Nothing but Money! CHAPTER 21.
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It is not our purpose to trace, step by step, the process of demoralization that went on among the children of Adam Guyton from this period in the family history. In our last chapter, was shown the first workings of a new system of home administration, influenced by unscrupulous avarice on the one side, and as unscrupulous a love of spending on the other — two powers in never sleeping opposition to each other. Young Henry, elevated to a seat of executive domination, matured in the one direction so constantly stimulated with unnatural rapidity, while all the children regarded him with dislike, as a usurping and oppressive tyrant, and set themselves against him on every occasion.
John's love of spending was in no degree lessened by the new difficulties which had come in his way. Henry guarded the family purse with a fidelity that only permitted occasional abstractions therefrom. The amount thus obtained, fell so far below what our young spendthrift desired, that he set his wits to work in a new direction. Having begun a dishonest course, there was no question in his mind as to the right or wrong of any scheme that suggested itself. Passing a pawnbroker's on the way from school one day, he asked Henry what kind of a business the man who kept the shop carried on. Henry explained its nature — but, before he was done, the mind of John was grasping the general idea involved, and turning over it, suggestions of ways and means for supplying his empty pockets. On that very afternoon, he took a breastpin from his mother's drawer, and pawned it for a dollar and a half. The ticket received therefor was destroyed.
Thus began a course of evil on the part of this unguided boy, destined to involve his manhood in ruin. No very long time elapsed before discovery and its penalties followed his criminal conduct. But, this only obstructed his purposes, and set his wits to work in other directions. Money still continued to find its way into his pocket, and by means which, when brought to light, as was often the case, subjected him to punishment and disgrace. Under this he hardened, so as to endure and grow defiant — but changed not in the smallest degree.
Mrs. Guyton, after dropping the reins of family government, never attempted to gather them up again. Now and then, as the appearance of sudden danger startled her dull mind, she would grapple at the reins as we sometimes see a scared woman in a carriage, and put all in greater danger. But, for the most part, she moved in the household as one who had in it only a partial interest, and no controlling power. Towards her husband she maintained a cold reserve, never intermitted under any circumstances. If he attempted arrogant enforcement of his will towards her, she defied him with an outflashing anger that blinded and half scared him, like a gleam of fierce lightning. Money she would not touch. He laid it in her way over and over again; but it remained without appropriation.
There was another change in Mrs. Guyton, more remarkable than the rest, because its source was not apparent. It consisted in an entire alienation towards Mrs. Hofland. The renewal of their personal fellowship had seemed to promise much for Lydia. The healthy, cheerful, clear-seeing mind of Diane, was just the one she needed as a companion-mind. But, after receiving a return visit from Diane, she did not call again at the peaceful little home to which she had gone in yearning pity for her friend's supposed misfortune; nor, at Diane's subsequent visits, would even see her. Alone — all alone as to companionship or sympathy, she sat down in her gilded prison, and denied herself to every visitor.
Startled, at length, by some more palpable evidence of insanity, the thought of an asylum entered the mind of Adam Guyton. Once there, that thought became a permanent guest. He looked at it, dwelt upon it, turned it over and over, and finally accepted the suggestion as pointing to the easiest and most effectual way of getting an obstruction removed from his path. It is said that "the wish is father to the thought;" and the proposition was no doubt true in the present case. Mrs. Guyton was a source of constant trouble and annoyance to her husband, and it was but natural that he should feel a desire to get freed from this unpleasant accompaniment of his daily life. If death had glided in to solve the difficulty, he would have accepted the fact, and bowed in cheerful submission. But, death was not ready to attend Adam Guyton as a minister, and quietly remove from his house the womanwho had ceased to be anything to him but a thorn and a hindrance.
An asylum was the only resource! Adam was not wicked enough or desperate enough, to be in any direct way an accessory to death; but in the matter of his wife's removal to an insane hospital, he could act with a clear conscience — we use the word conscience in a very low and natural sense — and he soon set himself deliberately at work to compass this result. He had no trouble, after very exaggerated statements of his wife's case, in getting a certificate from his family physician, declaring her out of her right mind, and a fit subject for treatment. But the prime difficulty lay in her removal. If she had been in the habit of riding out, all would have been easy enough. But, Mrs. Guyton never passed the threshold of her own door. The idea of force came now and then into her husband's thought, as he grew more and more impatient to get her out of his way; but, he feared to attempt this, lest there should be violent resistance, and exposure in the neighborhood.
Days, weeks, and even months passed, after Guyton received the doctor's certificate declaring his wife a fit subject for treatment in an asylum, and still no opportunity for removal was presented. He was growing desperate under this long delay. In his heart, Lydia was disowned; she had become hateful in his eyes; every motion was an offence; she was askeleton in his house — a death's-head at his table. Each act towards her was a studied wrong, prompted by an ill-repressed anger. He sought to drive her from incipient derangement, into strongly defined insanity, which would make forcible removal from his house a necessity; but a dead level of indifference, and contempt was her protection.
One evening, it was nearly a year after the unhappy change in Mrs. Guyton's state of mind, to which we have referred, Guyton came home and found his wife suffering terribly from neuralgic pains in the head and face. Her agony was so great, that she walked the floor incessantly, tears, wrung out by intense bodily anguish, flowing over her cheeks. Guyton pretended pity, though he felt none, and with a show of kindness, that was but a cover for a suddenly suggested plan of carrying out his long-cherished design, started off to see their physician, and get, as he said, something to relieve her pain. In half an hour he returned, with a small vial, from which he gave his wife a few drops. She knew it to bemorphine — but, suspecting no wrong, and being almost wild with pain, took the potion in hope of relief. In ten minutes, a second dose was administered, and in ten minutes afterwards, a third, which soon after locked the already obscured senses in a sleep that imaged death.
White, as if the spirit had departed, lay the form of his wife before the face of Adam Guyton, as he stood alone with her in the chamber where she was now fully in his power. Was there pity in his heart? Did the old-time feeling come back upon him? Did he soften in this sad presence? No — no — no! Avarice never softens. Neither fire nor water subdues its triple hardness.
What next? Adam could proceed no further without help. He stood and thought — moved about the chamber irresolutely — stood and thought again.
For the past six months, the family had been in charge of a housekeeper, towards whom Mrs. Guyton maintained an unwavering hostility. But the woman kept her ground, without showing any ill-will or disturbance. She was cold in manner, orderly in her habits, and, while seeming not to assume authority in the family, steadily reached out for the governmental rein, and held it with a quiet strength that overcame resistance not roused to passion by a display of power. Her name was Mrs. Harte. She was a widow, age about thirty-five; had been a widow for over seven years. During her residence in Mr. Guyton's family, there had been no familiarity between her and the master of the house, who held himself aloof in cold dignity, only conferring with her in matters strictly limited to her administration. The boy Henry, continued to be the disbursing agent. Mr. Guyton was not going to trust his money in the hands of anyone from whom he could not exact the strictest account. Whatever opinion Mrs. Harte might hold in respect to Mrs. Guyton's state of mind, and the causes leading thereto, was the result of observation alone. Not a word had passed between her and Mr. Guyton on the subject.
After nearly five minutes of debate, Mr. Guyton took hold of the bell-cord, and gave it a quick jerk. He stood close to the door, and when a servant came, opened it a little way, and said —
"Ask Mrs. Harte to come here."
A small, compactly-built woman, with a gliding step, entered a few moments afterwards. There was a clearly cut outline in every feature of her intelligent face, showing decision and firmness of character. Her complexion and hair were light, and her eyes a pale, cold, almost leaden blue.
"What is the matter, sir?" she asked, in a tone of surprise, as she glanced towards the bed, on which lay the unconscious Mrs. Guyton.
"The effect of morphine," said Mr; Guyton, calmly.
"Morphine!" An expression of doubt and concern came into the face of Mrs. Harte.
"She has been suffering terribly, with that pain in her face."
"Yes, sir — I know."
"I went and saw the doctor, and he sent her this," taking up the vial from which he had given the medicine. "It has produced a condition of physical insensibility, as he desired. Poor thing!"
There was a tone of pity in the voice of Mr. Guyton.
Mrs. Harte went to the bed, and stooping over the insensible woman examined her carefully.
"How much did she take?"
"Only three small doses. Her system is not used to narcotics, and has yielded quickly."
After looking at Mrs. Guyton for a few moments, Mrs. Harte turned and fixed her cold, blue eyes on the face of Mr. Guyton. He saw inquiry in them.
"What is to be done?" There was an invitation to confidence in her voice clearly apprehended by Mr. Guyton.
"Sit down, Mrs. Harte." The offered chair was accepted. Mr. Guyton went back to the chamber door and turned the key. Then he drew another chair in front, of the housekeeper and sat down. She looked calmly expectant.
"May I claim your confidence, Mrs. Harte?"
"Yes, sir. I am a discreet woman."
Guyton fixed his eyes intently upon her. She did not betray a sign of feeling, nor turn away from his her cold gaze for a moment.
"You have not failed to observe my wife's unhappy state of mind?"
"It is too apparent, sir, to everyone," answered Mrs. Harte.
"Nor, that it is on the increase?"
"Unfortunately, its increase is undoubted," said Mrs. Harte.
Mr. Guyton now took from his pocket a folded paper.
"Read that." And he handed it to Mrs. Harte.
"The Doctor's certificate, I see."
"Yes."
"Pronouncing her insane, and in need of treatment in some Asylum."
"Exactly. And you will see, by the date, that I have had it in my possession for several months."
"So I perceive."
"Forbearing all that time, and hoping all that time for a change in her condition, that would render needless a last resort."
Mrs. Harte sighed very naturally, adding to her sigh the words — "Poor lady!" and then shook her head in a hopeless kind of way.
"This is a fair opportunity to have her removed," said Mr. Guyton, comprehending the woman's state of acquiescence. "She is entirely unconscious, and will, in all probability, remain so for hours. Can I secure your cooperation?"
"If all is right," answered the woman.
"You hold the guaranty in your hand, Mrs Harte. As to the insanity, your own observation makes that clear."
"That is clear enough, poor lady!" said Mrs. Harte.
"And the authority for her removal is explicit."
"So I perceive."
Then let us act without hesitation or delay, both for her sake and that of her children, over whom her influence is of a very unhappy character. My purpose is to remove her tonight, and have her safely cared for before consciousness returns. What do you think of it?"
Mrs. Harte reflected for a few moments, and then replied,
"I do not see, sir, that a better opportunity is likely soon to occur. You are certain that she has not taken too much of the morphine?"
And Mrs. Harte gave Guyton a searching look.
"Too much! No! I kept to the Doctor's prescription within a drop."
"Because," added Mrs. Harte, in her calm, clear voice, "I do not wish to get myself into any trouble."
"There can be no trouble to anyone in the case," said Mr. Guyton.
The woman's eyes did not fall away from his face — but dwelt on it for several moments, and with an expression that Guyton felt as a kind of power over him. He had not, since this woman came into the family, held with her, until now, any familiar or confidential interactions. Wrapped in his own separate thoughts and interests, he had moved about his house, only considering Mrs. Harte as a useful appendage in her place, and of no more account to him than any other bit of household machinery. But, now, the relation had changed, and he felt it — felt it with an inward sense of reluctance and repulsion.
"If there is entire safety, sir." How even and penetrating her voice! — How steadily her cold, searching eyes rest upon his face!
"You understand the case as well as I do, madam." There was an apparent drawing back from the woman, on the part of Mr. Guyton, which was perceived on the instant, and produced a change in her manner.
"I believe so, sir," her tone was softer and more acquiescent; "and if I can serve you and the poor lady in anything, I stand ready to act. She will be a great deal better off in a well-managed Asylum. Where do you think of placing hep?"
"Among the Sisters at Mount Hope."
"Ah?"
"Yes. I have already consulted them on the subject, and shown the Doctor's certificate. They are prepared, at any time, to receive her."
"She could not be sent to a better place," said Mrs. Harte.
"I am sure not. And my instructions will be that she receive the kindest and most humane attentions. But, time passes, and we must act promptly, if we act at all."
"True, sir." And Mrs. Harte arose.
"Have the children all in bed before her removal," said Mr. Guyton.
"The three youngest are asleep; but you will have to see after Henry, John, and Lydia. If I were to say 'go to bed,' they would sit up half the night in rebuke of my assumed authority."
"Very well. I'll settle that. Remain here, and get all things ready for her removal. After the children are all in bed, I will go for a carriage. You must be prepared to accompany us. Lock the door when I go out, so that no one in the house may intrude and obtain a knowledge of what is going on."
Mr. Guyton then withdrew, and Mrs. Harte turned the key.
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