"NOW MY VINDICATION AND TRIUMPH WILL BE COMPLETE!"
When Anna Goddard descended to her spacious and elegant parlors, her
face was wreathed with the brightest smiles, which, alas! covered and
concealed the bitterness and anger of her corrupt heart, even while
she circulated among her friends with apparently the greatest
pleasure, and with her usual charm and grace and manner.
After a short time spent socially, the guests repaired to the spacious
carriage-house, where the theatrical performance was to take place, to
secure the most desirable seats for the play, before the multitude
from outside should arrive.
The place had been very handsomely decorated, and lighted by
electricity, for the occasion. Potted flowers, palms, and ferns were
artistically grouped in the corners, and handsome draperies were hung
here and there to simulate windows and doors, and to conceal whatever
might otherwise have been unsightly.
The floor had been covered with something smooth, linoleum or
oilcloth, and then thoroughly waxed, for after the play was over, the
place was to be cleared for dancing.
Across one end, a commodious stage had been erected, although this was
at present concealed by a beautiful drop-curtain of crimson felt,
bordered with old gold.
The room filled rapidly, and long before the time for the curtain to
ascend, every seat was occupied.
At eight o'clock, precisely, the signal was given, and the play began.
Programs had been distributed among the audience--dainty little cards
of embossed white and gold they were, too--announcing the title, "The
Masked Bridal," giving the names of the participants, and promising
that the affair would close with a genuine surprise to every one.
The piece opened in an elegantly appointed library, with a spirited
scene and dialogue between a young couple, who were desirous of
marrying, and the four objecting parents.
The actors all rendered their parts well, the heroine being especially
pretty and piquant, and winning the admiration and sympathy of the
audience at the outset.
In the next scene the unfortunate young couple are represented as
plotting with two other lovers, whose wedding-day is set, to
circumvent their obdurate parents, and carry out their determination
to become husband and wife.
This also was full of energy and interest, several bright hits and
witticisms being cleverly introduced, and the curtain went down amid
enthusiastic applause; then, while the stage settings were being
changed for the final act and the church wedding, some music was
introduced, both vocal and instrumental, to while away the time.
Edith, who had assisted madam in the dressing-room as long as she was
needed, had come outside, at the beginning of the scene, and stationed
herself at the back of the room to watch the progress of the play.
But she had been there only for a few moments when some one touched
her on the shoulder to attract her attention.
Glancing around, she saw a young girl, one of the guests in the house,
who remarked:
"Mrs. Goddard wished me to tell you to come to her at once in her
boudoir. Please be quick, as the matter is important."
Edith immediately glided from the room, but wondering what could have
happened that madam should want her in her own apartments, when she
supposed her to be behind the scenes.
Meantime, while the guests were being entertained with the play of
which their hostess was the acknowledged author, a mysterious scene
was being enacted within the mansion.
When the hour for the entertainment drew near, the house, as we know,
had been emptied of its guests, until only the housekeeper, the
butler, and the other servants remained as occupants.
The butler had been instructed to keep ward and watch below, while
Mrs. Weld went upstairs, ostensibly to ascertain that everything was
as it should be there, but in reality, to carry out a project of her
own.
Seeking the maids, who, since they had no duties at that particular
moment to occupy them, had gathered in the dressing-rooms, and were
discussing the merits of the various costumes which they had seen, she
remarked, in her kindly, good-natured way:
"Girls, I am sure you would like a peep at the play, and Mrs. Goddard
gave me permission to send you out, if you could be spared. I will
look after everything up here, and you may go now, if you like, only
be sure to hurry back the moment it is over, for you will then be
needed again."
They were of course delighted with this privilege, but Mollie, who was
an unusually considerate girl, and always willing to oblige others,
inquired:
"Wouldn't you like to see the play, Mrs. Weld? I will stay and let you
go."
"No, thank you, child. I had enough of such things years ago," the
housekeeper returned, indifferently. "Run along, all of you, so as to
be there when the curtain goes up."
And the girls, only too eager for the sport, needing no second
bidding, sped away, thanking her heartily for the privilege.
Thus the upper portion of the mansion was entirely deserted, but for
the housekeeper and the unsuspected presence of Emil Correlli, who was
locked within his own room, awaiting from his sister the signal for
his appearance upon the stage below.
The moment the housemaids were beyond hearing, Mrs. Weld gave
utterance to a long sigh of relief, whipped off her blue spectacles,
and with a swift, noise-less step, wholly unlike her usual waddling
gait, hurried down the hall, and into Mrs. Goddard's room, carefully
closing and locking the door after her.
Proceeding to the dressing-room, a quick, searching glance showed her
the object she was looking for--my lady's jewel-casket, standing wide
open upon a small, marble-top table near a full-length mirror.
It had been rifled of most of its contents, madam herself having worn
many of her jewels, while others had been loaned to the actors to
embellish their costumes for the play.
"Ah! my task is made much easier than I expected," murmured the woman,
as she peered curiously into the velvet-lined receptacle.
She saw only an empty tray, which she carefully removed, only to find
another exactly like it underneath.
This also she took out, revealing the bottom of the box, covered with
its velvet cushion, upon which there were indentations, to receive a
full set of jewelry, necklace, bracelets, tiara, brooch and ear-rings.
The housekeeper's face was ghastly pale, or would have been but for
the stain which gave her complexion its olive tinge, and she was
trembling with excitement.
"She surely took that paper from this box," she muttered, a note of
disappointment in her voice, as if she had expected to find what she
sought upon removing the second tray.
"I wonder if this cushion can be removed?" she continued, as she tried
to lift it from its place.
But it fitted so closely that she could not stir it.
Looking around the room for something to assist her in this effort,
she espied a pair of scissors on the dressing-case.
Seizing them, she attempted to pry up the cushion with them.
It was not an easy thing to do, without defacing the velvet, but, at
length, she succeeded in lifting one side, when she found no
difficulty in removing the whole thing.
Her agitation increased as her glance fell upon several papers snugly
packed in the bottom of the box.
"Ah! if it should prove to be something of no account to me!" she
breathed, with trembling lips.
At last she straightened herself with sudden resolution, and putting
her hand into the box drew forth the uppermost paper.
It was yellow with time, and so brittle that it cracked apart in one
of the creases as she opened it; but paying no heed to this, she
stepped to the dressing-case, and spread it out before her, while her
eager eyes swept the mystic page from top to bottom.
Then a cry that ended in a great sob burst from her hueless lips.
"It is! it is!" she gasped, in voiceless agitation. "Ah, Heaven, thou
art gracious to me at last! Now, I know why she would not surrender it
to him--now I know what the condition of its ransom must have been!
"How long has she had it, I wonder? and when did she first learn of
its existence?" she murmured. "Ah! but it does not matter--I have it
at last--I, who dared not hope for its existence, believing it must
have been destroyed, until the other day; and now"--throwing back her
head with an air that was very expressive--"my vindication and triumph
will be complete!"
With the greatest care, she refolded the paper, after which she
impulsively pressed it to her lips; then, putting it away in her
pocket, she turned back to the jewel-casket, and peered curiously into
it once more.
"I wonder what other intrigues she has been guilty of?" she muttered,
regarding its contents with a frown.
She laid her hand upon one of the papers, as if to remove it, then
drew back.
"No," she said, "I will touch nothing else; I have what I came to
seek, and have no right to meddle with what does not concern me. Let
her keep her other vile secrets to herself; my victory is already
complete."
She replaced the velvet cushion, pressing it hard down into its
place.
She then restored the trays as she had found them, but did not close
the casket, since she had found it open.
She retraced her steps into the boudoir, where, as she was passing
out, she trod upon something that attracted her attention.
She stooped to ascertain what it was, and discovered a gentleman's
glove.
"Ah," she said, as she picked it up and examined it, "I should say it
belongs to madam's brother! In that case, he must have returned this
evening to attend the grand finale, although I am sure he was not at
the dinner-table."
She dropped the glove upon the floor where she had found it, but there
was a look of perplexity upon her face as she did so.
"It seems a little strange," she mused, "that the young man should
have been away all this time; and if he was to return at all, I cannot
understand why there should have been this air of secrecy about it. He
has evidently been in this room to-night, but I am sure he has not
been seen about the house."
She opened the door and passed out into the hall, when she was
startled to hear the voice of Mrs. Goddard talking, in the hall below,
with the butler.
Mrs. Weld quietly slipped across to the room opposite--the same one in
which Edith and Mr. Goddard had held their interview earlier in the
evening--where, seating herself under a light, she caught up a book
from the table, and pretended to be deeply absorbed in its contents.
A moment later, madam, having ascended the stairs, came hurrying down
the hall, and saw her there.
She started.
It would never do for the woman to suspect the truth regarding what
she was about to do.
No one must dream that Edith was not lending herself willingly to the
last scene in the drama of the evening, and she expected to have some
difficulty in persuading her to take the part.
There must be no possibility of any one hearing any objections that
she might make, for, in that case, the charge of fraud could be
brought and proved against her and her brother, after all was over.
But after the first flash of dismay, the cunning woman devised a
scheme which would take the housekeeper out of her way, and leave the
field clear for her operations.