MRS. J. E. FORREST.
Everard had been gone nearly two weeks instead of one, and Rosamond had
not heard from him except through Mr. Russell, who told her that the
business, which had reference to sundry infringements on patents and
some missing deeds, was occupying him longer than he had supposed it
would, as it required much research and a good deal of travel; “but he
ought to be home now, very soon,” he said to her one rainy morning in
November, when he came to see her on business and found her sick in her
room with a sore throat and severe cold. Rossie had been very lonely
with both Everard and Beatrice away,—for the latter had been in New York
since September, and at last accounts was on her way to Florida with
Mollie Morton, who wished to try the effect of a milder climate than
Vermont, and as Mr. Morton could not leave his church in Boston, which
had now become a permanency, Bee had consented to accompany her, so
Rossie was alone, and in a measure defenseless, on the afternoon when
Mrs. Markham announced that the hack which ran to and from the depot had
turned into the avenue and was coming to the house, and that it
contained two ladies and at least three trunks, if not four.
“Ladies and trunks coming here?” Rossie exclaimed, starting up in bed
and trying to listen to the voices, which were soon heard speaking
together at the side door, where the hack had stopped.
But she could distinguish nothing, and Mrs. Markham went to ascertain
who the strangers were. Half-way down the stairs she met old Aunt Axie,
who held in her hand a black-bordered card on which was engraved the
name, “MRS. J. E. FORREST.”
“The young lady done gin me this to fotch to Miss Hastings,” Axie said,
as she handed the card to Mrs. Markham, who twice repeated the name
“MRS. J. E. FORREST.”
“Who can she be? Had the judge any near relatives?” she asked Axie, who
replied:
“Not’s I knows on. I never hearn tell of any J. E. Forrests, but Mars’r
Everard.”
“Where is the lady?” was Mrs. Markham’s next question, and Axie replied:
“In the ’ception room, kind of shivrin’ and shakin’ as if she war cold.
I reckon she’s come to stay a spell, case the four big trunks is all in
a pile in de side entry, and she acts as ef she think she belong here,
for she ask sharp like, ‘Ain’t thar no fire you can take me to? I’m
chilled through.’
“‘Thar’s a fire in Miss Rossie’s room,’ I said, ‘but she’s sick.’
“‘Miss who?’ she said, sharper still. ‘Is it Miss Hastings you mean?
Take her my card and say I’d like to see her if possible,’ and that’s
every blessed thing I know ’bout ’em, only the old one looks queer and
scart like, and nothin’ in the house for dinner but a bit of bacon,” and
having told all she knew of the visitors, Axie went on her way to report
the same to Rosamond, and confer with her about the dinner and the rooms
the guests were to occupy, while Mrs. Markham went down to the
reception-room to meet MRS. J. E. FORREST.
Josephine had greatly surprised her sister by walking in upon her
unannounced one morning a few days previously, and had still further
astonished her by saying that Judge Forrest was dead, and that she had
come home in order to go at once to Rothsay and her husband. She laid
great stress on that word, and gave Agnes to understand that he had
written to her of his father’s death, and that it was at his request she
had crossed the sea to join him.
“But won’t he come here for you? Seems to me that would have a better
look,” Agnes said, and her sister replied:
“He is quite too busy to waste his time that way, for we can go alone;
he knows I am accustomed to traveling. We will start at once, I am so
anxious to be there. We can shut up the house for the present, until
matters are adjusted, when you or I can come back and see to the
things.”
Could Agnes have had her choice she would have preferred remaining where
she was, for she dreaded change of any kind. But go she must, for her
presence would add weight and respectability to Josephine, who was very
kind to her, and made the leaving Holburton as easy as possible. To a
few of her old friends Josephine told the secret of her marriage,
showing her certificate, and saying, now her father-in-law was dead
there was nothing in the way of publishing the marriage to the world,
and that she was going to her husband.
Of course all Holburton was excited, some believing the story, others
discrediting it, but all remembering the play and the mock marriage
which had seemed so solemn and real. But Josephine was not popular, and
few if any regrets were sent after her when she started for the Forrest
House, which she reached on the chill November day, when everything was
looking its very worst.
Even the grounds had a bare, gray look, but they were very spacious and
large, and Josephine felt a throb of pride as she rode up the avenue,
looking eagerly out at the great, square, old-fashioned building, which,
though massive, and stately, and pretentious, was not quite what she had
expected to find. There was about it a shut-up, deserted air, which made
her ask the hackman if there was any one at home, or why the blinds were
all closed except in the wing.
The hackman was a negro who had once been in Judge Forrest’s employ, and
he replied:
“Miss Rossie’s dar whar you see de shutters open, but de rest she keep
closed sense old marster died.”
There was something like a flash of indignation in Josephine’s eyes as
she thought how soon she would change the administration of the
household, and make Miss Rossie know her place.
They had reached the side entrance by this time, and Josephine waited in
her seat an instant in the hope that her truant lord might come himself
to see who his visitors were. In that case she meant to be forgiving,
and put her arms around his neck, and kiss him, and whisper in his ear:
“I know everything, but I come in peace, not in war. Let us be friends,
and do you leave the explanation to me.”
She had decided upon this plan since leaving Holburton, for the nearer
she drew to Rothsay the more she began to dread and fear the man who she
knew had outlived all love and respect for her. But only Aunt Axie’s
broad, black face looked out into the rain, and beamed a smile on Luke,
the driver, who was a distant relative.
Springing lightly from the carriage Josey ran up the steps into the
hall, where she stood while Agnes joined her, and Luke deposited the
heavy trunks and claimed his customary fee, and a little more on the
plea of “so many big boxes to tote.”
But Josephine refused him sharply, and then followed Aunt Axie into the
cold reception-room, where no fire had been made that day, for Rossie
had never abandoned her determination to use as little as possible of
the Forrest money, and nothing superfluous was expended either in fuel,
or eatables, or dress. So far as her own income,—a matter of one hundred
and forty dollars or thereabouts,—was concerned, she was very generous
and free; but when it came to Everard’s money, as she called it, her
economies were almost painful at times, and wrung many a remonstrance
from old Axie, the cook.
With a shiver and a quick, curious glance around the cheerless room,
Josephine turned to Aunt Axie and said:
“Is Mr. Forrest at home,—Mr. Everard Forrest?”
“No, miss. He done went away quite a spell ago, but Miss Rossie’s
’spectin’ him every day. He don’t live here, though, when he’s home; he
stay mostly in de town.”
Josephine did not understand her, and continued:
“He will come here, I suppose, as soon as he returns?”
“Yes, miss, he’s sure to do dat,” and Axie nodded knowingly.
Of course, she had no suspicion who this lady was, walking about the
room and examining the furniture with a critical and not favorable eye,
and asking, at last, if there was no fire where she could warm herself
after her cold ride?
On being told there was a fire in Miss Rossie’s room, she took from her
purse one of the cards she had had engraved in Paris, and bidding Axie
take it to Miss Hastings, sat down to await the result. To Agnes she
said, in something of her old, dictatorial tone:
“Pray, don’t look so nervous and frightened, as if we were a pair of
burglars. It is my husband’s house, and I have a right here.”
“Yes, I know,” faltered Agnes; “but it looks as if they did not expect
you,—as if he did not know you were coming, or he would have been home,
and it’s all so dreary; I wish I was back in Holburton,” and poor,
homesick Agnes began to cry softly.
But Josephine bade her keep quiet.
“You let me do the talking,” she said. “You need not speak, or if you
have to you must assent to what you hear me say, even if it is not all
quite true.”
Josephine had expected Rosamond herself, and had taken a very pretty
attitude, and even laid off her hat so as to show her golden hair,
which, in the dampness, was one mass of waves and curls and little rings
about her forehead. She meant to astonish and dazzle the girl whom she
suspected as her rival, and who she imagined to be plain and
unprepossessing, and when she heard a step outside she drew herself up a
little, but had no intention of rising. She should assert her
superiority at once, and sit while she received Miss Hastings rather
than be received by her. How then was she disappointed and chagrined
when, instead of Rossie, there appeared on the threshold a middle-aged
woman, who showed that she was every whit a lady, and whose manner, as
she bowed to the blonde beauty, brought her to her feet immediately.
“Mrs. Forrest?” Mrs. Markham said, interrogatively, consulting the card
she held, and then glancing at Josephine, who answered her:
“Yes, Mrs. J. E. Forrest. My husband, it seems, is not here to receive
me and explain matters, for which I am very sorry.”
Even then Mrs. Markham had no suspicion of the truth. The husband
referred to was, of course, some distant relative, who was to have been
there in advance of his wife, and she replied:
“No, there has been no gentleman here, but that does not matter, except
as it may be awkward for you. Miss Hastings will make you very welcome,
though she is sick to-day and in bed. Your husband is a relative of Mr.
Everard Forrest, I presume.”
“A relative! My husband _is_ Mr. Everard Forrest,” Josephine said. “We
were married four years ago last summer, and at his request, I have kept
it a secret ever since. But my sister,” and she nodded toward Agnes,
“saw me married, and I have my marriage certificate in my bag. Agnes,
give me my satchel, please,” and she turned again to Agnes, who knew now
that they were there unexpected and unknown, and her face was very white
as she brought the satchel for Josephine to open.
Mrs. Markham was confounded and incredulous, and she showed it in her
face as she dropped into a chair and stared wonderingly at her visitor,
who, from a little box fastened with lock and key, abstracted a paper
which she handed her to read.
“I know just how I must seem to you,” Josephine said. “You think me an
adventuress, an impostor, but I am neither. I am Everard Forrest’s
lawful wife, as this certificate will show you.”
Mrs. Markham did not reply, for she was reading that, at Holburton, New
York, on the evening of the 17th of July, 18—, Mr. James E. Forrest, of
Rothsay, Ohio, was united in matrimony to Miss Josephine Fleming, by the
Rev. Mr. Matthewson. There could be no mistake apparently, unless this
paper was a forgery and the woman a lunatic, and still Mrs. Markham
could not believe it. She had a great respect and liking for Everard,
and held him as a model young man, who would never stoop to deception
like this, and then,—there was Rossie! and the kind-hearted woman felt a
pang of pity and a throb of indignation as she thought how Rossie had
been wronged and duped if this thing were true, and this woman
confronting her so calmly and unflinchingly were really Everard’s wife.
“I cannot believe it. I will not believe it,” she thought; and as
composedly as it was possible for her to do, she said:
“This is a strange story you tell me, and if it is true it bears very
heavily against Mr. Forrest, who has never been suspected of being a
married man.”
“I knew it; I guessed as much. Oh, Josey, why did you come before he
sent for you? Let’s go away. You are not wanted here!” Agnes exclaimed,
as she came swiftly to her sister’s side and laid her hand on her arm.
But Josephine shook it off fiercely, and in a tone she knew so well how
to assume, said commandingly, as if speaking to a child:
“Mind your business, Agnes, and let me attend to my own affairs. I have
kept quiet long enough; four years of neglect would try the patience of
any woman, and if he does not choose to recognize me as his wife I shall
compel him to do so. You saw me married; you know I am telling the
truth. Speak, Agnes, did you not see me married to Everard Forrest?”
“Yes, I did, may God forgive me,” was Agnes’ meek reply, but still Mrs.
Markham could not believe her, and was silent while Josephine went on:
“I do not wish for any scene, or talk, or excitement. I _am_ Everard
Forrest’s wife, and I wish only to be known as such. I hoped to find him
here, for then it would be _his_ duty to explain, not mine. Do I
understand he is not in town, or not at home? Possibly he is in his
office, in which case I will seek him there.”
“He is not in town,” Mrs. Markham said; “he went to Indiana on business
more than a week ago, and has not yet returned. He does not live here
when he is at home; he boards in the village. Miss Hastings lives here;
this is her house; perhaps you do not know that Judge Forrest died,
and——”
“Yes, I do,” Josephine interrupted her, beginning to get irritated and
lose her self-command as she saw that she was not believed, “I do know
Judge Forrest is dead, and has been for two years or more; but I learned
it accidentally, and as _he_ was the only obstacle in the way of my
recognition as Everard’s wife, I came at once, as I had a right, to my
husband’s house.”
“But this is _not_ his house,” Mrs. Markham replied. “It belongs to Miss
Hastings. Everything belongs to her. Judge Forrest left it to her by
will. Didn’t you know that?”
“No, I did not,” Josephine answered, and for a moment she turned deathly
white as she saw the ground slipping from under her feet. “Left
everything to Miss Hastings and disinherited his son! Why was that?” she
asked.
“I don’t know why he did it,” Mrs. Markham replied, “I know only that he
did, and it is strange Mr. Forrest did not write that to you, as you
must, of course, have been in correspondence with him.”
She spoke sarcastically, and Josephine knew she was looked upon with
distrust, notwithstanding the certificate, which she had thought would
silence all doubt; and that, added to what she had heard of the
disposition of the Forrest property, provoked her to wrath, and her
eyes, usually so dreamy and blue, emitted sparks of anger, and seemed to
turn a kind of whitish gray as she burst out:
“My correspondence with my husband has not been very frequent or full. I
told you I did not hear from him of his father’s death; he never hinted
at such a thing, and how was I to know that he was disinherited? If I
had it might have made a difference, and I should have thought twice
before crossing the sea and giving up a life I enjoyed, for the sake of
coming here to find myself suspected as an impostor, which, under the
circumstances, is natural perhaps, and to find also that my husband is a
pauper, and the home I had confidently expected would one day be mine
given to a stranger.”
Josephine was almost crying when she finished this imprudent speech, in
which she betrayed that all she really cared for was the home and the
money which she had expected to find. Mrs. Markham saw this, and it did
not tend to increase her respect for the lady, though she did pity her,
if, as she affirmed, she were really Everard’s wife, for with her
knowledge of human nature, she guessed that if there really had been a
marriage it was a hasty thing, repented of almost as soon as done, by
Everard at least. But she did not know what to say until Josephine, who
had recovered herself, continued: “I should like to see Miss Hastings,
if possible, and apologize for my intrusion into her house, and then I
will go to the hotel and await my husband’s return;” then she answered
quickly; “Miss Hastings, I am sure, will say you are welcome to remain
here as long as you like, but I do not think she will see you to-day,
and if you will excuse me, I will go to her now, as she must be anxious
to know who her visitors are.”
With this Mrs. Markham arose, and bowing to Josephine left the room, and
went directly to Rosamond.