IN THE TRAITOR'S TOILS.
Her heart is sick with thinking
Of the misery she must find.
Her mind is almost sinking--
That once so buoyant mind--
She cannot look before her,
On the evil-haunted way.
Redeem her! oh! restore her!
Thou Lord of night and day!
--_Monckton Milnes._
Overwhelmed with, horror, terror, and indignation, Claudia just
tottered from the room in time to escape discovery.
On reaching the hall she saw the door leading into her own suite of
apartments wide open and all the rooms lighted up and old Katie
moving about, unpacking trunks and hanging up dresses. Katie, it
seemed, with something like canine instinct as to locality, had
experienced no difficulty in finding her mistress' rooms.
As soon as Lady Vincent entered her dressing room the old woman drew
the resting chair and footstool up to the fire, and when Claudia had
dropped into the seat she leaned over the back of the chair, and
forgetting ceremony, spoke to her nursling as she had spoken to her
in the days of that nursling's infancy.
"Miss Claudia, honey, I wants to talk to you downright ser'us, I
do."
"Talk on, Katie," sighed Claudia.
"But, 'deed, I'm feared I shall hurt your feelings, honey."
"You cannot do that."
"Well, then, honey--but 'deed you must excuse me, Miss Claudia,
because I wouldn't say a word, only I think how it is my bounden
duty."
"For Heaven's sake, Katie, say what you wish to without so much
preface."
"Well, then, Miss Claudia--laws, honey, I's nussed you ever since
you was borned, and been like another mammy to you ever since your
own dear mammy went to heaven, and if I haven't got a right to speak
free, I'd like to know who has!"
"Certainly; certainly! Only, in mercy, go on!" exclaimed Claudia,
who, fevered, excited, and nearly maddened by what she had
overheard, could scarcely be patient with her old servant.
"Well, Miss Claudia, honey, it is all about this strange foreign
'oman as is a-wisiting here."
"Ah!" exclaimed Claudia, looking up and becoming at once interested.
"Miss Claudia, honey, that 'oman aint no fitting company for you.
She aint."
"Ah! what do you know of her?" inquired Claudia in a low,
breathless, eager voice.
"Honey, I cotch my eye on her dis evening. You see dis was de way of
it, chile. I was in dis very room; but I hadn't lighted up de lamps,
so I was in 'parative darkness, and de big hall was in 'parative
light; so dey couldn't see me, but I could see dem, when dey come
into de big hall, her and my lordship. And I seen her how she look
at him, and smile on him, and coo over him like any turkle dove, as
no 'spectable lady would ever do. And so dey walks into dat room,
opposite to dis."
"Katie, I do not wish to hear any more of this stuff. You forget
yourself, surely!" said Lady Vincent, suddenly waking to the
consciousness that she was compromising her dignity in listening to
the tale-bearing of a servant, even so old and tried as Katie was.
"Very well, Miss Claudia, honey, you knows best; but take one piece
of advice from de best friend you's got on dis side o' de big water.
You 'void dat 'oman. Oh, Miss Claudia, chile! wouldn't you keep
out'n de way of anybody as had de smallpox or any other deadly
plague? Tell me dat!"
"Of course I would."
"Oh, Miss Claudia, honey, listen to me, den! Dere is worser plagues
dan de smallpox; more 'fectious and more fatal, too. Moral plagues!
De fust plague, Miss Claudia, can only disfigur' de face and kill de
body; but de las' plague can disfigur' de heart and kill de soul.
Miss Claudia, 'void dat 'oman! She'll 'fect you with the moral
plague as is deadly to de heart and soul," said the old woman, with
a manner of deep solemnity.
Claudia was moved. She shook as she answered:
"Katie, you mean well; but let us talk no more of this tonight. And
whatever your thoughts may be of this evil woman, I must beg that
you will not utter them to any one of the other servants."
"I won't, Miss Claudia. I won't speak of her to nobody but you."
"Nor to me, unless I ask you. And now, Katie, bring me my dressing
gown and help me to disrobe. I am tired to death."
"And no wonder, honey," said the old woman, as she went to obey.
When she had arranged her young mistress at ease in dressing gown
and slippers, in the resting chair, she would still have lingered
near her, tendering little offices of affection, but Claudia,
wishing to be alone, dismissed her.
Lady Vincent had need of solitude for reflection.
As soon as old Katie had left her alone she clasped her hands and
fell back in her chair, exclaiming: "What shall I do? Oh! what shall
I do?"
She tried to think; but in the whirl of her emotions, thought was
very difficult, almost impossible. She felt that she had been
deceived and betrayed; and that her situation was critical and
perilous in the extreme. What should she do? to whom should she
appeal? how should she escape? where should she go?
Should she now "beard the lion in his den"; charge Lord Vincent with
his perfidy, duplicity, treachery, and meditated crime; demand the
instantaneous dismissal of Faustina; and insist upon an immediate
introduction to his family as the only means of safety to herself?
Where would be the good of that? She, a "stranger in a strange
land," an inmate of a remote coast fortress, was absolutely in Lord
Vincent's power. He would deride her demands and defy her wrath.
Should she openly attempt to leave the castle and return to her
native country and her friends? Again, what would be the good of
such an attempt? Her departure, she felt sure, would never be
permitted.
Should she try to make her escape secretly? That would be difficult
or impossible. The castle stood upon the extreme point of its high
promontory, overlooking the sea; it was remote from any other
dwelling; the roads leading from it were for miles impassable to
foot passengers. And besides all this, Claudia was unwilling to take
such a very undignified course.
In fact, she was unwilling to abandon her position at all--painful
and dangerous as it was; having purchased it at a high price she
felt like retaining end defending it.
What then should she do? The answer came like an inspiration. Write
to her father to come over immediately to her aid. And get him to
bring about her introduction to the Earl of Hurstmonceux's family
and her recognition by their circle. This course, she thought, would
secure her personal safety and her social position, if not her
domestic happiness; for the latter she had never dared to hope.
And while waiting for her father's arrival, she would be "wise as
serpents," if not "harmless as doves." She would meet Lord Vincent
on his own grounds and fight him with his own weapons; she would
beat duplicity with duplicity.
But first to write the letter to her father and dispatch it secretly
by the first mail. She arose and rang the bell.
Katie answered it.
"Unpack my little writing desk and place it on this stand beside
me."
Katie did as she was ordered.
"Now lock the door and wait here until I write a letter."
Katie obeyed and then seated herself on a footstool near her lady's
feet.
Claudia opened her writing desk; but paused long, pen in hand,
reflecting how she had better write this letter.
If she should tell her father at once of all the horror of her
position the sudden news might throw him into a fit of apoplexy and
kill him instantly.
And on the other hand, if she were to conceal all this and merely
write him a pressing invitation to come over immediately, he might
take his time over it.
Speed Claudia felt to be of the utmost importance to her cause. So,
after due reflection, she dipped her pen in ink, and commenced as
follows:
"Castle Cragg, near Banff, Buchan, Scotland.
"My Dearest Father: We are all in good health; therefore do not be
alarmed, even though I earnestly implore you to drop everything that
you may have in hand, and come over to me immediately, by the very
first steamer that sails after your receipt of this letter. Father,
you will comply with my entreaty when I inform you that I have been
deceived and betrayed by him who swore to protect and cherish me. My
life and honor are both imperiled. I will undertake to guard both
for a month, until you come. But come at once to your wronged,
though
"Loving child,
"Claudia."
She sealed the letter very carefully, directed it, and gave it into
the hands of her old servant, saying:
"Katie, listen to every word I say, and obey to the very letter.
Take this downstairs and give it to Jim privately. Let no one see,
or hear, or even suspect what you are doing. Tell him to steal out
carefully from the castle and walk to the nearest roadside inn, and
hire a horse and ride to Banff, and mail this letter there; and then
come back and report progress to you. Now, Katie, do you understand
what you have got to do?"
"Yes, Miss Claudia."
"Repeat it to me, then."
Katie rehearsed her instructions.
"That will do. Hurry now and obey them."
When Katie had gone Lady Vincent closed her writing desk, threw
herself back in her chair, covered her face with her hands, and
wept.
She was startled by the entrance of Lord Vincent.
She hastily dried her eyes, and shifted her position so that her
back was to the light and her face in deep shadow.
"You are sitting up late, my lady. I should think you would be tired
after your long journey," he said, as he took another armchair and
seated himself opposite to her.
"I was just thinking of retiring," answered Claudia, putting severe
constraint upon herself.
"But since I find you sitting up, if it will not fatigue you too
much, I will answer some questions you asked me concerning Mrs.
Dugald," said his lordship.
"Yes?" said Claudia, scarcely able to breathe the single syllable.
"Yes. You inquired of me who she was. I told you she was my sister.
You did not believe me; but you should have done so, for I told you
the truth. She is my sister."
Scarcely able to restrain her indignation at this impudent
falsehood, and fearful of trusting the sound of her own voice,
Claudia answered in a low tone:
"I supposed that you were jesting with my curiosity. I knew, of
course, that your sisters were titled ladies. Mrs. Dugald is an
untitled one, therefore she could not be your sister; nor could she
be your sister-in-law, since you are an only son."
"You are mistaken in both your premises: Mrs. Dugald is my sister-
in-law, and is a titled lady, since she is the widow of my younger
half-brother, the Honorable Kenneth Dugald," said the viscount
triumphantly.
"I never heard that your deceased brother had been married,"
answered Claudia coolly.
"No? Why, bless you, yes! About four years ago he married the beauty
over whom all Paris was going raving mad. She was the prima donna of
the Italian opera in Paris. But the marriage was not pleasing to the
earl, who is severely afflicted with the prejudices of his rank. He
immediately disowned his son, the Honorable Kenneth, never speaking
to him again during his, Kenneth's, life. And more than that, he
carried his resentment beyond the grave; for even after Kenneth died
of a fever contracted in the Crimea, and his widow was left
unprovided for, and with the pleasant alternative of starving to
death or dragging the noble name of Dugald before the footlights of
the stage, my father politely informed her that she was at liberty
to go on the stage or to go to--hem! It was then that I offered La
Faustina an asylum in my house, which she accepted. And I hope, Lady
Vincent, that you will be good enough to make her welcome," said
Lord Vincent.
Claudia could not reply; the anger, scorn, and disgust that filled
her bosom fairly choked her voice.
After a struggle with herself, she managed to articulate:
"How does the earl like your protection of this woman?"
"I wish you would not use that word 'protection,' Claudia. It is an
equivocal one."
"Then it is the better suited to describe the relation, which is
certainly most equivocal!" Claudia, in spite of all her resolutions,
could not for the life of her help replying.
"It is false! And I will not permit you to say it. The position of
Mrs. Dugald is not an equivocal one. It is clearly defined. She is
my brother's widow. When I invited her to take up her residence in
this castle I took care to leave it before she arrived. And I never
returned to it until to-day, when I brought you with me. Your
presence here, of course, renders the residence of my brother's
widow beneath my roof altogether proper."
Claudia had much to do to control her feelings, as she said:
"We will waive the question of propriety, which, of course, is
settled by my presence in the house; but you have not yet told me
how the earl likes this arrangement."
"I have not seen the earl since the arrangement has been made. I
fancy he will like it well, since it relieves him of the burden of
having her to support, and saves him from the mortification of
seeing her return to the boards."
"Good-night, my lord!" said Claudia abruptly, rising and retiring to
her bedroom, for she felt that she could not remain another moment
in Lord Vincent's presence, without confronting him with her perfect
knowledge of his meditated villainy, and thus losing her only chance
of defeating it.
Claudia retired to bed, but, though worn out with fatigue, she could
not sleep. This, then, was her coming home! She had sold her
birthright, and got not even the "mess of pottage," but the cup of
poison.
She lay tossing about with fevered veins and throbbing temples until
morning, when, at last, she sunk into a sleep of exhaustion.
She awoke with a prostrating, nervous headache. She attempted to
rise, but fell helplessly back upon the pillow. Then she reached
forth her hand and rang the bell that hung at the side of her bed.
Katie answered it.
"Did Jim succeed in mailing my letter?" was her first question.
"Yes, my ladyship; but he had to wait ever so long before the tide
ebbed to let him cross over to the shore; but he got there all
right, and in time to save the mail; but he didn't get back here
until this morning."
"Did anyone find out his going?"
"Not a living soul, as I knows of, Miss Claudia."
"Thank Heaven!" said Lady Vincent, with a deep sigh.
Old Katie busied herself with bringing her mistress' stockings, soft
slippers, and dressing gown to the bedside; but Claudia said:
"Put them away again, Katie; I shall not rise to-day. I have one of
my very bad, nervous headaches. You may bring me a cup of strong
coffee."
"Ah, honey, no wonder! I go bring it directly," said Katie, hurrying
away with affectionate eagerness to bring the fragrant restorative.
A few minutes afterwards Katie entered with the tray, followed by
the housekeeper, Mrs. Murdock, who came with anxious inquiries as to
Lady Vincent's health.
"I have a very bad, nervous headache, which is not surprising, after
all my fatigue," replied Claudia.
"Nay, indeed, and it is not, me leddy; you should lie quietly in bed
to-day, and to-morrow you will be well," said the dame.
"Yes."
"And, me leddy, Mrs. Dugald bid me give her compliments to your
leddyship, and ask if she should come and sit with you."
"I cannot receive Mrs. Dugald," said Claudia coldly.
"Ah, then I will say your leddyship is na weel enough to receive
company?"
"Say what you please. I cannot receive Mrs. Dugald."
Old Katie had gone into the dressing room to stir the fire, which
was to warm the whole suite. Taking advantage of her absence the
housekeeper sat down beside Lady Vincent's bed, and, while pouring
out her coffee, stooped and nodded and whispered:
"Aye! and sma' blame to your leddyship, gin ye never receive the
likes of her."
"What do you know of Mrs. Dugald that you should say so?" was
Claudia's cold question. For alas, poor lady, she was in sad
straits! She had need to glean knowledge of her dangerous enemy from
every possible quarter; but--she felt that she must do so without
committing herself, or compromising her dignity.
"Nay, I ken naething! I dinna like the quean! that's all!" said the
woman, growing all at once reserved.
"She is the widow of the late Honorable Kenneth Dugald?" said
Claudia, in a tone that might be received either as a statement or a
question.
"Sae it is said. I ken naething anent it," replied the dame, taking
up the tray of empty cups. "Will your leddyship ha' anything more?"
"No, thank you, Mrs. Murdock," replied Claudia, in a very sweet
tone, for she felt that in her pride of place she had repulsed the
offered confidence of an honest old creature who might have been of
great use to her.
"Will I sit wi' your leddyship?" inquired the dame.
"No, I am much obliged to you. I must rest now; but I should be glad
if you would come to me later in the day."
"Yes, me leddy," answered the dame, somewhat mollified, as she
courtesied and withdrew from the room, leaving Lady Vincent to the
care of her own faithful servant.