All-Story Weekly, June 8, 1918
HIS is a tale that might be told in many
interest to many; he had, perhaps, a mild
ways and from various points of view,
reputation for eccentricity, but this was
T hut it has to be gathered from here and founded merely on the fact that he refused to there, a letter, a report, a diary, a casual partake of the amusements of his neighbors reference.
and showed a dislike for much company.
In its day the thing was more than a
But this was excused on the ground of
passing wonder and it left a mark of abiding
his scholarly predilections. He was known to
horror on the neighborhood, until the house
be translating, in a leisurely fashion, as
and then the street were finally demolished,
became a gentleman, Aristo’s great romance
and legend being uprooted from the stones on
into English couplets, and to be writing essays which it grew, began to fade and finally on recondite subjects connected with grammar withered away.
and language, which were not the less
But the church yet remains—the esteemed because they had never been church where the wedding was to have taken
published.
place, St. Paul’s, Covent Garden, and where
For a scholar and a man without kith
Humphrey Orford used to go and worship
or kin to call forth the softer side of his nature, every Sunday, for over twenty years always in
Mr. Orford was not churlish; he had his
the same pew—a few feet from the mural
chosen friends and could be a courteous host
tablet to the memory of his wife, a few feet
and an attentive guest; he was wealthy, and in
from the stone which covered the place where
a prudent way, liberal. His establishment was
she lay in the vaults beneath.
well kept, his person well turned out.
It is round the person of Humphrey
Both afterward became familiar in
Orford that this tale turns. On him, at the time, many a print and broadside of the time; his
all the mystery and horror centered, yet until
face became associated with all that was
his personality was brought thus tragically horrible, his house with all that was into fame, he had not been an object of much
mysterious and awful. He was sung in ballads
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and his very name used to frighten children.
it he had come, twenty years ago—nor had he
That mystery, which is more than any left it since.
revelation, was allowed to wrap his name.
He had brought with him an ailing
But before that fatal day when the wife, a housekeeper, and a man servant. To whole town, nay, the whole country, learned
the few families of his near acquaintance, who
of his existence, Mr. Orford was not noticed
waited on him, he explained that he wished to
as being in any way remarkable.
give young Mrs. Orford, who was of a mopish
His most authentic portrait, taken in
disposition, the diversion of a few months in
1733 and intended for a frontispiece for the
town.
Aristo when this should come to print, shows
But soon there was no longer this
a slender man with reddish hair, rather motive for remaining in London. For the wife, severely dubbed, a brown coat and a muslin
hardly seen by any one, fell into a short illness cravat. He looks straight out of the picture,
and died just a few weeks after her husband
and the face is long, finely shaded and refined, had brought her up from Suffolk.
with eyebrows rather heavier than one would
She was buried very simply in St.
expect from such delicacy of feature.
Paul’s and the mural tablet set up, with a
It is a countenance rather draped urn in marble and just her name and expressionless: there is in it no hint of the date. It ran thus: anything strange or peculiar. Only by
association with the story of the man, does this Flora, wife of Humphrey Orford, Esq.,
commonplace portrait possess any interest at
of this parish,
all.
Died November, 1713. aged 2? years.
When this picture was painted Mr.
Orford was living near Covent Garden, close
Mr. Orford made no effort to leave the house.
to the mansion once occupied by the famous
He remained, people thought, rather stunned
Dr. Radcliffe. This was a straight-front, dark
by his loss, and kept himself secluded. For a
house, of obvious gentility with a little considerable time he wore deep mourning.
architrave portico over the door and a few
But this was twenty years ago and all
steps leading up to it: a house with neat had forgotten the shadowy figure of the young windows and a gloomy air, like every other
wife, whom so few had seen and whom no
residence in that street and most other streets one had known anything about or been
of the same status, in the city of London.
interested in, and all trace of her seemed to
And if there was nothing remarkable
have passed out of the quiet, regular and easy
about Mr. Orford’s dwelling-place or person
life of Mr. Orford, when an event that was
there was nothing, as far as his neighbors
considered very singular and that gave rise to
knew, remarkable about his history.
some gossip, caused the one-time existence of
He came from a good Suffolk family,
Flora Orford to be recalled and discussed
in which county he was believed to have among the curious.
considerable estates—though it was a known
This event was none other than the
fact that he never visited them—and he had no
sudden betrothal of Mr. Orford and the
relations, being the only child of an only child announcement of his almost immediate
and his parents dead.
marriage.
His father had purchased this town
The bride was one who had been a
house in the reign of King William when the
prattling child when the groom had first come
neighborhood was very fashionable and up to
to London. One old lady who was forever at
Crimes of Old London: The Scoured Silk 3
her window watching the little humors of the
help remarking that it was a pity that Mr.
streets, recollected and related how she had
Orford, after all these years of peace and
seen Flora Orford. alighting from the coach
quiet, with a wonderful housekeeper, should
that had brought her from the country, turn to
change his ease for the sake of a flighty young this child, who was gazing from the railing of
girl; and the young people could not help
the neighboring house, and touch her bare
saying that he was old enough to be her father
curls lovingly and yet with a sad gesture.
and that they had always thought she was in And that was about the only time any
love with the young soldier cousin, who used
one ever did see Flora Orford, so quickly had
to visit Dr. Minden whenever he had leave.
come her decline. The next the inquisitive old
But these whispers passed unnoticed,
lady saw of her was the slender brown coffin
and the quiet betrothal was nearing its
being carried through the dusk toward St. decorous conclusion, when one day Mr.
Paul’s Church.
Orford took Miss Minden for a walk: through
But that was twenty years ago. Here
her home, round the piazza of Covent Garden,
was the baby grown up into Miss Elisa then across the cobbled street, past the stalls Minden, a very personable young woman, banked up with the first spring flowers—it soon to be the second Mrs. Humphrey Orford.
was the end of March under the portico built
Of course there was nothing very by the great Inigo Jones, and so into the remarkable about the match. Elisa’s father, Dr.
church.
Minden, had been Mr. Orford’s best friend—
“I want to show you where my wife,
as far as he could be said to have a best friend, Flora, lies buried,” said Mr. Orford.
or indeed any friend at all—for many a long
And that is really the beginning of the
year; both belonged to the same quiet set, both story.
knew all about each other.
Mr. Orford, not much above forty-five,
Now, Miss Minden had been in this
was an elegant, well-looking, wealthy man,
church every Sunday of her life and many
with no vices and a calm, equable temper—
week-days and had been used, since a child, to
while Miss Elisa, though pretty and well-
see that tablet to Flora Orford, but when she
mannered, had an insufficient dowry, no heard these words in the quiet voice of her mother to fend for her and the younger sisters
lover and felt him draw her out of the sunlight to share her slender advantages. So what could
into the darkness of the church, she felt a great any one say save that the good doctor had
distaste that was almost fear.
done very well for his daughter and that Mr.
It seemed to her both a curious and a
Orford had been fortunate enough to secure
disagreeable thing for him to do and she
such a fresh, capable maiden for his wife.
slipped her arm out of his as she replied. “Oh, It was said that the scholar intended
please let us go home,” she said. “Father will
giving up his bookish ways that he even spoke
be waiting for us and your good Mrs. Boyd
of going abroad a while, to Italy, for will be vexed, if the tea is overbrewed.”
preference. He was, of course, anxious to see
“But first I must show you this,” he
Italy, as all his life had been devoted to insisted, and took her arm again and led her preparing the translation of an Italian classic.
down the church, past his seat, until they stood So the whole thing was quite between his pew and the marble tablet in the comfortable and most suitable. If there were
wall, which was just a hand’s space above
any murmurs among these neighborly their heads.
onlookers—well, the elderly people could not
“That is to her memory,” said Mr.
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Orford. “And you see there is nothing said as
Miss Minden did not respond; hitherto
to her virtues.”
she had been fond of the church; now, it
Now, Elisa Minden knew absolutely
seemed spoiled for her—tarnished by the
nothing of her predecessor and could not tell if thought of Flora Orford.
these words were spoken in reverence or
Her companion seemed to divine what
irony. She said nothing, but looked up rather
reflection lay behind her silence.
timidly from under the shade of her Leghorn
“You need not be afraid,” he said
straw at the tall figure of her lover, who was
rather harshly. “She is dead. Dead.”
staring sternly at the square of marble.
And he reached out the light cane he
“And what have you to say to Flora
wore and tapped on the stone above his wife’s
Orford?” he asked sharply, looking down at
grave and slowly smiled as the sound rang
her quickly.
hollow in the vaults beneath.
“Why, sir, she was a stranger to me,”
And then he allowed Elisa to draw him
replied Miss Minden.
away and they returned to Mr. Orford’s
Mr. Orford pressed her arm.
comfortable house, where, in the upper parlor,
“But to me she was a wife,” he said.
Dr. Minden was awaiting them, together with
“She is buried under your feet. Quite close to
his sister and her son, that soldier cousin
where you are standing. Why, think of that,
whom the quick perceptions of youthful
Lizzie, if she could stand up and put out her
friends had believed to be devoted to Elisa
hand she could catch hold of your dress—she
Minden. They made a pleasant little party,
is as near as that.”
with the red curtains drawn, the fire burning
The words and his manner of saying
up between the polished andirons, and all the
them filled Miss Minden with shuddering service for tea, laid out with scones and terror. She was a sensitive and fanciful girl,
Naples cake, and Mrs. Boyd coming to and fro
and it seemed to her a dreadful thing to be
with plates and dishes. And every one was
thus standing over the bones of the poor cheerful and friendly and glad to be indoors creature who had loved the man who was now
together, for it was a bleak afternoon, gray out to be her own husband and horrible to think
of doors, with a snowstorm coming up and
that the handful of decay so near them had
people hurrying home with heads bent, before
once clung to this man and loved him.
a cutting wind.
“Do not tremble, my dear girl,” said
But to Elisa’s mind had come an
Mr. Orford. “She is dead.”
unbidden thought: “I do not like this house, it Tears were in Elisa Minden’s eyes, and
is where Flora Orford died.”
she answered coldly:
In which room, she wondered. Why
“Sir, how can you speak so?”
this had never occurred to her before she
“She was a wicked woman,” he could not say, and glanced rather wistfully at replied; “a very wicked woman.”
the fresh young face of the soldier cousin, as
The girl could not reply, for this he stood by the fire in his scarlet-and-white, sudden disclosing of a painful secret abashed
with his glance on the flames.
her simple mind.
Still, it was a cheerful party, and Elisa
“Need we talk of this?” she asked then
smiled and jested with the rest as she served
under her breath. “Need we be married in this
the dishes at tea.
church, sir?”
There is a miniature of her, p
ainted
“Of course,” he answered shortly. about this time. One may see how she looked
“Everything is arranged. To-morrow week.”
with her bright, brown hair and eyes, her rosy
Crimes of Old London: The Scoured Silk 5
complexion, her pretty nose and mouth. She is
“Well,” said Mr. Orford, interrupting
clothed in a gown of lavender-blue tolinet,
in a leisurely fashion, “no one has been in
with a lawn tucker and a lawn cap, fastened
there—save Mrs. Boyd now and then, to
under the chin with frilled lappets. The big
announce a visitor.”
Leghorn hat, with the velvet strings, was put
“Oh, scholars,” smiled the doctor. “are
aside.
a secretive tribe and a fortunate one. Why, in
Mr. Orford also looked well to-night.
my poor room I have had to have three girls
He did not look his full age in the ruddy
running to and fro.”
candle glow, for the gray did not show in his
The soldier spoke, but not so
abundant hair nor the lines in his fine face;
pleasantly as his uncle.
only the elegancy of his figure, the grace of
“What have you so mysterious, sir, in
his bearing, the richness of his simple clothes this same cabinet, that it must be so jealously were displayed to full advantage. Captain guarded?” he asked.
Hoare looked stiff and almost clumsy by
“Why, nothing mysterious,” smiled the
contrast.
scholar. “only my books and papers and
Now and then Elisa Minden’s eyes pictures.”
would rest rather wistfully on the fresh face of
Crimes of Old London: The Scoured Silk by Marjorie Bowen Page 1
