A Just Retribution.
One evening, about the middle of June, 18--, a gentleman called to
see me, accompanied by a lady closely veiled. He said he wished me to
procure suitable lodging for her, and to attend her on her accouchement,
which was now close at hand, stating that no money would be spared to
furnish everything necessary either to her comfort or convenience. As I
did not know of any lodging suitable to a person of her station, I was
puzzled how to act; I did not want to lose a patient, and yet could not,
even if so disposed, make room for her in my own house. I knew that my
next door neighbor (an elderly French-Canadian lady) was accustomed to
take in lodgers; so, leaving the lady and gentleman for a while in my
parlor, I went to see if I could make arrangements for the reception of
the former. Madame Charbonneau, my neighbor, had all her rooms
occupied, but said she was willing for a consideration to give up
her drawing-rooms for a time to the fair patient. This was eminently
satisfactory to me, as, in the event of an emergency, I would be close
at hand; I accordingly arranged for Mrs. Trotter’s accommodation, and on
reporting to Mr. Dombey, the gentleman aforementioned, he seemed to
be perfectly satisfied. From, what I afterwards learned, I am able to
inform the reader that Mr. Dombey was junior partner in the house of
Dombey & Son, dry goods merchants, in this city, his father, Jacob
Dombey, sen., being considered one of the wealthiest importers in
Canada. In his youth Jacob Dombey, jun., had been pampered and petted
beyond measure, his every whim being carried out even at great expense;
arrived at the age of twenty-one he became enamored of a young lady
whose father kept a small toy-shop on Notre Dame street, and nothing
would content him but a marriage with the “Goddess,” as his innamorata
was called. At first he was quite proud of his pretty wife, and was to
be seen daily in Sherbrooke street, driving her behind a splendid span
of spirited bay horses, but after a few months he grew tired of this
routine, and with his bosom friend, Richard Fairfax, might be seen,
nightly at the theatres and other places of amusement, while his poor
wife sat in patient loneliness awaiting his return.
Mrs. Trotter was the daughter of a Civic Official of high standing, and
had married at a very early age a retired English Officer, who, being
well advanced in years, left her at the age of twenty-four a widow with
four children. Trotter was possessed of little besides his pension,
which died with him; so Mrs. T. was obliged to eke out a miserable
subsistence on the receipts from a little city property left her by her
father. Soon after her husband’s demise Mrs. Trotter removed to Lachine
(a small village on the river side about nine miles above Montreal), in
order to live more economically, and soon became acquainted with Mr. and
Mrs. Dombey, who had taken up their abode there for the summer season.
Mrs. Dombey took quite a fancy to the fascinating widow, and they soon
became inseparable.
Every evening on the promenade might be seen Mrs. Trotter leaning on the
arm of Mr. Dombey, his wife following accompanied by his friend Fairfax;
or they were together on the river boating, or enjoying a picnic on
“Dixie” Island. Occasionally, when the weather was unfavorable to
out-door amusements, they would engage in a rubber of whist, generally
ending the evening with a little music. Dombey did not know one tune
from another, but his wife praised Mrs. Trotter’s singing so highly that
he soon imagined that in that art, as in others, she was nearly, if not
altogether, perfect. When it became time for Mrs. Trotter to go home,
Jacob used to escort her to her cottage on the river bank, about a mile
distant from his own residence, and after a few weeks there sprang up an
intimacy between them which culminated in the incidents which gave rise
to my narrative.
On the day following that on which I had engaged her apartments Mrs.
Trotter took up her abode at Madame Charbonneau’s, and about six weeks
afterwards her baby, a beautiful girl, was born; she sent a message to
Mr. Dombey’s office, and in the afternoon he called to see her. He was
greatly pleased with the baby, and took it up fondly in his arms, and
on leaving placed a roll of bank bills in my hand, telling me to get
everything necessary for either the mother or her child, also to get the
latter whatever clothing it might require. After that he called almost
daily, and when Mrs. Trotter was sufficiently recovered to return to her
home, he pressed me so strongly to keep the baby till it was a little
older, and not to leave it to the tender mercies of an ignorant nurse,
that I consented to keep it till it was two years old, and then to
obtain for it, if possible, adoption by some respectable married
persons.
Margery, the baby aforementioned, turned out one of the most beautiful
children I had ever seen. Her father and mother visited her frequently
during the time she was at my house, and on my giving her for adoption
to Mr. Walker (a respectable Vermont farmer without any children of
his own) they were both deeply affected. Dombey was anxious that Mrs.
Trotter should take it to her own home, but, as “Mrs. Grundy” had
already been discussing her movements, she dare not, without fear of
ruining her children, take the baby under the roof. As there was no help
for it the baby was allowed to go to Vermont, and grew up a beautiful
girl, passionately devoted to the only parents she had ever known; Mrs.
Walker dying during the child’s infancy, Mr. Walker had her educated as
well as his means would permit, and they passed their time in the most
perfect harmony and sweet content. After the war, however, Walker found
himself almost without a penny in the world, and, thinking to better his
fortunes removed to New York, where he managed to make a poor living
as a subordinate in the Custom House. Margery regretted this change of
circumstances very much, but, being thoroughly devoted to her father,
she did not repine, but did all in her power to make his home as happy
as could be under such conditions. She missed her accustomed amusements
very much, and although in New York she saw many things and found many
opportunities which would have been altogether unknown to her in the
country, yet she was a long time in becoming reconciled to the close and
stifling atmosphere of a great metropolitan city.
One night her father promised her a great treat, they were to go to
X----‘s theatre to see Mademoiselle B---- in Romeo and Juliet. Margery
sat with strained eyes gazing wistfully at the play, laughing and
weeping by turns as the great master’s power was exerted on the audience
by the artists engaged, and at the close she heaved a deep sigh,
consequent upon having held her breath so long, and without thought
exclaimed aloud:--“Oh, what would I not give to be able to act like
that.” The manager who was close by, and who had been watching the
attentive beauty for some time, overheard the remark, and intercepting
the pair on their way out of the theatre said:--“I noticed that you were
favorably impressed with the piece; would you like an introduction to
Miss B----, the principal actress?” Margery was overcome with delight,
and besought her father so earnestly to allow her to go into the green
room that he accompanied her thither, and they obtained an introduction
to the famous artiste. Miss B---- was quite taken with the innocent
enthusiasm of the girl, and invited her to come to her benefit on the
following evening, when she was to appear as Parthenia in “Ingomar;”
Margery, having obtained her father’s permission, readily consented, and
all the way home was full of praises for Juliet, Romeo, the manager,
and all concerned. On the following evening the manager drew her father
aside and whispered in his ear:--“You have a fortune in that girl
of yours.” Walker, misunderstanding the purport of his words,
replied:--“Yes, she is a good and affectionate child, as much so as if I
were her natural parent.” “You do not understand me,” said the other; “I
mean she has immense emotional power, which, if artistically cultivated,
would, coupled with her personal appearance, make both her fortune and
yours.”
“Do you think so?” replied Walker; “well, if we had only the means I
would certainly have her trained, for, since she has seen Mademoiselle
B---- act, her great ambition seems to be to occupy a similar position.”
After further conversation it was agreed to place Margery under the
care of Mrs. L----, with a view of becoming a professional actress; for,
although Walker did not at all care for the stage or its concomitants,
still he did not wish to throw any obstacles in the way of his adopted
child’s prosperity. Margery, therefore, was allowed to pursue the bent
of her inclinations, and such an apt pupil was she that in a little over
eighteen months her debut was announced in the papers, and a crowded
house showered floral and other trophies on the beautiful debutante.
Offers of engagements from different cities came flowing in, and before
long Miss Margery Montague was announced to appear in Montreal. Her fame
had preceded her thither, and Fairfax was instructed to secure a box for
the Dombey family. Dombey himself (who had followed the career of his
child) tried hard to excuse himself from going, but his wife was not
satisfied to leave him at home; he sat in the back of the box, and as
the applause grew louder and louder, he showered costly bouquets,
and other offerings on the stage, his breast meanwhile being torn by
conflicting passions. How proud he would have been to clasp her to his
heart and call her his own; but he had willfully put her away from him,
and now, even could he receive her into his family, would her adopted
father be willing to give her up again. With flushed face and beating
heart he sought the manager, and begged to be allowed to see the fair
artiste, a favor which was granted; and, as he stood before his child,
and poured forth the usual stereotyped compliments and congratulations,
he bit his lips as he thought that he dared not press her to his heart,
but was forced to speak to her in terms of cold politeness.
On their return from the Theatre Mrs. Dombey announced her intention
of calling on the talented actress, and the following day she went,
accompanied by her daughters, to the St. Lawrence Hall, at that time the
most fashionable hotel in the city, where she was cordially received;
and the young actress made such a favorable impression on the ladies
that they invited her to dine at their house on the following day, an
invitation which was readily accepted.
Dombey was greatly moved when he heard that Miss Montague had accepted
an invitation to dinner, but there was no help for it, and, as though
to make matters worse invitations were sent to a few intimate friends,
including Mrs. Trotter. Here, then, was a painful position for the two
guilty ones: they were forced to sit and see the child whom they had
cast off fêted and honored by the woman both of them had injured. It
seemed as if a wet blanket were placed over the whole assembly: Dombey
sat moodily biting his finger-nails, and as Mrs. Trotter would not sing
and Mrs. Dombey _could_ not, matters went very slowly indeed.
When the time came for separating, Mrs. Dombey motioned to Jacob to see
Miss Montague to her hotel, but he being deep in a fit of abstraction,
his eldest son Charles stepped forward, and before his father could
prevent him, was equipped in greatcoat and overshoes, ready for a
moonlight stroll. During the evening he had noticed that Charles was
rather attentive to the fair actress, and the thought that an intimacy
between them was possible drove him to the verge of distraction, Mrs.
Dombey noticed his strange behavior, and asked him the cause, on which
he muttered something about “Auction lunch--infernal champagne,” and
some other incoherent exclamations, altogether unintelligible to his
unsuspicious wife. When he and his paramour got outside they walked
along in gloomy silence for several minutes--at last he addressed her:
“Is it not strange that this child, whom I had thought far removed from
me and mine, should be brought even into my own house, and eat at my
table?”
“Oh, it is fearful; only think what would be the consequence if an
intimacy should spring up between her and Charles!”
“Yes, I must send him away at once.”
Mrs. Trotter reminded him that this step was unnecessary, as Miss
Montague left the next day for Chicago to fulfil a professional
engagement. He heaved a sigh of relief, and then, with a passionate tug
at Mrs. Trotter’s door bell, turned to go away.
“Will you not come in a while, Jack?” she said.
“No, he replied, Clara (Mrs. Dombey) would suspect something. She looked
at me very strangely this evening.”
“But you will come to-morrow,” rejoined the temptress.
“Yes, I will look in on my way up from the office,” he said. “Good
night.”
“Good night, Jack,” said she.
As he got to his own door he found Charles leaning pensively against the
balustrade, gazing wistfully at the heavens.
“Well, Charlie, have you forgotten your latch-key?”
“N--no Sir,” stammered Charles, “but it is so confoundedly hot inside
that I did not care to go in.”
Dombey reflected that as the thermometer registered only about ten
degrees Fahrenheit he had but to open his window to attain as low a
temperature as was consistent with comfort; however, he said nothing,
and they both walked upstairs.
“Good night, Charlie.”
“Good night, Father.”
And they entered their respective chambers.
I have heard it said that if two men are placed in one bed, one in love
and the other with a toothache, that the man with the toothache will
fall asleep first. Here, however, were two men; one, past the prime
of life, afflicted with the most bitter remorse; the other, young and
susceptible, with all the fever of a youthful passion springing up
within his breast. Dombey could not sleep, the thought that what at
first was barely possible was now become highly probable goaded him
almost to madness. He rose and dressed himself, going quietly out of the
front door into Sherbrooke street. Along the street he went at a fearful
pace, till, almost faint from want of breath, he turned down the hill
towards the city, habit bringing him along the route he was accustomed
to take to his office. As he turned the corner of St. James street, he
saw (for there were few persons abroad) a young man walking moodily up
and down on the side opposite the St. Lawrence Hall; he turned as if he
had seen an apparition, and ran rather than walked in the direction of
his own home.
Next day Miss Montague departed for the West, Mrs. and Miss Dombey
accompanied by Charles went to see her off at the Depot, and with many
assurances of a future meeting, should she ever return to Montreal,
they separated as the train moved slowly past the platform. As the
drawing-room car was just clearing the station, Miss Montague held
a piece of paper out of the window, which Charles caught eagerly
and placed in his pocket-book. His mother and sister chaffing him on
receiving tender messages from the fair artiste, he laughingly produced
it.
It was nothing more nor less than a page of an old timetable, and both
Mrs. and Miss Dombey laughed at the strange souvenir Miss Montague had
left behind her. When they got home, however, Charles carefully opened
the paper and observed that opposite each of the cities on her route
Miss Montague had placed a figure in pencil thus:--Chicago, 4;
Detroit, 2; Toledo, 2; Toronto, 3; New York; 6, Boston, 6. This, though
unintelligible to his mother and sister, informed Charles that Miss
Montague would go first to Chicago and remain four days, and afterwards
to the other cities mentioned, and that he might write or meet her there
as opportunity afforded.
That day matters resumed their normal condition in the Dombey family;
Jacob breathed freely now that his child had returned to the country of
her adoption, and his wife and family were happy because of his improved
spirits and appearance. Charles had apparently settled down to business
as usual, and Mesdames Trotter and Dombey drove out together as of old.
In a few weeks, however, Charles asked his father permission to go for
his holidays; a friend having invited him to spend a few weeks at Nahant
an island near Boston. There being nothing to keep him in Montreal he
had no difficulty in procuring consent, and he departed, taking fishing
tackle enough to have supplied the whole Atlantic coast for a season.
When his father learned the real object of his visit to Boston, he raved
like a madman; he came to see me, and told me the whole story, most of
which I had learnt before from other sources and he persuaded me to
go to Boston and to take on my self the painful duty of informing Miss
Montague who and what she really was, and why it was impossible that she
could ever marry Charles Dombey. The poor girl was almost heart-broken,
for she had learnt to love her stepbrother dearly, and now she would
have to be separated from him entirely. It was not for herself, however,
that she mourned the most, it was for him, when he should learn of the
wide gulf which separated them from each other. He never did learn it,
however; Miss Montague consented (for his sake) to accept an engagement
in England, and to trust in years to soften the blow which had smitten
her so severely. She wrote to Charles, telling him that, for reasons
unexplained, she never could be his wife, although she loved him dearly,
and that as there was no use striving against fate, she had bowed to
the inevitable, and taken a foreign engagement. At first Charles was
desperately cut up, but time, that physician _par excellence_, healed
his wounds, and he is now married to a respectable lady of this city;
deservedly successful in his business, and with a stainless reputation.
Jacob Dombey staggered along under his load for years, but, unable
to contain himself, he one day confessed the affair to his wife, who,
instead of denouncing him as the wretch he was, pitied and sympathized
with; aye, and not only that, she received his mistress into her house
as before, rather than make public his heartless conduct. Truly such
an angel never received such heartless treatment, or was so little
appreciated. It broke her heart however, and over her grave Dombey
resolved to cast Mrs. Trotter off forever, and send her away from the
city. He accordingly arranged with her to take an annual allowance and
go to New York with her family, vowing that he could no longer endure
her presence, which was grown distasteful to him.
This did not at all suit Mrs. Trotter, who had now hoped to become
the legal mistress of the Dombey mansion. But all her tears were of no
avail, the bitter pangs of remorse were tearing Dombey’s bosom, and
he would hear of nothing but, her immediate departure for the United
States. He determined that however he might have blighted the life of
the wife whose excellent qualities he had only now begun to appreciate,
nothing should stand in the way of her children’s advancement; and the
voice of a scandal having already been heard concerning Mrs. Trotter,
he felt that her immediate departure was a necessity. She argued and
entreated, but it was of no avail, and she accordingly made the best of
her case and got from him a liberal allowance. Hers was not of a nature
to reform, however; she went from bad to worse, and finally took to
smoking opium as a means to relieve her gnawing conscience, ending her
days prematurely.
Dombey survived her but a short time. He tried hard to make amends for
the past by increased attention to the children of his late wife, but he
never fully recovered himself, and finally succumbed to a wasting fever,
superinduced by late hours and immoderate drinking. To his last hour
his conscience smote him at the triple wrong he had inflicted on his
children, his natural daughter, and his confiding wife.