A FEMININE VAN AMBURGH.
“She who ne’er answers till a husband cools,
Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules.”—_Pope._
The morning after the dinner, Madame Volney rose at sunrise, and was
stealing on tiptoe into her dressing-room, when Ratcliff, always a late
riser, grumbled, “What’s the matter?”
“There’s to be an early church-service,” she replied.
“Bah! You’re always going to church!”
The quadroon made no reply, but gently retired, dressed, and glided out
of the house into the open air. On through the yet deserted streets she
swiftly passed. A white fog brooded over the city. Heavy-winged
sea-birds were slowly making their way overhead to the marshes of Lake
Ponchartrain, or still farther out to the beaches of the Gulf. The sound
of drums and fifes in the distance occasionally broke the matutinal
stillness. The walls of the streets were covered with placards of
meetings of volunteer companies,—of the Wigman Rifles, the MacMahon
Guards, the Beauregard Lancers, the Black Flag Invincibles.
After half an hour’s walk, the quadroon paused before a house, on the
door of which was a brass plate presenting the words,—“Mrs. Gentry’s
Seminary for Young Ladies.” While she looked and hesitated, a black girl
came up from some steps leading into the basement, and with a mop and
pail of water proceeded to wash the sidewalk.
“Is Esha in?” asked the quadroon.
“Yes, missis, Esha am in. Jes you go down dem steps inter de kitchen,
an’ dar you’ll fine Esha, sure.” And taking the direction pointed out,
Madame found herself in the presence of a large, powerfully built
mulatto woman, who was engaged in preparations for breakfast.
“Is this Esha?”
“Yes, missis, dis am nob’dy else.”
“Esha, I want a few minutes’ talk with you.”
“Take a char, den, missis, and ’scuse my looks.”
“You look like a good woman, Esha, so no matter for dress.”
“Tahnk yer, missis. Esha’s like de res’,—not too good,—but nebdeless
dar’s wuss folks dan she.”
“Esha, who is this young girl Mr. Ratcliff is after?”
Esha’s eyes snapped, and she looked sharply at her visitor. “Why you
want ter know?” she asked.
“Are you a slave, Esha?”
“Yes, missis, I’se born a slabe,—hab libd a slabe, an’ ’spek to die a
slabe.”
“I too am a slave, Esha. I belonged to old Etienne La Harpe, who died
six years ago. Though I had had two children, one by him and one by his
son, the old man’s widow sent me to the auction-block. I was sold to the
highest bidder. I was bought by Mr. Carberry Ratcliff.”
“Ah! by him? by him?” muttered Esha.
“I was handsome. He made me his favorite. I’ve been faithful to him.
Even his wife, poor thing, blesses the day I came into the house. She
would have died long ago but for my care. The slaves, too, come to me
with their sorrows. I do what I can for their relief. I am not, by
nature, a bad woman. I would continue to serve this man and his
household.”
“Do yer lub him,—dis Massa Ratcliff?”
“That’s a hard question, Esha. He has treated me like a lady. I am
practically at the head of his house. I have a carriage at my command.
He gives me all the money I ask for. He prizes me for my prudence and
good temper. I love him so far as this: I should hate the woman who
threatened to step between me and him. Now tell me who this girl is
whose photograph he has.”
“She, missis? She am a slabe too.”
“She a slave? Whose slave?”
“She ’longs to Massa Ratcliff!”
“And he has kept it a secret from me!”
Esha, like most slaves, was a quick judge of character. She had an
almost intuitive perception of shams. Convinced of the quadroon’s
sincerity, she now threw a cushion on the floor, and, seating herself on
it after the Oriental fashion, frankly told the whole story of the child
Clara, and disclosed the true nature of her own relations to Ratcliff.
When she had concluded, Madame Volney impulsively kissed her.
“And are you sure,” she asked, “quite sure that little Darling, as you
call her, will resist Ratcliff to the last?”
“Dat chile will sooner die dan gib up ter dat ole man. What you ’spose
she went out ter buy dat day I met her last? Wall, missis, she buyed a
dagger.”
“Good! I love her!” cried Madame Volney, with flushed cheeks. “But Esha,
do you know where she is now?”
“Yes, missis; but I tink I better not tell eb’n you,—’cause you see—”
“She’s with Miss Tremaine, at the St. Charles!”
“De Lord help us! How yer know dat, missis?” cried Esha, alarmed. “Do
Massa Ratcliff know ’bout it?”
“He knows it all, and has made his preparations for seizing the girl
this very day. He’ll be here this morning to give you your directions.
Now, Esha, don’t make a blunder. Don’t let him see that you’re the
girl’s friend. Say nothing of my visit. I’ll tell you what I suspect:
Ratcliff knows his wife can’t live three months longer. He has never had
a child by her. All his children are mulattoes and illegitimate. The
desire of his heart is for a lawful heir. He means—Are you sure the girl
is white?”
“I tell yer, missis, whoebber sold her, fust stained her skin to put up
de price. Shouldn’t be ’stonished if dat chile was kidnapped.”
Madame Volney looked at her watch. “Esha,” she said, “you’ll be employed
by Ratcliff to help secure her person. If, when he comes to you, the
ribbon on his straw hat is _green_, do as he tells you. Should the
ribbon be _black_, tell him to wait ten minutes. Then do you run round
the corner to Aurora Street, where you’ll see a carriage with a white
handkerchief held out at the right-hand window. You’ll find me there.
We’ll drive to the St. Charles, and take the girl with us somewhere out
of Ratcliff’s reach. Can you remember all I’ve told you?”
“Ebry word ob it, missis! Tahnk de Lord fur sendin’ yer. Watch Massa
Ratcliff sharp. Fix him sure, missis,—fix him sure!”
“Trust me, Esha! He seizes no young girl to-day, unless I let him. But
be very prudent. You may need money.”
“No, missis. No pay fur tellin’ de troof.”
“But you may need it for the child’s sake.”
“O yis, missis. I’ll take it fur de chile, sure.”
Madame Volney placed in her hands thirty dollars in gold, then left the
house, and, hailing a carriage at a neighboring stand, told the driver
where to take her. “Double speed, double fare!” she added. In ten
minutes she was at home.
Ratcliff had not yet come down. He had rung the bell, and given orders
for an early breakfast. Madame went up to her dressing-room, and put on
her most becoming morning attire. We have called her a quadroon; but her
complexion was of that clear golden hue, mixed with olive and a dash of
carnation, which so many Southern amateurs prefer to the pure red and
white of a light-haired Anglo-Saxon.
When Ratcliff came down, he complimented her on her good looks, and
kissed her.
“I’ve been to confession,” she said, as she touched the tap of a
splendid silver urn, and let hot water into the cups.
“And what have you been confessing, Josy?”
“I’ve been confessing how very foolish I’ve been the last few months.”
“Foolish in what, Josephine?”
“Foolish in my jealousy of _you_.”
“Jealousy? What cause have I given you for jealousy? I’ve been too much
bothered about public matters to have time to think of any woman but
you.”
“That’s partly true. But don’t I know what you most desire of earthly
things?”
“Of course! You know I desire the success of the Southern Confederacy,
corner-stone and all.”
“No, not that. You covet one thing even more than that.”
“Indeed! What is it?”
“A legitimate child who may inherit your wealth, and transmit your
name.”
“Yes, I’d like a child. But we must take things as they come along. You
mustn’t be jealous because now and then I may have dropped a hint of
regret that I’ve no direct heir to my estate.”
“You’ve not confined yourself to hints. You’ve been provident in act as
well as in thought.”
“What the deuce do you mean?”
“Don’t be angry when I tell you, you haven’t planned a plan, the last
three months, of which I haven’t been aware.”
“Well, I’ve always thought you the keenest woman of my acquaintance; but
I’d like to have it put through my hair what you’re exactly driving at
now. What is it?”
“This: I know your scheme in regard to Miss Murray, and, what is more, I
highly approve of it.”
“You’re the Devil!” exclaimed Ratcliff, starting up from his seat. Then,
seeing Josephine’s unaffected smile and evident good humor, he sat down.
“At first I was a little chagrined,” she said, “especially when I found
Mademoiselle so very pretty. But I’ve reflected much on it since, and
talked with my confessor about it.”
“The deuce you have! Talked with your confessor, eh?”
“Yes, with my confessor. And the result is, that, so far from opposing
you in your plan, I’ve concluded to give it my support.”
“And what do you understand to be my plan?”
“Perhaps ’ tis vague even in your own mind as yet. But I’ll tell you
what I mean. Your wife is not likely to live many weeks longer. You’ll
inherit from her a large estate. You’ll wish to marry again, and this
time with a view to offspring. Both taste and policy will lead you to
choose a young and accomplished woman. Who more suitable than Miss
Murray?”
“Why, Josephine, she’s a slave!”
“A slave, is she? Look me in the face and tell me, if you can, you
believe she has a drop of African blood in her veins. No! That child
must have been kidnapped. And you have often suspected as much.”
“Where the Devil—Confound the woman!” muttered Ratcliff, half frightened
at what looked like clairvoyance.
“Yes,” she continued, “her parents must have been of gentle blood. Look
at her hands and feet. Hear her speak.”
“What is there you don’t find out, Josy?” exclaimed Ratcliff. “Here you
tell me things that have been working in my mind, which I was hardly
aware of myself till you mentioned them!”
“O, I’ve known all about your search for the girl. ’T was not till after
a struggle I could reconcile it to my mind to lend you my aid. But this
was what I thought: He will soon be a widower. He will desire to marry;
not that he does not love his Josy—”
“Yes, Josy, you’re right there; you’re a jewel of a woman. Such devilish
good common sense! Go on.”
“He would marry, not that he does not love his Josy, but because he
wants a legitimate child of his own. That’s but natural and proper. Why
should I oppose it, and thus give him cause to cast me out from his
affections? Why not give him new reason for attachment, by showing him I
am capable of a sacrifice for his sake? Yes, he will love me none the
less for letting him see that without one jealous pang I can help him to
a young and beautiful wife.”
“But, Josy, would you really recommend my marrying this girl?”
“Why not? Where will you find her equal?”
“But just think of it,—she was sold to me at public auction as a slave.”
“Yes, and the next day Mrs. Gentry wrote you that the coloring stuff had
washed off from her skin, and she was whiter than any one in the school.
You wrote not a word in reply. But did not the thought occur to you, the
child has been kidnapped? Of course it did! In this great city of rogues
and murderers, did you not consider there were plenty of men capable of
such an act? Deny it if you can.”
“Josy, you’re enough to unsteady a man’s nerves. How did you discover
there was such a being as Miss Murray? and how did you get out of my
mind what I had thought about the kidnapping? and how, what I myself had
hardly dreamed of, the idea, namely, of making her my wife?”
“When one loves,” replied Josephine, “one is quick to watch, and sharp
to detect. At first, as I’ve told you, I was disposed to be jealous. But
reflection soon convinced me ’ would be for your happiness to take this
young person, now in the false position of a slave, and educate her for
your wife. Even if the world should know her story, what would you care?
You’re above all social criticism. Besides, would it not be comical for
our swarthy Creole ladies to snuff at such a beautiful blonde, whose
very presence would give the lie to all that malice could insinuate as
to her birth?”
“O, I don’t care for what society may say. I’m out of the reach of its
sneers. And what you urge, Josy, is reasonable,—very. Yes, she’s a
remarkably fine girl, and I’ve certainly taken a strong fancy to her.
Some of our first young men are already deep in love with her. Of course
she’d be eternally grateful, if I were to emancipate her and make her my
wife.”
Josephine could hardly repress a smile of triumph to see this
thorough-bred tyrant, who knew no law but his own will, thus falling
into the snare she was so delicately spreading for him. Something of the
satisfaction Van Amburgh might have felt when his tiger succumbed,
spread its glow over her cheeks. Never in his coarse calculations had
Ratcliff thought of showing Clara any further mercy than he had shown to
the humblest of his concubines. And yet Josephine, by her apt
suggestions, had half persuaded him, little given as he was to
introspective analysis, that the idea of making the girl his wife had
originated in his own mind!
“Did he keep the whole story from her because he supposed Josy would be
jealous?” asked the quadroon, with a caress.
“Why, yes, Josy; to tell the truth, I thought there’d have to be a scene
sure, when you found out I’d been educating such a girl with a view to
her taking your place some time. So I kept dark. But you’re a trump,—you
are! I shouldn’t wonder if you could acquire the same influence over her
that you now have over my wife.”
“Easily!” said Josephine. “I’ve seen her. I like her. I know we should
agree. When she learns it was my wish you should emancipate and marry
her, she will regard me as her friend. I can teach her not to be jealous
of me.”
“Capital!” exclaimed Ratcliff. “Josy can remain where she is in the
family. Josy will not have to abdicate. There’ll be no unpleasant row
between the two women. The whole thing can be harmoniously managed.”
“Why not, Carberry? And let me say ’ would be folly to seize this girl
rudely, wounding her pride and rousing her resentment. The true way is
to decoy her gently till you get her into your possession, and then
secure her by such means as I can suggest.”
“Hang me, but you’re right again, Josy! I had thought of carrying her
off this very day.”
“Yes, I supposed so.”
“Supposed so? Where in the name of all the devils did you get your
information? For there’s but one person beside myself who knows anything
about it.”
“And that’s Mr. Tremaine!”
“So it is, by Jove! How did you know it?”
“I put this and that together, and drew an inference. You mean to place
her again, for the present, at Mrs. Gentry’s.”
“True! That was my plan. But I hadn’t mentioned it to a soul.”
“What of that? Where one loves, one has such insight! But is there any
one at Mrs. Gentry’s on whom you can rely to keep watch of the girl?”
“Yes, there’s an old slave-woman,—Esha. She has a grudge against the
little miss, and isn’t likely to be too indulgent.”
“But why, Carberry, would you take the little miss to Mrs. Gentry’s
rather than to your own house? I see! You thought I would be in the way;
that I would be jealous of her! Confess!”
“Yes, Josy, I didn’t think anything else.”
“Well, now, let me plan for you: first, I, with Esha, will call on her.
Esha can easily persuade her that the best thing she can do will be to
come with us to this house. We’ll have the blue room ready for her. It
being between two other rooms, and having no other exit than through
them, she will not have another chance to abscond. Esha would perhaps be
a suitable person to keep guard. But then probably Mrs. Gentry wouldn’t
part with Esha.”
“Bah! Gentry will have to do as I order, or see her school broken up as
an Abolition concern. Your plan strikes me favorably, Josy; but what if
the girl should refuse to accompany you?”
“We can have an officer close by to apply to in case of need.”
“Of course! What a woman you are for plotting!”
“Yes, Carberry, give me _carte blanche_ to act for you, and I’ll have
her here before one o’clock. But there’s a condition, Carberry.”
“Name it, Josy.”
“It is, that so long as your present wife lives, you shall keep strictly
aloof from the maiden, not even taking the liberty of a kiss. Don’t you
see why? She has been religiously brought up. She is pure, with
affections disengaged. Would it be for your future interests as a
husband to undo all that has been done for her moral education? Surely
no! You mean to make her your wife; and the wife of Carberry Ratcliff
must be intemerate!”
“Right! right! A thousand times right!” exclaimed the debauchee, his
pride getting the ascendency.
“For the present, then,” continued the quadroon, “you, a married man,
must hardly look on her. Consent to this, and I’ll take the whole
trouble of the affair off your hands. I’ll bring the girl here, and so
mould her that she will be prepared to be your lawful wife as soon as
decency may permit.”
Ratcliff rose from the table, and paced the floor. Under Josephine’s way
of presenting the subject, what had seemed rather an embarrassing job
began to assume a new and attractive aspect. How well-judged the whole
arrangement! The idea of elevating Clara to the exalted position of
successor to the present Mrs. Ratcliff was fast becoming more and more
inviting to his contemplation. Wealth in a wife would be of no account.
He would have enough of his own. Family rank was desirable; but did not
the girl give every sign of high blood? It would not be surprising if,
in fact, she were of a stock almost equal to his own in gentility.
Besides, would not he, a Ratcliff, carry, lodged in his own person,
sufficient dignity of pedigree to cover the genealogical shortcomings of
a wife?
The fact that Onslow and Kenrick admired her did much to enhance the
girl’s value in his eyes; and he could readily see how it would be for
Madame Volney’s interests, since she knew he meant to marry again, to
have the training, to a certain extent, of his future wife, and put her
under a seeming obligation. And so the quadroon’s protestations that she
had conquered all jealousy on the subject seemed to him the most natural
thing in the world.
“Well, Josy,” said he, after a silence of some minutes, “I accept your
condition; I give the promise you demand.”
“Honor bright?”
“Yes; you’ll have me close under your eyes. I commit the girl entirely
to your keeping. I will myself go at once and see Esha, and send her to
you here. I’ll also see Tremaine, and shut up his mouth with a plug that
will be effectual. The fellow owes me money. Then you can take Esha in
the carriage, and go and put your plan in execution.”
“Good! You’ve decided wisely, Carberry. Shall I order the carriage for
you?”
“Yes. I’ll send it back to you with Esha, and then myself go on foot to
the St. Charles to see Tremaine.”
Ratcliff passed out of the breakfast-room, and the quadroon went to the
hat-closet in the hall, and removed the straw hat with a _black_ ribbon
on it, leaving the one distinguished by a _green_ band. She then rang
and ordered the carriage.