LADY JANE FINDS A FRIEND
From the first, madame had insisted that the stranger’s property should
not be meddled with until a certain time had passed.
“We must wait,” she said to the eager and impulsive Raste, “to see if
she is missed, and advertised for. A person of her position must have
friends somewhere, and it would be rather bad for us if she was traced
here, and it was found out that she died in our house; we might even be
suspected of killing her to get her money. Detectives are capable of
anything, and it isn’t best to get in their clutches; but if we don’t
touch her things, they can’t accuse us, and Dr. Debrot knows she died
of fever, so I would be considered a kind-hearted Christian woman, and
I’d be paid well for all my trouble, if it should come out that she
died here.”
These arguments had their weight with Raste, who, though thoroughly
unscrupulous, was careful about getting into the toils of the law,
his father’s fate serving as an example to him of the difficulty of
escaping from those toils when they once close upon a victim.
If at that time they had noticed the advertisement in the journals
signed “Blue Heron” it would have given them a terrible fright; but
they seldom read the papers, and before they thought of looking for a
notice of the missing woman and child, it had been withdrawn.
For several weeks Raste went regular to the grocery on the levee, and
searched over the daily papers until his eyes ached; but in vain; among
all the singular advertisements and “personals,” there was nothing that
referred in any way to the subject that interested him.
Therefore, after some six weeks had passed, madame deemed that it was
safe to begin to cover her tracks, as Raste had advised with more
force than elegance. The first thing to do was to move into another
neighborhood; for that reason, she selected the house in Good Children
Street, it being as far away from her present residence as she could
possibly get, without leaving the city altogether.
At first she was tempted to give up work, and live like a lady for
a while; then she considered that her sudden wealth might arouse
suspicion, and she decided to carry on her present business, with the
addition of a small stock of fancy articles to sell on which she could
make a snug little profit, and at the same time give greater importance
and respectability to her humble calling.
Among the dead woman’s effects was the pocket-book, containing five
hundred dollars, which she had secreted from Raste. From the money in
the traveling bag she had paid the humble funeral expenses, and Dr.
Debrot’s modest bill, and there still remained some for other demands;
but besides the money there were many valuables, the silver toilet
articles, jewelry, laces, embroideries, and the handsome wardrobe of
both mother and child. In one of the trunks she found a writing-case
full of letters written in English. From these letters she could have
learned all that it was necessary to know; but she could not read
English readily, especially writing; she was afraid to show them, and
she feared to keep them; therefore she thought it best to destroy
them. So one night, when she was alone, she burned them all in the
kitchen stove; not, however, without some misgivings and some qualms
of conscience, for at the moment when she saw them crumbling to white
ashes the gentle face of the dead woman seemed to come before her, and
her blue eyes to look at her sadly and reproachfully.
Then she thought of Father Ducros, so stern and severe; he had but
little mercy or charity for those who sinned deliberately and wilfully,
as she was doing. She would never dare to go to him, and what would
become of her soul? Already she was beginning to feel that the way of
the transgressor is hard; but she silenced the striving of conscience
with specious arguments. She had not sought the temptation,—it had
come to her, in the form of a dying woman; she had done her best by
her, and now the child was thrown on her and must be cared for. She
did not know the child’s name, so she could not restore her to her
friends, even if she had any; it was not likely that she had, or they
would have advertised for her; and she meant to be good to the little
thing. She would take care of her, and bring her up well. She would be
a daughter to her. Surely that was better than sending her to a home
for foundlings, as another would do. In this way she persuaded herself
that she was really an honest, charitable woman, who was doing what
was best for the child by appropriating her mother’s property, and
destroying every proof of her identity.
From the child’s wardrobe she selected the plainest and most useful
articles for daily wear, laying aside the finest and daintiest to
dispose of as her business might offer opportunity; and from the
mother’s clothes she also made a selection, taking for her own use
what she considered plain enough to wear with propriety, while the
beautiful linen, fine laces, and pretty little trifles went a long way
in furnishing her show-window handsomely.
Notwithstanding her assurance, she felt some misgivings when she placed
those pretty, dainty articles in the broad light of day before an
observing public,—and not only the public terrified her, but the child
also; suppose she should recognize her mother’s property, and make a
scene. Therefore it was with no little anxiety that she waited the
first morning for Lady Jane’s appearance in the little shop.
After a while she came in, heavy-edged, pale, listless, and carelessly
dressed, her long silken hair uncombed, her little feet and legs bare,
and her whole manner that of a sorrowful, neglected child. She carried
her bird in her arms, as usual, and was passing out of the side-door
to the little yard, without as much as a glance, when madame, who was
watching her furtively, said to her in rather a fretful tone:
“Come here, child, and let me button your clothes. And you haven’t
brushed your hair; now this won’t do; you’re old enough to dress
yourself, and you must do it; I can’t wait on you every minute, I’ve
got something else to do.” Then she asked in a softer tone, while she
smoothed the golden hair, “See my pretty window. Don’t you think it
looks very handsome?”
Lady Jane turned her heavy eyes toward the laces and fluttering things
above her, then they slowly fell to the table, and suddenly, with a
piercing cry, she seized a little jewel-box, an odd, pretty silver
trinket that madame had displayed among her small wares, and exclaimed
passionately: “That’s my mama’s; it’s mama’s, and you sha’n’t have it,”
and turning, she rushed into madame’s room, leaving Tony to flutter
from her arms, while she held the little box tightly clasped to her
bosom.
Madame did not notice her outbreak, neither did she attempt to take the
box from her, so she carried it about with her all day; but at night,
after the little one had fallen asleep, madame unclosed the fingers
that still clung to it, and without a pang consigned it to obscurity.
“I mustn’t let her see that again,” she said to herself. “Dear me, what
should I do, if she should act like that before a customer? I’ll never
feel safe until everything is sold, and out of the way.”
* * * * *
“Well, I declare, if that isn’t the fifth customer Madame Jozain has
had this morning,” said Pepsie to Tite Souris, a few days after the new
arrival. “She must be doing a good business, for they all buy; at least
they all come out with paper parcels.”
“An’ jes’ see dem chil’ren crowd ’roun’ dat do. Lor’, dey doant cum ter
yer winner eny mo’, Miss Peps’,” said Tite, with an accent of disgust,
as she brushed the pecan-shells from Pepsie’s table. “Dey jes stan’
ober dar ter git a glimge uv dat dar goslin’ de littl’ gal holes all
day. Po chile! she might’ lunsum, setten dar all ’lone.”
“Tite, oh, Tite, can’t you coax her across the street? I want to see
her near,” cried Pepsie eagerly; “I want to see what kind of a bird
that is.”
“Dem chil’ren say how it’s a herin’. I doant believe dat—hit ain’t no
ways lak dem herin’s in de sto, what dey has in pickl’. Sho! dat ain’t
no herin’, hit’s a goslin’; I’se done see goslin’s on de plantashun,
an’ hit’s a goslin’, shore nuff.”
“Well, I want to see for myself, Tite. Go there to the fence, and ask
her to come here; tell her I’ll give her some pecans.”
Tite went on her mission, and lingered so long, staring with the
others, that her mistress had to call her back. She returned alone.
Lady Jane declined to accept the invitation.
“’T ain’t no use,” said Tite energetically. “She wunt cum. She on’ hugs
dat dar long-legged bird, an’ looks at yer solum, lak a owel; ’t ain’t
no use, she wunt cum. She might’ stuck up, Miss Peps’. She say she
doan’t want peccuns. Ain’t dat cur’ous? Oh, Lor, doan’t want peccuns!
Well, white chil’ren is der beatenes’ chil’ren!’ and Tite went to her
work, muttering her surprise at the “cur-ousness” of white children in
general, and Lady Jane in particular.
All day long Pepsie watched, hoping that the little girl might change
her mind, and decide to be more neighborly; but she was doomed to
disappointment. Near night, feeling that it was useless to hope,
and noticing that madame’s customers were dropping off, she sought
consolation in a game of solitaire.
Just as she was at the most exciting point, a slight rustling sound
attracted her attention, and, looking up, she saw a little figure in a
soiled white frock, with long yellow hair falling over her shoulders,
and a thick, neglected bang almost touching her eyebrows. The little
face was pale and sorrowful; but a faint smile dimpled the lips, and
the eyes were bright and earnest. Lady Jane was holding the bird up
in both hands over the iron railing, and when she caught Pepsie’s
surprised glance she said very politely and very sweetly:
“Would you like to see Tony?”
And that was the way in which Lady Jane and Pepsie first became
acquainted.