The Beguiled

by Thomas Cullinan

  “Then I heard an awful groanin behind me and so I crawled back and found what had tripped me. It was a reb soldier—an officer—and he was stretched out there on his back, moanin and callin out for water. Well I unslung my canteen and held it for him while he drank, takin a quick look at him meanwhile. He wasn’t far from the end of his road, I could see, from the terrible shrapnel wound he had in his chest.

  “There was only a few drops left in the canteen, but I let him have it all. ‘Thank you kindly, friend,’ he says to me, his voice very weak. ‘I wish there was some ways I could repay your kindness.’

  “‘Don’t fret about that,’ says I. ‘It’s no hardship at all for me to rest down here on the ground a while away from all that metal that’s whinin overhead.’

  “His eyes closed then and I thought it was all over, but he wasn’t quite dead, for after a moment he spoke again, but very faintly now, so’s I had to bend over very close to hear him. ‘If you’re ever in need yourself and can’t get help elsewhere, I’ll tell you where to find it. Just follow this woods the way you were headed until you come to a creek. Cross it and then turn left on the other side and pretty soon you’ll come to a farm with a big white house and inside the house will be a beautiful lady who’ll help you. Her name is Miss Harriet Farnsworth and when you see her you can do me one more favor. You can kiss her and tell her Captain Howard Winslow was awful sorry he never got back to her.’”

  McBurney paused in his very sad story while he squeezed my hand again and stared at me soulfully. I tell you, for the moment I forgot my fear of him and just wanted to laugh right in his face.

  “The gentleman was a captain, was he?” I inquired.

  “Yes ma’am, near as I could tell. His coat was stained with the blood and dirt and all but I think he wore the marks of a captain.”

  “My stars,” I said, “I would have expected Howard Winslow to be a general or at least a colonel before he died. He did die, I expect?”

  “Yes ma’am . . . just then while I was with him. Those words were the last he ever said in this life.”

  “Just think . . . poor Howard Winslow and he died right there in your arms.”

  “That’s right, ma’am.”

  “Would you describe him to me, Mister McBurney? Not that I doubt your word, of course, but it could’ve been someone posing as Howard Winslow, couldn’t it, using poor Howard’s identity for some unscrupulous purpose of his own? Just tell me briefly what this poor fellow looked like, if you please, Mister McBurney?”

  “Let’s see,” McBurney said, seeming a bit disconcerted now. “You must keep in mind how smoky it was there and also how dirty and bloody this man was. I’d be hard put to describe my own father to you, if I come across him under conditions like that. Anyway to begin with he seemed a rather tallish fella.”

  “Oh I’m sorry,” I said, trying to conceal my smile. “The Howard Winslow I knew was of small stature—not much taller than I.”

  “There you see. I musta mistook his gauntness and the way he was stretched out there.”

  “He was gaunt, you say? The man I knew was broad shouldered and stocky.”

  “But don’t forget that a few months on army rations will take weight off any man,” said McBurney smoothly. “Come to think of it this fella did have wide shoulders. It was mainly his face that was thin and sunken.”

  “What color was his hair?”

  “Ah . . . sorta brownish I think.”

  “And his eyes?”

  “Blue . . . or gray . . . something like that.”

  “Did he have any scars of any sort?”

  “Ah . . . none that I could see.”

  “And was his hair straight or curly?”

  “Ah . . . curly . . . somethin like mine.”

  “Mister McBurney,” said I, “you are the world’s greatest liar. The Howard Winslow who used to visit here had brown eyes and black, Indian-straight hair.”

  “Well don’t forget,” said McBurney quickly, “that this fella was wearing a hat and I could only see a bit of his hair . . . and come to think of it his eyes coulda been brown. There was so much gray smoke around there, you see. . . .”

  “Moreover,” I interjected, “Howard Winslow had a pronounced white scar on his forehead—the result of a riding accident—and if you had really seen him, the scar would have been the first thing you noticed.”

  “Please, Miss Harriet,” he said, “don’t call me a liar. Maybe you were right before. Maybe, if this wasn’t Howard Winslow, it was some other fella posin as him. Maybe Howard Winslow was in the army with this fella and had been killed already, let’s say, and then this fella, for reasons of his own, decided to take Howard Winslow’s name. Anyway whoever he was, he knew you and Howard Winslow had been engaged to marry and that’s why he knew enough to send me here.”

  “There is only one thing wrong with that theory,” said I. “Like the rest of your story it is not based on fact. The Howard Winslow who used to come here occasionally to visit my brother was not my fiancé or my lover or even my friend. He was an idler and a wastrel of no family who trailed around after Robert, doing Robert no good, I might add. Mister Winslow had few means and no talents of any kind, as far as I know. He was not even a good horseman as his scar could testify, and if he ever did join the army it must have been his first employment of any kind. He was not handsome, clever or personable . . . in short, Howard Winslow had absolutely nothing to recommend him for any position, least of all marriage.”

  “But,” said McBurney wide eyed, “I was told. . . .”

  “Exactly. You were told—but hardly, I’m sure you will admit, could you have been told by Howard Winslow—who, I might also add, thought about as little of me as I did of him. I believe you were told something all right, Mister McBurney, that is the one part of your story I do believe. You were told something by my sister—who is liable to say anything about me—or by Mattie—who has decided that matrimony is the only happy state for females and that I therefore must want desperately to be married and consequently, since Howard Winslow spent more idle time around this place than any other young man with the exception of my brother, that I must have wanted and intended to marry Howard Winslow. Or possibly your information came from one of the students who, having heard Mister Winslow’s name mentioned as a former visitor here, decided out of maliciousness or ignorance, or maybe both, to couple his name with mine!”

  I finished my tirade—for that’s exactly what is was, I admit it—and sat there glaring at him.

  “Oh I love to see you when you’re like that,” he said grinning again, “with some color in your cheeks and your hair beginning to come unpinned and your little snow white bosom throbbin like a frightened dove.”

  He took hold of me again and pressed his lips on mine, but forcefully this time. I tore myself away and screamed.

  “Please, please,” he said, still grinning foolishly. “I love you, I love you, Miss Harriet.”

  He grabbed the back of my neck with his left hand and clamped his right hand against my mouth. I couldn’t breathe and the room began to go dark. I remember thinking, “Please, Mister McBurney, please don’t hurt me,” but I don’t know whether that was one of the things I managed to yell or not before I fainted.

  When I recovered consciousness he was gone but everyone else in the house was there. I was lying on the floor and Mattie was loosening my stays and my sister was rubbing my wrists and Alice was holding an onion underneath my nose and Emily was applying wet cloths to my forehead, while the other girls were hovering over watching in various stages of pleased excitement—and in some cases possibly regretting my fairly quick recovery.

  For it was quick, Mattie said later, considering the shock I’d had. Of course Mattie always measures such things by the standards of the old Tidewater society where a lady never recovered from a faint in less than a quarter of an hour, unless she was h
aving an attack of what Mattie calls the “galloping faints,” which is a condition wherein you regain your senses for brief intervals and then—preferably with a little shriek—sink back into your stupor again.

  Anyway, although these remarks may seem rather lighthearted, considering the events I’ve just related, I must explain that I was not feeling all that distressed when I awakened and as long as there seemed no likelihood of any immediate reoccurrence of the disagreeable business, I was quite prepared to forget the whole matter.

  However my sister refused to take it that lightly. “He was trying to kill you,” she said.

  “No, no,” I told her. “You’re mistaken.”

  “He was, Miss Harriet,” stated Emily. “I saw him too. He had both his hands on your throat and he was trying to strangle you. Then he ran away as soon as we came in.”

  “He didn’t exactly run,” remarked Amelia, always the first to defend him. “He merely backed away when we all came in. And he wasn’t strangling Miss Harriet at all when I first saw him. He was bending over her on the floor, lifting her head and asking her if she was all right.”

  “I believe Edwina was the first one on the scene,” said Marie Deveraux. “At least she was standing here in the doorway watching everything that was going on when I arrived. And I believe I was the first up the stairs after Miss Harriet started to yell, even though Alice did grab the back of my dress and practically rip it off my back in an effort to beat me up here. Anyway when I arrived I found Edwina here already. I gathered she came here directly from her room, is that correct, Edwina?”

  “I don’t think I’m required to stand here and be interrogated by you,” Edwina told her, and started to leave.

  “You may be under no obligation to answer Marie,” my sister informed her, “but you certainly have a duty toward the school. If you saw the man McBurney attempting to harm Miss Harriet, you are definitely bound to so state.”

  “He wasn’t harming her,” Edwina said sullenly. “She isn’t harmed, is she?”

  “But he intended to harm her,” Martha persisted.

  “How should I know what his intentions were?”

  “Don’t fence with me, Miss,” said Martha sharply, “Just tell me what you saw.”

  “I saw him trying to quiet Miss Harriet.”

  “By choking her?”

  “He was covering her mouth with his hand, if that’s what you mean by choking. It was my impression that he was only trying to prevent her screaming—and not doing a very good job of it, I might add—since I’m sure the armies could have heard Miss Harriet at Spotsylvania or wherever they are.”

  “I’m sorry,” said I, rather weakly, I guess, for the room was still spinning and I was still trying to catch my breath. “I’m very sorry to have disturbed you, Miss.”

  “For shame, for shame, Edwina,” I believe several of the girls shouted.

  “It’s certainly a great pity if the person who is second in command at our school cannot be allowed to protest vocally when she is under attack by the enemy,” said Emily.

  “Oh bosh,” yelled Amelia. “Miss Harriet was no more under attack than you are.”

  “Oh but I am. That’s just the point,” Emily replied. “We’re all under attack here and it’s time we realized it.”

  “Girls, girls,” I said. “I wish you would try to forget this incident. Perhaps Amelia is right. Maybe Mister McBurney didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t,” said my sister, “but we cannot be sure of that. I hope this has been a lesson to everyone here. No one must permit herself to be alone with McBurney for a single instant. Once again let me repeat my previous order. No person here is to have any further communication whatsoever with McBurney. If my sister had remembered that order and obeyed it, she might have avoided this danger this afternoon.”

  “Are you so sure of the danger, Miss Martha?” yelled Amelia impertinently.

  “Be quiet, Miss, this instant,” commanded Martha, “or you will be sent to your room.”

  I was able to arise from the floor by that time and Mattie helped me to a chair. “I don’t see how we can continue to live in a house with a person without communicating with him,” I said when I was able to speak. “Perhaps you will explain that to us, sister.”

  “We can’t continue living here with him,” Martha answered. “As Emily said, that’s just the point. We shall have to do something and quickly about McBurney. I’m very much afraid of what might happen here next.”

  “Do you intend to set out for help immediately?” I asked her.

  “I don’t know. I’m even more afraid now to leave you in charge here. Anyway I know I must come to some decision about him very soon.”

  “If he was really convinced that you wanted to be rid of him that badly, I’m sure he’d leave without any more argument,” said Amelia. “In fact I’ll tell him that he’s no longer welcome around certain people here, if you like.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort, Miss,” Martha informed her. “You’ve been warned against associating with him and if we are to have much more of your insolence you may be asked to leave this school along with Mister McBurney.”

  “Amelia Dabney is a total idiot if she imagines that McBurney is going to take any suggestions from her anyway,” Emily remarked. “He won’t listen to her any more than he’ll listen to any of the rest of us. McBurney is our sworn foe and it’s time we all realized it. Instead of finding ways to ignore him, we ought to be thinking about how to defend ourselves against him, if I may say so, Miss Martha.”

  “You may not say so, Miss,” snapped my sister.

  “If we all had bolts or locks on our bedroom doors we might feel safer at night,” declared Alice. Miss Alice is, of course, a charity student but sometimes she forgets herself.

  “Yes, perhaps Alice should have a lock on her door,” Marie observed. “If she had locked her door against Johnny McBurney in the first place—as I’m sure she would have done had it been possible—we might have escaped these difficulties with Johnny now. As I recall Johnny was about ready to leave here under his own power and with no one urging him to do so on the night he had his unfortunate accident—which, it is obvious now, was a direct result of Miss Alice’s not being able to bolt her door.”

  Whereupon Alice grabbed Marie’s curls and gave them a good tug and then the entire household forgot about my fainting spell in a general effort to separate the angry Alice and the kicking and yelling Marie. Martha finally solved the problem by repeatedly boxing the ears of the two of them, voluntarily assisted by Emily—which naturally only made matters worse since it caused Amelia to defend her roommate Marie by setting upon Emily fang and claw.

  The thing was not ended until old Mattie joined forces with my sister and I myself arose—still feeling light-headed—and offered what remonstrance I could and in that way the three of us managed to tear apart the four struggling girls, all of whom were ordered without further ado to their rooms.

  “You wretched creatures!” my sister shouted. “You’ll all go without your dinners and possibly without your breakfasts too!”

  “But Miss Martha, I was only trying to help,” Emily protested.

  “Be quiet, Miss,” my sister commanded. “You’ve begun to take on too much authority here. No one asked you for any help. I was quite capable of chastising Miss Alice and Miss Marie by myself. Now get to your rooms, all of you, and remain there with your books until you’re given permission to come out.”

  They all left my room then without further argument, although Emily was as red and angry as I’ve ever seen her. Edwina Morrow who had taken no part in the disturbance was standing by the door wearing a very self-satisfied little smile.

  “You may follow the others, Miss,” my sister told her and Edwina gave her customary little mocking bow and started out.

  “Stay, Edwina,” I said. “Will y
ou tell me the truth? Do you really think McBurney meant me no harm?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?” was her reply. “I’m sure he’d tell you if you asked, since you’ve always been so friendly with him.”

  That nettled me and caused me to make a remark for which I was rather regretful later.

  “Perhaps I will ask him,” I said, “and perhaps he will tell me too, since he’s always been free with other information. For example, he’s told me many things about you, Edwina.”

  At that she went white—or perhaps gray would be a better way of describing it since her skin normally is so dark.

  “What things did he tell you?” she demanded.

  “Oh all sorts of things. We had quite a little discussion about your background. It seems you were guilty of the same offense of which you accused me—being overly friendly with McBurney.”

  “Move along now, Miss,” Martha told her. “Let this be a warning to both you and Miss Harriet. This must be the end of any friendship with McBurney.”

  Edwina left then, still quite pale, and my sister turned to me. “What was all that business about McBurney having talked to you about Edwina?”

  “Well he did one time,” I answered truthfully. “He told me that he liked her very much. It was one day when he was working in the garden and I had a brief conversation with him about her. I remember that he told me he thought Edwina was the most sincere young person here.”

  “What else did he say about her?”

  “That was about the substance of it.”

  “It hardly constitutes a long discussion of her background.”

  “Did I say a long discussion? I really didn’t mean that, if I did,” I explained. “And I certainly didn’t intend to disturb Edwina as I apparently have.”