Becoming Acquainted.
Little Virginia May Heath was just six weeks old, and becoming most
interesting to her fond mamma, who was getting stronger every day, and
able to take a little exercise in the corridor outside her rooms, when one
morning as she was pacing slowly back and forth, thinking of her absent
husband, and wishing, oh, so yearningly, that he could come to her, she
encountered two ladies who had just ascended the stairs, and passed on to
their apartments which were just beyond hers.
One was a finely formed, majestic woman, evidently somewhat over fifty
years, having the air and bearing of one accustomed to society and the
ways of the world. She was tastefully and elegantly dressed, every article
of her apparel denoting wealth and a careful regard for fashion.
The other was a young lady, perhaps a year or two older than Virgie, a
perfect blonde, with a tall, beautifully developed form, and with a face
such as poets and artists rave about. It was a pure oval, faultless in
feature and coloring, and yet withal, if closely studied, there was a
suspicion of shallowness and insincerity in the full, sapphire eyes, and
the perfectly formed but rather weak mouth.
Still Virgie, as she lifted her own lovely eyes and beheld this young
lady, thought she had never seen any one more beautiful, while she colored
slightly, and wondered why the strangers should observe her so closely
and with such evident interest.
It was a very warm day, and she was clad in a fine white robe, richly
embroidered and garnished with pale lavender ribbon. If she had but
realized it, she was exquisitely beautiful herself, with her glossy, brown
hair carelessly yet gracefully coiled at the back of her head, the color
beginning to tinge her cheeks, that smile of happiness upon her sweet
lips, and the holy mother-light shining in her violet eyes.
"Mamma, that must be she; that must be Lady Heath," whispered the younger
of the two strangers, when they had passed beyond hearing.
"Lady Heath!" was the scornful repetition, accompanied by a flash of anger
from the dark eyes of the elder woman.
"Well, mamma, you know of course who I mean. She must be the girl whom
Lady Linton wrote about."
"I imagine so. She answers the description that Miriam gave of her
photograph. Yes, hark! she has just opened her door, and surely that was a
baby's cry."
"Well, at last we have seen her," returned the girl, "and I must confess,
I think she is perfectly lovely. She has such beautiful eyes, such a fair,
delicate complexion, and is so peculiarly dainty every way. I do not blame
Sir William for falling in love with her."
"Mercy, Sadie, how you do chatter! no one would believe, to hear you, that
you had been almost heart-broken because this very girl, over whom you are
so enthusiastic, had ruined your prospects," returned her mother,
impatiently.
The young girl flushed crimson at this shaft.
"Thank you, mamma, for reminding me of the fact," she said, bitterly. "It
is true that through her all my fondest hopes have been blighted, and I
suppose I ought to bitterly hate her for it; but truly her exceeding
beauty and sweetness half disarm me."
The elder woman made no reply to this, but her manner betrayed both
contempt and irritation, her brow was clouded with a wrathful expression,
and her lips were drawn into a straight, rigid line, denoting some cruel
and inflexible purpose.
It will readily be surmised that these two ladies were none other than
Mrs. Farnum and her daughter, who, as we learned in the previous chapter,
were traveling in the United States, in the hope of improving the health
and spirits of the latter.
Mrs. Farnum had married while very young, and was the mother of three
children—two sons and one daughter.
She had herself been very attractive as a girl, and had many suitors; but
with an eye to the comforts of life, she had said "no" to all the titled
and impecunious lovers, and given her hand to a man of wealth, who, with
his million of pounds, bade fair to add another million to them in the
course of time.
Miriam Heath, on the contrary, had been rather a plain-looking girl,
somewhat cold and repelling in manner, and was almost an old maid before
she was married; thus she was often an inmate of her friend's palatial
home, and became much interested in her children, and little Sadie Farnum
had scarcely reached her teens before the two women began to plan a union
between the young heir of Heathdale and the heiress to half a million
pounds.
It had been the cherished dream of years, while almost from childhood
Sadie had been foolishly taught to regard Heathdale as her future home,
and to look upon Sir William as her promised husband; thus the
disappointment had been a terrible one to them all when they learned that
the baronet had married a "nobody" from the hated and disloyal country
that had rebelled against its rightful sovereign.
Lady Linton might be said to have become almost a monomaniac upon this
point, and so bitter was her ire at thus being balked in her plans, so
keen her hatred of the innocent girl who had been the cause of it, that
she abandoned herself to the wildest schemes, casting all honor and
womanliness to the winds, and bending all her energies toward the
destruction of the happiness of the newly wedded couple. She resolved to
begin operations by making an ally of her friend, Mrs. Farnum.
Fortunately she was at that moment in California, the former home of
Virgie, and could perhaps ascertain what mystery overshadowed her former
life that had made it necessary to conceal her true name. This would
perhaps give a clew how to proceed further, and, as we know, her letter
was written at once, and brought an immediate reply. Further
correspondence elicited information which only tended to strengthen Lady
Linton in her evil designs, and Mrs. Farnum was advised to proceed
directly to New York and take up her abode in the same hotel where Virgie
was located, where she could successfully aid and abet her superior in her
malicious operations.
Thus we find Mrs. Farnum and her daughter not only in the same house, but
on the same floor with the young wife and her child, and only waiting for
a favorable opportunity to strike a fatal blow to her happiness.
Virgie had of late experienced a good deal of anxiety regarding her
husband, for his letters, which at first had come with every steamer, had
suddenly ceased entirely.
For a while this had only filled her with hope, for she had told herself
that doubtless he was coming for her; he might even be on the way to give
her a joyful surprise. But as time went on and not a word came from him,
she was haunted with a sickening dread. He might be ill, she reasoned; but
surely in that case he would send some message by another, or, if he could
not do that, some member of his family would certainly let her know.
She wrote faithfully, notwithstanding, giving all details regarding
herself and their little one, never dreaming that her fond letters, having
first been devoured by evil, greedy eyes, were ruthlessly consigned to the
flames.
Every day after the arrival of Mrs. Farnum and her daughter, one or both
of the ladies managed to come upon her whenever she walked in the
corridor, and soon they began to nod in a friendly manner when they passed
her; then a smile and a look of interest was added, until finally it came
to be the regular custom to bid her a pleasant good-morning.
But Virgie was retiring by nature, and the acquaintance did not progress
rapidly enough to suit Mrs. Farnum, and she was meditating a bold move,
when one day Sadie came suddenly upon the nurse, who was promenading the
long hall, with her little charge in her arms.
"Oh!" she cried, stopping before her, "I am sure this must be our little
neighbor who serenades us once in a while. I dote on babies. May I have a
look at the darling?"
"I hope, miss, she doesn't disturb you," the nurse replied respectfully,
but looking greatly pleased to have the little one noticed.
"No, indeed; the house is so frightfully still that it is real music to
hear its little voice once in a while. What a little beauty it is, to be
sure!" Miss Farnum returned, volubly, as she pulled away the lace frill
from the small face to get a better view of the young heiress of
Heathdale.
"What is its name?" she asked, after contemplating her in silence for a
moment.
"Virginia May Heath," the woman replied, thinking the young lady very
gracious.
"Oh, how pretty! I suppose she will be called 'May.' She looks just like a
little May blossom."
"No, miss; they call her Virgie. Madam would have preferred the other
name, but her husband wanted her called for his wife, of whom he is very
fond."
Sadie Farnum's face clouded at this.
"I presume that delicate lady whom I see occasionally walking here in the
corridor is La—is Mrs. Heath?" she said, more to make the nurse talk than
because she desired information on this point.
"Yes, miss; the streets are so rough she does not care much for driving,
and she must have some exercise."
Virgie herself appeared in the doorway of her parlor at this moment, and
smiled as she noticed the young lady admiring her baby.
Miss Farnum colored slightly, then said boldly, with a light laugh:
"Pray do not think me very bold, Mrs. Heath, but I have been seeking an
introduction to your little daughter. She is very lovely, and I am <i>so</i>
fond of babies."
While she spoke her eyes had been fixed upon Virgie's face, and she
thought she had never looked upon any one more beautiful than this woman
who was her rival—for so she regarded her.
She wore a delicate blue lawn, trimmed profusely with filmy white lace;
there was a dainty cap upon her head, while she had a few blush-roses
fastened in her belt. Every day she was growing stronger and better, and
her beauty seemed to increase in proportion.
She bowed to Sadie, and smiled again as she remarked that it was rather
unusual for young ladies to be so fond of children of that tender age.
"Then I am an exception to the rule, Mrs. Heath," Miss Farnum answered;
"but since I have made your daughter's acquaintance, allow me to introduce
myself to you also. I am Sadie Farnum, and mamma and I are your nearest
left-hand neighbors."
"I am very glad to know you, Miss Farnum," Virgie returned, graciously,
and thinking her delightfully frank and pleasant.
She was really very glad to meet her in a less formal way than usual, and
hoped they should be friends.
She had been feeling rather lonely of late, besides being depressed on
account of her husband's long silence; she had no acquaintances, and saw
scarcely any one save the physician and her nurse.
"I am afraid mamma will think I have committed a shocking breach of
etiquette," Sadie went on; "but we are strangers in the city, and I have
been longing to know you ever since our first meeting here in the
corridor. May I come in to see you occasionally, and this little darling?"
She concluded with such a winning air, as she stooped and lightly kissed
the tiny pink face lying upon the nurse's arm, that Virgie's heart was
entirely won.
"Yes, indeed, Miss Farnum; I should be delighted to have you. I am alone
most of the time, and it would be very pleasant to have some young
company."
"Thank you. Then, if you do not object, I will waive all ceremony, and
come to see you in a friendly way. May I bring mamma, too, and introduce
her to you?"
"I shall be very glad to meet Mrs. Farnum," Virgie responded, and then
instantly asked herself if she had spoken the exact truth, for she stood
somewhat in awe of that aristocratic and imposing looking woman, whose
curious, piercing glance, in spite of her assumption of friendliness, gave
her an unpleasant sensation.
"Mamma, the ice is broken at last!" Sadie Farnum cried, rushing in upon
her mother, with a glowing face, after the above interview, and she
proceeded to give her a detailed account of her meeting with Virgie.
"She is as lovely as a dream, mamma," she said, "and as sweet and gracious
as any lady need to be. If she were not Sir William Heath's wife I should
be ready to do homage at her shrine with all my heart."
"Nonsense! Has she any education? Can she converse respectably?" demanded
Mrs. Farnum, with a frown at her daughter's enthusiasm.
"She is a perfect lady, and her language is beyond criticism—she is fit
to be the wife of any peer."
"Gracious! Sadie, how you annoy me!" ejaculated Mrs. Farnum, angrily.
"Just think of her antecedents."
"Well, the girl is not to blame if her father was a scamp, and should not
be made to suffer for his sins," responded her daughter, who was not
naturally bad, and but for her mother's influence, would even now have
been won to a better disposition by Virgie's sweetness.
"What rank folly you are talking!" retorted her mother. "No girl has a
right to marry a respectable man with such a stain on her name."
"Perhaps she does not know anything about her father's crime."
"Pshaw! She was fifteen years old when they had to flee from San
Francisco; she could not help knowing that something was wrong, and as she
grew older she could not fail to understand it. From the way you talk it
is evident that you yourself have fallen in love with the woman who has
cheated you out of your husband."
"Perhaps I have, mamma," Sadie answered, with a spice of defiance and
wickedly taking pleasure in working her mother up to a certain pitch. "She
looked so pretty just now—she has the loveliest complexion, just clear
red and white, with such dark blue eyes that they seem almost black when
she is animated, and such pretty waving brown hair, while her features are
pure and delicate Her taste, too, is exquisite—her dress was just the
right shade to set off her clear skin; she had the daintiest little
matron's cap on her head—real thread, too—while a handful of blush-roses
in her belt made her look too lovely for anything."
"Do hush, Sadie; you irritate me beyond endurance; one would think that
you were only too ready to renounce all your hopes to this plebeian who
has stolen your lover," and Mrs. Farnum turned upon her daughter as if
ready to shake her for her folly.
"Mamma!" she cried, passionately, and bursting into tears, for she had
been working herself up as well, "when I am away from her I hate her for
having won him from me, and I am almost ready to do anything desperate;
but when I am with her she disarms me; there is something about the girl
that almost makes me love her. If you could have seen her this morning,
she looked so proud and happy when I praised the baby."
"Sadie Farnum, I do believe you are becoming demented! Here is poor Lady
Linton almost heart-broken over her brother's <i>mesalliance</i>, his mother
lies at death's door on account of the excitement caused by it, while you,
who ought to be the most interested party of all, are about to turn
traitress and go over to the enemy just because of a foolish
sentimentality for this doll-faced girl. I declare, I have no patience
with you."
"I think you have said enough, mamma," replied Miss Farnum, coldly, and
wiping away her tears, "but there may come a time when you will regret
your present attitude—when you will be sorry that you strove to inculcate
such a bitter spirit into the mind of your only daughter. Lady Linton for
some strange reason wanted us to come here and see for ourselves what this
girl is like; we have seen her. Let us go our way now and not revive old
hopes and ambitions, which, to say the least, are not pleasant to remember
under the circumstances. Yes, let us end this disagreeable business, and
leave Sir William Heath's wife alone."
"I am not ready to leave New York yet, and we will stay where we are for
the present," responded Mrs. Farnum, flushing a deep red, for she had
never told her daughter of the plot which she was helping Lady Linton to
carry out, and she saw now that it would not be wise to do so, since Sadie
might flatly refuse to have anything to do with it, and in her present
state of mind, might do something to upset their well-laid schemes.