A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing.
Alfred Grandison was born in the ancient city of Bristol in the year
1831. His father had been bandmaster in a British Cavalry regiment,
but had retired some years previous to the birth of little Alfred, and
made a comfortable livelihood by teaching the children of the wealthy
residents of Clifton, the fashionable suburb of Bristol. Young Alfred
soon gave evidence of great musical talent, and used to amuse himself
blowing trumpet calls on his father’s French horn, although the
instrument was almost as big as himself; he also achieved considerable
mastery over the piano, the flute and the violin, but, though bright
and intelligent enough, and always maintaining a creditable position at
school, it was evident that nature had intended him for a musician,
and that he could never succeed in anything prosaic or mechanical.
Accordingly his father taught him not only to play, but also instructed
him in the theory and literature of music, and, when he was old enough,
had him entered as a chorister in Bristol Cathedral, where, in addition
to vocal music, he was carefully taught the art of organ-playing by the
Cathedral organist.
The boy soon became able to play quite skilfully, and when his voice
began to give way he obtained a position as organist in the church at
Shirehampton, performing on a small instrument with one row of keys.
From Shirehampton he shortly removed to a more remunerative position
in Bristol, and he was not long there before he fell in love with the
daughter of a hotel-keeper in one of the suburbs, whom, in spite of
the remonstrance of both relatives and friends, he eventually married,
although she was both poor and plain-looking, and at least ten years his
senior. “A young man married is a man that’s marred” says Shakespeare,
and, without venturing an opinion as to the correctness of this theory,
we may say that young Grandison had made a great mistake. In a short
time his affection, or fancied affection, for his wife became less
ardent, and he found himself at the age of twenty-four, married to a
woman who had neither taste nor sympathy in common with him, the
father of three helpless children, and the recipient of the stupendous
emolument of sixty pounds a year. Added to all this his friends, being
unwilling to associate with his wife and relations, had, one by one,
deserted him, and left him almost alone to brood over his ill-advised
alliance.
Whilst moodily glancing at an evening paper he saw an advertisement for
an organist who would be willing to go to Canada, and at once seizing at
the idea he applied for the post, which he eventually obtained without
great difficulty, sailing for Montreal in the spring of 1855, to play
the organ and direct the music of one of the leading Episcopal churches
in this city. At that time there were, very few musicians of ability
in Montreal, and Mr. Grandison soon became quite popular, both
professionally and socially. His wife was at first invited out, but,
finding that she seldom accompanied her husband on these occasions, her
name was, in time, dropped from the invitations, and Mr. Grandison was
treated as if he were a bachelor, many indeed being altogether unaware
of the fact that he had a wife and family.
Among those who took Grandison by the hand was a certain Mr. Sedley,
a professional man of high standing. Mary Sedley, the daughter of the
latter was possessed of a remarkably fine voice, and was one of the
ornaments of the church choir, so that the family were naturally
interested in the advent of a new organist from England, under whose
careful training the music of the church was to be developed and
improved. It was decided to place Mary Sedley under the special charge
of Mr. Grandison, and he accordingly went twice a week to the house to
give her lessons in singing, and when there was a special Anthem to be
sung his visits were much more frequent. Then the Sedleys gave grand
musical parties to which Mr. Grandison was of course, invited, playing
Miss Sedley’s accompaniment on the pianoforte, while she entranced the
assembled company with her singing; in fact, no gathering of the
Sedley family was complete without the presence of the handsome and
accomplished Mr. Grandison.
All this, in its way, was harmless enough, but Mary Sedley was a
blooming girl of seventeen, and Grandison, as I have said was quite
a young man, and from the frequent walking home with her alone from
services and rehearsals, and other meetings in society, there arose an
intimacy which, though unnoticed by Mary’s parents, and possibly not by
the young people themselves, could not be productive of anything in the
long run but sorrow and remorse.
One Saturday night when Mary came home rather later than usual, her
father (who, though fond of her, was an austere man) questioned her
gruffly as to the cause of her delay, when she replied:--“Oh! papa, I am
to sing ‘As Pants the Hart’ to-morrow, and Mr. Grandison insisted on my
trying it with the organ after practice. It is exceedingly difficult,
you know.”
Her father _did not know_, and was inclined to be very angry. The next
day, however, he forgot it all in the delight of hearing his daughter’s
voice resounding through the sacred edifice; Grandison was invited to
dinner, and everything was once more _couleur de rose_.
The first winter after Grandison’s arrival in Canada he gave a grand
concert in Nordheimer’s Hall, then the principal concert hall in the
city. Mary Sedley was the Prima Donna, and bouquet after bouquet was
thrown at her feet, as she retired amid the plaudits of the multitude.
After the concert Grandison accompanied them home to supper, and about
twelve o’clock took his leave of the family.
About an hour afterwards Mr. Sedley, thinking he heard a noise, got
up and searched the house, when, to his surprise, he found the door
unfastened. He thought he remembered having secured it as he retired to
rest, but was not certain; however, he proceeded, in his search, and
on coming to Mary’s room, found the door locked, and heard his daughter
breathing heavily, as if asleep. Being unwilling to disturb her, he
returned to his bed, and, ere morning, the affair had passed from his
memory. Had he remained awake, however, he might have seen a man emerge
from his daughter’s room, and, creeping stealthily along the passage, go
out at the hall-door, his daughter, the pure, spotless Mary, _leader of
Psalmody and sacred lays_, following close at his heels, to fasten the
door and make good his retreat.
This sort of thing went on for a long time, unsuspected by either Miss
Sedley’s parents or friends, when Mary became suddenly placed in a very
awkward position. A certain Mr. Hazelton, junior partner in a large
hardware firm, had long been a suitor of hers, and had asked repeatedly
for her hand; her father had hitherto refused to give his consent, owing
to her tender age, but he had now withdrawn every obstacle, and left her
free to get married if she chose; more than that, he urged Hazelton’s
suit, and, though unwilling to coerce his daughter in any way, gave her
to understand that he was particularly desirous that she should give
Hazelton a favorable reply.
Under ordinary circumstances Mary would have had no hesitation in
refusing to have anything to say to Hazelton, but for some time rumor
had been busy circulating scandal concerning herself and Grandison, and,
as she was at that moment not in a condition to bear scrutiny, she was
afraid to awaken suspicion by refusing Hazelton’s offer, and so he was
made the “happiest of men” (?)
A short time after Miss Sedley had become engaged to Mr. Hazelton she
went with her father and mother to Cacouna, where they had a summer
residence. By a strange coincidence, Grandison also chose Cacouna at
which to spend his holidays, and combined business with pleasure by
giving occasional concerts at the St. Lawrence Hall, which hotel had
just been erected, and was the fashionable resort of those people from
Montreal and Quebec who could manage to exchange the heated atmosphere
of these cities for the more bracing air of Canada’s popular watering
place. Mr. Hazelton was unable to leave Montreal, and Mrs. Grandison was
not disposed to accompany her husband, even if he could have afforded
to take her, in fact, the poor woman, feeling that she was a burden and
drag on her husband, had taken to drinking, and had gradually removed
herself still further from the pale of fashionable society. Her house
(which was situated in a back street in Montreal) was not only untidy,
but positively dirty, and her children ran about the streets unclad
uneducated, and uncared for.
The Sedleys had not been long at Cacouna when one morning the old
gentleman walking out, as was his wont, before breakfast, saw through
the fog (which in this district usually hangs about for some time after
sunrise) a man descend from his daughter’s bedroom window and walk
hastily in the direction of the hotel. Both the distance and the fog
prevented him from positively recognizing the man’s features, but the
form and carriage were unmistakably those of Alfred Grandison. Mr.
Sedley was, so to speak, “struck all of a heap,” he could not believe
the evidence of his own senses, and for a few moments he stood rooted to
the spot as if thunderstruck; then he rushed into the house, and going
straight to his daughter’s room upbraided her with her shameful conduct,
but was met by a bold and unqualified denial, the young lady stating
that she had been till that moment asleep, and that possibly some
burglar had been in the premises, whom her father had mistaken for a gay
Lothario. She burst into tears and wondered that her father could have
such an opinion of her, and suggested that immediate search should be
made, to see if any articles of value were missing. Her father was by no
means convinced of his mistake, however; he thought it possible that his
daughter might not have been aware of Grandison’s presence, or that he
might only have been _about to enter_ the house when he was frightened
away; but that Grandison was there he felt certain, so, going
immediately over to the hotel, he charged him directly with his
crime, at the same time, presenting a loaded revolver at his head, he
threatened to blow his brains out. This, as may be supposed, did
not prove a ready means of eliciting a confession from the cowardly
Grandison. The poor wretch cowered before the righteous indignation of
the broken-hearted father, and swore by every saint in the Calendar that
the latter must have been mistaken, and that nothing criminal had ever
taken place between the young lady and himself.
Mr. Sedley only half believed these asseverations, but, as may be seen,
he was a poor diplomatist, and took the very worst way to arrive
at anything like the truth. So saying “Not guilty, but _don’t do it
again_,” or words to that effect, he left the hotel and returned to his
own house. Here he disclosed his fears to his wife, but she scouted
the idea as preposterous, and urged him to have Mary’s marriage with
Hazelton celebrated as soon as convenient, and so put an end to all
possible contingencies.
Shortly after the return of the family to Montreal Mr. Hazelton led to
the altar with pride the “blushing” Mary Sedley. Good cause, indeed, had
she to blush, for never was man more egregiously “sold” than was “Mr.
Samuel Hazelton, of the city of Montreal, merchant.” The _happy couple_
left by the evening train for Boston, the “Wedding March,” which was
admirably performed by Mr. Grandison, still ringing in their ears.
About five months after this unholy marriage Mrs. Hazelton called on me,
and disclosed to me the whole state of the case, informing me (of which
there was little necessity) that her confinement was close at hand, and
soliciting my aid to get her out of the difficulty. My first impulse was
to call on her husband and acquaint him with the facts: but, remembering
that he occupied a prominent position, not only in the mercantile, but
also in the religious community; moreover, that a disclosure would in
no way mend the matter, and would be a lasting disgrace not only, to the
two culprits, but also to Messrs. Sedley and Hazelton I listened calmly
to her plans for getting out of the difficulty. She suggested pretending
a miscarriage, wished me to invite her to my house, where she would
become ill, and unable to leave till after her child was born. The child
was then to be conveyed to the nunnery, her husband being deluded into
the belief that she had miscarried.
Now, in the ordinary course of business, I would have been perfectly
justified in attending her without troubling my head about her
antecedents; indeed, had she been unmarried I would possibly have
given my services, but in this case the lady was married, and the child
lawfully belonged to her husband, _whose heir it was_, although actually
belonging to another man.
I accordingly declined having anything to do with her case, although I
promised that, as her confession was made to me in confidence and as a
professional secret, I would not disclose it to anyone. Having friends
in Boston, she made some excuse to visit them, and she was not long
there when her husband received a telegram, stating that his wife had
had a premature confinement and lay in a precarious state in Boston,
whither her loving husband instantly repaired. The child (a beautiful
girl) was sent to Mrs. Sedley in Montreal, and given out to nurse. She
was eventually adopted by a childless dry goods merchant in this city
who had her educated as his daughter, employing, by-the-by, _her own
father_ to give her lessons in music.
One would think that now Mrs. Hazelton had got over this great
difficulty, and started in life as a respectable married lady, she
would have eschewed her former errors and turned over a new leaf.
Unfortunately for all parties, her husband was proud of her musical
ability, and insisted that she should continue to take lessons from
Grandison, for whom strange to say, he had conceived a great regard. The
frequent meetings consequent upon this proved too much for both of the
culprits, and in a short time they became as intimate as ever. Since
Mary’s marriage, Mr. Sedley had quite forgotten his former suspicions
of Grandison, and he was cordially received into both houses, being, in
fact, almost a member of the family.
Mr. Hazelton was a prominent member of the church and, being a capital
speaker, had undertaken to give a lecture in the basement of that
edifice addressed to young men; Mrs. Hazelton and some other ladies
were to enliven the evening with music, accompanied on the piano by
Mr. Grandison. The lecture animadverted at some length concerning the
temptations which beset young men, and warned them to avoid vice of all
kinds, drinking, gambling, and the rest. Among other things he mentioned
the social evil, and contrasted the happy home of the chaste man and his
virtuous wife with that of the drunken, vicious libertine. The seducer
was anathematized, and a graphic description given of the poor degraded
women who had lost the one jewel in their crown. It is needless to say
that both Mrs. Hazelton and her paramour felt exceedingly uncomfortable
during this discourse; the former who was to have sung a brilliant aria
at its close, grew deadly pale, and had to leave the room. The lecturer
requested Mr. Grandison to substitute a piano solo, but strange to say,
he was unable to perform anything without notes, so the announcement was
made to the audience that, owing to the excessive heat (the temperature
was about 70 degrees Fahrenheit), Mrs. Hazelton, was unable to perform
that evening, and begged to be excused. Grandison was to have gone home
with the lecturer to supper, but he said he considered Mrs. Hazelton
would be the better of a little quiet, and, stammering out some excuse,
slunk away in the direction of his own home.
Mr. Hazelton found his wife reclining on a sofa in the drawing-room, and
he at once exerted himself to alleviate her suffering, and gratify her
every whim. He propped her up with pillows, and ordered the maid to
prepare whatever delicacies the larder afforded, blaming himself as
being the cause of all her sufferings. His solicitude in her behalf made
her only the more miserable; she had never loved, and never could love,
him, but his uniform kindness and attention had excited within her a
feeling of gratitude which made her remorse all the more bitter as she
thought how he had been duped by the woman who had sworn to love and
honor him. The next day was one of those appointed for receiving her
singing lessons, but she sent a messenger to Mr. Grandison, telling
him not to call for a few days, as she was unequal to even that slight
exertion. Mr. Hazelton called to see me in great alarm, informing me
that his wife’s first child was prematurely born, and that he dreaded
a recurrence of that terrible calamity. I, of course, had my own ideas
concerning what was the matter, but I promised to call and see her, and
do what I could to alleviate her sufferings. I found her well enough
physically, but in very low spirits and in tears. She told me what I
have informed the reader, adding that she was at the moment _enceinte_,
the father of this child being also Alfred Grandison. I was very much
shocked at this disclosure, but contented myself with remonstrating with
Mrs. Hazelton concerning the course she was pursuing, urging her to
drop all connection with Grandison. This she promised to do, but I
subsequently discovered that, far from keeping her promise, she had even
gone so far as to plan an elopement with him to the United States.
About two years after Mrs. Hazleton’s marriage, Grandison received the
appointment of organist to ---- Church, Chicago, and, together with
his wife and family, left Montreal for the Western city, leaving Mr.
Hazelton in undisturbed possession of his wife; the latter, instead of
rejoicing at this providential release from temptation, fretted at the
loss of her paramour, attributing, however, her fitful humor to her
delicate condition.
Shortly after Grandison’s departure for Chicago I was summoned to attend
Mrs. Hazelton, who gave birth to a fine boy. Mr. Hazelton was in ecstasy
at the thought of becoming a father; he gave a grand entertainment on
the occasion of the child’s christening, and when the guests all agreed
that the child had “its father’s nose” (which was doubtless the truth)
the poor man’s delight knew no bounds. Mrs. Hazelton gradually began
to be more cheerful, and to try in some measure to make amends to her
husband for the wrong which could never be repaired. When, however, he
carried her baby up and down, or fondled it upon his knee, the bitter
pangs of remorse gnawed at her heart, and made her captious and bad
tempered. With all this there was no deep repentance, and when Grandison
came to Montreal for his holidays, her husband was completely forgotten
once more. Grandison was invited to stay at the Hazeltons’ residence,
an invitation which to do him justice he endeavored to decline, but Mr.
Hazelton pressed him so strongly that he was afraid to awaken suspicion
by refusing, and so the wolf became ensconced snugly in the sheepfold,
not only without difficulty, but on the pressing invitation of its
occupants. Mrs. Hazelton during this visit urged Grandison so strongly
that he promised to elope with her so soon as he could conveniently
leave Chicago.
He had not been long back at his new residence when his wife died, and
letters of condolence were sent to him from all quarters. His wife, who
had never been received into society, was suddenly discovered to have
been one of its brightest ornaments, and her loss was deeply felt and
proportionately deplored. Mrs. Hazelton now thought her opportunity had
come, and accordingly wrote to Grandison that she was ready to go to the
end of the world with him. He, however, was not particularly anxious to
go to such a remote locality; in fact he had made up his mind to remain
in Chicago, and (now that his wife was no longer a burden upon him)
to turn over a new leaf and become a respectable member of society.
Whatever charms Mary Sedley may have had had long since disappeared, and
Mr. Grandison’s affection was not so deep-seated that he was prepared
to tie himself to a comparatively plain old woman for whom he had long
since lost every particle of respect. He accordingly took no notice of
her letter, and received a second and a third couched in the strongest
language of affection. But the more importunate she became, the more did
Grandison lose his respect for her; he therefore took no notice of her
letters, and determined to keep aloof from her in the future.
When Mrs. Hazelton began to realize that he had deserted her, she grew
frantic indeed. She would not believe it; the letters had miscarried, or
something else had interfered to prevent his writing. She resolved that,
come what would, she would go to him, and, throwing herself at his feet,
demand his protection. In the dead of the night she collected her most
valuable clothing and jewellery, and, with a little money in her purse,
stealthily left her husband’s house, carrying her bundle in her hand.
She wandered about the streets till daylight, and in the morning entered
the Grand Trunk Depot in St. Bonaventure street, and procured a ticket
for Chicago. Her husband at first thought she had merely gone to
Bonsecours market to purchase provisions for the ensuing week, and that
she would shortly return. Breakfast time came, however, and she did not
return, and he began to get uneasy; enquiries were made of neighbors and
friends at whose houses she might possibly have stayed, but no one had
seen her, or knew anything of her whereabouts. The police were next
communicated with, and a regular hue and cry was raised in the city
concerning her mysterious disappearance. In the meantime the object
of their search arrived in Chicago, and at once proceeded towards
Grandison’s residence. She had not gone far when he approached her with
a fashionably dressed young lady on his arm. Mrs. Hazelton ran towards
him with a cry of recognition, but, whatever he may have felt towards
her before, the sight of her as she now appeared drove every trace
of affection from his heart, he looked at her coldly, and without the
faintest sign of recognition The effect of this treatment under the
circumstances can well be imagined; the wretched woman fell fainting
at his feet, raving wildly and uttering the most awful imprecations. By
this time a crowd had collected, and the police, thinking she was some
madwoman who had escaped, had her removed to an asylum, and placed under
medical treatment.
During all this period Hazelton was like a man demented; he caused
advertisements to be inserted in the principal papers, describing his
wife, and offering a reward for her recovery. The canal locks were
dragged from end to end, and every place likely to have been visited by
her was thoroughly searched and examined. At the end of about a week Mr.
Hazelton received the following telegram:--
Chicago, Oct. 14, 18--.
To S. Hazelton, Esq.,
Montreal
Person answering description in advertisement in _Tribune_
found here to-day, and placed under medical treatment.
What shall we do?
J----P----,
--for Chief of Police.
Mr. Hazelton immediately telegraphed a reply, and, taking the next
train, was soon able to identify his lost wife. The sight of him made
the poor creature worse, and he was forbidden to call till she was in a
less excitable condition. In about a week, though still suffering, she
was removed to Montreal, and placed under the care of Dr. X----, to
whom I communicated what I knew concerning her antecedents. In a
comparatively short time she grew much better, and was able to converse
intelligently, the subject of her departure and her illness being
carefully avoided. Her husband attributed her mental aberration to the
old cause, although why she should have gone to Chicago, he never could
exactly understand.
Many years have now passed since these occurrences, and all the parties
to this narrative are still alive. Mrs. Hazelton has never recovered
from the effects of the shock received in Chicago, and sits brooding
mournfully and in secret over her past transgressions, while her husband
with unceasing devotion heaps coals of fire on her head. Grandison has
since moved to New York, where he married again, and became an altered
man. I met him in Montreal a short time since, but he carefully avoided
all mention of either Mr. or Mrs. Hazelton, and did not dare to call
either on them or the Sedleys. Once or twice his name was mentioned at
the house of the latter, but it seemed to awaken sad recollections in
the breast of Mrs. Hazelton, and was consequently avoided by the family.
The latter have lived so far in ignorance of these occurrences, and it
is to be hoped they will never be undeceived.