# Joan's Enemies/Chapter 3

pp. 1105–1107.

### CHAPTER III
#### Joan's Inheritance

BY a provision of Rufus Cran's will, which had been executed three days before his death, his secretary found herself mistress of Elm House and proprietress of a parcel of first-class securities yielding fully five thousand dollars a year. With the exception of the books and manuscripts, which were bequeathed to the Metallurgical Society, the entire contents of the house were also hers. No conditions were attached to the splendid gift, but the wish was expressed that Joan should occupy Elm House for at least six months from the date of the giver's death. Joan did not hesitate to recognize the wish as a command.
One of the many questions which presented themselves at the onset concerned a companion. Her parents were dead; her two sisters were married and had their homes and children in distant States; her only brother was an engineer in the Argentine. So she bethought her of an aunt whom she had not seen for years, but whom she knew to be a person of more wits than wealth. To this lady she wrote a letter of explanation and invitation, and received by return a postcard, which simply said: “Coming directly. —G. G.”
Ten hours later arrived Miss Griselda Gosling, a small but wiry lady with a face like a ripe pippin, bright brown eyes and an unsentimental, imperturbable spirit, who greeted her niece with a brief, brisk handshake and a quick “How are you?” She installed herself without fuss, expressing approval of things in the curtest fashion, and asked not a single question.
THE first visitor to be received by Joan in her capacity of hostess was Lottie Lismore, who was a distant relation. Through Lottie's father, Harold Lismore, Joan had obtained the post of Rufus Cran's secretary. Joan, though grateful, never much liked Mr. Lismore, but she had an enduring affection for his daughter, whose excessive sentimentality was nevertheless often a trial to Joan's patience.
“What a lucky girl you are, Joan!” she was saying. “But I was always sure that poor dear Mr. Cran would do something generous for you..... How dreadfully sudden it was! I cried and cried when I heard of it! And to think of his leaving poor little me all of five thousand dollars!”
“What are you going to do with it, Lottie?”
“I shall give it to Father to invest for me. He and Mr. Stormont are going to start a new business at once. What a pity Mr. Cran did not leave them the old business!”
“You admire Mr. Stormont?” Joan's tone was casual, but her interest was caught.
Lottie's rather pale complexion became slightly pink.
“He's very clever, isn't he?” Lottie murmured.
“I shouldn't wonder.”
“Don't you like Mr. Stormont?”
“He doesn't appeal to me. I don't care for sleek men, you know,” Joan said lightly. Then, seriously: “Lottie dear, I am going to ask you a question, and you are not to imagine it is asked out of mere curiosity. Have you ever heard from Douglas Grant?”
“Oh, Joan, how unkind to remind me! No, of course, I have never heard. He wouldn't dare!”
“I didn't mean to vex you,” Joan said gently. “Then you have no idea where he is?”
“Really, Joan! What business—”
“Patience, dear! It was yourself who told me, two years ago, that you and he were something more than friends—”
“I was very young; and we were never properly engaged—and I don't think Father would have permitted us to be, though if Douglas and his uncle had— But why do you remind me?” Lottie was rosy and reproachful. “You know he was a—a thief!”
“He was not! He had nothing to do with the missing money!”
Lottie stared. “Then why did he run away?”
“I don't know. But he was innocent.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mr. Cran—a few hours before he died.”
Lottie shook her head. “Poor Mr. Cran! I always thought he was not quite himself toward the end. So did Father.”
“Mr. Cran told me he had lately discovered that his nephew was innocent, and I thought—I hoped—you would be glad to know.”
“Of course I'd be glad—if I could believe it. Though Douglas killed my—my love, I've often cried and cried to think of him an outcast, perhaps begging his b-bread.”
“I somehow think he would manage better than that,” Joan said patiently. “Well, I have told you what Mr. Cran told me, and I can assure you that Mr. Cran was perfectly able to attend to his affairs until nearly the last hour of his life..The only odd thing he did,” she added with a faint smile, “was to put me into his will.”
“Don't be silly, Joan! And—Joan!”
“What?”
“If he thought Douglas was innocent, why did he leave him not a single penny? Answer me that!”
“No doubt he intended to leave his nephew many pennies,” replied Joan bravely, for the question took her aback. The will, she knew, had been made after the discovery. Next moment she remembered the packet. For the first time she felt really curious as to its contents. “I'm sorry I can't convince you, Lottie,” she said.
SHORTLY afterward Lottie took her departure, and when Joan returned from accompanying her down the garden, the spinster remarked dryly:
“So that's Harold Lismore's daughter!”
“Why! Didn't you like her, Aunt Griselda?” the niece exclaimed.
“I have nothing against her except that she is her father's daughter.”
“Really, Aunt Griselda!” said Joan, half angry, half amused. “And what have you against her father? Lottie told me just now that he is coming to see me to-night.”
“I haven't seen Harold Lismore, for twenty years,” Miss Gosling interrupted, “but I can't hope that he has improved in the interval. What's he coming to see you about?”
“Lottie didn't say, and I have no idea. You once told me you had no curiosity.”
“Don't get huffy, Joan. How many children has the man?”
“He has three sons—all abroad.”
“Couldn't live in the same country as their father, I suppose! Lottie the only girl?”
“Yes. If you don't mind, Aunt Griselda, I'd rather not discuss—”
“I'm doing the discussing, and I'm not going to apologize for warning you against Harold Lismore—”
“Warning me—why on earth should you warn me?”
“Because you apparently need warning; and I imagined you had your share of woman's wit! Do you mean to tell me you regard Harold Lismore as trustworthy?”
“Good heavens! Why not?”
“My good Joan,” the spinster quietly announced, “the man is as straight as a corkscrew, and not unlike that useful implement in his methods. Did he never try to draw you?”
“Draw me!”
“About Mr. Cran's private affairs, for instance.”
“Ah!” cried Joan as at a flash of light.
“Just so!” observed her aunt pleasantly. “Now come off your high horse and speak to your poor but honest relative on the level. I've nothing to gain by saying what I have said.”
“I see. what you mean,” Joan remarked after a moment or two. “But you must forgive my wondering why you are so—so bitter against Mr. Lismore.”
“Bitter?” Miss Gosling's smile was bleak. “Bitter enough, you might think,” she went on, “to be the woman he did not marry! No, no—that woman is to be eternally congratulated, Joan—but she isn't me. Some day I may tell you why I never have, and never can, believe in Harold Lismore.”
Not another word on the subject could Joan extract from her then, or after Mr. Lismore's call in the evening.