SALOME MAKES ATTEMPTS TO SECURE HER LIBERTY.
It seemed to Salome as she sat there alone in her room, after her
attendant had left her, as if this fresh trouble was more than she could
bear.
She was a prisoner in a great insane asylum in the heart of Paris, and
no one in all the world, save Mrs. Rochester, knew where she was. She
was lost! She might almost as well have been dead and buried.
She blamed herself now for having consented to enter the house at
Monsieur Arnot’s invitation. It would have been far better to have sat
in the street all night than to have walked into such a trap.
But of course it had all been planned. The driver, doubtless, was in the
employ of Arnot, and the broken trace had been only a ruse. She grew
very much excited as she thought this all out, and a feeling of bitter
anger and resentment took possession of her usually gentle heart.
She arose and paced her room back and forth, while she planned what she
would do to make Mrs. Rochester and her unprincipled daughter feel the
weight of her righteous indignation, if she could but get out of that
horrible place.
“I will not bear it,” she cried, “they shall be made to suffer for such
wickedness. I will go to True and tell him everything, even at the risk
of being spurned by him. Their treachery shall all be revealed, and then
if he persists in marrying her he will do it with his eyes open. Oh, if
I could but get word to Harriet, to let her know where I am, she would
get me out, or she could tell the mother at the convent, and she would
have me released.”
She grew calmer after a while, for she was hopeful, and believed that
she would find some means of communication with Harriet, and, feeling
really hungry, she finally sat down and ate heartily of the breakfast
that had been brought to her.
She had scarcely finished when the sound of the key turning in the lock
warned her that she was about to have another visitor.
She sincerely hoped that it would prove to be Monsieur Arnot, and she
was not disappointed, for as the door swung back she saw his genial and
benignant face beaming upon her.
“Ah, Sister Angela, good-morning. How do you find yourself after your
long drive last evening? Pretty comfortable, I hope, although I was
afraid you were hardly strong enough for such a ride,” he glibly
remarked.
“I am well, thank you, monsieur,” Salome answered with grave dignity;
“but I wish to know why I am detained here against my will?”
“Ah, Sister Angela, do not ask me disagreeable questions,” the man
pleasantly responded; “but pray accept circumstances as you find them,
and make yourself as comfortable as possible.”
“But I shall question you,” Salome resolutely returned. “I wish you to
explain why I am made a prisoner here, and by whose authority.”
“Well, then, you are a patient in this institution, because you are
somewhat out of health and need judicious treatment, and by the
authority of madam, your mother,” Dr. Arnot replied, seeing that he
might as well explain the situation first as last.
“What is my malady supposed to be?” Salome demanded.
She was greeted by the national shrug and a significant lifting of the
eyebrows.
“Mademoiselle has recently been ill,” he asserted inquiringly.
“Yes; but I am well now, only I am not quite strong.”
“Ah! exactly; and madam, your mother, has the desire that you shall gain
your strength.”
“By madam I suppose you refer to Mrs. Rochester, the woman who came here
yesterday to consult with you about me?”
“_Oui_, mademoiselle.”
Salome smiled. She had at least confirmed her suspicions regarding Mrs.
Rochester’s visit to Paris.
“Well, then, the woman is not my mother—I have none; both my parents are
dead; she is not even a relative—my mother was a cousin of her husband,”
Salome stated with a directness that carried conviction with it.
Again that characteristic shrug. It made but very little difference to
Dr. Arnot whether Mrs. Rochester was the girl’s mother or not, provided
she promptly paid him the large amounts agreed upon.
“How long am I to be kept a prisoner here?” Salome next inquired.
“‘A prisoner!’ Mademoiselle makes use of hard words,” the man returned
with a dissenting gesture. “She is simply my patient—my guest, to be
kindly and faithfully cared for until madam returns from the South.”
“By the South you doubtless mean Italy?”
“_Oui_, mademoiselle.”
Salome was in despair, for she knew that the Rochesters and Winthrops
were going to Rome for the winter as soon as madam and Evelyn should
return from the baths where they had gone to recuperate, before her
illness, and thus she would be obliged to remain for months an inmate of
a mad-house.
What would Harriet think had become of her? She would be nearly crazy
over her unaccountable disappearance. What would the mother and sisters
at the convent think?
Perhaps—and she was appalled by the thought—Mrs. Rochester intended to
keep her there indefinitely—forever! She had reason enough to be afraid
of her, and so had perhaps taken this way of ridding herself permanently
of so dangerous a foe.
The thought made her desperate, and she arose and resolutely confronted
her companion.
“Monsieur Arnot,” she said with stern dignity, “I assure you, that woman
is not my mother—she is no kin to me; she is only my bitter enemy, while
she has wronged me as few women would dare to wrong another. She fears
me, for I hold a secret regarding her, that if exposed, would be her
ruin, and so she has plotted this additional wrong against me, to secure
herself. I know, and you know, that I have no disease, either of the
body or brain; I am as sane as you are, and you are committing a
heartless crime by detaining me here. I command you to set me at
liberty.”
The man regarded her with something of wonder as she ceased speaking.
Her tone and manner convinced him that she was speaking the truth, and
he was, for the moment, uneasy lest he should get himself into trouble
by lending himself to the plot of a scheming woman.
He knew that the penalty was very severe for such an offence; but Dr.
Arnot was exceedingly avaricious. Madame Rochester had already paid him
a handsome sum in advance—besides, he already anticipated the monthly
payments which she had promised to send him regularly, and he had not
the strength to resist this important addition to his income.
So he only smiled soothingly upon poor Salome and her authoritative
demand to be released, and, adopting a conciliatory tone, remarked:
“Ah, poor child! poor child! pray do not get excited—all will be well by
and by. Do not wrong madam, who will doubtless come herself to release
mademoiselle upon her return.”
“She will not,” Salome retorted in deep distress, the conviction growing
stronger upon her. “I tell you she fears me, and I believe she intends
to keep me here indefinitely.”
She made a grave mistake, however, in asserting this, for Dr. Arnot’s
eyes began to gleam greedily; if she was to be a permanent patient, so
much the better for his pockets.
“I am my own mistress,” Salome continued. “I am twenty-three years of
age, and no one has any right to exercise control over me or deprive me
of my liberty. Will you let me go, Dr. Arnot?”
“No, mademoiselle—I have given my word to madam—I must keep it. You may
claim that you are of age, which doubtless is true, but—people who
are—ah!—invalids are not always competent to care for themselves,” he
pointedly concluded.
“Monsieur Arnot,” Salome broke forth, a sudden thought striking her, “I
am rich—I have a large fortune at my command. Do you know that if I
should manage, by any stratagem, to escape from your insane asylum—that
I could prosecute you—that you would have to suffer to the extent of the
law for detaining me here? And I would do it—I would not spare you, I
assure you. There are plenty of people in Paris who could prove that I
am perfectly sane—there are even persons here who knew me before I came
abroad from America, and I would spend thousands of francs to bring you
to justice.”
The doctor looked somewhat disturbed for a moment after this spirited
threat, but his brow soon cleared, and he smiled placidly.
“Madam alone is responsible,” he said. “I have her signature to the
certificate resigning mademoiselle to my charge, and she would have to
prosecute her own mother.”
“Must I tell you again that she is not my mother?” cried Salome,
flushing hotly. Then she added more calmly:
“You say you have Mrs. Rochester’s signature to the certificate
consigning me here, but has the document also the signature of some
responsible physician, testifying to my insanity?”
Dr. Arnot moved restlessly in his chair at this pertinent question;
evidently it was not an agreeable one.
“Mademoiselle is very curious,” he evasively remarked with a frown.
Salome began to realize that no entreaty or threat would avail, and then
it occurred to her that possibly bribery might succeed where all other
arguments would fail.
“Mrs. Rochester has agreed to pay you well, I presume, for detaining me
here?” she remarked.
“Patients are not usually treated free of charge in a retreat like
this,” he returned.
“Would you mind telling me the amount you are to receive?” Salome asked.
Dr. Arnot sneered audibly at this question.
“So that mademoiselle may have another point against me in law?” he
retorted with a sarcastic laugh.
“No, monsieur, I was not thinking of that,” she quietly replied; “but I
imagined that I might perhaps outbid my enemy. I have told you that I am
rich. See here! I have a letter of credit for five thousand
dollars—twenty-five thousand francs of your money,” and she drew forth
the envelope containing it. “I will give you four thousand of it, or
twenty thousand francs, if you will unbar your doors and let me go free
this hour.”
Dr. Arnot glanced hungrily at the envelope, while he appeared surprised
at her statement; for, in spite of her previous assertion that she was
rich, he had not believed that she could personally control any amount
worth mentioning. He was strongly tempted, however, by the sum which she
now offered him.
But there were a good many things to be thought of in connection with
it.
Madame Rochester might pay him a visit before leaving for Italy, and
demand to see his patient. If he could not produce her, she could easily
make trouble for him; she would demand the money she had already paid
him; she might complain of him to the authorities, and thus cause an
investigation of the way he conducted his institution, which would ruin
his reputation, and even so large a sum as twenty thousand francs would
not compensate him for that.
Still, if he could have accepted Salome’s offer without any danger to
himself, it is safe to say that he would have done so on the spot.
He was thoughtful for several moments afterward, while she watched him
with breathless eagerness.
“Twenty thousand francs is a large sum, mademoiselle,” he at length
remarked, a greedy light in his eyes; “but even if I should accept your
offer, how can I be assured that it really belongs to you?”
Salome’s lips curled scornfully; she saw that the man was such a knave
himself he had no faith in any one else.
“You shall yourself accompany me to the bank while I draw the money, and
where I have already been several times to provide myself with funds.
The cashier and clerks there know me and will identify me.”
This sounded reasonable, and the man was half tempted again to yield,
for he wanted the money badly.
Perhaps after Madame Rochester had left Paris he might venture to accept
her offer; but at present it would not do to run the risk of discovery.
“I am bound to madam,” he finally said in a musing tone. “I am afraid—at
least I must have time to think; I will consider the matter, and let
mademoiselle know my decision later.”
With that he bowed politely to her and walked out of the room.
She was greatly disappointed and distressed, and, being still weak and
easily unnerved, she burst into bitter weeping.
She knew of course that inquiry would soon be made for her, and she
wondered what kind of a story Mrs. Rochester would make up to account
for her disappearance from the chateau.
Oh, if she could only get word to some one outside!
But Salome was not of a despondent temperament naturally, and after the
first paroxysm of despair had passed she began to consider her situation
more calmly and hopefully, and tried to devise some plan by which to
outwit her captors.
Her first resolve was to disarm Dr. Arnot, if possible, of any suspicion
of her intention—make him think that she had concluded to submit to a
fate she could not change, and thus secure more freedom in the hospital.
She knew there were wards in every such institution, where the harmless
patients were allowed to mingle with each other, and she meant to obtain
permission to go among them. She also knew that visitors were frequently
admitted to these wards, and she hoped she would either find some one
among them who would befriend her, or who would at least secretly take a
letter to post outside for her.
Having decided upon this course, she immediately wrote a note, telling
Harriet something of what had occurred during the last three weeks; that
she had been entrapped and was now confined in an insane asylum, of
which a physician, calling himself Dr. Arnot, had charge.
She charged her to take instant measures for her release—to go to the
mother-superior of the convent, tell her the circumstance, when she felt
sure she would manage some way to have her set at liberty.
She always carried postage stamps about with her, so she could easily
prepare this epistle for the mail.
She had written on some leaves which she had torn from a note-book, but
she had no envelopes. She managed to fashion something that answered
from more leaves of her book, then addressed the missive, and concealed
it about her person, so as to have it in readiness in case she should
find any one willing to take it out for her.
Feeling that there was now no longer any necessity for her to go about
disguised, she threw aside her awkward bandages, cap, and glasses, and
was once more her natural self, save for the loose and unbecoming nun’s
dress, which of course she was still obliged to wear, as she had no
other.