Part 2 (2/2)

Yet at 5:35 P.M., Mina Raumlicht again laid down the pen and, hiding her face in her hands, wept; saying, in a near-inaudible voice, ”-but in accepting so much money, I am compounding my wickedness . . . am I not?”

”a.s.suredly, Miss Raumlicht, you are not.” Tyler's face flushed with excitement; an artery beat hard in his throat, on the verge of triumph. ”I am the man to tell you that. You must listen, no longer to Maynard, for he cannot help you in the slightest, but to me.”

Still, it would not be until 6:13 P.M. that the little seamstress's a.s.sistant from Innisfail again took up the pen, and bravely signed her name, to Tyler's surpa.s.sing joy.

Mina Raumlicht 13 May 1909

Though Tyler was elated, and fairly bursting with enthusiasm at the conclusion of this long session, yet how drawn and defeated Mina Raumlicht appeared. As if we have been engaged in a physical, and not merely a mental, struggle. And I have won.

Still, Mina Raumlicht managed to thank her benefactor, in a courteous voice, and to accept from Tyler's hand a considerable quant.i.ty of cash ($8,000 in varying, mainly large denominations, taken from the Stirlings' safe, for the family did not trust banks after the local panic following the sinking of the Maine in January 1898), which she carried away in a handsome kidskin traveling bag belonging to f.a.n.n.y Stirling (which was happily donated by f.a.n.n.y, whose relief at the outcome of the consultation with Mina Raumlicht may have exceeded Tyler's). ”Thank you, Mrs. Stirling,” Miss Raumlicht said, making a charming if awkward little curtsy, in the foyer of the town house, ”-and thank you, Mr. Stirling. I will always remember you with the high regard with which I will always remember-him. 'As above, so below'-it is said-which gives me courage, for what we must endure on Earth is ordained for us in the heavens, and, in the heavens if not on Earth, we who dwell in darkness shall be justified.”

A remarkable little speech to issue from the lips of a seventeen-year-old seamstress's a.s.sistant, especially one who staggered beneath the weight of an eight-month pregnancy! Rendered quite speechless themselves, Tyler Stirling and his sister-in-law f.a.n.n.y exchanged a perplexed glance.

By this time, however, the hackney cab had arrived which would deliver Miss Raumlicht, prepaid, to the Contracoeur train station. Tyler lost no time in escorting the girl out to the curb, and out of the lives of the Stirlings, forever.

And so G.o.d spared us f.a.n.n.y would exult in secret from the horror of public scandal beside which the very fires of h.e.l.l seem benign!

Who is she? Where has she come from, and where is she bound?

Unknown to his mother or his uncle, Warren Stirling slipped from the house at Greenley Square to follow the cab, on foot, for many blocks, keeping a vigorous pace until, at Highland Boulevard, he saw to his surprise that the cab stopped; the mysterious girl in the dark traveling cloak, with whom his uncle had been shut up for most of the day, in what must have been a secret conference, climbed gracefully down, and sent the cab away. How lovely she looked, the velveteen hood now removed from her head, her silvery-brown plaited crown s.h.i.+ning! Carrying what appeared to be Mrs. Stirling's kidskin bag, the girl made her way, unescorted, yet with no suggestion of hesitation or shyness now, briskly along the crowded sidewalk, past the somber portico of the Presbyterian church, where generations of Stirlings had wors.h.i.+pped; past the handsome Neo-Grecian facade of the Contracoeur Hotel; and finally, again to Warren's surprise, into the hurly-burly of lower Commerce Street. There, suddenly, she was joined, or approached, by an unexpected individual, indeed: a tall, lean, neatly dressed Negro gentleman of middle age, it appeared, judging from his powder-gray hair and goatee, and the stoop of his shoulders; he wore rimless gla.s.ses, and a black bowler hat, and walked, stiffly, with a cane. How very different this well-bred Negro was, from the common Negro laborers and servants one saw constantly; he must have been, Warren thought, a minister. Yet how strange it was: the girl in the traveling cloak and the Negro appeared to be walking at precisely the same pace, without glancing at each other; the Negro followed the girl at a discreet distance of about five feet as they headed swiftly on Commerce-so swiftly that Warren, a football player, long-legged and in excellent condition, had difficulty keeping them in sight.

Earlier that day, Warren had been reading in the Contracoeur Post about the ”Black Phantom” who'd committed a sensational robbery in Chautauqua Falls a few days previous, and had disappeared with an undisclosed amount of cash (rumored to be several hundred thousand dollars); he'd studied a crude pen-and-ink drawing of the robber in the paper, a young simian-faced Negro with a moustache, in a black domino mask, his long-barreled pistol raised, for effect, beside his arrogant countenance. $12,000 REWARD! WANTED 'BLACK PHANTOM'! BOLD NEGRO ROBS CHAUTAUQUA FALLS LADIES & GENTLEMEN AT GUNPOINT! Seeing now this older Negro in the apparent company of the girl in the traveling cloak, Warren naturally thought of the ”Black Phantom”-but of course there could be no connection, for this Negro was a well-bred individual in his early fifties, and the ”Black Phantom” was a mere youth in his twenties.

Yet were the two, the girl and the Negro, really together?-Warren couldn't decide. Surely, no one else, glancing in their direction, would have thought so. Warren was fascinated; aroused, as invariably we are in the presence of mystery; staring so avidly, he took no notice of colliding with other pedestrians, and at Grant Street, by the train station, he was almost killed stepping into the path of a clanging streetcar.

To his surprise, and dismay, Warren lost the two in the milling crowd at the train station, and had to give up his pursuit. He'd had a glimpse, and more, of her haunting face which he would cherish for decades; which he would seek, in his romantic relations with young women, always in vain; but which would never fail to stir a sense of exhilaration and hope in his heart.

”'The La.s.s of Aviemore'”-his numbed lips moved in reverence. How much more beautiful the girl was, to Warren's way of thinking, than any mere painted beauty hanging framed in gilt in his grandfather Stirling's house these many years.

”A BIRD IN A GILDED CAGE”

What is the source of this daring, this giddy springtime bravado, and Eloise Peck nee Ingram the granddaughter of the renowned Episcopal bishop?-French champagne at midnight on the terrace of the Saint-Leon Hotel, in Atlantic City, New Jersey; and here in the suite, in the sumptuous bedroom, more champagne at noon; and Russian caviar lavishly spread on toast (though he, with an overgrown boy's appet.i.te, prefers marmalade or peanut b.u.t.ter); pheasant-brandy pte, rum-b.u.t.ter-b.a.l.l.s, croissants greedily devoured in bed . . .

Christopher! . . . are you asleep?

. . . No ma'am.

Did I wake you?

Oh no ma'am.

I did, didn't I? . . . I'm so sorry.

Oh no ma'am, I was awake . . . .I was waking.

But, dear Christopher, why do you say ”ma'am”? . . . Haven't I begged you to call me ”Eloise”? . . .

. . . Eloise.

Don't you love me, Christopher?

Oh yes . . . Eloise.

Then why are you so shy, you silly boy? . . . Why now? . . . after these many days of happiness . . . when you know how I adore you?

. . . I am sorry, Eloise.

. . . now that I am your fiancee, and we have only to wait until the decree, and then, oh sweet Christopher! . . . we will be married.

Yes Eloise . . . ma'am.

Why, is she not young? . . . Eloise Peck nee Ingram so very young? . . . to have been married twenty-three years to an old man who will not die?

Christopher!

Yes ma'am.

. . . We will be wed when I am free, it is not a mere dream? . . . a champagne fancy?

Not at all, ma'am. Which is to say . . . yes.

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