SHADOWINGS OF WHAT WAS TO BE.
It was very pleasant at Aikenside that afternoon, and the cool breeze
blowing from the miniature fish pond in one corner of the grounds, came
stealing into the handsome parlors, where Agnes Remington, in tasteful
toilet, reclined languidly upon the crimson-hued sofa, bending her
graceful head to suit the height of Jessie, who was twining some
flowers among her curls, and occasionally appealing to Guy to know “if
it was not pretty.”
In his favorite seat in the pleasant bay window, opening into the
garden, Guy was sitting, apparently reading a book, though his eyes did
not move very rapidly down the page, for his thoughts were on some
other object. When his pretty stepmother first came to Aikenside, three
months before, he had been half sorry, for he knew just how his quiet
would be disturbed, but as the weeks went by, and he became accustomed
to Jessie’s childish prattle and frolicsome ways, while even Agnes
herself was not a bad picture for his handsome home, he began to feel
how he should miss them when they were gone, Jessie particularly, who
made so much sunshine wherever she went, and who was very dear to the
heart of the half-brother. Full well he knew Agnes would rather stay
there, that her income did not warrant as luxurious a home as he could
give her, and that by remaining at Aikenside during the warmer season
she could afford to board through the winter in Boston, where her
personal attractions secured her quite as much attention as was good
for her. Had she been more agreeable to him he would not have hesitated
to offer her a home as long as she chose to remain, but, as it was, he
felt that Lucy Atherstone would be much happier alone with him. Lucy,
however, was not coming yet, and until she did come Agnes perhaps might
stay. It certainly would be better for Jessie, who could have a teacher
in the house, and it was upon these matters that he was reflecting.
As if divining his thoughts Agnes said to him rather abruptly:
“Guy, Ellen Laurie writes me that they are all going to Saratoga for a
time, and then to Newport, and she wished I would join them. Do you
think I can afford it?”
“Oh, yes, that’s splendid, for I’ll stay here while you are gone, and I
like Aikenside so much better than Boston. Mamma can afford it, can’t
she, Guy?” Jessie exclaimed, dropping her flowers and springing upon
her brother’s knee.
Smoothing her bright hair and pinching her soft cheek, Guy replied:
“That means, I suppose, that I can afford it, don’t it? but, puss, I
was thinking just now about your staying here where you really do
improve.”
Then turning to Agnes he made some inquiries as to the plans proposed
by the Laurie’s, ascertaining that Agnes’ plan was as follows: He
should invite her to go with him to Saratoga, or Newport, or both, and
that Jessie meantime should remain at Aikenside, just as she wished to
do.
Guy could not find much pleasure in escorting Agnes to a fashionable
watering place, particularly as he was, of course, expected to pay the
bills, but he sometimes did unselfish things; and as he had not been
very gracious to her on the occasion of her last visit to Aikenside, he
decided to martyr himself and go to Saratoga. But who would care for
Jessie? She must not be left wholly with the servants. A governess of
some kind must be provided, and he was about speaking of this to Agnes,
when the doctor was announced, and the conversation turned into another
channel. Agnes Remington would not have confessed how much she was
interested in Dr. Holbrook. Indeed, only that morning in reply to a
joking remark made to her by Guy, she had petulantly exclaimed:
“The idea of my caring for him, except as a friend and physician. Why,
he must be younger than I am, or at most about my age. A mere boy, as
it were.”
And yet, in making her toilet that afternoon, she had arranged every
part of her dress with direct reference to the “mere boy,” her heart
beating faster every time she remembered the white sunbonnet and the
Scotch plaid shawl she had seen beside him in the drive that morning.
Little Maddy Clyde would hardly have credited the story had she been
told that the beautiful lady from Aikenside was positively jealous of
Dr. Holbrook’s attentions to herself; yet so it was, and the jealousy
was all the more bitter when she remembered who Madeline was, and how
startled that aged couple of the red cottage would be, could they know
who she was. But they did not; she was quite sure of that; and so she
had ventured to pass their door, her heart throbbing with a strange
sensation as the old waymarks came in view, waymarks which she
remembered so well, and around which so many sad memories were
clustering. Agnes was not all bad. Indeed, she was scarcely worse than
most vain, selfish fashionable women; and all that day, since her
return from riding, haunting, remorseful thoughts of the long ago had
been clinging to her, making her more anxious to leave that
neighborhood for a time at least, and in scenes of gayety forget, if
possible, that such things as broken vows or broken hearts existed.
The arrival of the doctor dissipated her sadness in a measure, and
after greeting him with her usual expressions of welcome, she said,
half playfully, half spitefully:
“By the way, doctor, who was that old lady, all bent up double in
shawls and things, whom you were taking out for an airing?”
Guy looked up quickly, wondering where Agnes could have seen the
doctor, who, conscious of a sudden pang, answered, naturally:
“That old lady, bent double and bundled in shawls, was young Maddy
Clyde, to whom I thought a short ride might do good.”
“Oh, yes; that patient about whom Jessie has gone mad. I am glad to
have seen her.”
There was unmistakable irony in her voice now, and turning from her to
Guy, the doctor continued:
“The old man was telling me to-day of your kindness in saving his house
from being sold. It was like you, Guy; and I wish I, too, had the means
to be generous, for they are so very poor.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Jessie, who had stolen to the doctor’s side, and
lain her fat, bare arm upon his shoulder, as if he had been Guy. “You
might give Maddy the doctor’s bill. I remember how mamma cried, and
said she never could pay papa’s bill when it was sent in.”
“Jessie!” said Agnes and Guy, simultaneously, while the doctor
laughingly pulled one of her long, bright curls.
“Yes, I could do that. I’d thought of it, but they might not accept it,
as they are proud as well as poor.”
“Mr. Markham has no one to care for but his wife and this Madeline, has
he?” Agnes asked, and the doctor replied:
“I did not suppose so until a few days since, when I learned from a Mr.
Green that Mrs. Markham’s youngest and now only brother has been an
inmate of a lunatic asylum for years; and that though they cannot pay
his entire expenses, of course they do all they can toward providing
him with comforts.”
“What is a lunatic asylum, mother? What does he mean?” Jessie asked,
but it was the doctor, not Agnes, who explained to the child what a
lunatic asylum was.
“Is insanity hereditary in this family?” Guy asked.
Agnes’ cheek was very white, though her face was fumed away as the
doctor answered: “I do not know; I did not ask the cause. I only heard
the fact that such a man as Joseph Mortimer exists.”
For a moment there was silence in the room, and then Guy told the
doctor of what himself and Agnes were speaking when he arrived.
“I suppose it’s of no use asking you to join us for a week or so.”
“There was not,” the doctor said. “His patients needed him and he must
stay at home.”
“Doctor, how would this Maddy Clyde do to stay here with Jessie while
we are gone, partly as companion and partly as her teacher?” was Guy’s
next question, which brought Mrs. Agnes at once from her reverie.
“Guy,” she exclaimed, “are you crazy? That child Jessie’s governess!
No, indeed! I shall have a teacher from Boston—one whose manners and
style are unexceptionable.”
Guy had a will of his own, and few could provoke it into action as
effectually as Agnes, who, in thus opposing him, was working directly
against herself. Paying her no attention, except to bow in token that
he heard, Guy asked Jessie her opinion.
“Oh, it will be splendid! Can she come to-morrow? I shan’t care how
long you are gone if I can have Maddy here, and doctor will come up
every day, will you, doctor?” and the soft eyes looked up pleadingly
into the doctor’s face.
“It is not settled yet that Maddy comes,” the doctor replied, adding as
an answer to Guy’s question: “If Agnes could be willing, I do not think
you could do better than to secure Miss Clyde’s services. Two children
will thus be made happy, for Maddy, as I have told you, thinks
Aikenside must be a little lower only than Paradise. I shall be happy
to open negotiations, if you say so.”
“I’ll ride down and let you know to-morrow,” Guy said. “These domestic
matters, where there is a difference of thinking, had better be
discussed alone,” and he turned good-humoredly toward Agnes, who knew
it was useless to oppose him then.
But oppose him she did that night, after the doctor had gone, taking at
first the high stand that sooner than have a country girl like Maddy
Clyde associated daily with her daughter, whether as teacher or
companion, she would give up Saratoga and stay at home. Guy could not
explain why it was that opposition from Agnes always aroused all his
powers of antagonism. Yet so it was, and now he was as fully determined
that Maddy Clyde should come to Aikenside as Agnes was that she should
not. He knew, too, how to attain this end without further altercation.
“Very well,” was his quiet reply, “you can remain at home if you
choose, of course. I had intended taking you myself, wherever you
wished to go; and not only that, but I was about to ask how much was
needed for the necessary additions to your wardrobe, but if you prefer
remaining here to giving up a most unfounded prejudice against a girl
who never harmed you, and whom Jessie already loves, you can do so,”
and Guy walked from the room, leaving Agnes first to cry, then to pout,
then to think it all over, and finally to decide that going to Saratoga
and Newport under the protection of Guy, was better than carrying out a
whim, which, after all, was nothing but a whim.
Accordingly next morning as Guy was in his library reading his papers,
she went tripping up to him, and folding her white hands upon his
shoulder, said, very prettily:
“I was real cross last night, and let my foolish pride get the
ascendency, but I have considered the matter, and am willing for this
Miss Clyde to come, provided you still think it best.”
Guy’s mustache hid the mischievous smile lurking about his mouth, and
he received the concession as graciously as if he did not know
perfectly the motive which impelled it. As she had commenced being
amiable she seemed determined to continue it, and offered herself to
write a note soliciting Maddy’s services,
“As I am Jessie’s mother, it will be perfectly proper for me to hire
and manage her,” she said, and as Guy acquiesced in this suggestion,
she sat down at the writing desk, and commenced a very pleasantly
worded note, in which Miss Clyde was informed that she had been
recommended as a suitable person with whom to leave Jessie during the
summer and a part of the autumn, and that she, Jessie’s mother, wrote
to ask if for the sum of one dollar per week she were at liberty to
come to Aikenside as governess, or waiting-maid.
“Or what?” Guy asked, as she read to him what she had written. “Maddy
Clyde will not be waiting-maid in this house, neither will she come for
one dollar per week as you propose. I hire her myself. I have taken a
fancy to the girl. Commence again; substitute companion for
waiting-maid, and offering her three dollars per week instead of one.”
As long as Guy paid the bill Agnes could not demur to the price,
although remembering a time when she had taught a district school for
one dollar per week and boarded around besides. She thought three
dollars far too much. But Guy had commanded, and him she generally
obeyed, so she wrote another note, which he approved, and sealing it up
sent it by a servant down to the red cottage.