It was commonly understood in the town of Rockland that Dudley Venner
had had a great deal of trouble with that daughter of his, so handsome,
yet so peculiar, about whom there were so many strange stories. There
was no end to the tales which were told of her extraordinary doings.
Yet her name was never coupled with that of any youth or man, until this
cousin had provoked remark by his visit; and even then it was oftener in
the shape of wondering conjectures whether he would dare to make love to
her, than in any pretended knowledge of their relations to each other,
that the public tongue exercised its village-prerogative of tattle.
The more common version of the trouble at the mansion-house was this:
Elsie was not exactly in her right mind. Her temper was singular, her
tastes were anomalous, her habits were lawless, her antipathies were
many and intense, and she was liable to explosions of ungovernable
anger. Some said that was not the worst of it. At nearly fifteen years
old, when she was growing fast, and in an irritable state of mind and
body, she had had a governess placed over her for whom she had conceived
an aversion. It was whispered among a few who knew more of the family
secrets than others, that, worried and exasperated by the presence and
jealous oversight of this person, Elsie had attempted to get finally rid
of her by unlawful means, such as young girls have been known to
employ in their straits, and to which the sex at all ages has a certain
instinctive tendency, in preference to more palpable instruments for
the righting of its wrongs. At any rate, this governess had been taken
suddenly ill, and the Doctor had been sent for at midnight. Old Sophy
had taken her master into a room apart, and said a few words to him
which turned him as white as a sheet. As soon as he recovered himself,
he sent Sophy out, called in the old Doctor, and gave him some few
hints, on which he acted at once, and had the satisfaction of seeing
his patient out of danger before he left in the morning. It is proper to
say, that, during the following days, the most thorough search was made
in every nook and cranny of those parts of the house which Elsie chiefly
haunted, but nothing was found which might be accused of having been
the intentional cause of the probably accidental sudden illness of the
governess. From this time forward her father was never easy. Should he
keep her apart, or shut her up, for fear of risk to others, and so
lose every chance of restoring her mind to its healthy tone by kindly
influences and intercourse with wholesome natures? There was no proof,
only presumption, as to the agency of Elsie in the matter referred to.
But the doubt was worse, perhaps, than certainty would have been,--for
then he would have known what to do.
He took the old Doctor as his adviser. The shrewd old man listened to
the father's story, his explanations of possibilities, of probabilities,
of dangers, of hopes. When he had got through, the Doctor looked him in
the face steadily, as if he were saying, Is that all?
The father's eyes fell. This was not all. There was something at the
bottom of his soul which he could not bear to speak of,--nay, which,
as often as it reared itself through the dark waves of unworded
consciousness into the breathing air of thought, he trod down as the
ruined angels tread down a lost soul, trying to come up out of the
seething sea of torture. Only this one daughter! No! God never would
have ordained such a thing. There was nothing ever heard of like it; it
could not be; she was ill,--she would outgrow all these singularities;
he had had an aunt who was peculiar; he had heard that hysteric girls
showed the strangest forms of moral obliquity for a time, but came right
at last. She would change all at once, when her health got more firmly
settled in the course of her growth. Are there not rough buds that open
into sweet flowers? Are there not fruits, which, while unripe, are
not to be tasted or endured, which mature into the richest taste and
fragrance? In God's good time she would come to her true nature; her
eyes would lose that frightful, cold glitter; her lips would not feel so
cold when she pressed them against his cheek; and that faint birth-mark,
her mother swooned when she first saw, would fade wholly out,--it was
less marked, surely, now than it used to be!
So Dudley Venner felt, and would have thought, if he had let his
thoughts breathe the air of his soul. But the Doctor read through words
and thoughts and all into the father's consciousness. There are states
of mind which may be shared by two persons in presence of each other,
which remain not only unworded, but unthoughted, if such a word may
be coined for our special need. Such a mutually interpenetrative
consciousness there was between the father and the old physician. By a
common impulse, both of them rose in a mechanical way and went to the
western window, where each started, as he saw the other's look directed
towards the white stone which stood in the midst of the small plot of
green turf.
The Doctor had, for a moment, forgotten himself but he looked up at the
clouds, which were angry, and said, as if speaking of the weather, “It
is dark now, but we hope it will clear up by and by. There are a great
many more clouds than rains, and more rains than strokes of lightning,
and more strokes of lightning than there are people killed. We must let
this girl of ours have her way, as far as it is safe. Send away this
woman she hates, quietly. Get her a foreigner for a governess, if you
can,--one that can dance and sing and will teach her. In the house
old Sophy will watch her best. Out of it you must trust her, I am
afraid,--for she will not be followed round, and she is in less danger
than you think. If she wanders at night, find her, if you can; the woods
are not absolutely safe. If she will be friendly with any young people,
have them to see her,--young men especially. She will not love any one
easily, perhaps not at all; yet love would be more like to bring her
right than anything else. If any young person seems in danger of falling
in love with her, send him to me for counsel.”
Dry, hard advice, but given from a kind hewn, with a moist eye, and in
tones which tried to be cheerful and were full of sympathy. This advice
was the key to the more than indulgent treatment which, as we have seen,
the girl had received from her father and all about her. The old Doctor
often came in, in the kindest, most natural sort of way, got into
pleasant relations with Elsie by always treating her in the same easy
manner as at the great party, encouraging all her harmless fancies, and
rarely reminding her that he was a professional adviser, except when
she came out of her own accord, as in the talk they had at the party,
telling him of some wild trick she had been playing.
“Let her go to the girls' school, by all means,” said the Doctor, when
she had begun to talk about it. “Possibly she may take to some of the
girls or of the teachers. Anything to interest her. Friendship, love,
religion, whatever will set her nature at work. We must have headway on,
or there will be no piloting her. Action first of all, and then we will
see what to do with it.”
So, when Cousin Richard came along, the Doctor, though he did not like
his looks any too well, told her father to encourage his staying for a
time. If she liked him, it was good; if she only tolerated him, it was
better than nothing.
“You know something about that nephew of yours, during these last years,
I suppose?” the Doctor said. “Looks as if he had seen life. Has a scar
that was made by a sword-cut, and a white spot on the side of his neck
that looks like a bullet-mark. I think he has been what folks call a
'hard customer.'”
Dudley Venner owned that he had heard little or nothing of him of late
years. He had invited himself, and of course it would not be decent not
to receive him as a relative. He thought Elsie rather liked having him
about the house for a while. She was very capricious,--acted as if she
fancied him one day and disliked him the next. He did not know,--but
sometimes thought that this nephew of his might take a serious liking to
Elsie. What should he do about it, if it turned out so?
The Doctor lifted his eyebrows a little. He thought there was no fear.
Elsie was naturally what they call a man-hater, and there was very
little danger of any sudden passion springing up between two such young
persons. Let him stay awhile; it gives her something to think about. So
he stayed awhile, as we have seen.
The more Mr. Richard became acquainted with the family,--that is, with
the two persons of whom it consisted,--the more favorably the idea of
a permanent residence in the mansion-house seemed to impress him. The
estate was large,--hundreds of acres, with woodlands and meadows of
great value. The father and daughter had been living quietly, and there
could not be a doubt that the property which came through the Dudleys
must have largely increased of late years. It was evident enough that
they had an abundant income, from the way in which Elsie's caprices were
indulged. She had horses and carriages to suit herself; she sent to
the great city for everything she wanted in the way of dress. Even her
diamonds--and the young man knew something about these gems--must be of
considerable value; and yet she wore them carelessly, as it pleased her
fancy. She had precious old laces, too, almost worth their weight in
diamonds; laces which had been snatched from altars in ancient Spanish
cathedrals during the wars, and which it would not be safe to leave
a duchess alone with for ten minutes. The old house was fat with the
deposits of rich generations which had gone before. The famous “golden”
fire-set was a purchase of one of the family who had been in France
during the Revolution, and must have come from a princely palace, if not
from one of the royal residences. As for silver, the iron closet
which had been made in the dining-room wall was running over with
it: tea-kettles, coffee-pots, heavy-lidded tankards, chafing-dishes,
punch-bowls, all that all the Dudleys had ever used, from the caudle-cup
which used to be handed round the young mother's chamber, and the
porringer from which children scooped their bread-and-milk with spoons
as solid as ingots, to that ominous vessel, on the upper shelf, far back
in the dark, with a spout like a slender italic S, out of which the sick
and dying, all along the last century, and since, had taken the last
drops that passed their lips. Without being much of a scholar, Dick
could see well enough, too, that the books in the library had been
ordered from the great London houses, whose imprint they bore, by
persons who knew what was best and meant to have it. A man does not
require much learning to feel pretty sure, when he takes one of those
solid, smooth, velvet-leaved quartos, say a Baskerville Addison, for
instance, bound in red morocco, with a margin of gold as rich as the
embroidery of a prince's collar, as Vandyck drew it,--he need not know
much to feel pretty sure that a score or two of shelves full of such
books mean that it took a long purse, as well as a literary taste, to
bring them together.
To all these attractions the mind of this thoughtful young gentleman
may be said to have been fully open. He did not disguise from himself,
however, that there were a number of drawbacks in the way of his
becoming established as the heir of the Dudley mansion-house and
fortune. In the first place, Cousin Elsie was, unquestionably, very
piquant, very handsome, game as a hawk, and hard to please, which
made her worth trying for. But then there was something about Cousin
Elsie,--(the small, white scars began stinging, as he said this to
himself, and he pushed his sleeve up to look at them)--there was
something about Cousin Elsie he couldn't make out. What was the matter
with her eyes, that they sucked your life out of you in that strange
way? What did she always wear a necklace for? Had she some such
love-token on her neck as the old Don's revolver had left on his? How
safe would anybody feel to live with her? Besides, her father would last
forever, if he was left to himself. And he may take it into his head to
marry again. That would be pleasant!
So talked Cousin Richard to himself, in the calm of the night and in the
tranquillity of his own soul. There was much to be said on both sides.
It was a balance to be struck after the two columns were added up. He
struck the balance, and came to the conclusion that he would fall in
love with Elsie Venner.
The intelligent reader will not confound this matured and serious
intention of falling in love with the young lady with that mere impulse
of the moment before mentioned as an instance of making love. On the
contrary, the moment Mr. Richard had made up his mind that he should
fall in love with Elsie, he began to be more reserved with her, and to
try to make friends in other quarters. Sensible men, you know, care very
little what a girl's present fancy is. The question is: Who manages her,
and how can you get at that person or those persons? Her foolish little
sentiments are all very well in their way; but business is business, and
we can't stop for such trifles. The old political wire-pullers never go
near the man they want to gain, if they can help it; they find out who
his intimates and managers are, and work through them. Always handle any
positively electrical body, whether it is charged with passion or power,
with some non-conductor between you and it, not with your naked hands.
--The above were some of the young gentleman's working axioms; and he
proceeded to act in accordance with them.
He began by paying his court more assiduously to his uncle. It was not
very hard to ingratiate himself in that quarter; for his manners
were insinuating, and his precocious experience of life made him
entertaining. The old neglected billiard--room was soon put in order,
and Dick, who was a magnificent player, had a series of games with his
uncle, in which, singularly enough, he was beaten, though his antagonist
had been out of play for years. He evinced a profound interest in the
family history, insisted on having the details of its early alliances,
and professed a great pride in it, which he had inherited from his
father, who, though he had allied himself with the daughter of an alien
race, had yet chosen one with the real azure blood in her veins, as
proud as if she had Castile and Aragon for her dower and the Cid for her
grand-papa. He also asked a great deal of advice, such as inexperienced
young persons are in need of, and listened to it with due reverence.
It is not very strange that uncle Dudley took a kinder view of his
nephew than the Judge, who thought he could read a questionable history
in his face,--or the old Doctor, who knew men's temperaments and
organizations pretty well, and had his prejudices about races, and could
tell an old sword-cut and a ballet-mark in two seconds from a scar got
by falling against the fender, or a mark left by king's evil. He could
not be expected to share our own prejudices; for he had heard nothing
of the wild youth's adventures, or his scamper over the Pampas at short
notice. So, then, “Richard Venner, Esquire, guest of Dudley Venner,
Esquire, at his elegant mansion,” prolonged his visit until his presence
became something like a matter of habit, and the neighbors began to
think that the fine old house would be illuminated before long for a
grand marriage.
He had done pretty well with the father: the next thing was to gain over
the nurse. Old Sophy was as cunning as a red fox or a gray woodchuck.
She had nothing in the world to do but to watch Elsie; she had nothing
to care for but this girl and her father. She had never liked Dick too
well; for he used to make faces at her and tease her when he was a boy,
and now he was a man there was something about him--she could not tell
what--that made her suspicious of him. It was no small matter to get her
over to his side.
The jet-black Africans know that gold never looks so well as on the foil
of their dark skins. Dick found in his trunk a string of gold beads,
such as are manufactured in some of our cities, which he had brought
from the gold region of Chili,--so he said,--for the express purpose of
giving them to old Sophy. These Africans, too, have a perfect passion
for gay-colored clothing; being condemned by Nature, as it were, to
a perpetual mourning-suit, they love to enliven it with all sorts of
variegated stuffs of sprightly patterns, aflame with red and yellow.
The considerate young man had remembered this, too, and brought home
for Sophy some handkerchiefs of rainbow hues, which had been strangely
overlooked till now, at the bottom of one of his trunks. Old Sophy took
his gifts, but kept her black eyes open and watched every movement
of the young people all the more closely. It was through her that
the father had always known most of the actions and tendencies of his
daughter.
In the mean time the strange adventure on The Mountain had brought the
young master into new relations with Elsie. She had led him out of,
danger; perhaps saved him from death by the strange power she exerted.
He was grateful, and yet shuddered at the recollection of the whole
scene. In his dreams he was pursued by the glare of cold glittering
eyes, whether they were in the head of a woman or of a reptile he could
not always tell, the images had so run together. But he could not help
seeing that the eyes of the young girl had been often, very often,
turned upon him when he had been looking away, and fell as his own
glance met them. Helen Darley told him very plainly that this girl was
thinking about him more than about her book. Dick Venner found she
was getting more constant in her attendance at school. He learned, on
inquiry, that there was a new master, a handsome young man. The handsome
young man would not have liked the look that, came over Dick's face when
he heard this fact mentioned.
In short, everything was getting tangled up together, and there would be
no chance of disentangling the threads in this chapter.