I could tell that I’d hit the mark. “I had no idea that my dog-like devotion was so offensive to you, Sarah,” he said. “I’ll relieve you of it as soon as you find another doctor. Meanwhile, you’d better have your injection.”
I am a difficult woman to deceive, Louisa. I was completely aware that his motive in insisting upon the injection was to try to prove to me that he was indispensable. He failed, of course.
I looked him squarely in the eye. “You’re wasting your efforts, Stephen. I know very well that that hypodermic contains nothing but distilled water.”
He simulated astonishment.
“Will you go, please?” I said. “I’m very tired. This unfortunate scene has completely exhausted me.”
“It’s your disease that’s exhausted you, Sarah,” he said brutally. “If you don’t let me give you the prostigmin, you’ll probably be dead by morning.”
A lesser woman might have allowed herself to be blackmailed. I did not. “Spare me the embarrassment of having to send Martha for the police to remove you,” I said coldly.
Well, Louisa, he finally left. I rang for Martha who told me that Grosvenor had left the house and gone in the direction of the library. I have spent the remainder of the afternoon in a state of agitation. Writing to you has calmed me a little. It is nearly dinner time now, and I find that I grow momentarily more tired. Six o’clock is striking. There is a good deal more that I should like to say to you but my hand is trembling from fatigue and I have a feeling of obstruction in my chest. The price of conscience.
Your friend,
Broome Park
April 14th
Dear Louisa,
How good it is to be alive! The sun is streaming in through my window and outside I can hear the laughter of children. I very nearly left all this, Louisa. Fortunately I’m better now, although this can be only a short note as Dr. Low has warned me against overexerting myself.
I must confess that I misjudged Stephen Low. He is my truest and most loyal friend, and if it were not for him I should not be here.
Shortly after I sent Martha out to deliver my last letter to you — there are some things in that letter, Louisa, that are perhaps slightly exaggerated — I began to feel very strange. My hands trembled and my breathing became difficult. I lay back among the pillows and gradually a dreadful, cold lassitude began to creep over me. I was completely unable to move my limbs, and lay there helplessly praying that Martha might speedily return. At last I heard her key in the door, but I hadn’t even the strength to pull the bell cord to summon her. I heard her go into the kitchen and commence to prepare my dinner. I gathered all my strength and tried to call out. It was impossible. My breathing became shallower and shallower. Finally, with one last effort, I managed to push the glass off the table at my elbow. For a moment there was silence in the kitchen below and I thought Martha heard. Then the clatter of dishes began again. Consciousness started to fade from me. The last thing I remember is a peremptory ringing of the doorbell and Stephen Low’s voice in the downstairs hall.
Well, Louisa, you have guessed it. Dr. Low’s diagnosis was correct after all. I am a victim of myasthenia. I must admit that it was a considerable shock for me to learn this. However, Dr. Low assures me that I can still look forward to many years of life with the aid of my daily injection of prostigmin.
Louisa, you’ve no idea what effect being near to death has on the human spirit. I have a whole new perspective on everything. I feel that I must be worthy of the Providence that has spared me. I have told Martha that from now on instead of saving the bread crusts to make pudding, she is to spread them for the birds.
Your friend,
P.S.: I have thought of a plan that will once and for all end Grosvenor’s relationship with this impossible young woman.
Broome Park
April 15 th
Dear Louisa,
Thank you for your sympathetic letter and for the bouquet. Violets are not my favorite flower, but I am sure you meant the gift kindly.
I am feeling very well today. Martha has been called home for a few days because of her sister’s illness, and Grosvenor is looking after me. He is inept and stupid, but at least his duties keep him in the house.
I have disposed of the woman.
My plan was simplicity itself. I’m amazed that I didn’t think of it sooner. I merely wrote a short note to Lambert Jones — you will remember Lambert from dancing schooclass="underline" he was the clumsy one with the small head; he is now president of the First National Bank and head of the Library Board. I told Lambert that I wished him to dismiss Mary Trent instantly and send her back to where she came from. I anticipated no difficulty with Lambert — Father’s investments took care of that — and of course there was none. Martha was back within the hour with a message that my request would be complied with and that Lambert himself would put Miss Trent on the six o’clock train to New York. She is undoubtedly on her way to the station at this moment.
Excuse me, Louisa. There is a ringing on the downstairs bell and Grosvenor has gone to open the door. I wonder who it can be. I am not expecting Dr. Low until four.
Louisa, you will find what I am about to tell you nearly incredible. I never, never would have believed such effrontery possible — even from a New Yorker.
I heard Grosvenor open the door and give an exclamation of surprise. A female voice, with an accent that I can only describe as common, said, “Where’s your mother’s room, Grosvenor? I want to talk to her.”
I heard the sound of footsteps running up the stairs and a peremptory knock. The door burst open.
Yes, Louisa, you have guessed it. It was the Trent woman.
She neither waited for Grosvenor to introduce us nor inquired after my health. “Why did you have me fired from my job, Mrs. Beach?” she demanded.
She didn’t wait for an answer but went on to inform me that denials on my part were useless since Lambert Jones had admitted that it was I who had requested the dismissal. You can imagine the effect of all this on Grosvenor. He looked at me as though had he dared, he would have struck me.
I decided to take a firm stand. “You have been a pernicious influence on my son, Miss Trent,” I said. “My decision is final. Your coming here to plead with me to reverse it is quite useless.”
Besides being insolent, Miss Trent is a fool. As she heard my last words she suddenly burst into laughter. She laughed until I began to fear that I had an hysterical woman in my bedroom. Then she stopped and wiped her eyes.
“Bless you,” she said at last, “you’re straight out of the Boston Museum, aren’t you? I assure you I haven’t come here to plead with you. In fact, now that I think of it, I’m not sure what I did come for.” She turned to Grosvenor and there suddenly were tears in her eyes. The woman is obviously a consummate actress. “Goodbye, Grosvenor,” she said. “Thanks for all the violets.”
I saw a look of indecision creeping into Grosvenor’s eyes. I hunted desperately about for some way of forcing the woman to leave, but I could think of none short of calling the police, and as you know, Louisa, I do not have a telephone. Grosvenor limped toward her and put his hands on her arms. “I can’t let you go,” he said fatuously. “Mary, I can’t let you go”
“Why don’t you come with me?” she asked. The woman was utterly brazen. She took a step toward him and God knows what would have happened with me lying there on the chaise longue helpless to intervene when there was a knock on the door and Dr. Low came into the room.