Patty's Perversities

"But Bathalina has a sick-headache, mother, and I'm only to stay until eleven. Good-night. I'd rather go."

It was the night following Thanksgiving, and Patty had carried out her intention of coming home in the morning. As she walked over to Mrs. Brown's, she seemed to herself to be free from all bodily fatigue, so strongly did her inner excitement buoy her up. She resolutely endeavored to put away all thought of Tom Putnam and the Smithers women; but the consciousness of painful suspicion flowed as a bitter undercurrent through all her musings.

The sick man was unusually tractable that night.

"I'm afeared, Miss Patience," his wife said tearfully, "I'm afeared he's goin' for it. He hasn't swored at me but twice to-day, and one of them his gruel was too hot."

"It was only your soothing influence," Patty answered dispiritedly. "You can go home, and go to bed. I'll watch with him until Sol comes at eleven."

Left alone, the watcher seated herself in the shadow, and plunged anew into distracting and painful reveries; but she quickly was called from them by the sick man.

"I'd like to ask yer to do somethin'," he said feebly.

"What is it?" she asked, going to the bedside.

"Frank Breck's been here," he answered, "tryin' to get my pocket-book; and the women-folks are awful curious too."

One of his first requests on recovering consciousness had been for this pocket-book, which since he had guarded beneath his pillow.

"There's papers in it," Peter went on, "they hadn't ought to see. I want you to keep it for me."

"You seem to keep it very well yourself," she said rather absently.

"Oh! but it's wearin' on me," he returned. "If it isn't took care of for me, I shall kick the bucket sure."

"Why should I take it?"

"I reckon," he said, "that you're one could hold your tongue, or anyways would stick to your word, specially to a man with his ribs all drove into him. I want you to keep it till I get well, and promise not to open it."

"Very well," she replied. "If it will make you feel easier, I promise."

The sick man drew from beneath the pillow a black and oily-looking pocket-book, long and flat, and apparently empty. It was so dirty, that Patty seized the first piece of paper at hand, and wrapped it up, thinking to herself that the valuable papers probably existed only in the imagination of the invalid.

"You are very mysterious and dramatic, my friend," she said to herself. "Is this perhaps a chapter from 'The Blood-boultered Battering-Ram;' or every-day life in Montfield?"

The incident turned her thoughts somewhat from herself, and her weariness asserted itself. Seeing that the patient had sunk into a quiet sleep, Patty lay back in her chair, and let herself drift away into a soft drowse.

It was about half-past ten when she found herself suddenly wide awake from a profound sleep. A presence in the room made itself felt before she opened her eyes, and she cautiously peered between her scarcely parted lids without moving. The light was as she had left it, turned down and dim. The heavy breathings of the sick man told that he was still sleeping. Above his bed bent the figure of a woman. Her back was towards the watcher; and, as Patty opened her eyes, she recognized the stooping form as that of Flora Sturtevant. With a cautious, cat-like movement, the woman slid her hand beneath Mixon's pillow, searching for something which Frank Breck had assured her was to be found there. As Patty watched, her mind gathered up with marvellous quickness the allusions made by the sick man to Breck; and, knowing the long intimacy between the latter and Miss Sturtevant, it was not difficult to guess her errand.

"Do you find what you want?" Patty at length asked coolly.

The other started away from the bed, and turned quickly.

"Patty Sanford!" she exclaimed. "They said his wife was here."

"She is not, you see."

"My room is next this," Flora continued, regaining her self-command, "and, hearing your heavy breathing, I thought the patient might need attention: so I came in."

"Oh!" the watcher said incredulously. "That was very kind of you. I think Sol Shankland is coming now, and he can keep awake: so you need not trouble any further."

It was about four in the afternoon of the next day, when Bathalina returned from a visit to Mrs. Brown's. Mrs. Sanford heard her come in, and sent her daughter to inquire for the sick man.

Patty waited to finish something she was doing; so that, by the time she reached the kitchen, Mrs. Mixon had been to her chamber, and brought down a black dress, which she was engaged in ripping up, to the accompaniment of a doleful minor.

"What are you doing?" Patty asked.

"I'm breaking down my black alpaccy," was the reply. "I'm goin' to have it made over, and trimmed with crape."

"Trimmed with crape? What for?"

"Oh! I'm a widow now."

"A widow!"

"Yes, Peter's gone. I knew he couldn't last much longer. He's been failin', gradual, for a week. You must ha' noticed it."

"But I didn't think," Patty began, wondering how to phrase the condolences it seemed proper to offer under the circumstances.

"No, nor I didn't, neither," the widow remarked, as she hesitated. "I thought he'd hold out longer, or I'd have been more forehanded with my black dress. Anyway I'm glad he got through it before cold weather sot in. It's easier for him. And, besides, Mrs. Brown's house is awful draughty, spec'ly as she never gets ready to have it banked before spring."

"If we can do any thing for you," Patty said, exerting herself to preserve a grave face, "we shall be glad to."

"Thank you kindly," the servant answered. "I'll let you know if there is. I never had much comfort as Peter's wife," she added; "for he was real onery, as you might say: but it's some satisfaction to be his widow; widows are so respectable."

This was too much for Patty's gravity; and she retreated precipitately, leaving the widow to "break down" her black dress at leisure.

Peter Mixon was interred with due solemnity, aunty Jeff coming to take her part in the mourning, with much unction. She had never favored her niece's marriage, it was true, and regarded the deceased as a very black sheep indeed. But to her mind numerous funerals conferred a certain distinction upon a family, and it was a duty which she owed at once to her relatives and to society to see that the mourning was properly attended to. So the dead man was put under the sod, and in time came to the one good appointed to all men, – to nourish the grass and the daisies. Bathalina arrayed herself in her widow's weeds with the satisfaction of a new importance, and began soon to speak of her departed spouse with great regret and affection, persuading herself in time that she sincerely mourned for him, and lamenting that her "sinful pride" had made necessary for her good the severe trial of his loss.

And here it may be mentioned that Frank Breck searched carefully among the effects of the dead man for certain papers which he did not find, because they were in the possession of Patty Sanford.

CHAPTER XL

CLARENCE AGAIN

Soberly and slowly Patty was walking towards home on the last day of November. The rain had been falling at intervals through the day, interspersed with spits of snow. Not far from her own gate Patty encountered Clarence Toxteth. The afternoon was already drawing to a close, the gray clouds cutting off the last faint rays of daylight; and, as the young man was somewhat near-sighted, he did not recognize her until they were face to face.

"Ah!" he said. "I am delighted to meet you. I have been to see you."

"Will you turn back now?" she responded.

"I've wanted to see you," said he, turning, "ever since the masquerade; but you were always with that sick tramp."

"I am emulating Florence Nightingale," she returned lightly. "You'll doubtless hear of me some day as a famous sister of charity, or cousin of mercy, or aunt of benevolence, or something of the sort."

"Really? You don't mean it?"

"Who can tell what one does mean?" she queried wilfully. "Will you come and see me take the veil? A nun's life must be dreadfully tame and insipid, but the dress is becoming."

"What do you mean?" her companion asked, puzzled. "You can't be in earnest."

"In earnest? I fancy people are as seldom in earnest as they are in love; but it is easy enough to persuade one's self of being either."

Clarence looked at her with so confused an air, that she burst out into a laugh. Her mood had changed into a mocking, insincere phase; and she experienced a wicked delight in baffling and bewildering her suitor.

"It is a round world," she went on, giving her extravagance more and more the rein, "and round things are apt to be slippery. It is rather trite to call life a masquerade; but it is one, all the same. You fancy you see my face. You are mistaken, it is only a mask: in fact, I dare say you never see your own. Not that it matters in the least, for you're better off for having flattering glasses. I shall hate to wash the convent-floors, for they'll be stone, and awfully cold; but I suppose I shall have to."

"Yes," Clarence stammered. He had not the faintest notion what she was talking about; but the word "masquerade" seemed to furnish a clew. "Why didn't you come to the masquerade?" he asked. "You and Flossy and Burleigh were all missing when we unmasked. You lost your gloves."

"I was there, and you did not know me: so I won."

"But what became of you?"

"I went out to get a breath of air, and that Peter Mixon got thrown out of his carriage at my very feet. Of course I didn't feel like going back after that."

"There are some things very mysterious about that night," Toxteth said. "I'm sure I don't know half that went on in my own house."

"Who ever did?" she retorted. "I'm sure you are better off. Will you come in?"

They had reached the piazza by this time, and Patty laid her hand upon the door-handle.

"I think not," he answered. "They will wait tea for me at home. But I want to ask you something."

"It is dangerous to ask things in this world," she said, "there is always so much uncertainty what the answer will be."

"But I am in uncertainty now."

"That can't be pleasant," replied she; "but the frying-pan is better than the fire. It cannot be any thing that concerns yourself, however, or you couldn't hesitate about it."

"It does concern me, and I want it answered."

"Really?" she said, angry that she could not evade him. "When the sultan throws the handkerchief, I supposed he never had a doubt of its reception."

"Throws the handkerchief? I don't understand."

"It is a Turkish custom, which has been copied the world over by those favored individuals whom fate or fortune has made irresistible; only the handkerchief must be gold-edged."

"If you are going to talk nonsense," the young man said, offended, "I may as well go."

"Nonsense!" Patty retorted, giving her umbrella a flirt. "Do you call it nonsense? It is the most serious thing I know. However, it is no matter. I am hindering you. Good-night."

"Wait," he said. "You promised me an answer long ago, and you've never given it to me."

"An answer? An answer to what?"

"You know what," he said doggedly. "To the question I asked you the day we went to Samoset."

"I haven't had time to think," she answered weakly. "First there was the exhibition, and then the masquerade, and then Peter Mixon's sickness."

"If you require so much time to think," returned he bitterly, "that is answer enough."

"Very well. We'll consider the matter settled."

"No, no!" he exclaimed. "Take your own time. I'll wait. But you ought to answer me."

"That is true," assented Patty gloomily. "Give me a week, only a week, and I will."

"In a week then," he said, "I shall come for my answer. Don't make it 'no,' Patty."

CHAPTER XLI

OLD MULLEN'S WILL

Peter Mixon was safely bestowed beneath the sod before Patty remembered the pocket-book which he had confided to her care. One afternoon when she chanced to be alone in the house, she came upon it, and, opening it, began idly enough to examine the contents. There was little of importance except a bulky document which proved to be a will, although, so little accustomed was she to legal phraseology, it was some time before the reader comprehended the full import of the instrument. Slowly she realized that the paper to which Peter Mixon had clung so tenaciously, and which Frank Breck had wished to obtain was a will executed by old Mr. Mullen; and that in it he bequeathed real estate and personal property, without reserve, to Mrs. Smithers. With the will in her hand, Patty sat pondering on the consequences of its discovery. Her thoughts turned first to the legatee, and she pictured to herself Mrs. Smithers as mistress of Mullen House and its splendors. She would hardly have been human, and certainly would not have been a woman, had she not bitterly hated one who had robbed her of security in her faith of her lover. What she believed of Putnam's relations with his tenant, Patty hardly knew. She had heard scandals concerning this woman and the late owner of Mullen House; and the character of Mrs. Smithers, even charity could scarcely call doubtful. She was still, in spite of her thirty-five years and her turbulent life, remarkably handsome; and her daughter, whom the lawyer had followed to Boston, was more beautiful still. Patty refused to believe absolute evil of Tom, but jealousy and doubt cast their blighting shadows over her heart.

From considering Mrs. Smithers, thought naturally turned to the present occupants of Mullen House. In regard to Miss Mullen, Patty was little troubled; but for Ease she was perplexed and grieved. She sat confused and excited by the complex thoughts and feelings which crowded upon her. Suddenly the door-bell rang, and its echoes sounded through the empty house. At this moment of all others, a carriage had come with a message from Miss Mullen, requesting Miss Sanford to come to her on important business. The strangeness of the summons struck Patty. There was no one at home with whom to advise. She hesitated a moment, but ended by deciding to go; and, with the will she had just read in her pocket, she was driven towards Mullen House.

During the past few weeks the inner life at Mullen House had been stormy enough. Miss Tabitha had daily pressed upon her niece, with increased vehemence, the suit of Frank Breck. As she met with constant resistance, however, the proud woman began to melt from command into entreaty; but, while Ease could not but be moved by this change, it is possible that it defeated itself. There is in the gentlest human breast a trace of selfish pride, which takes pleasure, often half-unconsciously, in the humiliation of authority. When tyranny condescends to supplication, it confesses its power broken, and for its fall there is little respect or pity. In vain did Miss Tabitha – not explaining the secret of Breck's power, however – picture the ruin of the family honor, the calamity of the lapsing of Mullen House into the hands of strangers. Ease had learned to lean upon Will Sanford in her perplexity; and, with the trusting faith of a girl's first love, she believed that for all evils her lover would somehow find a remedy.

Miss Tabitha herself was moved chiefly by the prospect of abandoning her place in Montfield society. She had posed so long upon her semi-theatrical elevation that she dreaded worse than death a descent to the level of commonplace life. In addition to the usual evils attendant upon the loss of property, the whole habit of her existence, her methods of thought, the narrowness of the circle of her interests, bound her yet more strongly to the old régime. In her accustomed orbit she moved with dignity and precision, but she lacked the broad strength of character needful for adjustment to new and unfavorable conditions. In her struggle to induce Ease to marry Frank Breck, she felt as if it was for life itself she were fighting; and the latter was clever enough to take advantage of this feeling, even while not wholly understanding it.

Breck was no histrionic villain in sable cloak and drooping plume, or even in gaiters and slouched hat. He was simply an unscrupulous young man, sensuous, and morally weak, inheriting from his father that selfishness which is so nearly akin to the relentless instinct of self-preservation in animals. Self-gratification was the essential law of his being.

Breck and Miss Mullen met upon the common ground of need. His expensive tastes made poverty as intolerable to him as it was bewildering and abhorrent to her. When he assured the mistress of Mullen House that he would save her from ruin only at the price of the hand of Ease, Miss Tabitha was ready to consent to any sacrifice on the part of her niece sooner than to encounter the loss of home and fortune. It was as a last desperate effort that she had sent for Patience, being urged to the step by Frank, who showed in this case more zeal than discretion.

CHAPTER XLII

BOLD PLAY

When Patience reached Mullen House, she was shown into the drawing-room, where she found Miss Mullen alone. The room was in keeping with its stately mistress. Its furniture was massive, and black with age, its draperies heavy and rich. Miss Tabitha evidently made an especial effort to appear gracious, coming forward to meet her guest with an effusive greeting very unlike her usual reserve.

"I beg pardon for sending for you," she said; "but I wanted to see you alone. Take this chair: it is easier than that one. I hope you are very well."

Patty met the advances of her hostess somewhat coldly; but the latter determinedly ignored this, and talked lightly of indifferent things, until the guest cut her short by asking somewhat abruptly why Miss Mullen wished for her. Then that lady became somewhat embarrassed, and found it difficult to introduce the delicate business of the interview.

"It is about Ease," she said, after some preliminary skirmishing; "about Ease and – and myself. I sent for you because you have so much influence over her. You have such a strong character, Patty! And, besides, this concerns indirectly a member of your family."

Patty sat silent, beginning to surmise vaguely what was coming.

"I must tell you a family secret," the elder lady went on. "It isn't fit for me to tell, or you to hear; but you cannot understand our trouble if I don't. My father – perhaps you have heard the scandals, the stories about that Smithers woman."

The other assented silently.

"My father," Miss Mullen continued desperately, "was completely imposed upon by that miserable creature. He even wanted to marry the vile thing; and she succeeded in extorting from him a paper which gave her Mullen House after his death."

"A will," Patty said.

"Yes," the other admitted, – "a sort of a will, I suppose. I never saw it, but Mr. Breck called it so."

"Mr. Breck!"

"Yes. He had far more to do with that vile woman than my father, though, of course, they kept it hid, so as to get money from father; and Mr. Breck had this paper."

"How did he get it?"

"She says he got somebody to steal it. The miserable creature came here once, and threatened to turn me out of the house. And O Patty! she could do it if she had that paper."

"But where is it now?"

"Frank Breck has it."

"Ah!" Patty said, light breaking in upon her. In an instant she comprehended the bold game Frank had been playing. Pretending to have the paper which he had failed to obtain from Mixon, and which lay at that moment in her pocket, he had demanded the hand of Ease as its price.

"He declares," poor Miss Mullen said, "that, unless Ease marries him, he will ruin us; and he can do it."

"He is contemptible enough to do it," Patty returned with curling lip. "He'd do any thing for his own ends. But what has all this to do with me?"

"O Patty! you've so much influence with Ease: she admires you so much! You couldn't see us turned out of house and home! If you would talk to her, and persuade her, and show her how much depends upon her. You could bring her to it, I'm sure. She won't listen to me. And if you'd get your brother to go away a while" —

"Stop!" Patty exclaimed, starting to her feet. "How dare you talk to me in that way! I shall tell Ease, that, if she consents to marry Frank Breck, she will be too contemptible for honest people to speak to."

The proud mistress of Mullen House caught Patty's hand, even fell on her knees to her, weeping, and begging her to pity her gray hairs.

"Get up," said Patty, chilled and repelled by the intense selfishness which every word displayed. "You care nothing for Ease; but she is safe, at least. I have your father's will here: Peter Mixon gave it to me before he died."

Miss Mullen gave a cry, and fell back into a sitting posture, white and staring; while from the embrasure of a window behind whose curtain she had concealed him that he might overhear the interview, sprang Frank Breck.

"That will belongs to me," he said. "Peter Mixon got it from Mrs. Smithers for father, and never delivered it to him. Give it to me!"

"It belongs to Mrs. Smithers," Patty returned, standing at bay. "I shall give it to its rightful owner."

"No, no!" cried Miss Mullen, seizing again the hand of her guest. "No, no! She could turn us into the street the minute she got it. Oh, for pity's sake, Patience, give it to me! I shall die of shame if Mullen House gets into her hands. Oh, for the love of God, let me have it! Think of Ease. You love her. Will shall marry her. I'll give them my part in all the property – but just enough to live on. I'll do any thing, any thing, any thing, if only you'll give me that will. Don't rob us of our home and all we have!"

"It isn't I that rob you," Patty said sadly.

"By God!" Frank cried, grasping roughly, in his turn, the hand which Patty freed from the convulsive clasp of Miss Mullen, "you shall give it to me. You shall never take it out of this house, if I have to kill you!"

Patty uttered a scream which rang through the dusky old room, and by a strong and sudden effort wrenched herself free, throwing her assailant to his knees; then she turned, and darted out of the room and out of the house. As she gained the long avenue, she heard Breck in pursuit, and she ran as she had never run before in the most hoydenish days of her girlhood. He overtook her just as she reached the great gate, but not before she had seen the figure of a man in the street.

"Help, help!" she cried.

In another instant Tom Putnam stood between her and his nephew. The lawyer looked from one to the other in amazement; while Patty, panting and breathless, thrust into his hands the will, but could not speak. Frank attempted to snatch the precious document, but his uncle held him off.

"What is this?" he asked. "What does this mean, Frank?"

"It means that between you, you are making a devilish mess," the young man said in a rage; "and I wash my hands of it. – I wish you joy of what you have done."

He cast a scowling look at Patty, as he addressed to her the last words, and, not heeding his uncle's voice, strode off down the street.

"Will you tell me what all this is about?" Tom asked, unfolding the will.

"You can see for yourself," she answered. "It is about that – about your tenant."

"My tenant?"

"Yes," she said coldly, – "Mrs. Smithers."

She turned away, and walked in the direction of her home. She felt the bitterest humiliation in speaking to the man she loved the name of the woman of his relations to whom she dared not think.

"Wait," he said: "I am going with you."

A quick step placed him at her side; but she had averted her face. He laid his hand upon her arm.

"Don't touch me!" she exclaimed, shaking off his fingers. "I will not bear it. Take that will to her, and give her your congratulations."

"What?" he cried. "You have heard, – but you cannot have believed" —

"Believed!" she retorted fiercely. "I believe nothing but that she told me" —

"What?" he demanded.

Before she could answer, Dr. Sanford's buggy rolled along towards them.

"Take me home, father," cried poor Patty.

And a moment later Tom Putnam was left alone.

CHAPTER XLIII

CLARENCE IS ANSWERED

The week which Patty had asked of Clarence Toxteth had expired; and that young lady was in her chamber, giving the last touches to her toilet before going down to the parlor to meet her suitor. The days seemed to her to have passed with flying feet. She had occupied herself much more in thinking how short a space she had for deliberation than in considering the important question she was now to answer. She therefore found herself no nearer a conclusion when Clarence called than when she had dismissed him a week earlier.