Sharing Her Crime: A Novel

by May Agnes Fleming

  CHAPTER XXI.

  THE SPIDER WEAVES HIS WEB.

  "A fearful sign stands in thy house of life-- An enemy--a fiend lurks close behind The radiance of thy planet. Oh, be warned!" --COLERIDGE.

  "And now a darker hour ascends."--MARMION.

  A week after the event recorded in the last chapter Archie went back tothe city. Before he went, he had obtained a promise from Gipsy--who hadgrown strangely still and gentle since the death of Danvers--to becomehis wife immediately upon his return; but, with her usual eccentricity,she refused to allow him to make their engagement public.

  "Time enough by and by," was still her answer; and Archie was forced tobe content.

  Gipsy was, for a while, sad and quiet, but both were foreign to hercharacter; and, with the natural buoyancy of youth, she shook off hergloom, and soon once more her merry laugh made music through the oldhouse.

  Doctor Nicholas Wiseman sometimes made his appearance at Sunset Hall oflate. Lizzie was suffering from a low fever; and as he was the onlyphysician in St. Mark's, he was called in.

  As he sat one day in the parlor at luncheon with the squire, Gipsy cametripping along with her usual elastic step, and touching her hatgallantly to the gentlemen, ran up to her own room. The squire's eyesfollowed her with a look of fond pride.

  "Did you ever see such another charming little vixen?" he asked, turningto the doctor.

  "Miss Gower's certainly an extraordinary young lady," said the doctor,dryly. "I have often been surprised, Squire Erliston, that you shouldtreat your housekeeper's niece as one of your own family."

  "She's not my housekeeper's niece," blurted out the squire; "shewas----"

  He paused, suddenly recollecting that the discovery of Gipsy was asecret.

  "She was what?" said the doctor, fixing his keen eyes on the old man'sface.

  "Well, hang it, Wiseman, I suppose it makes no difference whether I tell_you_ or not. Gipsy is not Mrs. Gower's niece: she is a foundling."

  "Yes," said the doctor, pricking up his ears.

  "Yes, last Christmas Eve, just seventeen years ago, Mrs. Gower,returning from A----, found Gipsy lying on the beach, near the south endof the city."

  Long habit had given Dr. Wiseman full control over his emotions, but nowthe blood rushed in a purple tide to his sallow face, as he leaped fromhis chair and fairly shouted:

  "_What!_"

  "Eh? Lord bless the man!--what's the matter?" said the squire, staringat him until his little fat eyes seemed ready to burst from theirsockets.

  "What did you say?--found her on the beach on Christmas Eve, seventeenyears ago?" said the doctor, seizing him fiercely by the arm, andglaring upon him with his yellow eyes.

  "Yes, I said so. What in the name of all the demons is the matter withyou?" roared the squire, shaking him off. "What do _you_ know about it?"

  "Nothing! nothing! nothing!" replied the doctor, remembering himself,and sinking back in his chair. "Pray, go on."

  The squire eyed him suspiciously.

  "My dear sir," said the doctor, every trace of emotion now passed away,"forgive my violence. But, really, the story seemed so improbable----"

  "Improbable or not, sir," interrupted the squire, angry at beingdoubted, "it's true as Gospel. It was a snowy, unpleasant night. Mrs.Gower and Jupiter were returning from the city, and took the shore roadin preference to going over the hills. As they went along, Mrs. Gowerwas forced to get out on account of the dangerous road; and hearing achild cry, she stooped down, and found Gipsy lying wrapped up in ashawl, in the sand. Well, sir, _my_ housekeeper, as a matter ofcourse--being a humane woman--brought the child (which could not havebeen a week old) home, and gave it her name. And _that_, sir, is thehistory of Gipsy Gower, let it seem ever so improbable."

  Like lightning there flashed across the mind of the doctor therecollection of the advancing sleigh-bells which had startled him fromthe beach. This, then, was the secret of her disappearance! This, then,was the child of Esther Erliston and Alfred Oranmore! This wild,untamed, daring elf was the heiress, in her mother's right, of all thebroad lands of the Erlistons. She had been brought up as a dependent inthe house of which she was the rightful heiress: and the squire dreamednot that his "monkey" was his grandchild!

  Thoughts like these flashed like lightning through the mind of Dr.Wiseman. The sudden, startling discovery bewildered him; he felt unequalto the task of conversing. And making some excuse, he arose abruptly,entered his gig, and letting the reins fall on his horse's neck, allowedhim to make the best of his way home; while, with his head dropped onhis breast, he pondered on the strange disclosure he had just heard.

  No one living, it was evident, knew who she was, save himself. Whatwould old Dame Oranmore say when she heard it? Wretch as he was, hefound himself forced to acknowledge the hand of a ruling Providence inall this. The child who had been cast out to die had been nurtured inthe home that was hers by right. By _his_ hand the mother had perished;yet the heroism of the daughter had preserved his worthless life.

  "What use shall I make of this discovery?" he mused, as he rode along."How can I turn it to my own advantage? If I wish it, I can find littledifficulty in convincing the world that she is the rightful heiress ofMount Sunset, instead of Louis Oranmore. But how to do it, withoutimplicating myself--that's the question. There was no witness to thedeath-bed scene of Esther Erliston; and I can assert that Madam Oranmorecaused me to remove the child, without mentioning the mother at all. Ican also easily feign some excuse for leaving her in the snow--talkabout my remorse and anguish at finding her gone, and all that. Now, ifI could only get this hare-brained girl securely in my power, in such away as to make her money the price of her freedom, I would not hesitateone moment about proclaiming it all. But how to get her in my power--sheis keen and wide-awake, with all her madness, and not half so easilyduped as most girls of her age. Let me think!"

  His head fell lower, his claw-like hands opened and shut as thoughclutching some one, his brows knit in a hard knot, and his eyes seemedburning holes in the ground, with their wicked, immovable gaze.

  At last, his mind seemed to be made up. Lifting his head, he said, withcalm, grim determination:

  "Yes, my mind is made up; that--girl--shall--be--my--WIFE!"

  Again he paused. His project, when repeated aloud, seemed so impossibleto accomplish that it almost startled him.

  "It may be difficult to bring about," he said, as if in answer to hismomentary hesitation. "No doubt it will; but, nevertheless, it shall, itwill, it _must_ be done! Once her husband, and I shall have a legalright to everything she possesses. The world need not know I have madethe discovery until after our marriage; it shall think it is for love Imarry her. Love!--ha, ha, ha! Just fancy Dr. Wiseman, at the age offifty-nine, falling in love with a chit of a girl of seventeen! Well, Ishall set my wits to work; and if I fail to accomplish it, it will bethe first time I have ever failed in aught I have undertaken. She callsme a spider; let her take care lest she be caught--lest her bright wingsare imprisoned in the web I will weave. Her opposition will be fierceand firm; and, if I have studied her aright, she can only be conqueredthrough those she loves. That she loves that whipper-snapper of a nephewof mine, I have long known; and yet that very love shall make herbecome my wife. And so my bright little Gipsy Gower--or GipsyOranmore--from this day forth you are mine!"

  * * * * *

  "Look here, aunty," said Gipsy, following Mrs. Gower, as she wanderedthrough the house, brush in hand, "what brings that old spider here sooften of late? He and Guardy appear to be as thick as twopickpockets--though, a few years ago, Guardy detested the sight of him.They are for everlasting closeted together, plotting something. Now,aunty, it looks suspicious, don't it?"

  "I am afraid Dr. Wiseman is drawing your guardian into some rashspeculation," said Mrs. Gower. "The squire is always muttering about'stocks,' and 'interest,' and such things. I am afraid the doctor isusing him for his own purposes. He
aven forgive me if I wrong him!"

  "Wrong him! I tell you, aunty, that Spider's a regular snake. I wouldn'ttrust him as far as I could see him. He has a way of looking at me thatI don't half like. Whenever I'm in the room he stares and stares at me,as if I were some natural curiosity. Perhaps he's falling in love withme. There! I tell you what, aunty--I've just hit the right thing in themiddle--he's meditating whether or not he'll raise me to the dignity ofMrs. Spider Wiseman--I know he is!" exclaimed Gipsy, laughing, littledreaming how near she had stumbled to the truth.

  "Nonsense, child. A man of Dr. Wiseman's age and habits has littlethought of taking a wife, much less such a wild one as you. I hope itmay all turn out well, though I have my doubts."

  "So have I," said Gipsy; "and I'm going to keep a bright lookout forbreakers ahead. If that yellow old ogre tries to bamboozle poor, dear,simple Guardy, he'll find himself in a worse scrape than when I savedhim from drowning. I know I was born to be a knight-errant, and protectinnocent old men, and astonish the world generally. And now I must runup stairs, and see if I can do anything for poor little Aunt Liz."

  While Gipsy was conversing with Mrs. Gower, a dialogue of a differentnature was going on in the parlor betwixt the squire and the doctor.

  Artfully had Dr. Wiseman's plans been laid, and skillfully were theyexecuted. With his oily, persuasive words, and flattering tongue, he hadgot the squire completely and irrecoverably in his power, in order thatthe hand of his ward might be the price of his freedom.

  Dr. Wiseman knew the squire always had a mania for speculating. Takingadvantage of this, he entrapped him into investing in some mad scheme,which failed, as the doctor well knew it would, leaving the squirehopelessly in debt. Of all his creditors he owed the doctor himself themost; for that obliging man had insisted on lending him large sums ofready money. And now the time of payment was at hand, and where shouldhe obtain the money?

  Squire Erliston was rich--that is, the estate of Mount Sunset was initself a princely fortune; but this was to descend to his grandson; andthe squire had too much pride to allow it to go to him burdened withdebt. Neither could he mortgage any part of it to pay off the debt. Hefelt that his heir ought not to suffer for his own madness. Besides, hedid not wish his grandson to know how egregiously he had allowed himselfto be duped by a set of sharpers. Therefore he now sat listening to thedoctor, half-stupefied at learning the extent of his losses--the amountof debts which he had no means of paying; while the doctor condoled withhim outwardly, and chuckled inwardly at the success of his plans.

  "Moore, to whom you are indebted to the amount of twenty thousanddollars, even goes so far as to threaten law proceedings if he is notimmediately paid," said the doctor, continuing the conversation.

  The squire groaned.

  "I told him it might not be convenient for you to meet so many heavyliabilities at once; but he would not listen to reason--said he wouldgive you a week to deliberate, and if at the end of that time the moneywas not forthcoming, your _rascality_, as he termed it, should be openlyproclaimed to the world, and the law would force you to pay."

  "Oh, Lord!" said the squire, writhing inwardly.

  "His intention, without doubt, is to obtain a claim on Mount Sunset;and, your other creditors joining him, the whole estate will finallybecome theirs."

  "Never!" shouted the squire, leaping fiercely to his feet. "I will shootevery villain among them first! Mount Sunset has been in our family foryears, and no gang of swindlers shall ever possess it."

  "My dear sir," said the doctor, soothingly, "do not be excited. It isuseless, and will only make matters worse. You see you are completely intheir power, and there is no possible hope of escape. In spite of allyou can do, I fear Mount Sunset will be theirs, and you and your familywill be turned out upon the world, comparatively speaking, beggars."

  The unhappy squire sank back in his chair; and, covering his face withhis hands, writhed and groaned in mental torture.

  "Your only course now," continued the merciless doctor, fixing hissnake-like eyes with lurking triumph on his victim, "is to write to yourgrandson, confess all to him, and bring him home. He is an artist ofsome note, they say. Most probably, therefore, he will be able tosupport you--though it may seem strange to him first to work for hisliving."

  "Work for his living!" shouted the squire, maddened by the words. "LouisOranmore work for his living! No, sir! he has not sunk so low as thatyet. If need be, he has the property of his grandmother Oranmore stillremaining."

  "The property of Mrs. Oranmore will not be his until her death, whichmay not be this ten years yet. She is hard and penurious, and wouldhardly give him a guinea to keep him from starving. Besides, would_you_, Squire Erliston, live on the bounty of Mrs. Oranmore?" said thedoctor, with a sarcastic sneer.

  "No, sir; I would die of starvation first!" replied the squire, almostfiercely. "But she, or some one else, might lend me the money to pay offthese accursed debts."

  "Not on such security as you would give, Squire Erliston," said thedoctor, calmly. "In fact, my dear sir, it is useless to think ofescaping your fate. Mount Sunset _must_ be given up to satisfy thesemen!"

  "Oh, fool! fool! fool!--miserable old fool that I was, to allow myselfto be so wretchedly duped!" groaned the squire, in bitter anguish andremorse. "Better for me had I never been born, than that such disgraceshould be mine in my old age! And Louis!--poor Louis! But I will neversee him again. If Mount Sunset be taken from me it will break my heart.Every tree and picture about the old place is hallowed by the memory ofthe past; and now that I should lose it through my own blind, miserablefolly! Oh! woe is me!" And, burying his great head in his hands, theunhappy old man actually sobbed outright.

  Now had the hour of Dr. Wiseman's triumph come; now was the time to makehis daring proposal. Awhile he sat gloating over the agonies of hisvictim; and then, in slow, deliberate tones, he said:

  "But in all this darkness, Squire Erliston, there still remains one rayof light--_one_ solitary hope. What would you do if I were to offer tocancel what you owe me, to pay off all your other debts, and free youonce more?"

  "Do!" exclaimed the squire, leaping in his excitement from the chair."_Do_, did you say? I tell you, Dr. Wiseman, there is nothing underheaven I would _not_ do. But you--you only mock me by these words."

  "I do not, Squire Erliston. On one condition your debts shall every onebe paid, and Mount Sunset still remain yours."

  "And that condition! For Heaven's sake name it!" cried the squire, halfmaddened by excitement.

  "Will you agree to it?"

  "Yes, though you should even ask my life!"

  "_That_ would be of little service to me," said the doctor, with a drysmile. "No; I ask something much easier."

  "For Heaven's sake name it!" exclaimed the squire, wildly.

  "It is----"

  "What?"

  "_The hand of your ward, Gipsy Gower._"

  The squire stood like one transfixed with amazement, his eyes ready toshoot from his head with surprise and consternation. And calmly beforehim sat the doctor, his leathern countenance as expressionless as ever.

  "_What_ did you say?" said the squire, at length, as though doubting theevidence of his senses.

  "My words were plainly spoken. I will free you from all your debts oncondition that you bestow upon me in marriage the hand of your youngward, Gipsy Gower."

  "But--Lord bless me! my _dear_ sir, what in the world can _you_ wantwith that chit of a child--that mad girl of the mountains--for a wife?"exclaimed the squire, still aghast.

  "I _want_ her, let that suffice," said the doctor, with a frown. "Do youagree to this proposal?"

  "Why, _I'm_ willing enough, but _she_--oh, Dr. Wiseman, the thing ishopeless--she'd never consent in this world. She can be as obstinate asa little mule when she likes. 'When a woman won't, she won't, andthere's the end on't,' as Solomon says."

  "You must make her."

  "Me! Why, she doesn't mind _me_----"

  "Squire Erliston," angrily broke in t
he doctor, "listen to me; eitheryou lose Mount Sunset and are publicly disgraced, or you will compelthis girl to marry me. Do you hear?"

  "There! there! don't be hasty! I'll do what I can. It won't be my faultif she don't. But who'd ever think of _you_ wanting to marry littleGipsy. Well, well, well, 'Wonders will never cease,' as Solomon says."

  "You can explain the matter to her--urge her by her gratitude, her lovefor you, to consent," said the doctor; "try the sentimentaldodge--commands in this case will be worse than useless. Enlist thewomen on your side; and above all things keep it a profound secret fromArchibald Rivers and Louis Oranmore. If none of your arguments move her,I have still another in reserve that I know will clinch the business.Give her no rest, day or night, until she consents; and if she complainsof cruelty, and all that, don't mind her. All girls are silly; and she,being half-crazy, as she is, it seems to me the greatest favor you cando her is to marry her to a man of sense and experience like myself.Keep in mind what you lose by her refusal, and what you gain by herconsent. If she will not marry me, I will add my claims to those of yourother creditors, and no earthly power will be able to save you fromtotal ruin," said the doctor, with grim, iron determination.

  "She shall consent! she shall--she _must_!" said the squire, startled byhis last threat; "she shall be your wife, that is settled. I think I canmanage her, though it _will_ be a desperate struggle."

  "I shall force myself into her presence as little as possible," said thedoctor, calmly; "she has no particular love for me as yet, and it willnot help on my case. Mind, I shall expect you will use all yourenergies, for our marriage must take place in a month at farthest," saidthe doctor, as he arose, and, with a last expressive glance at hisvictim, withdrew.