MADAME VERWEST AND ANNA.
“It was now the third day since Haverleigh’s departure, and Anna had
adhered to her resolution not to eat or drink, hoping thus to hasten the
death she so longed for, and yet dared not achieve by rasher means. Four
times a day Celine had carried her the most tempting dishes which a
French cook could manufacture, and tried by signs, and gestures, and a
voluble rattling of her mother tongue, to persuade her mistress to eat,
or, at least, sip the delicious chocolate, or _cafe au lait_, whose
perfume itself was almost meat and drink. But all in vain. Anna neither
turned her head nor spoke, but lay with her face to the wall on the
massive bedstead of rosewood and gilt, whose silken and lace hangings
seemed to aggravate her misery. So much grandeur, so much elegance, and
she so hopeless and wretched. Oh, with what wild yearnings she thought
of her New England home, and the labor she had so despised.
“‘Oh, mother, mother, if you only knew, but I shall never see you again.
I shall die, and nobody will know. I believe I am dying now,’ she
moaned, as the gnawings of hunger and thirst began to make themselves
felt, and there stole over her that deathly sickness and cold, clammy
sweat which so often precedes a fainting fit, or a severe attack of
vomiting. ‘Yes, I’m dying and I’m glad,’ she whispered, as everything
around her began to grow dark, and she seemed to be floating away on a
billow of the sea.
‘No, you are not dying. You are only faint with hunger and excitement.
Take a sip of this wine,’ was spoken in her ear in a pure English
accent, while a cool hand was laid kindly upon her hot, throbbing head.
“It was the English voice, the sound of home, which brought Anna back to
consciousness, and turning herself quickly toward the speaker, she saw
Madame Verwest bending over her, with a glass of spiced wine and some
biscuits, at which she clutched eagerly, forgetful of her recent desire
to die. The English voice had saved her, and a flood of tears rained
over her young face as she glanced up at Madame Verwest, and met the
same kind expression which had greeted her the first day of her arrival
at Chateau d’Or.
“‘Oh, you can speak English. You will help me to get away, to go home to
mother? You’ll save me from him, won’t you? Why didn’t you come to me
before?’ she cried; and raising herself in bed, she laid her head upon
the bosom of the woman and sobbed convulsively. ‘Are you crying, too?
Crying for me?’ she asked, as she felt the hot tears falling upon her
hair, and drawing herself a little from Madame Verwest, she gazed at her
in astonishment, for every feature was convulsed with emotion, and the
tears were running down her pallid cheeks.
“‘What is it? Are you a prisoner? Does he say you are crazy like me? Who
are you, and why are you in this dreadful place?’ Anna asked, and then
Madame was herself again, and answered, calmly:
“‘I am Madame Verwest, Mr. Haverleigh’s housekeeper, and I am here from
choice. I am neither a prisoner nor crazy, but I am your friend and can
help you in many ways.’
“‘Can you set me free; oh, can you set me free and send me home to
mother?’ Anna cried, but the lady shook her head.
‘I dare not do that, and could not if I would. Monsieur Brunell keeps
the gate, the only way of escape, and would not let you pass. I can,
however, make your life more endurable while you are here; but the
servants must not suspect me, that is, they must not know that I talk
English so fluently. They are aware that I speak it a very little, so
never expect much talking from me in their presence. But learn the
French yourself at once; it will be better for you.’
“Anna was too wholly unsuspicious to think for a moment that Madame
Verwest was not French, though she did wonder at the perfect ease with
which she spoke English, and said to her:
“‘You talk almost as well as I do. Where did you learn?’
“‘I have lived three years in London, and two in Edinburgh,’ was the
quiet reply, as the woman held the wine again to Anna’s lips, bidding
her drink before talking any more.
“Anna obeyed eagerly, and then continued:
“‘You lived in London three years, and in Edinburgh two? Were you with
Mr. Haverleigh all the time?’
“‘Part of the time I lived with him, and part of the time alone, though
always in his employ.’
“‘You must have known him a long, long time,’ Anna rejoined. ‘Tell me
then who he is and what he is? What kind of man, I mean?’
“‘That is a strange question for a wife to ask concerning her husband.
Who did _you_ think he was, and what? Surely your mother, if you have
one, did not allow you to marry him, without knowing something of his
antecedents,’ Madame Verwest said, and Anna colored painfully, for she
remembered well how her mother and sister both had at first opposed her
marrying an entire stranger of whom they knew nothing, except what he
said of himself.
“‘Did you know nothing of his history? Did you not inquire? How long had
you known him, and what was he doing in your town?’ Madame continued,
and Anna replied:
“‘He was traveling for pleasure, I think, and stopped for a few days in
Millfield because he liked the scenery; then he was sick, I believe, and
so staid on as everybody was kind to him and made so much of him. He
came from New York with a Mr. Stevens whom he knew and who said he was
all right, and he had so much money and spent it so freely—’
“‘Yes, but what did he say of himself?’ madame persisted in asking, and
Anna answered:
“‘He said he was of Scottish descent on his father’s side, but born in
England, at Grasmere, I think—that he left there when he was three years
old—that his father died when he was twenty-two, and left him a large
property which by judicious management had doubled in value, so that he
was very rich, and that weighed so much with me, for we were poor,
mother, and Mary, and Fred, who wants to go to college. I’ll tell you
just the truth, I worked in the _shoe-shop_, and my hands were cut with
the waxed-ends, and my clothes smelled of leather, and I was nothing but
a shop-girl, and I hated it and wanted handsome dresses, and jewelry,
and money, and position, and Mr. Haverleigh could give me these, I
thought, and he showed us letters from London and Liverpool, and so I
married him, and he overheard what I said of him to Lucy Fleming in New
York, and it made him so angry and jealous that he brought me here, and
that is all. Oh, madame, tell me, please, what you know of him, and what
people say of him who know him best, and will he ever set me free?’
“Anna asked her questions rapidly, but madame replied in the same quiet,
measured manner, which marked all her movements.
“‘I think he told you truly with regard to his birth and his money, and
people who know him best say he is honest, and upright, and generous to
a fault. Did he tell you anything of his mother? He must have spoken of
her.’
“Madame was the questioner now, and Anna replied:
“‘He never said much of her, nothing which I recall, but I have an
impression that her family was not as good as his father’s. Do you know?
Did you ever see her?’
“‘Yes, I have seen his mother.’
“‘Oh, tell me of her, please. Was she a lady?’
“‘Not as the English account ladies, perhaps,’ madame said, and Anna
went on:
“‘Was she nice? Was she good?’
“‘I believe she tried to be good,’ was the low-spoken answer, and Anna
cried:
“‘Then there must be some good in him and sometime he’ll relent and set
me free. It would be so terrible to die here, and mother and Mary never
know. He says I am crazy; he has told you so, but you don’t believe it;
tell me, you do not believe me mad!’
“‘Not yet, but you will be if you suffer yourself to get so fearfully
excited. Be quiet and make the best of the situation, which is not
without its ameliorating circumstances. Everybody will be very kind to
you here, and believe me when I say it is better to live here without
him, than to travel the world over with him; so make the best of it, and
at least seem to acquiesce. If you are fond of reading there are plenty
of books in the library, many of them English. There is a fine piano,
too. Are you fond of music?’
“‘Yes, but do not play. I always had to work, and could not afford the
lessons,’ Anna replied, and Madame Verwest said:
“‘I think I can get you a teacher. I know Mr. Haverleigh will not object
to that: and now you must rest—must sleep. I’ll draw the curtains of the
bed, and leave you alone for a time.’
“There was something so soothing and reassuring in madame’s manner that
Anna felt the influence, and worn out as she was and tired, she turned
upon her pillow and fell into a quiet sleep, which lasted till the sun
went down, and the evening shadows were gathering in the room. Madame
was sitting by her when she woke, and on a table at her side was a
dainty supper which Celine had just brought in, and which Anna did not
refuse.
“‘Perhaps you would like to tell me of your home in Millfield. I am
always pleased to hear of foreign countries, and how the people live
there,’ Madame Verwest said, as she saw the color coming back to Anna’s
face, and knew that she was stronger.
“So Anna told her of New England and her Millfield home, the hills
around it and the little ponds sleeping in the valley, and the river
winding its graceful way to the east, until it was lost in the noble
Connecticut. And Madame Verwest listened eagerly, with a deep flush on
her pallid cheek, and a bright gleam in her eye.
“‘And the pond lilies grow there by the old bridge, and the boat-house
is near by,’ she said, in a half-whisper, as Anna told her of the
beautiful lilies which open their petals in June, and fill the summer
air with such delicious perfume.
“‘Why, were you ever there? Did you ever see the boat-house?’ Anna
asked, in some surprise, and madame replied:
“‘You describe it all so vividly that I feel as if I had seen it. I love
New England, and some day, perhaps—who knows—we may go there
together—you and I.’
“She wrung her hands nervously, like one under strong excitement, and
Anna looked at her wonderingly, while she continued:
“‘Yes, some day we’ll go away from this prison-house, but it may be long
hence. He is vigilant and cunning, and mad, I believe; so be quiet, and
seem to be content, nor beat your wings till you die like poor—’
“She checked herself ere the name of Agatha escaped her lips, but a new
idea had crossed Anna’s mind, making her unmindful of what Madame
Verwest was saying. She would write at once to Millfield, telling her
mother where she was, and begging her to send some one to her relief.
Strange she had not thought of that before as a way of escape, and she
begged Madame Verwest for the lamp and writing material, that she might
at once begin the letter which was to bring relief.
“‘Wait till to-morrow,’ madame said, ‘when you will be stronger and
fresher.’
“And to this Anna was finally persuaded, but early the next morning the
letter was written, detailing every particular of her unhappy position,
and asking her mother to send some one at once to liberate her.
“This letter she intrusted to Celine, while Madame Verwest looked
pityingly on, knowing in her heart that in all human probability the
letter would never reach New England, but go instead to Paris, there to
be read by Haverleigh and committed to the flames.