the carriage? As to the cows, Davis will see to them."
"Oh!" said Chloe. "Then I guess I'll go over to Sally's. Jubalina is
out, helping at Mrs. Whitecar's. And I'll take my new frock along and
get Drusella to cut it for me. Hadn't I better take the key to the
kitchen door, so's I can come and have things ready for you?"
"No, I prefer to carry all the keys myself. Go and get ready, for I am
in a hurry."
No more was said, and Calista began to reflect on her position with
some consternation. She did not at all relish the idea of being left
locked up in the great empty house without food all night, and besides
she had no notion of the lengths to which her aunt might go in her
madness, for as such Calista regarded her conduct. She might, however,
only mean to break her niece's spirit by hunger and solitude, and thus
gain her ends.
"But she will find herself mistaken," thought Calista, proudly; "she
does not know with whom she has to do."
The two servants slept in a room opening from the outer kitchen, and
Miss Priscilla watched Chloe so carefully as to prevent her going up
stairs at all.
Calista in her prison heard all the doors locked one after another,
and the chaise roll away. She tried the door, but it was fast; her
room being in the highest part of the house, she could not think for
a moment of throwing herself out of the window. She tried the door
with all her strength, but it would not yield to her efforts. She was
sitting down to rest and compose her thoughts, when she heard a welcome
voice under the window call softly—
"Honey, are you there?"
Calista sprang to the window and put her head out.
"Oh, Chloe, is it you? I thought every one had left me."
"Didn't I tell you so?" said Chloe, addressing nobody in particular. "I
didn't believe you went away in that carriage. Have you got a string
you can let down?"
Calista found a roll of tape in her work-box, and let it down.
Chloe fastened a basket to it.
"There's some dinner for you," said she. "I mistrusted all the time
you were here, and so Chloe put you up a nice basket. Now listen to
me. You will have to stay where you are till dusk. Nothing will hurt
you, and do you pack up all your trunks, and put all your best things
in one. Keep up a good heart, honey, and if you hear strange noises
and scratching round about dusk, don't you be scared. Cash has got a
plan for you in his head. There, good-bye; eat your dinner, keep a good
heart, and we'll show Miss Priscy that there is more than one way to
the woods, and out of them too."
Calista felt the wisdom of this advice. She made a hearty dinner, and
then began to pack up her trunks, putting together in one all her most
valuable articles and those she was most likely to need, as Chloe had
advised. She had in her possession the new travelling bag she had
bought for Miss Druett, and in that she bestowed her dressing things
and other small matters. This being finished, she took a book and read
for a long time.
It was growing dusk, when, as Chloe had foreboded, she began to hear
a distant stir and rustling, and low, cautious voices. She listened
intently: something was certainly stirring in the large disused closet,
wherein were stowed the old clothes that her aunt had destined for
carpet-rags. She opened the door, and as she did so, another door,
which she had never suspected, opened in the wooden partition opposite,
and the dark, friendly faces of Cassius and Chloe appeared in the
opening.
"Here she is, all safe and sound," said Cassius. "Now we must hurry,
for I mistrust the old lady may get back to-night, after all. Which
trunk do you need most, Missy? For we can't take but one."
Calista indicated the one she wished to take.
"All right," said Chloe. "Now, help me, Cash, and we'll put the others
where Miss Priscy won't find them in a month of Sundays."
Calista waited with what patience she could till the trunks were
bestowed somewhere in the dark void on which the closet opened.
"That's all right; now for this one. Come along, Missy, and mind your
steps. The garret is pretty dark. Shut your eyes a minute, and you'll
see better."
Calista followed, wondering more and more. Chloe shut both closet-doors
behind them. They passed through the garret and down a short stairway
which seemed to wind round the chimney, then through another closet
similar to the one up stairs, and Calista found herself in a large
bed-room on the second floor, which she recognized as her father's old
room.
"All right so far, but I'm glad that trunk wasn't any bigger," said
Cassius; "now it's all plain sailing. Shut all the doors behind us,
Chloe, and leave everything straight."
They descended to the first floor. Cassius opened a side-door, and it
was with a feeling of exultation that Calista found herself in the open
air.
"Is it possible she left a door unfastened?" said Calista.
"Not she," returned Cassius. "Young master gave me a key to this door
years ago, and I kept it for a kind of keepsake. But let's get on the
road, and I'll tell you all about it."
"Won't you take the river road?" asked Chloe. "It's more lonesomer."
"Either road is lonesome enough at this time," answered Cassias; "and I
want to get Missy into safe keeping. Have you got anything to put round
you, Missy? It is sort of chilly."
"Yes, I took down this old cloak, which was hanging in the closet,"
said Calista.
"That is my master's old military cloak, which he wore in war times,"
said Cassius. "He had it on when he was took for death. Some time,
Missy, if you don't want it, I should like to have that cloak; but I
don't want it in my house just now."
They were soon stowed in the Jersey wagon, which was tied before the
gate, and the stout little horse was going over the road at a fine
pace, as if he did not mind his load in the least.
"And now, do tell me how you got in?" said Calista. "And what is the
story of that closet?"
"Oh, it is all plain enough," answered Cassius. "You see Chloe
mistrusted all the time that you didn't go away with Mr. Fabian,
because she did not see you go out, and she told me so. So Sally says,—
"'You'd better go and make sure, and take the poor thing something to
eat.' For Sally, she can't bear to think of any one's going hungry.
"Says I, 'If she is there, I reckon we can get her out easy enough.'
"You see young master and me, we used to go out night-fishing, and he
had a key to the little side-door, and he and I, we built that little
staircase round the chimney and through the closets, so I could come
down to his room any time. Your grandpa knew it, and thought it was
only a frolic. Whether Miss Priscy did or not I don't know. She was
away at the time we built it, I remember. When young Master Richard
went away, he gave me that key to the side-door, and told me to keep it
till he came back. So as nobody ever used the door, I took it away with
me when I went, for a kind of keepsake. But it took a sight of oil to
make it turn smooth, I can tell you. I little thought what good it was
going to do. But I kind of wish you hadn't taken the coat."
"I don't think she'll miss it," said Calista. "She gave it to me with a
parcel of other old clothes to cut into carpet-rags, a long while ago,
and she has never asked for the things since. Anyhow, I can send it
back to her if she wants it."
"Yes, we'll fix that easy enough," said Chloe. "Here we come."
"I guess we'd better drive right to Mr. Fabian's, hadn't we?" asked
Cassius.
"Oh, yes, yes, Cassius. How shall I ever pay you?"
"Bless you, Missy, don't think about that. Who's got a right to help
you if I haven't, I should like to know?"
The sound of wheels on the carriage-drive brought Mr. Fabian to the
door of his handsome, stately old house, and great was his amazement
when Cassius stopped his horse, and helped out first Calista and then
Chloe.
"Calista, is this you? What does it mean?"
"Oh, Mr. Fabian, won't you please take me in, and take care of me?"
said Calista, her voice quivering with the excitement she had been
repressing all day.
"Of course I will, and very glad I am to see you," said the old
gentleman, grasping the hand held out. "Mrs. Fabian, will you come
here?"
Mrs. Fabian appeared, stately and beautiful, in her black satin and
lace cap,—for old ladies were old ladies in those days.
"Now, what is the story?" said Mr. Fabian.
Cassius told it in a few words.
"What an abominable shame!" said Mrs. Fabian. "The child might have
lost her senses, poor dear. I never heard of anything more cruel."
The kind words, and the epithet which she had so often heard from her
lost friend, finished the break down which had been for some time
impending, and Calista burst into a fit of hysterical crying.
"There, there, she is quite overdone," said Mrs. Fabian, folding
Calista in her motherly arms. "We will get her to bed, and Chloe and
Cassius shall have their supper and feed the horse. Perhaps, Chloe, as
your mistress is not coming back to-night, you had better stay. There
is plenty of room for you."
Chloe had calculated on this invitation, and accepted it without
scruple.
Cassius declined, with many low bows. He must get home and see to his
cows, and so on.
Mr. Fabian followed him to the door and said something, of which only
the conclusion was audible: "Keep your own counsel, and if you get into
trouble, I'll stand by you."
He pressed something into Cassius's hand, which glittered yellow in the
lamplight.
Cassius bowed, and disappeared in the darkness, and his horse was heard
trotting away.
Meantime, Calista had been conveyed up stairs to the most beautiful
bed-room she had ever seen, where she was speedily undressed and put to
bed. Presently appeared Chloe with an inviting tray, and when it was
plain that Calista was too tired to eat, she was tucked up, exhorted to
sleep as late as she pleased in the morning, and finally left to her
repose.
CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.
MISS PRISCILLA.
IT was just as well that Cassius did not take the river road, for had
he done so, he would have met Miss Priscilla at his own gate.
Miss Priscilla had allowed herself to act in a passion, and, she had
not gone three miles from home before her mind misgave her. She had
almost a mind to make a pretence of having left something and turn
back. But she was not quite cool yet, and she did very much want to
see Mr. Anderson, the lawyer in Graywich, about "that infamous will of
Druey's"—so she called it in her own mind.
Mr. Anderson gave her no particular comfort. He was an honest man, and,
moreover, he had once had to collect a bill of Miss Priscilla, and he
had not forgotten (though she had) the way he had been treated on that
occasion. He strongly advised Miss Priscilla not to go to law about the
matter.
"These few thousand dollars are nothing to you," he said. "If you go to
law, your servants and your niece will be very sharply examined, and
things may come to light which may be very unpleasant."
Miss Priscilla winced.
"There is another consideration," pursued the lawyer, as gently and
politely as if Miss Priscilla was a mouse and he the cat which was
playing with her. "I suppose there is no doubt that your father,
General Stanfield, made a second will, though it was never found. But
after what has passed, Settson and Fabian will leave no stone unturned
to discover it, and they are likely enough to succeed. Under such
circumstances, would it not be better to conciliate the regard of the
young lady,—who, from all I hear from my nieces, her schoolmates, is a
very amiable, engaging young person,—and make a friend of her?"
"I tell you there was no second will—nothing of the sort," said Miss
Priscilla, in great agitation. "The whole property is mine—house and
all; and that money is rightfully mine."
"There you are mistaken, as I think," said Mr. Anderson, politely.
"Then you won't undertake the case?" said Miss Priscilla, in deep
disappointment.
"Under the circumstances, I must be excused," said Mr. Anderson; "and
my parting advice to you is to let matters rest where they are, and
to endeavor to make a friend of the young lady. The time is short,
my dear madam—the time is short; and both you and myself are rapidly
approaching that station where no earthly riches are of any avail. I
should be happy to invite you to dinner, but my wife and daughter are
away, and I am taking my own meals at a neighbor's house. Good-morning!"
And Miss Priscilla found herself bowed out of the office with great
politeness. She had counted on keeping herself, her horse, and her
servant at Mr. Anderson's expense; but now she must go to the tavern,
for the horse, at least, must have his dinner.
There was now no object in her remaining all night, and the more she
thought of it, the more vexed she was with herself for the course she
had taken. How should she manage when she came home? The servants would
be certain to find out that Calista had been shut up in the empty house
all day, and, what was worse, they would be sure to tell of it, for
they were both on Calista's side.
To do Miss Priscilla justice, she was not without better feelings.
She remembered that Calista had really seemed glad to see her down
stairs, and she thought, too, how she had rejected the child's offer of
friendship.
"The child!"
Yes, that was what Druey had always called her—Druey, who had stood by
her through evil report and unkindness, and to whom she had solemnly
given over the care of Calista. Suppose that when she got home she
should find Calista dead, or scared into insanity! Miss Priscilla was
as angry at herself as she had been at Calista. She thought matters
over, and decided, with a great pang, that she would give up the
contest, let the will be proved, and say no more about it. She had
counted on Miss Druett's ready money to carry on her schemes with Jael
and her husband, but then she could sell out some bank-stock.
Then another cold misgiving crossed her mind. She had already let
these people have two or three hundred dollars. Suppose they should
be robbing and cheating her all the time! But she could not and would
not believe that. No, the treasure was there, and she would have it!
She would coax Calista to join with her: Calista was always lucky in
finding things! Yes, that would be the best plan.
That Calista should refuse to be governed or coaxed, that she should
feel any lasting resentment for the way she had been treated, never
entered Miss Priscilla's head.
Full of these thoughts, she stopped at Cassius's gate and called
for Chloe. Instead of Chloe, came out old Sally. Was ever anything
so unlucky! Cassius had been obliged to drive into town, and Chloe
had gone with him and expected to spend the night with Mrs. Fabian's
Miranda. Cassius would most likely stay to meeting, seeing he was
there, and so would not come home till late.
This was worse and worse. Then Chloe would find out that Calista had
not gone away with Mr. Fabian. And what was she to do for supper?
David declared he could not and would not drive Jeff another step, and
the farm horses were away off down in the pasture. But then there was
Calista! No doubt the poor child was hungry enough by this time, and
for once she might get just what she liked for supper.
It was not without an uncomfortable feeling that Miss Priscy ascended
the stairs to the attic story, and, unlocking the door, called—
"Calista!"
Then, as no answer came, "Calista, child, take the things away from the
door and let me come in; I want to speak to you! Don't be afraid. I am
not angry, though you have been a naughty girl. Come, let me in!"
Still no answer. Exerting her strength, Miss Priscilla pushed away
the heavy chair which Calista had left standing against the door, and
entered.
The room was empty. Everything was in its usual state, except that
Calista's trunks were gone.
Much alarmed, she searched the house over, but every door was locked
and every window fastened. Calista was nowhere to be seen.
Leaving her to her own reflections, we will follow the fortunes of our
heroine.
Calista's sleep was broken and restless till near morning, but then she
fell asleep and did not wake till near ten o'clock.
When she did wake, she lay for some time in a half-dreamy state,
enjoying the softness of her bed and the luxurious prettiness of
her room, so different from the one she had so long inhabited. She
found a real pleasure in the pretty carpet, the easy chair with its
bright chintz, the Indian paper on the walls covered with processions
of camels and elephants, with wonderful birds and beasts, and men
still more wonderful. Presently her eyes fell upon the old army cloak
carelessly thrown over a chair, and like a flash came to her mind the
words of Cassius—
"He had it on when he was struck with death!"
She sprang out of bed, seized the coat, and felt in all the pockets.
There was nothing in any of them, but as she turned them out, she found
in the inside breast pocket a long rip. She put in her hand and pulled
out a folded paper carefully wrapped round with red tape, but not
sealed.
She gave one glance at it, and another out of the window. Mr. Settson's
house was open, and so was the office. Clearly the family were at home.
She waited no longer than to dress herself, and then, without seeing
or thinking of any one, she put on her hat, and, with the paper in her
hand, ran across to the office. There was no one in the outer room. She
knocked at the door of the inner office, and then, without waiting for
a reply, she opened it and went in.
There sat Mr. Settson and Mr. Fabian, with an elderly man whom she had
never seen before.
"Calista!" exclaimed both the gentlemen in surprise.
And Mr. Fabian's voice had a shade of displeasure as he added,—
"My dear, what has brought you here?"
"This!" answered Calista, holding up her prize. "Mr. Settson, will you
please tell me what I have found?"
Mr. Settson set down his snuff-box, and glancing at the outside of the
document, he opened it with eager haste. He looked it through, glanced
at the end, and then struck his hand on the table with a force which
made the ink jump out of the inkstand and the snuff out of the box, and
caused the office cat to utter a remonstrating mew.
"The very thing!" said he. "We have it at last. Fabian, Williams, look
here!"
They both rose and looked over his shoulder with eager curiosity.
"That is it, Mr. Settson," said the elderly man, whom Mr. Settson
called Williams; "that is the signature I witnessed, and the other
signature is that of young Mr. John Blair, at that time studying in
our office. I have heard he was living somewhere west—in Detroit, I
believe. That is Mr. Durant's handwriting. The old gentleman gave him
instructions how to draw the will, and he came in next day and signed
it. I heard it read over to him myself."
"But what in the world possessed him to go to a lawyer who was an
entire stranger, and in an obscure place like that?"
"I think it was because he was not very well. I remember he said
something about his heart troubling him."
[Illustration: _Old Stanfield House._
"This!" answered Calista, holding up her prize.]
"Where did you find the will, Calista?" asked Mr. Settson.
Calista described the way it had come into her possession.
"Exactly. I see it all. He had put it in his pocket to bring to me as
he said, when he was taken with this fit. The will slipped through the
slit, and has staid there ever since. Well, my dear, you have made a
good morning's work. I must examine the document further, but from
what I see, I think we shall unseat Miss Priscilla from her high horse
without much trouble. Run in and see Mary, and I will tell you the
contents of the will when I know them myself."
"Perhaps I had better go back," said Calista, blushing. "I came out
without seeing any one, and Mrs. Fabian will think it very strange."
"Mrs. Fabian will understand that you did quite right when I explain
matters to her," said Mr. Fabian; "I will return with you, and come
back directly. Have you had your breakfast?"
"No, sir."
"Dear, dear! Mrs. Fabian will be quite shocked, and we shall have you
ill."
But Mrs. Fabian was not shocked, nor was Calista ill. She ate her
breakfast with a good appetite, and then helped her hostess to rub the
skins off Siberian crab-apples, and then punch out the cores with a tin
tube, for, like most ladies of the time, Mrs. Fabian took pride and
pleasure in preparing quantities of sweetmeats.
Oh, what a delight there was in the feeling of perfect quiet and
safety! How she enjoyed the shade of the back veranda, where they
sat at work, the sight and smell of the garden, the pretty, dainty
household work, the sight of Mrs. Fabian's neat French chintz and apron
of India grass-cloth, the soft, cultivated voice in which she told
Calista anecdotes of her travels abroad, interspersed with mild moral
reflections. There were people who considered Mrs. Fabian a thought
tedious, but Calista could have listened forever.
After dinner Mr. Settson came over, and Calista was informed of the
provisions of her grandfather's will.
"The Philadelphia property, together with fifteen thousand dollars in
money, is left unconditionally to your aunt Priscilla. The Stanfield
place, with all the farms, &c., the Cohansey property, and twenty
thousand dollars, are left, first to your father, after him to your
mother for her life, or so long as she should remain unmarried,
and after her to the child or children of Richard Stanfield, share
and share alike; the guardianship of said children being given to
Mr. Fabian and myself as executors of the will. There are some
legacies,—one of a hundred dollars to old Cassius, and as much to the
church here, in memory of his last wife."
"Then I get more than Aunt Priscilla!" said Calista. "That seems hardly
fair."
"No, you get a good deal less. The Philadelphia property is worth much
more than the Stanfield estate, properly so called. Have you any of
your mother's papers?"
"Yes, sir; I brought them all with me, for I thought they might be
needed."
"Very discreet in you. Have you any objection to my looking them over?"
"Not at all, sir. I will bring them down."
Calista left the room and soon returned with two or three orderly
bundles of papers and her mother's Bible.
"This book has the date of my mother's marriage and of my birth
set down in it," said she. "I don't know whether they are of any
consequence at all—"
"Of all the consequence in the world," said Mr. Settson, untying the
bundles and carefully looking them over. "Certificate of marriage—very
good; bills, &c.—of no great account. Is there any one of these letters
by which you can fix the date of your father's death?"
"Yes, sir—a letter from the captain of his company, telling all about
it. This is it."
"Oh, so I see. Well, my dear, all things are uncertain in this world,
but so far as I can see now, there is no more doubt about your coming
in possession of the Stanfield place at twenty-one than there is that
the sun will rise to-morrow."
"It will be a great responsibility for a girl like me," said Calista.
"Very true; but we will hope you may have grace to use your fortune
wisely and rightly. Now as to another thing—I mean your place of
residence. I understand Miss Druett wished you to board at Miss
McPherson's; but I saw the good lady in New York, and she told me that
every room and bed in her house were engaged. Mrs. Fabian is anxious to
keep you with her, as she has no daughters living to bear her company.
Should you like that?"
"Yes, sir, very much."
"I should have liked to have you with us," continued Mr. Settson, "but
I find myself obliged to give a home to an aged aunt of my late wife's;
and to say truth, I think Mrs. Fabian, with her knowledge of the world
and society, a little better fitted to be the guide of such a—you
won't be offended if I say such a decided young lady as Miss Calista
Stanfield?—than my Alice."
"Oh no, sir," said Calista, smiling and blushing. "And I am sure I am
quite contented here. I think Mrs. Fabian is lovely. Then you don't
think I shall have to go back to my aunt?" she added, rather anxiously.
"No, indeed! Most decidedly not!" answered Mr. Settson, with emphasis.
"You must keep out of her way, and not go near the place at all."
"But if it is her duty, papa," interposed Mary, who had been sitting
quite silently with her knitting. "Don't you think she ought to go if
there is any chance of doing Miss Priscilla any good? Who knows how she
might be the means of influencing her?"
"I would go if it was thought right," said Calista; "but, oh, I should
dread it. I want to do my duty, I am sure," she added, anxiously.