Читать книгу Hilda's Mascot: A Tale of "Maryland, My Maryland" - Mary E. Ireland - Страница 6

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During that one beautiful summer Anna Ashburton remained in her childhood’s home and scarcely a day passed that she and Mrs. Ashley did not see each other or have an exchange of messages.

But one morning a lawyer from Baltimore visited “My Lady’s Manor” on behalf of a client in California—Mr. Reginald Farnsworth—who could prove beyond doubt that he was the legal owner of the property, being the only son and heir of Joshua Farnsworth by a former marriage.

In vain Anna protested that she had never heard of a former marriage; in vain the Courtneys, the Merrymans, the Lattingers and other families who had known the Farnsworths and whom Anna summoned to her assistance, affirmed the same. The lawyer produced a marriage certificate and letters, which even their unwilling eyes could see were genuine. The signatures—“Joshua Farnsworth,” were fac-similes of those in the foster father’s letters to her foster mother, kept by Anna with reverent care.

To add to the proof already given, he brought with him an old San Francisco newspaper in which was a notice of the death of the wife of Joshua Farnsworth, of that city, aged twenty-one years, leaving an infant son, Reginald.

The conference ended for the time by the lawyer giving Anna a letter from his client in which he explained his reason for the delay in putting in his claim for the property. He wrote that he was but an infant when his father, Joshua Farnsworth, left San Francisco; and it was not until he was almost grown to manhood that he became anxious to know if he was yet among the living. He had made all inquiry and had advertised, but could gain no information, and for years had given up the search. But recently he had obtained the certain information that his father had been the owner of “My Lady’s Manor,” and he, Reginald Farnsworth, being the only child and heir, now claimed it according to law, his stepmother having only a life estate in it, not having the right to give it to anyone.

He added that his wife had long wished to be nearer her mother, who resided in Philadelphia. Now the way was opened, and he requested Miss Ashburton to vacate the premises as early as convenient.

“How did he learn all this?” asked Anna, as she finished the letter.

“From me, and I obtained it incidentally from a lawyer associate who had never heard me speak of Mr. Farnsworth, therefore was unaware of my knowing anyone of that name. He had visited a physician of your village and was told the incidents connected with this place. I wrote immediately to Mr. Reginald Farnsworth and he in turn put the case in my hands. I searched the land records of Maryland and found that Joshua Farnsworth, of San Francisco, had purchased a tract known as ‘My Lady’s Manor,’ the date corresponding exactly with the year of his leaving California.”

Anna Ashburton possessed a sense of honor above wishing to retain what belonged to another, and with bitter tears left “My Lady’s Manor” to go to Mrs. Lacy in Springfield, and Jerusha returned to the brown cottage and her occupation, and if she grieved over the change her proud nature gave no sign.

Mr. Reginald Farnsworth, apparently unconcerned as to Anna’s future, took possession of “My Lady’s Manor” with its spacious grounds, woodland, meadows and orchards, having three experienced men to cultivate it and three as efficient house servants as could have been found in Maryland.

But his conscience troubled him. He had allowed greed to influence him in depriving the defenceless girl of the home which had been given her in the belief that there was no other heir, and he had not the excuse of straitened circumstances to warrant the action.

One evening he had been directing the cutting down of several fine maples which obstructed a favorite view. They had been planted by his father to shade a spring of clear, cool water, and, being prized by her foster mother, were dear to Anna.

Feeling very weary after his walk, he went to the library, and throwing himself upon a lounge, fell asleep. When he awoke the moon was shining brightly through the large windows, making every object visible.

The voices of his wife and Mrs. Lattinger were heard from the parlor, and had almost lulled him again to slumber when he was conscious of a presence in the room. Without stirring, he opened his eyes, and passing him almost within touch was an apparently old lady, a stranger to him.

She was short in stature and slender, her pale face shaded by gray curls, and upon her bowed head was a lace cap with long tabs of the same costly material. Her dress was of soft black silken goods, and a white kerchief, overlaid by one of black, was crossed upon her breast.

Mr. Farnsworth’s first thought was that a caller had come to the library for a book, but seeing him sleeping was returning quietly without it. He was therefore more than surprised to see her, after gliding through the door, ascend swiftly the steps leading to the attic.

He arose and followed, keeping her in view until she reached a distant corner of the unfurnished back room at the end of the dwelling, when, like a shadow-picture, she disappeared.

Feeling bewildered, Mr. Farnsworth descended to his bed-room adjoining the library, bathed face and hands in cold water, arranged his attire, and then sat down to reflect.

He was not superstitious, but he feared that his conscience-stricken feelings had influenced his brain and he had imagined what was not there to see. Believing this, he joined the ladies in the parlor.

“You are not well, Reginald,” said his wife anxiously, “you are looking very pale; I am afraid the sun was too hot for you.”

“My husband has had several cases of prostration from heat in the last few days,” remarked Mrs. Lattinger, “and one of the men came near losing his life from exposure to the sun.”

“How was he affected?” asked Mr. Farnsworth.

“He was at first unconscious, then delirious, imagining he saw weird, spectral objects, causing him fright and anxiety.”

Mr. Farnsworth breathed more freely upon hearing this. It was not a figment of the brain caused by an uneasy conscience as he had feared, but he had suffered a slight sunstroke, and, believing this, he became more tranquil.

Resolving not to expose himself to the heat of the sun more than necessary, he decided not to mention what he had seen to his wife, who was nervous, nor to the servants, who were superstitious.

The figure he had seen corresponded in every detail with the description of the late Mrs. Farnsworth, as given that evening to his wife by Mrs. Lattinger, and as it was the last thing he heard before dropping asleep it was not surprising that in his drowsy condition he should imagine he saw her.

“Lois,” he said one evening, halting at the door of her cabin, “when is the best time to plant Lima beans?”

“When de sign is in de arms, ’kase you wants de vines to run up de poles and not bunch on de ground,” she answered promptly.

“I mean the time in the month, Lois. I have no belief in signs.”

“Culled folks is allus mighty keerful about de signs, and de keerfulest ones has de best gardens.”

“What is the best time for beets and parsnips?” continued Mr. Farnsworth, who, having always lived in San Francisco, where he was a banker, had but little knowledge of horticulture.

“When de sign is in de feet, kase you don’t want ’em to spindle up and be all top, but go down in de ground and grow.”

“Have we cucumber seed, Lois?”

“Lots of ’em; ol’ misses allus let de fust big uns ripen for seed. Dey is in de attic, hangin’ on de rafters in de back room. Does yer want me to fotch ’em down?”

“No, the ground is not ready. I will go up this evening and look over all the seeds.”

After tea Mr. Farnsworth ascended to the attic and stood at one of the front windows gazing out over the beautiful neighborhood, the village of Dorton and the distant city. He then went into the back room where the seeds hung, each kind in its little sack, tied and labeled by a careful hand.

The light being insufficient, he took the sacks into the front room, made his selections and had turned to put the remaining ones back upon their hooks when in the door-way through which he must pass stood the little old lady in the costume in which he had first seen her. A tremor seized Mr. Farnsworth, his heart throbbed, and his hands trembled so much that the sacks dropped to the floor. He stooped to recover them and when he arose the figure had disappeared.

All was silent, the attic and stair-way could be surveyed at a glance; there was not a living thing to be seen.

Taking all the seeds with him, he went to the garden, gave them to the men, and returned to the parlor where were his wife and two callers, Mrs. Courtney and Mrs. Merryman, whom he welcomed and then took a seat upon a sofa in a distant corner of the spacious parlor.

“I have been overseeing my gardening,” he remarked languidly; “I think there is nothing more interesting.”

“Yes, for those who understand it,” smiled Mrs. Courtney. “Brother Valentine oversees our garden and I know but little about the work of cultivating the different vegetables. I never tried planting anything except turnip seeds, and that was not a success. The rule given me by a facetious friend was to start out with half the quantity I considered sufficient, to fall down and spill half, then sow half of what remained; but with all these precautions the turnips were so crowded that they were not much larger than walnuts and it did not occur to me to weed some of them out and give the others a chance.”

This incident recalled others to the ladies and Mr. Farnsworth was silent, pondering over the event of his day.

The summer passed and one evening in early autumn Mrs. Farnsworth accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Merryman to a concert in the city. It being an hour’s drive, they were not expected back until near midnight, and after reading until weary, Mr. Farnsworth turned the lamp flame low and lay down upon the lounge in the library.

The house was still and he slept, but was awakened by what appeared an ice-cold hand upon his forehead. Startled, he sprang to his feet. The little old lady, her hand raised in warning, glided through the door and up the stair-way.

A cold moisture stood upon the forehead of Mr. Farnsworth. He trembled and grew faint, and it was with an intense sense of relief that he heard Mr. Merryman’s carriage stop at the gate.

He hurried out to receive his wife and helped her to alight. The four passed a few minutes in pleasant conversation; Mr. and Mrs. Farnsworth thanked their neighbors for their courtesy and kindness, then the Merrymans proceeded on their short way down the road and up their maple-lined lane to “Fair Meadow.”

Mr. and Mrs. Farnsworth went to the parlor where, in listening to an animated account of the concert, Mr. Farnsworth’s spirits revived, but his sleep that night was disturbed and he arose unrefreshed.

“Mrs. Lattinger’s little girls are coming to take tea this evening,” remarked Mrs. Farnsworth cheerily at breakfast a few mornings after, “and I gave them permission to invite any playmates they wish to accompany them.”

“That is all right,” replied her husband languidly.

“I have thought of several ways to entertain them, among them to dress in my great-grandmother’s wedding costume.”

The children came, the orchard was visited, the dove-cotes, the fish pond and garden had a share of their afternoon, then all returned to the parlor and Mrs. Farnsworth quietly slipped away to the attic.

She had taken the ancient attire from the trunk when she felt a presence near her, and turning, she saw slowly receding toward the back room a pale little lady with black gown, white kerchief and dainty lace cap.

Uttering a piercing scream, Mrs. Farnsworth fell to the floor in a swoon.

Children and servants flocked upstairs. One ran for Mr. Farnsworth who, pale as the unconscious woman at his feet, raised her in his arms and carried her down to the library and placed her upon the lounge.

One of the men-servants was sent to Dorton for Dr. Lattinger, while the frightened Lois, Phebe and Judy used the simple restoratives at command to revive her.

“Mrs. Farnsworth has suffered a severe shock to her nerves,” said the doctor as she showed signs of consciousness. “Has she been frightened?”

“I think so, but no one saw her when she fainted.”

“Let all leave the room except the doctor and yourself, Reginald,” said the lady tremulously. “I wish to tell you something.”

Children and servants were sent below and with convulsive sobs Mrs. Farnsworth told what she had seen to the incredulous doctor and the believing husband.

“I will not remain here another day,” she continued, “I would go this very evening if I could! Do not let us stay in this dreadful house, dear husband; let us go to my mother in Philadelphia.”

To her infinite relief, Mr. Farnsworth did not chide or attempt to reason her out of her wish. Instead, he assured her that they would go on the early train the next morning.

“Do not leave me, Reginald!” she cried excitedly as Mr. Farnsworth was about to follow the doctor from the room. “I cannot stay a moment alone.”

“No, dear, I will not go from the door; I am only waiting for the soothing drops the doctor is preparing.”

“What do you think the vision was, doctor?” he continued in a low tone.

“Only an optical illusion, caused, perhaps, by stooping over the trunk. But she must have change; take her to her mother as you promised.”

The next morning husband and wife were on their way to Philadelphia, taking nothing but a few household treasures prized by Mrs. Farnsworth, and “My Lady’s Manor,” handsomely furnished, was placed for lease or rent in the hands of an agent.

His advertisements spoke in glowing terms of the place, and applications were numerous. The most eligible of these was accepted and a family who had never lived in the country took possession, delighted with “My Lady’s Manor” and everything connected with it.

In two weeks they were back in the city, declaring they would not take the place as a gift and be compelled to live there; the little old lady had paid them two visits and they would not wait for a third.

“My Lady’s Manor” was again upon the market at reduced rent, and again a Baltimore family became its occupants, but remained less than a week.

Mr. Reginald Farnsworth who, with his wife, had returned to San Francisco, notified his agent to make no further effort to rent the dwelling, but to close it and put the keys in the care of the servants, who were asked to remain in the quarters.

“My Lady’s Manor” had now furnished the neighborhood with four items of discussion: “What caused the death of Joshua Farnsworth?” “Who was the stranger?” “How did he escape from the roof?” “Why did the spectre represent Mrs. Farnsworth instead of her husband?”

These questions could not be answered, and the superstitious ones of the community avoided the place after nightfall and in their vocabulary it was spoken of as “the haunted house.”