The Beguiled

by Thomas Cullinan

  That was true. I never wanted to cause the girl any grief. As I have said many times, even though she can be awfully difficult, I do feel very sorry for her. I have never wished anything but the best for that poor child.

  Well my head had begun to ache terribly by then and so I begged my sister and Mattie to excuse me. When they left I retired to my bed and after quite a long period of painful suffering I finally managed to fall asleep and remained asleep until Mattie summoned me for dinner.

  I had a terrible dream, I remember. That is I remember that the dream was unpleasant although I can’t relate very much about it beyond stating that it included memories of my past but in misshapen form. I think at one point I dreamed that I was married to my father and McBurney was our son, but he looked very much like my brother Robert too. At times he had Robert’s face but he still wore his own ragged blue uniform and, of course, he had only one leg.

  And yet he was a child, a very small child, a baby really. He was sitting on the floor of the library, staring at me with his wide blue eyes, and when I tried to approach him to put him in his crib he grinned knowingly at me so that I was afraid to touch him even though he infuriated me with that terrible way he grinned. A child should not look at his mother that way, I told him. I pleaded with him, begged him to close his eyes or at least turn his head away from me, but he wouldn’t. He just continued to stare and grin. At last I couldn’t stand it any longer and so I took the poker from the fireplace and threatened him with it, not really intending to hit him, but he still wouldn’t stop grinning so I did hit him. I struck at him and beat him for a long time, until at last he disappeared. Perhaps I should add, I cried all the while I was hitting him. . . .

  Edwina Morrow

  No further unpleasantness occurred during the rest of that day on which McBurney was alleged to have attacked Miss Harriet—or at least I have no knowledge of any such incident taking place during the daylight hours. As far as I know he left Miss Harriet’s room and went back to the parlor and stayed there.

  I know Mattie took his dinner tray in there while the rest of us were at table. I remember this particularly because he had been taking his meals with us for several days—of course, not on anyone’s invitation—and his absence that evening was commented on by several students.

  Part way through the meal, Miss Martha directed Mattie to fix a plate for him, maybe partly in the desire to keep him out of the dining room. I remember also that Miss Harriet, who had managed to make it to the table and partake of as much dinner as the rest of us in spite of her travail, suggested that possibly the household could spare our visitor a little something extra on that evening.

  “As a reward for his conduct?” inquired her sister, looking at her as though she were slightly mad.

  “No, no, of course not,” Miss Harriet replied, “only to show him that we harbor no ill feelings—that we have the proper Christian attitude.”

  “I believe Christian attitude in a situation like this depends on what kind of Christians you’re referring to,” remarked Emily. “For instance, I’m told that Christians of the Roman Church tortured their opponents severely during the Spanish Inquisition.”

  “And Northern Protestant Christians up in New England or somewhere burned quite a few old ladies at the stake, didn’t they, because of some disagreement over worshiping the devil,” put in Marie who is always quick to counter any attack on her religion.

  “It’s about all you could expect of Northern people of any extraction, Christian or otherwise,” stated Alice, revealing a patriotism of which she had never previously been suspected. I presume she was making a rather late attempt to win some favor with those in power, against the seemingly rapidly approaching day of her expulsion from the school. I realize that Miss Martha will try to make me pay my share for the McBurney episode too, although as yet she has not managed to find a way of doing it.

  Anyway Miss Harriet offered to sacrifice her next ration of salted side meat, whenever that delicacy was scheduled to be doled out, in order that he might have it for that evening’s dinner. Miss Martha regarded her coldly for a moment, then assented and ordered Mattie to prepare it.

  “If future rations are being apportioned out now, I’d just as soon have mine also,” Marie declared.

  “Then next week or whenever other students are having their meat, you will go hungry and your pangs will be all the greater for watching them enjoy themselves,” Miss Harriet told her.

  “We’ll suffer together, Miss Harriet,” said the child coolly. “And who knows . . . perhaps the war will be over before the next time Miss Martha decides to pass out a little meat. As far as that goes we could all be dead, and then you and I would be the winners, Miss Harriet.”

  “Be quiet, if you please, Miss,” ordered Miss Martha. “No meat or other scarce food is being served out of turn to students. If Miss Harriet is foolish enough to give her ration to a person like that—well, she is an adult, supposedly, and I’m tired of being responsible for her.”

  Well this comment of her sister’s resulted in Miss Harriet leaving the table and going to her room, which might possibly have been Miss Martha’s objective in the first place. Sometimes it seems that our headmistress just causes unpleasantness for its own sake—purely for the joy of it—as I am well qualified to testify, having often been myself the victim of her spite.

  Anyway the meal proceeded without further interruption after Miss Harriet’s departure and when it was completed we were all dismissed and sent to our rooms. Normally we would have spent the hour or so before bedtime in the parlor or in the library but since McBurney had taken over the former room as his full-time headquarters and since he had been seen to hobble into the latter room occasionally—where he would stand with what I suppose he considered a scholarly frown as he read the titles of the books on the shelves, forming the words with his lips as he did so—we were apparently going to be forbidden the use of either room and possibly the whole downstairs area, except when under the direct supervision of our teachers.

  I can tell you the whole thing made me good and angry and I remained that way during the several hours I spent in my room. I tried to study my History of the Bible for a while and then tried to work on my French verbs, but all to no avail. I just couldn’t keep my mind on it.

  You see it was the injustice of the thing that bothered me. I just couldn’t see why the students in this place had to be discriminated against in order to accommodate McBurney. I couldn’t understand why a fairly good student like myself, who ought to have been allowed to do her studying in the library where plenty of reference material was available, was being penalized in favor of a person like that.

  And so, after brooding about it for a while, I couldn’t contain myself any longer and I arose from my bed and left my room. Being so irritated over the business I hadn’t even undressed but had only removed my shoes which I didn’t bother to replace before slipping out into the hall.

  Naturally we wear our shoes as little as possible in this place in order to conserve them, since they’re impossible to replace or even repair in these times. Of course, very early in McBurney’s sojourn here we were ordered by Miss Martha to remain shod in his presence, apparently in the belief that the sight of our bare and often dirty toes would send him into some excess of passion. Anyway the order caused little grumbling among the girls since most of them suffer from tender feet and are always complaining about nails, slivers, thorns and what not. These things don’t seem to afflict me and I can go barefooted for days without being bothered by anything more than the uncleanliness of it, which is a problem ignored, unfortunately, by most people here. Of course I suppose I should add that Amelia Dabney seems to be more comfortable without shoes also, little barbarian that she is, and likewise old Mattie who owns but one ragged pair of hide slippers which flop and flutter disgustingly when she shuffles around in them—which, thankfully, is usually only in wet weather.

&nb
sp; Well to return to the matter of the moment, I went quickly and silently down the stairs to the library, carrying my candle and my books. If I may be permitted one more deviation, I want to state that my possession of a candle during this time of great scarcity was due entirely to foresightedness and frugality on my part. When other students were wasting their candles on late night frivolities, I was conserving mine, even to the point of studying by the moonlight through my window.

  Anyway with nothing on my mind but my schoolwork I found my way to the library. All bedroom doors had been closed as I passed and I assumed that the rest of the household was asleep since I judged it to be past ten o’clock. The parlor door was closed also when I went by and if I gave this any thought at all, it was only to presume that McBurney had retired, too—not that I cared, certainly, one way or the other.

  Well I had put my candle on a shelf and was looking for some texts on Biblical scholarship of which there is a great abundance in our library—too great a supply, I think, in comparison with the number of books on more modern and worthwhile subjects—when I heard loud voices, seemingly an argument, coming from the parlor across the way. One of the voices was obviously McBurney’s and so I ignored the sound for a while because I was simply just not interested in anything which concerned him—or in anyone foolish enough to be concerned with him.

  Then suddenly it occurred to me that after all it might be one of the younger students—Amelia or Marie perhaps—in there with him and that I therefore ought to see about it. Now maybe I ought to explain that I wasn’t afraid that he would harm the person, whoever she was, or at least I wasn’t afraid he was going to hurt her physically, if you want to accept the notion advanced by some people here later that McBurney had corrupted our morals. I’ll tell you truthfully what I was afraid of at that moment was that this unknown person might be in there telling lies about me to McBurney—not that I cared at all what he thought of me, but I couldn’t have a person like McBurney spreading such lies further. And on the other hand it could have been the other way around. McBurney, don’t you see, could have been telling lies about me himself.

  And so I took my candle and came across the hall to the parlor door. Listening at key holes is not my favorite occupation, I can assure you, but in this case it seemed unavoidable. However I was determined to do only as much listening as necessary to determine the topic of conversation inside. If it didn’t concern me, I was resolved to return immediately to the library and my studies.

  Well it didn’t concern me, or at least as much of it as I heard didn’t. As a matter of fact I didn’t hear much talk at all for the first few minutes that I stood there. I heard some mumbling and then what seemed like giggling, but which I realized as it continued was possibly sobbing.

  I didn’t know what to do—whether to burst into the room or not. The mumbling voice I presumed was McBurney’s—and was wrong, as I’ll reveal in a moment—but the sobbing voice didn’t sound like either Amelia or Marie. The most obvious visitor to McBurney’s room then came to my mind, but that person was eliminated very shortly too, as she materialized—yellow hair streaming—at my elbow.

  “Go back to bed, Alice,” I whispered sharply to her. “Clear out of here.”

  “Who’s in there with him?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know,” I replied, “and I care less.”

  “I don’t really care either,” said she. “I’d just like to satisfy my curiosity about whose skirts he’s trying to lift this time.”

  “Is that what he did with you?” I inquired.

  “I don’t want to discuss him,” was her answer. “I think we’ve all been treated shamefully by that devil.”

  “Could it be Emily in there?” I wondered then.

  “Hardly. Even if he were willing to settle for almost anyone now, I don’t know how he’d ever get her in there unless he dragged her, and we’d’ve heard that. Though I can’t imagine Johnny overpowering a horse like that anyway, even if he weren’t a cripple. Emily would knock him down with one blow.”

  “Then it must be Miss Martha or Miss Harriet,” I said softly, “for I’m sure it’s neither of the young ones.”

  “It’s not Miss Martha either,” declared Alice, “because I heard Miss Martha coughing when I came past her room.”

  “Then it has to be Miss Harriet.”

  “I expect you’re right. They’re probably having a gay old time, the two of them drunker than hooty owls.”

  “It doesn’t sound much like a gay old time to me,” I answered. “And if you don’t keep your voice down they’re bound to hear you.”

  “Well they won’t come rushing out here, if they do,” Alice remarked, “since they’ll likely be afraid it’s Miss Martha come to reprimand them. Anyway since it’s only poor old Miss Harriet in there, it doesn’t bother me. I was afraid it might be you.”

  “Thank you for the compliment,” I told her coolly, “although I’m sorry I can’t return it. I was never afraid it might be you.”

  Whether or not we made any more such disputatious remarks to each other at that time I can’t remember. I confess I was also somewhat relieved to realize it was only Miss Harriet in the room with him because I felt that for all her faults Miss Harriet was the one person in the house I could trust not to spread any lying gossip about me. And so I think Alice and I were just about ready to leave the hall and go back upstairs to our beds, I having decided to abandon my studies for the evening.

  Now perhaps I should explain why I felt that nothing more than a drunken argument was taking place in the parlor. It was the same explanation I had hit upon for Miss Harriet’s fainting on that afternoon. I was sure it wasn’t because McBurney had tried to choke her but only because he touched her. Believe me, I observed on many occasions how she would shrink away every time he came close to her. One time in the hallway, for example—this was before his amputation when we were all on the best of terms with him—he came in from the garden as she was coming down the stairs and he stopped her with what I guess he thought was a courtly gesture. He said, “My dear lady,” in that stupid accent of his, bowed low and tried to kiss her hand. Well she snatched it away as though it had been burned. And then grew red and tried to explain it by saying he had startled her, or something of the sort.

  Then another time at table, she did the same thing. She came in late and he arose to draw her chair and take her arm to lead her to it, and Miss Harriet pulled away with a look of horror on her face, but again recovered quickly, saying, “Oh, Mister McBurney, your hand is so cold.” This on a warmer than usual evening when she was wearing her customary long-sleeved dress.

  I know she attended to him after his operation, and I give her great credit for this because it was very likely an agonizing experience for her. However it must be remembered that he was in a very bad state then and expected by most of those around him to die before the day was through. Consequently, being inert he offered no threat to her, being unconscious he would not know that she had put her hand on him and if he died he would never even learn that she had done so.

  Now I suppose you could say that what occurred then, if it didn’t change the course of events completely here, at least brought matters to a climax. Two things happened really. The first was our decision to open the parlor door.

  Whether Alice or I suggested it, I can’t remember now. Anyway we had both started up the stairs when we decided to return and peek in quickly. “Just to make sure there’s really nothing wrong,” I think I said. “Just to guarantee that it’s really Miss Harriet in there and not one of the little girls,” I believe Alice said.

  Well it was Miss Harriet all right, very drunk and completely unclad. He was too, or nearly so. They were on the settee.

  Strangely enough it was McBurney who was weeping and cursing someone or something through his tears. Miss Harriet seemed almost stupefied with wine. They had both evidently consumed a lot of it, judging
by the empty bottles strewn about on the floor. Anyway because of their condition—and their preoccupation—they didn’t notice us, and so we closed the door and went away.

  I made no remark to Alice and she made none to me. I remember that she was very pale and biting her lip. When we arrived at the upstairs hallway I went straight to my room, but instead of continuing up to her room on the third floor, she paused by Miss Martha’s door and rapped. And that was the second event I mentioned.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, not really listening but hearing vaguely anyway as Miss Martha opened her door and asked irritably what Alice wanted.

  “I think you’d better go downstairs and take a look in the parlor,” Alice told her. “I think you may find something there of interest to you.”

  That’s all I heard because I noticed then that blood was dripping on to my dress front because, maybe in some kind of involuntary mimicking of Alice, I had bitten my lip too. I arose to find a handkerchief and in passing closed my door. Therefore whether or not Alice had more to say to Miss Martha and whether or not Miss Martha went downstairs immediately I cannot say.

  Marie Deveraux

  Well it was really an awful and rather upsetting story Johnny told me of how he had seen my father lying in the woods near here, bleeding to death of a terrible wound, and my father said to him, “Do a dying man a favor, won’t you, Yank? Go to Farnsworth Hall and see how my daughter is gettin on there. There’s a terrible lot of black Protestants there,” my father went on according to Johnny, “and if you’re a good practicin Roman Catholic, as I believe you are, you’ll stop in there and see if you can do anything for her. I’ll never be able to rest in my grave unless I know she’s keepin the faith, Yank, and conductin herself like a little lady.”

  Of course I should have known right from the start that it wasn’t true, because my father wouldn’t have spoken with a brogue like that and also he’d be a fine one to talk about my keeping the faith since he doesn’t keep it awfully well himself. Anyway I did halfway believe it at the time because I was somewhat upset about a little matter . . . about eating a piece of salted pork on Friday, if you must know . . . and Johnny knew about that and chided me about it and said that he knew I had been eating meat on Fridays quite often for a long time.