CHAPTER XV. — AN ELOPEMENT
The Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer sat in his library reading a ponderous legal document. It was full of knotty points requiring deep thinking, and the Hon. Nathaniel was breathing deeply and thinking deeply when the door was opened quietly and a young girl looked in. She stood for a moment regarding the reader.
“Father, are you very busy?”
The man finished reading the page before noticing the speaker.
“I am always busy, Maude, except when asleep, and I sometimes think my subliminal consciousness is active then.”
Maude's inclination was to say “Oh, my!” but she repressed the ejaculation.
“I can give you a few minutes, Maude, if the subject is an important one. Come in.”
Maude entered, seated herself, folded her hands in her lap and regarded her father as a disobedient pupil would a teacher.
“Father—”
The Hon. Nathaniel was listening attentively.
“Father—”
“Repetition is effective if not indulged in to excess. I often use it in my arguments before juries.”
Maude flushed. She was particularly sensitive to sarcasm, but could stand any amount of good-natured raillery.
“Father, I'm going to be married.”
The Hon. Nathaniel readjusted his glasses and regarded the speaker.
“It must be a clandestine attachment. I am not aware of meeting any gentleman who declared any desire to make you his wife. At whose house have you met your intended? I have no reason to suspect your Aunt Ella owing to her absence in Europe.”
“I've never been to anybody's house. I've walked with him on the Common and in the Public Garden.”
“Ah, two parks frequented by the elite of the city.”
Maude resented his last remark. “Just as good people as I am go there.”
“Do you mean that you are no better than those who go there?”
His voice was stern. Maude saw that she had made a mistake. “Some of them,” she said in a low voice.
“Who is the favoured gentleman? Have I the honour of his acquaintance?”
“Why, yes, you've met him. It's Harry, I mean Mr. Merry.”
“The young man who was Quincy's private secretary. Quincy wished me to take him into my office, but he never appeared in person.”
“He's with Mr. Curtis Carter on Tremont Street. Mr. Carter was one of Quincy's most intimate friends.”
“And Mr. Merry preferred going to one of Quincy's friends, than to me, and criminal cases rather than civil procedure. Mr. Carter revels in murder trials. But why has this young man failed to consult me on a matter so greatly affecting your future? Why have you assumed the initiative? This is not leap year.”
Maude was ready to cry, but she choked down her rising temper.
“I think he's afraid to.”
“What has he done that he should fear me?”
Maude made another mistake. “He never borrowed any money of you.”
The Hon. Nathaniel disliked any reference to that raised check. “If he marries you, perhaps he will find it difficult to support you without borrowing money—but I shall not loan him any.”
“He says he can support me as well as I wish, and I am going to marry him.”
This was flat-footed defiance, and the Hon. Nathaniel grew red in the face at being thus bearded in his den.
“Maude, I am astonished. I command you not to meet this young man again unless in my presence or that of your mother. When I meet him, I shall have something to say to him.”
He resumed the reading of the document, and Maude, knowing that it was useless to say more, left the room.
The next day at noon, Maude told her mother she was going to make some purchases on Winter Street. As no objection was made, Maude felt sure that her father had not mentioned their conversation to her mother. She met Harry and they walked down the “Long Path” on the Common, made famous by the genial “Autocrat,” not only of one breakfast table, but of thousands of others.
“He will never consent,” said Maude.
“I thought so.”
“He was real mean to me—as sarcastic as he could be.”
“Rich fathers are usually indignant when their daughters wish to marry poor men. He can have no other objection to me.”
“Have you any money saved up, Harry?”
“Yes, I've got two thousand dollars in the bank to furnish our flat with.”
“We shall have to go to a justice of the peace, for father will not let me be married at home. Oh, if Aunt Ella were here.”
“Where is she?”
“In England. She's the wife of a baronet, and he is rich and so is Aunt Ella.”
“Maude, let's elope and go to England for our honeymoon.”
* * * * * * *
Aunt Ella and Alice had been to Ketchley to make some purchases for young Quincy's wardrobe. As they entered the house a maid said that a young lady and gentleman were waiting to see them.
“Both of us?” queried Aunt Ella.
The maid replied: “They said they wished to see Lady Fernborough and Mrs. Quincy Adams Sawyer.”
“I will see if baby is all right and join you in a few minutes,” said Alice.
Aunt Ella passed her hat and wrap to the maid, and entered the drawing room.
“Maude Sawyer, what cloud did you drop from? Where did you come from? Excuse me,” said Aunt Ella as she espied Maude's companion, who had kept in the background.
“This is my husband, Mr. Harry Merry. We're just from London. We've been doing the town. What a big noisy place.”
Alice came in and the introduction was repeated.
“Well, Maude,” said Aunt Ella, “we're delighted to see you and your husband, but your arrival was so unexpected that you must pardon my evidences of surprise.”
“They're very excusable,” said Maude. “I can hardly realize, myself, that we are here. You and Alice are wondering what brought us, and you are entitled to an explanation. We just eloped because father would not give his consent.”
The presence of Mr. Merry made the situation an awkward one, but Aunt Ella was a woman with opinions and was not afraid to express them. So she said:
“I suppose your father will disinherit you. I hope that will not mar your future happiness.”
“I don't think it will. Harry has a good position, we've got some money in the bank, and we're going to have a nice little flat in Cambridge or Roxbury. I want to see my little nephew, Quincy's boy, and then we are going right back to London.”
“Come with me,” said Alice, “and see the baby, but Aunt Ella and I will never consent to your leaving us so soon. You must pay us a long visit.”
“I would,” replied Maude, “but for one thing father said to me. We will stay over night, for I have so much to tell both of you.”
“Come to the library,” said Aunt Ella. “I will introduce your husband to Sir Stuart, and then we will go to the nursery where we can talk as long as we wish.”
When they reached the nursery, Maude's first wish was gratified—she held, and hugged and kissed, and praised her brother's boy. Alice's face beamed with delight.
“Now, Maude,” exclaimed Aunt Ella, “why this runaway marriage? Tell us all about it.”
Maude laughed. “It's so funny. I told father I was going to marry Mr. Merry, and he about the same as said I shouldn't. He told me not to meet him again unless in his presence or mother's.”
“That was reasonable. Why did you object?” asked Aunt Ella.
“It wouldn't have done any good. He's opposed to Harry because he isn't rich. Was Nathaniel Adams Sawyer rich when he married your sister, Aunt Ella?”
“I should say not. They began housekeeping in three rooms, but my brother-in-law is a born money-maker.”
“We're going to have five rooms, and I think Harry has it in him to make money—at any rate I'm going to give him a chance and help him all I can.”
“How did you manage to get away?” asked Alice. She remembered that Quincy married her without his father's consent. But for the fact that she became famous by writing a popular book, he would never have welcomed her into the family. In fact, he had been “cornered” and had to surrender. So, she was full of sympathy for Maude, for her own fate might have been similar.
“That's the funny part,” said Maude. “I could get away easily enough, but I wanted my clothes and many things that I prized. I knew it was wrong, but I deceived my father. I am sorry for that, but I couldn't give Harry up.”
“What did you do?” asked Aunt Ella.
“Why, I told father if he wanted to get me away from Harry that he must let me come to England and see Florence. I didn't say I was coming to see you—”
“That wouldn't have appealed to him,” interrupted Aunt Ella.
Maude continued: “Then everything was plain sailing. He gave me money for an outfit, bought my ticket and return, found me a chaperone, a brother lawyer and his wife were coming over, and gave me five hundred dollars to spend. I consider that is my dowry, for I don't expect any more. Florence gets fifteen thousand a year and I get five hundred all in a lump. But I am not envious of Florence. She needs the money, and I don't.”
“Then your father does not know that you are married?” said Alice.
“Certainly not. Harry was on the same boat, but we never spoke to each other all the way over. We suspected that father had spoken to Mr. Harding or his wife about Harry, and so we were very circumspect and gave no cause for suspicion.”
“Well,” said Aunt Ella, “I will go with you to see Florence, but Mr. Merry—”
“Please call him Harry, Aunt Ella. Isn't he your nephew—in-law?”
“Then,” Aunt Ella continued, “Harry must stay here. Alice and I will think out some way of breaking the news to your father. I'm glad you told me the whole story, for I think I see a way to overcome his objections.”
The visit to Mrs. Captain Hornaby was paid, and Maude Sawyer was obliged to kiss and be kissed by her brother-in-law.
“You didn't win the canoe race,” said Maude, “but you were determined to have that kiss and so you married Florence;” but her sister was not present when she made the remark.
“Where is your friend, Colonel Spencer?”
“In India. I have never seen him since I gave him that check.”
“That paying teller got twenty years in prison for his penmanship,” said Maude. “Father thought you were the bad man until Aunt Ella sent the message that led father to investigate and find out who deposited the check. I was awful glad that you got out of it so nicely.”
“So was I,” said Reginald. “I hope some day I can help somebody else out of a bad box just to show my gratitude.”
Maude thought of her “bad box,” but Reginald could not help her or Harry.
“Are you going to India?” she asked. “How is it that you are not with the army?”
“I have sold my captaincy. Florence did not wish me to leave her, and my eldest brother decided the matter. He hates farming and accounts. I love both, so I am in charge of the estate. My brother Paul has been given a living as they call it in the church, and Geoffrey has entered the navy. My brother Wilfred will inherit the title, so we are all provided for.”
Aunt Ella and Alice had many long confabs about the young couple, and how to reinstate Maude in her father's good graces when the truth became known to him.
“I have an idea,” said Alice one morning to Aunt Ella. “Yesterday I had a letter from Dr. Paul Culver, one of the executors of Quincy's will. He says his practice is so great that he cannot do justice to my interests, and asks me to suggest some one to be appointed in his stead.”
“What's your idea? Though perhaps I can guess,” said Aunt Ella.
“I am going to suggest Mr. Merry. I had many talks with him while you were away with Maude, and I am deeply impressed in his favour. Are you surprised?”
“Not so much as you will be when I tell you that Florence and her husband are going back with Maude. Harry will have to go too, so something must be done. Now, you know that I gave Quincy an allowance of five thousand dollars a year when he was married. I am going to give it to Harry.”
“And why not let them live in the Mount Vernon Street house—until—” Her voice broke.
“I know what you were going to say, Alice. It is a good idea—all furnished and ready for occupancy. I shall never see it again—and you may not for years—for I can't spare you.”
“When do they sail?” Alice asked.
“In about a week. I'm going to write a letter to Sarah to-night to pave the way.”
It was midnight when Aunt Ella completed a letter that seemed to fit the case.
“MY DEAR SISTER SARAH:—I write to let you know that Florence and her husband will sail for America in about a week. This may not be news to you, for probably Florence has written you, but it will be news when I tell you that Maude and her husband, Mr. Merry, will sail on the same steamer. They have visited Florence and are now here with me.
“I presume Nathaniel will be very angry, and he may say that I am responsible, as he did in Quincy's case. I did help Quincy and Alice and I am going to help Maude and Harry. I am going to allow them five thousand a year and Alice gives them the free use of the Mount Vernon Street house. She has written Nathaniel about Mr. Merry taking Dr. Culver's place as one of Quincy's executors.
“Now, if Nathaniel gets very angry and threatens to disinherit Maude, just ask him, for me, why it is that all his children have been married away from home. Has it always been their fault, or is his home discipline in part, or wholly, the cause? It didn't make so much difference in Quincy's case, but here in England no girl is married outside of her father's house, unless it be in church.
“Your children are now all married, and, I think, well married. Let Nathaniel make the best of it, and, instead of keeping up a family warfare, change his tactics and become an indulgent, loving father.
“Your sister,
“ELLA.
“P. S. Let Nathaniel read this letter. It will do him good.”
Aunt Ella read her letter over before sealing it. There was a quiet smile on her face as she pressed the seal upon the melted wax. Then she soliloquized:
“Yes, it will do him good to read that letter. He has no one else to boss now but Sarah, but she doesn't resist, and ready acquiescence takes away the pleasure of domineering. The boss wishes to break stout twigs, not simply press down pliant willows.” There came a sharp rap upon the door—it was thrown open, and Alice entered.
“Oh, Aunt Ella, Quincy is very sick. He is choked up so he can hardly breathe. I'm afraid it is the croup.”
“We must send for Dr. Parshefield at once. But who can go? Henry injured his foot to-day and cannot walk. Lennon, the butler, cannot ride a horse, and Simon, the stable boy, would be frightened to death so late at night.”
“Oh, what shall we do?” cried Alice.
“Do?” exclaimed Aunt Ella. “I'll go myself. It's only two miles to Ketchley and I can ride back with the Doctor. I'll get Harry to help me harness the horse. Open the windows to give your boy plenty of air, and fan him.”
She took up the oil lamp that stood upon her writing table. “This is whale oil—a nauseous smelling compound. Rub his neck and chest well with it.”
Alice sought the nursery and followed Aunt Ella's directions. She was sitting by the crib watching her child's laboured breathing when her aunt returned.
“Harry is going on horseback. He knows the road to Ketchley and where the Doctor lives. Give him some more of the oil.”
It was administered and the child began to choke—he seemed to be strangling—then the phlegm that had impeded his breathing was thrown off, and his face resumed its natural colour. When the Doctor arrived an hour later, he was sleeping quietly. Aunt Ella told what they had done by way of emergency treatment.
“Evidently a very effective treatment,” said Dr. Parshefield. “I could not have done better myself.”
“It was so good of you, Harry,” said Alice. “I shall never forget your kindness.”
Then she threw her arms about Aunt Ella's neck.
“Oh, Auntie, if he had been taken from me, I could not have borne it.”