L. Frank Baum_Aunt Jane 01 (4 page)

"My glasses, Phibbs!" cried Miss Jane, eagerly, and the attendant
started briskly for the house to get them.

"What do you know about these girls?" asked the old lawyer curiously.

"Nothing whatever. I scarcely knew of their existence until you hunted
them out for me and found they were alive. But I'm going to know them,
and study them, and the one that's most capable and deserving shall
have my property."

Mr. Watson sighed.

"And Kenneth?" he asked.

"I'll provide an annuity for the boy, although it's more than he
deserves. When I realized that death was creeping upon me I felt a
strange desire to bequeath my fortune to one of my own flesh and
blood. Perhaps I didn't treat my brothers and sisters generously in
the old days, Silas."

"Perhaps not," he answered.

"So I'll make amends to one of their children. That is, if any one of
the three nieces should prove worthy."

"I see. But if neither of the three is worthy?"

"Then I'll leave every cent to charity—except Kenneth's annuity."

The lawyer smiled.

"Let us hope," said he, "that they will prove all you desire. It would
break my heart, Jane, to see Elmhurst turned into a hospital."

Phibbs arrived with the spectacles, and Jane Merrick read her letter,
her face growing harder with every line she mastered. Then she
crumpled the paper fiercely in both hands, and a moment later smoothed
it out carefully and replaced it in the envelope.

Silas Watson had watched her silently.

"Well," said he, at last, "another acceptance?"

"No, a refusal," said she. "A refusal from the Irishman's daughter,
Patricia Doyle."

"That's bad," he remarked, but in a tone of relief.

"I don't see it in that light at all," replied Miss Jane. "The girl
is right. It's the sort of letter I'd have written myself, under the
circumstances. I'll write again, Silas, and humble myself, and try to
get her to come."

"You surprise me!" said the lawyer.

"I surprise myself," retorted the old woman, "but I mean to know more
of this Patricia Doyle. Perhaps I've found a gold mine, Silas Watson!"

Leaving the mistress of Elmhurst among her flowers, Silas Watson
walked slowly and thoughtfully along the paths until he reached the
extreme left wing of the rambling old mansion. Here, half hidden by
tangled vines of climbing roses, he came to a flight of steps leading
to an iron-railed balcony, and beyond this was a narrow stairway to
the rooms in the upper part of the wing.

Miss Merrick, however ungenerous she might have been to others, had
always maintained Elmhurst in a fairly lavish manner. There were
plenty of servants to look after the house and gardens, and there were
good horses in the stables. Whenever her health permitted she dined in
state each evening in the great dining-room, solitary and dignified,
unless on rare occasions her one familiar, Silas Watson, occupied the
seat opposite her. "The boy," as he was contemptuously called, was
never permitted to enter this room. Indeed, it would be difficult to
define exactly Kenneth Forbes' position at Elmhurst. He had lived
there ever since his mother's death, when, a silent and unattractive
lad of eight, Mr. Watson had brought him to Jane Merrick and insisted
upon her providing a home for Tom Bradley's orphaned nephew.

She accepted the obligation reluctantly enough, giving the child a
small room in the left wing, as far removed from her own apartments as
possible, and transferring all details of his care to Misery Agnew,
the old housekeeper. Misery endeavored to "do her duty" by the boy,
but appreciating the scant courtesy with which he was treated by her
mistress, it is not surprising the old woman regarded him merely as a
dependent and left him mostly to his own devices.

Kenneth, even in his first days at Elmhurst, knew that his presence
was disagreeable to Miss Jane, and as the years dragged on he grew shy
and retiring, longing to break away from his unpleasant surroundings,
but knowing of no other place where he would be more welcome. His only
real friend was the lawyer, who neglected no opportunity to visit the
boy and chat with him, in his cheery manner. Mr. Watson also arranged
with the son of the village curate to tutor Kenneth and prepare him
for college; but either the tutor was incompetent or the pupil did not
apply himself, for at twenty Kenneth Forbes was very ignorant, indeed,
and seemed not to apply himself properly to his books.

He was short of stature and thin, with a sad drawn face and manners
that even his staunch friend, Silas Watson, admitted were awkward and
unprepossessing. What he might have been under different conditions or
with different treatment, could only be imagined. Slowly climbing the
stairs to the little room Kenneth inhabited, Mr. Watson was forced to
conclude, with a sigh of regret, that he could not blame Miss Jane
for wishing to find a more desirable heir to her estate than this
graceless, sullen youth who had been thrust upon her by a thoughtless
request contained in the will of her dead lover—a request that she
seemed determined to fulfil literally, as it only required her to
"look after" Tom's relatives and did not oblige her to leave Kenneth
her property.

Yet, strange as it may seem, the old lawyer was exceedingly fond of
the boy, and longed to see him the master of Elmhurst. Sometimes, when
they were alone, Kenneth forgot his sense of injury and dependence,
and spoke so well and with such animation that Mr. Watson was
astonished, and believed that hidden underneath the mask of reserve
was another entirely different personality, that in the years to come
might change the entire nature of the neglected youth and win for him
the respect and admiration of the world. But these fits of brightness
and geniality were rare. Only the lawyer had as yet discovered them.

Today he found the boy lying listlessly upon the window-seat, an open
book in his hand, but his eyes fixed dreamily upon the grove of huge
elm trees that covered the distant hills.

"Morning, Ken," said he, briefly, sitting beside his young friend and
taking the book in his own hand. The margins of the printed pages were
fairly covered with drawings of every description. The far away trees
were there and the near-by rose gardens. There was a cat spitting at
an angry dog, caricatures of old Misery and James, the gardener, and
of Aunt Jane and even Silas Watson himself—all so clearly depicted
that the lawyer suddenly wondered if they were not clever, and an
evidence of genius. But the boy turned to look at him, and the next
moment seized the book from his grasp and sent it flying through
the open window, uttering at the same time a rude exclamation of
impatience.

The lawyer quietly lighted his pipe.

"Why did you do that, Kenneth?" he asked. "The pictures are clever
enough to be preserved. I did not know you have a talent for drawing."

The boy glanced at him, but answered nothing, and the lawyer thought
best not to pursue the subject After smoking a moment in silence he
remarked:

"Your aunt is failing fast." Although no relative, Kenneth had been
accustomed to speak of Jane Merrick as his aunt.

Getting neither word nor look in reply the lawyer presently continued:

"I do not think she will live much longer."

The boy stared from the window and drummed on the sill with his
fingers.

"When she dies," said Mr. Watson, in a musing tone, "there will be a
new mistress at Elmhurst and you will have to move out."

The boy now turned to look at him, enquiringly.

"You are twenty, and you are not ready for college. You would be of no
use in the commercial world. You have not even the capacity to become
a clerk. What will you do, Kenneth? Where will you go?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders.

"When will Aunt Jane die?" he asked.

"I hope she will live many days yet. She may die tomorrow."

"When she does, I'll answer your question." said the boy, roughly.
"When I'm turned out of this place—which is part prison and part
paradise—I'll do something. I don't know what, and I won't bother
about it till the time comes. But I'll do something."

"Could you earn a living?" asked the old lawyer.

"Perhaps not; but I'll get one. Will I be a beggar?"

"I don't know. It depends on whether Aunt Jane leaves you anything in
her will."

"I hope she won't leave me a cent!" cried the boy, with sudden
fierceness. "I hate her, and will be glad when she is dead and out of
my way!"

"Kenneth—Kenneth, lad!"

"I hate her!" he persisted, with blazing eyes. "She has insulted me,
scorned me, humiliated me every moment since I have known her. I'll be
glad to have her die, and I don't want a cent of her miserable money."

"Money," remarked the old man, knocking the ashes from his pipe, "is
very necessary to one who is incompetent to earn his salt. And the
money she leaves you—if she really does leave you any—won't be
her's, remember, but your Uncle Tom's."

"Uncle Tom was good to my father," said the boy, softening.

"Well, Uncle Tom gave his money to Aunt Jane, whom he had expected
to marry; but he asked her to care for his relatives, and she'll
doubtless give you enough to live on. But the place will go to some
one else, and that means you must move on."

"Who will have Elmhurst?" asked the boy.

"One of your aunt's nieces, probably. She has three, it seems, all of
them young girls, and she has invited them to come here to visit her."

"Girls! Girls at Elmhurst?" cried the boy, shrinking back with a look
of terror in his eyes.

"To be sure. One of the nieces, it seems, refuses to come; but there
will be two of them to scramble for your aunt's affection."

"She has none," declared the boy.

"Or her money, which is the same thing. The one she likes the best
will get the estate."

Kenneth smiled, and with the change of expression his face lighted
wonderfully.

"Poor Aunt!" he said. "Almost I am tempted to be sorry for her. Two
girls—fighting one against the other for Elmhurst—and both fawning
before a cruel and malicious old woman who could never love anyone but
herself."

"And her flowers," suggested the lawyer.

"Oh, yes; and perhaps James. Tell me, why should she love James, who
is a mere gardener, and hate me?"

"James tends the flowers, and the flowers are Jane Merrick's very
life. Isn't that the explanation?"

"I don't know."

"The girls need not worry you, Kenneth. It will be easy for you to
keep out of their way."

"When will they come?"

"Next week, I believe."

The boy looked around helplessly, with the air of a caged tiger.

"Perhaps they won't know I'm here," he said.

"Perhaps not. I'll tell Misery to bring all your meals to this room,
and no one ever comes to this end of the garden. But if they find you,
Kenneth, and scare you out of your den, run over to me, and I'll keep
you safe until the girls are gone."

"Thank you, Mr. Watson," more graciously than was his wont. "It isn't
that I'm afraid of girls, you know; but they may want to insult me,
just as their aunt does, and I couldn't bear any more cruelty."

"I know nothing about them," said the lawyer, "so I can't vouch in any
way for Aunt Jane's nieces. But they are young, and it is probable
they'll be as shy and uncomfortable here at Elmhurst as you are
yourself. And after all, Kenneth boy, the most important thing just
now is your own future. What in the world is to become of you?"

"Oh,
that
," answered the boy, relapsing into his sullen mood; "I
can't see that it matters much one way or another. Anyhow, I'll not
bother my head about it until the time comes and as far as you're
concerned, it's none of your business."

For a day or two Jane Merrick seemed to improve in health. Indeed,
Martha Phibbs declared her mistress was better than she had been for
weeks. Then, one night, the old attendant was awakened by a scream,
and rushed to her mistress' side.

"What is it, ma'am?" she asked, tremblingly.

"My leg! I can't move my leg," gasped the mistress of Elmhurst. "Rub
it, you old fool! Rub it till you drop, and see if you can bring back
the life to it."

Martha rubbed, of course, but the task was useless. Oscar the groom
was sent on horseback for the nearest doctor, who came just as day
was breaking. He gave the old woman a brief examination and shook his
head.

"It's the first warning," said he; "but nothing to be frightened
about. That is, for the present."

"Is it paralysis?" asked Jane Merrick.

"Yes; a slight stroke."

"But I'll have another?"

"Perhaps, in time."

"How long?"

"It may be a week—or a month—or a year. Sometimes there is
never another stroke. Don't worry, ma'am. Just lie still and be
comfortable."

"Huh!" grunted the old woman. But she became more composed and obeyed
the doctor's instructions with unwonted meekness. Silas Watson arrived
during the forenoon, and pressed her thin hand with real sympathy,
for these two were friends despite the great difference in their
temperaments.

"Shall I draw your will, Jane?" he asked. "No!" she snapped. "I'm not
going to die just yet, I assure you. I shall live to carry out my
plans, Silas."

She did live, and grew better as the days wore on, although she never
recovered the use of the paralyzed limb.

Each day Phibbs drew the invalid chair to the porch and old James
lifted it to the garden walk, where his mistress might enjoy the
flowers he so carefully and skillfully tended. They seldom spoke
together, these two; yet there seemed a strange bond of sympathy
between them.

At last the first of July arrived, and Oscar was dispatched to the
railway station, four miles distant, to meet Miss Elizabeth De
Graf, the first of the nieces to appear in answer to Jane Merrick's
invitation.