Kitabı oku: «Signing the Contract and What it Cost», sayfa 8
CHAPTER XIX
A GREAT SURPRISE
“Thinkest thou
That I could live and let thee go,
Who art my life itself? No, no!” —
Moore.
The moment the benediction was pronounced Floy left the church and walked rapidly away, turning the first corner she came to, nor paused nor slackened her pace till she reached Mrs. Sharp’s door.
“Had you a good sermon?” queried Hetty at the dinner-table.
“Yes,” Floy answered absently.
“It does not seem to have refreshed you much,” sneered Mr. Sharp, with a keen glance at the pale, sorrowful face whereon the traces of tears were very evident. “I would prescribe a nap instead, next Sunday.”
“Don’t tease her, Thorne,” said Mrs. Goodenough, “she’s been trying to do her duty like a Christian. What is it Shakespeare says?”
“Madam, let me counsel you to purchase a copy of the works of that immortal bard, and study it for your own edification, for ours, and for that of the world at large,” he returned loftily and with a contemptuous wave of the hand, as he passed his cup to be refilled.
Hetty flushed indignantly.
“It might be for your edification, no doubt,” she retorted; “this passage for one – ‘Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.’”
“Hush, hush, child! that’s too strong,” said her mother, taking the cup. “But unasked advice isn’t apt to be welcome, Thorne; what is it Shakespeare says?” and the tea-pot she had just lifted was set down again while she seemed lost in contemplation. “Ah! I have it:
“‘I pray thee cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve.’”
Mr. Sharp rose, and, pushing his plate angrily away, strode from the room. Mrs. Sharp looked annoyed, but made no remark, contenting herself with a reproachful glance at her sister and niece.
Hetty accepted her share with extreme nonchalance. As for the other delinquent, she was too much elated by her successful quotation to heed so trifling a matter as the passing displeasure of her sister – a displeasure, too, which, as she shrewdly suspected, was more than half assumed for the mere sake of appearance.
That was the fact, and yet there was a real vexation to Mrs. Sharp in what had occurred, because she would have to bear the brunt of his ill-humor.
With that unpleasant conviction weighing upon her, she breathed a heavy sigh as she, too, left the table and the room.
“Poor Aunt Prue!” said Hetty, looking after her. “What a sad misnomer was her name when she undertook the care and support of – ”
“Hush, hush, child!” interrupted her mother.
“Well, well, I must try to keep my opinions to myself,” pursued the girl, with a serio-comic expression, “but I can’t help feeling sorry for her, or glad for ourselves, that we’ll get no more Sharp prickles from the Thorne to-day. He’s bound to spend the rest of it in a fit o’ the pouts, and will not darken these doors till noon of to-morrow.”
Mrs. Sharp found her Thorne lying on a couch in their chamber, literally pouting like the great baby that he was.
“My dear,” she said soothingly, “you mustn’t mind that saucy girl; she isn’t worth it, and – ”
“No, I suppose not; but if you cared a penny for me you’d send her away at once, or rather would have done so long ago.”
“But, unfortunately, Thorne, we can’t do without her, and, still more unfortunately, she is perfectly aware of the fact, and doesn’t scruple to take every advantage of it.”
“‘Where there’s a will there’s a way,’ Mrs. Sharp, and if you were the right sort of wife you’d never sit by and see your husband insulted at his own table as I have been to-day.”
“His own table indeed!” thought she; “it’s more Hetty’s than his; more mine than hers. But – ah, well, I must even make the best of a bad bargain.”
And going into an adjoining room, she presently returned laden with delicacies – fine confections and tropical fruits – which she pressed upon him, saying, “You made such a poor dinner; hardly eat enough to keep a bird alive; do try to eke it out with these. These grapes are splendid, so are the oranges and bananas, and I never saw finer candies.”
“I don’t want them,” he said shortly; “if things are to be locked up and kept from my knowledge till it suits you to bring them out, I’ll not touch them.”
At this she was justly indignant, and, losing all patience, informed him that “since he was determined to ‘bite off his nose to spite his face’ he was entirely welcome to do so.”
“To think that I should ever have married a woman who can use such vulgarisms as that!” said he, turning his back on her.
“Better be vulgar than wicked!” she retorted, “and the way you’re behaving is downright wicked – such temper and ingratitude! If you were a child I should say you wanted a good spanking, and I rather think so as it is. If I were you I’d really try to put away childish things.”
“You, who can be guilty of such extravagance as this, do well to reprove me, your liege lord,” he remarked with bitter sarcasm. “Cast the beam from your own eye, and you may perhaps see clearly to pull the mote out of mine.”
“My liege lord indeed!” she repeated scornfully; “rather my – But I will not bandy words with you, and, lest I should be too strongly tempted to do so, shall leave you to pout it out alone.”
So saying, she gathered up her rejected dainties and swept from the room, leaving him to repent of his refusal at leisure, for no child could be fonder of sweets than he.
All that day and the succeeding night Espy was present in Floy’s dreams whether sleeping or waking. Nor were they happy dreams, for they seemed to take him farther and farther from her. Yet she strove to be cheerful in the presence of others, and only Hetty suspected how hollow was the pretence. Monday passed by, bringing no unusual event. On Tuesday, at a late hour in the morning, she was again directed to go to the residence of the Leas; this time to fit a dress for Carrie’s mother.
“Mrs. Lea is not quite ready for you yet, miss,” said the servant who answered her ring. “She says you’ll be so good as to wait till she sends for you. Just walk in here, please,” he added on his own responsibility, perceiving that he was addressing a lady, and throwing open the door of the library as he spoke.
Floy stepped in, the door closing behind her, and instantly became aware that the room had an occupant, and only one – a young and handsome man, seated comfortably in an easy chair by the fire, and busied with the morning paper.
He looked up; the paper was suddenly flung aside, and in an instant he had caught both her hands in his, his face all aglow with delighted surprise.
“Floy, Floy! have I found you at last? Oh, darling, can you, will you forgive those cruel words of mine? Ah, if you knew how bitterly they have been repented!”
It was her own Espy again. Tears of joy rained down her cheeks; she could not speak for emotion; but she did not repulse him as he took her in his arms and folded her to his heart with many a tender caress, whispering the while, “Floy, Floy! my own darling, my own little wife!”
“No, no, not that!” she sobbed. “Oh, Espy, Espy, we must part!”
“For a little while – only for a little while – dearest.”
“Your parents – have they relented?” she asked, wiping the tears from her eyes and gazing steadily into his.
His cheek flushed.
“I shall be of age in a few weeks, and be my own master,” he said, drawing himself up proudly.
“But not mine,” she said very low – so low that he scarcely caught the words – and gently releasing herself from his embrace.
He flushed more hotly than before. “Oh, Floy, have I ever seemed to think it? Nay, have I not rather been your devoted slave?”
“You were always good to me, Espy; always watching over and caring for me, and ready and anxious to give me the best of everything. Oh, I shall never, never forget your goodness! no, not even if – ”
“If what, Floy?”
“Even though another has – has won you – ”
“No, no, never!” he cried, taking her hands again. “I never have, never can love any one but you. Why should you think it?” and he gazed searchingly into her eyes.
Then she told him something of what she had involuntarily heard a few days previous while waiting in Carrie Lea’s bedroom.
He was indignant and evidently surprised to learn that the girl had his photograph; puzzled, too, to conjecture how it had come into her possession.
“It must have been somehow through her brother,” he said after a moment’s thought. “But, Floy, I have never paid her any particular attention,” he added with deprecating look and tone.
“I believe you fully, Espy,” she replied, with a confiding smile; “but since I have released you from your engagement to me – ”
“I do not accept my release,” he interrupted impulsively, “and that being the case, I am answerable to you for my conduct toward other women.”
She shook her head, and was opening her lips to speak again, when the sound of approaching steps prevented. She drew hastily away from Espy’s side, and, seating herself by a window, seemed to have her attention fully occupied with something that was going on in the street.
The door opened.
“Miss, Mrs. Lea says you’ll please walk up now to her dressing-room.”
Espy, standing before the grate with his back to the door, turned at the words and made a stride forward, his face blazing with indignation, but only to see Floy’s black skirt vanish through the door, which instantly closed between them.
“What does it mean?” he asked himself half aloud; “I thought she was merely making a morning call, but that fellow spoke to her as if she were a menial like himself.”
There was a sound of light laughter and gay girlish voices on the stairway, and in the hall without, the door again opened, and the smiling face of Miss Carrie Lea looked in.
“The sleigh’s at the door, Mr. Alden, and we’re all ready waiting for you.”
He had engaged to drive out with the ladies at that hour in Mr. Lea’s fine sleigh, behind his handsome, spirited bays; and anxious though he was beyond expression to snatch another interview with Floy by intercepting her as she should leave the house, he felt compelled to go, not being able on the spur of the moment to think of any plausible excuse.
Since there was no alternative, he made the best of it; with smile and jest handed the ladies to their places, tucked the buffalo-robes carefully about them, took his seat by Carrie Lea’s side, and drove off, fervently hoping that something would occur to cause a speedy return.
CHAPTER XX
A SUDDEN SUMMONS
“I tell thee life is but one common care,
And man was born to suffer and to fear.” —
Prior.
Mrs. Lea’s dressing-room was gorgeous with crimson and gold; they were the prominent colors of its adornment, from the velvet carpet on the floor to the gayly-frescoed ceiling.
The lady herself, arrayed in a morning robe of dark blue silk, and wearing a great quantity of heavy jewelry, reclined upon a crimson-satin-covered couch. She evidently belonged to the shoddy aristocracy, and her sallow, slightly-wrinkled face expressed nothing but supercilious pride and fretful discontent.
She greeted Floy with an angry nod and the question: “What’s the reason Mrs. Sharp sends you instead of coming herself? You can tell her I don’t like such treatment, and I consider that my money is as good as any other body’s. She says in her note you can fit as well as she can; but I don’t believe it; it stands to reason that a ’prentice-girl couldn’t do as well as her mistress.”
Floy’s cheek flushed, but she stood with an air of dignity, silently waiting for the end of the tirade, then quietly asked:
“Am I to fit your dress, Mrs. Lea?”
“Can you? that’s the question.”
“You have Mrs. Sharp’s opinion in regard to my ability. I can only say that I am ready to do my best, or to return to her with your message, as you please.”
“Well, I guess you may cut and fit the lining, and I can judge by the looks of it whether to allow you to go on and do up the job. Eliza,” turning to her maid, “bring the things. You know where they are.”
Floy had not been invited to sit down, but feeling ill able to stand, quietly took possession of the nearest chair.
Mrs. Lea elevated her eyebrows and muttered something angrily about “impudence and upstarts, and some folks making themselves very much at home in other folks’ houses.”
Floy seemed not to hear, but kept her seat till the maid returned with the required articles, and Mrs. Lea was ready to stand up and be fitted.
This proved a tedious and trying process to both, by reason of Mrs. Lea’s impatience and captiousness; but at length Floy’s efforts resulted in so signal a success that she was graciously permitted, in Mrs. Lea’s phrase, “to go on and do up the job.”
“Why, it fits elegant!” she exclaimed at the final trying on. “I declare Mrs. Sharp couldn’t a done it better herself, and you may tell her I said as much.”
Floy was gratified, for the Leas were among Mrs. Sharp’s best customers. Her patience and forbearance had been sorely tried, but had not failed, and now she was rewarded for the restraint put upon herself.
Her pulses quickened as she passed the library door in going out, though she knew Espy was not there now, for she had heard the departure of the sleighing party, and they had not returned.
Another hour had slipped away before they came, and Espy was met at the door by a telegram to the effect that his mother was lying dangerously ill, and he must hasten home without delay if he would see her alive.
Espy read it at a glance; and turning a pale, agitated countenance upon the servant, who stood waiting,
“I must be gone at once,” he said.
“Yes, sir; I expected as much, and I’ve packed your valise, sir; here it is all right – everything in it that you’d left in your room.”
“Thank you; it was very thoughtful and kind. I will have to leave my adieus to the ladies and gentlemen with you. Tell them I have been suddenly summoned home. My mother is very ill, and I shall have barely time to catch the train. Good-by.”
And dropping a dollar into the man’s hand, Espy seized the valise and rushed away in hot pursuit of a passing street-car.
Even at that moment of grief, anxiety, and haste, he remembered with a sharp pang that this sudden departure robbed him of the opportunity to obtain another interview with Floy or to learn her address.
During the two hours’ drive his thoughts had been so full of her, their late interview, and plans for securing another, that he found no little difficulty in attending to the small talk of his companions, and was more than once rallied by them upon his absence of mind.
It was the more annoying since he was the only gentleman of the party, young Lea being confined to his room that day with a severe cold.
Great were the chagrin and disappointment of Carrie when she heard of Espy’s abrupt departure. The others cared less, as she had managed to monopolize almost all his attentions.
Floy’s heart meanwhile was in a tumult of mingled emotions – joy that she had heard from Espy’s own lips the assurance of his faithfulness to her, sorrow that duty seemed still to forbid their betrothment.
Well was it for her in those days that necessity compelled her to constant employment, and that much thought had to be given to her work.
The diversion of her mind from her cares and griefs was further assisted by the occurrences of the next day.
It was two hours since the early breakfast at Mrs. Sharp’s, and in the work-room all was life, activity, and bustle: the buzz of three sewing-machines, the busy hum of voices giving and asking instructions, the click of the scissors cutting out garments and their trimmings, making a confusion of sounds.
Floy, putting the finishing touches to the rich silk she had fitted yesterday for Mrs. Lea, was wondering if she should be commissioned to carry home this dress, her heart trembling with mingled pleasure and pain at thought of a possible meeting with Espy if sent upon that errand.
A loud peal from the door-bell made her start, and set all her nerves tingling, she scarce knew why.
“The postman,” said Mrs. Sharp; “more orders, I presume. Here, give it to me, Patsy,” as the little maid appeared with a note in her hand. “Yes, just as I thought. Run back to your work, Patsy. No, make yourself decent first; I won’t have customers driven away by such a fright answering the bell.”
With the open note in her hand, Mrs. Sharp hurried into the store to consult with Hetty.
“Here’s a note from the Madame – wanting a dress fitted to-day, and made this week; with all this holiday work on our hands, giving us hardly time to breathe! But it’s like her – always choosing my busiest time. Did you ever know it to fail?”
“Never! so we ought to be used to it by this time.”
“What do you advise?”
“Madame is too valuable a customer to lose.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“I’d send Floy. No one else is competent except yourself.”
“That’s true; yes, she’ll have to go, though I don’t know how to spare her here.”
Hastening back to the work-room,
“Is that dress done, Miss Kemper?” she asked.
“I’m just setting the last stitches,” was the reply.
“Well, the minute you’re done put on your things and take it home; then go on from there to the address I shall give you. She’s a good customer – rich, middle-aged, queer, and must be humored in her notions. She thinks she must have a new dress immediately, though she has fifty already. You’ll probably have to stay two or three days, as she will have her gowns made in the house, and a great deal of work put on them.”
Floy obeyed, nothing loath, for she was weary enough of the monotony of her life and the disorder, hurry, and bustle of the work-room.
“Any change,” thought she, “must surely be for the better.”
As she passed though the hall at Mr. Lea’s, after attending to her errand, she overheard the inquiry of a gentleman at the door for Mr. Alden, and the servant’s reply,
“He’s left the city, sir; went off yesterday in a mighty big hurry. Had a telegram that somebody was sick at home.”
The words went through Floy like a shot. For an instant she was near falling, but recovering herself, she hastily drew down her veil and stepped past the servant into the street.
The gentleman was already gone, and she too went quietly on her way – seeming quiet outwardly, but in great tumult of feeling.
“Was it Espy’s father who was so ill? Would he now relent? Would he die?”
In either case the bar to her own and Espy’s happiness would be removed. She was horrified at the thrill of pleasure that thought brought with it: that she could be glad of the death of another! Silently asking forgiveness, cleansing, help, she hurried onward.
There was now neither hope nor fear of meeting Espy. Was she glad? was she sorry? Truly she did not know. Then she thought of him bereaved of a parent, and her tears fell fast. Who knew better than she the anguish of such a loss? Ah, if she could but save him this great sorrow!
Madame Le Conte lived in the suburbs of the city in a large, handsome dwelling on the shore of the lake, of which there was a fine view from the whole front of the house. The street-cars, however, carried Floy to within a square of the place, and it was still comparatively early when she reached it.
Her ring was promptly answered by a pretty, neatly-attired Irish girl, rosy and smiling.
“Is it the dressmaker from Mrs. Sharp’s that the Madame’s expecting?” she inquired without waiting for Floy to tell her errand. “Well, I’m glad to see you, miss, for you’ve a purty face, and are a nice-lookin’ lady intirely, besides that the Madame would a been awful vexed if you’d disappointed her. But just step this way, intil the dining-room; for the Madame’s not up yet – she don’t rise mostly afore nine o’clock – and me orders was to give you your breakfast the first thing.”
“I have breakfasted, thank you, and – ”
“Yes, miss, but sure don’t we all know what onchristian hours they kape down there? giving ye yere breakfast afore six o’clock. An’ sure ye’ve been walkin’ and ridin’ in the cowld, keen air o’ the streets till folks would think ye’d be as hungry as a wolf.”
As she spoke, she led the way through the great wide hall with its broad staircase, past open doors that gave glimpses of spacious, elegantly-furnished apartments, to a cosey, sunshiny breakfast-parlor, where a glowing grate, with an easy chair beside it and a little round table daintily spread with snowy drapery, cut glass, silver, and Sevres china, and set in a large bay window where some rare plants were blooming, and whence could be caught a view of the rolling waters of the lake, were very suggestive of ease and enjoyment.
“There, miss, wad ye ax a swater place to eat in?” queried Kathleen, watching with delight Floy’s face brighten with pleased surprise as she glanced from side to side of the cheery room.
“No, indeed.”
“Well, it’s meself that wouldn’t. Now just sit ye down in that big chair by the fire and take off your things and warm yerself while I fetch in the breakfast.”
Very willingly Floy accepted the invitation.
“A very pleasant beginning,” she thought as she felt the genial warmth of the fire; “the Madame must be both kind and generous. But I must not expect to find roses without thorns anywhere in this world; ah, no! but I will try to take quietly and thankfully the sweet and bitter as they come.”
There was no bitter in the breakfast presently served by the smiling Kathleen: fragrant, delicious coffee, richly creamed and sugared; the sweetest of butter, elegant hot rolls, a tender beefsteak – all done to a turn.
Floy had not thought of hunger till food was offered her, but to her surprise found no lack of appetite for the tempting fare set before her.
She had hardly begun her meal when, at a whining sound, Kathleen opened the door leading into the hall and admitted a curly lap-dog as white as snow, a beautiful little creature.
“Why, Frisky, you’re late till yere breakfast the day!” said Kathleen, stroking it gently. “See, miss, isn’t he a purty crayther? his coat’s so fine and soft and glossy!”
“Like floss silk,” said Floy. “Is he the Madame’s pet?”
“Yes, miss, that he is, the darlint! an’ we all make much of him, an’ it’s spoilt he is intirely, the crayther. He’s come fur his breakfast, miss; he’s been used to ating in here with his misthress, an’ niver a bit will he ate in the kitchen, such a grand gintleman as he is; so will ye plaze to excuse us if I bring his mate in here and feed him afore ye?”
“Certainly,” returned Floy, with a smile. “I should like to see him eat.”
“Thank ye, miss,” said Kathleen, setting two more chairs up to the table, of one of which Frisky instantly took possession, then whisking into the kitchen and back again, bringing a plate of meat quite as carefully prepared as the one she had set before Floy.
“You see it’s kapin’ it hot for him I’ve been, miss,” she explained, seating herself in the other chair and beginning to cut the meat up into small bits. “It must be hot, and cut fine, or he won’t touch it; and, more nor that, he’ll not ate a mouthful if ye don’t sing to him all the time.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed her listener in surprise.
“Yes, miss, it’s thrue as prachin’; just see now! we always have to feed him wid a silver fork too.” And taking up a bit in her fingers she offered it, saying coaxingly, “Ate it now, me jewel; it’s illegant, tender, and swate.”
He did not so much as sniff at it, but looked her steadily in the face, with a little growl, as much as to say, “Do you mean to insult me?”
She began to sing, still holding the bit of meat in her fingers and bringing it a little nearer to his nose.
He snapped at her with a short, sharp bark, and, laughing, she took up another piece with a silver fork, and silently offered it.
He only repeated his growl.
She began her song again, still holding out the piece on the fork, and he took it at once and devoured it greedily.
The door opened, and a comely woman, older and more staid in appearance than the merry, talkative Kathleen, came in, asking in a tone of irritation,
“What’s the matter here? what are you doing to Madame’s pet? she sent me down to see if he was getting abused.”
“Niver a bit at all, at all, Mary, me dear; sure an’ it’s mesilf that likes the little baste wid it’s cunnin’ thricks too well to abuse it, let alone that I’d niver hurt a livin’ crayther. Och, ye varmint! take it, will yees?” offering another choice morsel; “can’t yer see with half an eye that even the like o’ me can’t talk an’ sing both at onct? It’s worse than a babby yees are! Tra, la, la, la, la la!”
“Ten times worse!” observed the older woman testily, “but nothing to compare to his mistress, she’s more trouble than forty babies; never a wink o’ sleep do I git till long after midnight.”
“An’ do ye think, Mary, me dear, it’s much slape ye’d get wid forty babbies to the fore?” queried Kathleen, ceasing her song for a moment. “But I’m forgetting me manners. It’s the young lady that’s come to make the Madame’s dress, Mary,” she added, with a nod of her head in Floy’s direction.
“How do you do, miss?” said Mary civilly. “Don’t be discouraged at what I’ve been saying; the Madame has her good points as well as other folks; you’ll find her unreasonable and hard to please sometimes, but she’ll make it up to you; she’s very generous and free with her money.”
In reply Floy, having finished her meal, intimated that she would like to get to work at once.
“Then come with me; I’ll take you to the sewing-room and give you the skirts to work at till Madame is pleased to be fitted,” returned Mary, leading the way.
This, too, was a bright, cheery, prettily-furnished room, and Floy was not sorry to be left alone in it for the next hour. Quietness and solitude had become rare luxuries in the busy, crowded life of the homeless young orphan.
How quiet the house was! were there no children in it? No, surely only a childless woman could be so foolishly fond of an animal as this Madame evidently was.
