LUCETTE.
Two days after the events just related, Emily Remsen's maid announced
that she had just received news that her mother was very ill, and that
she had been notified to go to her at once. Her mother, she said, lived
in Elizabeth, New Jersey. She wished to go at the earliest possible
moment, and begged that her cousin, Lucette, should be allowed to attend
to her duties till her return, which she hoped would be in a very few
days. Asked if her cousin was competent, she said yes, and especially
apt at arranging the hair, having served an apprenticeship with a French
hair-dresser. Indeed the girl's real name was Lucy, but she had changed
it to Lucette, to pretend that being French she was necessarily a good
maid.
In Miss Remsen's mind this changing of her name was nothing in the
girl's favor; but as her own maid was thus suddenly taken from her, and
as this other was offered at once, she agreed to the proposal.
Lucette arrived during the afternoon, and Miss Remsen was delighted with
her. Expecting a talkative, intrusive person, assuming Frenchified
mannerisms, she was surprised to find a quiet unpretentious creature,
who immediately showed herself to be well acquainted with the duties
required of her. Within the first twenty-four hours she found herself so
much better served than by her absent maid, that she almost wished that
the mother would require her for a long time. Dora, too, was charmed
with Lucette.
"Queen," said she the next afternoon, "what do you think of your new
maid?"
"Who?--Lucette?" answered the sister. "O I think she does very well."
"Does very well? Why, Queen, she is a jewel. If you do not appreciate
her, I wish you would bequeath her to me when Sarah returns."
"O ho! So my young miss wants a maid to herself, does she?"
"O no! Not especially, but I want to keep Lucette in the family. She is
a treasure. Dressing the hair is not her only accomplishment either,
though I never saw yours look more beautiful. She has just arranged the
table for our 'afternoon tea,' and I never saw anything like it. It is
just wonderful what that girl can do with a napkin in the way of
decoration."
"O yes," said Emily, "Lucette is clever; but don't let her know that we
think so. It might make her less valuable. Now tell me, Dora dear, who
is coming this afternoon?"
"Oh! The usual crush I suppose."
"Including Mr. Randolph?"
"Queen, there is a mystery about him. Let me tell you. In the first
place, he has not been here for over a week, and then yesterday I saw
him coming down Fifth Avenue, and, would you believe it? just as I was
about to bow to him, he turned down a side street."
"He did not see you, my dear, or he surely would have spoken. He would
have been too glad."
"Well, if he did not see me, he must have suddenly contracted
near-sightedness; that is all I have to say."
Shortly after, company began to arrive, and very soon the rooms were
filled by a crowd which is aptly described by the term used by Dora. One
goes to these affairs partly from duty and partly from habit. One leaves
mainly from the instinctive sense of self-preservation inherent in all.
Dora was besieged by a number of admirers, and took pleasure in avoiding
Mr. Randolph, who was assiduous in his attentions. He seemed anxious to
get her off into the seclusion of a corner, a scheme which the young
lady frustrated without appearing to do so.
Mr. Thauret was also present, though he did not remain very long. He
chatted a short time with Emily on conventional subjects, and then
worked his way to the side of Dora, where he lingered longer. He said
several pretty things to her, such as she had heard already in different
forms from other men, but with just a tone, which seemed to indicate
that he spoke from his heart rather than from the mere passing fancy of
pleasing. It was very skilfully done. There was so little of it, that no
one, certainly not an inexperienced girl like Dora, could suspect that
it was all studied. Yet after he had gone, and the company was thinning
out, Mr. Randolph found his long-sought opportunity, and sat down for a
_tete-a-tete_ with Dora. He began at once.
"Miss Dora, why do you allow a cad like that Frenchman to make love to
you?"
"Are you alluding to my friend, Mr. Thauret?" She accentuated the word
"friend" merely to exasperate Mr. Randolph, and succeeded admirably.
"He is not your friend. In my opinion, he is nobody's friend but his
own."
"That has been said of so many, that it is no new idea."
"But do be serious, Miss Dora. You must not allow this fellow to worm
his way into your circle, and more than all, you must not allow him to
make love to you."
"You surprise me, Mr. Randolph. I had no idea that Mr. Thauret was
making love to me. I could relate everything that he said, and it would
scarcely bear out your assumption."
"That is only his cunning. He is too shrewd to speak plainly, so soon";
and yet this young philosopher was not wise enough to see that he was
damaging his own cause by putting ideas into the girl's mind which had
not yet entered there.
"Why, Mr. Randolph, you are really becoming amusing. You are like Don
Quixote fighting windmills. You imagine a condition, and then give me a
warning. It is entirely unnecessary, I assure you. Mr. Thauret was not
acting in any such way as you impute to him."
"You are not angry with me, I hope. You know what prompted me to
speak?"
"No, I fear I am not so clever as you at reading other people's
motives."
"But surely you must have guessed that----"
"Guessed what?" Dora looked at him so candidly, that he was abashed. It
was his opportunity to declare himself, and he might have done so, had
not Mr. Mitchel entered the room at that moment. Seeing him, Mr.
Randolph thought of the peculiar position he would be in if his friend
should be proven to be a criminal. For this reason he hesitated, and
thus lost a chance which did not recur again for a very long time. He
replied in a jesting tone, and soon after left the house.
The company had departed. Dora had gone to her own room, leaving Mr.
Mitchel and Emily alone together.
"Emily, my Queen," said Mr. Mitchel, taking one of her hands caressingly
within both of his, as they sat upon a _tete-a-tete_ sofa, "I almost
believe that I am dreaming when I think that you love me."
"Why so, Roy?"
"Listen, little woman. I am in an odd mood to-night, and I wish very
much to talk to you. May I?"
For answer she touched him lightly, lovingly, on the face with her
disengaged hand, and bowed assent.
"Then listen while I make my confession. I am different from other men,
much as I count you different from all women. I have met many, in all
the capitals of Europe, and here in my own country. I have never been
affected by any, as I was by you. In the first instant of meeting you, I
had chosen you for my wife. When I asked for you, I had not the least
idea that you would refuse, until having spoken, I saw the bold audacity
of my words, and for half an instant the idea lived with me that I was
too presumptuous."
"You were not, my Roy. Like you I have passed lovers by, as unaffected
as by the ocean breezes. When I met you, I said to myself: 'This is my
master.'"
"God bless you, Emily. Let me continue. I have chosen you to be my wife.
As heaven is my witness, I shall never deceive you in aught. But,--and
this is the hard test which your love must endure--I may be compelled at
times to keep you in ignorance of some things. Do you think that your
love is great enough to believe that when I do so it is from love of
you, that I keep a secret from you?"
"Roy, perhaps this is conceit, but if so, still I say it. A weaker love
than mine would say to you, 'I trust you, but I love you so that you
need not hesitate to share your secrets with me.' I tell you that I
trust you implicitly. That I am content to hear your secrets or not, as
your own judgment and love for me shall decide."
"I knew that you would speak so. Had you said less I should have been
disappointed. I will tell you then at once, that there is a secret in my
life which I have shared with no one, and which I am not willing yet to
reveal to you. Are you still content?"
"Do you doubt it? Do you think that I would make an assertion only to
draw back from my boast as soon as tried?"
"No, my Queen, but it is asking much to ask a woman to marry whilst
there is a secret which cannot be told. Especially when there are those
who may believe that there is shame or worse, concealed."
"No one would dare to so misjudge you!"
"Indeed, but you are mistaken. There are those who do not count me as
irreproachable as I may seem to you. What if I were to tell you that a
detective watches me day and night?"
"Oho? That would not frighten me. You have explained all about your
wager. I suppose Mr. Barnes is keeping an eye on you. Is that it?"
"Partly that, and partly because he thinks that I am connected with this
murdered woman. To a certain extent he is right."
"You mean that you knew her?"
"Yes." Mr. Mitchel paused to see whether she would ask another question
after his admission. But she meant all that she had said when asserting
that she trusted him. She remained silent. Mr. Mitchel continued:
"Naturally Mr. Barnes is desirous of learning how much I know. There are
urgent reasons why I do not wish him to do so. You have it in your power
to aid me."
"I will do so!"
"You have not heard what it is that I wish."
"I do not care what it is. I will do it if you ask me."
"You are worthy of my love." He drew her gently towards him, and kissed
her lightly on the lips. "I say it not in egotism, for I love you as
much as man may. Were you unworthy--I should never love again."
"You may trust me, Roy." Her words were simple, but there was a passion
of truth contained in their utterance.
"I will tell you at once, what I wish. For it must be done promptly. You
must be ready--Who is that?"
Mr. Mitchel spoke the last two words in a sharp tone, rising from his
seat and taking a step forward. The large room was but dimly lighted,
the gas having been lowered to please Emily who abhorred well-lighted
rooms. At the further end some one was standing, and had attracted Mr.
Mitchel's attention. It was Lucette, and she replied at once:
"Your mother sent me to know if you are ready for supper, Miss Emily."
"Say that we will be in, in a few minutes," replied Emily, and Lucette
left the room.
"Who is that girl?" asked Mr. Mitchel.
Emily explained how the new maid had been engaged and Mr. Mitchel
speaking in a tone louder than was really necessary, said:
"She seems to be a quiet, good girl. Rather too quiet, for she startled
me coming in so noiselessly. Shall we go in? What I have to tell you
will keep. It is something I wish you to do for me the day after
to-morrow."
After supper Mr. Mitchel took the two girls and their mother to the
theatre, much to the delight of the latter, who was always shocked
whenever Emily went unattended by a _chaperone_. The party walked going
and coming, and as Dora and her mother were ahead, Mr. Mitchel had ample
opportunity to explain to his _fiancee_ the favor which he wished her to
do for him. When leaving the house that night he said:
"You will not see me again for a couple of days. Keep well till then."
Lucette, who had overheard this remark, was, therefore, rather
astonished to see Mr. Mitchel walk in the next morning as early as ten
o'clock. She was still more surprised to have her mistress announce that
she was going out. What puzzled her most of all was that Emily went out
alone, leaving Mr. Mitchel in the parlor. In fact this seemed to give
her so much food for reflection, that as though struck by the
conclusions arrived at, she herself prepared to go out. As she was
passing along the hall, however, the parlor door opened and Mr. Mitchel
confronted her.
"Where are you going, Lucette?"
"I have an errand to do, sir," she replied with a slight tremor.
"Come into the parlor, first. I wish to speak to you." She felt
compelled to obey, and walked into the room, Mr. Mitchel opening the
door and waiting for her to pass through. He then followed, after
closing the door behind him, locking it and taking the key from the
lock.
"Why did you do that?" asked Lucette angrily.
"You forget yourself, Lucette. You are a servant, and good servants
such as you have proven that you know how to be, never ask questions.
However, I will answer you. I locked the door because I do not wish you
to get out of this room."
"I won't be locked in here with you. I am a respectable girl."
"No one doubts it. You need not get excited, I am not going to hurt you
in any way."
"Then why have you brought me in here?"
"Simply to keep you here till--well, say till twelve o'clock. That is
about two hours. Do you mind?"
"Yes, I do mind. I won't be kept in here alone with you for two hours."
"You amuse me. How will you prevent it?"
Lucette bit her lip, but said nothing. She saw that there was no help
for her. She might scream, of course, but Mrs. Remsen and Dora had gone
out before Emily. She and Mr. Mitchel were alone in the apartment. She
might attract the attention of the janitor, or of people in the street.
As this idea occurred to her she glanced toward the window. Mr. Mitchel
divined her thoughts in a moment.
"Don't try screaming, Lucette," said he, "for if you do, I will be
compelled to gag you. You will find that very uncomfortable for two
hours."
"Will you tell me why you wish to keep me here?"
"I thought I did tell you. The fact is, I do not wish you to do that
little errand of yours."
"I don't understand you."
"Oh, yes, you do. You are not such a fool as all that. Now, my girl,
you may as well bow to the inevitable. Make yourself comfortable till
twelve. Read the paper, if you wish. There is an interesting account of
the murder case. The woman, you know, who was killed in the flat
upstairs. Have you followed it?"
"No, I have not," she replied, snappishly.
"That is strange. Do you know, I took you to be just the person who
would have a deep interest in that kind of thing."
"Well, I am not."
For the next two hours not a word passed. Mr. Mitchel sat in a large
arm-chair and simply watched the girl with an aggravating smile upon his
face. In fact the smile was so aggravating, that after encountering it a
few minutes, Lucette did not look at him again, but rivetted her gaze
upon the opposite side of the street. At last the clock chimed twelve.
Instantly the girl arose.
"May I go now?"
"Yes, Lucette, you may go now--and do your little errand--that is if it
is not too late. And by the way, Lucette, Miss Remsen asked me to say to
you that she will not need your services after to-day."
"Do you mean that I am discharged?"
"Not exactly that. I said you would not be needed. You see Miss Remsen
thinks that you come into and go out of rooms with too little noise. She
is very nervous, and it startles her to find you in her presence,
without having heard you enter."
"You are a devil!" replied Lucette in a passion, as she darted through
the door, which Mr. Mitchel had unlocked, and ran down-stairs and out of
the house.
"I was right," thought Mr. Mitchel, as he sat down once more.
Lucette hurried across to Broadway and went into the district telegraph
office at the corner. Hastily scribbling a few lines on a blank, she
asked for a boy, and gave him a coin with the instruction to "hurry."
She then went down to Madison Square and waited there--I was about to
write, patiently--but really the word would not apply. She sat on a
bench. Jumped up in less than five minutes, walked about for awhile, and
then sat down again, repeating this over and over, till it was plain
that she was in a bad humor,--a very bad humor.
At last she saw a man approaching her, and hurried to meet him. It was
Mr. Barnes. He, too, looked excited.
"Well, what is it? Why are you here?" he asked.
"I am discharged!"
"Discharged? Why?"
"I don't know why, but that devil Mitchel is at the bottom of it. He
locked me up for two hours this morning, and then told me Miss Remsen
would not need me any further. I felt like scratching his eyes out." She
then told the story to the detective, winding up with, "From what I did
catch of their conversation last night I think he has made a confidant
of his sweetheart. He asked her to help him and just as he was about to
tell her what to do, somehow he saw me and closed up like a clam. I
think now it had something to do with the child."
"By heaven, you are right. I see it all. I had just returned from that
house, when I got your note and came up here. I went to the school this
morning pretending that I wished to place a child there. Then, after a
while, I asked if my friend Mr. Mitchel's daughter, Rose, was not at the
school. 'Yes,' replied the woman in charge, 'but she has just left us.'
'Left you,' said I, 'when?' 'About ten minutes ago. Her mother called
for her in a carriage and took her away.' Don't you see, whilst you were
locked in that room, Miss Remsen went down and removed the child."
"But Miss Remsen is not her mother?"
"No, stupid. Haven't you any sense left at all? Are you going to be a
bungler all your life? This comes of your disobedience. You let Mitchel
see you in the elevated train, and now you find out how smart you were."
"Nonsense, he never recognized me."
"He did. I was a fool to trust such an important matter to a woman."
"Oh! were you? Well that woman is not such a fool as you think. I have
that button back."
"Ah! Good! How did you manage it?"
"They all went to the theatre last night, and I just hunted through Miss
Remsen's things till I found it, in one of her jewel-cases. Here it is."
Saying which, she handed to the detective the cameo button which he had
found in the room where the murder had been committed. He saw that it
was the same, and was somewhat comforted to have it back.
"Has Mr. Mitchel made Miss Remsen any present lately?" he asked.
"Yes, he gave her a magnificent ruby last night. Miss Remsen told me
that it is worth a fortune, and it looks it."
"How was it set?"
"It is made into a pin to be worn in the hair."
"Well, I have no further use for you at present. Go home, and be sure
you keep a still tongue in your head. You have done enough mischief
already."
"Haven't I done any good? I think you are very mean."
"Yes, you have done some good. But you will find that in this world one
failure counts against three successes. Remember that."