Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 14 (20 page)

 
          
           
"Why waste tears or feign sorrow when I must be glad?" she muttered,
as she paced to and fro along the terrace. "The poor boy is out of pain,
and I am out of danger."

 
          
           
She got no further, for, turning as she
spoke,
she stood
face to face with Edward! Bearing no mark of peril on dress or person, but
stalwart and strong as ever, he stood there looking at her, with contempt and
compassion struggling in his face. As if turned to stone, she remained
motionless, with dilated eyes, arrested breath, and paling cheek. He did not
speak but watched her silently till she put out a trembling hand, as if to
assure herself by touch that it was really he. Then he drew back, and as if the
act convinced as fully as words, she said slowly, "They told me you were
dead."

 
          
           
"And you were glad to believe it. No, it was my comrade, young Courtney,
who unconsciously deceived you all, and lost his life, as I should have done,
if I had not gone to
Ascot
after seeing him off yesterday."

 
          
           
"To
Ascot
?" echoed Jean, shrinking back, for
Edward's eye was on her, and his voice was stern and cold.

 
          
           
"Yes; you know the place. I went there to make inquiries concerning you
and was well satisfied. Why are you still here?"

 
          
           
"The three days are not over yet. I hold you to your promise. Before night
I shall be gone; till then you will be silent, if you have honor enough to keep
your word."

 
          
           
"I have." Edward took out his watch and, as he put it back, said with
cool precision, "It is now two, the train leaves for London at half-past
six; a carriage will wait for you at the side door. Allow me to advise you to
go then, for the instant dinner is over I shall speak." And with a bow he
went into the house, leaving Jean nearly suffocated with a throng of contending
emotions.

 
          
           
For a few minutes she seemed paralyzed; but the native energy of the woman
forbade utter despair, till the last hope was gone. Frail as that now was, she
still clung to it tenaciously, resolving to win the game in defiance of
everything. Springing up, she went to her room, packed her few valuables,
dressed herself with care, and then sat down to wait. She heard a joyful stir
below, saw
Coventry
come hurrying back, and from a garrulous
maid learned that the body was that of young Courtney. The uniform being the
same as Edward's and the ring, a gift from him, had caused the men to believe
the disfigured corpse to be that of the younger
Coventry
. No one but the maid came near her; once
Bella's voice called her, but some one checked the girl, and the call was not
repeated. At five an envelope was brought her, directed in Edward's hand, and
containing a check which more than paid a year's salary. No word accompanied
the gift, yet the generosity of it touched her, for Jean Muir had the relics of
a once honest nature, and despite her falsehood could still admire nobleness
and respect virtue. A tear of genuine shame dropped on the paper, and real
gratitude filled her heart, as she thought that even if all else failed, she
was not thrust out penniless into the world, which had no pity for poverty.

 
          
           
As the clock struck six, she heard a carriage drive around and went down to
meet it. A servant put on her trunk, gave the order, "To the station,
James," and she drove away without meeting anyone, speaking to anyone, or
apparently being seen by anyone. A sense of utter weariness came over her, and
she longed to lie down and forget. But the last chance still remained, and till
that failed, she would not give up. Dismissing the carriage, she seated herself
to watch for the quarter-past-six train from
London
, for in that Sir John would come if he came
at all that night. She was haunted by the fear that Edward had met and told
him. The first glimpse of Sir John's frank face would betray the truth. If he
knew all, there was no hope, and she would go her way alone. If he knew
nothing, there was yet time for the marriage; and once his wife, she knew she
was safe, because for the honor of his name he would screen and protect her.

 
          
           
Up rushed the train, out stepped Sir John, and Jean's heart died within her.
Grave, and pale, and worn he looked, and leaned heavily on the arm of a portly
gentleman in black. The Reverend Mr. Fairfax, why has he come, if the secret is
out?
thought
Jean, slowly advancing to meet them and
fearing to read her fate in Sir John's face. He saw her, dropped his friend's
arm, and hurried forward with the ardor of a young man, exclaiming, as he
seized her hand with a beaming face, a glad voice, "My little girl! Did
you think I would never come?"

 
          
           
She could not answer, the reaction was too strong, but she clung to him,
regardless of time or place, and felt that her last hope had not failed. Mr.
Fairfax proved himself equal to the occasion. Asking no questions, he hurried
Sir John and Jean into a carriage and stepped in after them with a bland
apology. Jean was soon herself again, and, having told her fears at his delay,
listened eagerly while he related the various mishaps which had detained him.

 
          
           
"Have you seen Edward?" was her first question.

 
          
           
"Not yet, but I know he has come, and have heard of his narrow escape. I
should have been in that train, if I had not been delayed by the indisposition
which I then cursed, but now bless. Are you ready, Jean? Do you repent your
choice, my child?"

 
          
           
"No, no! I am ready, I am only too happy to become your wife, dear,
generous Sir John," cried Jean, with a glad alacrity, which touched the
old man to the heart, and charmed the Reverend Mr. Fairfax, who concealed the
romance of a boy under his clerical suit.

 
          
           
They reached the Hall. Sir John gave orders to admit no one and after a hasty
dinner sent for his old housekeeper and his steward, told them of his purpose,
and desired them to witness his marriage. Obedience had been the law of their
lives, and Master could do nothing wrong in their eyes, so they played their
parts willingly, for Jean was a favorite at the Hall. Pale as her gown, but
calm and steady, she stood beside Sir John, uttering her vows in a clear tone
and taking upon herself the vows of a wife with more than a bride's usual
docility. When the ring was fairly on, a smile broke over her face. When Sir
John kissed and called her his "little wife," she shed a tear or two
of sincere happiness; and when Mr. Fairfax addressed her as "my
lady," she laughed her musical laugh, and glanced up at a picture of
Gerald with eyes full of exultation. As the servants left the room, a message
was brought from Mrs. Coventry, begging Sir John to come to her at once.

 
          
           
"You will not go and leave me so soon?" pleaded Jean, well knowing
why he was sent for.

 
          
           
"My darling, I must." And in spite of its tenderness, Sir John's
manner was too decided to be withstood.

 
          
           
"Then I shall go with you," cried Jean, resolving that no earthly
power should part them.

 
          
           
When the first excitement of Edward's return had subsided, and before they
could question him as to the cause of this unexpected visit, he told them that
after dinner their curiosity should be gratified, and meantime he begged them
to leave Miss Muir alone, for she had received bad news and must not be
disturbed. The family with difficulty restrained their tongues and waited
impatiently. Gerald confessed his love for Jean and asked his brother's pardon
for betraying his trust. He had expected an outbreak, but Edward only looked at
him with pitying eyes, and said sadly, "You too! I have no reproaches to
make, for I know what you will suffer when the truth is known."

 
          
           
"What do you mean?" demanded
Coventry
.

 
          
           
"You will soon know, my poor Gerald, and we will comfort one
another."

 
          
           
Nothing more could be drawn from Edward till dinner was over, the servants
gone,
and all the family alone together. Then pale and
grave, but very self-possessed, for trouble had made a man of him, he produced
a packet of letters, and said, addressing himself to his brother, "Jean
Muir has deceived us all. I know her story; let me tell it before I read her
letters."

 
          
           
"Stop!
I'll not listen to any false tales against
her. The poor girl has enemies who belie her!" cried Gerald, starting up.

 
          
           
"For the honor of the family, you must listen, and learn what fools she
has made of us. I can prove what I say, and convince you that she has the art
of a devil. Sit still ten minutes, then
go
, if you
will."

 
          
           
Edward spoke with authority, and his brother obeyed him with a foreboding
heart.

 
          
           
"I met
Sydney
, and he begged me to beware of her. Nay,
listen, Gerald! I know she has told her
story,
and
that you believe it; but her own letters convict her. She tried to charm
Sydney
as she did us, and nearly succeeded in
inducing him to marry her. Rash and wild as he is, he is still a gentleman, and
when an incautious word of hers roused his suspicions, he refused to make her
his wife. A stormy scene ensued, and, hoping to intimidate him, she feigned to
stab herself as if in despair. She did wound herself, but failed to gain her
point and insisted upon going to a hospital to die. Lady Sydney, good, simple
soul, believed the girl's version of the story, thought her son was in the
wrong, and when he was gone, tried to atone for his fault by finding Jean Muir
another home. She thought Gerald was soon to marry Lucia, and that I was away,
so sent her here as a safe and comfortable retreat."

 
          
           
"But, Ned, are you sure of all this? Is
Sydney
to be believed?" began
Coventry
, still incredulous. 

 
          
           
"To convince you, I'll read Jean's letters before I say more. They were
written to an accomplice and were purchased by
Sydney
. There was a compact between the two women,
that each should keep the other informed of all adventures, plots and plans,
and share whatever good fortune fell to the lot of either. Thus Jean wrote
freely, as you shall judge. The letters concern us alone. The first was written
a few days after she came.

 
          
           
 "Dear Hortense:

 
          
           
 
"Another failure.
Sydney
was
more wily
than
I thought. All was going well, when one day my old fault beset me, I took too
much wine, and I carelessly owned that I had been an actress. He was shocked,
and retreated. I got up a scene, and gave myself a safe little wound, to
frighten him. The brute was not frightened, but coolly left me to my fate. I'd
have died to spite him, if I dared, but as I didn't, I lived to torment him. As
yet, I have had no chance, but I will not forget him. His mother is a poor,
weak creature, whom I could use as I would, and through her I found an
excellent place.
A sick mother, silly daughter, and two
eligible sons.
One is engaged to a handsome iceberg, but that only
renders him more interesting in my eyes, rivalry adds so much to the charm of
one's conquests. Well, my dear, I went, got up in the meek style, intending to
do the pathetic; but before I saw the family, I was so angry I could hardly
control myself. Through the indolence of Monsieur the young master, no carriage
was sent for me, and I intend he shall atone for that rudeness by-and-by. The
younger son, the mother, and the girl received me patronizingly, and I
understood the simple souls at once. Monsieur (as I shall call him, as names
are unsafe) was unapproachable, and took no pains to conceal his dislike of
governesses. The cousin was lovely, but detestable with her pride, her
coldness, and her very visible adoration of Monsieur, who let her worship him,
like an inanimate idol as he is. I hated them both, of
course,
and in return for their insolence shall torment her with jealousy, and teach
him how to woo a woman by making his heart ache. They are an intensely proud
family, but I can humble them all, I think, by captivating the sons, and when
they have committed themselves, cast them off, and marry the old uncle, whose
title takes my fancy."

 
          
           
"She never wrote that! It is impossible. A woman could not do it,"
cried Lucia indignantly, while Bella sat bewildered and Mrs. Coventry supported
herself with salts and fan.
Coventry
went to his brother, examined the writing, and returned to his seat,
saying, in a tone of suppressed wrath, "She did write it. I posted some of
those letters myself.
Go on, Ned."

 
          
           
 "I made myself useful and agreeable to the amiable ones, and
overheard the chat of the lovers. It did not suit me, so I fainted away to stop
it, and excite interest in the provoking pair. I thought I had succeeded, but
Monsieur suspected me and showed me that he did. I forgot my meek role and gave
him a stage look. It had a good effect, and I shall try it again. The man is
well worth winning, but I prefer the title, and as the uncle is a hale,
handsome gentleman, I can't wait for him to die, though Monsieur is very
charming, with his elegant languor, and his heart so fast asleep no woman has
had power to wake it yet. I told my story, and they believed it, though I had
the audacity to say I was but nineteen, to talk Scotch, and bashfully confess
that
Sydney
wished to marry me. Monsieur knows S. and
evidently suspects something. I must watch him and keep the truth from him, if
possible.

 
          
           
 "I was very miserable that night when I got alone. Something in the
atmosphere of this happy home made me wish I was anything but what I am. As I
sat there trying to pluck up my spirits, I thought of the days when I was
lovely and young, good and gay. My glass showed me an old woman of thirty, for
my false locks were off, my paint gone, and my face was without its mask. Bah!
how
I hate sentiment! I drank your health from your own
little flask, and went to bed to dream that I was playing Lady Tartuffe—as I
am. Adieu, more soon."

 
          
           
No one spoke as Edward paused, and taking up another letter, he read on:

 
          
           
 "My Dear Creature:

 
          
           
 "All goes well. Next day I began my task, and having caught a hint
of the character of each, tried my power over them. Early in the morning I ran
over to see the Hall. Approved of it highly, and took the first step toward
becoming its mistress, by piquing the curiosity and flattering the pride of its
master. His estate is his idol; I praised it with a few artless compliments to
himself
, and he was charmed. The cadet of the family adores
horses. I risked my neck to pet his beast, and_ he
was charmed. The little girl is romantic about flowers; I made a posy
and was sentimental, and
she _was charmed. The fair icicle loves her
departed mamma, I had raptures over an old picture, and she thawed. Monsieur is
used to being worshipped. I took no notice of him, and by the natural
perversity of human nature, he began to take notice of me. He likes music; I
sang, and stopped when he'd listened long enough to want more. He is lazily
fond of being amused; I showed him my skill, but refused to exert it in his
behalf. In short, I gave him no peace till he began to wake up. In order to get
rid of the boy, I fascinated him, and he was sent away. Poor lad, I rather
liked him, and if the title had been nearer would have married him.

 
          
           
"Many thanks for the honor." And Edward's lip curled with intense
scorn. But Gerald sat like a statue, his teeth set,
his
eyes fiery, his brows bent, waiting for the end.

 
          
           
 "The passionate boy nearly killed his brother, but I turned the
affair to good account, and bewitched Monsieur by playing nurse, till Vashti
(the icicle) interfered. Then I enacted injured virtue, and kept out of his
way, knowing that he would miss me, I mystified him about S. by sending a
letter where S. would not get it, and got up all manner of soft scenes to win
this proud creature. I get on well and meanwhile privately fascinate Sir J. by
being daughterly and devoted. He is a worthy old man, simple as a child, honest
as the day, and generous as a prince. I shall be a happy woman if I win him,
and you shall share my good fortune; so wish me success.

 
          
           
"This is the third, and contains something which will surprise you,"
 
 Edward said, as he lifted another
paper.
 
 

 
          
           
 "Hortense:

 
          
           
 "I've done what I once planned to do on another occasion. You know
my handsome, dissipated father married a lady of rank for his second wife. I
never saw Lady H——d but once, for I was kept out of the way. Finding that this
good Sir J. knew something of her when a girl, and being sure that he did not
know of the death of her little daughter, I boldly said I was the child, and
told a pitiful tale of my early life. It worked like a charm; he told Monsieur,
and both felt the most chivalrous compassion for Lady Howard's daughter, though
before they had secretly looked down on me, and my real poverty and my
lowliness. That boy pitied me with
an honest
warmth
and never waited to learn my birth. I don't forget that and shall repay it if I
can. Wishing to bring Monsieur's affair to a successful crisis, I got up a
theatrical evening and was in my element. One little event I must tell you,
because I committed an actionable offense and was nearly discovered. I did not
go down to supper, knowing that the moth would return to flutter about the
candle, and preferring that the fluttering should be done in private, as
Vashti's jealousy is getting uncontrollable. Passing throught the gentlemen's
dressing room, my quick eye caught sight of a letter lying among the costumes.
It was no stage affair, and an odd sensation of fear ran through me as I
recognized the hand of S. I had feared this, but I believe in chance; and
having found the letter, I examined it. You know I can imitate almost any hand.
When I read in this paper the whole story of my affair with S., truly told, and
also that he had made inquiries into my past life and discovered the truth, I
was in a fury. To be so near success and fail was terrible, and I resolved to
risk everything. I opened the letter by means of a heated knife blade under the
seal, therefore the envelope was perfect; imitating S.'s hand, I penned a few
lines in his hasty style, saying he was at Baden, so that if Monsieur answered,
the reply would not reach him, for he is in London, it seems. This letter I put
into the pocket whence the other must have fallen, and was just congratulating
myself on this narrow escape, when Dean, the maid of Vashti, appeared as if
watching me. She had evidently seen the letter in my hand, and suspected
something. I took no notice of her, but must be careful, for she is on the
watch. After this the evening closed with strictly private theatricals, in
which Monsieur and
myself
were the only actors. To
make sure that he received my version of the story first, I told him a romantic
story of S.'s persecution, and he believed it. This I followed up by a
moonlight episode behind a rose hedge, and sent the young gentleman home in a
half-dazed condition. What fools men are!"