MRS. LIVINGSTONE’S CALLS AND THEIR RESULT.
After leaving Mr. Douglass’s, Mrs. Livingstone ordered her coachman to
drive her around to the house of Mrs. Atkins, where she was frequently
in the habit of stopping, partly as a matter of convenience when
visiting in town, and partly to learn the latest news of the day, for
Mrs. Atkins was an intolerable gossip. Without belonging exactly to the
higher circles, she still managed to keep up a show of intimacy with
them, possessing herself with their secrets, and kindly intrusting them
to the keeping of this and that “dear friend.”
From her, had Mrs. Livingstone learned to a dime the amount of Mr.
Douglass’ property, and how he was obliged to economize in various
ways, in order to keep up the appearance of style. From her, too, had
she learned how often her son was in the habit of calling there, and
what rumor said concerning those calls, while Mrs. Atkins had learned,
in return, that the ambitious lady had other views for John, and that
anything which she, Mrs. Atkins, could do to further the plans of her
friend, would be gratefully received. On this occasion she was at home,
and of course delighted to meet Mrs. Livingstone.
“It is such an age since I’ve seen you, that I began to fear you were
offended at something,” said she, as she led the way into a cozy little
sitting-room, where a cheerful wood fire was blazing on the nicely
painted hearth. “Do sit down and make yourself as comfortable as you
can, on such poor accommodations. I have just finished dinner but will
order some for you.”
“No, no,” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, “I dined at Mr. Douglass’s—thank
you.”
“Ah, indeed,” returned Mrs. Atkins, feeling a good deal relieved, for
to tell the truth, her larder, as was often the case, was rather empty.
“Dined at Mr. Douglass’s! Of course, then, nothing which I could offer
you could be acceptable, after one of his sumptuous meals. I suppose
Nellie brought out all her mother’s old silver, and made quite a
display. It’s a wonder to me how they hold their heads so high, and
folks notice them as they do, for between you and me, I shouldn’t be
surprised to hear of his failing any minute.”
“Is it possible?” said Mrs. Livingstone.
“Why, yes,” returned Mrs. Atkins. “There’s nothing to prevent it, they
say, except a moneyed marriage on the part of Nellie, who seems to be
doing her best.”
“Has she any particular one in view?” asked Mrs. Livingstone, and Mrs.
Atkins, aware of Mrs. Livingstone’s aversion to the match, replied,
“Why, you know she tried to get your son——”
“But didn’t succeed,” interrupted Mrs. Livingstone.
“No, didn’t succeed. You are right. Well, now it seems she’s spreading
sail for a Mr. Wilbur, of Madison——”
Mrs. Livingstone’s eyes sparkled eagerly, and, not to lose one word,
she drew her chair nearer to her friend, who proceeded; “He’s a rich
bachelor—brother to Mary Wilbur, Nellie’s most intimate friend. You’ve
heard of her?”
“Yes, yes,” returned Mrs. Livingstone. “Hasn’t Nellie been visiting
her?”
“Her or her brother,” answered Mrs. Atkins. “Mary’s health is poor, and
you know it’s mighty convenient for Nellie to go there, under pretense
of staying with her,”
“Exactly,” answered Mrs. Livingstone, with a satisfied smile, and
another hitch of her chair toward Mrs. Atkins, who, after a moment,
continued: “The brother came home with Nellie, stayed over Sunday, rode
out with her Monday, indorsed ever so many notes for her father, so I
reckon, and then went home. If that don’t mean something, then I’m
mistaken”—and Mrs. Atkins rang for a glass of wine and a slice of cake.
After an hour’s confidential talk, in which Mrs. Livingstone told of
Mabel’s prospects, and Mrs. Atkins told how folks who were at Mr.
Graham’s party praised ’Lena Rivers’ beauty, and predicted a match
between her and Mr. Bellmont, the former rose to go; and calling upon
one or two others, and by dint of quizzing and hinting, getting them to
say “they shouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Wilbur did like Nellie
Douglas,” she started for home, exulting to think how everything seemed
working together for her good, and how, in the denouement, nothing
particular could be laid to her charge.
“I told Nellie no falsehood,” thought she. “I did not say John loved
Mabel; I only said she loved him, leaving all else for her to infer.
And it has commenced operating, too. I could see it in the spots on her
face and neck, when I was talking. Nellie’s a fine girl, though, but
too poor for the Livingstones;” and with this conclusion, she told the
coachman to drive faster, as she was in a hurry to reach home.
Arrived at Maple Grove, she found the whole family, grandma and all,
assembled in the parlor, and with them Durward Bellmont. His arm was
thrown carelessly across the back of ’Lena’s chair, while he
occasionally bent forward to look at a book of prints which she was
examining. The sight of him determined her to wait a little ere she
retailed her precious bit of gossip to her son. He was Nellie’s cousin,
and as such, would in all probability repeat to her what he heard.
However communicative John Jr. might be in other respects, she knew he
would never discuss his heart-troubles with any one, so, upon second
thought, she deemed it wiser to wait until they were alone.
Durward and ’Lena, however, needed watching, and by a little
maneuvering, she managed to separate them, greatly to the satisfaction
of Carrie, who sat upon the sofa, one foot bent under her, and the
other impatiently tapping the carpet. From the moment Durward took his
seat by her cousin, she had appeared ill at ease, and as he began to
understand her better, he readily guessed that her silent mood was
owing chiefly to the attentions he paid to ’Lena, and not to a nervous
headache, as she said, when her grandmother, inquiring the cause of her
silence, remarked, that “she’d been chipper enough until Mr. Bellmont
came in.”
But he did not care. He admired ’Lena, and John Jr. like, it made but
little difference with him who knew it. Carrie’s freaks, which he
plainly saw, rather amused him than otherwise, but of Mrs. Livingstone
he had no suspicion whatever. Consequently, when she sent ’Lena from
the room on some trifling errand, herself appropriating the vacated
seat, he saw in it no particular design, but in his usual pleasant way
commenced talking with Carrie, who brightened up so much that grandma
asked “if her headache wasn’t e’en-a’most well!”
When ’Lena returned to the parlor, Durward was proposing a surprise
visit to Nellie Douglass some time during the holidays. “We’ll invite
Mr. Everett, and all go down. What do you say, girls?” said he, turning
toward Carrie and Anna, but meaning ’Lena quite as much as either of
them.
“Capital,’ answered Anna, visions of a long ride with Malcolm instantly
passing before her mind.
“I should like it very much,” said Carrie, visions of a ride with
Durward crossing her mind.
“And I too,” said ’Lena, laying her hand on John Jr.’s shoulder, as if
he would of course be her escort.
Carrie’s ill-nature had not all vanished, and now, in a slightly
insolent tone, she said, “How do you know you are included?”
’Lena was about to reply, when Durward, a little provoked at Carrie’s
manner, prevented her by saying “Of course I meant Miss Rivers, and I
will now do myself the honor of asking her to ride with me, either on
horseback or in a carriage, just as she prefers.”
In a very graceful manner ’Lena accepted the invitation saying that
“she always preferred riding on horse back, but as the pony which she
usually rode had recently been sold, she would be content to go in any
other way.”
“Fleetfoot sold! what’s that for?” asked Anna; and her mother replied,
“We’ve about forty horses on our hands now, and as Fleetfoot was seldom
used by any one except ’Lena, your father thought we couldn’t afford to
keep him.”
She did not dare tell the truth of the matter, and say that ever since
the morning when ’Lena rode to Woodlawn with Durward, Fleetfoot’s fate
had been decreed. Repeatedly had she urged the sale upon her husband,
who, wearied with her importunity, at last consented, selling him to a
neighboring planter, who had taken him away that very day.
“That’s smart,” said John Jr. looking at his father, who had not
spoken. “What is ’Lena going to ride, I should like to know.”
’Lena pressed his arm to keep him still, but he would not heed her.
“Isn’t there plenty of feed for Fleetfoot?”
“Certainly,” answered his father, compelled now to speak; “plenty of
feed, but Fleetfoot was getting old and sometimes stumbled. Perhaps
we’ll get ’Lena a better and younger horse.”
This was said in a half timid way, which brought the tears to ’Lena’s
eyes, for at the bottom of it all she saw her aunt, who sat looking
into the glowing grate, apparently oblivious to all that was passing
around her.
“That reminds me of Christmas gifts,” said Durward, anxious to change
the conversation. “I wonder how many of us will get one?”
Ere there was any chance for an answer a servant appeared at the door,
asking Mrs. Livingstone for some medicine for old Aunt Polly, the
superannuated negress, who will be remembered as having nursed Mrs.
Nichols during her attack of rheumatism, and for whom grandma had
conceived a strong affection. For many days she had been very ill,
causing Mrs. Livingstone to wonder “what old niggers wanted to live
for, bothering everybody to death.”
The large stock of abolitionism which Mrs. Nichols had brought with her
from Massachusetts was a little diminished by force of habit, but the
root was there still, in all its vigor, and since Aunt Polly’s illness
she had been revolving in her mind the momentous question, whether she
would not be most guilty if Polly were suffered to die in bondage.
“I promised Nancy Scovandyke,” said she, “that I’d have some on ’em set
free, but I’ll be bound if ’taint harder work than I s’posed ’twould
be.”
Still Aunt Polly’s freedom lay warm at grandma’s heart and now when she
was mentioned together with “Christmas gifts,” a bright idea entered
her mind,
“John,” said she to her son, when Corinda had gone with the medicine,
“John, have you ever made me a Christmas present since I’ve been here?”
“I believe not,” was his answer.
“Wall,” continued grandma, “bein’s the fashion, I want you to give me
somethin’ this Christmas, will you?”
“Certainly,” said he, “what is it?”
Grandma replied that she would rather not tell him then—she would wait
until Christmas morning, which came the next Tuesday, and here the
conversation ended. Soon after, Durward took his leave, telling ’Lena
he should call for her on Thursday.
“That’s a plaguy smart feller,” said grandma, as the door closed upon
him; “and I kinder think he’s got a notion after ’Leny.”
“Ridiculous!” muttered Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie added, “Just
reverse it, and say she has a notion after him!”
“Shut up your head,” growled John Jr. “You are only angry because he
asked her to accompany him, instead of yourself. I reckon he knows what
he’s about.”
“I reckon he does, too!” said Mrs. Livingstone, with a peculiar smile,
which nettled ’Lena more than any open attack would have done.
With the exception of his mother, John Jr. was the last to leave the
parlor, and when all the rest were gone, Mrs. Livingstone seized her
opportunity for telling him what she had heard. Taking a light from the
table, he was about retiring, when she said, “I learned some news
to-day which a little surprised me.”
“Got it from Mother Atkins, I suppose,” answered John, still advancing
toward the door.
“Partly from her, and partly from others,” said his mother, adding, as
she saw him touch the door-knob, “It’s about Nellie Douglass.”
This was sufficient to arrest his attention, and turning about, he
asked, “What of her?”
“Why, nothing of any great consequence, as I know of,” said Mrs.
Livingstone, “only people in Frankfort think she’s going to be
married.”
“_I_ think so, too,” was John’s mental reply, while his verbal one was,
“Married! To whom?”
“Did you ever hear her speak of Mary Wilbur?”
“Yes, she’s been staying with her ever since Mrs. Graham’s party.”
“Well, Mary it seems has a brother, a rich old bachelor, who they say
is very attentive to Nellie. He came home with her from Madison,
staying at her father’s the rest of the week, and paying her numberless
attentions, which——”
“_I don’t believe it_,” interrupted John Jr., striking his fist upon
the table, to which he had returned.
“Neither did I, at first,” said his mother, “but I heard it in so many
places that there must be something in it. And I’m sure it’s a good
match. He is rich, and willing, they say, to help her father, who is in
danger of failing any moment.”
Without knowing it, John Jr. was a little inclined to be jealous,
particularly of those whom he loved very much, and now suddenly
remembering to have heard Nellie speak in high terms of Robert Wilbur,
he began to feel uneasy, lest what his mother had said were true. She
saw her advantage, and followed it up until, in a fit of anger, he
rushed from the room and repaired to his own apartment, where for a
time he walked backward and forward, chafing like a caged lion, and
wishing all manner of evil upon Nellie, if she were indeed false to
him.
He was very excitable, and at last worked himself up to such a pitch,
that he determined upon starting at once for Frankfort, to demand of
Nellie if what he had heard were true! Upon cooler reflection, however,
he concluded not to make a “perfect fool of himself,” and plunging into
bed, he fell asleep, as what man will not be his trouble what it may.