THE CONFERENCE IN MRS. JUDSON’S CHAMBER.
Ellen opened a door at the upper end of the hall, and Jane Kelly found
herself in a spacious chamber, brilliantly lighted, with a broad, tall
mirror rising from floor to ceiling, and a Psyche glass swinging between
gilded supporters, in which she saw herself from head to foot.
Several easy-chairs, shrouded in white linen, stood about the room, and
a bed, canopied with lace and crimson satin, was laden down with loose
garments, which betokened the presence of ladies enough for a large
dinner-party.
On the dressing-table, toilet articles lay about as if but recently
used. Combs and ivory-handled brushes, carved into richness, were
scattered over the white marble, and on a table close by, an elaborate
dressing-case stood open with all its crystal flasks and cases exposed,
glittering with gold, and, in some instances, surmounted with exquisite
cameos that might have befitted a lady’s necklace.
Jane Kelly, after gazing about the room in wonder at its costliness,
went up to this dressing-case and began to handle the dainty articles it
contained. Ellen turned upon her sharply enough,—
“Don’t,” she said. “You will get me into trouble.”
Jane’s eyes flashed; she settled the flask which she had been examining
into its place with an angry jerk. “Are you afraid that I shall steal
something?” she demanded rudely. “If you are, say so.”
“There now, you are going off into one of your old tempers, Jane Kelly.
I a’n’t afraid of anything of the sort; but you aren’t used to handling
such things; why, one of them bottles is worth two months of your
wages.”
“Well, let her keep ’em; I have no use for such things; wouldn’t take
’em for a gift if it wasn’t to sell ’em again, not I. Things that one
can wear are worth having; but I wouldn’t give shucks for a load of
gimcracks like these. Who wants ’em to dress with?”
After expressing her disdain of Mrs. Judson’s dressing-case, Kelly
turned her back upon it, and took a full-length portrait of herself in
the mirror.
“Well,” she said, throwing the shawl around her, and shaking out the
ribbons of her bonnet, “I think the woman in that glass is quite as
good-looking as that whiflet down-stairs, with her white apron, and her
hair combed back like a Chinaman. How I wanted to shake her.”
“Now, if I was you—” said Ellen, beginning to feel uncomfortable about
her guest.
“Well, what if you was me?”
“I would just take off my bonnet and shawl, so that the ladies, if any
of ’em come up, would not think it strange. I will hang them up in the
hall-closet, and give you a nice apron to put on—that is, if you have a
mind to stay longer.”
Jane did not take the hint given in these words. She had made up her
mind to stay and get an interview with the lady of the house, if
possible. With this intent she took off her bonnet and shawl, gave them
to Ellen, and invested herself in the dainty white apron which her
friend brought from another room.
“Now,” she said, with a mocking smile, “you needn’t fidget yourself any
more about me. I’m neither going to steal nor disgrace you. I wasn’t
brought up so deep in the woods as you seem to think—had more education
than a dozen such creatures as that down-stairs, and know more than
fifty of ’em rolled into one. Now sit down here, and let us two have a
talk.”
Ellen drew a seat close to the cosy chair in which Jane Kelly placed
herself.
“Well, what shall we talk about—old times?”
“Old times—not a bit of it; the very name of that hospital makes me
sick. I want to get out of it, and mean to. No, no; tell me about your
own way of living. What kind of a lady is this Mrs. Judson?”
“Oh,” said Ellen, “she’s one of the nicest ladies in the world, of
course.”
“Why of course?”
“Because I live with her, and she pays me good wages. I’m not going to
run down the bridge that carries me over.”
“Not in a general way; but to me, just for the sake of telling the truth
to an old friend, you know.”
“Well, if you must know, she’s an old cat.”
“Exactly,” said Jane, with a nod of the head.
“One of your charitable women.”
“Gives away prayer-books and Bibles, no doubt.”
“Plenty of them; tracts, too; but the Bible-House always finds the
books, make sure of that.”
“Isn’t the woman to give away velvet-bound prayer-books or things of
that kind at her own expense, ah?”
“What, she? Well, yes, if the person she gave ’em to was rich enough not
to care for them. On Christmas-day I have known her do such things.”
“When?”
“Why, what do you care? She won’t give you one, I’ll be bound.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that—only talking for talk’s sake.”
“Promiscuous?”
“Exactly. Now tell me, just for fun, you know, who did she ever give a
prayer-book to?”
Ellen drew her chair close to Jane, and spoke in a low voice.
“That’s a family secret, Jane Kelly, and you must not ask me about it.”
“A family secret; just the thing—and not tell me! That isn’t like you,
Ellen; such old friends as we have been. Didn’t I always keep your
little affairs close?”
“I know; but one word about this would cost me my place.”
“But who’s going to say the word? Not Jane Kelly, you may be bound.”
“No, I could trust you; but what good would there be in telling?”
“True enough,” said Jane, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t suppose
there is anything to tell. Houses like this are always stupid places for
a clever girl to live in. At the hospital one has variety, and can boss
it over the women. I might have known that you had nothing to tell.”
“But I have—only it’s dangerous. Bend your head close, Jane, and I’ll
tell you all about it,—enough to make you cry.”
Jane turned her head, and Ellen stooped toward her, speaking low and
eagerly. If Jane was interested, she only gave indications of it now and
then by a brief question.
“And she did not know where the girl went—has no idea about her?”
“No, she hasn’t; and it troubles her—my! how it does trouble her. When
they come, there’ll be questions she won’t know how to answer. I
wouldn’t be in her place for both your diamond ear-rings.”
“Has she tried to find her?”
“Of course she has, but quietly, you know. Had a detective here one day
up in her own room. Thought we servants did not know; but there’s
nothing going on that we do not understand.”
“Exactly!” said Jane Kelly, leaning back in her chair as if tired of the
subject. “Now tell me who are the people down-stairs?”
“Oh, it’s a meeting of the Society—the annual meeting. Quite a
mission—fashionable people from the Hill, and pious people from the
side-streets—come early and go home by eleven. They are likely to be
upon us any minute.”
“Well, what am I to do when they come?” inquired Jane.
“Oh, be ready to put on their cloaks, and hand pins as they want them.
It’s only the Murry-Hillers that will want attention—the others wear
over-shoes, and put them on with their own hands. I never offer to do it
for them, at any rate.”
“Hush!” said Jane; “they are coming now.”