The White Rose of Memphis

“‘How do you feel this morning, Miss Tadpoddle?’ I inquired, pretending to be interested about her case.

“‘Oh, I am so weak, doctor; but for that, I would be very well. I did not send for you with a view of taking more medicine – no, no, indeed! I don’t think I ever shall need any more as long as I live. I merely wished to speak with you about Miss Bramlett’s case. I presume that my brother has told you of the valuable assistance I have rendered him? Very well; I have something more to say to you on that subject. I fear you will find that Miss Bramlett is a very bad woman. I confess I never had much faith in her at first. She was too proud, too cold-hearted – made too much display with her money. She was parading the streets continually, pretending to be assisting the poor, but evidently trying to create a sensation. One day I met her at the Widow Spratt’s house, and would you believe it, sir, she was dressed within an inch of her life! She had on a blue silk dress, with real lace trimmings – and, by the by, that was the identical dress she wore that night when I saw her go into Ben Bowles’ apartments, through the private entrance that opens from the alley. But I am going too fast. – I was telling you about meeting Miss Bramlett at Widow Spratt’s. Well, sir, she was sitting on a low truckle-bed, feeding the baby with condensed milk. It was the dirtiest, sickliest-looking thing I ever laid eyes on; and the other five children were cramming themselves with cold bread and turkey that Miss Bramlett had given them; and they were covered with dirty rags, just like the baby. Mrs. Spratt is the poorest manager I ever saw. Her children are half naked and starved. I was really vexed at Miss Bramlett for throwing away her money on such worthless people. Old Spratt was always drunk, and wouldn’t work. He fell overboard from a steam-boat and was drowned; it was a great pity he didn’t die ten years ago. His children are lazy, good-for-nothing brats, and ought to starve. Miss Bramlett has been supporting the whole family since old Spratt died. Mrs. Spratt, she lies in bed the live-long day, pretending to be sick, but it is pure laziness; and if Miss Bramlett would let her alone, she would have to get up and work, or starve. Well, there are many other families in this city depending on Miss Bramlett’s money for support. It’s a scandal and a shame that such laziness should be encouraged. Let ‘em work, or starve, is my motto. I asked Mrs. Spratt to subscribe something to our Tramp Reform Association, and she wouldn’t give a cent. I begged Miss Bramlett to help us, and she turned up her nose and absolutely sneered in my face – a hateful hussy! but I ought not to talk so, because I never bear malice against my neighbors; it is my character not to nurse ill-will – “Forgive those who trespass against us,” is my motto – this is what our Saviour taught us. There is Lottie Wallingford, who thinks the world and all of Miss Bramlett. I wonder how she will feel when she sees her friend hung for murder? Her brother was engaged to be married to Miss Bramlett when the murder was committed; but they say he has run away to California and left his affianced bride here to be hung, while he goes to get his uncle’s great fortune. Of course that will make honors easy – he loses his sweetheart, but wins a fortune. That ought to console him, at any rate. They say you are taking on about Lottie Wallingford. Doctor, she would no doubt make you a good wife, if she wasn’t so much like old Rockland – always talking about books and book-learning. She knows too much; I don’t like so much genius. I like business. It is my character to despise poetry. I hate these dreamy, sentimental women who can memorize a whole book and then repeat it in public. I hate these silly women who sing nothing but sentimental songs. They are always talking about sweet flowers, sweet poetry, sweet birds, sweet scenery, sweet music – everything is sweet with them. I hate sweet things; it is my character to hate sweet things. She and Miss Bramlett have converted the jail into a picture gallery, concert hall and book library. For my part, I don’t see how the jailer puts up with such doings. The idea that a murderess in jail, awaiting her trial, should be painting pictures, reading poetry and playing the guitar surpasses my comprehension. She had better be reading her Bible or prayer-book, and making preparations to meet her God, for she is certain to be hung. I know enough myself to hang her, and I mean to tell it. I saw her with my own eyes when she went into the apartments of that gambler, at the dark hour of night. You see I had my suspicions about her, anyway, and when I saw her meet Bowles in the garden that night I concluded that some deviltry was going on, and determined to watch her. I have the advantage you see, doctor, over other women – it is no trouble for me to disguise myself. I am very tall, you perceive, and my brother’s clothes fit me to a T. I made it my business to waylay Mr. Ragland’s premises every night until I succeeded in accomplishing my object. One night about eight o’clock I saw Miss Bramlett go out of the house by the back way and walk cautiously toward the rear side of the garden. I was concealed among the shrubbery, and saw her coming directly toward the spot where I was. She, however, turned to the left, passing within ten paces of me. She appeared to be looking for some one, for she stopped near me and waited for several minutes; then she turned square off to the right and entered the summer-house by the back door. I think she stayed in the summer-house about ten minutes; at any rate, she remained in it until I began to grow restless, and was thinking of trying to slip around to the front door, so as to enable me to see whether or not she was alone. I noticed that she had her face covered with a veil, but I knew her by the dress and shawl she wore – the same she had on the time I met her at the Widow Spratt’s. When she came out of the summer-house, she went in the direction of the carriage-house, which you know is east of the former, and about forty yards from it. She passed on without halting, until she reached the extreme back part of the garden. She paused and looked around in every direction, as if trying to ascertain whether or not any one was watching her. But she did not see me; I was too sharp to be caught that way. I am not one of those sap-heads that you have heard so much about. In fact, I hate sap-headed women – it is my character to hate ’em; and as to sap-headed men, they ought not to be permitted to live. But here I am again straggling off from the subject. I beg you to excuse me, doctor; you know I am quite weak yet – indeed I am. It is astonishing to me that I am able to utter a word. Your medicine cured my complaints, it is true, but left me completely prostrated. I don’t think I ever shall need any more drugs. But I declare, I must quit wandering off that way. I wouldn’t do it, I know, but I am afraid the strong medicine has, to some extent, weakened my mind. Everything seems like a dream. Do you ever dream, doctor? No? Ah, then, you don’t appreciate them. Where one’s dreams are pleasant, one enjoys the sensation very much; but when the stomach’s out of order, one is sure to have unpleasant dreams. Oh! I had such a nice dream last night! I thought that I was – but what do you care about my dreams? I suppose you want me to finish my narrative about Miss Bramlett’s movements.’

“‘Miss Tadpoddle,’ said I, ‘you must, by all means, take another dose of medicine; the color of your skin is not as good as it should be, and I don’t like the looks of your tongue.’

“If I could have induced her to take another dose of my drugs then, she would have remembered it to her dying day.

“‘No, no, doctor, please hush talking about your hateful drugs and let me go on with my story. It makes one feel so nervous to have to wait and wait for anything which ought to be told without stopping. There is Miss Clattermouth – oh, it would do you good to hear her relate a story. She can talk all day and never make a hobble. You ought to hear her deliver one of her lectures on the rights of women. She is our champion on that question, and you must not fail to hear her lecture next time. She is the business manager of our Tramp Reform Association, and is one of our best financial agents. You ought to join our Tramp Reform Association, doctor. We have achieved wonders in that society. We have reformed as many as a dozen tramps during the last year.’

“‘In what way did you reform them, Miss Tadpoddle?’ I inquired.

“‘Oh, we furnish them board and lodgings for a month, by way of trial, and give them a good suit of clothes. Miss Clattermouth lectures them twice a week, and I give them Bible lessons three times a week. If, at the end of a month, one shows evidences of repentance and reformation, we then furnish him with another suit of clothes, a Testament, five dollars in cash and a certificate of good behavior, and discharge him with our blessing.’

“‘If he doesn’t furnish the necessary evidence at the end of the first month, what course do you pursue then?’

“‘We keep him another month, and if he proves incorrigible, we dismiss him without our certificate or blessing.’

“‘The punishment, I must say, Miss Tadpoddle, is indeed very severe. What is to be the fate of the poor tramp who is thus turned loose on the cold charities of the world with no certificate and without your blessing? May I inquire what percentage prove incorrigible and are driven out without the certificate and blessing?’

“‘I should say about ninety per cent. It is a source of regret to know that so many prove unworthy, yet it is a consolation to us to save as much as ten per cent. of the unfortunate class.’

“‘If I understand you correctly, any one can secure two months’ board and lodging by representing himself as a tramp.’

“‘Oh, no, by no means; we always appoint a committee to investigate each applicant and ascertain whether or not he is really a tramp. We have to be very strict in that respect, because we have detected several of our own citizens in the attempt to palm themselves off on us as tramps. You see the rules of our association don’t allow us to receive any citizen of the State, but we only take in those unfortunate men who are known as tramps. But enough about that subject. I must finish telling you about Miss Bramlett. I fear I shall fatigue myself too much, anyway, being so very feeble, as you are aware. By the by, doctor, do you remember where I was when we got off of the subject?’

“‘I believe you were telling me about seeing Miss Bramlett go to the extreme back part of the garden, one starlight night, and that she had on a heavy veil.’

“‘Yes, yes, I remember now. I saw Miss Bramlett. Her movements were so mysterious that I became very much excited and curious to know what she was up to. When she got to the back part of the garden I, of course, expected to see her turn and go back to the house, but not so, as you shall hear as we proceed. It never had occurred to me that she was going to pay a clandestine visit at such an hour as that; but you may imagine how great was my astonishment when I saw her removing the palings from the fence. My brother is a most remarkable man. He is like me in one respect – he never exaggerates – that is his character. He is just like me – I hate exaggeration. Well, as I was about to observe – what was it I was going to say? Oh, yes, I remember now. I was on the eve of telling you how Miss Bramlett’s mysterious conduct excited my curiosity. Curiosity is characteristic of our sex, you know, and I confess to a weakness on that score. You see I will tell the truth though the Heavens fall. I hate falsehood – it is my character to despise it. Honesty is the best policy – you remember the saying; by the by, it is an excellent motto. But I must be brief, for I begin to feel quite fatigued now – one in my feeble condition ought not to talk much, though when I am strong and well I don’t mind talking; it does not tire me at all – but it is different with me now. Just listen to me now; here I am again talking nonsense, instead of letting you know what I saw with my own eyes. Miss Bramlett disappeared through the palings exactly as a ghost would have done. Don’t understand me to say or hint that I am a believer in ghosts – no, I never thought of such a thing. Anyway, she went through, and for a moment I lost sight of her, but I was not to be outdone in that way. I hastened to the spot where I had seen her last, but could see nothing of her. I lost no time in leaping over the palings. I suppose you are astonished to hear me say so, but it is no exaggeration, I assure you. Very well, then; I did leap over the palings. Then I was in the street, all right. You see I am very tall, not much short of six feet, and if I do say it myself, I am very active, for a young girl. But let that pass, for I know it does not interest you. Miss Bramlett was walking rapidly down the street when I got over the palings, some fifty or sixty yards from me. I soon shortened the distance between us, being careful to avoid the faint light from the lamp on the opposite side of the street. The lamp-posts were very far apart, and the streets were deserted. The lamps appeared quite feeble, and the light did not interfere with my movements. When Miss Bramlett reached the next block she disappeared round the corner, and I was afraid she had escaped me entirely; but I hastened to the corner, and was delighted to see her within twenty paces of me. The first alley she reached she turned into and again disappeared, but I soon caught sight of her again, and kept close behind her until she came to the private entrance of Ben Bowles’ gambling hell. She stood before it a moment, then went in, and the door closed behind her. Now, Doctor Demar, what do you think of such doings as that? Can’t you see that she is a very wicked woman? It is no use to say that she is innocent – for I tell you she is guilty, and ought to be hung. All the lawyers in the world can’t save her neck. Oh, it makes the cold chills run up my back to think of that girl’s wickedness!’

“‘Miss Clattermouth made me promise not to talk much, and I must keep my promise – it is my character to keep my word. I despise people who disregard the advice of friends. Miss Clattermouth has been a true friend to me – indeed, she has! I admire such friends. Did you ever see the darling poodle she gave me? Oh, he is such a sweet little fellow! I must show him to you by all means. I think he is asleep under the sofa there. I hate to disturb him, though – because he always frets so when his naps are broken; but I guess he has got his nap nearly out by this time. Here, Tottie! here, Tottie! Come along and let the doctor see you.’ The individual alluded to came crawling out from under the sofa. I suppose he would have weighed at least eight ounces avoirdupois. He was covered with wool as white as snow. ‘Come along, darling; don’t be bashful; let the doctor see you.’

“He started toward the bed where his mistress was, but came to a broom handle that unfortunately had been left on the floor, – he couldn’t jump over it, and didn’t have sense enough to go round it; but he began to scream with great vigor, and I had to help him over it. I sat him on the bed by his mistress, and I am not ashamed to say that I gave him such a squeeze that he was unable to yell any more for some time.

“‘Oh, doctor, ain’t he a sweet little darling? How could I help loving Miss Clattermouth, when she gave me such a nice present? But I suppose you don’t love dogs, and would prefer to hear what further I have to say about Miss Bramlett. Very well, you shall hear it. I got quite impatient while I was waiting to see her come out of Bowles’ den; but I made up my mind to see the end of it, and when I make up my mind to do anything, it is as good as done. I never give up an undertaking, once I resolve to go into it – it is my character never to back down. I hate people who undertake anything and don’t do it. I am one of those hanging-on sort that don’t do things by halves. I cling on like a badger – I believe that is the name of the little animal that has such a reputation for hanging on with so much tenacity; anyway, I am that kind of a woman. The weather was quite cold that night, and I suffered very much from it, but I didn’t mind that at all. I think I should have stood my ground if it had rained lumps of ice as big as my head.

“‘Well, as I was about to observe, I suffered from the cold weather, but I was rewarded at last, for I saw Miss Bramlett come out of the house by the same door through which she had entered; though she was not alone this time – Bowles was with her. I cannot state exactly how long she had remained inside of the house, but if I was on my oath in a court-house, I should say it was not a minute less than three hours. When she came out of the house, she was leaning on Bowles’ arm, and they were conversing in an under-tone. I could not hear all that was said, because I was compelled to remain some distance from them, so as to keep them from seeing me; but I heard enough (Heaven knows!) to hang Miss Bramlett as high as Haman. I don’t exactly remember how high it was that Haman was hung, though it was about fifty cubits. Now that must have been a pretty lofty gallows! A cubit is either eighteen inches or eighteen feet – I don’t remember which. I like that way of executing criminals – hang ’em high, so everybody can see ’em. I hope Viola Bramlett will be hung where we can all see the fun. But I was about to tell you what she said to Bowles. She was leaning on his arm, with her mouth close to his ear. You know Bowles, of course. Yes, I am glad you do – he is such a nice gentleman, so handsome, dresses so exquisite – then he is so liberal with his money! He aids us in all our benevolent enterprises. Oh, he is such a darling, clever gentleman! What a pity it is that such a handsome gentleman should be led astray by that scheming hypocrite, Viola Bramlett! It is very clear that she had him completely under her thumb; and I am afraid he has been duped by her beauty and her hypocritical smiles. I heard her calling him “my dear, darling Ben” at least half a dozen times. Just think of that, will you? I declare, it makes me sick to think of it. She was evidently talking to him about the murder of her brother, for I heard her ask Bowles if he thought there was any danger of detection. I also heard her ask him if a doctor could tell when any one had died from poison, and how much strychnine it would take to produce death. Oh, doctor, it made the blood freeze in my veins to hear her discussing the murder of her brother. But, mind you, I had no idea then that she intended to murder her own brother. I followed her and Bowles back to Mr. Ragland’s residence. They halted at the end of the garden, and talked, for a long time, in an under-tone; at last Bowles took her in his arms and kissed her. Then she went into the house, while he retraced his steps to his head-quarters. I immediately returned home and jotted down in my diary the things I had seen, just as I have related them to you. Now, how can the lawyers keep that wicked woman from hanging? I should like you to tell me if you can.’

“You may imagine what my feelings were when Miss Tadpoddle had finished her remarkable story; but I shall not try to describe them. That Viola Bramlett was lost, beyond all question, seemed to be a fixed fact, and that it would nearly kill Lottie I knew full well. I tried to argue Miss Bramlett’s case to myself so as to bring her out unstained; but the proof rose, like huge Olympus, before me. Everything seemed to point unmistakably to her as the guilty party; and if she was guilty at all, it was clear that she had sunk so far down in the pit of infamy as to render it necessary for me to separate her and Lottie.

CHAPTER XX

“Time was gliding on unusually slow – it always does when we want it to go fast, and never fails to gallop when we want it to walk. A fortnight had stolen by since my last interview with the interesting Miss Tadpoddle. Dabbs and Tadpoddle were still working like beavers, but accomplishing nothing that anybody wanted them to do. Everything they did seemed to add new links to the strong chain of evidence against Miss Bramlett. Public sentiment, which at first had been strong in favor of her innocence, had undergone a radical change, and was now as strong against her as it had been in her favor. I hate public sentiment – I detest it, for it is a heartless tyrant, anyway, as often wrong as right, and always on extremes. Miss Tadpoddle and Miss Clattermouth were, to a great extent, responsible for the sudden change in public sentiment. Their busy tongues had never been idle for a moment.

“‘I declare,’ said Miss Clattermouth, ‘the meanest thing Miss Bramlett did was to attempt to involve Mr. Bowles in her scheme of murder. He is a thoughtless, jolly, good-hearted young man, unsuspicious by nature, and the very kind of a man to be deceived by such a honey-tongued hussy as Viola Bramlett.’

“‘Indeed,’ observed Miss Tadpoddle, ‘I agree with you there. He is one of those confiding, unsuspicious sort of men, easily played on by such an adventuress. My brother was inclined to censure him but you know the simplicity of the good soul – he does not draw the proper distinctions in such cases. He is one of the best officers in the secret service, but he owes most of his success to my judgment. I often make the rounds with him, and as to Miss Bramlett’s case, I think I may say without exaggeration (for I never exaggerate) that but for my valuable aid, he never would have secured the proof necessary to convict her. And then, he was inclined to think that Mr. Bowles was as much to blame as Miss Bramlett; but I defended Bowles – I thought it was my duty to do it. I convinced him that it was his duty to let Bowles alone. The truth is, he was about to have him arrested, but I made him consent to use Mr. Bowles as a witness against Miss Bramlett, as I thought his evidence would be indispensable on the trial.’

“‘Oh! I am so delighted to hear it,’ replied Miss Clattermouth; ‘do you know, Jemima, that I think you are the dearest creature on earth? How could we manage our affairs without you? Bowles is a dear, good fellow – a little wild, I admit, but all young men, you know, must sow their crop of wild oats. I mean to tell him how you have been serving him. He comes to see me quite often, and he should know what a good friend he has in you. I am sure he will make a liberal donation to our Tramp Reform Association as soon as he is advised of your friendly intercession in his behalf. He handles lots of money, and we must get him to take an interest in our affairs.’

“‘Yes, I dare say he will make us a liberal donation if you will explain the case to him. If Viola Bramlett was fool enough to give her money to him, that’s no reason why we should not have a share of it. We will get the inns on Bowles, and if we are wise we will make good use of our advantage, but I shall depend on your cleverness to manage the money matter. By the way, what do you think of Charlotte Wallingford?’

“‘She is very pretty, and possesses good talent, but is ruining her character by her friendship for Viola Bramlett. She has no right to thrust herself among respectable people after staying in jail with that unnatural and cruel murderess. She pretends to think that Miss Bramlett is innocent, and for my part, she is welcome to her opinion, if it will do her any good, though she will get a lofty fall when the trial comes off. I am told that they have made a concert room of the jail, and are continually thumping away on an old guitar, and singing sentimental songs. I hate such romantic, pretty doll-babies, anyway, and I know it would make me sick to witness their doings.’

“‘But, speaking of Lottie Wallingford, I don’t think she ever will marry Ed Demar. He thinks she loves him, but it is my opinion that she is merely playing with him. I can’t believe she loves anybody but herself. She likes to be different from other women. That is the reason she sticks to Viola Bramlett – it is because everybody else has forsaken her. She imagines it will create quite a sensation. She likes to make herself conspicuous, talks with lawyers and politicians, makes a display of learning, holds herself above our Tramp Reform Association, quotes poetry, plays the guitar, and sings lovesick songs. Oh, I despise such women! It is my character to hate ’em. No, no! she ain’t going to marry Ed Demar – he is too sober and practical to fill her bill. She will set her cap for a poet or a politician, or some such worthless trash. Demar knows Viola Bramlett is guilty, and would leave her to her fate but for Charlotte Wallingford; he has been tied to her apron string. As for her, I expect if the whole truth were known, she is no better than Viola Bramlett.’