THE SCENT OF A DEAD ROSE.

Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1595, 23 September 1882, Page 5

THE SCENT OF A DEAD ROSE.

"I shall say no more; you may take your own way, all of you. I shall never interfere with yon again, for good or bad, so good-by to you !" and Aunt Paulett hobbled off on her ebony crutch like the offended old fairy godmother. The family looked at one another with blank faces as the door clapped smartly after her. Aunt Paulett was a woman of her word, and if she said she would go back to her husband's people, go she would undoubtedly and then what would become of them all ? Erom that day — twenty years ago — when she, a childless widow, entered her sister's scrambling, out-at-elbows household, to yesterday evening, she had ruled them all with a rod of iron, by the might of a strong will and ,a long purse. Easy-going Mr. Hilton, and his fair, stupid good-natured wife, who spent a placid exis,tence doing wool-work on the sofa, her ideas seemingly bounded by the requirements of tho I last annual baby, were mere ciphers in their own f house, under her stern yet wliolesom'e , sway: ' ■ If Mr. Hilton, after one or two cutting re- . marks from her ladyship, had sadly resigned his ancient and comfortable fashion of spending the evening,itt his greasy old 1 dressing-gown and down-at-heel slippers — if the' servants .shook in their shoes at the sound of Lady Paulett's bell and a hint of " Aunt Arabella" quelled the wildest nursery riot — yet the handsome premium which was to start clever Jack , on the road to glory as an engineer, the allowance which sent studious Pierce to college and saved him from filling a stool in his father's office, Dora's pretty gowns and trinkets, Emily's singing lessons and the new piano, the summer trip to the seaside, the winter pantomine and Christmas party — in brief, all' the comforts and luxuries of the family, from the pony carriage to the last baby's christening robe, came from the generous hand of the same beneficent old despot, and now, all were melting away before their astonished eyes like summer snow, and Aunt Arabella was off to spend the rest of her days with the George Pauletts— arid why ? 'Because, forsooth, pretty Dora, instead of carrying out her aunt's tentions and waiting till, in the fulness of time, Spencer Paulett should return p:Bm seawall in I love with and marry heir; h&d gone an I d,ejigage4 herself to the ■parish doctor's ldngrleaaßbjigti aggifltant-lffitfliothihg ■in' tfiMM^MM

sucking its thumb and, vaguely conscious of the evil to come, prepared for a wail. In a distant window Dora wept and wept, impervious to all her Cornelius 1 ' vigorous whisperrf of consolation, Pierce had withdrawn discretly when the storm broke, through the window into the garden, where he was seen walking up and down in dismayed meditation ; and Jack, surreptitiously snaking his fist at the unconscious back of his would-be-brother-in-law, followed Pierce. Meanwhile, up the staircase and down the corridor went Aunt Arabella briskly enough, despite her lameness and her eighty years. She had two little rooms in a remote corner of the house, sacred from the intrusion of the most audacious of Hiltons. She entered the first of them, where a pale, meek young female sat sewing. "Parker!" " Yes, my lady." "I want my trunks. Find them at once and pack up everything that belongs to me." Long attendance on her imperious mistress had deprived the gentle Parker of the power of expressing any sentiment but that of meek acquiescence. " Yes, my lady." " We go by the first train to-morrow, so be ready." " Yes, my lady." " And let some one take two letters to the post for me to-night." " Yes, my lady." Lady Paulett passed on to the next room, a bedroom furnished with a magnificent erection of mahogany and satin damask large enough to accommodate ten little old ladies like herself. There was a wood fire burning, rendering dimly visible ancient spider-legged tables, a corner cupboard with treasures of old china and enamel ; elaborate works of art in patchwork ; a counterpane, cushions, &c, and some framed and glared performances, in tent-stitch, " Eleazer Meeting Eebecca," " The Prodigal's Eeturn," and " Ruth Gleaning," with faces and hands of painted kid faded by age into a ghastly whiteness. Lady Paulett seated herself in a tall old armchair by the fire, while Parker lighted a large silver-branched candlestick and drew a table near to her. "My writing desk, Parker, and you may come for the letters in half an hour." " Yes, my lady ;" and while Parker hurried off to rummage out her mistress' long-forgotten travelling equipments, Lady Paulett, in her neat, old-fashioned hand, indited two short notes, addressed the one to " Mrs. George Paulett, Eastholm Hall, Wilmington, Yorkshire;" the other to "E. J. Blackett, Esq., Lincoln's Inn, London." She had finished before Parker reappeared, and, after sitting thinking for a few minutes, drew from her desk a folded paper. It was headed " Memoranda for my Will, 1869," and contained sundry notes over which she pondered. ' " There are the letters, Parker. Let them go at onee — but first bring me my dressingcase and jewel-case. They shall have what I have bequeathed to them now, before I go. I'll make no difference, and then I've done With them all forever — ungrateful set 1" Parker placed a gorgeous inlaid dressingcase and a massive brass-bound coffer before her mistress, and departed. Lady Paulett drew the latter to her with some difficulty. " It is time an old woman like you should be rid of some of those burdens," she said, smilling grimly as she turned the key and disclosed case upon case of morocco and velvet snugly stowed away. She turned them out and laid them all open before her — a brave show in the bright fire-and-candle-light. Parker meanwhile stepped noiselessly to and fro in the background, emptying the big wardrobe of its contents n^idbearing them away to pack in the next roomT"' — --^ " Let me see. Dora 1 She> the eldest. She was to have my emeralds. She'll take it as a delicate compliment to the nationality of the man of her choice. Bah I He'll pawn them ; what else can^ one expect ? Well, well ; it doesn't matter. I always hated them, though they are the handsomest set I possess. How well I remember Sir Josiah bringing them home the day before I was presented at Court, and I had thought he meant to give me pearls, and had ordered a pale amber dress ! I cried about it, but I dared not ask him to change them, or refuse to wear them, and I felt so disgusted. I knew they looked detestable, and I heard one old lady whisper to another, ' Eggs and spinaoh,' and the other said something about ' City,' and they both tittered. One feels those things when one is young. Well, I hope Mrs. O'Shane may be happier in wearing them. o' Shane ! Pah I I dare say, though, she'll be as proud of the name as I was at that time of being Lady Paulett — ah me !" " Arabella, my god-daughter, must have the diamond ear rings. I got them when I was too happy to care about them, when our little son was born. How kind Sir Josiah was then ! There was nothing he would not have done for me or baby. He gave them to me for the christening dinner, and little Jos took notice of them and laughed when he was brought down to have his health drank. Such a noble little fellow he looked — dark curly hair and blue eyes like my dear father's, taking notice of everything, and only six week old ! And that very day week he was in his coffiin. My poor little son !" The old lady snapped the case and pushed it away from .her with a trembling hand. " I had just begun to think that after all I might be going to have some happiness in this world, when he was taken from me. Sir Josiah never seemed to care for anything but his business after that. " When I came he^e and saw Jack in his cradle, he looked so like my boy, I thought he was given back to me. Dear, good, loving Jack ! I can. never cast him off — I $mst speak to Mr. Blackett about that. Now. My dressing case ? Ah ! that must be Mrs. George Paulett's ; her initials are the same as mine. Sapphire necklace. Cameo set. Pearl cross and earrings for her three daughters. ' They're rich enough to have as much jewellry of their own as they want ; and the rubies I must keep for Spencer Paulett's wife, when he gets one. " Why, that's the end of nfy list, excepting Cecilia, and there are Olivia, Maria, Grace, the little boys and the baby — all come since I made it out. Well, I dare say I can find some remembrance of their old auntie for «ach— not that they'll ever remember me. Ccci must have my workbox. She has my pretty taste in needlework" (with a complacent glance at the patchwork and tent-stitch, in which the gold threads in Euth's gleanings and Eebecca's earrings still faintly glimmered). " The new crcwelwork isn't so bad. I could have taught her something if I hadn't been -going away. Parker. ' Parker^ a moving heap of brocades and furs, gave a faint, inarticulate reply. '- "My workbox !" > Parker staggered off and returned with a queer little Chinese box with an inlaid land : scape, a pagoda with two Celestials walking in the skies .above ifcon thp.-bV. .

I hat would cut among them; a receptacle _; for work, satin-lined, padded, perfumed and tf empty, except for a half-made baljjy* h "\xgw, with the rusty needle still stiddng> { n/£i. , •Jm " Who was there to work fop when he was* gone ?" said the poor old ladyl looking at tUeM morsel of discolored cambric. I " WhaVhadjT,^ 1 left in the world to care forj^ the'uf^HFJh^^l have I now, for that matter ?" "" w \j, * %,,' £< She began with nervous impatience teo operi.J* and close some of the cases almost at random* f " I would have put them away for ever, 1W1&. i long ago and been a faithful nurse to uay,, husband, if he would have let me, all througja &■ those last long weary years of his life ; but he , never loved me well enough to wish for me — he cared more for his old housekeeper.- 'My lady is young and should have her pleasure,', " I heard her say once. He had .married mi&for my good looks and was not to be defrauded of his bargain, and I must dress and visit arid entertain in our large, dull, and splendid house — weary, oh ! so weary of it all. He - was proud of me in his way and gave me all he promised when he asked me to marry him. Much good it was to me ; father and mother dead — sister Sophia married and gone — no one left to admire my splendour or profit by my wealth." Here entered Parker,* and began noiselessly to make up the fire and pflt out her lady's dressing-gown and slippers as a gentle reminder of bed-time. "Ah 1 it's latg, * , Parker. Well, I've finished. No; gQJffifl A finish your packing, and then come. WftgMfl am I to do with this ?" This was the, U^^H sham Chinese box — a sadly battere&^jJjjt^M shabby little thing. The pink sareenefc^MuMß was frayed and gone, disclosing the^St&m^ wood-and-cotton-wool foundation. In/^ejf^ compartments were odds and ends of misce^-j^ if laneous rubbish. The pocket' in the lid^,' bulged out with yellow scraps of paper, oldfashioned patterns for marking letters tied with faded ribbon, scraps from newspapers. , There were curiously cut silk winders of cardboard, with silk of dim and long-foygotten tints wound in fancy patterns, a half -made r hair-chain, a string of amber beads ; porvad- *- ing all a faint sweet smell of roses. " I should like to have it put in my coffin, my dear old box ! No one will care for it, and I cannot have it thrown away, or kept just to please the children. I had better look it over and burn all these poor little treasures." The yellow papers dropped one by one steadily into the fire — old valentjnes on huge square sheets of colored papef won-— *- derfully embossed and sealed with tender mottoes in tinted wax, school friendsW>istles crossed and recrossed in colored inAj? One she kept to the last. " Cornelia ! What a dear sweet creature she was ! Dead and gone this many a year. We were neighbors, and I used to go with her to dancing parties to practice the new step!. Why ! here are the very garnet clasps I lent her the night she came in early to put up my hair in the new giraffe bows. We both wanted to look well that night, I remember. How we joked one another about Mrs. Lowder's fine London cousins who were to be at her house for the party, and I would put on my old purple statinette gown ; just to show how little I cared for any one noticing me. (I knew very well how it became me though). After all, Mr Paulett, the rich London merchant, didn't come, only the sailor cousin, Hugh Lowder. He had been in the Levant, and we were all wild about the Bast and my Lord Byron's new poem just then, and expected something so romantic — a hero with a big black beard, and stories of corsairs and veiled beauties of the Harem, and murdering despots of Pashas. "It was a disappointment to find only a big, blue-eyed north countryman, so shy and awkward that the girls all turned up their noses at him for a partner, till I taught him the figures which he picked up in five minutes, and then he would not ask any one jlse to dance with him. f( "Hejcanie to call on us next day and brought mother a little Turkish bag and Sophia some amber beads. "She lost half of them and I saved the rest. He hadjy>resent for rnetocjy.** but was so shy about giving i^Tffle-JfoTtCSfl^ good enough, he said, yet it was worthy all tljie rest, that dear little crystal and gold flask of ottar of roses. How it has scented everything 1" She bent over the tiny box, tenderty touching the shabby old odds and ends, and the rc-jie scent seemed to rise and fill the room, "-and Josiah threw it in the fire ! said he hated the smell, and would liked to have thrown my little box after it. He was angry, all because he found me crying over poor father's wristbands. I had been stitching them the very day he was taken ill with the fever that killed him. It was unkind of Josiah, and I think he felt ashamed of himself afterward, for he brought my fine new workbox home the very next day. If he had known all I was crying about I Not poor father only. I was thinking of Hugh Lowder. How handsome he looked and how kind, when he came in to say goodbye before he went to sea again 1 He took my hand sewing and all (I could see the marks, years after, where I had pricktd my finger ■ when I heaid him come in,) and he said, oh, so tenderly, "Bella have you the courage to > marry a poor man, or patience to wait . till I come back a rich one?" And I had' neittkjf^ God forgive me, as He has punished iav."-' m^ held the little box tightly in her hands, jf^r whole figure shaking with emotion. 'V^oi forgive me," she cried, and sank forwa/rfl on the tablq sobbing among her diamonds. <. There was a timid knock at the door ; she f could not hear it — then another. She rosel from her • chair, looking strange and be- \ * wildered as the door softly opened and Dora stole in. Her poor little face was all flushed and swbollen out of its prettiness by hard crying, and her hair in a woe-begone tousle. " Auntie, I've come to stay — forgive me if I J| was rude to you this evening, and please don't fl leave us ! Cor — cor — nelius and I are nofc fl g— going to be engaged any more I" V Here came a break-down and a burst offl "Every one says — I'm s— sacrificing thefl whole family 4>y my selfishness, so I've given^H him up, oh 1 oh ! oh ! — forever V7V 7 ■ jH Lady Paulett made no sign — only looked JH with a half -terrified air at her niece, her old' J lips working nervously. ' > £ " But I won't marry any one else. Never I'^H broke out Dora with sudden energy. " I'll d^H anything else I can to please you, auntie.' can wait and wait, and perhaps, he says,"J^H some day he comes back* rich enough to pleaf|^H " You little fool 1" broke in Aunt Arabej^^H in her own sharp tone ; then suddenly cnffl^^H ing to a piteous, shaky little voice : " are you all so quick to take up an old wonul^^^| hasty words. I'm sure I've never been '^^^| kind to any. of you yet. Don't let himr'j^^H Dora ; Can't you trust your old auntie ? ' R^^H enough to please me. Child \ child 1 to th^^^H that some day I might have had to • aru^^^f for two more spoilt lives 1" •■■: Dora looked all wonderment. ',^^^^J " There ! there I Go to bed, and u^^^| others want to sacrifice 'you to their -c^^^| interests, never you mind them. I'll le^th^^H know to-inonuw \vhail,think of such-. .wick^^H She gently -pushed her - amazed JUttld |fl^^H out and shut thedopr/, . t '^-