TWO VILLAS AT JAMAICA PLAIN.
As William Dow had informed Mr. Kelly, it was really in Boston that
James Gobson had located himself, after leaving New York, to avoid the
rude and annoying curiosity of the latter city. But the rumor of the
legal error of which he had nearly been the victim, had so quickly
preceded him to the capital of Massachusetts, that a week after his
arrival, when he married Miss Ada Ricard, his divorced wife, the
Democrats offered him a banquet and received him with applause at
Barker’s, the fashionable club rendezvous.
Imitating the custom of retired and wealthy merchants, Gobson did not
reside in the city proper, but lived about five miles out, at Jamaica
Plain, in a pretty villa, which was converted into a sumptuous dwelling
by Miss Ada’s taste.
The re-married couple lived in comfort under the same roof, but almost
apart, which would have greatly calmed the jealousy of the unhappy
Saunders if he had known of it.
The young woman occupied a charming apartment on the first
floor, composed of a large parlor, a boudoir, sleeping-room, and
dressing-room. The door of the latter room was at the head of the bed,
hidden by a blue silk portiere. The room was entirely hung with the
same material. James Gobson never set foot in this part of the house,
for once installed and received among the high-livers of Boston, he
resumed his former life and vices. Forgetting what his habits of
drinking, play, and his brutal ways had cost him, from his divorce to
the suspicions which had led him to the foot of the gallows, he had
fallen into the same excesses. He passed his days at the races, and
his evenings at Barker’s, and nine times out of ten he was intoxicated
when he went home in the middle of the night. Mrs. Gobson then had
everything to fear from her husband’s anger, and her fear must have
been extreme, for she never dared answer when he swore at her, nor
refuse him the money squandered.
If Saunders could have witnessed one of these scenes, he certainly
would not have recognized the beautiful, capricious woman, so whimsical
and self-willed, who formerly ruled him. This life was doubly hard for
the former Miss Ada, for she no longer had Mary with her, for Gobson,
after generously rewarding the girl, had dismissed her, and then
replaced her by a servant in whom he inspired as much fear as in his
wife.
The other servants in this gloomy household were a cook and a gardener,
who were not interested in the conjugal quarrels of the couple, and who
besides rarely witnessed them, since they took place very late, when,
their work being over, they had retired to their own quarters.
Mrs. Gobson then lived in absolute solitude with the exception of her
seamstress, her dress-maker, and a few tradespeople she was acquainted
with, and received no one, and that this isolation was mournful to her
was plainly shown in her face.
She was still beautiful, but her complexion had grown pale and her
eyes hollow. Her whole countenance expressed sorrow, lassitude and
discouragement.
Sometimes, however, when her husband went in town after committing
some rude or violent act, her eyes would flash lightning and her lips
contract in a menacing smile. In such moments a leaven of rebellion and
vengeance seemed to rise within her. But it lasted only an instant;
some secret and terrible thought passed through her mind, and with a
shudder she burst into sobs. What still further increased the martyrdom
of the pretty, forsaken woman, and what rendered her life more horrible
and her isolation more cruel, was the sight that met her eyes when,
concealed behind the curtains of her sleeping-room, she looked into the
park of the next house.
There all was calm, happy, and pure. This house was inhabited by a
distinguished-looking man about forty years old, of a particularly
intelligent face, and by a young girl nearly sixteen, of a bewitching,
gentle beauty, who had a middle-aged governess or teacher with her.
The forsaken Mrs. Gobson supposed it was the home of a couple in their
honeymoon, and her heart, she could not tell why, was saddened; but, on
inquiring, she learned that her neighbor was named Charles Murray, and
that the young person called Jane was his daughter or ward, and she
felt an unhoped-for relief. From that moment she continued her curious
watching without the unconscious jealousy she at first had felt, and
she soon learned by the despotism with which her thoughts reverted to
Charles Murray, that she loved the stranger whom chance had brought so
near her.
She soon made her neighbor aware of the attention of which he was the
object, and he was evidently as much flattered as touched, for in less
than a fortnight after the first looks exchanged, Mrs. Gobson read
with deep emotion these two lines which she found in a bunch of roses,
thrown to her over the garden-wall:
“You are adorably beautiful, and I love you. How can I speak with you?”
Her husband had just left for his club, where he was going to dine,
and, according to his custom, pass the evening and a part of the night.
Mrs. Gobson went up to her room, where from her window she saw her
neighbor, who, pretending to be absorbed in reading a newspaper, was
watching her.
She immediately wrote a few words, slipped them in an envelope, in
which she placed a dollar to give it the necessary weight, and tossed
it so skilfully that the loving projectile fell at Charles Murray’s
feet.
He picked it up, and read:
“At eight o’clock this evening, at the end of the avenue.”
He gave her a look of thanks which made her blush with happiness, and
returned home.
Charles Murray had given Miss Jane the first floor of his villa, but
he had reserved for himself two rooms on the ground-floor which had a
private entrance. The first of these rooms was a sleeping-room, the
second a study, the door of which was always carefully locked, and no
one, not even the servants, ever entered it.
Murray, who was interested in science, had, they said, dangerous
materials and fragile apparatuses which he wished to protect from
curious eyes or from being handled. When he established himself at
Jamaica Plain, he alone received and opened the boxes which contained
them. His orders were strictly obeyed. When her friend or guardian was
at home and she wished to see him, Miss Jane herself did not cross the
threshold of this mysterious apartment--she called to him from outside.
It was to this study that Murray proceeded when he left Mrs. Gobson,
and if the latter had followed him she would have been strangely
surprised; for, instead of covering her note with loving kisses, as she
perhaps fancied, her neighbor, when once at home, took a voluminous
package of papers from his desk, drew out one crumpled letter, and,
comparing it with that from Mr. Gobson’s wife, said:
“It is, indeed, the same handwriting.”
During this time Ada was plunged in her dreams of love. When dinner
was ready she seated herself at table, but ate hardly anything. At
eight o’clock, taking the chance while her servants were busy in the
kitchen, she stole out of the house.
It was beginning to grow dark, and the air was warm and fragrant.
She drew her mantle around her and quickened her steps, and soon
discovered, under one of the tall trees in the avenue, the man she was
coming to meet.
Murray, who had recognized her, quickly advanced to meet her, and said
in a low voice, full of feeling:
“Madam, forgive me for having dared to break in upon your solitude.”
“I forgive you, sir,” she answered, “by coming here.”
“Thank you--thank you with all my heart.”
He offered her his arm, and she took it, saying:
“You wrote me that you loved me, did you know who I am?”
“I might answer you no, but that would be unworthy of you and me. Yes,
I know who you are. The name of your husband told me that you were the
heroine of that event which all New York was talking about for two
months.”
“And was this why you have made me a declaration of love?”
She said this in a tone of pique, and withdrew her arm from that of her
escort.
Understanding what was passing in her mind, Charles Murray hastened to
answer, gently replacing her arm within his.
“Oh! you do not believe it, madam; I love you because you are lovely,
and I judged you were unhappy because you are beautiful, and my heart,
void of affection, went out to you.”
“Is all this really the truth?”
Ada, wishing to be convinced, smiled.
“Really the truth,” repeated Murray, tenderly pressing the little hand
she had let him take.
“But the foolishness of this love; I am married.”
“Why did you marry a second time a man of whom you had so much to
complain?”
“Ah, I don’t know. The peculiar situation in which the law placed us.
Weakness.”
“Get a divorce a second time.”
“Impossible.”
“Impossible, why?”
“Because, on the mere suspicion of such an intention on my part, my
husband would kill me. You see, I came to meet you to warn you of the
danger to which you expose me. I have been able to escape to-day; but
to come out again in this way would seem strange to my servants, for we
receive no one, and Mr. Gobson is not acquainted with you.”
“I can become acquainted with him.”
“I think not; and I hope not, for your sake.”
“But if it is the only way to see you, and talk with you.”
“Yes, it is the only way. You love me, then?”
“I have never met a more charming woman than you. Give me a little hope
and I will become your husband’s friend in less than a week.”
“Do so, and we will see. Meanwhile let me go; my absence may be
remarked.”
They retraced their steps, then separated a hundred yards from their
villas, not without pressing hands and giving many promises.
When Mrs. Gobson reached the house, she went at once to her room, where
her first look was at her mirror which gave her back a smile. The few
moments which she had just passed in a loving tete-a-tete had restored
all her beauty.
Murray, after noiselessly closing the garden gate, which he had left
open when he went out, entered his study. Absorbed in his thoughts,
he had not seen, two steps from the fence, hidden behind a cluster
of trees, a young girl watching him, no doubt, for the emotion which
overcame her at sight of him was so great that she had to cover her
face to stifle a sob. It was this lovely child whose chaste beauty
awakening Mrs. Gobson’s jealousy, had, perhaps, more than any other
sentiment, awakened in her heart the imperious desire to be loved.