carpet is full
of them. And I saw a picture which I suppose was one of grandfather's
wives; a fair woman, with light hair rolled on a cushion."
"Yes, that is your grandmother. Well?"
"And I saw another picture, a miniature of a young boy, which I suppose
was my father."
"Well, and what else?" asked Miss Priscilla, as Calista paused. "My
father's desk is there; did you look into it?"
"I did," answered Calista, briefly, determined to tell the truth at all
risks.
"Well, what did you find? Don't be afraid to tell me."
"I am not afraid," answered Calista. "I saw a good many old papers—I
don't know what they were. Then I saw an old seal lying in one of the
pigeon-holes, and took it up to look at it. Then I put my hand back in
the hole to see if there was anything else, and in so doing I touched
the spring that opened the cupboard door where the gold pieces are.
Then I shut it all up and went up to my own room."
"Gold!" said Miss Priscilla, sitting up straight and startled in her
chair. "What gold?"
"The gold pieces in the little cupboard, aunt. Did not you know they
were there?"
"I! No, indeed! I have never touched a thing in the desk since my
father died—never been into the room since he was buried. How much gold
was there?"
"I don't know; I did not count it: six or seven gold pieces—English, I
should think."
"Where is the cupboard?" demanded Miss Priscilla, her eyes glittering
and her face flushed with excitement.
"In the desk, as I told you," answered Calista; "it is in one side of
the desk, over the little drawers and shelves. Nobody would think it
was there."
"Then I dare say there is one on the other side just like it. I suppose
you did not look to see?"
"No, I did not. When I saw the money, I did not wish to meddle any
further."
"Calista," said Miss Priscilla, in a low, trembling tone, and laying
her hand on Calista's arm, "you need not cut any carpet-rags, unless
you like."
"Thank you," said Calista, dryly.
"And—and you may go to school to-morrow, and—and the rest of the term,
if you will only go and bring me those gold pieces, and whatever else
you can find in your grandfather's desk."
"I would rather not, aunt," answered Calista, proudly. "There might
not be quite as many as I said, and then you would think I had stolen
them. And, by the way, here is a sixpence I found in the house this
afternoon."
Habit stretched out Miss Priscilla's lean fingers to the sixpence, and
greed of greater gain drew them back.
"You may keep the sixpence, child—only don't waste it—and perhaps I
will give you more some time. No, I won't think you stole anything.
Come, do go and bring that gold. It isn't safe. Some one else might
find it."
"Why not go yourself, aunt?" asked Calista, surprised at her aunt's
pertinacity. "I will hold the light for you, if that will do any good."
"No, no, I cannot, I dare not," quavered Miss Priscilla. "He might not
like it—but he would not mind you."
"He! Who?"
"Your grandfather, child. No, no, I can't go in, but you will go. Come,
now, I know you will."
"Very well, I will go," said Calista. "Even if my grandfather were
there, he has no reason to be angry with me. I have never gone against
his will, or kept from him anything he ought to have known. Let me take
the candle, and I will go."
Notwithstanding Calista's bold words, she could not restrain a tremor
when she found herself alone in the large, lofty, gloomy room. She
was, however, no coward to give way to groundless fear, superstitious
or otherwise. She set down her candle and opened the desk deliberately
enough and began her search for the secret spring. Still she could not
get rid of the feeling that some one or something was watching her.
She was sure she heard a subdued stir somewhere, and, glancing toward
the opening in the shutters, she felt almost certain that an eye was
looking down upon her.
She looked again—a straight, steady look. Nothing was to be seen, and
she smiled at her own fancy.
"What a goose I am!" she said to herself, as she found and touched the
spring which opened the secret cupboard.
The door flew open, and there lay the pieces as she had left them,
eight in number.
She felt all round the cupboard, but there was nothing more. Further
search, however, developed a corresponding recess on the other side,
containing another gold piece, a lady's old-fashioned gold watch, with
a heavy chain and seals, and two or three ornaments set with amethyst
and pearls—pretty, but of no great value.
Calista collected all in her handkerchief, and, assuring herself by a
hasty search that there was nothing more, she closed the desk and took
up her candle. At that moment she heard a slight rustle, and looking up
she saw, or fancied she saw, the same eye at the hole in the shutters
watching her movements. She walked straight toward the window, holding
up the candle, but there was nothing to be seen.
"It must have been a reflection in the glass, or perhaps a cat looking
in," she said to herself. "One might found a good story on it."
Miss Priscilla was sitting in an attitude of expectation, and started
nervously as Calista entered. She gave a childish cry of delight as
Calista laid the handkerchief open before her.
"You are a good girl, Calista—a very good girl!" said she, in a
fluttered manner. "Let me see—two, four, five; yes, eight guineas—and
that is your grandmother's watch. You shall have it when—when you are
old enough to wear it properly. School-girls don't wear watches, you
know."
"But you might let me keep it, aunt," said Calista, mischievously. "It
would be very convenient to have in my room."
"No, no! You would lose it; or some one might steal it. You shall have
it when—when you are old enough. And, mind you, don't tell any of the
school-girls about these things."
"Then I am to go to school again!" said Calista.
"Why, yes—yes. You can go to the end of this term, and then we will see
about it. Call Chloe; I want to go to bed. And don't you think you had
better let me have that sixpence to take care of for you?"
CHAPTER TENTH.
MISS DRUETT.
CERTAINLY Miss Priscilla was disturbed "by ordinary," as Miss Jessy
would have said, or she would never have gone up to bed leaving
Calista below. Usually she was driven off to her room with about as
much ceremony as a cow dismissed to her night's lodging. While she was
setting back her chair, and wondering whether she ought to go round and
see to the fastenings of doors and windows—a ceremony usually performed
by Miss Druett with great care and minuteness—Miss Druett herself
entered the room. She looked pale and tired, and Calista thought she
had been crying, but her eyes were as bright and her lips as firm and
resolute as ever.
"So you are here alone!" said she. "I heard Priscilla in her room, and
I thought I would come down and see to the fastenings."
"Thank you ever so much," said Calista. "I was just wondering what I
ought to do about it; and to tell you the truth," she added, lowering
her voice, "I did not quite fancy the task of going round alone, for I
could not help thinking there was someone prying about the house this
evening."
"Indeed! What reason had you for thinking so? But never mind now. You
shall tell me up stairs in my room, for I want a little talk with you
before you go to bed. Meantime, if you are not afraid, you can go round
with me and hold the light."
"Who will do this when you are gone?" said Calista, struck with the
thought as Miss Druett tried the fastening of bolt and bar in the great
dusky kitchen.
Miss Druett sighed. "I don't know who will do a great many things,"
said she. "I fear Priscilla will miss me more than she thinks."
"She missed you enough this evening, I am sure of that," said Calista.
"She almost cried because there was no one to play cribbage with her. I
offered to try to learn, but I think I must be very stupid, for I could
make nothing of it. However, she did not scold me, and it helped to
pass away a part of the time."
"Cribbage is a very intricate game, and Priscilla never had any faculty
of teaching. I think, Calista, if you are not tired, we will go through
the cellars—all at least that are unlocked. I should like to make sure
of them."
"What a castle of a place it is!" said Calista, holding up her light
and surveying the long gallery, floored with brick, and with heavy
doors opening on either hand. "It looks like something in an old
romance. What is in all these cellars, Miss Druett?"
"Nothing at all in most of them," answered Miss Druett. "There is some
silver plate and china packed away in this one, and a good deal of
valuable wine in that further one, at the end of the hall."
"Here is a door bricked up," said Calista. "What is that?"
"That is another small wine-cellar which has a history," answered Miss
Druett. "When your father was born, your grandfather had just received
a quantity of very fine Madeira, which had made the voyage to India. He
ordered two small casks to be placed in this cellar and built up as you
see, saying that one should be opened on his son's marriage, and the
other at the weaning of his eldest child."
"And it has staid there, undisturbed, all this time," said Calista.
"Father and grandfather are both gone, but the wine stays on. Perhaps
it is just as well there as anywhere else. I sometimes think so much
wine drinking is not very desirable."
"More people than you are beginning to think so," said Miss Druett.
"Well, as everything is safe for the night, we may leave these old
vaults to the centipedes and the efts." "Affets" she called them.
"See, there is one now!" said Calista, pointing out the little red
lizard running up the wall. "Are affets poison, Miss Druett?"