BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT.
“What does this mean?” she demanded, passionately. “Why am I received in
this strange, this heartless manner, by my mother’s cousin? Why does she
presume to cast aspersions upon my father and mother, and talk about
print dresses, and assigning me duties as if I were a mere servant?”
Mrs. Blunt’s breath was fairly taken away by these swift, indignant
sentences and questions, and she could only gaze at the young girl in
speechless surprise for a few moments.
Star was wondrously beautiful then, in spite of her soiled and
disordered attire, with her flashing eyes, her blazing cheeks, her
delicate, dilating nostrils, her scornful, curling lips, and proudly
poised head.
“What does it mean, I say?” repeated Star, impatient at the woman’s
silence.
Mrs. Blunt found her tongue at last.
“Mercy on us, child!” she ejaculated, her astonishment extending to her
tones. “You’ve a temper of your own, or I’m much mistaken; and you’ll
need it, too, if you’re going to live in this house.”
Then she added, more thoughtfully:
“I’m afraid, miss, you’ve come over here with a wrong impression—I
really _am_.”
“What do you mean?” Star asked. “How have I come with a wrong
impression?”
“What did you expect when you started to come to America to live with
Mrs. Richards?” the housekeeper asked, evading her questions by putting
another.
“I expected that my mother’s cousin, who papa said, was very wealthy,
and able to take care of me, and had promised him to do so, would give
me a place in her home as a member of her family, and give me an
opportunity to perfect my education, so that I might be able, by and by,
to take care of myself. This was what my father understood her promise
to me to mean—this was what I expected. But from the reception she has
given me—cold and heartless—and as I would not have received the meanest
beggar who came to my door—from disrespectful and insulting remarks
about my parents, and what she said about my ‘duties’, I am afraid that
my position here will not be a pleasant one.”
Mrs. Blunt’s homely face was full of pity as she listened to what Star
said.
“Poor child,” she began, “you have expected entirely too much, and
perhaps it would be a mercy to tell you at once how mistaken you are if
you think you are going to find a pleasant home and a chance to get much
of an education _here_. When madam got your father’s letter and knew
that you were soon to be an orphan, she said at once that it was ‘just
the thing,’ and you would do nicely to supply the place of Maggie Flynn,
the chamber and errand girl, and who was not exactly trustworthy. She
said the ‘English peasants always made good servants,’ and as you were
young and would be wholly dependent on her, she could train you
according to her own notions. And, to make a long story short, you are
to make beds and do chamber-work generally, wait upon madam and run of
errands.”
And the housekeeper heaved a sigh of relief that the difficult
explanation was over. And difficult it was, with those glittering
sapphire eyes fixed so intently upon her, and that beautiful face
gleaming with scorn and indignation.
“In other words, she intends to make a servant—a slave of me,” she said,
with quiet sarcasm, but uplifted head.
“Ye-es—if you must put it so, miss,” Mrs. Blunt admitted, reluctantly.
“What wages am I to expect?” and the clear young voice rang with intense
scorn.
“Wages?”
“Yes, _wages_. What did she pay Maggie Flynn?” Star demanded, with a
bitter smile.
“Six dollars a month; but—but I don’t think madam has thought about
wages for _you_. She is to give you a home for what you can do; and
besides what I have told you, you are to wait upon Miss Josephine, who
is not sparing of her commands, either.”
“Who is Miss Josephine, pray?”
“The young lady of the house—Mrs. Richards’ daughter.”
“How old is she?”
“Just turned eighteen.”
“Two years my senior,” murmured Star, reflectively. “Well, Mrs. Blunt,”
she added, after a moment or two, and looking up with a clearer face,
“show me to my room, please, and let me have a good bath, for I need
refreshing sadly. If only I might have some clean underclothing to put
on,” she added, wistfully.
“You shall,” the woman quickly returned. “I suppose madam never thought
of it, and it is a shame. There, wait here,” she added, as she threw
open the door of a small room on the front of the house in the third
story, “and I will bring you a change of Miss Josephine’s. They will be
a trifle too large, but never mind so that you’re comfortable.”
She sped away, and as Star removed her hat and shawl she looked about
her.
The room was very scantily furnished, but it was clean, and as there was
only a single bed in it, she knew she was to have it to herself—a point
which she congratulated herself upon, as it would have been very
obnoxious to her to room with one of the servants.
Mrs. Blunt soon returned, bringing clean, fresh garments, and Star felt
that she had never realized before how great a luxury cleanliness was.
“You can go to the bath-room at the end of the hall,” she said, laying
them over Star’s arm. “I have fixed the tub for you, lining it with a
clean sheet, so that you need not feel shy about using it. I know you’ll
feel a great deal better after it; then I’ll come to you again in a half
or three-quarters of an hour, and take you to Miss Baker; and—I
forgot—here’s a comb I’ve never used.”
Star felt very grateful to the kind-hearted creature, and made the most
of her opportunity.
She had a refreshing bath, then combed out her luxuriant hair,
re-arranging it as nicely and carefully as she had been taught to do in
her own home, and when all was done she looked as bright and felt as
fresh as a new creature.
When Mrs. Blunt returned at the end of an hour, her plain face relaxed
into a smile, though Star had thought that smiles were at a discount
with her as a general thing.
“Well, you _do_ look nice, or I’m much mistaken; and those
hands!—they’re much too fine and nice, in my opinion, for drudgery;” and
the woman glanced admiringly at those small members, of which, to be
truthful, Star _was_ a little proud.
“Well, I am ready to go to Miss Baker,” she said, with a little sigh.
“It is evident that I shall not be in a condition to do any kind of
work, or drudgery, as you call it, until I am properly clad.”
“She’s true blue, and it’s an abomination to make a servant of her,”
muttered the housekeeper, as she led the way to the sewing-room.
Miss Baker was in the midst of fitting a party-dress for Miss
Josephine—a rather fine-looking girl, with black eyes and hair, a
brilliant color, and a full, graceful figure.
Mrs. Blunt introduced Star, and then gave Mrs. Richards’ orders about
the “two print dresses.”
“Goodness gracious! are you Stella Gladstone?” ejaculated the pet and
pride of the Richards mansion, with a stare of surprise.
Star bowed a cold assent to this rude salutation, and then walked
quietly across the room and seated herself by a window.
Miss Baker, however, had nodded and smiled kindly at her, and she felt
sure that she should like the weary-looking seamstress.
“Well, I guess mamma will be glad you have come,” Josephine pursued;
“she has been nearly plagued to death with that Maggie Flynn—you’re to
take her place, you know, as chambermaid and errand girl.”
Star did not reply, and Miss Baker shot an indignant glance at the rude
girl.
The young stranger’s heart was swelling within her until it was nearly
ready to burst with insulted pride and bitter disappointment. She had
longed, when she had found herself alone in her room, to relieve herself
with a burst of passionate weeping, but she dare not give way to it lest
it should unfit her for everything during the day; but now it seemed as
if she could not endure much more.
She had never dreamed that such a reception as this awaited her.
She had pictured to herself, many times, being drawn into the arms of a
pleasant, gentle-voiced woman, who had loved her mother, and who would
love her for that mother’s sake, if not for her own. She had thought to
twine her arms about her neck, and, laying her head upon a sympathizing
bosom, tell her of her dear parents, what their hopes and plans had been
for her, and what her own desires for the future were, and expected to
receive only kind and encouraging words in return.
How different it all was, and how cruel that all her hopes must be
crushed in this unfeeling way!
She had been ambitious to become a cultivated woman and scholar, and to
follow out her father’s plans for her education, and come up to his
standard, which was a high one.
But instead she found she was to be degraded to the level of a common
servant, all her prospects destroyed, all her hopes crushed, and she
felt as if she could not bear it.
“I _will_ not submit to it. I _will_ not give up my hopes. _I will not
be a servant_,” she kept saying over and over to herself, while she sat
there and waited for Miss Baker to attend to her needs, and felt rather
than saw Josephine’s impertinent inspection of her personal appearance.
“You’ve got a wonderful head of hair,” that young lady at length
observed, as she approached her after being released from the
seamstress’ hands. “I think I never saw such a heavy braid before; and I
believe it will just match Nellie Colton’s; she is papa’s niece. I’ll
tell mamma to have a barber come and cut it off. Of course you can’t
afford the time now to take care of it, and it would make such a
splendid band for Nell.”
Star regarded her in blank astonishment. The effrontery of this young
lady was simply overpowering.
“Indeed!” she at last quietly replied. “If Miss Colton is in need of a
band of hair, she will doubtless find it at almost any hair store in the
city. I intend to keep mine.”
Miss Richards colored angrily, for Star’s great blue eyes met hers
fearlessly, and her tone betrayed an independence which did not promise
well for any tyranny which she might expect to exercise over her in the
future.
“You will do exactly as mamma desires, miss,” she cried and then turned
and left the room.
Star’s face was also very red, and she swallowed an angry sob as she
turned to Miss Baker.
“I am ready to sew,” was all that she could say.
She longed to get some work into her hands, hoping thus to distract her
thoughts from self and her bitter disappointment.
The seamstress cut off the breadths of a skirt and gave them to her,
pitying the pretty, yet despised, stranger from the bottom of her heart.
“May I use the machine?” the young girl asked, glancing at that
labor-saving instrument.
“Do you know how?”
“Yes’m.”
“Very well. This is a Florence, and I will show you how to thread it.”
“I know how, thank you. Mamma had a Florence, and I have often used it.”
She arose, and going to it Miss Baker saw at once that she was fully
capable of using it.
All day long she stitched and sewed, working quietly, yet rapidly, and
by night one dress was nearly completed.
“You sew very nicely,” Miss Baker said, as she examined her work late in
the afternoon, “and this print will make you a very neat dress. I wish
Mrs. Richards would allow me to trim it, but she told me to make it
plain. She is in a hurry about the other work.”
Star said nothing to this, but after the seamstress had gone home, she
cut and pieced together some dainty ruffles from some scraps that had
been thrown aside; and all the long evening, while the family were down
stairs entertaining visitors and making merry, she was sewing and
finishing off the print dress, that she might have something fresh and
clean for the morning.
But she was, oh! so sad and lonely, and she could not help thinking of
the previous night, when she had sat in the gay saloon of the steamer
and chatted so sociably with Archibald Sherbrooke, and felt a strange
thrill of happiness in sitting beside him.
She had not been allowed to eat with the family during the day. She had
not seen Mrs. Richards, and did not even know of how many members the
household consisted. It was evident that she was to be ignored, except
as her services were required, that she was to be made a drudge, and her
proud young spirit resented it with all the strength of her nature.
“I will never live so; I am above it. I am capable of better things, and
I _will not_ consent to become a nonentity,” her heart kept saying, over
and over again.
But she was wholly dependent upon these people; her father had consigned
her to their care. She had no money, save a letter of credit for a
hundred pounds, the sum total realized from the sale of all the dear
objects which she had been accustomed to see in her home since her
infancy, and this she had been advised, by the lawyer whom Mr. Gladstone
had chosen to settle his affairs, to consign to the care of Mr.
Richards. But she had concluded since morning to say nothing about it to
any one.
She had no other friends; if she had possessed them she would have flown
to them at once. She was a forlorn stranger among strangers, and she
could see no way at present out of the difficulties surrounding her.
She had eaten with Mrs. Blunt, who was very kind to her, and tried to
tempt her appetite with all the daintiest bits upon the table; but the
poor child was so sick at heart that she could scarcely swallow a
mouthful.
When Miss Baker came the next morning, she looked the surprise she felt,
as she opened the sewing-room door and saw Star seated within, busily
sewing upon the dress she had been making for Josephine the day before.
And truly the young girl was a goodly sight to behold.
Her beautiful hair had been brushed until it shone like satin, and then
gathered into a simple knot at the back of her head—she did not intend
to have it cut off, and she had dressed it in this way so as not to
attract attention to it—while the clustering locks which fell over her
forehead, almost touching her eyebrows, gave a piquant expression to her
face. Her eyes were bright, in spite of her “night of tears” and longing
for the dear old home and familiar faces over the sea; her cheeks
delicately flushed, and the fresh print dress, which fitted her slight,
graceful figure perfectly, and which she had so tastefully trimmed,
could not have been more becoming if it had been made of the richest
materials.
“Why, Miss Gladstone, however did you manage to finish your dress, and
put so much extra work into it, after I left last night?” the dressmaker
asked, with some misgivings about madam’s approval when she should see
it.
“I managed it because I needed it,” Star answered. “I did not like to
put on the dress I wore on the steamer again, it was so soiled and
disfigured; and I ruffled it because I like pretty things and have been
accustomed to them.”
“I am afraid Mrs. Richards will object to so much trimming, for she was
particular to mention that it should be ‘plain,’” said Miss Baker,
glancing dubiously at the ruffles up and down the front, and at the neck
and wrists.
Star made no reply to this, but her red lips settled themselves a trifle
more firmly, and her small head was lifted with a quick, proud movement,
which told that she intended to exercise her own taste as far as she was
able in the matter of her own wardrobe.
The second morning after her advent at the Richards’ mansion, as she was
descending to her breakfast, she suddenly encountered a portly but
good-natured looking gentleman on the stairs.
She glanced up at him, and was about to pass on with a slight though
graceful salutation, when he stopped short and regarded her with
surprise.
“Halloa! who are you?” he asked, brusquely, yet not unkindly.
Star colored a lovely pink, as she replied, modestly:
“I am Star—or, I should say, Stella Gladstone.”
“Stella—_Star_ Gladstone!” he exclaimed, in surprise. Then he added,
with an appreciative glance at her golden head with its dainty
forelocks, her great, star-like eyes, and red lips:
“That sounds well—very appropriate, too, I should say. When did you
arrive? We have been very anxious on your account.”
Star’s scarlet lips curled slightly.
It appeared that he had not been notified of her arrival—Mrs. Richards
had not considered it necessary to speak of the welfare of one whom she
intended to make her servant.
They had been anxious on her account!
_He_ might have experienced some uneasiness concerning her; his kind
eyes and pleasant face seemed to indicate a good heart; but the other
members of his family, she judged, would not have grieved so very much
if she had really gone to the bottom of the ocean, as they feared she
had.
“I arrived the day before yesterday—Tuesday,” she said, somewhat coldly,
in reply to his question.
“Ah! I was in Chicago that day—reached home last night. You’ve had a
pretty hard time, little girl, haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Star returned, wondering if he had any idea _how_ hard,
while the tears rushed unbidden to her eyes at his kind tone. “I never
expected to see land again,” she added, trying hard to suppress a sob,
as she thought she would almost rather have died than come among such
cold-hearted people as her mother’s cousin’s family appeared to be.
“Well, well, you are safe now, thank Heaven, and you must try to be as
happy as possible with us,” Mr. Richards said, still more kindly as he
remarked her agitation.
Star lifted her great eyes to his with a look of surprise. Could it be
possible that he did not know the position she was destined to occupy in
his household?
It certainly appeared so, for he was looking down upon her with
admiration and even something of affection.
“Thank you, sir; you are very kind,” she said, with a sigh, as she
turned sadly away and left him.