Our Neighbours in the Corner House CHAPTER 3.
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"Do you know anything about these people in the corner house?" asked our neighbor, Mrs. Wilkins, who had run in to chat with my wife and I, an evening or two afterwards.
Alice said, "No," and then asked Mrs. Wilkins what she knew of them.
"I don't know anything," replied our neighbor; "but there are some strange stories floating around."
"Indeed?"
"Yes."
"What is said of them?"
"Nothing outright, that I have heard, for people don't seem to know anything certain in regard to them."
"The strange stories," said I, "are then mostly in the shape of conjecture and inference."
"There's something hidden about them," replied Mrs. Wilkins; "and anything like mystery, you know, sets people all aflutter to find out what is concealed."
"And when a whole neighborhood is on the alert and curious," I remarked, "it will go hard if something is not discovered. But get a little nearer to terra firma — what is said about the people in the corner house?"
"Well, now, let me see! What is said? Oh, yes? Mrs. Crowell says that, the night before last, as her husband was coming by the corner house, about twelve o'clock, he heard acry so sudden, wild, and startling, that it chilled the blood in his veins for a moment! It was a woman's cry, and he is certain that it came from that house. There were no lights shining from any of the windows, and he could hear no movement within. Then, the grocer-boy told our girl, that they were the strangest people in the corner house, that he had ever seen, and that he believed there was something wrong."
"The grocer-boy's opinion should not be taken, in evidence against them," said I.
"Of course not," replied Mrs. Wilkins; "but your grocer-boys, milkmen, and all that class of people, are sharp-sighted and quick at reading signs. Their opinion of a family, is not usually very far out of the way."
"And so the grocer-boy thinks there is something wrong?"
"Yes; and he isn't alone in this opinion. It seems to be the common sentiment."
"That is the way of the world," said I; "something wrong is the first inference, in all cases where people choose to hold themselves a little in reserve."
"People can't help their own inferences," replied Mrs. Wilkins.
"You mean," I answered, "that, as most people take a secret pleasure in hearing ill of their neighbors, when left to conjecture anything, they are very apt to let their conclusions favor the worst."
"Excuse me," Mrs. Wilkins replied, "but I will not admit your assertion that most people take a secret pleasure in hearing ill of their neighbors."
"It seems," said my wife, smiling, "that your own case proves your theory."
"My case! How?" she asked.
"Don't think me severe, but are you not judging very harshly of other people? As to the degree of pleasure you may feel in this judgment, it is not of course for me to speak."
"Fairly retorted!" laughed our neighbor.
"The homely old adage about measuring other people's corn by our own bushel, is pleasantly illustrated in your case. Is it from the secret gratification you experience, when ill is told of a neighbor — that you form your estimation of others?"
Mrs. Wilkins grew quite animated. Her eyes sparkled.
"There may be something in the suggestion," I said. "Human nature is sadly depraved. Even you have brightened up wonderfully, in making the supposed discovery that I am quite as bad as I make out my neighbors to be."
We were all were sitting in our parlor. I had noticed a faint ringing of the street door bell, and heard the servant pass along the hall. There was a question from a woman's voice; a rustle of garments; a light step — so light that the ear scarcely noted the sound. We glanced to the parlor door expectantly, and the white face of our neighbor in the corner house looked in strangely upon us.
"Mrs. Congreve!" said my wife, starting quickly forward, and taking the hand of our unexpected visitor. She advanced, with a hesitating step, across the room, Alice leading her towards Mrs. Wilkins and myself. I arose, and with all the gentleness of manner I could assume, gave her a welcome to our house. But she was not at ease; and glanced, in a furtive way, now at me, and now at Mrs. Wilkins — at the same time that she drew close to my wife, beside whom she sat down on a sofa. Her dress was black in every part; and this gave to her colorless face and hands, a ghostly whiteness. About her lips, on which rested an expression of unutterable sadness, there was a slight, but constant motion; and her eyes, which were large and round, were as restless as her lips.
I saw in a few moments, that she had not expected to see anyone but my wife, and that the presence of both Mrs. Wilkins and myself was a source of embarrassment. Mrs. Wilkins also saw this, and with a self-denying thoughtfulness very creditable under the circumstances, when a woman's proverbial curiosity is taken into account — excused herself, and went home. I was then about to retire from the parlor, but my curiosity tempted me to remain a little longer; and as the lady seemed to be now more at ease, I resumed the chair from which I had arisen on the departure of our neighbor.
"How is the little one?" now asked my wife.
"Florry? oh, she's well again."
What a mournful voice it was! From what far-off places in the mind did its low, sad echoes, come back!
"Was she ever in that way before?" asked my wife.
"No; but wasn't it dreadful!" And I could see that the remembrance caused a low shudder to creep through her nerves.
"She may have eaten something that was not readily digestible," said I.
The large, strange eyes looked into mine for a moment or two; but there was no response to the suggestion.
"I have noticed, several times, the face of your little Florry at the window," I remarked. "It is a very sweet face."
Something meant to be a smile played over the dead blank of her countenance, as I said this; but she did not reply. Ill at ease she was. I saw this plainly enough. It was evident that she had come in to see my wife alone; so, after one more fruitless effort to get her interested, I excused myself and left the room. I saw at a glance, that my departure was wholly agreeable to our visitor. But, scarcely had I reached the family sitting-room, when a loud jangling of the door-bell startled me. I went to the head of the stairs and listened.
"Is Mrs. Congreve here?" I heard, in a woman's voice, followed by the exclamation: "Why, Edith! How could you do so?"
A few low words followed, and then the street door shut, and my wife stood alone in the hall. I went down to her quickly.
"Who came for her?" I asked.
"Her aunt."
"What did she say?"
"Nothing beyond an exclamation of surprise and relief. But she looked pale and frightened."
"More mystery," said I. "What can lie at the bottom of all this?"
"Mrs. Congreve is not in her right mind; of that, I think there is little doubt."
"But what has disturbed the even balance of her intellect? I would give anything to know."
"Women are proverbially curious," said my wife, in a meaningful way.
"You forming an exception in this case," I retorted.
"Perhaps not," she answered, quietly; then added, "Insanity, you are aware, runs in some families. It may be hereditary in the case of Mrs. Congreve."
"Yes, it may be."
"Though you doubt it."
"You indicate my state of mind."
"On what do you base a doubt?"
I had nothing tangible to set forth, and so only shook my head.
"Did she say anything after I left the room?" I inquired.
"She was about to make some communication," replied my wife, "when the appearance of her aunt checked the words on her lips. She listened to your departing steps with almost anxious intentness, and as soon as you were at the head of the stairs, turned to me, every muscle of her face quivering with interest, and her lips apart to speak. But she started as the bell rang, and a shadow of fear went over her face, when the voice of her aunt was heard at the door.
'"I must go,' she said, rising with a disturbed manner. And I heard her murmur to herself: 'They watch me as if I were a criminal trying to escape!'"
"If her aunt had only kept away a little longer," said I, "we might have obtained the clue to this mystery."
"Which you are dying to penetrate."
"No, not in that extremity. But — "
"Suffering from a tantalizing curiosity. I did not expect this of you. But, there is the bell again. What next?"
It was only Mrs. Wilkins. She had watched from her window across the street, and seeing Mrs. Congreve depart, came over to hear what she could. We had nothing satisfactory to communicate, to her evident disappointment.
"It's my husband's opinion," she said, as she sat, talking on the subject, "that there is something about these people that will startle the neighborhood when it comes out — if it everdoes. There is not a good look about Mr. Congreve. Mr. Wilkins says that he has met him several times in the neighborhood, or coming out of his house; but has not once been able to catch his eye. It's his opinion that Congreve is not his real name."
"What has suggested this?" I asked.
"I'll tell you what," she replied. "A merchant from the southwest was in his store one day this week, when Mr. Congreve happened to pass. The man startled as he saw him, and half uttered, in a tone of surprise, some name different from Congreve.
"'Do you know that person?' asked my husband. The man answered, 'I presume not. It is only a striking resemblance.'
"'His name is Congreve,' said Mr. Wilkins. 'He is a stranger in our city, from the south, I think.'
"The man repeated the words 'from the South,' as if struck by them; but added; 'I don't know him,' and changed the subject."
"Very singular," I remarked.
"Isn't it? My husband thinks the man knew him, and had motives for concealing the knowledge."
"Possibly. It looks as if it might be so."
"More mystery," said my wife, smiling.
"And this may be the clue. Did your husband say from what town in the southwest, the merchant came?"
"He did not."
"Of course he knows."
"Without doubt, as the man was a customer."
"Any circumstance which would make a family exile itself from an old home or familiar neighborhood, would in all probability become a matter of public notoriety. Another customer from the same town may be able to throw light on the whole subject. Suggest this to Mr. Wilkins."
"You are right. I'll do that," replied our neighbor, with animation. "It will be strange, if we don't get to the bottom of this mystery before long!"
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