THE LADIES AT SCHUYLER HILL.
Miss Christine Rossiter, aged 46; Miss Alice Creighton, aged 17; Miss
Julia Schuyler, aged 16; and Miss Emma, aged 14. These were the ladies
who, a good portion of the year, were domesticated at Schuyler Hill, and
of whom I will speak in order; and first of Miss Rossiter, whose
personal appearance and peculiarities Godfrey had of course exaggerated
when he talked of her to Edith. She was his mother’s sister, and
forty-six, and had once been engaged to a young man who left her all his
money, and for whom she wore black half a dozen years, during which time
she gave herself to the church, and went so far as to think of turning
Romanist, and hiding her grief in a convent. But she recovered from
that, and being good-looking, and only thirty, with a fortune of half a
million, she went back to the world again, and became a belle, for she
was a handsome woman still, and at times exceedingly brilliant and
witty, the result, it was whispered at last, of opium-eating in secret.
This habit she had contracted during her seclusion, with a view to
deaden her grief, and make her sleep at night. And after the grief was
over the habit remained, and grew upon her constantly, until now she was
never without her vial of the deadly stuff, and her nerves were
completely shattered with the poison.
Exceedingly proud and exclusive, she held herself above the most of her
acquaintances, and made them feel that she did, and still exercised over
them an influence which would draw every one of them to her side when
she wished them to come.
Few women understood the art of dressing better than she did, and when
arrayed in evening costume, with her diamonds and her lace, she was
still a very handsome and attractive woman, capable of entertaining a
roomful of guests, and keeping them delighted with her ready wit and
brilliant repartees. She should never marry, she said, and yet more than
Godfrey believed that she had no objection to becoming Mrs. Schuyler
second, if only she were asked to do so. Since her sister’s death she
had spent most of her time at the Hill, giving as an excuse that
“Emily’s children needed a mother’s care so badly,” while Howard was
always happier to have her there.
Of this last there might have been two opinions, but the colonel was a
peaceable man, and always made her welcome, and humored her whims and
listened to her advice when he chose to do so, and offered no
remonstrance when she appropriated to herself the very best and
pleasantest room in the house, the one with the bay-window overlooking
the river and the mountains, and which, as it chanced to be in the south
wing, was one of the suite intended for Edith, and which she
surrendered, with what reluctance we shall see hereafter.
Alice Creighton was Col. Schuyler’s ward and the niece of the wife of
Mrs. Schuyler’s half brother, the Rev. John Calvert, who lived in New
York, and whose house was properly her home, though she spent much of
her time at Schuyler Hill, where her education was progressing under the
direction of Miss Browning, the governess. Short, fat, and chubby, with
light hair and eyes and complexion, and a nose that turned up decidedly,
she was not very pretty, save as young, happy girlhood is always pretty,
but she was very stylish, which answered instead of beauty, and made her
remarked wherever she went. Whatever was fashionable she wore in the
extreme, and at the little church in Hampstead there was on Sundays a
great deal of curiosity among the village girls to see the last new
style, as represented by Miss Creighton. And after they saw it they
copied it as far as was possible, and then found to their surprise that
what they had adopted as the latest in the beau-monde, was laid aside
for something later by their mirror of fashion.
She expected to marry Godfrey, for the arrangement had been settled
between her father, before he died, and Col. Howard Schuyler; and Alice
acquiesced in it, and looked confidently forward to a time when she
would have a house of her own and furnish it as no house in New York had
ever yet been furnished, and keep seven servants at least, with horses
and carriages, and nothing to do from morning till night but enjoy
herself, and be envied in doing it. To all this grandeur Godfrey would
be a very proper appendage. He was good-looking, and came from a family
superior even to her own; he could be a gentleman when he chose, and
would look very nicely beside her in the Park and at the opera, and when
she entered the drawing-rooms on Fifth Avenue on some festive occasion.
This was Miss Alice Creighton, as nearly as I can daguerreotype her at
the time of which I write, while Julia Schuyler was much like her in
disposition, but different in looks.
Julia was tall and slender, and a brunette, with clear, olive
complexion, high color, sparkling black eyes, and a quantity of glossy,
black hair, of which she was very proud, and which she usually wore
becomingly, let the fashion be what it might. Some people called her
beautiful, but that she could never be with her wide mouth and large
ears, but she certainly was handsome and bright, and could, if she
chose, be very agreeable and fascinating, but, except with her equals,
she did not often choose, and was known in town as a proud, haughty
girl, caring only for herself and the few favored ones belonging to her
circle. And yet she taught in Sunday-school, and made dresses and aprons
for the poor, and esteemed herself almost a saint, because she once
carried with her own hands a dish of soup to poor, old, bedridden Mrs.
Vandeusenhisen, whose grandchild was called for Alice at the instigation
of the mischievous Godfrey.
Both Julia and Alice went sometimes on errands of mercy, and wore gray
cloaks with scarlet facings to the cape, and felt themselves on a par
with the sisters of charity, and had a lump of camphor in their pockets
to prevent contagion, and asked the little ones if they knew the Creed,
and the Lord’s Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, affecting great
surprise if they did not, and telling them if they did that they ought
to be confirmed at once and grow up respectable citizens.
Very different from these young ladies was pale-faced, quiet Emma, who
believed everybody to be what he seemed, and wished herself as good as
Alice and Julia, who were so devout at church, and who read a long
chapter every morning and a short psalm every night. Emma did not like
to read the Bible, and always glanced ahead to see how long the chapter
was, and felt glad when it was ended. And she did not like to visit the
poor because as a general thing the close air of the rooms made her
sick, and she was always unhappy for a whole day with thinking about
them and fancying how she would feel were she also poor.
And yet of the three girls I liked Emma best, for I knew just how true,
and honest, and innocent she was, and that though she too was proud, she
tried to overcome her pride, because she thought it wrong, and in her
heart had a sincere desire to do just what was right. No one ever called
Emma handsome; her features were too sharp for that, but there was
something in her smile and the expression of her soft, dark eyes which
made her very attractive, and, as I thought, prettier than Julia
herself.
Take them altogether the ladies at Schuyler Hill were quite _distingué_
in manner and appearance, and we were rather proud to have them with us,
for their presence added something of importance to our little town, and
gave a certain _éclat_ to our society. Nor was their governess, Miss
Helen Browning, much behind in style and personal appearance. Indeed,
she prided herself upon manner and good breeding, and knew every point
of etiquette, from sitting bolt-upright in her chair, with just the two
tips of her boots visible, to eating soup with the side of her spoon,
and never on any account allowing her hands to touch the table.
And now, last of all, comes Mrs. Tiffe, the housekeeper, a dignified,
energetic woman of fifty, who wore black silk every day, with pink
ribbons in her cap, and who, after several hard-fought battles with Miss
Rossiter for the supremacy, had come off victorious, and reigned
triumphant at Schuyler Hill, where she feared no one save the colonel
himself, and liked no one but Godfrey. He was her idol, and he alone
could unlock the mysterious closet under the stairs, and call forth jam,
and jelly, and even marmalade, if he liked. Such lunches as she gave the
ladies when they were alone, and Godfrey not there to coax, or the
colonel to insist! A chicken wing and back, with a slice of bread and
butter, and possibly a baked apple, if there chanced to be any “standing
round” in danger of spoiling; while her breakfasts were delicate and
dainty enough for a fairy, or the worst form which dyspepsia ever
assumed. “Frugal repasts,” Godfrey called them; but for their frugality
Mrs. Tiffe made amends at dinner, which was served with great profusion,
and all the elegance the house could command. Nothing was too nice for
dinner; and Mrs. Tiffe, felt her heart swell with pride when she saw her
ladies, handsomely dressed, filing into the spacious dining-room, where
the table was bright with silver and flowers. To her the Schuylers and
Rossiters represented the world, and anybody outside that world, unless
it were Miss Creighton, was looked upon with disgust, and barely
tolerated. Miss Christine, it is true, was not a favorite, but she was a
Rossiter, and Mrs. Tiffe charged all her faults to the fact that “she
was an old maid, and couldn’t help being queer,” and so endured her
quietly when her own wishes were not opposed.
And this was the household into which the news of Col. Schuyler’s second
marriage fell like a bombshell in the enemy’s camp, wounding each one,
and wringing from each one a cry according to her disposition. But for a
description of this I must take a fresh sheet and begin another chapter.