The Late Mrs. Null

by Frank R. Stockton

"And I," said Annie, "will go, and see what I can do with these."

With the shoes in her pocket, she went up stairs into her aunt's room, and, after looking around hastily, as if to see that the old lady had not left the ghost of herself in charge, she approached the closet in which the sacred pasteboard box had always been kept. But the closet was locked. Turning away she looked about the room. There was no other place in which there was any probability that the box would be kept. Then she became nervous; she fancied she heard the click of the yard gate; she would not for anything have her aunt catch her in that room; nor would she take the shoes away with her. Hastily placing them upon a table she slipped out, and hurried into her own room.

It was about an hour after this, that Mrs Keswick came rapidly up the steps of the front porch. She had been to Howlett's to carry a letter which she had written to Miss March, and had there made arrangements to have that letter taken to Midbranch very early the next morning. She had wished to find some one who would start immediately, but as there was no moon, and as the messenger would arrive after the family were all in bed, she had been obliged to abandon this more energetic line of action. But the letter would get there soon enough; and if it did not bring down retribution on the head of the man who lodged in her office, and who, she said to herself, had worked himself into her plans, like the rot in a field of potatoes, she would ever after admit that she did not know how to write a letter. All the way home she had conned over her method of action until Mr Brandon, or a letter, should come from Midbranch.

She had already attacked, together, the unprincipled pair who found shelter in her house, and she now determined to come upon them separately, and torment each soul by itself. Annie, of course, would come in for the lesser share of the punishment, for the fact that the wretched and depraved Null was no more, had, in a great measure, mitigated her offence. She was safe, and her aunt intended to hold her fast, and do with her as she would, when the time and Junius came. But upon Lawrence she would have no mercy. When she had delivered him into the hands of Mr Brandon, or those of Roberta's father, or the clutches of the law, she would have nothing more to do with him, but until that time she would make him bewail the day when he deceived and imposed upon her by causing her to believe that he was in love with another when he was, in reality, trying to get possession of her niece. There were a great many things which she had not thought to say to him in the arbor, but she would pour the whole hot mass upon his head that evening.

Stamping up the stairs, and thumping her umbrella upon every step as she went, hot vengeance breathing from between her parted lips, and her eyes flashing with the delight of prospective fury, she entered her room. The light of the afternoon had but just begun to wane, and she had not made three steps into the apartment, before her eyes fell upon a pair of faded, light blue shoes, which stood side by side upon a table. She stopped suddenly, and stood, pale and rigid. Her grasp upon her umbrella loosened, and, unnoticed, it fell upon the floor. Then, her eyes still fixed upon the shoes, she moved slowly sidewise towards the closet. She tried the door, and found it still locked; then she put her hand in her pocket, drew out the key, looked at it, and dropped it. With faltering steps she drew near the table, and stood supporting herself by the back of a chair. Any one else would have seen upon that table merely a pair of baby's shoes; but she saw more. She saw the tops of the little socks which she had folded away for the last time so many years before; she saw the first short dress her child had ever worn; it was tied up with pink ribbons at the shoulders, from which hung two white, plump, little arms. There was a little neck, around which was a double string of coral fastened by a small gold clasp. Above this was a face, a baby face, with soft, pale eyes, and its head covered with curls of the lightest yellow, not arranged in artistic negligence, but smooth, even, and regular, as she so often had turned, twisted, and set them. It was indeed her baby girl who had come to her as clear and vivid in every feature, limb, and garment, as were the real shoes upon the table. For many minutes she stood, her eyes fixed upon the little apparition, then, slowly, she sank upon her knees by the chair, her sun-bonnet, which she had not removed, was bowed, so the pale eyes of the little one could not see her face, and from her own eyes came the first tears that that old woman had shed since her baby's clothes had been put away in the box.

* * * * *

Lawrence's letter to Miss March was a definitely expressed document, intended to cover all the ground necessary, and no more; but it could not be said that it was entirely satisfactory to himself. His case, to say the least of it, was a difficult one to defend. He was aware that his course might be looked upon by others as dishonorable, although he assured himself that he had acted justly. It might have been better to wait for a positive declaration from Miss March, that she had not truly accepted him, before engaging himself to another lady. But then, he said to himself, true love never waits for anything. At all events, he could write no better letter than the one he had produced, and he hoped he should have an opportunity to show it to Annie before he sent it.

He need not have troubled himself in this regard, for he and Annie were not disturbed during the rest of that day by the appearance of Mrs Keswick; but after the letter had been duly considered and approved, he found it difficult to obtain a messenger. There was no one on the place who would undertake to walk to Midbranch, and he could not take the liberty of using Mrs Keswick's horse for the trip, so it was found necessary to wait until the morrow, when the letter could be taken to Howlett's, where, if no one could be found to carry it immediately, it would have to be entrusted to the mail which went out the next day. Lawrence, of course, knew nothing of Mrs Keswick's message to Midbranch, or he would have been still more desirous that his letter should be promptly dispatched.

The evening was not a very pleasant one; the lovers did not know at what moment the old lady might descend upon them, and the element of unpleasant expectancy which pervaded the atmosphere of the house was somewhat depressing. They talked a good deal of the probabilities of Mrs Keswick's action. Lawrence expected that she would order him away, although Annie had stoutly maintained that her aunt would have no right to do this, as he was not in a condition to travel. This argument, however, made little impression upon Lawrence, who was not the man to stay in any house where he was not wanted; besides, he knew very well that for any one to stay in Mrs Keswick's house when she did not want him, would be an impossibility. But he did not intend to slip away in any cowardly manner, and leave Annie to bear alone the brunt of the second storm. He felt sure that such a storm was impending, and he was also quite certain that its greatest violence would break upon him. He would stay, therefore, and meet the old lady when she next descended upon them, and, before he went away, he would endeavor to utter some words in defence of himself and Annie.

They separated early, and a good deal of thinking was done by them before they went to sleep.