But the hostess could not be found! Isabella and Otho, too, were missing! The Doctor and Lawrence went everywhere, calling for them, seeking them in the house, in the grounds. They were nowhere to be found,–neither that night, nor the next day, nor ever afterwards!
The Doctor found in the balcony a box of chessmen fallen down. It was nearly filled; but the red queen, and the white king and queen, were lying at a little distance. In the box was the red king, his crown fallen from his head, himself broken in pieces. The Doctor took up the red queen, and carried it home.
“Are you crazy?” asked his wife. “What are you going to do with that red queen?”
But the Doctor placed the figure on his study-table, and often gazed at it wistfully.
Whenever, afterwards, as was often the case, any one suggested a new theory to account for the mysterious disappearance of Isabella and the Blanchards, the Doctor looked at the carved image on his table and was silent.
This story has been attributed to Lucretia P. Hale who wrote The Peterkin Papers. She’s not credited in the Atlantic Monthly I’ve taken this from. It’s one of the first things I worked on at Distributed Proofreaders. I had the done the whole story up to the last page, and then someone else came in and finished it off! That’s the problem with page-at-a-time proofreading I suppose.
It’s a straightforward little fantasy, with themes of duty, history, power, and alienation. One of the things I like about it is how Isabella is accepted–and elevated–into the local society, even though she has no discernable background, because she is queenly. Mrs. Hale seems to be saying that it’s not your birth but your bearing (and learning) which will ensure your place in the world.