RETROSPECTIVE
When Brownie, in her despair and desolation, bade farewell to Wilbur and
drove away from the Coolidge mansion, it was her intention to go
directly to the “Washington,” and there await, for a few days at least,
whatever destiny might send her.
But this plan was overruled in a way she had not thought of.
The man who drove the cab was more than half intoxicated, and upon
turning a corner, he ran into a heavily loaded team. More by luck than
by any good wit, he turned quickly aside, and the cab was almost
miraculously disengaged from the other vehicle; but the animals had now
become unmanageable from excessive fright. They gave a sudden leap into
the air, then bounded forward in a mad and furious race.
The cabby was thrown from his seat into the gutter, and in turning
another corner, the carriage was upset. Now, wholly beside themselves,
the horses kicked themselves free from the _débris_, and plunged out of
sight, leaving poor Brownie in a state of insensibility, buried beneath
the ruins.
The accident had happened in a quiet, aristocratic street of the city;
consequently there were few to witness it, and the young girl escaped
the curious gaze of the crowd which always gathers about any such event
in the more frequented portions.
The massive door of a grand house swung open, and an old lady of over
eighty, very peculiar in appearance—for she was bent nearly double, and
walked with a cane—appeared, attended by the gray-haired butler of the
house.
“Go and bring her in instantly, James,” she was saying, when another
woman came forward and seemed to protest against the order in a very
emphatic manner.
“I tell you it’s inhuman, Helen, to let her lie there, to be carried off
to some hospital by the police,” cried the old woman, in shrill, almost
angry tones.
“But, aunt, the house is full now; and if she is badly injured it will
not do to move her from here after she has been once attended to.”
“I don’t care if there are five hundred in the house; that girl shall
not be left there to be carried off by the police, I tell you. James, go
bring her in this instant. Get some one to help you, and take her up to
my bedroom.”
“But, aunt——”
“Hold your tongue, Helen. You were always hard-hearted as adamant. Go
along, I say!” And she flourished her cane about the grave butler’s ears
in a way to make him move more quickly to execute her orders than was
his wont.
He beckoned to two under-servants, and together they proceeded to the
overturned carriage, where Brownie could be seen lying prone against the
window, her white face upturned and motionless.
They extricated her, and bore her into an upper room, where, in the
presence of the brusque and energetic old woman, she was kindly
ministered unto, while awaiting the arrival of the family physician.
For three days she continued very ill, being feverish and somewhat
delirious, but after that she began to mend rapidly, and at the end of a
week she was able to sit up.
Evidently she could not have fallen into better hands, for she was
surrounded by every luxury imaginable, and upon questioning the servant
who attended her, she was told that she was in the house of Lady Randal.
She wondered why her ladyship did not come in to see her, and then
sighed to think that she was only a poor, friendless waif, who had been
picked out of the streets and ministered unto for charity’s sake.
But one day, upon awaking from a long and refreshing sleep, she found
the queerest-looking old lady bending over her and scrutinizing her
closely. She was nearly bent double, and held a cane in her hand. She
uttered a low grunt as Brownie opened her large brown eyes, giving her a
surprised look, and then asked, in a sharp, though not unkindly, tone:
“Who are you? What’s your name?”
“My name is Douglas,” replied Brownie, quietly, her pale face flushing
slightly at the blunt question.
“Eh? What? Oh! Dundas,” returned the deformed creature, twisting her
neck to get a better view of the delicate face. She was evidently hard
of hearing, and did not catch the name correctly; but she continued:
“And what’s your other name?”
“Mehetabel,” the young girl said, with her usual quiet smile whenever
she pronounced the obnoxious cognomen.
“Ah! Mabel,” replied the old woman, only seeing the motion of her lips,
and catching the last syllables. “Mabel Dundas! That is a good-sounding
name. Now, how old are you?”
Brownie was upon the point of correcting the mistake regarding her name,
when she checked herself.
“What matters it,” she breathed, with a sad sigh, “whether I am
Mehetabel Douglas or Mabel Dundas? It will be all the same to her, and
perhaps help to shield me from my enemies.”
“I am nearly nineteen,” she replied to the question.
“What? I’m not always so hard of hearing, but I’ve got a cold to-day.
How old did you say you are?”
“Nearly nineteen,” Brownie repeated, speaking louder.
“Do you suffer much?”
“Not very much.”
“Where are your friends?”
“I have none,” and the sad, sweet eyes filled with tears.
“Humph! That’s bad for a pretty face like yours. What do you do for a
living?”
“Teach.”
“Teach what?”
“Almost anything, except the higher classics.”
“Ah! indeed! and only nineteen! Perhaps you are one of those reduced
gentlewomen, who go out governessing, and pretend to know everything!”
snapped the old woman, with a sneer.
Probably she had been taken in some time during her life by some such
person as she described, which accounted for her scorn.
“No, madam; I pretend to nothing. I have a good education, therefore
teach for a living, and am only a poor girl without home or friends.”
Brownie’s cheeks were very red now, but her dignity would have done
credit to the highest lady in the land.
The strange woman chuckled audibly, nodded her head two or three times,
as if much amused, and then went on with her catechising:
“Do you read French?”
“Yes, madam,” replied the young girl, inwardly resenting the woman’s
brusque manner, yet feeling bound to reverence her gray head.
“And German.”
“Yes, madam.”
“Can you play the piano, and sing?”
“I can.”
“Have you an engagement now?”
“No, madam.”
“Are you desirous of obtaining a situation?”
“I am.”
“Can you produce the ‘best of references?’”
This question was also accompanied by a sneer.
“I cannot, madam. I have only my qualifications and my own word to
recommend me,” Brownie answered, with a good deal of spirit.
Again the old woman chuckled, and distorted her neck to look at her, in
a way which made Brownie fear she would dislocate it.
“Where were you last?” she demanded.
Evidently the old lady possessed authority in the house, or she would
not have assumed this manner toward her. She was very richly dressed,
too, and despite her deformity, had the appearance of nobility about
her.
Brownie tried to hide her indignation at being so persistently
questioned, for she had been kindly treated, having received every care
and kindness, although as yet she was unconscious how much of it was due
her present tormentor.
“I taught in an American family,” she at last replied.
“Ah! Came over with them, didn’t you? And you are an American, too,
aren’t you?” she asked, with a searching look.
Brownie nodded her head wearily; she was becoming very nervous.
“What was the name of the family, and what did they dismiss you for?”
This was going a little too far, and assuming too much.
“Pardon me, madam,” Brownie answered, with proud dignity. “I do not
understand your motive in interrogating me thus, and prefer not to reply
to any more questions. I will simply say, however, that I was not
dismissed from my position, but being unkindly treated, I came away of
my own accord.”
“Good! good! I like that! Nobody can set their heel upon your neck! You
are not fond of the inquisition either, nor afraid to say no. You’ve got
pluck, and I like it; but I’m an old woman, and always have my own way
wherever I am. I’ll go now, though, for you look tired; but I shall come
to see you again.” And the strange character, after twisting her neck to
get another view of Brownie’s fair face, hobbled from the room, striking
her cane upon the floor with a vigorous thump at every step, and nodding
her head and muttering to herself all the way out.
The next day Brownie was awakened from her nap the same as on the
previous day, and was greeted by that same low grunt as she opened her
eyes.
She had no idea how long the woman had been gazing at her, nor how she
had entered the room, for she had heard neither the opening nor the
shutting of a door, nor the thumping of the cane across the floor.
She held in her left hand to-day a delicate vase of fretted silver, in
which there was a single stalk of hyacinths, with a few sprays of
feathery heath.
“Better to-day?” she questioned, briefly.
Brownie smiled a little, as she answered in the affirmative. She saw
that the keen gray eyes had a softer, kinder gleam in them than they had
yesterday.
“Do you like flowers?” asked the strange old lady, holding out a rose to
her.
Brownie sat up, her lovely face flushing all over with delight, and put
her hand out to receive it.
“You are very kind. They seem like a ray of sunshine after a cold and
dismal storm,” she said, bending over them to inhale their fragrancy.
“Humph! it takes mighty little to make some people chipper,” the old
woman returned bluntly; yet there was a note of satisfaction in her
shrill voice, as if Brownie’s appreciation pleased her.
Then she asked:
“Are you getting stronger? Are you able to walk about the room?”
“Oh, yes; I am quite strong to-day, and have been thinking I must go
away soon.”
“What for? Aren’t you comfortable?” and the old lady spoke more sharply
than usual.
“Yes, indeed; too comfortable, I’m afraid. But, then, I am depending on
strangers, and I ought to be looking out for myself,” Brownie said, her
cheeks crimsoning with embarrassment.
“Ahem! you’d like me to think you are one of the industrious kind,
wouldn’t you?” the old woman said, grimly.
Evidently she did not like anything which seemed like self-praise.
“Oh, no,” Brownie answered, with a mischievous smile; “I assure you I do
not love drudgery a bit better than other people; but when one has not a
penny excepting what one earns, it is necessary to bestir one’s self.”
“Well, if you want to work, and can walk a few steps, come with me. I’ll
take you at your word, and set you a task right away,” said the old
creature.
Much amused, and wondering what was coming next, Brownie arose with
alacrity, for she had grown weary of being shut up in one room, and
longed for a change.
The old woman led the way half across the room, then stopping short and
turning suddenly around, she said:
“Perhaps you’d like to know who I am, since I’ve managed to find out so
much about you and your affairs. I’m Lady Ruxley, and I’m aunt to Lady
Randal, in whose house you are. She’s a hard-hearted creature—Helen is,
but she can’t come it over me; no, no, not until I lose more of my wits
than I have yet,” she concluded, with a triumphant chuckle.
Lady Ruxley! Lady Ruxley! Where had she heard that name before, Brownie
wondered.
It sounded familiar, and her thoughts went leaping back into the past.
Then all at once it came to her with a force which made her feel faint
and sick, and she caught her breath with almost a sob.
Lady Ruxley was that woman at whose ball in London, more than forty
years ago, that tragedy in her aunt’s life had occurred, and Lady Randal
was, without a doubt, the hard-hearted Helen, and that same Helen Capel
whose cruel plotting and intrigue had ruined the life of Miss Mehetabel
Douglas.
And she had been receiving, and was still receiving, such heavy
obligations from the hands of that wicked woman!