(COPYRIGHT STORY.) Aunt Agatha’s Suitor

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIV, Issue 9, 4 March 1905, Page 11

(COPYRIGHT STORY.) Aunt Agatha’s Suitor

By

Robert H. Sherard

Author of “Wolves,” Etc.

' When it was rumoured at the Amble* Wide tcatables that Aunt Agatha—it was by this name that Miss Agatha Ouscley was universally known in that part of the Lake District —had got a suitor, much surprise and indignation were expressed, especially amongst the unmarried ladies of her own age. “At her time of life, too! 1 declare it is quite ridiculous.’’ Thus, at one of these tea-tables, that acrimonious spinster, Miss Floyd, who bring well past forty, spare and illfavoured, with the smallest of incomes, had long since abandoned all hopes of changing her condition. Now at this party was also present an agreeable-looking lady of middle-age—-a Miss Parish—who, as she often confessed to her intimate friends, enjoyed nothing more than to ‘take a rise” out of “that spiteful qld cat,” Miss Floyd. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said. “Ajint. Agatha is not so much over forty—l am sure she is younger than either you or I, Miss Floyd—and there is po reason whatever why she should not marry if she wishes to. Especially, as from what I hear, the gentleman is quite an elderly man, and very much her senior. A very goodlooking man, too, so they say. Colonel Something or Other—a retired officer.” “Certainly not of the Bl’itish army,” snapped Alias Floyd. “Colonel Urquhart is his name, and there’s no such name in the Army List. I got my nephew, Bob, to look him up. An American colonel, no doubt—a fine distinction. As to his good looks, Miss Parish, I don’t agree with you. The combination of dark hair and a snow-white moustache is one that never suited me, and then those pale, blue eyes, I don’t like them.” “Possibly Aunt Agatha does,” said Miss Parish, -‘which after all is of more importance, isn’t it, dear?” Miss Floyd tossed her head, and without answering the question proceeded, “I have no doubt that the man is a mere American adventurer. Nobody knows anything about him, who he is, where he comes from, or what his means are. I only hope that the people at the Qtfeen’s Hotel may get their bill.” “Oh, I don’t think there will be any trouble about that,” said Miss Parish. “John, the waiter at the Queen’s, you know is courting my maid, Florence, and from what she tells me, he is most, enthusiastic about the Colonel, speaks of him as a most liberal gentlemen, who spends money without counting it. Oh, they are all delighted with him at the Queen's. You see in the winter they get so few visitors who spend money. No,” she continued, “I don’t think it is fair to describe him as an adventurer. The mere fact of his paying court to Aunt Agatha proves that he is not that.” "You mean because she has only an annuity of • £ 150 to live on, besides what she makes by letting her house in the summer. But how do you know that this Colonel of yours—” “Not of mine, dear,” interrupted Alisa Parish. “Well, this colonel,” continued Miss Floyd, turning yellow under her freckled skin, “how do you know that he is aware of Ati.ss Ouseley’s circumstances. Rose Bank is a fine substantial looking house, and he may fancy her a good catch. Oil, a fine catch, a great catch.” “But are you quite sure,” said a young lady, who had not yet spoken, “are you quite sure, Aliss Floyd, that 'the Colonel’s intentions are matrimonial? I mean, mayn’t he be merely a friend of Aunt Agatha’s?” “Certainly not,” replied Miss Floyd. I ntil a fortnight ago. Miss Ouseley had never set eyes on this, this Colonel. Ho called on her first, the day after his arrival, to ask her if she felt, disposed to let her house now. I suppose that the contemplation of her charms so impressed him that he has returned to Rose Bank almost every ♦lay since.” “Love at first sight, then.” said Miss (Parish. “So it would seem. And more than that, my nephew Bob has more than once found him at night hanging about in the liydal-road, close to Rose Batik. Such

an elderly Romeo, too, a Romeo with a white moustache, and forget-me-not eyes, waiting for his Juliet to appear on ■her balcony. Faugh! if it ain't sickening. ” "There, by the way, goes the Romeo,” said Aliss Parish, who whilst Aliss Floyd was speaking had been looking out of the window on to the Rydal-road. “And 1 declare, Miss Floyd, whatever you may say. he’s a fine figure of a man. lie has just entered Aliss Ouseley’s garden, and is knocking at her front door.” The ladies crowded to the window, and for -reward of their curiosity saw the stranger disappear through the front door door of Rose Bank. “1 suppose the engagement will be officially announced in a day or two,” said Aliss Floyd, with a spiteful little laugh. The visitor to Rose Bank- had, in the meanwhile, been shown into the draw-ing-room on the ground floor. “Miss Ouseley will be down directly,” said the maid. No sooner had she closed the door than the Colonel, after a rapid glance at himself in the glass over the mantelpiece, and a mild tug at his heavy, white moustache, crossed over to where a piano stood against the wall in the corner of the room furthest from the door. Then, gripping one of the handies of the instrument in a muscular grasp and drawing it away from the wall, he bent down on his knees, and appeared to scrutinise the wainscotting, so closely indeed that, now and again he struck a vesta to assist him in his investigations. It was thus engaged that Aliss Ouseley found him, down on his knees, groping behind the piano, with a lighted vesta in his hand. She had entered noiselessly. Indeed, everything that Aunt Agatha did was noiseless. Her movements were as gentle as her voice, her voice was as gentle as her nature. Certainly no one in the whole Lake District deserved less than she to be the butt of the spite of Miss Floyd and her congeners. xShe was a good, motherly soul, and if her friends bad given her this soubriquet of “Aunt Agatha,’’ it was just on account of her kindly, maternal character. For the rest, her nature spoke out from her plain but On seeing her visitor in the extraordinary posture described, Aliss Ouseley halted in the doorway. Then she coughed behind her plump, white hand. The Colonel flushed crimson, but his control over himself was such that by the time lie had risen to his feet, turned round and saluted the lady of the house, all traces of emotion had disappeared from his face. “You have lost something, Colonel Urquhart?’ said Miss Ouseley. “Yes. So stupid of me. A sovereign rolled out of my poeket just now. I guess ii rolled behind the piano.” Then turning round again, he pretended to pounce on something between the piano and the wall. “And,” said be. holding up a coin between bis thumb and forefinger. "here it is.” Having pushed the instrument back into its place, be handed a chair to Miss Ouseley, and at her invitation seated himself also. After an exchange of the usual commonplaces of conversation Miss Ouseley said: — “I am afraid. Colonel, that I am not yet in a position to give you a definite, answer about the house. The Brownings, that is (he family to whom I had promised to let Rose Bunk from May Ist, have moved from Pau, and I have not had any answer to my letter yet. You know that I wrote asking them to release me from my promise, as, of course, you are anxious to take, the house immediately, it would be much to my advantage to get an extra six weeks' rent. You want it for the whole season?’ “That’s so, ma'am,” said the Colonel.

“And the terms 1 mentioned - five guineas a week—are satisfactory?” “I would write out my cheque for six weeks in advance, right here.” Aunt Agatha sighed. How useful the money would be, she thought, just then, when that widowed cousin of hers with the six little children, was in such great distress. “No,” she said. “It’s very tempting, but 1 can’t go back on my word to the Brownings. They are old friends of mine, you see, Colonel, and after my experience last year with those strangers to whom I let. the house. I preferred to take less money this year and to have people whom I know and can trust.” “Ah, yes,” said the Colonel, twisting his moustache. “You had some undesirable tenants last year, 1 think you told me.” “Well, as far as I am concerned,” said Alias Ouseley, “I had no complaint to make against, them. They paid everything they owed me in perfectly honourable fashion, and they left, the house in perfect order. But, as 1 told you, it appears they were—well, not nice people. The police arrested them here, and they are now in prison.” “No, not nice people at all, I should say,” said the Colonel. “Forgers or something of the sort, weren't they? Toughs, any way.” "Well, they always behaved very nicely to me,” said Aunt. Agatha. Then she added: “I am sorry. Colonel, to keep you waiting like this, but until I hear from the Brownings I can give you no definite answer. So if you want, to go anywhere—not to stay on in Ambleside, I mean, 1 could write to you or telegraph, if you would leave me your address. To spare you the trouble of coming hero every day. I mean.” “Trouble. Madam?” said the Colonel. “It. is a pleasure to me—a real pleasure.” And the forget-me-not eolcure I eyes became as the eyes of a sheep. “Well, yes,” muttered Colonel Urquhart to himself, as a few minutes later, having taken his leave of Miss Ouseley, he was strolling towards the Queen’s

Hotel. “If the hiring of th.* house racket don't work, it*!’ have to be done by soul throb, love at first sight, and the rest of it. Mean, skunkish work it is, too, but that boodle can’t be let slide anyway, forty thousand dollars! By gum,” he added, “ain’t that just grand.'* It was indeed grand, that glow of winter >.inset, flooding the twin-embrace °* the snowcapped l.angdale Pikes, with ;isl the colours uf Heaven's own palette. "A -:ghi. like that ’ere,” continued the Col nt 1, lighting a cigar, “seems to wake up another man in me, another man who wants to boot the mean, skunkish fellow that I have become.'* 1 hen veering suddenly back to commercial cynicism he " added: “Crikey, what a show it would make if I could cart those two sister mountings, sunset and all. and sot her up at a World’s Hx posit ion. ’ But the cynicism rang false, and the Colonel pulled out his moustache, as it' in perplexity. Pulled . well, indeed, that it presently' camo off in his hand. r !hnt. same evening a note was brought by John, the waiter at the Quean's, to Colonel l/rquhart, who was drinking Bourbon whisky in the smok-ing-room. It came from Rose Bank, and ran as follows: “Dear Colonel Urquhart- — This evening's post it arrived just after you had left brought me a letter from the Brownings at Niue. I am sorry to say that they won’t hear of giving up the li.iinc; and, indeed, want to move in middle of April. So I am so sorry- you will have to find some other house. I am really very sorry, tor [ know how much your heart was set on having the little home. “Yours very sincerely. •‘Agatha Ouseley. ‘AV!'.it, a lovely sunset it was tonight.” ’This, I guess, will have to lie thought over,” said Hie Colonel to himself, after ba had read the letter. Then, aloud ami addressing the waiter: “Say. John, tako that bottle of Bourbon up (o mv room. Also some sodas and the box of cigars. And say. John, it’s a lovely moonlight night, and I have a kinder fancy to go and look at Ry J al Lake under this ’ere limelight effect.” “The hall porter,” said John obse-

“will let you in or out at any Sime of the night.” On reaching his bedroom the colonel lock' d himself in, and sat down in an arm chair by the fire, with Aunt Agatha's letter in his hand. A look of great perplexity was on his face, and he kept tugging at his false moustache. When at last, as had happened that afternoon on the Rydal road, it again came off in his hand, he rose up, and looked at himself in the glass. Ixioked long, and with an expression of pity at the withered face, the crow's feet wrinkles at the eyes, and the significant droop of the mouth. “And this is what I have come to at forty,” he muttered, setting down the lamp with a sigh. “And to think that I was a gentleman once.” Then, noticing the whisky bottle on the table, he shook his first at it. "And it's all your fault,” he added. But the moment after he helped himself to a liberal dose of the strong spirit, and again to a second glass. When this had been hastily swallowed he gave a short laugh, and said he: “How these sentimental fits do come on me. to be sure. Fortunately the antidote is to „ band.” Then lie sat down by the fire again and mused, muttering to himself. “Since I can’t get quiet possession of the house, there are only two other ways of executing the commission—to win that poor simple creature's affections. 1 have six weeks to do it in. and I know I should succeed, to deceive ncr. to dupe her—perhaps to break her gentle heart. No, blackguard as 1 have become, I don’t like it. 1 never rounded on a woman yet. I don’t like it. But forty thousand dollars! Gail, I must take some more of the antidote.” Having helped himself from the bottle, lie continued: "There is one other way, dangerous to me, but not blackguardly. No trifling with a woman's heart in that. And” —witli a sudden resolution, and springing to his feet —"I ll try it tonight.” His preparations were hasty, but methodical. From a secret receptacle in a huge Saratogo trunk he drew out first a small leather case, resembling those in which surgeons carry their minor instruments, then a black velvet mask, and lastly a bnneh of keys of various sizes. Before closing the trunk tic hesitated. “Shall I take the chloroform?” he muttered. Tiie moment after lie slammed the lid down noisily. "I’ll be hanged if I will.” he said. He crossed over to the mirror, and adjusted his false moustache, and then by the light of the lamp lie examined the contents of the leather case. This contained five pieces of steel, of exquisite temper, which could be screwed together io form a single bar. It was a burglar's jenunv, in miniature, of beautiful workmanship. The keys having been oiled from a little l.vttlc, which lie drew from his dressing-ling, he next disposed of his various implements in the different pockets of his heavy ulster. A minute or two later he was sauntering down the Rydal road. "If I pul' this off to-night,” he said to himself, "I 11 run straight in future. By gum, I will.” However, there was no business to be done at Rose Bank that night, for when he reached the house he found Miss Ouselev. wi ll wrapped up in a fur cloak, enjoyirg the glories of the n>ght in her front garden. "I often stay out like this half the night,” she said, after they had exchanged a few words on the subject of her letter. "I look up at the sky. and I see faces there, tile faces of those whom 1 have loved and have lost.” He felt a rising in bis throat, but he gulped it down, and cursed himself inwardly for not having brought a flask of the antidote out with him. And later, as lie stood looking at Rydal mere under the moon, the silent mountains holding vigil around, he cursed himself again. For now and again he looked upward to the sky. and the dear faces that he saw there seemed to stare down oa him. with expressions, here of anguish, there of stern reproach. latter on. however, after he had got back to his hotel, he dosed himself copiously. John found the bottle emptyin the morning. Miss Floyd had a good deal of news to relate tliat same afternoon at tea time. Her house was just opposite Rose Bank, and she had witnessed the “midnight tryst” of Miss Ouseley. and "that American colonel.” And very severely indeed did she comment upon it. Miss Parish, on the other band, was able to demonstrate that al) this gossip about the Colonel's courtship was sheer souse use.

“I saw Aunt Agatha this morning,” she said, “and 1 sounded her carefully. Colonel Urquhart simply wanted to rent her house. She was unable to give him a definite answer until she had heard from some people—the Brownings—to whom she had promised it, and he kept calling to know if the answer had come. She heard from Nice last night, and sent a note round to the Queen's, to tell the Colonel that she could not make the arrangement which he desired, as the Brownings kept her to her promise. So now, no doubt, the Colonel's calls Will eease.” "Oh. will they?” said Miss Floyd, with a sniff. "Just you wait and see.” And the spiteful Miss Floyd was right. The colonel's calls did not cease. On the contrary, they became more frequent than ever. Simultaneously the rumour got about that he was drinking heavily. John, of the Queen’s, had mentioned it to Florence, his sweetheart. "A bottle of Bourbon a day,” he had said, “aye, and sometimes a bottle and a half.” It was quite true, for the more the wretched man progressed in his contemptible undertaking, the more did the need for the conscience-quieting antidote make itself felt. For the better he grew to know Aunt Agatha's character, to admire her good, simple, gentle nature, the more the iniquity of his fraud pressed itself on him, and the more he realised the worthlessness of his character. The bad man compared himself with the good woman, and shuddered with horror. So at first. Later his sufferings grew even more acute. This was when gradually a real affection had sprung up in his seared heart, and he reflected what might have been, had lie been a different man. had lie lived a different life. Old age was in sight, a lonely, loveless old age. There would be none to close his eyes when the end came. Grim spectres only would stand by his death-bed. What shapened his regret was that the good woman seemed to like him, the bad man. Tie fancied that if he dared to tell her all, she would find pardon and forgiveness for his past. She was so motherly, and as a mother tolerant. Indeed, as a matter of fact, Agatha Ouseley did grow to like this stranger. The man of action appealed to the dreamy, placid reeluse. She looked forward to his visits, and when she heard tiie rumour of his intemperance, she felt —as sorry as though it concerned an old and dear friend. Oh. yes, Miss Floyd was right, triumphantly right. Aunt Agatha had a suitor, an ardent suitor, and, what was more, Aunt Agatha was beginning to fall in love. “And,” said Miss Floyd, “I should be glad if you would show me anything more ridiculous than that.” The episode was not, however, to end in ridicule or laughter, for a day came when the thief, who had been a gentleman once, found himself unable any longer to face Lis self-contempt on tin? one hand, and Lis overwhelming regret on the other. Ami win n that day and that hour eame, h.e took a stronger antidote than Bourbon whisky. So it happened that one afternoon, John of the Queen’s came tearing down the Rydal-road, bis face convulsed, his apron flying, nor paused until he had reached Rose Bank, and was in the presence of Agatha Ouseley. ‘•you're to come at once, miss,” ho gasped, "to the Queen’s. ’ Tiie Colonel has shot himself, and is going fast. The doctor says he can’t live an hour, and tiie Colonel keeps calling for you, calling, calling.” Aunt Agatha did not stop to ask any questions, she did not even stop to put on her bonnet, but she gathered up her skirts and ran. She found her suitor lying on his bed, with a blood-stained sheet drawn over bis chest. He was deadly pale, but his cheeks flushed when he saw her enter the room, and he put out his hand towards her. and groaned pitifully at the pain of the effort. "Oh, doctor, doctor,” she cried. “Is it true? Is he dying?” "He lias but a few minutes to live,” whispered the doctor. “There is an internal hemorrhage. I can do nothing.” "Doctor,” said the dying man. “make tracks. I want to be alone with the lady.” The doctor hesitated, looking earnestly at his patient’s face. Then he shook his head, and having rearranged the bed, wiped some blood away from the dying lips, and crept silently out of the room. “Oh, Colonel, Colonel,” cried Agatha, seizing the bloodless hand, and bending over it, “why have you done thill”

“I sent for you, Agatha—yes, Agatha, I may eall you that now—to tell you. I had written it all out—that letter there on the table. I thought I was good enough a shot to draw a bead on myself, as 1 have done on so many others, without making a mess of it. But I'm glad now to have a little time.” He coughed and ehoked, and a sanguinary froth eame again to his lips. She wiped it gently away. “Thank you, Agatha,” he said. “Now I want to beg your pardon, for I have acted very badly. At least at first I acted badly, because when I first tried to get you to like me it was to fool you, it was for a mean purpose of my own. I wanted to be able to get in and out of your house. It was the boodle I was after.” “The, the—?” “The boodle, the jewels and the money which arc hidden in a box behind the wainscotting in your parlour, back of the piano. Don't you remember finding me prospecting there. I told-you a lie then. But my- life has all been lies. Well I got tired of this living lie, and that is why 1 have shot myself. I am a thief and a scoundrel, Agatha, but I was a gentleman once. Listen, 1 feel I cannot talk much longer—the letter will explain all, if they ring her down, the curtain I before 1 get it all out. “I am a thief, but, I feel a worse thief now than ever I did in my toughest days, for I tried to steal your heart. You could find my plant, jemmy, false keys, chloroform, masks, and all the shoot in the Saratoga yonder. 1 wanted and tried to use them to get at that box. That is at first. Afterwards I had not the heart to break into your homo like a thief. I was one of the gang that took your'liouse last year. No, you never saw me, for I eame up after you had left. We took that there villa as a quiet location for the manufacture of green goods” (Spurious greenbacks— American notes). “Handy for Liverpool too. Then the police got on to us and we had to scoot. I got away right enough, but I left my stuff behind me, hidden where I tell—you—forty thousand dollars’ worth there is in money and jewels. I did not want it to get into the hands of the police in case I was arrested. And it was to get back my stuff tliat I eame back disguised. Not that disguise was necessary, for I never went out when I was last here: too busy with the goods, I tried to rent the house, so as to get at the stuff. I tried to get at it many times during my calls. But it was securely stewed, and the job needed time. So then I thought if I paid court to you, and kinder got to be your fiancay, I’d have the run of the house, and plenty of opportunity to unearth that boodle.” “But why net tell me? But. oh! was it stolen money?” cried Agatha, involuntarily shrinking back. "No, ma’am. Leastways, not directly. In course, I have lived as a crook ail my life. I‘q£ that money’s mine right enough. And well, Agatha, I got to like you, and the more I liked you the worse I hated myself. And there was no other possible end to it but this. You will read all the soul-throb part in the letter. It was that racket of yours about the faces in the sky that kinder started it. The money is for you, Agatha. Well, yes, I reckon you would" not use it for yourself, dirty money got on the crook, but the poor, your poor, all those you want to help and cannot. “And now, Agatha. I’m going. Say you forgive me.” "Tliat I do with all my heart-,” said Agatha Ouseley. “A great heart, too. Yes, Frank Polston goes out better than ever he. deserved to. And cay, Agatha, when I do hand ’em in, give me just one kiss.”