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Updated: May 24, 2025
Her small bonnet with its crepe veil was faced with white, and her carefully crimped gray hair showed a wavy border beneath it. Mr. Staley, the station hackman, helped her out of the surrey, and handed her the knitting-bag without which she was seldom seen.
In London, two thousand catholics were cast into prison; houses were daily searched for arms and treasonable documents; and in good time merciless executions filled up the sum of bitter persecutions. One of the first victims of this so-called plot was William Staley, a catholic banker of fair renown.
One day, William Staley happened to enter a pastrycook's shop in Covent Garden, opposite his bank, where there chanced to stand at the time a fellow named Carstairs; one of the infamous creatures who, envious of the honours and riches heaped on Oates and Bedlow, resolved to make new discoveries and enjoy like rewards.
She was not, that morning, the Miss Emily who ran a finger along her baseboards to see if we dusted them. She had walked out, and it had exhausted her. She breathed in little gasps. "I think," she said at last, "that I must telephone for Mr. Staley, I am never very strong in hot weather." "Please let me call him, for you, Miss Emily." I am not a young woman, and she was at least sixty-five.
The settlement was started February 18, 1878, by Jos. H. Frisby, Merritt Staley, Oscar Mann, Orson and Alfred Cluff, Ebenezer Thayne, David E. Adams and a few others. The overrunning referred to was not done blindly. Jos. H. Frisby and Alfred Cluff went to San Carlos.
"A good woman, Miss Blakiston, and a sacrifice to an unworthy family." Suspicion is like the rain. It falls on the just and on the unjust. And that morning I began to suspect Miss Emily. I had no idea of what. On my mentioning an errand in the village she promptly offered to take me with her in the Staley hack. She had completely altered in manner. The strain was gone.
Edmund had, for the moment relaxed his hold, and it was at precisely that same moment that Sir Thomas Staley took hold of the top of the bundle to pull it up. There was but one chance left, and although it promised a little hope of success, he deemed his position desperate enough to warrant him in attempting it.
But she only said gently: "Then sit down, dear. You can work at my knitting if you like. My hands get very tired." She asked me questions about the house and the garden. The raspberries were usually quite good, and she was rather celebrated for her lettuces. If I had more than I needed, would I mind if Mr. Staley took a few in to the doctor, who was fond of them.
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