DRUSILLA’S ARRIVAL.
What shall she be ere night?—BYRON.
She slept profoundly and until she was rudely awakened by a shock of
noise and action.
It was now broad day, and it was raining hard. The coach was drawn up
before the door of the large, low building, the one hotel in the
mountain hamlet. Hostlers and porters were crowding around it.
Drusilla lay quietly in her shadowy recess, resolved not to move until
the male passengers had left the stage, which she saw they were
preparing to do.
First, Dick Hammond climbed over mammy, who was still fast asleep, and
got out. Then the minister and the lawyer, one after the other,
surmounted the same obstruction and passed on the same way. And these
three gentlemen went into the bar-room.
But mammy slept on.
Drusilla sat up and quickly tightened her own dress and put on her
bonnet. And then she tried to wake her attendant, but without success;
for mammy did nothing but yawn and talk in her sleep and settle herself
to rest again; until the guard came, and, shaking her roughly, shouted
in her ears:
“Come, come, old woman! wake up and get out! the coach stops here to
breakfast.”
“Yaw! yaw! I just said how it would be! I know’d it would happen before
morning!” said mammy, yawning fearfully and then opening her eyes and
exclaiming:
“Oh, dear! why, what’s this? Where is we, to be sure? Oh, I members!
This must be Frostville. And now I wonder if them there little red
morocky trunks is safe?”
“Yes, yes, nurse, of course they are safe. And now come and do let us
get into the hotel as quickly as possible,” said Drusilla, impatiently,
for she saw that the people in charge of the stage were vexed at the
delay.
“Why, Lor’, honey, is _you_ awake at last? Well, I declare! How sound
you _did_ sleep all night, to be sure! and a blessed thing for you, too;
but as for me, I couldn’t close my eyes all the whole night, for
watching of you, and thinking of them there two little red morocky
trunks. I wonder if they _is_ safe,” said mammy, uneasily.
“Yes, yes, blame you! Come, get out! I can’t stop here waiting on you
all day,” said the guard, half angrily. And with very little ceremony he
bundled the old woman out of the coach.
And then he hoisted an umbrella, and held it over the delicate young
invalid as he helped her to alight, and led her across to the private
door of the hotel.
Mammy followed, dragging all her belongings, and grumbling:
“I haven’t seen them there little red morocky trunks yet, which it is my
private belief that the guards is in league with the highway robbers,
same as they say the p’lice is with the burglarians in the towns; and
they ’wides spiles, share and share alike, that I do. Goodness knows,
one needs to have one’s eyes all around one’s head, and all of ’em wide
open all the time, to watch these fellers.”
“Nurse, be quiet. The trunks are safe; or, if they are not, the loss is
mine,” said Drusilla.
“The loss may be yours, but the illconweniency is mine, ma’am. How in
the world am I to do my perfessional dooty without my proper
conveniences?” inquired mammy.
But before her question could be answered, the guard had conducted her
mistress into the best parlor of the humble hotel.
It was a very pleasant place to come into out of the rain; a spacious
room with a low ceiling, and an ample fire-place with a huge fire of
pine and oak wood roaring and blazing up the chimney; on the floor a
home made carpet; at the windows, home made blue paper blinds; along the
walls, country manufactured chip-bottomed chairs and chintz-covered
sofas; over the wooden mantel-piece, the oldest fashioned looking-glass,
ornamented with peacock’s feathers;—altogether it was a room breathing
of real rustic life, and very refreshing after velvet carpets, satin
damask draperies, gilded chairs, and cheval mirrors.
Many doors opened from this large, low parlor into many other rooms, for
in this mountain region the houses were all built on one floor and of
one story, to protect them from injury by the high winds of that
locality.
Drusilla stood for a little while before this beautiful fire, basking in
its genial warmth; and then to relieve her long cramped limbs, she
walked up and down the cheerful room and looked through the windows upon
the busy scene without, in which landlord, postmaster, coachman, guard
and hostlers seemed all to take an important part.
Tired of this view, she turned from the windows, and then, from an open
door on the left side of the fire-place, she had a view of the long
coffee-room, in which was set forth a very inviting breakfast. There all
her fellow-passengers, as well as many other persons, were impatiently
waiting for the signal to sit down to the table.
Drusilla not wishing to join this company, went to the bell and rang it
peremptorily.
A chamber-maid answered the summons.
“Can I have a bedroom at once?” inquired the lady.
“Oh, yes, ma’am, certainly. This way, if you please,” smiled the woman,
opening one of the many doors and leading the way into an inner chamber
of the same general character as the parlor, except that it was
furnished with a bed and a toilet table, with pure white dimity
hangings, and a wash-stand with a plenty of fresh water and clean
towels.
Drusilla threw herself into the white draperied easy chair, before the
blazing wood-fire, and then inquired—
“Can I have breakfast for myself and my attendant served here?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, certainly,” assented the woman, in what seemed to be
her stereotyped phrase.
“Then I would like to have it soon, if you please,” said Drusilla.
The girl went away to execute her orders.
Drusilla, left alone with her nurse, laid off her bonnet, and bathed her
face and hands and arranged her hair.
While engaged in this refreshing process, she overheard voices speaking
in the parlor she had just left.
They appeared to belong to Dick and his companions, and they seemed to
be discussing with the landlord the speediest manner in which to
prosecute their journey.
“You say the new Bee-line of coaches across country is started,
landlord?” spoke Dick.
“Yes, sir; started on Monday. The road was first opened on Saturday.”
“At what hour do they pass here?”
“At half-past ten, sir, almost to a minute.”
“And they pass directly through Hammondsville?”
“Directly, sir.”
“And Hammondsville is within six or eight miles of Old Lyon Hall, while
Saulsburg is nine or ten miles off. Besides, at Hammondsville, I shall
be near enough to my place, Hammond Hill, to get my own horses, with
altogether a better chance of reaching our destination to-night. Come! I
have a good mind to have my luggage taken off, and to wait for the
Bee-line coach. What do you say, gentlemen!” inquired Dick.
“I say that we had best first be sure that we can get places in the new
coach before we give up our seats in the old one. ‘A bird in the hand is
worth two in the bush,’ you know,” answered the lawyer.
“What are the chances of our obtaining places, landlord?” inquired the
clergyman.
“How many places do you want, gentlemen?” inquired ‘my host.’
“Only three; and, rather than miss, we would not mind taking outside
places.”
“Oh, be at ease, sir; I can almost insure you places on these terms,
either outside or inside. At this season of the year, the coaches are
very seldom crowded.”
“All right!” said Dick, “I will go and have our luggage taken off this
one.”
“Thank Heaven, we are going to lose our fellow-passengers!” exclaimed
Drusilla.
“I thanks Heaven, too, for that same. But long’s that young man’s gwine
to have his luggidge took off I must go and see that he don’t get hold
of them there two little red morocky trunks,” said mammy, starting off
for the door.
“Indeed you shall do no such thing,” said Drusilla, laying hold of her.
“But why musn’t I then?”
“Because in the first place the trunks are in no sort of danger.
Gentlemen are not thieves.”
“Oh, indeed!”
“And in the second place, I would rather lose the whole of our luggage
than have that gentleman recognize you, as I believe he fortunately
failed to do last night. Sit down and keep quiet. I insist upon it,
nurse!”
The old woman dropped down into a chair, grumbling.
“And I’d like to know what we is to do if them there two little red
morocky trunks is lost or stolen!”
“The risk is mine alone, nurse. And now hush, for here is the waiter
come to lay the cloth for our breakfast,” said Drusilla.
Very soon a most delicious morning meal was laid before them—fragrant
coffee, maple-sugar, rich cream, hot rolls, fresh butter, venison
steaks, pure honey—luxuries to be found in their perfections only on the
mountains.
Mammy inhaled the aromas arising from this breakfast table as though
every breath was a delight. She coaxed and scolded her mistress into
making a very good meal.
And then she made a very much better one herself.
After this they prepared to resume their journey.
In going out to take her seat in the coach, Drusilla drew down her veil
to avoid recognition, in any chance-meeting with Mr. Hammond. She need
not have done so, for poor Dick was in the bar-room treating his
friends.
The weather was worse than ever. From the clouds above the rain was
pouring in torrents; from the valleys below the vapors were rising in
heavy fogs. The boundaries of the mountain scenery were lost in mist.
The day was as dim with a white obscurity as the night had been with a
black one.
Drusilla and her attendant had the inside of the coach all to themselves
for the next few hours.
Drusilla, almost worn out with her journey, reclined at nearly full
length upon the back seat.
Mammy, having asked and obtained leave, lay down upon the front seat.
The remainder of their journey passed monotonously enough, being varied
only by the stopping of the coach at the regular post-houses to change
horses, and by the altercations between mammy and the guard relative to
the safety of “them there two little red morocky trunks,” which the
guard mentally consigned to the demon full fifty times before they
reached their destination.
About noon they stopped to change horses at a small hamlet, where they
were joined by other passengers—two honest, good-humored-looking
countrymen, who immediately upon their entrance, began to talk of the
great wedding which was to come off that same night at Old Lyon Hall.
From their talk Drusilla understood that she was approaching the
neighborhood of the old manor.
Deeply interested in the subject of their conversation, she first forced
herself to listen calmly, and then to speak.
“Can you tell me how far we are from Old Lyon Hall?” she inquired of the
elder man.
“Well, goodness, no, Miss, not exactly; though if I were to hazard a
guess, I should say betwixt twenty and thirty miles, more or less,”
answered the man.
“What is the nearest point at which the road passes the hall?” she next
inquired.
“Well, for the life of me, Miss, I could not tell! But the nearest
stopping-place is Saulsburg; and that’s pretty near twenty miles off
here, I know. Might you be going to the Old Hall, Miss?” inquired the
traveller, feeling quite free to follow her example and ask questions in
his turn.
“I am going to Saulsburg,” answered Drusilla, evasively.
“Ah!—There’s to be a grand wedding at the old Hall to-night, Miss,” said
the traveller.
“So I have heard,” coldly answered Drusilla, almost regretting that she
had opened a conversation with this traveller, and wishing now to close
it.
But the good man was well started on the great subject of the day and
the place, and he would talk of nothing but the wedding, and to nobody
but Drusilla, thinking, doubtless, that a lady, and a young lady too,
would be most likely to feel interested in the theme.
Fortunately for Drusilla, her talkative fellow-passenger got out at the
very next stopping-place.
Now, having passed the greatest range of the mountains, they were coming
into a rather better settled portion of the country, and way-passengers
were getting in or out at every post-house; and the theme of
conversation with every one of these was—not the crops, nor the races,
nor the elections, but—the grand wedding to come off that night at old
Lyon Hall.
About three o’clock in the afternoon they reached the little hamlet of
Saulsburg, consisting merely of a small inn and a half a dozen cottages,
nestled at the foot of the Wild Mountain and upon the banks of the Wild
River.
Here Drusilla and her attendant got out, in a pouring rain.
The kind-hearted guard hoisted his large umbrella, and led her into the
shelter of the little inn parlor, and then went back to the coach to see
to the removal of her luggage. He found mammy in high dispute with the
porter—subject of debate, of course, “them there two little red morocky
trunks.”
“Here they are!” said the guard, as the treasures were taken from the
boot and set upon the ground; “here they are, blast ’em, and I’m blowed
if I don’t wish I may never set eyes on you or your blamed trunks again
as long as ever I live in this world.”
“And so I sees my little red morocky trunks safe, I shan’t tear the
clothes offen my back for grief if I never sees _you_ again; so there
now!” retorted mammy, as she loaded herself with shawls, carpet-bags,
and umbrellas, and followed the porter who carried the precious little
trunks into the house.
The luggage was all set down in the hall, and, leaving it there, mammy
went into the parlor, where she found her mistress still in her
travelling dress, impatiently walking up and down the floor.
“I want to see the landlord, nurse. I have rung twice, but no one has
come. You go and try to find him and bring him here. I must have a
carriage to convey me to Old Lyon Hall this afternoon.”
“My goodness! ain’t you tired of travelling yet? And must you set off on
another journey again directly,” exclaimed mammy, in dismay.
“I am not at the end of my first journey yet, nurse, nor shall I be
until I reach old Lyon Hall. It is there that I am bound. So go now and
call the landlord to me,” urged Drusilla.
Before mammy could either obey or expostulate, the landlord himself came
in, in answer to Drusilla’s first summons.
“Can I have a close carriage immediately, to take me to old Lyon Hall?”
anxiously inquired Drusilla.
The landlord looked surprised at such an unusual demand and, after
staring and rubbing his head, answered, slowly:
“Why, bless your heart, Miss, there ain’t such a thing as a close
carriage in the whole willage!”
“Well, an open one then—any sort of one, so that it can be got ready at
once,” said Drusilla, impatiently.
“But there ain’t any sort of a carriage about the place, Miss.”
“A gig, then, a gig would do,” said Drusilla, eagerly.
“We haven’t got such a thing, Miss.”
“Good heavens, sir, I _must_ have some conveyance to take me to Old Lyon
Hall this afternoon. I do not care what it costs!” said Drusilla,
desperately.
“Oh, you’ll be on your way to the wedding there, Miss?”
“Yes, yes, I am going there. Can you get me a conveyance of some sort
from some one in the neighborhood? I will pay well for the use of any
sort of a carriage to take me to the old hall. And I will pay you well
for your trouble in getting it for me. Answer, quickly—can you?”
“Dear me, how anxious young folks is for weddings, to be sure!—Stay,
let’s see—Yes! There’s old Mr. Simpkins—he would hire his carryall, I
know, and glad to do it.”
“Get it, then! I will pay whatever he asks. How long will it take you to
get it?” asked Drusilla, breathlessly.
“Why, you see,” said the landlord, very leisurely, “Old man Simpkins he
lives about a mile from here; and if I put a boy on horseback and send
him right off we might get the carryall here at the door inside of an
hour.”
“Do it then at once; pray hurry! I will pay you in proportion to the
haste that you make.”
The leisurely landlord sauntered out of the parlor to give his
directions.
Drusilla paced up and down the floor in great excitement. The nearer she
came to her journey’s end the more anxious and agitated she felt.
Mammy stood and watched her in growing wonder. Suddenly mammy spoke out:
“What wedding this they all talking ’bout? I thought we was agoing to
see a wery sick man, not a wedding.”
“Perhaps to see both, nurse! But pray do not talk to me if you can help
it. I am scarcely sane!”
“Which such has been my opinion for some time past,” said mammy,
sententiously, leaving her patient to pace up and down the room until
the latter had paced off some of her excitement.
The landlord put his head into the door, saying:
“The boy has gone after the carriage, Miss, and you may rely on his
being back here in an hour’s time.”
“Thanks. How far do you really think it is from this place to old Lyon
Hall?”
“Why Miss, some people calls it ten miles, but I don’t believe it is
more than eight at the outside.”
“And how long will it take for me to get there?”
“Let me see,” said the landlord in his leisurely way. “It’s three
o’clock now, ain’t it? Yes—well, the boy’ll be back by four, and if you
start then you’ll get there by six or seven. You’ll be there in time to
dress for the wedding, Miss, which I hear is to be performed by special
license at eight o’clock in the evening.”
“Very well. Thank you.”
“And now, Miss, is there anything else we can do for you?” inquired the
slow host.
“No; thanks. Yes! you may send a chamber-maid here,” replied Drusilla,
incoherently, for in her intense excitement she scarcely knew what she
was in need of, or what she was talking about.
When the host had taken his little round head out of the doorway, mammy,
who had kept silence for some time, said:
“Now, ma’am, if so it is that you _will_ go farther and fare worse
to-night, and if you have an hour before you I strongly ’vises of you to
take a bedroom and lie down until it is time for you to start, and then
to take a cup of tea before you _do_ start. You must keep up your
strength. If the matter you come ’bout is so very important, it won’t do
for you to break down, you know.”
Drusilla stopped in her excited walk and reflected. The advice of the
nurse was very good. There were other reasons besides care for her own
comfort to induce her to engage rooms here. For one thing, she intended
to leave her nurse in charge of the luggage, for she was resolved to
have no more witnesses to the humiliation of her poor Alick than was
absolutely unavoidable; and for another thing, she was resolved to stay
no longer at the Old Hall than was necessary to do her painful errand
there, but to return as soon as possible to the inn. Therefore, she
answered mammy assentingly:
“You are right, nurse. You generally are so, in fact. Here comes the
chamber-maid I sent for, and I will order rooms.”
A bright-eyed negro girl stood in the doorway, curtseying and waiting
orders.
In a few words the lady gave them.
The girl went away to obey them.
And in ten minutes Drusilla found herself in a small, clean, warm room,
where she unloosed her clothes and lay down upon the bed, and, overcome
by fatigue and excitement, fell fast asleep.
“Well, thank the Goodness Gracious for that. But who in the world would
have thought it?” said mammy, as she quietly closed the shutters and
darkened the room, and sat down to watch by her patient to try to guard
her from disturbance until the carriage should come.
But the landlord’s hour stretched to two, and still the carriage did not
appear and still the sleeper slept on.
At last, however, mammy heard the sound of wheels.
She went to the window, cautiously unclosed the shutters, looked out,
and saw the most dilapidated old carryall she had ever set her eyes upon
approaching the house.
“That’s it! and a purty object it is!” said mammy, as she went and
looked to see what time it was by her mistress’s watch that lay upon the
dressing-table. It was a quarter past five.
“Oh, dear me!” said the old woman in dismay, “when she finds out how
late it is, and she so anxious to be off, she’ll just go and fling
herself into fits, and then there! Let see! I gwine save her all that,
and ’ceive her for her own good.”
And so saying, mammy opened the watch and turned back the hands from a
quarter _past five_ to a quarter _to four_.
Then she stole out of the room and told the waiter to bring a cup of tea
and a round of toast upstairs quicker than he ever did anything in his
life before.
Then she went back to her patient, lamenting that she must wake up out
of such a refreshing sleep.
But to her surprise and satisfaction, she found Drusilla already up and
standing before the dressing-table, looking at her watch.
“Oh, ma’am, are you awake? I’m so glad you got your sleep out! You _did_
get it out, didn’t you, honey? Nobody waked you, did they?”
“No, nurse, I woke because I had slept long enough; and I feel much
strengthened and quite equal to pursue my journey. It is ten minutes to
four. I am so glad I didn’t oversleep myself. I suppose the carriage
will be here soon.”
“The carriage has almost just this minute come, and a purty ramshackly
old concern it is too.”
“Never mind, nurse, so that it will take me to my destination. Come,
help me to dress quickly. Dear me, what a very dark afternoon,” said
Drusilla, going nearer the window for light.
“Yes, ma’am, the clouds do make it very dark indeed,” said mammy,
smiling in her sleeve at the deception she had played off upon her
mistress—“but here, ma’am, here comes the waiter with lights and the tea
tray,” she added, as she arose and set out a little table.
“I have no time to spend in eating and drinking,” said Drusilla, as she
hastily put on her bonnet.
“But you must keep up your strength, ma’am,” urged mammy leading her
charge to the table and making her sit down at it, while she herself
poured out a cup of tea and handed it to her.
“Nurse,” said Drusilla, as she received the cup from the old woman, “I
shall leave you here in charge of the—_two little red morocco
trunks_—until I return.”
“My goodness, honey, you will never think of going alone?”
“I must, nurse. There is no reason why I should not. I feel quite equal
to the ride. I am going to see my husband.”
“Well, honey, I know if you will do a thing, _you will do it_! When will
you send for me and the luggage, honey?”
“I may _come_ for you and the luggage even to-night.”
“No, you mustn’t, indeed! No use for you to do that, nyther. I reckon I
ain’t afraid to stay alone in a decent inn all night for once in a
night.”
“Very well, nurse; then you may expect me to come or send for you
to-morrow. And now here is my purse—do you pay the landlord and make
yourself comfortable. I am going now,” said Drusilla, rising to put on
her waterproof cloak.
The nurse helped her on with that and with her overshoes, and then
accompanied her down stairs and saw her safely into the old carryall.
“And here’s your umberel, honey. And you driver boy! when the madam gets
out, you be sure to hoist the umberel and hold it over her head to ’vent
her getting wet.”
“All right, ma’am, I won’t forget to do it,” said the lad, cracking his
whip, starting his old horse, and making the dilapidated vehicle rattle
and shake, at every turn of the wheels, as if it would drop to pieces.
Drusilla sat back in her seat, uncomfortably jolted in the miserable old
carriage over that rough road, until, when about a mile from the house,
it actually and hopelessly broke down.
When Drusilla was sure of this mishap, she took off her bonnet, drew the
hood of her waterproof cloak over her head, and set forth to walk the
distance to Old Lyon Hall.
Of that heroic effort, and of its successful issue—her safe arrival—the
reader is already informed.