The Stillwater Tragedy

by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

  XXIII

  When the down express arrived at Stillwater, that night, twopassengers stepped from the rear car to the platform: one was RichardShackford, and the other a commercial traveler, whose acquaintanceRichard had made the previous evening on the Fall River boat.

  There were no hacks in waiting at the station, and Richard foundhis politeness put to a severe test when he saw himself obliged topilot his companion part of the way to the hotel, which lay--itseemed almost maliciously--in a section of the town remote from theSlocums'. Curbing his impatience, Richard led the stranger throughseveral crooked, unlighted streets, and finally left him at thecorner of the main thoroughfare, within pistol-shot of the red glasslantern which hung over the door of the tavern. This cost Richard tengood minutes. As he hurriedly turned into a cross-street on the left,he fancied that he heard his name called several times from somewherein the darkness. A man came running towards him. It was Mr. Peters.

  "Can I say a word to you, Mr. Shackford?"

  "If it isn't a long one. I am rather pressed."

  "It is about Torrini, sir."

  "What of him?"

  "He's mighty bad, sir."

  "Oh, I can't stop to hear that," and Richard quickened his pace.

  "The doctor took off his hand last Wednesday," said Peters,keeping alongside, "and he's been getting worse and worse."

  Richard halted. "Took off his hand?"

  "Didn't you know he was caught in the rolling-machine at Dana's?Well, it was after you went away."

  "This is the first I've heard of it."

  "It was hard lines for him, sir, with the woman and the twochildren, and nothing to eat in the house. The boys in the yard havedone what they could, but with the things from the drug-store, and soon, we couldn't hold up our end. Mr. Dana paid the doctor's bill,but if it hadn't been for Miss Slocum I don't know what would havehappened. I thought may be if I spoke to you, and told you how itwas"--

  "Did Torrini send you?"

  "Lord, no! He's too proud to send to anybody. He's been so proudsince they took off his hand that there has been no doing anythingwith him. If they was to take off his leg, he would turn into onemass of pride. No, Mr. Shackford, I came of myself."

  "Where does Torrini live, now?"

  "In Mitchell's Alley."

  "I will go along with you," said Richard, with a dogged air. Itseemed as if the fates were determined to keep him from seeingMargaret that night. Peters reached out a hand to take Richard'sleather bag. "No, thank you, I can carry it very well." In a smallmorocco case in one of the pockets was a heavy plain gold ring forMargaret, and not for anything in the world would Richard haveallowed any one else to carry the bag.

  After a brisk five minutes' walk the two emerged upon a broadstreet crossing their path at right angles. All the shops were closedexcept Stubbs the provision dealer's and Dundon's drug-store. In thewindow of the apothecary a great purple jar, with a spray of gas jetsbehind it, was flaring on the darkness like a Bengal light. Richardstopped at the provision store and made some purchases; a littlefurther on he halted at a fruit stand, kept by an old crone, who hadsupplemented the feeble flicker of the corner street lamp with apitch-pine torch, which cast a yellow bloom over her apples andturned them all into oranges. She had real oranges, however, andRichard selected half a dozen, with a confused idea of providing thelittle Italians with some national fruit, though both children hadbeen born in Stillwater.

  Then the pair resumed their way, Peters acting as pioneer. Theysoon passed beyond the region of sidewalks and curbstones, and beganpicking their steps through a narrow, humid lane, where the water layin slimy pools, and the tenement houses on each side blotted out thefaint starlight. The night was sultry, and door and casement stoodwide, making pits of darkness. Few lights were visible, but acontinuous hum of voices issued from the human hives, and now andthen a transient red glow at an upper window showed that some one wassmoking a pipe. This was Mitchell's Alley.

  The shadows closed behind the two men as they moved forward, andneither was aware of the figure which had been discreetly followingthem for the last ten minutes. If Richard had suddenly wheeled andgone back a dozen paces, he would have come face to face with thecommercial traveler.

  Mr. Peters paused in front of one of the tenement houses, andmotioned with his thumb over his shoulder for Richard to follow himthrough a yawning doorway. The hall was as dark as a cave, and fullof stale, moldy odors. Peters shuffled cautiously along the bareboards until he kicked his toe against the first step of thestaircase.

  "Keep close to the wall, Mr. Shackford, and feel your way up.They've used the banisters for kindling, and the landlord says heshan't put in any more. I went over here the other night," added Mr.Peters reminiscentially.

  After fumbling several seconds for the latch, Mr. Peters pushedopen a door, and ushered Richard into a large, gloomy rear room. Akerosene lamp was burning dimly on the mantel-shelf, over which hunga coarsely-colored lithograph of the Virgin in a pine frame. Underthe picture stood a small black crucifix. There was littlefurniture,--a cooking-stove, two or three stools, a broken table, anda chest of drawers. On an iron bedstead in the corner lay Torrini,muffled to the chin in a blanket, despite the hot midsummer night.His right arm, as if it were wholly disconnected with his body,rested in a splint on the outside of the covering. As the visitorsentered, a tall dusky woman with blurred eyes rose from a low benchat the foot of the bed.

  "Is he awake?" asked Peters.

  The woman, comprehending the glance which accompanied the words,though not the words themselves, nodded yes.

  "Here is Mr. Shackford come to see you, Torrini," Peters said.

  The man slowly unclosed his eyes; they were unnaturally brilliantand dilated, and seemed to absorb the rest of his features.

  "I didn't want him."

  "Let by-gones be by-gones, Torrini," said Richard, approaching thebedside. "I am sorry about this."

  "You are very good; I don't understand. I ask nothing of Slocum;but the signorina comes every day, and I cannot help it. What wouldyou have? I'm a dead man," and he turned away his face.

  "It is not so bad as that," said Richard.

  Torrini looked up with a ghastly smile. "They have cut off thehand that struck you, Mr. Shackford."

  "I suppose it was necessary. I am very sorry. In a little whileyou will be on your feet again."

  "It is too late. They might have saved me by taking the arm, but Iwould not allow them. I may last three or four days. The doctor saysit."

  Peters, standing in the shadow, jerked his head affirmatively.

  "I do not care for myself," the man continued,--"but she and thelittle ones--That is what maddens me. They will starve."

  "They will not be let starve in Stillwater," said Richard.

  Torrini turned his eyes upon him wistfully and doubtfully. "Youwill help them?"

  "Yes, I and others."

  "If they could be got to Italy," said Torrini, after meditating,"it would be well. Her farther," giving a side look at the woman, "isa fisherman of Capri." At the word Capri the woman lifted her headquickly. "He is not rich, but he's not poor; he would take her."

  "You would wish her sent to Naples?"

  "Yes."

  "If you do not pull through, she and the children shall go there."

  "Brigida!" called Torrini; then he said something rapidly inItalian to the woman, who buried her face in both hands, and did notreply.

  "She has no words to thank you. See, she is tired to death, withthe children all day and me all night,--these many nights."

  "Tell her to go to bed in the other room," said Richard. "There'sanother room, isn't there? I'll sit with you."

  "You?"

  "Your wife is fagged out,--that is plain. Send her to bed, anddon't talk any more. Peters, I wish you'd run and get a piece of icesomewhere; there's no drinking-water here. Come, now, Torrini, Ican't speak Italian. Oh, I don't mind your scowling; I intend tostay."

  Torrini slowly unknitted his brows, an
d an irresolute expressionstole across his face; then he called Brigida, and bade her go inwith the children. She bowed her head submissively, and fixing hermelting eyes on Richard for an instant passed into the adjoiningchamber.

  Peters shortly reappeared with the ice, and after setting a jug ofwater on the table departed. Richard turned up the wick of thekerosene lamp, which was sending forth a disagreeable odor, andpinned an old newspaper around the chimney to screen the flame. Hehad, by an odd chance, made his lampshade out of a copy of TheStillwater Gazette containing the announcement of his cousin's death.Richard gave a quick start as his eye caught the illuminatedhead-lines,--Mysterious Murder of Lemuel Shackford! Perhaps a slightexclamation escaped Richard's lips at the same time, for Torriniturned and asked what was the matter. "Nothing at all," said Richard,removing the paper, and placing another in its stead. Then he threwopen the blinds of the window looking on the back yard, and set hishand-bag against the door to prevent it being blown to by thedraught. Torrini, without altering the rigid position of his head onthe pillow, followed every movement with a look of curiousinsistence, like that of the eyes in a portrait. His preparationscompleted for the night, Richard seated himself on a stool at thefoot of the bed.

  The obscurity and stillness of the room had their effect upon thesick man, who presently dropped into a light sleep. Richard satthinking of Margaret, and began to be troubled because he hadneglected to send her word of his detention, which he might have doneby Peters. It was now too l ate. The town clock struck ten in themidst of his self-reproaches. At the first clang of the bell, Torriniawoke with a start, and asked for water.

  "If anybody comes," he said, glancing in a bewildered, anxious wayat the shadows huddled about the door, "you are not to leave me alonewith him."

  "Him? Whom? Are you expecting any one?"

  "No; but who knows? one might come. Then, you are not to go; youare not to leave me for a second."

  "I've no thought of it," replied Richard; "you may rest easy....He's a trifle light in the head," was Richard's reflection.

  After that Torrini dozed rather than slumbered, rousing at briefintervals; and whenever he awoke the feverish activity of his brainincited him to talk,--now of Italy, and now of matters connectedwith his experiences in this country.

  "Naples is a pleasant place!" he broke out in the hush of themidnight, just as Richard was dropping off. "The band plays everyafternoon on the Chiaia. And then the _festas,_--every third daya festa. The devil was in my body when I left there and draggedlittle Brigida into all this misery. We used to walk of an eveningalong the Marinella,--that's a strip of beach just beyond the MoloPiccolo. You were never in Naples?"

  "Not I," said Richard. "Here, wet your lips, and try to go tosleep again."

  "No, I can't sleep for thinking. When the Signorina came to seeme, the other day, her heart was pierced with pity. Like the blessedMadonna's, her bosom bleeds for all! You will let her cometo-morrow?"

  "Yes, yes! If you will only keep quiet, Margaret shall come."

  "Margherita, we say. You are to wed her,--is it not so?"

  Richard turned down the wick of the lamp, which was blazing andspluttering, and did not answer. Then Torrini lay silent a longwhile, apparently listening to the hum of the telegraph wiresattached to one end of the roof. At odd intervals the fresheningbreeze swept these wires, and awoke a low aeolian murmur. The moonrose in the mean time, and painted on the uncarpeted floor the shapeof the cherry bough that stretched across the window. It was twoo'clock; Richard sat with his head bent forward, in a drowse.

  "Now the cousin is dead, you are as rich as a prince,--are younot?" inquired Torrini, who had lain for the last half hour with hiseyes wide open in the moonlight.

  Richard straightened himself with a jerk.

  "Torrini, I positively forbid you to talk any more!"

  "I remember you said that one day, somewhere. Where was it? Ah, inthe yard! 'You can't be allowed to speak here, you know.' And then Istruck at you,--with that hand they've taken away! See how I rememberit!"

  "Why do you bother your mind with such things? Think of justnothing at all, and rest. Perhaps a wet cloth on your forehead willrefresh you. I wish you had a little of my genius for not keepingawake."

  "You are tired, you?"

  "I have had two broken nights, traveling."

  "And I give you no peace?"

  "Well, no," returned Richard bluntly, hoping the admission wouldinduce Torrini to tranquilize himself, "you don't give me much."

  "Has any one been here?" demanded Torrini abruptly.

  "Not a soul. Good Heaven, man, do you know what time it is?"

  "I know,--I know. It's very late. I ought to keep quiet; but, thedevil! with this fever in my brain!... Mr. Shackford!" andTorrini, in spite of his imprisoned limb, suddenly half raisedhimself from the mattress. "I--I"--

  Richard sprung to his feet. "What is it,--what do you want?"

  "Nothing," said Torrini, falling back on the pillow.

  Richard brought him a glass of water, which he refused. He laymotionless, with his eyes shut, as if composing himself, and Richardreturned on tiptoe to his bench. A moment or two afterwards Torrinistirred the blanket with his foot.

  "Mr. Shackford!"

  "Well?"

  "I am as grateful--as a dog."

  Torrini did not speak again. This expression of his gratitudeappeared to ease him. His respiration grew lighter and more regular,and by and by he fell into a profound sleep. Richard watched awhileexpectantly, with his head resting against the rail of the bedstead;then his eyelids drooped, and he too slumbered. But once or twice,before he quite lost himself, he was conscious of Brigida's thin facethrust like a silver wedge through the half-open door of the hallbedroom. It was the last thing he remembered,--that sharp, pale facepeering out from the blackness of the inner chamber as his grasploosened on the world and he drifted off on the tide of a dream. Anarrow white hand, like a child's, seemed to be laid against hisbreast. It was not Margaret's hand, and yet it was hers. No, it wasthe plaster model he had made that idle summer afternoon, years andyears before he had ever thought of loving her. Strange for it to bethere! Then Richard began wondering how the gold ring would look inthe slender forefinger. He unfastened the leather bag and took outthe ring. He was vainly trying to pass it over the first joint of thedead white finger, when the cast slipped from his hold and fell witha crash to the floor. Richard gave a shudder, and opened his eyes.Brigida was noiselessly approaching Torrini's bedside. Torrini stillslept. It was broad day. Through the uncurtained window Richard sawthe blue sky barred with crimson.