The note of discord

Chapter I

‘'Mother, where is Betty? Is she not downstairs yet?’' asked Bruce Carleton, as he seated himself at the breakfast table, this December morning.

'‘No, son,” Mrs. Carleton replied. "She came in late from the dance last night. I ordered Eliza not to awaken her yet. Old Ellen will take care of Betty’s breakfast; 'the little canary bird/ she calls the child.”

Bruce smiled as he remarked : "Betty is like one of the lilies of the field. She toils not, neither does she spin ; yet, Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed like her.”

"Yes,” laughed his mother, "I verily believe, if all other resources failed, that the ravens would feed and the fairies clothe her, for never could Betty Carleton take care of herself.”

"Ah!” said Colonel Carleton, as he rose from the breakfast table. "Don’t you fret about Betty, her blood has the right color;” then bidding good-bye to his wife and son, hurried away to keep an early appointment at the suburb of Wilton, the site of his large manufacturing interests.

Left together, mother and son, over their delicious breakfast, returijed to the subject of Betty — her beauty and her beaux.

''Mother, I am sorry Betty favors the attentions of that fellow Granville,” Bruce remarked, with a shade of disapproval on his face.

"Why, son,” exclaimed Mrs. Carleton, a new interest lighting her placid features, "Ross Granville impresses me as a young man of fine personality. He is ambitious, successful, and popular. I will admit that I have thought him a suitable match for Betty. What do you know against him, Bruce?” Mrs. Carleton inquired, with a questioning glance at her son.

"I wish I knew something which would cause Betty to regard him with dislike. True, Granville has a magnetic charm of manner, but he is a man who will make miserable the woman who is unfortunate enough to become his wife. He is vain, selfish and cares only for those who pay tribute to his merits,” Bruce answered his mother.

With a wise nod of the head, she returned: "I fear that you are a bit unjust, Bruce, because you prefer Eugene Freeman among Betty’s suitors. I am sure Mr. Granville seems devoted to Betty.”

"He loves her next to himself,” was the sarcastic rejoinder. "Betty is bright and beautiful, and she is Colonel Carleton’s daughter, and that means much in Camden,” he added, with a touch of pride.

At this moment the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the black maid, Eliza, with a plate of Ellen’s crisp waffles. Mrs. Carleton was one of those wise women, who knows that out of the kitchen chiefly comes the strength, health and happiness of the home. She bravely closed her eyes to many faults, but demanded of the cook, who remained in her service, that the family meals should be perfectly prepared, and this capable woman received what she demanded.

‘^No, mother,” Bruce continued, as the maid left the room, ‘T am not unfair to Granville; but I am proud of my friend, Freeman, ‘this noble son of New England’s soil,’ as Colonel Watkins spoke of him at the club a few nights since. It may be that you and father, with Gettysburg and Shiloh still in your minds, are a little prejudiced against Eugene, but the war was over more than forty years ago. I know that Eugene loves Betty with a strength and earnestness which Granville could not even comprehend,” said Bruce, as the loyalty of his nature flashed from his fine blue eyes.

Here Eliza, with the morning paper, delayed in its arrival, interrupted the young man’s conversation.

Bruce, looking over the local columns of the Times, read with deep concern to his mother the bold headlines, “Negro Brute Enters Elm Street Orphanage,” then the story of an attempted crime the night previous.

The paper stated that at eleven o’clock the night before a negro man had entered a dormitory of the orphans’ home, where fifteen young girls slept. That in attempting to choke one of the girls, Minnie Flynn, into insensibility, the sound of the struggle had aroused Mrs. Rand, the matron of the home, whereupon the negro man had made his escape.

‘Toor little Minnie!” Mrs. Carleton said in tones of distress. “She^s the dear girl who helped Olivia in October, when Bob and Bess were sick with the measles.”

‘T remember her, a pretty, modest girl,” Bruce replied to his mother.

“And so useful to Mrs. Rand in the home,” added Mrs. Carleton.

“The most shameful crime ever attempted in this town,” Bruce exclaimed in anger and excitement. “I hope there’ll be no more like it — or there’ll be rocky times in Camden.” At this moment, their breakfast finished, hearing the ring of the telephone, mother and son left the room. “Keep the outer doors locked to-day, mother,” the young man said on his departure. “Such a crime as the one last night is usually followed by a similar one; and remember that women must be more careful in Camden than in most southern towns.”

At the telephone, Mrs. Carleton heard the voice of her married daughter, Olivia Bryan, from her suburban home, deploring in dismay the attempted assault at the orphans’ home the night before. Mrs. Bryan requested her mother to go with her to the Orphanage to express their regret and sympathy; then, soon followed her message to her father’s home.

Ruth Carleton regarded her three children with a devotion almost abnormal; but if she would have allowed herself a favorite, it would have been Olivia, with her brave spirit and her active mind, always scheming for the good of others.

This bright young woman and the stately mother, with the grace of the old south manner still about her, went away to visit the home of the orphans, so brutally attacked the night before. They loved well the blessed text of the Holy Book, by which their lives were guided — the text which commanded them to ‘‘comfort the widow and fatherless in their affliction.”

CHAPTER IL

The Elm Street Orphanage in Camden, Tennessee, was a large, brick building situated on one of the prominent yet quiet streets of the town, adjoining the home of the mayor and second door from the residence of the editor of Camden’s afternoon paper. It had been one of the first buildings erected in Camden, for charitable purposes. Presenting a modern appearance on the exterior, the interior showed an old-fashioned arrangement. Narrow, gloomy halls — the third little more than a dark passageway — the winding staircase in the rear suggested architecture of a by-gone day.

Twenty years before Mrs. Rand, the matron of the Orphanage, had come from her home in a northern state to take charge of this institution. Possessing fine executive ability, a high-bred manner and every Christian grace, this excellent woman had endeared herself to the people of Camden.

Although old and worn, the interior of the house was always spotless; kindness and firmness shared equally in its control; and few children in Camden had such fine advantages of Christian training as the little ones of the Orphanage.

This December morning, when Mrs. Rand met

Mrs. Carleton and Olivia Bryan, she was pale and tired from the excitement of the night before, yet composed and gracious as usual. Greeting them cordially, she expressed appreciation of the sympathy of these two friends, to whom, as earnest workers in the society whose efforts sustained the Orphanage, she proceeded to give the details of the dreadful experience of the night before.

‘'You know,” she said as she began her story, ‘T sleep on the lower floor next to the nursery, while Mrs. Rice, the assistant matron, rooms upstairs across the hall from the girls’ dormitory. This dormitory was originally two rooms, but the partition has been removed. Minnie Flynn’s bed is in one corner and Annie Tucker’s in the other corner of the recess made by removing the partition, on the west side of the room.

‘T retired at ten o’clock last night,” the matron went on, “but I sleep lightly, and about eleven o’clock I was awakened by a strange sound, as of scuffling in the room immediately above me, which, you know, Olivia, is the girls’ dormitory.

“When awakened, for an instant I thought some of the children had fallen out of bed; then, as the noise continued, I ran into the hall, calling to Mrs. Rice: ‘What’s the matter in the dormitory ?’

“As she replied : T think it must be one of the girls frightened in her sleep,’ I ran up the stairway and heard Minnie Flynn gasping: Oh, mama, he choked me. He tried to kill me. He’s gone down the back stairs.’

^‘Rushing to the rear, I found the hall doors ajar and saw one of the kitchen windows were open, but her assailant had gone. I instantly telephoned police headquarters and the county jail, both of which, you know, are only six squares away.

‘‘As soon as I had notified the officers and closed the kitchen window, I took Minnie, almost fainting, in my arms. To my consternation I saw deep, purple prints left from the pressure of strong fingers upon her throat. Sobbing bitterly, she explained that as she waked she had seen a negro with his fingers clasped around her neck. T could not scream,’ she said, ‘but I prayed God to help me, mama, as you have taught us to do; then I fought him with all my might.’ In the fierce struggle one of the hasps of the iron bed was broken,” the matron observed, then proceeded with her story. “Though almost overcome, Minnie, controlling herself, said: ‘Mama, I believe he was trying to carry me downstairs, but, in the scuffle, I fell on the floor; then you called Mrs. Rice, and the negro ran away. The man had pulled his hat low over his face ; he had on a brown coat and looked like the man who used to come here so much to see Rosa, before you told her that he should stop coming.’

“Little Mary Strong, who sleeps across the room from Minnie, is very bright, though only nine years old. She says she was awake when she saw a negro man tip-toe into the room and turn the gas higher, which was burning dimly near the door. Mary says she was afraid to scream, for fear he would kill her; but she saw his face when he turned on the gas, and she says it was the negro who had been coming to see Rosa in the afternoons, notwithstanding my

''Sheriff Shipley was the first officer to respond to my call for help. He requested, at once, to be shown the window through which the negro entered the house, as well as the way by which the dormitory is reached. The sheriff, observing the roundabout passage that leads from the kitchen to the dormitory upstairs, promptly gave his opinion that the criminal was evidently familiar with the plan of the house, or else had been directed by some one who could explain the situation of the rooms. Then I told him of the conduct of our cook, Rosa, and the repeated visits of a negro man, Ned Jones, whom Minnie had described as her assailant. Our county is fortunate in having a man for sheriff who is so courteous and thoughtful as Captain Shipley. He was very anxious about the dreadful crime that had been attempted, and endeavored, with me, to calm the much excited girl, telling her that she’d not be molested again, as he’d make every effort to capture the guilty negro at once.

"While the sheriff was talking to Minnie, his deputies arrived with the blood hounds. The dogs ran only a block around the corner to Duncan street; and though several trials were made, they refused to go any further. Sheriff Shipley expressed his opinion that the criminal had here boarded an electric car, or had been met at this lO point by a cab waiting to drive him to a place of safety. While Captain Shipley and his deputies were discussing the case, the city detectives, Harvey and Brown arrived; a number of officers, nine altogether, had responded to our call for help. The detectives agreed with Sheriif Shipley in his belief that the guilty party was the friend of Rosa, the cook, and also that the crime had been committed with her assistance. They worked on this theory, and after searching all night for the criminal, Ned Jones was arrested about seven o’clock this morning.

‘‘He is the man who has been coming here and is an associate of our colored cook whom the officers think planned the crime.”

The matron paused a moment to hear sympathetic words from her listeners, then went on: “It was a sad sight to see the frightened faces of those children last night; but I laughed in spite of the excitement when, on going to my room for a moment, I found sixteen little ones climbing in and over my bed, clamoring with each other as to who would sleep in ‘Mama Rand’s bed’ for the rest of the night.” Here the tears stood in the eyes of the tender-hearted woman at the thought of this demonstration of love by these little helpless children in her care.

“But, Mrs. Rand, how could Rosa do it — the woman who has worked for you for three years and to whom you have shown so many favors — how could she be an accomplice to such a fearful crime?” Mrs. Carleton asked in dismay.

“You will remember that I never shared your confidence in Rosa, but you believed that she was

II devoted to you/’ Olivia remarked to the matron, with a gentle hint of ‘T told you so” in her voice.

'T did think so until about a week ago, when, upon my remonstrating with her about her coming so late in the morning, she became offended. The real cause of her anger, however, was that I had forbidden the visits of Ned Jones to the house. She had become very much incensed at this, and, giving up a room in our basement, had rented a house in an alley several squares off. Yesterday she was in an angry mood all morning, having come in after I had, with Minnie’s aid, prepared breakfast.- With an impudent air she remarked that she didn’t intend to be bossed any longer by low-down white trash; whereupon I told her, as soon as she finished the work on which she was then engaged, that I must dismiss her from our service. She heard Minnie, who was present and who is, as you know, a well-grown girl of fifteen, say: ^Mama, I can do the work until you can get another cook.’ At this remark Rosa became furious, saying T’ll fix you for that, you dirty, poor white trash!’ I supposed this to be one of the threats which negroes make in violent anger and thought no more of it.

'‘Yes, Rosa was placed in jail at three o’clock this morning,” the matron replied to an inquiry from Mrs. Carleton. "Detective Harvey came early to tell me the story of her arrest. She lives about three squares back of your home, Mrs. Carleton.”

"Isn’t it deplorable,” Olivia exclaimed, "that in Camden the town is so built that the dens of negro thugs are right at our back doors ? There is scarcely a residence section in Camden where the negro settlements are further than two squares from the best homes.”

^‘This condition is the result of the boom of 1886; but go on, Mrs. Rand, with the story,” Mrs. Carleton urged.

Then the matron continued to her breathless listeners: ‘‘Acting upon Sheriff Shipley's theory that the cook was an accomplice in the crime, the detectives went first to her home, where Rosa denied all acquaintance with Jones and further made inconsistent statements which convinced them that something was wrong, and in spite of her untruthful answers, Jones’ picture and clothing were found in her house. She was lodged in jail; then the detective gave a patrolman the negro man’s picture, with instructions to watch for him near one of the big foundries where he was supposed to work. The patrolman easily recognized Jones and was confirmed in his belief of the negro’s guilt by a vile remark made about white women when the patrolman arrested him. Oh!” cried the pure-hearted woman, “that one of my little girls should have been attacked by such a brute!”

“It is evident,” observed Mrs. Carleton, “that, though Rosa must have intended murder, the man wished to add to it a more dreadful crime.”

“Come to the kitchen, my friends,” the matron requested of her visitors. Walking through three narrow halls, past the winding stairway by which the negro had reached the upper floor the night before, the three women came to the kitchen where the wretch had forced his way. Here the sink was arranged in one corner; the kitchen table was placed near it. Above the sink a small rack held two gleaming knives, newly sharpened. The window through which the negro had effected his entrance was situated immediately between the sink and range, there being a distance of about five feet between the position of these two articles of household furnishings. Mrs. Rand took up the interrupted story: ‘‘When I reached the kitchen last night I saw the open window — I saw this knife lying on the kitchen table'’ — here the matron pointed to the larger knife on the rack — “and I also noticed a piece of blunt, heavy wood lying on the range." Here Olivia gave a startled cry; then Mrs. Rand remarked: “You know, dear, that we are nothing if not methodical in our habits. I know the knife was in the rack when I left the kitchen last night. Two of the girls were in the room later, but they say there was no occasion to use the knife. It is possible that some younger child might have used it, but this is not probable, as the presence of the little ones in the kitchen is positively against our rules."

“I am certain," Olivia exclaimed in horrified tones, “that Rosa sent Ned Jones here to murder Minnie. Of course, on account of her own relations with him she would resent the other sinister crime which he contemplated. My theory is that the negro intended bringing Minnie to the kitchen, striking her senseless with the block of wood, which he'd placed on the range as he came in ;

then his fiendish crime accomplished, he intended to cut her throat with the knife which lay on the table and leave by the open window just at hand,’’ Olivia, examining the broken window fastening that Mrs. Rand gave her, observed, “The detectives undoubtedly have the right man. This negro knew that cast-iron is not hard to break, and you say, Mrs. Rand, that Jones works at Gilman's foundry?"

“Hear Sherlock Holmes," laughed the matron, half merrily, to Mrs. Carleton. “Really, Olivia, your idea is similar to one point in the officers' theory."

“It seems immaterial to me," Mrs. Carleton remarked, “as to who placed the knife on the table. If Rosa intended murder, she, of course, told the negro of the position of the knife. It was moonlight, and with the blinds open the man could easily see the knife, either alx)ve the sink or on the table just by it."

“Mrs. Rand, is there other kindling in the basement, similar to the piece found on the range last night?" Mrs. Carleton inquired.

“No, the officers did not find any, though they searched thoroughly. But Detective Harvey carried this stick of kindling to Rosa’s home and found in her woodshed a quantity of kindling exactly matching this piece.

“A spade from our coal house and a cast-off curtain pole in the basement were used to pry open the window ; they were found outside, where the man left them in his haste to escape. It is the duty of one of our best boys to lock the doors of the coal house and basement each night, and to hang the keys on a peg in the kitchen, ready for the housemaid’s use next morning. Last evening Philip came in, as usual, to report that his duties for the day were done. To my inquiries he answered promptly that the coal house and basement had been fastened. Later, Sarah, the housemaid went away, one of the girls locking the kitchen door after her delayed departure. Yet, when the officers came last night, the basement and coal house doors were open and the keys were on their accustomed peg in the kitchen. When Sarah came to her work this morning she inquired of some of the girls if anything had happened here the night before; and later, two of the children told me that she had come into the dormitory the morning before, while the little girls were busy, and asked where Annie Tucker and Minnie Flynn slept. The children, unsuspicious of any wrong, showed her the beds in the west alcove. You know, Olivia,” the matron explained, ‘'the housemaid is employed to clean the lower floor only and has no business upstairs. Detective Harvey,” the matron continued, “is in the office now, questioning these girls and Mrs. Rice. I suspect he intends to arrest Sarah this morning.”

The two visitors, in taking their leave of the matron, passed into the front vestibule as Detective Flarvey walked out of the office. Mrs. Carleton and her daughter greeted the young detective with cordiality, expressing their pleasure that he had been detailed upon this case. They lingered a moment in discussing the main points of the crime of the past night. Harvey i6 The Note of Discord

announced his intention of arresting the housemaid at once, then added : ‘T cannot understand how this young girl had the strength to fight that negro man as she did last night/’

Mrs. Carleton looked with a serious air into the young man’s face as she replied: ^Tt was by the help of God Himself. When evening comes, each soul in this house consigns itself to the care of God until morning — and last night He took care of His own.”

And the man of the world, who dealt with sin and crime, bowed low to the gentle woman as he went out of the door of the orphans’ home, with an earnest look in his eyes.

Chapter III

When Olivia and her mother left the Orphanage it was nearing the ''dinner hour/’ as Mrs. Carleton, still using the old-fashioned southern name, called the noonday meal. Indeed, so imbued was this woman with all ideas and customs of her beloved country that it was difficult for her to recognize any innovation. As the daughter of a slave-holder in Virginia, she had been taught early in life to consider the material comforts of those who served her. She claimed that cooks came earlier and left later than those engaged in any other line of household work, and in her home, at least, performed harder and more important duties than any other of the servants. Therefore they were entitled to their rest in the afternoon hours. This kind mistress arranged her bills of fare so carefully that, though her family enjoyed each day a delicious southern supper, at the same time her cook was spared from doing the heaviest work in the evening.

And each afternoon, when old Ellen went to her humble home in a nearby alley, many good bits from the Carleton table — "all de cold vittles” — went with her, for the little grandchildren for whom she cared. Mrs. Carleton, watchful in other things, would discreetly look another i8 The Note of Discord

way if she chanced to see the old cook on her departure. With a laugh, Bruce would remark to his mother that Ellen was captain of the basket and bucket brigade which daily files out of the homes of Camden. To which Mrs. Carleton would reply: '‘You know, son, that the laws of heredity are strong. In days gone by the fathers and the mothers of these servants went to the 'big house’ on the old plantation for all good things, and well do the housekeepers of the south know that they go to the 'big house’ yet.” So, while other home-makers searched in despair for competent cooks, Mrs. Carleton was spared this annoyance, since old Ellen for sixteen years had carefully guarded her position in the Carleton household from the designs of other ambitious servants.

And a much-desired nome it was, both to serve and live in.

Robert Bruce Carleton had been reared on a big plantation in south Georgia, a son of one of the best families in that section. When war was proclaimed between the states, this fearless young man left home in eager haste to answer his country’s call. His brave spirit and marked capacity for leadership soon placed him at the head of his regiment, whicn he led through some of the bloodiest battles of the long conflict.

Unlike most soldiers of the vanquished army, when Robert Carleton returned to his old home under new conditions he found a legacy awaiting him. A maternal uncle, an old man, unmarried, had gloated all his life over his hidden resources; but at last finding himself near death, had left his wealth to the son of his dead sister — the only creature he ever loved.

At thirty-five, Colonel Carleton married Ruth Manning, of Virginia, many years his junior. Twenty years before, when the whole south was agitated by a financial upheaval, the turning point of its present prosperity, Colonel Carleton with his wife and children came to Camden, where he engaged in a manufacturing business. His family had always spent money freely and enjoyed every comfort of life. This shrewd man left every detail of the home to his wife’s care and judgment, concerning himself little about household affairs, except to pay the monthly bills and to know that few men in town had the right to feel the just pride in their families which it was his privilege to enjoy.

His elder daughter, Olivia, at twenty-two married Hugh Bryan, a young lawyer, socially and politically one of the most prominent men in Camden. The old rebel Colonel swallowed a bitter pill when she chose out of a score of lovers this southern republican, the son of a Union soldier of East Tennessee. Yet, he took his dose like a man, and he and his son-in-law became congenial companions, always avoiding the discussion of their political differences.

But the ties of kinship are stronger than the claims of politics. When Hugh Bryan received the republican nomination for circuit judge. Colonel Carleton fought this political battle for his daughter’s husband, with the same ardor with which he had fought at Manassas and Chickamauga. Of course, Bryan won in this election — ^but money burns holes in the pocketbooks of Camden politicians, and Olivia needed all the financial ability of her father's family and the industrious spirit inherited from her mother to make the Judge's salary go the whole way round in her household.

Judge Bryan's home was situated in Ridgway, the best suburb of Camden, where little Bob and Bess, his two children could enjoy the country sunshine, yet have good school and church advantages.

Colonel Carleton had associated his only son with him in business. Strong of limb and clean of heart, with a genial, whole-souled presence, Bruce Carleton stood a splendid type of southern manhood. His fancy yet untouched, he had endeared himself, by every grace of manly character, to the young women of his circle. If a shy or stupid girl were present, it was Bruce who saw that she was not neglected; and many an unattractive visitor — otherwise a wallflower — had gone from the dance with a glow of pride at the attentions of Colonel Carleton's son.

And never since the days of Bayard had pure womanhood known a braver defender !

But the younger daughter was the pivot on which the Carleton home revolved, as the family laid homage at the feet of Betty. Three years as the favorite of Camden's best society had not dimmed the purity and sweetness of her nature, and her beauty was as delicate and dainty as one of the white lilies which grew on her father's lawn.

Chapter IV

The mid-winter holidays were approaching. Olivia, busy with her Christmas preparations, wished to secure some choice evergreens which she knew grew about eight miles from Camden. Hugh Bryan's chief pleasure was the long afternoon drives, in which he and his wife had traversed every section of the country; and Olivia knew the country people as well as she knew those of her own circle. In order to procure the evergreens desired by his wife, Judge Bryan proposed a drive to Valley Church, the locality where they were growing.

Olivia, still excited over the episode of the Orphanage, asked her husband to take with him for the long drive the pistol which she kept in the cabinet in her bedroom. At first he refused, with a touch of vexation that she should doubt his power to protect her, and laughingly protested: ‘‘Pistol carrying is not a dignified act for a judge of any court." But his wife, declining to go without the weapon, he yielded to her wishes, and having a habit of driving from the left side of the trap, the revolver in his right hip pocket was next to Olivia. As they swept along the well-built roads of Harrison county, the resinous odor of the pines filled the air with a bracing sweetness, and the Kentucky trotter carried them swiftly to their destination.