XIII
GOSSIP
This name once mentioned called for more gossip, but of a somewhatdifferent nature.
"The Lucetta of to-day is not like her ancient namesake," observed Mrs.Carter. "She may have the heart to love, but she is not capable ofshowing that love by any act of daring."
"I don't know about that," I replied, astonished that I felt willing toenter into a discussion with this woman on the very subject I had justshrunk from talking over with the locksmith. "Girls as frail and nervousas she is, sometimes astonish one at a pinch. I do not think Lucettalacks daring."
"You don't know her. Why, I have seen her jump at the sight of a spider,and heaven knows that they are common enough among the decaying walls inwhich she lives. A puny chit, Miss Butterworth; pretty enough, but weak.The very kind to draw lovers, but not to hold them. Yet every one pitiesher, her smile is so heart-broken."
"With ghosts to trouble her and a lover to bemoan, she has surely someexcuse for that," said I.
"Yes, I don't deny it. But why has she a lover to bemoan? He seemed aproper man and much beyond the ordinary. Why let him go as she did? Evenher sister admits that she loved him."
"I am not acquainted with the circumstances," I suggested.
"Well, there isn't much of a story to it. He is a young man from overthe mountains, well educated, and with something of a fortune of hisown. He came here to visit the Spears, I believe, and seeing Lucettaleaning one day on the gate in front of her house, he fell in love withher and began to pay her his attentions. That was before the lane gotits present bad name, but not before one or two men had vanished fromamong us. William--that is her brother, you know--has always beenanxious to have his sisters marry, so he did not stand in the way, andno more did Miss Knollys, but after two or three weeks of doubtfulcourtship, the young man went away, and that was the end of it. And agreat pity, too, say I, for once clear of that house, Lucetta would growinto another person. Sunshine and love are necessities to most women,Miss Butterworth, especially to such as are weakly and timid."
I thought the qualification excellent.
"You are right," I assented, "and I should like to see the result ofthem upon Lucetta." Then, with an attempt to still further sound thiswoman's mind and with it the united mind of the whole village, Iremarked: "The young do not usually throw aside such prospects withoutexcellent reasons. Have you never thought that Lucetta was governed byprinciple in discarding this very excellent young man?"
"Principle? What principle could she have had in letting a desirablehusband go?"
"She may have thought the match an undesirable one for him."
"For him? Well, I never thought of that. True, she may. They are knownto be poor, but poverty don't count in such old families as theirs. Ihardly think she would be influenced by any such consideration. Now, ifthis had happened since the lane got its bad name and all this stir hadbeen made about the disappearance of certain folks within its precincts,I might have given some weight to your suggestion--women are so queer.But this happened long ago and at a time when the family was highlythought of, leastwise the girls, for William does not go for much, youknow--too stupid and too brutal."
William! Would the utterance of that name heighten my suggestion? Isurveyed her closely, but could detect no change in her somewhat puzzledcountenance.
"My allusions were not in reference to the disappearances," said I. "Iwas thinking of something else. Lucetta is not well."
"Ah, I know! They say she has some kind of heart complaint, but that wasnot true then. Why, her cheeks were like roses in those days, and herfigure as plump and pretty as any you could see among our villagebeauties. No, Miss Butterworth, it was through her weakness she losthim. She probably palled upon his taste. It was noticed that he held hishead very high in going out of town."
"Has he married since?" I asked.
"Not to my knowledge, ma'am."
"Then he loved her," I declared.
She looked at me quite curiously. Doubtless that word sounds a littlequeer on my lips, but that shall not deter me from using it when thecircumstances seem to require. Besides, there was once a time--Butthere, I promised to fall into no digressions.
"You should have been married yourself, Miss Butterworth," said she.
I was amazed, first at her daring, and secondly that I was so littleangry at this sudden turning of the tables upon myself. But then thewoman meant no offence, rather intended a compliment.
"I am very well contented as I am," I returned. "_I_ am neither sicklynor timid."
She smiled, looked as if she thought it only common politeness to agreewith me, and tried to say so, but finding the situation too much forher, coughed and discreetly held her peace. I came to her rescue with anew question:
"Have the women of the Knollys family ever been successful in love? Themother of these girls, say--she who was Miss Althea Burroughs--was herlife with her husband happy? I have always been curious to know. She andI were schoolmates."
"You were? You knew Althea Knollys when she was a girl? Wasn't shecharming, ma'am? Did you ever see a livelier girl or one with more knackat winning affection? Why, she couldn't sit down with you a half-hourbefore you felt like sharing everything you had with her. It made nodifference whether you were man or woman, it was all the same. She hadbut to turn those mischievous, pleading eyes upon you for you to becomea fool at once. Yet her end was sad, ma'am; too sad, when you rememberthat she died at the very height of her beauty alone and in a foreignland. But I have not answered your question. Were she and the judgehappy together? I have never heard to the contrary, ma'am. I'm sure hemourned her faithfully enough. Some think that her loss killed him. Hedid not survive her more than three years."
"The children do not favor her much," said I, "but I see an expressionnow and then in Lucetta which reminds me of her mother."
"They are all Knollys," said she. "Even William has traits which, with afew more brains back of them, would remind you of his grandfather, whowas the plainest of his race."
I was glad that the talk had reverted to William.
"He seems to lack heart, as well as brains," I said. "I marvel that hissisters put up with him as well as they do."
"They cannot help it. He is not a fellow to be fooled with. Besides, heholds third share in the house. If they could sell it! But, deary me,who would buy an old tumble-down place like that, on a road you cannotget folks who have any consideration for their lives to enter for loveor money? But excuse me, ma'am; I forgot that you are living just now onthat very road. I'm sure I beg a thousand pardons."
"I am living there as a guest," I returned. "I have nothing to do withits reputation--except to brave it."
"A courageous thing to do, ma'am, and one that may do the road somegood. If you can spend a month with the Knollys girls and come out oftheir house at the end as hale and hearty as you entered it, it will bethe best proof possible that there is less to be feared there than somepeople think. I shall be glad if you can do it, ma'am, for I like thegirls and would be glad to have the reputation of the place restored."
"Pshaw!" was my final comment. "The credulity of the town has had asmuch to do with its loss as they themselves. That educated people suchas I see here should believe in ghosts!"
I say final, for at this moment the good lady, springing up, put an endto our conversation. She had just seen a buggy pass the window.
"It's Mr. Trohm," she exclaimed. "Ma'am, if you wish to return homebefore Mr. Simsbury comes back you may be able to do so with thisgentleman. He's a most obliging man, and lives less than a quarter of amile from the Misses Knollys."
I did not say I had already met the gentleman. Why, I do not know. Ionly drew myself up and waited with some small inner perturbation forthe result of the inquiry I saw she had gone to make.