JANE KELLY FINDS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
That night a house on Murry Hill was lighted up with more than usual
splendor, not exactly for a party, for then those broad stone steps
would have been carpeted to the street, and a sound of music would have
been heard by every passer-by. Still there were sufficient indications
of company; all the front windows were ablaze with light. The large gas
lanterns on each side the steps flooded the pavement with their
radiance. The soft hum of voices came faintly through draperies of lace
and curtains of satin, and there seemed to be a good deal of commotion
in the basement, quite enough to justify the idea of a large party
gathered socially.
All this troubled Jane Kelly, who stood by the stone railing with the
velvet prayer-book under her shawl, doubtful whether she had not better
put off her errand to another day, than risk a denial at the door. Jane
was not a woman to hesitate over small difficulties. She was seized with
curiosity to know what was going on in that lofty mansion, and went down
the basement-steps as if she belonged there.
A sharp pull at the bell brought a servant to the hall-door, a
woman-servant, for the men were all up-stairs, dressed like ministers,
and with white gloves on their hands.
“Why, Ellen Burns! is it you?”
“Hush.”
The servant lifted up both hands with something like terror, when she
uttered this word, and looked over her shoulder to make certain that no
one was listening.
“Come in,” she said, in a whisper; “but not one word about the hospital;
I should lose my place if it were known that I had ever been a nurse
there.”
“Is the lady as particular as that?” answered Jane, sinking her voice
and slipping inside the door. “Well, well, never fear, I know how to
keep a close mouth, you know that of old.”
“Yes, yes, I know,—step in here,—you have come at a fortunate time; two
of the girls are up-stairs, and the men are all so busy that we can have
the parlor here almost to ourselves.”
Jane slipped through the door opened for her, and found herself in a
room that struck her as sumptuous.
“Won’t the lady come down and catch us in her parlor?” she asked a
little anxiously.
Ellen laughed, and throwing herself on a sofa, made room for Jane by her
side.
“She come here! Why, this is the servants’ parlor, Jane Kelly; we have
nice times here, I tell you, especially when she is away at the
watering-places;—not that we stay here much, why should we when the
drawing-room is more convenient,—such balls and parties as we have! such
wine! to say nothing of——, well, no matter. Tell me what brought you
here, of all places in the world?”
“No, tell me more about your way of living. It must be sumptuous; I
should like it.”
“Like it! of course you would; double the wages you get, and half the
work.”
“No vacancy? One would not get in with the help of a friend like you,
Ellen. I should like it, you know.”
“Impossible,” said Ellen, firmly.
“I thought so. Well, never mind. You were speaking about parties and
wine—champagne, perhaps?”
“Plenty of it—like water, in fact—that is, when she’s away.”
“But how do you get it?”
“She takes the keys of the wine-cellar, of course, but careful as a
woman can be, such things will sometimes be mislaid or lost. Hers got
lost one day. She had to get a locksmith and have another made.
Singular, wasn’t it? but weeks after I found that very key in my
pocket.”
“Very singular,” said Jane demurely.
“Isn’t it, now? but our little parties have gone off splendidly ever
since.”
“I should think so,” said Jane; “I only wonder you never thought to
invite me.”
“Couldn’t,” answered Ellen, shaking her head. “The aristocracy would
have turned up its nose clear through the basement. Nothing but
first-class ladies and gentlemen get into these little swarrys,—ladies’
maids, footmen, and so on,—awfully _rechercher_, I can tell you. Why,
some of us wear real diamonds; I don’t, for my duties are down-stairs,
but you may bet on it the girls that take care of their mistress’s
things shine now and then.”
“Real diamonds,” said Jane Kelly, feeling hastily in her pocket, and
drawing out a paper box which she opened, “something like that, maybe.”
“Goodness gracious! where did you get it?” cried the girl, snatching at
the diamond ear-ring, which flashed and quivered in the gas-light.
“At any rate, it’s my own and borrowed from no mistress, you may stake
your life on that—so you see that I can cut a splash when I want to.”
“Let me see the other,” said Ellen, reaching forth her hand toward the
box.
“Oh, they are exactly alike, of course,” answered Jane, crowding a tuft
of pink cotton wool into the box; “mates, you know, and worth lots of
chink.”
“How did you come by them? now, tell me.”
“Never you mind; they belong to me, and I can wear them before the Queen
of England if I like.”
“Well, you have been lucky!”
“Some folks are lucky one way, and some another,—you are great on wine
and aristocratic company—I—no matter about me,—I’m not good enough for
these little swarrys.”
“Oh, but I didn’t say that. You always was a stylish girl, Jane, and
those rings are sumpt’us. With them in your ears, and coming as my
friend, what could be said agin you? Got other things to match, I dare
say.”
“Well, yes,” answered Jane, after a moment’s hesitation, “or that which
will get ’em.”
Ellen put a finger to her lips and fell into thought. Jane watched her
with side glances, while she packed away her ear-ring in the pink
cotton.
“I should be glad to have you come like a princess—you could look it,
Jane Kelly. I’ve often heard young doctors say how handsome you was;
among all us nurses, you always would cut the widest swath. If you’ll
promise to sweep over some of these topping ladies’ maids and outshine
’em out and out, I’ll get you an invite to our next.”
“I’ll do it,” said Jane with emphasis. “Trust me, I’ll walk right
straight over ’em.”
“That is just what I shall glory in. O Maria! how you startled me; this
is my friend, Miss Kelly, just got in from New Haven, where she has been
living with, with—”
“The president of the College—lovely family,” said Jane.
The young person thus addressed put one hand into the pocket of her
dainty white apron, and dropped a little curtsy which had plenty of
reservations in it. Then she went to a glass and arranged the hair that
rolled tightly back from her forehead, patting it coquettishly on each
temple with her hand.
“I—I am glad to see your friend, Ellen, though just this minute it is
the least mite of a disappointment. Mr. Simpson asked me to be in the
parlor about this time. He will be bringing things down, you know, and I
was going to ask, as the greatest favor, that you would take my place
up-stairs awhile. I hope your friend will excuse me mentioning it.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” said Jane, rising with the air of an empress.
“Couldn’t you go up-stairs with me?” said Ellen, greatly impressed by
this grand air. “It is only to sit there while I get the ladies’ things
as they come up.”
Jane hesitated. She saw that her chances of an interview with Mrs.
Judson were very small, but still the temptation to see more of the
house had its force.
“Oh, don’t let me drive your friend away!” said the girl they called
Maria, settling her apron with great nicety. “I would not have spoken
for the world if I had dreamed of such a thing.”
“I am not going away, thank you,” answered Jane, with a fling of the
head which delighted her friend. “Ellen wants me to go up-stairs with
her, and I’m agoing.”
Now, the girl Maria did not care a fig where either Ellen or her friend
went, so long as they left the servants’ parlor to her and Mr. Simpson,
who had with his own white-gloved hands put away some dainties for this
special occasion. These dainties the two had no idea of sharing with any
one, much less had Maria the least intention of giving a portion of Mr.
Simpson’s society to either of the two females whom, much to her
disgust, she had found in occupation when she came into the parlor.
“Dear me, I’m so afraid I’ve disturbed you! hadn’t the least intention
of doing it; perhaps I had better go up-stairs again.”
Here Maria seated herself in a rocking-chair, shook out her dress, made
herself generally comfortable, and concealed a yawn behind her hand.
“That’s just like her,” said Ellen, as she went up-stairs with her
guest. “She thinks there is nobody on earth but herself; just as if Mr.
Simpson ever asked her; she don’t wait for that, let me tell you.”
“I should like to have her for a patient, that’s all,” said Jane Kelly,
giving her hand a fierce grip. “Wouldn’t I let her beg for drink? Oh,
no!”
“Hush!” whispered Ellen; “we are close by the dressing-room—some one may
be there.”
Jane became silent on the instant, and walking almost on tiptoe,
followed her friend along the upper hall.