The Law of the Land by Emerson Hough (the reader ebook .TXT) 📕

trouble. Meantime, he was not regularly taking up the practice of the law. I found him practically disowned by his family, who were Shreveport people originally. In one way or another he found a bit to do. He knew Robert Fanning and his wife through the fact that he had done legal work of some sort for Fanning. He knew also an old lawyer, or sort of notary, who used to do business for Eaoul de Loisson, or Ralph Ellison, as he called himself, years before. I can’t tell you the name of that old lawyer, but Decherd could if he wanted to. He was somewhere down on Baronne Street in those days.

“At that time Mr. Decherd used to talk to me more freely. He told me that the old lawyer had told him that the Loissons were legal heirs to considerable lands somewhere up the river, not far from St. Louis. He said that Raoul de Loisson always laughed at that when he brought it up, and declared that any good American ought to be able to make his own living by himself, without counting upon his wife’s fortune. Robert Fanning felt the same way. He thought he could make a living for his wife, without looking up the old estate, which at that time was not known to be of any great value.”

“But go on, tell me about Fanning,” broke in Eddring, impatiently.

“I am going to, as well as I can. You must remember that Mr. Decherd was then still a very young man indeed. I myself was older, as I said. This old notary, or lawyer, or whatever he was, had never seen me, and I do not know whether he was well acquainted or not with the Louise Ellison who was Fanning’s wife. I only know that we went out to Fanning’s plantation sometime about the year 1877. Mr. Fanning was away in Texas, and there came news of his death somewhere down in the Rio Grande country, where he had gone to purchase cattle. I don’t think his wife ever knew of his fate. Henry Decherd and I were there together at the plantation.

“If I told you the truth now you would not believe it. But what I am telling you is the truth, and I will swear to it. Louise Fanning died two days after her baby was born. I lay there in their house at that time, and they told me that my baby had died. There was no one then acting as the head of the house. The servants were all distracted. One day some one came and put this live baby, the daughter of Louise Fanning, in my arms. Oh! you don’t know, but I longed so for my baby! My arms fairly ached. So then I took this one and loved it. Sir, I was a mother to her, a sort of mother—as good, I suppose, as I could have been at all—for a long time.”

Eddring sat looking at her, his fingers pressed closely to his lips. “What you tell me, Madam, is very, very strange,” said he. “It might perhaps have been true.”

“Believe it or not,” said Alice Ellison, “it is the truth, as I have told you. There was no head to that household. There was no place to leave that little child. I took it for my own. I did not at that time intend any wrong. I don’t know whether Decherd did at that time or not. It was there at the Fannings’ that we met the girl Delphine, who had come in there from somewhere in the Indian Nations. She was then in her early teens, and was good-looking. I don’t want to talk much about it, but it was then, I think, that Henry Decherd got—got interested in her. What he told her I don’t know. He found out in some way that her name was Loise. In some way then and later he got to looking up the name of Loise in St. Louis, where the girl said her people originally lived. He assumed the management of her case, along with some other lawyers to whom he carried it.”

“But did he think she was the heiress of the Loisson estates?”

“You, as a lawyer, can tell that better than I can. In some ways he had a good mind. He never told me much after that, except that he said if this case was ever decided he could not lose, no matter which way it went. We waited, years and years, for the case to get through the Supreme Court.”

“How did you live in the meantime, and where did you go?”

“Don’t ask me that. We lived the best way we could. Decherd got money now and again, and for reasons of his own he sent some money, once in a while, to keep me and the child, although he practically abandoned me, and, as I think, associated the more with this girl Delphine. He claimed to me all the time that it was necessary for him to live in this part of the country, in order to handle the lawsuit for her. She moved up here from New Orleans, I suppose to some town not far from Colonel Blount’s plantation. I think he got us in there at Blount’s place because he thought it would be less expense to him. In the meantime, I had educated the girl the best I could. Sir, I loved her in a way, until I thought other men were noticing her; and then I could not stand it.”

“But you have not told me all of your story up to that time,” said Eddring. “It is not easy for one absolutely to steal a child, and never be detected and punished for it. Moreover, you have not explained to me how you came by the name under which you were known to all of us. You say you were not Mrs. Decherd. Then who were you?”

The woman’s lip half-curled in scorn. “Henry Decherd would have guessed that long ago,” said she. “Who was to detect us? What was there to hinder? The Fanning family was wiped out. After the war he had no relatives remaining. I have just told you his wife was unknown in this country. This was her first visit after her marriage in Paris. When Henry Decherd and I took the baby back to New Orleans, what was there to hinder my being Louise Ellison-Fanning, the widow of Robert Fanning? Decherd was my attorney. The old notary helped these supposed descendants of his friend. It was he who helped us find the lead lands in St. Francois County. The old notary was as much a lover of the old nobility as Raoul de Loisson was a flouter of it.”

“Ah, I begin to see,” said Eddring. “I can see it unwinding now!”

“Yes, it was not difficult, but on the contrary, very simple. A criminal, if you please, may be bold, and boldness means success. Now, it was this old notary who, through friends of his in the Louisiana Legislature, had the Ellison name changed back legally to Loisson, as the records of that state show to-day, although you have not discovered those facts. As for me, it made little difference. The name of Ellison was established in the state of Louisiana. I simply took it, and wore it because I had no better. I did as many another woman has done; got on as best I could. But I tell you, I loved the girl for a long time. She was sweet and good. I felt she was my own, until the time when she began to dance; and then I knew perfectly well that sometime the truth would come out. I could feel it. Blood and breeding—I tell you, you can’t escape that. It’s all bound to come out. I might have known—I did know. I dreaded it, all along. I always knew the truth would come out some day.”

The two sat looking at each other in silence for a time. “Tell me the rest,” said Eddring, at length.

“The old lawyer died in 1879 or 1880,” she went on, “but by that time Mr. Decherd knew all that he cared to learn. As I said, he was less confidential with me after that. That was the time when he was infatuated with Delphine. Everything was to his liking. He was fond of intrigue, and the more intricate it was, the better for him. He was not afraid—when he had only women to be afraid of. With Delphine and me he did as he pleased, passing from one to the other. Delphine knew a part of the story, I do not know just how much. I never dared talk too much with Delphine, for fear I might learn too much, or she might learn too much. I was afraid of her, and I was more afraid of him. When Miss Lady grew up, then I got jealous of her—oh! I could not help it. I’m a woman, you know, and a woman likes to be loved by some one. I got to comparing Decherd with Colonel Blount; and then I—well, never mind. I need only say I was frightened, and I needed a friend, and I knew the Big House was the best home we were apt to have, and the safest place. It was a terrible situation down there, and only three of us knew. Of the three, Decherd was the only one who knew all the facts.”

“I’ll say for him,” said Eddring, “that his boldness was startling enough. He was a dangerous man.”

“Yes, he was dangerous. But when he got started in this he could not turn back.”

“Exactly what Colonel Blount said to me one time,” said Eddring. “He was on a trembling bog, and he had to keep on running.”

“Did Colonel Blount say that? Does he know everything?”

“As much as I know, or presently he will do so; I shall tell him all of this in due time.”

“Where is the girl? Where is Lady now?”

“At the Big House, and safe.”

“And where is Henry Decherd?”

“That I do not know. We’ll hear from him some day, no doubt.”

The woman looked about her, as though still in fear. “Tell me, Mr. Eddring,” said she, “did you—did you ever—I mean, do you love that girl yourself?”

“Very much, Madam,” said John Eddring, quietly,

“Are you going to marry her?”

“No.”

“Then why did she give you her case?”

“I was chosen by her friend, Colonel Blount, as the lawyer best acquainted with these facts.”

“Ah! sir,” said Mrs. Ellison, turning again upon him the full glance of her dark eyes. “Why? Can you not see—do you not know? Why trouble with a half-baked chit like her? Drop it all, sir. You are lawyer enough to know that my case is as good as hers, if handled well. If I knew one man upon whom I could depend—ah! you do not know, you will not see!”

One hand, white, thick-palmed, shapely, approached his upon the table. He could feel its warmth before it touched his own. Then swiftly he caught the hand in a hard and stern grasp, looking straight into the eyes of its owner. “Madam,” said he, “none of this! I have asked you to tell me the truth. I have told you the truth. The truth leaves us very far apart. You are safe; but you must understand.” Her eyes sank, and on her cheek the dull flush reappeared.

“Now I want you to go on and answer a few more questions,” said Eddring, finally. “I suppose that while you were all there at the Big House you were partners, after a fashion. How much did you know of Delphine’s stirring up the negroes in that neighborhood?”

“I did not