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 becoming
toilet, reclined languidly upon the 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
subject. When his pretty step-mother 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. He knew, too, that Agnes would rather stay
there, for her income did not warrant as luxurious a home as he could
give her, and by remaining at Aikenside during the warmer season she
could afford to pass 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 wishes I would join then. Do you
think I can afford it?”
“Oh, yes, that’s splendid, and I’ll stay here while you are gone; 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 I, too, 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 Lauries, ascertaining that Agnes’s plan was that 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 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 sun-bonnet and the
Scotch plaid shawl she had seen beside him when driving 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 it was so, 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 way-marks came in view, way-marks 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, black curls.
“Yes, I could do that. I have 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 only brother has been an inmate
of a lunatic asylum for years; and that though they cannot pay his
expenses, they do what 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’s cheek was very white, though her face was turned 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 existed.”
For a moment there was silence in the room, and then Guy told the doctor
of what Agnes and himself 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 awoke 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 sha’n’t care how
long you are gone if I can have Maddy here, and doctor will come up
every day, will you not?” 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 were willing, I do not think you
could do better than secure Miss Clyde’s services. Two children will
thus be happy, for Maddy, as I have told you, thinks Aikenside must be a
little lower 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 opinion, are better discussed
alone,” and he turned good-humoredly toward Agnes, who knew it was
useless to oppose him then.
But she did oppose him 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 his 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 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 reconsidered 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 part of
the autumn, and that she, Jessie’s mother, wrote to ask if for the sum
of one dollar per week she was willing 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. Write another note; substitute companion for
waiting-maid, and offer 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 ‘round besides, she thought three
dollars far too much. But Guy had commanded, and she generally obeyed
him, so she wrote another note, which he approved, and, sealing it up,
sent it by a servant to Madeline.