The Complete PG Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

O >> Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. (The Physician and Poet not the Jurist) >> The Complete PG Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.


"Neither, Miss Cynthia, neither. I wish to see that paper, but not for
any bad purpose. Don't you think, on the whole, you have pretty good
reason to trust me? I am a very quiet man, Miss Cynthia. Don't be
afraid of me; only do what I ask,--it will be a great deal better for you
in the end."

She thrust her trembling hand into her pocket, and took out the key of
the little trunk. She drew the trunk towards her, put the key in the
lock, and opened it. It seemed like pressing a knife into her own bosom
and turning the blade. That little trunk held all the records of her
life the forlorn spinster most cherished;--a few letters that came nearer
to love-letters than any others she had ever received; an album, with
flowers of the summers of 1840 and 1841 fading between its leaves; two
papers containing locks of hair, half of a broken ring, and other
insignificant mementos which had their meaning, doubtless, to her,--such
a collection as is often priceless to one human heart, and passed by as
worthless in the auctioneer's inventory. She took the papers out
mechanically, and laid them on the table. Among them was an oblong
packet, sealed with what appeared to be the office seal of Messrs.
Penhallow and Bradshaw.

"Will you allow me to take that envelope containing papers, Miss Badlam?"
Mr. Gridley asked, with a suavity and courtesy in his tone and manner
that showed how he felt for her sex and her helpless position.

She seemed to obey his will as if she had none of her own left. She
passed the envelope to him, and stared at him vacantly while he examined
it. He read on the back of the package: "Withers Estate--old papers--of
no importance apparently. Examine hereafter."

"May I ask when, where, and of whom you obtained these papers, Miss
Badlam?"

"Have pity on me, Mr. Gridley,--have pity on me. I am a lost woman if
you do not. Spare me! for God's sake, spare me! There will no wrong
come of all this, if you will but wait a little while. The paper will
come to light when it is wanted, and all will be right. But do not make
me answer any more questions, and let me keep this paper. O Mr. Gridley!
I am in the power of a dreadful man--"

"You mean Mr. William Murray Bradshaw?"

"I mean him."

"Has there not been some understanding between you that he should become
the approved suitor of Miss Myrtle Hazard?"

Cynthia wrung her hands and rocked herself backward and forward in her
misery, but answered not a word. What could she answer, if she had
plotted with this "dreadful man" against a young and innocent girl, to
deliver her over into his hands, at the risk of all her earthly hopes and
happiness?

Master Gridley waited long and patiently for any answer she might have
the force to make. As she made none, he took upon himself to settle the
whole matter without further torture of his helpless victim.

"This package must go into the hands of the parties who had the
settlement of the estate of the late Malachi Withers. Mr. Penhallow is
the survivor of the two gentlemen to whom that business was intrusted.
How long is Mr. William Murray Bradshaw like to be away?"

"Perhaps a few days,--perhaps weeks,--and then he will come back and kill
me,--or--or--worse! Don't take that paper, Mr. Gridley,--he isn't like
you! you would n't--but he would--he would send me to everlasting misery
to gain his own end, or to save himself. And yet he is n't every way
bad, and if he did marry Myrtle she'd think there never was such a
man,--for he can talk her heart out of her, and the wicked in him lies
very deep and won't ever come out, perhaps, if the world goes right with
him." The last part of this sentence showed how Cynthia talked with her
own conscience; all her mental and moral machinery lay open before the
calm eyes of Master Byles Gridley.

His thoughts wandered a moment from the business before him; he had just
got a new study of human nature, which in spite of himself would be
shaping itself into an axiom for an imagined new edition of "Thoughts on
the Universe," something like this, "The greatest saint may be a sinner
that never got down to "hard pan." It was not the time to be framing
axioms.

"Poh! poh!" he said to himself; "what are you about making phrases, when
you have got a piece of work like this in hand?" Then to Cynthia, with
great gentleness and kindness of manner: "Have no fear about any
consequences to yourself. Mr. Penhallow must see that paper--I mean
those papers. You shall not be a loser nor a sufferer if you do your
duty now in these premises."

Master Gridley, treating her, as far as circumstances permitted, like a
gentleman, had shown no intention of taking the papers either stealthily
or violently. It must be with her consent. He had laid the package down
upon the table, waiting for her to give him leave to take it. But just
as he spoke these last words, Cynthia, whose eye had been glancing
furtively at it while he was thinking out his axiom, and taking her
bearings to it pretty carefully, stretched her hand out, and, seizing the
package, thrust it into the sanctuary of her bosom.

"Mr. Penhallow must see those papers, Miss Cynthia Badlam," Mr. Gridley
repeated calmly. "If he says they or any of them can be returned to your
keeping, well and good. But see them he must, for they have his office
seal and belong in his custody, and, as you see by the writing on the
back, they have not been examined. Now there may be something among them
which is of immediate importance to the relatives of the late deceased
Malachi Withers, and therefore they must be forthwith submitted to the
inspection of the surviving partner of the firm of Wibird and Penhallow.
This I propose to do, with your consent, this evening. It is now
twenty-five minutes past eight by the true time, as my watch has it.
At half past eight exactly I shall have the honor of bidding you good
evening, Miss Cynthia Badlam, whether you give me those papers or not. I
shall go to the office of Jacob Penhallow, Esquire, and there make one of
two communications to him; to wit, these papers and the facts connected
therewith, or another statement, the nature of which you may perhaps
conjecture."

There is no need of our speculating as to what Mr. Byles Gridley, an
honorable and humane man, would have done, or what would have been the
nature of that communication which he offered as an alternative to the
perplexed woman. He had not at any rate miscalculated the strength of
his appeal, which Cynthia interpreted as he expected. She bore the
heart-screw about two minutes. Then she took the package from her bosom,
and gave it with averted face to Master Byles Gridley, who, on receiving
it, made her a formal but not unkindly bow, and bade her good evening.

"One would think it had been lying out in the dew," he said, as he left
the house and walked towards Mr. Penhallow's residence.




CHAPTER XXXI.

MASTER BYLES GRIDLEY CONSULTS WITH JACOB PENHALLOW, ESQUIRE

Lawyer Penhallow was seated in his study, his day's work over, his feet
in slippers, after the comfortable but inelegant fashion which Sir Walter
Scott reprobates, amusing himself with a volume of old Reports. He was a
knowing man enough, a keen country lawyer but honest, and therefore less
ready to suspect the honesty of others. He had a great belief in his
young partner's ability, and, though he knew him to be astute, did not
think him capable of roguery.

It was at his request that Mr. Bradshaw had undertaken his journey,
which, as he believed,--and as Mr. Bradshaw had still stronger evidence
of a strictly confidential nature which led him to feel sure,--would end
in the final settlement of the great land claim in favor of their client.
The case had been dragging along from year to year, like an English
chancery suit; and while courts and lawyers and witnesses had been
sleeping, the property had been steadily growing. A railroad had passed
close to one margin of the township, some mines had been opened in the
county, in which a village calling itself a city had grown big enough to
have a newspaper and Fourth of July orations. It was plain that the
successful issue of the long process would make the heirs of the late
Malachi Withers possessors of an ample fortune, and it was also plain
that the firm of Penhallow and Bradshaw were like to receive, in such
case, the largest fee that had gladdened the professional existence of
its members.

Mr. Penhallow had his book open before him, but his thoughts were
wandering from the page. He was thinking of his absent partner, and the
probable results of his expedition. What would be the consequence if all
this property came into the possession of Silence Withers? Could she
have any liberal intentions with reference to Myrtle Hazard, the young
girl who had grown up with her, or was the common impression true, that
she was bent on endowing an institution, and thus securing for herself a
favorable consideration in the higher courts, where her beneficiaries
would be, it might be supposed, influential advocates? He could not help
thinking that Mr. Bradshaw believed that Myrtle Hazard would eventually
come to apart at least of this inheritance. For the story was, that he
was paying his court to the young lady whenever he got an opportunity,
and that he was cultivating an intimacy with Miss Cynthia Badlam.
"Bradshaw would n'tmake a move in that direction," Mr. Penhallow said to
himself, "until he felt pretty sure that it was going to be a paying
business. If he was only a young minister now, there'd be no difficulty
about it. Let any man, young or old, in a clerical white cravat, step up
to Myrtle Hazard, and ask her to be miserable in his company through this
wretched life, and aunt Silence would very likely give them her blessing,
and add something to it that the man in the white cravat would think
worth even more than that was. But I don't know what she'll say to
Bradshaw. Perhaps he 'd better have a hint to go to meeting a little
more regularly. However, I suppose he knows what he's about."

He was thinking all this over when a visitor was announced, and Mr. Byles
Gridley entered the study.

"Good evening, Mr. Penhallow," Mr. Gridley said, wiping his forehead.
"Quite warm, is n't it, this evening?"

"Warm!" said Mr. Penhallow, "I should think it would freeze pretty thick
to-night. I should have asked you to come up to the fire and warm
yourself. But take off your coat, Mr. Gridley,--very glad to see you.
You don't come to the house half as often as you come to the office. Sit
down, sit down."

Mr. Gridley took off his outside coat and sat down. "He does look warm,
does n't he?" Mr. Penhallow thought. "Wonder what has heated up the old
gentleman so. Find out quick enough, for he always goes straight to
business."

"Mr. Penhallow," Mr. Gridley began at once, "I have come on a very grave
matter, in which you are interested as well as myself, and I wish to lay
the whole of it before you as explicitly as I can, so that we may settle
this night before I go what is to be done. I am afraid the good standing
of your partner, Mr. William Murray Bradshaw, is concerned in the matter.
Would it be a surprise to you, if he had carried his acuteness in some
particular case like the one I am to mention beyond the prescribed
limits?"

The question was put so diplomatically that there was no chance for an
indignant denial of the possibility of Mr. Bradshaw's being involved in
any discreditable transaction.

"It is possible," he answered, "that Bradshaw's keen wits may have
betrayed him into sharper practice than I should altogether approve in
any business we carried on together. He is a very knowing young man, but
I can't think he is foolish enough, to say nothing of his honesty, to
make any false step of the kind you seem to hint. I think he might on
occasion go pretty near the line, but I don't believe he would cross it."

"Permit me a few questions, Mr. Penhallow. You settled the estate of the
late Malachi Withers, did you not?"

"Mr. Wibird and myself settled it together."

"Have you received any papers from any of the family since the settlement
of the estate?"

"Let me see. Yes; a roll of old plans of the Withers Place, and so
forth,--not of much use, but labelled and kept. An old trunk with
letters and account-books, some of them in Dutch,--mere curiosities. A
year ago or more, I remember that Silence sent me over some papers she
had found in an odd corner,--the old man hid things like a magpie. I
looked over most of them,--trumpery not worth keeping,--old leases and so
forth."

"Do you recollect giving some of them to Mr. Bradshaw to look over?"

"Now I come to think of it, I believe I did; but he reported to me, if I
remember right, that they amounted to nothing."

"If any of those papers were of importance, should you think your junior
partner ought to keep them from your knowledge?"

"I need not answer that question, Mr. Gridley. Will you be so good as to
come at once to the facts on which you found your suspicions, and which
lead you to put these questions to me?"

Thereupon Mr. Gridley proceeded to state succinctly the singular behavior
of Murray Bradshaw in taking one paper from a number handed to him by Mr.
Penhallow, and concealing it in a volume. He related how he was just on
the point of taking out the volume which contained the paper, when Mr.
Bradshaw entered and disconcerted him. He had, however, noticed three
spots on the paper by which he should know it anywhere. He then repeated
the substance of Kitty Fagan's story, accenting the fact that she too
noticed three remarkable spots on the paper which Mr. Bradshaw had
pointed out to Miss Badlam as the one so important to both of them. Here
he rested the case for the moment.

Mr. Penhallow looked thoughtful. There was something questionable in the
aspect of this business. It did obviously suggest the idea of an
underhand arrangement with Miss Cynthia, possibly involving some very
grave consequences. It would have been most desirable, he said, to have
ascertained what these papers, or rather this particular paper, to which
so much importance was attached, amounted to. Without that knowledge
there was nothing, after all, which it might not be possible to explain.
He might have laid aside the spotted paper to examine for some object of
mere curiosity. It was certainly odd that the one the Fagan woman had
seen should present three spots so like those on the other paper, but
people did sometimes throw treys at backgammon, and that which not rarely
happened with two dice of six faces might happen if they had sixty or six
hundred faces. On the whole, he did not see that there was any ground,
so far, for anything more than a vague suspicion. He thought it not
unlikely that Mr. Bradshaw was a little smitten with the young lady up at
The Poplars, and that he had made some diplomatic overtures to the
duenna, after the approved method of suitors. She was young for
Bradshaw,--very young,--but he knew his own affairs. If he chose to make
love to a child, it was natural enough that he should begin by courting
her nurse.

Master Byles Gridley lost himself for half a minute in a most
discreditable inward discussion as to whether Laura Penhallow was
probably one or two years older than Mr. Bradshaw. That was his way, he
could not help it. He could not think of anything without these mental
parentheses. But he came back to business at the end of his half-minute.

"I can lay the package before you at this moment, Mr. Penhallow. I have
induced that woman in whose charge it was left to intrust it to my
keeping, with the express intention of showing it to you. But it is
protected by a seal, as I have told you, which I should on no account
presume to meddle with."

Mr. Gridley took out the package of papers.

"How damp it is!" Mr. Penhallow said; "must have been lying in some very
moist neighborhood."

"Very," Mr. Gridley answered, with a peculiar expression which said,
"Never mind about that."

"Did the party give you possession of these documents without making any
effort to retain them?" the lawyer asked.

"Not precisely. It cost some effort to induce Miss Badlam to let them go
out of her hands. I hope you think I was justified in making the effort
I did, not without a considerable strain upon my feelings, as well as her
own, to get hold of the papers?"

"That will depend something on what the papers prove to be, Mr. Gridley.
A man takes a certain responsibility in doing just what you have done.
If, for instance, it should prove that this envelope contained matters
relating solely to private transactions between Mr. Bradshaw and Miss
Badlam, concerning no one but themselves,--and if the words on the back
of the envelope and the seal had been put there merely as a protection
for a package containing private papers of a delicate but perfectly
legitimate character--"

The lawyer paused, as careful experts do, after bending the bow of an
hypothesis, before letting the arrow go. Mr. Gridley felt very warm
indeed, uncomfortably so, and applied his handkerchief to his face. Could
n't be anything in such a violent supposition as that, and yet such a
crafty fellow as that Bradshaw,--what trick was he not up to? Absurd!
Cynthia was not acting,--Rachel would n't be equal to such a
performance!--"why then, Mr. Gridley," the lawyer continued, "I don't
see but what my partner would have you at an advantage, and, if disposed
to make you uncomfortable, could do so pretty effectively. But this, you
understand, is only a supposed case, and not a very likely one. I don't
think it would have been prudent in you to meddle with that seal. But
it is a very different matter with regard to myself. It makes no
difference, so far as I am concerned, where this package came from, or
how it was obtained. It is just as absolutely within my control as any
piece of property I call my own. I should not hesitate, if I saw fit, to
break this seal at once, and proceed to the examination of any papers
contained within the envelope. If I found any paper of the slightest
importance relating to the estate, I should act as if it had never been
out of my possession.

"Suppose, however, I chose to know what was in the package, and, having
ascertained, act my judgment about returning it to the party from whom
you obtained it. In such case I might see fit to restore or cause it to
be restored, to the party, without any marks of violence having been used
being apparent. If everything is not right, probably no questions would
be asked by the party having charge of the package. If there is no
underhand work going on, and the papers are what they profess to be,
nobody is compromised but yourself, so far as I can see, and you are
compromised at any rate, Mr. Gridley, at least in the good graces of the
party from whom you obtained the documents. Tell that party that I took
the package without opening it, and shall return it, very likely, without
breaking the seal. Will consider of the matter, say a couple of days.
Then you shall hear from me, and she shall hear from you. So. So. Yes,
that's it. A nice business. A thing to sleep on. You had better leave
the whole matter of dealing with the package to me. If I see fit to send
it back with the seal unbroken, that is my affair. But keep perfectly
quiet, if you please, Mr. Gridley, about the whole matter. Mr. Bradshaw
is off, as you know, and the business on which he is gone is
important,--very important. He can be depended on for that; he has acted
all along as if he had a personal interest in the success of our firm
beyond his legal relation to it."

Mr. Penhallow's light burned very late in the office that night, and the
following one. He looked troubled and absent-minded, and when Miss Laura
ventured to ask him how long Mr. Bradshaw was like to be gone, he
answered her in such a way that the girl who waited at table concluded
that he did n't mean to have Miss Laury keep company with Mr. Bradshaw,
or he'd never have spoke so dreadful hash to her when she asked about
him.




CHAPTER XXXII.

SUSAN POSEY'S TRIAL.

A day or two after Myrtle Hazard returned to the village, Master Byles
Gridley, accompanied by Gifted Hopkins, followed her, as has been already
mentioned, to the same scene of the principal events of this narrative.
The young man had been persuaded that it would be doing injustice to his
talents to crowd their fruit prematurely upon the market. He carried his
manuscript back with him, having relinquished the idea of publishing for
the present. Master Byles Gridley, on the other hand, had in his pocket
a very flattering proposal, from the same publisher to whom he had
introduced the young poet, for a new and revised edition of his work,
"Thoughts on the Universe," which was to be remodelled in some respects,
and to have a new title not quite so formidable to the average reader.

It would be hardly fair to Susan Posey to describe with what delight and
innocent enthusiasm she welcomed back Gifted Hopkins. She had been so
lonely since he was away? She had read such of his poems as she
possessed--duplicates of his printed ones, or autographs which he had
kindly written out for her--over and over again, not without the sweet
tribute of feminine sensibility, which is the most precious of all
testimonials to a poet's power over the heart. True, her love belonged
to another,--but then she was so used to Gifted! She did so love to hear
him read his poems,--and Clement had never written that "little bit of a
poem to Susie," which she had asked him for so long ago! She received
him therefore with open arms,--not literally, of course, which would have
been a breach of duty and propriety, but in a figurative sense, which it
is hoped no reader will interpret to her discredit.

The young poet was in need of consolation. It is true that he had seen
many remarkable sights during his visit to the city; that he had got
"smarted up," as his mother called it, a good deal; that he had been to
Mrs. Clymer Ketchum's party, where he had looked upon life in all its
splendors; and that he brought back many interesting experiences, which
would serve to enliven his conversation for a long time. But he had
failed in the great enterprise he had undertaken. He was forced to
confess to his revered parent, and his esteemed friend Susan Posey, that
his genius, which was freely acknowledged, was not thought to be quite
ripe as yet. He told the young lady some particulars of his visit to the
publisher, how he had listened with great interest to one of his poems,
"The Triumph of Song,"--how he had treated him with marked and flattering
attention; but that he advised him not to risk anything prematurely,
giving him the hope that by and by he would be admitted into that series
of illustrious authors which it was the publisher's privilege to present
to the reading public. In short, he was advised not to print. That was
the net total of the matter, and it was a pang to the susceptible heart
of the poet. He had hoped to have come home enriched by the sale of his
copyright, and with the prospect of seeing his name before long on the
back of a handsome volume.

Gifted's mother did all in her power to console him in his
disappointment. There was plenty of jealous people always that wanted to
keep young folks from rising in the world. Never mind, she did n't
believe but what Gifted could make jest as good verses as any of them
that they kept such a talk about. She had a fear that he might pine away
in consequence of the mental excitement he had gone through, and
solicited his appetite with her choicest appliances,--of which he partook
in a measure which showed that there was no immediate cause of alarm.

But Susan Posey was more than a consoler,--she was an angel to him in
this time of his disappointment. "Read me all the poems over again," she
said,--"it is almost the only pleasure I have left, to hear you read your
beautiful verses." Clement Lindsay had not written to Susan quite so
often of late as at some former periods of the history of their love.
Perhaps it was that which had made her look paler than usual for some
little time. Something was evidently preying on her. Her only delight
seemed to be in listening to Gifted as he read, sometimes with fine
declamatory emphasis, sometimes in low, tremulous tones, the various
poems enshrined in his manuscript. At other times she was sad, and more
than once Mrs. Hopkins had seen a tear steal down her innocent cheek,
when there seemed to be no special cause for grief. She ventured to
speak of it to Master Byles Gridley.

"Our Susan's in trouble, Mr. Gridley, for some reason or other that's
unbeknown to me, and I can't help wishing you could jest have a few words
with her. You're a kind of a grandfather, you know, to all the young
folks, and they'd tell you pretty much everything about themselves. I
calc'late she is n't at ease in her mind about somethin' or other, and I
kind o' think, Mr. Gridley, you could coax it out of her."