Produced by Jeffrey Kraus-yao
The House of a Thousand Candles
Meredith Nicholson
The House of a Thousand Candles
ByMeredith NicholsonAuthor of The Main ChanceZelda Dameron, Etc.
With Illustrations byHoward Chandler Christy
“So on the morn there fell new tidings and other adventures”Malory
1905
November
To Margaret My Sister
CONTENTS
CHAPTERI The Will of John Marshall GlenarmII A Face at Sherry’sIII The House of a Thousand CandlesIV A Voice From the LakeV A Red Tam-O’-ShanterVI The Girl and the CanoeVII The Man on the WallVIII A String of Gold BeadsIX The Girl and the RabbitX An Affair With the CaretakerXI I Receive a CallerXII I Explore a PassageXIII A Pair of EavesdroppersXIV The Girl in GrayXV I Make an EngagementXVI The Passing of OliviaXVII Sister TheresaXVIII Golden ButterfliesXIX I Meet an Old FriendXX A Triple AllianceXXI Pickering Serves NoticeXXII The Return of Marian DevereuxXXIII The Door of BewildermentXXIV A Prowler of The NightXXV BesiegedXXVI The Fight in the LibraryXXVII Changes and ChancesXXVIII Shorter VistasXXIX And So the Light Led Me
The House of a Thousand Candles
CHAPTER I
THE WILL OF JOHN MARSHALL GLENARM
Pickering’s letter bringing news of my grandfather’sdeath found me at Naples early in October. JohnMarshall Glenarm had died in June. He had left awill which gave me his property conditionally, Pickeringwrote, and it was necessary for me to return immediatelyto qualify as legatee. It was the merest luckthat the letter came to my hands at all, for it had beensent to Constantinople, in care of the consul-generalinstead of my banker there. It was not Pickering’sfault that the consul was a friend of mine who kepttrack of my wanderings and was able to hurry theexecutor’s letter after me to Italy, where I had gone tomeet an English financier who had, I was advised, unlimitedmoney to spend on African railways. I am anengineer, a graduate of an American institution familiarlyknown as “Tech,” and as my funds were runninglow, I naturally turned to my profession for employment.
But this letter changed my plans, and the followingday I cabled Pickering of my departure and was outwardbound on a steamer for New York. Fourteendays later I sat in Pickering’s office in the Alexis Buildingand listened intently while he read, with muchponderous emphasis, the provisions of my grandfather’swill. When he concluded, I laughed. Pickering was aserious man, and I was glad to see that my levity painedhim. I had, for that matter, always been a source ofannoyance to him, and his look of distrust and rebukedid not trouble me in the least.
I reached across the table for the paper, and he gavethe sealed and beribboned copy of John Marshall Glenarm’swill into my hands. I read it through for myself,feeling conscious meanwhile that Pickering’s cool gazewas bent inquiringly upon me. These are the paragraphsthat interested me most:
I give and bequeath unto my said grandson, John Glenarm,sometime a resident of the City and State of NewYork, and later a vagabond of parts unknown, a certainproperty known as Glenarm House, with the land thereuntopertaining and hereinafter more particularly described,and all personal property of whatsoever kindthereunto belonging and attached thereto,—the said realtylying in the County of Wabana in the State of Indiana,—upon this condition, faithfully and honestly performed:
That said John Glenarm shall remain for the periodof one year an occupant of said Glenarm House and mylands attached thereto, demeaning himself meanwhile inan orderly and temperate manner. Should he fail at anytime during said year to comply with this provision, saidproperty shall revert to my general estate and become,without reservation, and without necessity for any processof law, the property, absolutely, of Marian Devereux, ofthe County and State of New York.
“Well,” he demanded, striking his hands upon thearms of his chair, “what do you think of it?”
For the life of me I could not help laughing again.There was, in the first place, a delicious irony in thefact that I should learn through him of my grandfather’swishes with respect to myself. Pickering andI had grown up in the same town in Vermont; we hadattended the same preparatory school, but there hadbeen from boyhood a certain antagonism between us.He had always succeeded where I had failed, which is tosay, I must admit, that he had succeeded pretty frequently.When I refused to settle down to my profession,but chose to see something of the world first,Pickering gave himself seriously to the law, and therewas, I knew from the beginning, no manner of chancethat he would fail.
I am not more or less than human, and I rememberedwith joy that once I had thrashed him soundlyat the prep school for bullying a smaller boy; but ourscore from school-days was not without tallies on hisside. He was easily the better scholar—I grant himthat; and he was shrewd and plausible. You neverquite knew the extent of his powers and resources, andhe had, I always maintained, the most amazing goodluck,—as witness the fact that John Marshall Glenarmhad taken a friendly interest in him. It was whollylike my grandfather, who was a man of many whims,to give his affairs into Pickering’s keeping; and I couldnot complain, for I had missed my own chance withhim. It was, I knew readily enough, part of my punishmentfor having succeeded so signally in incurringmy grandfather’s displeasure that he had made it necessaryfor me to treat with Arthur Pickering in thismatter of the will; and Pickering was enjoying thesituation to the full. He sank back in his chair withan air of complacency that had always been insufferablein him. I was quite willing to be patronized by a manof years and experience; but Pickering was my ownage, and his experience of life seemed to me preposterouslyinadequate. To find him settled in New York,where he had been established through my grandfather’sgenerosity, and the executor of my grandfather’s estate,was hard to bear.
But there was something not wholly honest in mymirth, for my conduct during the three preceding yearshad been reprehensible. I had used my grandfathershabbily. My parents died when I was a child, and hehad cared for me as far back as my memory ran. Hehad suffered me to spend without restraint the fortuneleft by my father; he had expected much of me, and Ihad grievously disappointed him. It was his hope thatI should devote myself to architecture, a profession forwhich he had the greatest admiration, whereas I hadinsisted on engineering.
I am not writing an apology for my life, and I shallnot attempt to extenuate my conduct in going abroadat the end of my course at Tech and, when I madeLaurance Donovan’s acquaintance, in setting off withhim on a career of adventure. I do not regret, thoughpossibly it would be more to my credit if I did, themonths spent leisurely following the Danube east ofthe Iron Gate—Laurance Donovan always with me,while we urged the villagers and inn-loafers to all mannerof sedition, acquitting ourselves so well that, whenwe came out into the Black Sea for further pleasure,Russia did us the honor to keep a spy at our heels. Ishould like, for my own satisfaction, at least, to setdown an account of certain affairs in which we wereconcerned at Belgrad, but without Larry’s consent Iam not at liberty to do so. Nor shall I take time hereto describe our travels in Africa, though our study ofthe Atlas Mountain dwarfs won us honorable mentionby the British Ethnological Society.
These were my yesterdays; but to-day I sat in ArthurPickering’s office in the towering Alexis Building, consciousof the muffled roar of Broadway, discussing theterms of my Grandfather Glenarm’s will with a manwhom I disliked as heartily as it is safe for one man todislike another. Pickering had asked me a question,and I was suddenly aware that his eyes were fixed uponme and that he awaited my answer.
“What do I think of it?” I repeated. “I don’t knowthat it makes any difference what I think, but I’ll tellyou, if you want to know, that I call it infamous, outrageous,that a man should leave a ridiculous will o
fthat sort behind him. All the old money-bags who pileup fortunes magnify the importance of their money.They imagine that every kindness, every ordinary courtesyshown them, is merely a bid for a slice of the cake.I’m disappointed in my grandfather. He was a splendidold man, though God knows he had his queer ways.I’ll bet a thousand dollars, if I have so much money inthe world, that this scheme is yours, Pickering, and nothis. It smacks of your ancient vindictiveness, and JohnMarshall Glenarm had none of that in his blood. Thatstipulation about my residence out there is fantastic.I don’t have to be a lawyer to know that; and no doubtI could break the will; I’ve a good notion to try it,anyhow.”
“To be sure. You can tie up the estate for halfa dozen years if you like,” he replied coolly. He didnot look upon me as likely to become a formidablelitigant. My staying qualities had been proved weaklong ago, as Pickering knew well enough.
“No doubt you would like that,” I answered. “ButI’m not going to give you the pleasure. I abide by theterms of the will. My grandfather was a fine old gentleman.I shan’t drag his name through the courts,not even to please you, Arthur Pickering,” I declaredhotly.
“The sentiment is worthy of a good man, Glenarm,”he rejoined.
“But this woman who is to succeed to my rights,—Idon’t seem to remember her.”
“It is not surprising that you never heard of her.”
“Then she’s not a connection of the family,—no long-lostcousin whom I ought to remember?”
“No; she was a late acquaintance of your grandfather’s.He met her through an old friend of his,—Miss Evans, known as Sister Theresa. Miss Devereuxis Sister Theresa’s niece.”
I whistled. I had a dim recollection that during mygrandfather’s long widowerhood there were occasionalreports that he was about to marry. The name of MissEvans had been mentioned in this connection. I hadheard it spoken of in my family, and not, I remembered,with much kindness. Later, I heard of her joining aSisterhood, and opening a school somewhere in theWest.
“And Miss Devereux,—is she an elderly nun, too?”
“I don’t know how elderly she is, but she isn’t a nunat present. Still, she’s almost alone in the world, andshe and Sister Theresa are very intimate.”
“Pass the will again, Pickering, while I make sureI grasp these diverting ideas. Sister Theresa isn’t theone I mustn’t marry, is she? It’s the other ecclesiasticalembroidery artist,—the one with the x in hername, suggesting the algebra of my vanishing youth.”
I read aloud this paragraph:
Provided, further, that in the event of the marriage ofsaid John Glenarm to the said Marian Devereux, or inthe event of any promise or contract of marriage betweensaid persons within five years from the date of said JohnGlenarm’s acceptance of the provisions of this will, thewhole estate shall become the property absolutely of St.Agatha’s School, at Annandale, Wabana County, Indiana,a corporation under the laws of said state.
“For a touch of comedy commend me to my grandfather!Pickering, you always were a well-meaningfellow,—I’ll turn over to you all my right, interest andtitle in and to these angelic Sisters. Marry! I like theidea! I suppose some one will try to marry me for mymoney. Marriage, Pickering, is not embraced in myscheme of life!”
“I should hardly call you a marrying man,” he observed.
“Perfectly right, my friend! Sister Theresa was considereda possible match for my grandfather in myyouth. She and I are hardly contemporaries. And theother lady with the fascinating algebraic climax to hername,—she, too, is impossible; it seems that I can’t getthe money by marrying her. I’d better let her take it.She’s as poor as the devil, I dare say.”
“I imagine not. The Evanses are a wealthy family,in spots, and she ought to have some money of her ownif her aunt doesn’t coax it out of her for educationalschemes.”
“And where on the map are these lovely creatures tobe found?”
“Sister Theresa’s school adjoins your preserve; MissDevereux has I think some of your own weakness fortravel. Sister Theresa is her nearest relative, and sheoccasionally visits St. Agatha’s—that’s the school.”
“I suppose they embroider altar-cloths together andotherwise labor valiantly to bring confusion upon Satanand his cohorts. Just the people to pull the wool overthe eyes of my grandfather!”
Pickering smiled at my resentment.
“You’d better give them a wide berth; they mightcatch you in their net. Sister Theresa is said to havequite a winning way. She certainly plucked your grandfather.”
“Nuns in spectacles, the gentle educators of youthand that sort of thing, with a good-natured old man fortheir prey. None of them for me!”
“I rather thought so,” remarked Pickering,—and hepulled his watch from his pocket and turned the stemwith his heavy fingers. He was short, thick-set andsleek, with a square jaw, hair already thin and a close-clippedmustache. Age, I reflected, was not improvinghim.
I had no intention of allowing him to see that I wasirritated. I drew out my cigarette case and passed itacross the table,
“After you! They’re made quite specially for me inMadrid.”
“You forget that I never use tobacco in any form.”
“You always did miss a good deal of the joy of living,”I observed, throwing my smoking match into hiswaste-paper basket, to his obvious annoyance. “Well,I’m the bad boy of the story-books; but I’m really sorrymy inheritance has a string tied to it. I’m about outof money. I suppose you wouldn’t advance me a fewthousands on my expectations—”
“Not a cent,” he declared, with quite unnecessaryvigor; and I laughed again, remembering that in myold appraisement of him, generosity had not been representedin large figures. “It’s not in keeping withyour grandfather’s wishes that I should do so. Youmust have spent a good bit of money in your tiger-huntingexploits,” he added.
“I have spent all I had,” I replied amiably. “ThankGod I’m not a clam! I’ve seen the world and paid forit. I don’t want anything from you. You undoubtedlyshare my grandfather’s idea of me that I’m a wild manwho can’t sit still or lead an orderly, decent life; butI’m going to give you a terrible disappointment. What’sthe size of the estate?”
Pickering eyed me—uneasily, I thought—and beganplaying with a pencil. I never liked Pickering’s hands;they were thick and white and better kept than I liketo see a man’s hands.
“I fear it’s going to be disappointing. In his trust-companyboxes here I have been able to find only aboutten thousand dollars’ worth of securities. Possibly—quite possibly—we were all deceived in the amount ofhis fortune. Sister Theresa wheedled large sums out ofhim, and he spent, as you will see, a small fortune onthe house at Annandale without finishing it. It wasn’ta cheap proposition, and in its unfinished condition it ispractically valueless. You must know that Mr. Glenarmgave away a great deal of money in his lifetime. Moreover,he established your father. You know what heleft,—it was not a small fortune as those things arereckoned.”
I was restless under this recital. My father’s estatehad been of respectable size, and I had dissipated thewhole of it. My conscience pricked me as I recalled anitem of forty thousand dollars that I had spent—somewhatgrandly—on an expedition that I led, with considerablesatisfaction to myself, at least, through theSudan. But Pickering’s words amazed me.
“Let me understand you,” I said, bending towardhim. “My grandfather was supposed to be rich, andyet you tell me you find little property. Sister Theresagot money from him to help build a school. How muchwas that?”
“Fifty thousand dollars. It was an open account.His books show the advances, but he took no notes.”
“And that claim is worth—?”
“It is good as against her individually. But she contends—”
“Yes, go on!”
I had struck the right note. He was annoyed at mypersistence and his apparent discomfort pleased me.
“She refuses to pay. She says Mr. Glenarm made hera gift of the money.”
“
That’s possible, isn’t it? He was for ever makinggifts to churches. Schools and theological seminarieswere a sort of weakness with him.”
“That is quite true, but this account is among theassets of the estate. It’s my business as executor to collectit.”
“We’ll pass that. If you get this money, the estate isworth sixty thousand dollars, plus the value of the landout there at Annandale, and Glenarm House is worth—”
“There you have me!”
It was the first lightness he had shown, and it put meon guard.
“I should like an idea of its value. Even an unfinishedhouse is worth something.”
“Land out there is worth from one hundred to onehundred and fifty dollars an acre. There’s an evenhundred acres. I’ll be glad to have your appraisementof the house when you get there.”
“Humph! You flatter my judgment, Pickering. Theloose stuff there is worth how much?”
“It’s all in the library. Your grandfather’s weaknesswas architecture—”
“So I remember!” I interposed, recalling my stormyinterviews with John Marshall Glenarm over my choiceof a profession.
“In his last years he turned more and more to hisbooks. He placed out there what is, I suppose, thefinest collection of books relating to architecture to befound in this country. That was his chief hobby, afterchurch affairs, as you may remember, and he rode ithard. But he derived a great deal of satisfaction fromhis studies.”
I laughed again; it was better to laugh than to cryover the situation.
“I suppose he wanted me to sit down there, surroundedby works on architecture, with the idea thata study of the subject would be my only resource. Thescheme is eminently Glenarmian! And all I get is aworthless house, a hundred acres of land, ten thousanddollars, and a doubtful claim against a Protestant nunwho hoodwinked my grandfather into setting up aschool for her. Bless your heart, man, so far as my inheritanceis concerned it would have been money in mypocket to have stayed in Africa.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“But the personal property is all mine,—anythingthat’s loose on the place. Perhaps my grandfatherplanted old plate and government bonds just to piquethe curiosity of his heirs, successors and assigns. Itwould be in keeping!”
I had walked to the window and looked out acrossthe city. As I turned suddenly I found Pickering’seyes bent upon me with curious intentness. I had neverliked his eyes; they were too steady. When a man alwaysmeets your gaze tranquilly and readily, it is justas well to be wary of him.
“Yes; no doubt you will find the place literallypacked with treasure,” he said, and laughed. “Whenyou find anything you might wire me.”
He smiled; the idea seemed to give him pleasure.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else?” I asked. “Nosubstitute,—no codicil?”
“If you know of anything of the kind it’s your dutyto produce it. We have exhausted the possibilities. I’lladmit that the provisions of the will are unusual; yourgrandfather was a peculiar man in many respects; buthe was thoroughly sane and his faculties were all soundto the last.”
“He treated me a lot better than I deserved,” I said,with a heartache that I had not known often in myirresponsible life; but I could not afford to show feelingbefore Arthur Pickering.
I picked up the copy of the will and examined it.It was undoubtedly authentic; it bore the certificate ofthe clerk of Wabana County, Indiana. The witnesseswere Thomas Bates and Arthur Pickering.
“Who is Bates?” I asked, pointing to the man’s signature.
“One of your grandfather’s discoveries. He’s incharge of the house out there, and a trustworthy fellow.He’s a fair cook, among other things. I don’t knowwhere Mr. Glenarm got Bates, but he had every confidencein him. The man was with him at the end.”
A picture of my grandfather dying, alone with aservant, while I, his only kinsman, wandered in strangelands, was not one that I could contemplate with muchsatisfaction. My grandfather had been an odd littlefigure of a man, who always wore a long black coat and asilk hat, and carried a curious silver-headed staff, andsaid puzzling things at which everybody was afraid eitherto laugh or to cry. He refused to be thanked for favors,though he was generous and helpful and constantlyperforming kind deeds. His whimsical philanthropieswere often described in the newspapers. He had oncegiven a considerable sum of money to a fashionablechurch in Boston with the express stipulation, whichhe safeguarded legally, that if the congregation everintrusted its spiritual welfare to a minister namedReginald, Harold or Claude, an amount equal to hisgift, with interest, should be paid to the MassachusettsHumane Society.
The thought of him touched me now. I was glad tofeel that his money had never been a lure to me; it didnot matter whether his estate was great or small, Icould, at least, ease my conscience by obeying the behestof the old man whose name I bore, and whose interest inthe finer things of life and art had given him an undeniabledistinction.
“I should like to know something of Mr. Glenarm’slast days,” I said abruptly.
“He wished to visit the village where he was born,and Bates, his companion and servant, went to Vermontwith him. He died quite suddenly, and was buried besidehis father in the old village cemetery. I saw himlast early in the summer. I was away from home anddid not know of his death until it was all over. Batescame to report it to me, and to sign the necessary papersin probating the will. It had to be done in the place ofthe decedent’s residence, and we went together to Wabana,the seat of the county in which Annandale lies.”
I was silent after this, looking out toward the seathat had lured me since my earliest dreams of the worldthat lay beyond it.
“It’s a poor stake, Glenarm,” remarked Pickeringconsolingly, and I wheeled upon him.
“I suppose you think it a poor stake! I suppose youcan’t see anything in that old man’s life beyond hismoney; but I don’t care a curse what my inheritance is!I never obeyed any of my grandfather’s wishes in hislifetime, but now that he’s dead his last wish is mandatory.I’m going out there to spend a year if I diefor it. Do you get my idea?”
“Humph! You always were a stormy petrel,” hesneered. “I fancy it will be safer to keep our mostagreeable acquaintance on a strictly business basis. Ifyou accept the terms of the will—”
“Of course I accept them! Do you think I am goingto make a row, refuse to fulfil that old man’s last wish!I gave him enough trouble in his life without disappointinghim in his grave. I suppose you’d like to haveme fight the will; but I’m going to disappoint you.”
He said nothing, but played with his pencil. I hadnever disliked him so heartily; he was so smug andcomfortable. His office breathed the very spirit of prosperity.I wished to finish my business and get away.
“I suppose the region out there has a high death-rate.How’s the malaria?”
“Not alarmingly prevalent, I understand. There’s asummer resort over on one side of Lake Annandale.The place is really supposed to be wholesome. I don’tbelieve your grandfather had homicide in mind in sendingyou there.”
“No, he probably thought the rustication would makea man of me. Must I do my own victualing? I supposeI’ll be allowed to eat.”
“Bates can cook for you. He’ll supply the necessities.I’ll instruct him to obey your orders. I assumeyou’ll not have many guests,—in fact,”—he studied theback of his hand intently,—“while that isn’t stipulated,I doubt whether it was your grandfather’s intentionthat you should surround yourself—”
“With boisterous companions!” I supplied the wordsin my cheerfullest tone. “No; my conduct shall be exemplary,Mr. Pickering,” I added, with affable irony.
He picked up a single sheet of thin type-writtenpaper and passed it across the table. It was a formalacquiescence in the provisions of the will. Pickeringhad prepared it in advance of my coming, and this assumptionthat I would accept the terms irritated me.Assumptions as to what I should do under given conditionshad always irritated me, and accounted, in alarge measure,
for my proneness to surprise and disappointpeople. Pickering summoned a clerk to witnessmy signature.
“How soon shall you take possession?” he asked. “Ihave to make a record of that.”
“I shall start for Indiana to-morrow,” I answered.
“You are prompt,” he replied, deliberately folding inquarters the paper I had just signed. “I hoped youmight dine with me before going out; but I fancy NewYork is pretty tame after the cafés and bazaars of theEast.”
His reference to my wanderings angered me again;for here was the point at which I was most sensitive.I was twenty-seven and had spent my patrimony; I hadtasted the bread of many lands, and I was doomed tospend a year qualifying myself for my grandfather’slegacy by settling down on an abandoned and lonelyIndiana farm that I had never seen and had no interestin whatever.
As I rose to go Pickering said:
“It will be sufficient if you drop me a line, say oncea month, to let me know you are there. The post-officeis Annandale.”
“I suppose I might file a supply of postal cards in thevillage and arrange for the mailing of one everymonth.”
“It might be done that way,” be answered evenly.
“We may perhaps meet again, if I don’t die of starvationor ennui. Good-by.”
We shook hands stiffly and I left him, going down inan elevator filled with eager-eyed, anxious men. I, atleast, had no cares of business. It made no differenceto me whether the market rose or fell. Something ofthe spirit of adventure that had been my curse quickenedin my heart as I walked through crowded Broadwaypast Trinity Church to a bank and drew the balanceremaining on my letter of credit. I received incurrency slightly less than one thousand dollars.
As I turned from the teller’s window I ran into thearms of the last man in the world I expected to see.
This, let it be remembered, was in October of theyear of our Lord, nineteen hundred and one.