Читать книгу Jessica Trent's Inheritance - Raymond Evelyn - Страница 6

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“My cousin Jessica! I bid you welcome. Studying my wonderful old carpet, I see. Your mother did that before you, child, and many another Waldron besides her. Mr. Hale, I am happy to meet you. Be seated, please. This other gentleman——”

“Ephraim Marsh, at your sarvice, Ma’am. I belong to Miss Trent. I’m from Sobrante with her, Ma’am.”

Mr. Hale waited with much interest for what might follow this statement, but was unprepared for the gracious suavity of Madam Dalrymple, of whose temper he had heard much. With a kindly, if patronizing, smile she waved Ephraim aside, directing her own old servitor to:

“Take Marsh below, Tipkins, and see that he has refreshments.”

Evidently, the Madam had accepted the sharpshooter as a correct feature of the situation, considering that it was the mark of a gentlewoman to be well attended; and as the two old men left the room he wondered how “Forty-niner” himself would relish being classed with the servants “below stairs.” However, Ephraim cared not one whit for that. He had attained his ambition. He had come east to share in educating his “little Captain” and he was now assigned to a home in the same house with her. “Hooray!” was his thought; and, further, that as soon as one other small matter was settled he would sit him down and write a letter to the other “boys” that would make them stare.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Dalrymple sank gracefully into a deep chair, displaying no sign of the intense pain each movement cost her and physically unable to stand for a moment longer. Thence she held out a thin white hand toward the girl who had not yet risen from the floor, nor left off staring at the lady before her—so wholly different from the picture she had formed of the “stern old woman” with whom she was to live.

Now blushing at her own rudeness, which she was sure the other had observed, she rose and came slowly forward and took the extended hand. Poor hand! So white, yet with such cruelly gnarled and swollen joints! There was no kiss proffered from either side; even impulsive Jessica feeling that she would no more dare touch that person in the arm-chair than she would a bit of the most delicate, and forbidden, porcelain.

“Thank you for welcoming me, Cousin Margaret; if I am to call you that?” said “Lady Jess,” all the wonder and admiration she felt showing in her face.

“Certainly, my dear. We are second-cousins twice removed.”

“Then, Cousin Margaret, my mother sends you her dear love and great respect; and I am to obey you in all things—all things that I can; and I am to do for you whatever you will let me.”

With that, having ended her little speech as duly instructed by her mother, Jessica folded her arms across her bosom and tossed back her yellow curls, in a characteristic gesture, now wholly familiar to Mr. Hale, but which to a stranger had a little air of defiance. So Mrs. Dalrymple interpreted it, and with some amusement asked:

“You make some reservation of your obedience, then, do you, Cousin Jessica? Like Gabriella herself. Meaning, maybe, to obey me when and only when it suits your mood to do so. Very well; we shall understand each other perfectly; and those who understand know how to avoid collision. Be assured, we shall never quarrel, little cousin.”

Jessica was troubled. She felt she had expressed herself badly and offended this wonderful lady whom she longed to have love her, and who seemed so little inclined to do so. She hastened to explain:

“I meant only if you should happen to tell me to do something that I felt wasn’t right—or that is different from what my mother likes—or, oh! dear! Please do understand what I want to say, for, truly, it was nothing naughty!”

Madam Dalrymple laughed, and answered:

“Your words, little cousin, are but another instance of the fact that explanations are the most hopeless things in this world. When Gabriella left me she, too, tried to ‘explain’ and failed to make a bit of change in the bare truth. She left me because she wished. You’ll disobey me, if you do, because you wish. That’s the matter in a nutshell. One thing I’ll make clear at the beginning: I shall lay no unnecessary commands upon you, and I shall insist that you remember everywhere and always that you are a—Waldron. You belong to a race that has high ideals and lives up to them. Ah! yes! One other thing. I don’t care for demonstrations of affection. We have not come together because we are, or ever will be, fond of one another; but because we are both Waldrons and the time is fitting.

“Ah! must you leave us, Mr. Hale? Beg pardon for not—not having attended more to you than to the child there; and thank you for your safe escort of her. I shall write my cousin Gabriella at once and inform her that Jessica has arrived. Good morning.”

Mr. Hale bowed himself out, feeling almost as if he were deserting his traveling companion to a most unhappy fate. For a girl like “Lady Jess” to be housed with Madam Dalrymple seemed a bitter thing. The child had lived in the sunshine, materially and spiritually, and the gloom of that old mansion in Washington Square had been oppressive even to him and during such a brief stay. And for the first time since he had discovered “Forty-niner” a runaway on the train he was thankful for his presence.

“There’s a trio of stubborn wills shut up in that dark house, this minute, for even Miss Jessie has a will of her own; as for those of the Madam and Ephraim, should they happen to clash, I wonder which would conquer! However, I’ve done with them, for the present, and now for home and my own dear girls!” thought the lawyer, as he reentered the waiting carriage and was driven toward the station which led to his own home, a few miles north of town.

Madam Dalrymple made a slight motion to rise and dropped the slender cane which had rested against her chair, and the “tap-tapping” of which had announced her coming through the hall. Instantly, Jessica had picked it up and restored it, and was as promptly thanked. Moreover the lady’s eyes, still marvelously dark and bright for one so old, rested with an interested expression on the young face before them.

“That was well thought, Cousin Jessica. Your mother must have trained you better than I feared, living so in the wilderness.”

“Oh! it isn’t a wilderness, not in the least. It is the most beautiful spot in all the world! New York can’t compare with our lovely Sobrante—not compare! And I hope she didn’t have to ‘train’ me to do a thing like that, which nobody could help doing, could they?”

“Came naturally, eh? Better still. Sit down. It tires me to see you standing. Luncheon will be served at one and it is almost that time now. Sit down and tell me about your journey—or anything you choose. Only speak low. I observe that by nature, if you are not excited, your voice is fairly good. Gentlewomen are never noisy nor obtrusive. Remember that.”

Jessica would rather have remained standing, or, better still, have stepped through the long open window out into that rain-drenched old garden, a-glitter now in the sunshine that was almost as bright as Sobrante’s. But she reflected that here was her first chance to “obey” and placed herself on a low stool near her hostess, fixing her gaze upon the lady’s face with a curiosity that failed to offend, it was so full of admiration. Yet finding that serene scrutiny somewhat trying, Mrs. Dalrymple herself opened the conversation by asking:

“Does Gabriella, your mother, keep her good looks? Or is she faded from that rude life she leads and the sorrow she has met?”

“Faded? My—mother—faded? Why, how queer! Cousin Margaret Dalrymple, she is almost the most beautiful woman in all southern California. Truly! Mr. Ninian says so, and Mr. Hale did, and—and I think so! She is just like the Madonna picture in Fra Sebastian’s house, she is so lovely. Her hair—her hair isn’t quite as white as yours, it is a beautiful dark gold color—but she has almost as much as you. She doesn’t wear it in that puffed up, frizzly kind of way, but just turns it back in one big coil that is—is lovely.”

Mrs. Dalrymple slightly winced. She did wear a profusion of snow-white locks, as became a venerable woman of fashion, and Jessica was not wise enough, as yet, to know that such headgear may be bought in a shop and put on or off at will. The next question followed rather soon and sharply:

“Does she still sing? She once had a charming voice.”

“Oh! it is like the birds in the trees along the arroyo to hear my mother sing! She doesn’t often now, it makes her think so much of my father. Why, all the ‘boys’ say that it was something wonderful when they two sang together of a Sunday morning, or sometimes at night. John Benton said it was as near like the music of Heaven as anything on the earth could be. John is very religious, John is; only, sometimes, when Aunt Sally tries his patience very much he says—he says things that don’t sound nice. But Samson is religiouser even than John. They’re both of them just perfectly splendid ‘boys.’ Oh! all our ‘boys’ are fine, just fine! You’d love them every one!” answered Jessica with enthusiasm.

“Humph! I was never any too fond of ‘boys,’ and Gabriella must be crazy to try and run a ranch by the aid of a few ‘boys.’ Why doesn’t she employ men, if so be she will persist in living in such an outlandish place?”

“Little Captain” smiled.

“Well, I suppose they’re not exactly real boys, like Ned or Luis. They’re quite grown up and gray-headed, most of them. They all worked for my father, who found them scattered about the world, sort of ‘down on their luck,’ as Marty says, and brought them all to dear Sobrante to give them a home and ‘another chance.’ They just about worshipped my father, I guess, and I know they do my darling mother. Oh! I wish you could see her!”

“It is wholly her own fault that I cannot. Here comes Tipkins to announce luncheon, and I have quite forgotten that you should have been taken to your room to freshen yourself after your journey. Odd! that Gabriella should have sent a man and not a maid with you. But I suppose she knew I would prefer one of my own selection, here in the east.”

“Oh! She didn’t send Ephraim. He—he just came because he loved me so and wouldn’t stay behind. He— Why dear old ‘Forty-niner’ actually ran away! Fancy! Just as the little boys so love to do.”

“Humph! A strange life, a strange bringing up you seem to have had. Tipkins, send Barnes to attend Miss Jessica.”

“Yes, Madam, I’ll—try,” replied the old servant, bowing and withdrawing upon the errand. Both he and his mistress well knew that Barnes, my lady’s-maid, was rarely “sent” upon any errand her own will did not dictate, and that she had more than once declared, since the coming of Jessica had been decided upon, that “the Madam needn’t go for to expect me to ’tend upon no brats at my time of life, nor she needn’t ask it. If she does I’ll give notice and that’ll settle her.”

However, curiosity often accomplishes what authority cannot; and because Tipkins had reported below stairs that “our Miss Gabriella’s little daughter looks like a hangel out of Heaven,” and the sharpshooter had treated her maidship with such profound reverence, upon being presented as “Miss Jessica’s man”—the arbitrary Barnes condescended to obey the present summons.

Mrs. Dalrymple had made a slight effort to rise from her chair and Jessica had already sprung forward to help her, when the white-capped and white-haired maid appeared; but the lady now sank back again, directing:

“Show Miss Jessica to her room, Barnes, please, and help her to make what slight change is necessary now. Her luggage can be unpacked before dinner. I will wait here for her.”

“Luncheon is served, Madam,” remonstrated the maid, rather sharply.

“It can be put back. I will wait for you here,” returned the mistress with equal sharpness.

With a sniff and a bridling of her head Barnes departed, bidding Jessica: “This way, please, and mind the stairs. All this twaddle about old things being better’n new and risking mortals’ legs on rags, beats me. Hmm. Some folks grow queerer as they grow older, some does.”

Jessica followed in wondering silence and, although warned to “mind the stairs,” caught her toe in the frayed covering of one and fell. But she was up again as soon as down and without quite understanding why was indignant with her guide for the slighting tone in which she spoke. Certainly, the carpet had once been a very fine one. Even now, where an unbroken spot appeared, the foot sank deep into a mossy greenness that was delightful, and fully bore out the vivid description of this old home which her mother had sometimes given her.

But even in Mrs. Trent’s own girlhood days the furnishings of this ancient mansion had become worn almost to uselessness, and the years which had elapsed since then had finished the work of destruction. In truth, all the floor coverings were now but what Barnes called “man traps,” where unwary feet would be caught and falls result.

“’Twas one of them same holes the Madam caught her own high heel in and got an injury was the beginning of her lameness. The doctor calls it ‘gout,’ he does; but I, well, I calls it ‘pride,’ just plain, senseless, family pride. Whatever was, my lady thinks, is far and away better nor what is. But as for me and the rest of the servants, give us even the cheapest sort of ‘ingrain,’ providing it was new and we’d feel safer for our old bones. Well, here is your room, Miss, and if you’ll let me slip off your frock I’ll soon make you tidy.”

“Thence she held out a thin white hand toward the girl who had not yet risen

from the floor.”

(See page 41)

Had Jessica known it this was a fine concession on the part of ever-weary Barnes, who acknowledged to her advancing age with a frankness which her mistress denied, but she looked so tired from her climb up the long stairs that the girl promptly exclaimed:

“Oh! Don’t you trouble, please, Mrs. Barnes. I can wait upon myself quite well. Indeed, I never have anybody to wait upon me, except now and then my darling mother—just for love’s sake.” Then with a swift recollection of the tenderness those motherly fingers had shown, even in the matter of buttoning or unbuttoning a frock, her blue eyes grew moist and for a moment that dreadful homesickness made her turn half-faint.

Now old Barnes was neither dense nor unkind. She was merely spoiled. She had domineered over her fractious mistress since both of them were young and she really felt that she was of more authority in the house than its owner. She and Tipkins had entered service together, at the time of Mrs. Dalrymple’s early marriage, and like the storied “brook” they “had gone on forever.” Dozens, maybe hundreds, of other servants had “flowed” through the mansion and few had tarried long. None save these two original servitors willingly put up with the peculiarities of the Madam, and the old-time inconveniences of the establishment. She was quick to notice the down dropping of the girlish face and the gleam of tears beneath the long lashes, and said, consolingly:

“Of course, Miss, it’ll seem lonesome like and different at first. But you’ll get used to it, you know. A body can get used to anything in time. I suppose Californy’s a terrible hot place, now ain’t it? So it’s a good job you’ve come away from it before the summer. That old man of yours, he’s a queer stick, I judge. But polite, why he’s real polite. And old. That’s a fine thing, too. If he’d been young, Madam would have sent him about his business so fast ’twould have made him dizzy. But she likes everything old. Having old folks about her makes her forget her own age and fancy herself still a mere girl. Never remind my lady that she’s not as young as she used to be and you’ll get on—get on, fairly well, that is. Now, ready? Is that the kind of frock you generally wear?”

Barnes had comfortably rested in a rocker while Jessica washed and brushed at the great washstand, furnished with such expensive and badly nicked china, in one corner of the great chamber. The rocker had been overlooked, in the preparation of this room for a young girl’s use, and would have been removed had Madam remembered it. She herself disdained the use of such a chair and considered it totally unfit for well-bred people. Easy chairs of ancient and ample proportions—these were quite different; but until of late, since that accident which Barnes had mentioned, she had herself never occupied aught but the straight-backed ones, such as had been the correct thing in her childhood.

“Yes, most of my clothes are made like this. My mother does them. Isn’t it pretty? I’ve two more;” finished Jessica proudly, sweeping out the rather scant skirt to show its beauty.

“Two more! Is that all? And you one of the greatest heiresses in the land, my lady says!” cried Barnes, looking with infinite scorn upon the simple blue flannel dress which its wearer thought so fine. “Well! If that ain’t odd! Come. We’ll go down now, and I warn you again—mind the stairs!”