Part 5

When it became apparent that both Arthur and her daughter must be taken at their word, curiosity got the better of the secret resolve Nannie had made to show no interest in the matter of Lucy’s future.

“Of course it’s none of my business, Lucy, but I should think you and your father would at least tell me where you are going to stay when you get to Chicago. You don’t know a soul there and you’ve never been away from home in your life.”

“I told you I was going to stay with Miss Storms,” replied Lucy, repeating information she had previously offered, to which Nannie, being in a temper at the time, had refused to listen. “She is the friend of somebody Papa knows,” Lucy hesitated and flushed, “and he wrote and asked her if she’d take me.”

“I don’t know what your father is thinking about to let you go off like this to people he knows nothing of. She may be as common as dirt for all we know. I’d like to find out who the mutual friend is. I notice he don’t mention his name,” Nannie finished with a sneering intonation.

Lucy, her cheeks still scarlet, glanced away but said nothing.

* * * * *

During the days in which Lucy was preparing for departure Nannie relapsed into tearful silence and repelled her daughter’s advances and demonstrations until the girl, still not much more than a child in experience, was almost ill and about to relinquish her plan.

At this point a note came from Mrs. Lockhart which spurred Nannie to more decisive speech.

“I want to tell you something,” she announced, calling Lucy to her. “You had better think carefully before you leave home for if you go you can’t come back here! It will be final.”

“But, Mamma, Papa----” Lucy began.

“This is my final decision,” interrupted Nannie in a manner almost ludicrously like Mrs. Lockhart’s.

“Very well, Mamma,” replied Lucy, hardly able to keep back the tears, and choking with a sense of injustice.

Arthur came in at this juncture.

“What’s this, Anna?” he inquired peremptorily.

Nannie was silent and avoided his gaze. He turned to Lucy who told him what had taken place.

“My child shall come to my home as often and as long as she pleases,” he declared. “Lucy, come upstairs. I want to talk with you.”

The father and daughter left the room together.

Aunt Martha had been called in to help with the arrangements for Lucy’s departure. Nannie heard the old negress’s voice, then the voices of Arthur and Lucy, and the sound of a trunk being moved. Shut in her own room she was conscious of the feet that hurried past her door and the general bustle of packing for a journey. When there was no one about she stepped into the hall and listened. She convinced herself that Lucy would not really take this step but that the appearance of unusual preparation was arranged to deceive and punish her.

After a time, the father and daughter went out, Lucy locking her door. Aunt Martha went home at the same time. Nannie, from a window, watched them until they were out of sight and, notwithstanding her determination to discredit all evidences of Lucy’s decision, began to feel very forlorn.

She prepared herself some luncheon, eating as heartily as usual, but she was convinced that she was heartbroken. She was indeed bothered by the uncertainty and, most of all, by the fact that her daughter and husband were together.

Late in the afternoon Lucy and her father returned with a number of packages.

“Where did he get the money to buy all those things? I wonder what they are?” Nannie said to herself.

She could hear the murmur of their voices in Lucy’s room as they opened the packages and arranged the contents of the trunk and valises. When Lucy descended to the kitchen to prepare supper Nannie tip-toed to the open door of the bedroom and peered in at the still scattered belongings of her daughter. She saw a pair of new shoes and an unfamiliar hat which were a concrete affirmation of all that she had tried to deny.

“Lucy leaves in the morning on the nine fifteen,” volunteered Arthur when the three were seated at their evening meal.

Nannie was speechless. She gave him one scathing look and fled to her room.

Lucy followed her and knocked but Nannie would not open the door. She could be heard sobbing. What disturbed the girl was that the supper she carried up on a tray and left outside her mother’s door was not eaten. At bed time Nannie had not appeared. Lucy kissed her father good night, but when she lay down she could not sleep.

* * * * *

When Arthur and Lucy were eating breakfast the next morning an expressman came for the trunk. Nannie had not yet descended to the dining room and still refused to open her door though Lucy had been to her several times and asked for admittance. When Mrs. Merwent saw the baggage carried away, however, her tragic resolution was broken, and, after hesitating at the head of the stairs, she composed her face to what seemed an appropriate expression of her state of mind and went down.

It was a beautiful late summer morning. The lawn was visible through the half open front door. The grass was parched, and the vines on the porch were beginning to turn yellow. There was a tinge of autumn crispness in the air, but the sunshine that flooded the hall was golden.

Lucy came out of the dining room and laid her gloves, coat, and a little hand bag on the hat stand. She had on the new hat, which was very becoming, and wore a new blue serge frock. She was excited by the unusual prospect of a journey and looked exceptionally pretty.

“Lucy!” Nannie began in an ominous voice. The girl, a little startled, turned to face her mother.

Mrs. Merwent wore a soiled lace négligée. Her hair hung down her back, loose and uncombed. Her habitual precautions to ward off wrinkles and retain her good looks had been neglected. She seemed much older than on the previous day when Lucy had seen her carefully dressed, rouged and with well ordered hair.

“You wicked, selfish, cruel girl!” continued Nannie in high pitched strident tones. “You mean, hard hearted, wretched beast!” She suddenly advanced toward Lucy who retreated in frightened astonishment.

Arthur appeared in the hall doorway.

“That is enough!” he said sternly.

Nannie suddenly lost all self control.

“Get out of my house!” she screamed. “You stinking----!” and a stream of awful invectives that seemed from a brothel poured from her lips. She picked up Lucy’s belongings from the hat stand and threw them against the front door where they fell on the threshold.

“Anna!” Arthur spoke calmly, but he only succeeded in evoking another paroxysm of screams and vile words directed at himself.

“Put your things on, Lucy,” he said, and in a moment the two fairly fled into the street, leaving Nannie in a state of hysteria bordering on madness.

“I can’t go on this way, Papa!” exclaimed Lucy, looking back at the house after they had walked half a block.

“All right. Do as you wish,” he responded without emotion.

“Yes, it’s better that I should go,” she decided as if to herself, and they did not speak again until they reached the station.

As they stood waiting for the train Lucy studied Arthur’s set face furtively.

“I don’t want my going to make more trouble between you and Mamma,” she ventured at last, timidly.

Arthur’s eyes sought hers slowly.

“Don’t worry,” he replied heavily in his deep voice. “What you saw today is only a fair sample of what I’ve enjoyed for years. In the beginning I used to hold a quarter of an hour’s argument to get two minutes’ peace. Then I quit that and she tried to punish me with long periods of curdled gloom. Finally I took to staying away from the house in self defense. Long before you grew up things were as bad as they could be, so don’t blame yourself, Daughter. You have had nothing to do with it.”

Lucy was surprised by this unprecedentedly long speech.

“Don’t you think that maybe when I’m gone you and Mamma----” she did not know how to proceed.

“I wouldn’t ask her for a drink of water if I were dying,” Arthur answered. Lucy had never heard such suppressed hatred and vehemence in his tone. “There’s the train,” he added in his ordinary manner, and they moved toward the platform.

“Here are your tickets, and here is your money,” explained Arthur as they entered the Pullman. “Miss Storms will meet you. She will wear a bunch of white carnations. Here is a white carnation for you to wear. Miss Storms knows all about your plans.” He removed a flower that was in his button hole and Lucy fastened it on her jacket. They kissed. The train began to move.

“Good-bye, Daughter. Write often. I will try to get up there to see you soon,” he called.

The journey began.

* * * * *

It was late at night and rain was falling when Lucy arrived in Chicago. Leaving the train she was bewildered by the people, noises, and bustle about her. As she stood looking around the thronged platform misted by the radiance of many lights, a very tall woman, dressed in a grey linen tailored suit with a grey hat, and holding some white carnations in her hand, came up and spoke.

“I think you are Lucy.”

“Are you Miss Storms?”

“I am. Where are your baggage checks, dear?”

Lucy handed over her single check and pointed out her smaller baggage which Miss Storms entrusted to a leather coated chauffeur. In a few minutes Lucy found herself in a luxurious limousine gliding through the crowded streets of the city.

* * * * *

A few evenings later, at a small dinner to which Miss Storms had invited some young people of her acquaintance, Lucy found herself between a red haired girl and a fresh faced young man, both from the Art School.

“Lucy, this is Nora Stimpson,” began Miss Storms, and Lucy bowed to the red haired girl. “Your right hand partner is John Winter,” continued Miss Storms.

Lucy, following Miss Storms’ direction, looked into the smiling blue eyes of John. He rose and reached out his hand to take hers.

Lucy’s romance had begun.

VIII

After Lucy’s departure the Merwent home went from bad to worse. In times past her presence had often sufficed to prevent the more sordid expressions of the disgust and contempt which Arthur felt for Nannie, and of Nannie’s feeling of fear and distrust toward him. He now avoided being at home alone with his wife until he became almost a stranger in the house.

The scandal loving people of Russellville, like the inhabitants of all small towns when similar opportunity is afforded, began to talk, and Arthur’s name was linked with that of Mrs. Low. This, in time, came to Nannie’s ears.

Arthur’s law practice, now that he was put to extra expense for Lucy’s maintenance and education, barely supported the family, and Nannie began to feel the pinch of poverty more keenly, especially in the matter of her wardrobe. Mrs. Lockhart was bitter toward her daughter and made no effort toward consolation. In short, Nannie felt herself hardly used by the world.

She exerted all her ingenuity, however, in making an appearance that belied her pocket book, and achieved a certain amount of success.

“You could turn a good many pennies dressmaking, if you only had horse sense, Anna. Minnie could get you work among her friends. She could put it to them that it was a kind of favor, and if you’d keep your mouth shut nobody would be the worse for it,” remarked Mrs. Lockhart one day, eyeing one of Nannie’s costumes with reluctant approval.

But Nannie was very much hurt by such a suggestion. She had no desire to use her arts to teach other and more prosperous women to dress becomingly.

It was evident, nevertheless, that something must be done to supplement Arthur’s earnings. She still attended social events at the “big house” as often as she could squeeze an invitation from “Cousin Minnie,” and it was to “Cousin Minnie’s” influence, rather languidly exerted in her behalf, that she applied for a solution of her problem.

It came in the shape of a position in a small private school in Russellville.

The school, which had existed precariously for several generations, was usually referred to as “The Academy.” A short while previously it had appeared to be almost moribund, but it had lately been taken over by one Mr. Walsh, called “Professor Walsh,” though he held no degree or official position; and it had, for the time being at least, awakened to unwonted patronage.

Though Professor Walsh was from a nearby town, no one seemed to know much of his antecedents. He was a large slow-spoken man with a low-pitched pleasant voice. He had fat features and was rather pale. His hair, parted in the middle, was wetly and thinly combed over a glistening scalp. He had thick curveless lips. His eyes were a nondescript blue and he wore nose glasses which glittered inscrutably.

He had an air of decorum and responsibility, and his smile, which displayed double rows of perfect teeth, was full of warmth and condescension. He was peculiarly apt as a listener, showed a subdued but flattering appreciation of the broad talk of men, and was earnestly sympathetic, though somewhat noncommittal, when he gave ear to the ladies.

His personality was such that he impressed one, in his genial restraint, as being responsible for the group.

He was enough of an enigma to overawe people and acquired the reputation of being learned. The teachers in the school were afraid of him. By patronizing some and snubbing others, and by frequent vague allusions to distinguished acquaintances and remote but exalted relations, the Professor forced the first families of Russellville, so styled by themselves, into receiving him. At the institution over which he presided Nannie gave piano lessons to the younger pupils. She rather enjoyed than disliked her task, for her position allowed her to remind Arthur that he could not support her, and besides Professor Walsh soon became interested in her and was, as she told herself, exceedingly kind and sympathetic.

She also found it pleasant to meet the grown boys, or “young gentlemen,” as they were called, who attended some of the higher classes. Professor Walsh left her little opportunity to talk with these youths but their presence lent a piquancy to his attentions.

She was rather afraid of him, but the envy with which the teachers looked on such signal favor as she received from this august person reconciled her to those things in his make-up which she found incomprehensible. She was further led to encourage his attentions by the fact that there was no one to contest with him the rôle of exclusive admirer.

Professor Walsh, being of ambiguous antecedents, realized fully the advantages of a connection with some family which exemplified the southern tradition. He easily perceived that Nannie Merwent was susceptible to influence, and he hoped through her to cement an alliance with the Sheldons, the most prosperous and dictatory citizens of Russellville.

Professor Walsh’s plans were not laid in a day; but, without her realizing it, he considered each circumstance of Nannie’s life as she presented it to him, and decided on its possible relation to his own future.

At one of the few receptions which Arthur had felt bound to attend in Russellville, he met Professor Walsh.

“I am honoured to know you, Mr. Merwent,” remarked the educator affably, when they were introduced. “I have the deepest admiration for your profession. A--ah--distant connection of mine--though our names are not spelt the same--James K. Walshe of Chicago. You may have heard of him?”

“Every lawyer knows the reputation of your relative, Mr. Walsh,” replied Arthur. “In criminal cases he has few equals.”

“In case you ever go to Chicago I shall be most happy to give you a letter of introduction to him,” offered the Professor.

“Thank you,” returned Arthur, “I hardly think----” Then he appeared to reconsider. “It is true that I shall probably go to Chicago in the near future, and I should be very glad to go to see your relative.”

“Well, sir, you shalt have the letter.” The Professor compressed his lips, put the tips of his fingers together and regarded Arthur curiously. “Without fail. I will send it to your office tomorrow,” he added.

“Thank you,” repeated Arthur. And the two separated.

* * * * *

Nannie, on one of the rare occasions when Arthur was at home, sneeringly alluded to his attentions to Mrs. Low.

“You will kindly not interfere with the conduct of my personal affairs while you are so careless of your own,” he requested in a tone that closed the conversation.

A few days later the gossips of Russellville were informing their friends that Mrs. Low had gone to Chicago for an indefinite stay. Nannie at once wrote furiously to Lucy accusing her of plotting with deliberate intent to wreck her mother’s life.

Nannie’s accusations were so obviously ill founded that the only recourse left for Lucy’s wounded pride was silence, and she made no reply to a succession of violently worded letters.

Arthur appreciated in part the difficult situation in which his daughter was placed, and did his best to prevent her being drawn into this conflict. It was not long after Mrs. Low’s arrival in Chicago that Lucy learned that her father was spending most of his time in the state capital, where he was making important legal affiliations. In this way Nannie, left almost entirely to herself, began to depend more and more on the benevolent Professor, who showed a reserved but unfailing interest in her affairs.

He had a way of regarding her enigmatically through his twinkling glasses that made her always a little afraid of him, but he was also always able to impress other people, and her cautious instincts prompted her to lean toward his poise and aplomb while her vanity still further urged her to his conquest. Nannie was not unaware of the fact that the town had begun to comment on her association with him but her terror of being alone was greater than her habit of caution.

One evening after leaving school, a note from the Professor was delivered to her, in which he suggested that she come to the school building that night, as he had heard some rumors of Arthur’s doings which he thought she should know.

Nannie dressed herself and went out without hesitation, but she was careful to find her way along obscure streets and hoped fervently that neither “Cousin Minnie” nor her other relatives would hear of the visit.

The Academy was a large old fashioned red brick building with many additions and one wing which had a private entrance in a little-frequented lane where the Professor’s office was situated.

As Nannie came up the walk she could see his large shadow as he bent over his desk between the window and the light. She rang the bell at the side door and he himself admitted her. For some reason which she could not explain she felt at first an unusual discomfort in his presence, and, when he leaned forward and took her hand in a kind but casual manner, her heart gave a sudden leap and she glanced up at him suspiciously. However, he patted her shoulder comfortingly, and, as he repeated to her in a low tone some incidents of gossip about Arthur which had lately come to his ears, she was completely reassured. She was certain that he admired her tremendously, and she was determining in her heart that she would use his devotion as a weapon of defense against the continual disapprobation of “Cousin Minnie.”

Professor Walsh talked so long and so comfortingly that Nannie was startled when she looked at a clock on his book shelf and realized that she had allowed herself to remain until an hour which Russellville would consider scandalous. When Professor Walsh offered to escort her home she protested vehemently. If he were seen walking with her at such a time it might rob her of the position of an injured party which was what she desired the world to permit her in view of Arthur’s neglect.

It was a terrible moment for Nannie when she had told the Professor good night and walked into the street, only to find herself confronted at the very gate by a strange man who stepped up to her with an air of quiet determination and inquired if she were Mrs. Merwent.

“Y--yes,” stammered Nannie doubtfully, terror clutching her throat, though she was unable to conceive of what was about to happen.

“Why yes, this is Mrs. Merwent,” affirmed a brisk masculine voice as, from the deep shadow thrown by the Academy walls, Mr. Blair, Arthur’s colleague in several law cases, stepped out, followed by Arthur himself and another strange man.

Nannie, though technically guiltless of wrongdoing, was almost in a state of collapse and, scarcely knowing what she did, agreed to coöperate in the arrangements Arthur desired for a divorce.

Only once during the conversation, which was carefully listened to by all of Arthur’s companions, did she weakly demur; whereupon he coldly declared he would bring suit on a graver charge, would not shrink from publicity and would use the incident of the night to prove his case, as the two men unknown to her were reputable witnesses.

Nannie was conquered.

* * * * *

After a few days of reflection, however, Mrs. Merwent persuaded herself that her husband could never bring himself to the point of taking the step he contemplated.

The scene which followed the actual filing of Arthur’s suit for divorce, therefore, was no worse than numerous other scenes to which she had treated her husband at frequent intervals throughout their married life, many of them precipitated by trifles.

When she perceived that rage, abuse, and sarcasms all failed to affect Arthur’s calm, she grew really frightened and began to weep hysterically.

Arthur gazed at her still unmoved.

As a last resort she referred pathetically to their life together.

“You can’t mean that you will carry this thing through, Arthur!” she moaned. “For Lucy’s sake you can’t do such awful things.”

His sudden cold fury was terrible.

“For Lucy’s sake,” he repeated slowly and gratingly, “after you have driven her out of the house and poisoned her youth! Yes, it would be highly appropriate for us to stay together for Lucy’s sake.”

“Arthur, I can’t believe that you hate me that much!” Nannie pleaded. “You don’t hate me, do you?” “I can’t put my feelings into words,” he answered mercilessly. “You poison the air. I wonder the flowers don’t die as you pass by.” His tone was coldly implacable and he did not raise his voice.

She gazed at him an instant with silent and helpless animosity.

“You cruel monster!” she shrieked, springing suddenly from her chair.

Arthur turned on his heel and went out.

Nannie’s first act following this interview with her husband was to see Professor Walsh. Since Lucy’s rebellion she had grown afraid of Mrs. Lockhart’s comments on family difficulties. Nannie felt that the Professor’s accidental rôle in her embarrassment constituted a sort of obligation on his part.

Their meetings of late had been slightly constrained. But once in his private office he listened gravely and kindly to her agitated story.