Knots Untied; Or, Ways and By-ways in the Hidden Life of American Detectives

by George S. McWatters

While Mr. Alvord lived, Floramond took better care of his reputation than afterwards. He was ever very attentive to Mr. Alvord, and never lost an opportunity of demonstrating to him his industry and attention to business, which were, indeed, very pleasing to Mr. Alvord, who, though he sometimes wished Floramond could not be quite so sharp and grasping, nevertheless knew the world well enough to know that most other men in business were like him to the extent of their ability; and so soothed himself into the belief that Floramond was "as good as they'll average." Besides, Floramond was a bit of a wag,—could tell a story well, made a good many hits at people, which pleased the majority,—and, withal, was a member of the Congregational church in his place of residence, and "in good and regular standing."

Mr. Alvord did not care for this last fact much. He was not a church-member, and lived and died a very good old man, without the church. But he reflected that the church-membership did not hurt Floramond in the people's eyes, even if it did him no especial good; and I suspect it operated to blind the old gentleman's eyes a little to Floramond's real character.

The third son took a literary turn, after he had made considerable progress in some mechanical pursuit,—I forget what,—and was sent to college, and at last graduated as a minister of the Dutch Reform order, I believe. He had no business capacity, and on a fair salary could never exactly make ends meet from year to year, and was considerable of a pensioner on the old gentleman's bounty.

The girls married pretty well, all of them. Of these, one was a shrewd witch, almost as keen as Floramond. Her name was Eliza, but she always bore the nickname "Lise," which would not always have been mal apropos if it had been spelled "Lies;" for she had great skill in dissimulation and its kindred arts, even to the matter of pilfering, so the neighbors generally believed. But she had wit, and was quite handsome withal, and got a good, thorough-going business man for a husband. The second "daughter" in order proved a very nice, good-hearted woman, with moderate abilities, and the kindest of dispositions; and she, too, married a very worthy man.

The third "daughter" was one of those curious, undefinable creatures, perfect in almost every respect, and gifted in several directions. Mr. Alvord had adopted her in her tenth year, and had selected her in preference to any of several other children whose parents were anxious to "get the old man to 'dopt the gals," because she was so robust, so stoutly formed, and withal so hardy and agile. He thought she would surely make a large, queenly woman. But she changed greatly as she approached the age of puberty,—shot up into a tall, wiry, lithe form, and her rounded face lengthened to a peculiarly spiritual shape, developing intellect, in short,—whereas she indicated, at ten years of age, only strength and solidity—as her chief characteristics in womanhood. She was a brilliant scholar at the "high school," and not only that, very vivacious, and withal just as gentle in heart as she was almost rudely playful, when play was the real work to be done—for she did everything earnestly; and there was a peculiar earnestness in her very gentleness. It was a positive gentleness, a gentleness springing out of high principles, and not merely a passive inertness. Her name was Margaret, and she made the name beloved by all who knew her. She married a splendid man; but he died in four or five years after their marriage, and left her with two beautiful children, who inherited much of his good qualities—more physical beauty than their mother bore, with not a little of her great goodness; and it was thought he had left her "comfortably off," too; but somehow his partner in business managed to show that the firm was considerably involved, and she got but a small estate after all. Shrewd people suspected that her husband's partner knew how to "turn an honest penny" in a business way; especially when, three years after the husband's death, the partner built a very costly house, and added another horse to his old team, so that he drove a "spanking pair," before a carriage which was considered a "leetle" too expensive in that quarter of the world. But, however, 'twas no matter; she was poor, and old Mr. Alvord insisted that she should return to his home, with her children, and take charge of it for him.

These things I was told at the time of my becoming acquainted with the remaining family, long after Mr. Alvord's death. With him Margaret staid, a faithful, good woman, charitable to everybody, and beloved by all; by the poor, especially, who came to Mr. Alvord's house for aid, where they were sure to go first, before going anywhere else. With none of his children except Margaret, was Mr. Alvord on so intimate terms as with Floramond. They all lived some miles from him; but Floramond managed to see the old man often, and not unfrequently took him to his own home, and kept him there for a week or two weeks at a time, especially when he could take one of Margaret's children along with him; for the old man, though he had several grandchildren, did not seem to be very fond of any except Margaret's son and daughter.

Margaret continued to take charge of the house, and watched over old Mr. Alvord, like a dutiful loving daughter as she was; and the old man and his wife grew every year more and more fond of her. The wife being, in the latter years of her life, mostly an invalid, was very grateful for the tender care of Margaret, and when she came to die entreated Mr. Alvord that he should make his will, and make it particularly favorable to Margaret, whom she loved best of all, and who, being a widow with children, needed more than the rest. Mr. Alvord, of course, promised to do so, out of affection for both wife and daughter, and the old lady died blessing him; and though she had long been expected by her friends to die any day, suddenly, so suddenly did she die that only Mr. Alvord and Margaret were with her. There was no time to send for a neighbor, after she swooned away, one day, in her chair, before she was dead—reviving from the swoon but for a moment, before she took her last breath; in which moment, grasping the hands of Margaret and Mr. Alvord in her own, she blessed them both, and reminded Mr. Alvord of the will.

After her death, Floramond increased his attentions to Mr. Alvord; and finally, his own wife dying, he, a few months after her death, became more than usually interested in Margaret, and was found at Mr. Alvord's so often, that everybody was talking of his wonderful devotion to the old man. It is true that some people said he was "after the biggest slice in the old man's will," and hinted that he was mercenary rather than affectionate; but he was such a jolly fellow, that it was difficult to fix upon him the stigma of bad motives. Mr. Alvord was very devoted to Margaret, and Floramond must have felt that she would share as largely in Mr. Alvord's will (and he did not know then but he had already made one) as he, and perhaps more largely. Finally he proposed marriage to his adopted sister; as the best means, probably, of making sure of a large portion of Mr. Alvord's estate.

There was no blood relation between him and Margaret, and no reason in the law why they might not marry; still, Margaret was not a little shocked at the proposal from Floramond, with whom, as a "brother," she had enjoyed a very pleasant intimacy—one which she would not have allowed on any other consideration than that of brother-and-sisterhood. But Floramond was evidently greatly taken aback at her delicate refusal of his offer. But he persisted in his suit, not willing to suffer defeat so easily; and for a long while annoyed Margaret with his repeated offers, which annoyance she gently concealed, though persisting ever in the firmness of her resolve to "not marry anybody."

But Floramond did not believe her in this resolution to remain unmarried, believing that she would marry somebody else,—"take up with the first good chance,"—and so he laid her refusal to heart, as a personal affront to himself, and ridiculed the objection which she sometimes made, in that they were brother and sister in spirit, if not in blood; which objection was really a serious one in her feelings, although her reason told her that it need not prevail, because they were really no kin to each other. Besides, there was something, which she could not well define to herself, about Floramond, which, while it did not forbid her loving him as a brother, made her shudder when she thought of him in the light of a possible husband. Floramond renewed his suit from time to time, constantly with increased tenderness and delicacy, and finally resolved himself, after her repeated refusals, into the very best-behaving of brothers.