THAT BIJOU OF A HOME.
It was finished. Money, the great magician, had done its work, and a
prettier place than that modernized little house in the heart of a great
city could not well be met with. The grounds were all in order—the
straggling rosebushes were confined to their trellises and supporters
once more—the great mound of heliotrope and verbenas was trimmed at the
edges, and its glowing crimson and purple filled the eye with beauty and
the air with perfume. The fountain was in full play; its bright waters
cooled the air, and its basin was garlanded two feet deep with plants
massed in rich combinations of color. Green mosses drank in the
sparkling waters and covered the pots which contained the plants so
richly that the whole great wreath of blossoms seemed to take life from
its greenness. It was late in the season, but spring time, summer and
autumn seemed to meet in that little nook of a garden, turning it into a
Paradise.
Back of the house was a high iron fence, over which a Virginia creeper
swept in and out, forming draperies inexpressibly graceful, which the
first breath of autumn had turned crimson at the edges, where the leaves
were most exposed. This background of green and crimson foliage framed
in the house like a picture. The burning red more than replaced all the
flowers that had perished.
Indoors the change was even greater. Upholsterers, painters and artists
had done their work well. It seemed impossible that so much could have
been completed in three days. But many hands had been busy on the
ceilings, the walls and the floors—all that money, taste or labor could
do had been forced into that young creature’s service, that her wedding
might combine everything within the reach of a sensuous imagination. It
was finished now—complete in all its appointments. Not a vestige of the
old furniture remained; everything was new, fresh and the most exquisite
of its kind.
That day week two servants came into the house—a man who scorned to
speak any language but the French, and a woman who could converse with
him brokenly, but her native tongue was German. Later in the day another
woman came, broad African in every line of her face and curve of her
body. On this woman the other two looked with supreme contempt.
In the basement these three persons assembled for the first time. They
had been engaged in different points of the city, and no two of them had
ever met before. As for the African, she could not understand a word
that the others said, but she was shrewd enough to understand the sneers
and contempt exhibited in their lifted shoulders and mobile eyebrows.
Her heart resented these gestures, calling her fellow-servants poor
white trash in the depths of her soul, which epithet, in its supreme
contempt, was a full equivalent for their shrugs and sidelong glances.
When these three had looked on each other sufficiently, they felt a
desire to investigate such appointments of the household as belonged to
their individual callings. The man-cook fell to a critical examination
of sauce-pans, kneading-boards, jelly moulds and freezes. Everything was
there, and the most perfect of its kind. The smaller sauce-pans were all
lined with silver; the flour-dredge, the nutmeg grater and spice boxes
were altogether of that precious metal. In the drawers were piles of
kitchen napkins, fine as those in general use at any gentleman’s table.
The cooking apparatus was perfect, and covered with ever-so-many patents
attesting the fact. Limpid water flowed abundantly through silver
faucets, and light came in from the most desirable point.
At first the Frenchman was a little disappointed. He had hoped to find
some deficiency to shrug his shoulders and spread his hands over in
horrified refinement; but the perfect arrangement of everything took him
by surprise. His hands and shoulders were lifted in astonishment. His
admiration was uttered in bursts of French quite unintelligible even to
the German woman.
“Great heavens, what perfection! and here, too! In Paris it would be
nothing, but outside, across the Atlantic it is wonderful! This lady
must be a genius; I am honored in serving her; she will appreciate the
delicate aspirations which I shall give to her palate. There will be
pleasure in exercising my art for her. Heavens! I have dropped into
Paradise!”
The Frenchman sat down, smiling complacently on his little kingdom. He
longed to share his exultation with some one, and looked around for the
German woman, who had, however, left the room. But Hagar, the black
servant, was there, standing in the door of the laundry, where she had
been to inspect the stationary tubs and water-faucets. Their
completeness brought a smile to her broad face and revealed a row of
teeth, white as ivory in themselves, and rendered whiter still from
contrast with her black skin.
The Frenchman was willing to put up with this auditor if no better could
be found. He burst forth in a torrent of French, broken up in
ejaculations, which drove the smile completely from Hagar’s face. She
thought that he was scolding her, and grew frightened. Seeing that this
was the result of his eloquence, he subsided into gesticulations and
grimaces which made the negress laugh till her sides shook. She was a
plump, comely African, and the laugh that heaved her full bust had all
the mellowness of a deep contralto voice just as it bursts into tune.
The Frenchman was in despair. What was the use of being supremely
satisfied if no one would sympathize in that satisfaction with him? That
sort of mellow laughter was not sympathy. He might as well have iron as
silver in his utensils for any heed she took of the subject.
Just then the German woman came back to the kitchen. She had been up
stairs to examine the chambers and the toilet arrangements. They were
superb. Bohemian glass, mounted with pure gold; a dressing-box of
malachite with _such_ appointments! gold, gold, gold—nothing but
gold—all contrasting so richly with the clouded green of the malachite;
she had never seen anything more superb—she, who had possessed the honor
of waiting on many a lady of rank in her time. In this country it was
wonderful—beyond belief! She could not understand it! The lady they were
to serve must be some princess to whom privacy was an object. What would
be her own situation; until positive of that she would be watchful and
silent. So she came down quietly and asked what it was which had excited
the contraband, for with that word even she had become familiar,—who
could help it in those times? At any rate they had all been very
fortunate.
Hagar caught the word contraband, and understood that if nothing else.
“Yes,” she said, coming eagerly forward, “I is contraband, driv clar
away up Noth by de war. Sot free when Mars Sherman march by old Mars’
plantation. Don’t know what yer sayin more en dat, but Ise contraband,
and I glories in dat truf, Hallaluyah—thar!”
Having uttered her manifesto, Hagar retreated into a corner of the
kitchen and sat down triumphant. If those two people didn’t understand
her, she couldn’t help it, “dey was poor white trash anyhow, and de
berry next time dey looked at her so she’d sing ole John Brown right in
dere faces. Bressed be de Lord, she could sing!”
The Frenchman and the German woman looked at each other in amazement,
then, after a volley or two of French exclamations, they began to laugh,
for Hagar’s gesticulation had been more effective than her words. Then
Hagar caught the word, put her threat in force, and broke forth
defiantly into “Old John Brown,” a gentleman with whom her auditors were
entirely unacquainted, both in fact, and in history. But they had heard
good singing enough to understand the superb fullness and depth of that
voice which defied them with all its force, and stood listening,
surprised and charmed.
When Hagar finished with an angry motion of the head, which seemed to
shake the last mellow notes up from her chest, the Frenchman came
forward, bowing and smirking, with his hand extended.
“Madam, or perhaps it is mademoiselle, permit me to offer my homage.
That voice is one grand success. I give you my honor it is one grand
success, madam. I am charmed; mademoiselle, here, is charmed also. The
air is superb, the words must be what we call stirring—they reach one’s
heart—upon my honor, they reach the heart.”
Hagar saw that he was complimenting her, and showed her teeth liberally
through the broad smile that swept her face.
“Dat ar music brought him plump on em knees—taut it would. Dat old John
Brown took him right off en his feet. I ain’t nuffin but a contraband,
sure nuff but Ise done it for _him_.”
With this comfortable self-assurance, Hagar folded her arms over the
broad chest, which still seemed heaving with unexpressed music, and
closing her eyes, pretended to sleep.
The two persons, thus left together, sat down and held a few words of
conversation.
“Mademoiselle—is it Mademoiselle or Madam?”
“Madam,” answered the German woman, giving a guttural sound to the word
which made the Frenchman shiver. “Madam, if you please.”
The French cook seemed disposed to press her confidence further; but
that moment the door bell rang and brought Hagar to her feet.
“It’s the young missus!” she exclaimed, going up stairs in haste and
opening the front door, where she dropped a low courtesy as Cora Lander
walked through, clad in rich mourning, so heavily trimmed with bugles
that it swept the marble pavement like a hail storm, as she moved.
“Have the other people come?” she inquired.
“Yes, missus, dey am here. Shall I call dem up?”
“No, no; I will go down to the basement.”
Cora swept through the hall and down the stairs in haste. She had only
seen her new servants at the intelligence offices, and wished to give
them directions.
The Frenchman and his companion both arose as she entered the kitchen.
Since they had seen the house the new mistress had become an object of
great curiosity to them.
“Your name is Alice Ruess, I think?” she said, addressing the woman.
“Step into the servants’ parlor, I wish to speak with you.”
Alice arose and followed her mistress into the front basement, which was
more expensively furnished than most gentlemen’s drawing-rooms.
“Sit down,” she said, addressing Alice. “Understand, I look upon you as
half mistress of this house; in fact no other mistress must be known, at
least for the present.”
“Madam!” exclaimed Alice, surprised out of all composure, “I do not
understand.”
“But you must understand. I shall live in this house, be its mistress
and your mistress in fact, but it is a fact that must not exist outside
these walls. To the world you are Mrs. Ruess, the lady of the house.
Your name will be upon the door. When the mistress of the house is
inquired for, you must present yourself.”
“But, madam, I have no money—no means.”
“I find the money and pay the bills that are made out in your name.”
“Ah, very well, that makes it easy.”
“But, remember, there must be no company.”
“Not a soul, mademoiselle.”
“After to-morrow you will call me madam.”
“Madam—is my lady married then?”
“She will be after to-morrow.”
“Ah, I begin to comprehend. It is a secret marriage.”
“Alice Ruess, this marriage is to be kept so secret that it will be
almost a fortune to any one who keeps it safely for me—ruin to the
creature who betrays it. To-morrow night I shall be married in this
house—your house, remember.”
“I shall not forget, lady.”
“Your house, not only to the outside world but to the other servants.”
“I understand. Madam or mademoiselle shall be obeyed.”
“It must be understood that we board with you—that is, my husband and
myself.” Cora felt a warm flush spread up to her face as she uttered the
words “my husband,” and a sigh, of such exquisite pleasure that it
seemed almost like pain, broke up softly from her bosom. Alice Ruess
smiled covertly, and felt a sort of envy creeping through her heart, of
the beautiful young creature who was just entering a life in which she
had been shipwrecked. “It must be also understood that we have just come
from abroad, which is the truth—”
“Ah, forgive me, but I thought so!” exclaimed Alice, interrupting her.
“Such taste, such grace, were never born or fostered in this country.”
Cora bent her head in reply to this intended compliment, and went on:
“You—pay strict attention to this—knew us in the old country—came over
in the same steamer—”
“Indeed I did.”
“And for that reason—being too wealthy yourself for the need of such
means—you took us as inmates.”
“Lady, I am listening.”
“To-morrow the bills for all that has been done here will be sent in.
You must pay them—they are made out to Mrs. Alice Ruess—here is money. I
have made a rough computation; there will be plenty left for the
household expenses for weeks to come. Take it, and remember to keep a
strict account. I can be generous, but no one must cheat me.”
“Is mademoiselle afraid to trust her money with me?” said Alice, turning
red with anger. “Does mademoiselle mean that?”
“No, I mean nothing of the kind. Were I afraid, you would have no
opportunity to cheat me. I only wish to draw a line clearly between that
which I will give and that which I place in your hands for specific
purposes. Be faithful, and we shall have no reason to complain of each
other.”
“Lady, I will be faithful.”
“Alice Ruess, I believe you.”
Cora arose as she spoke, all her other directions she gave standing.
“The cook—can you judge, Alice—is he what they recommend him to be?”
“Lady, I think so.”
“The supper to-morrow night must be perfect.”
“Supper for how many, lady?”
“Two.”
“What, no more?”
“Only two—us two, alone,” she muttered in English, while a gleam broke
through her half-closed eyelashes as she looked modestly down.
“A little supper, very perfect, for two. That man will prepare it—I
answer for him.”
“As for the rest, let the lights be shaded, get flowers the choicest and
sweetest—you should have taste, I see it in the kindling of your
eye—yes, I will leave that with you; see that they are not gathered
before sunset, we must have no wasted perfume. If I could rifle
sweetness from the flowers of Paradise for him I would do it—I would
though they never bloomed again.”
Cora spoke these last words in English, but the woman read them in her
face, and hers clouded over. Once she had felt like this herself. How
had it ended?
Cora shook out the folds of her heavy silk dress and prepared to go.
“Be sure and have nothing wanting,” she said; “I depend on you
entirely.”
“Will not mademoiselle stay all night?”
“Not for the world. I might dream, and that would be a terrible
beginning. No, it is almost time for the train, and I have a carriage at
the door.”
“But the name, lady? I have not as yet heard your name.”
“True enough. Well, it is no matter about that just now—to-morrow
evening I shall be Mrs. Seymour. A pretty name, don’t you think so?”
“Yes, lady, a very pretty name; may you be happy in bearing it.”
“Happy!” cried the girl, almost clasping her hands. “Nothing
shall—nothing can prevent that.”
Again Alice looked away, and again her face clouded over; she almost
hated that radiant young creature, because of her faith in the man she
loved and in the destiny which united them.
“It is almost time for the train,” said Cora, taking a watch from her
side, glittering with diamonds that formed a raised monogram on the
back—_his_ initials and hers, for Seymour had given it to her out of the
paltry thousands which she had considered as hardly worth mentioning.
“It is almost time—let me think—I have said everything; you understand
my wishes.”
“Trust to Alice, lady, she will not disappoint you.”
“Well then, good-night; I hope those people in the kitchen will suit;
they are highly recommended.”
“Yes, highly recommended. What, will you go out this way?”
“Certainly; it does not matter,” said Cora, opening the basement door
and drawing the thick crape veil over her face, but she came back again
with some anxiety on her face.
“The dresses, have they come?”
“Yes, lady, you will find a pile of paper boxes in the dressing-room.”
“That is pleasant. How prompt these people have been. I never knew what
a glorious worker money was before.”
The young girl said this half aloud as she mounted the steps and stood
in the flower garden. They had obeyed her well. She felt the freshness
given to the air by the play of the fountain. Some drops fell upon her
veil and trembled there like lost diamonds. The perfume of late roses
swept over her. Again that delicious sigh rose and swelled in her bosom.
“All this—and he loves me. Was the love of Venus herself ever more
richly surrounded? I have beautified this place for him. It is my taste,
my wealth, my great love for him, that has done it all. I give him love,
gold, beauty, and by-and-by position. He should have had all at
once—everything I have on earth—if he would but have waited. Waited, no,
he loved me too well for that; and I loved him a thousand fold better
because he won me from all my strong holds with such impetuous
affection. It is, like being carried off by violence, forced into such
happiness as the soul grows faint in thinking of, and this will endure
for a lifetime. I wonder if it will. Can such love die? How empty and
blank my heart would be without it!”
These were the eager ejaculations and broken questions that chased each
other through Cora Lander’s mind as she drove to the station and took
her seat in the cars. She had seen Seymour in the city, a few moments,
three days before, but fearing that he might prematurely guess at the
exquisite home she was preparing for him, had sent him back to the
country tavern, promising to meet him at the log cabin that night and
arrange for the future. It was scarcely dark when she reached the
station, for a fine round moon was just rising, and by its light she
found her way into the grove and along the footpath which led to the
cabin, certain that she would find him there, waiting for her with all
that ardent longing which filled her own heart.