There is a fortune coming
Towards you, dainty, that will take thee thus,
And set thee aloft.
Ben Jonson.
That day was spent by Fleda in the never-failing headache which was sure
to visit her after any extraordinary nervous agitation or too great mental
or bodily trial. It was severe this time, not only from the anxiety of the
preceding night but from the uncertainty that weighed upon her all day
long. The person who could have removed the uncertainty came indeed to the
house, but she was too ill to see anybody.
The extremity of pain wore itself off with the day, and at evening she was
able to leave her room and come down stairs. But she was ill yet, and
could do nothing but sit in the corner of the sofa, with her hair unbound,
and Florence gently bathing her head with cologne.
Anxiety as well as pain had in some measure given place to exhaustion, and
she looked a white embodiment of endurance which gave a shock to her
friends' sympathy. Visitors were denied,--and Constance and Edith devoted
their eyes and tongues at least to her service, if they could do no more.
It happened that Joe Manton was out of the way, holding an important
conference with a brother usher next door, a conference that he had no
notion would be so important when he began it; when a ring on his own
premises summoned one of the maid-servants to the door. She knew nothing
about "not at home," and unceremoniously desired the gentleman to "walk
up,"--"the ladies were in the drawing-room."
The door had been set wide open for the heat, and Fleda was close in the
corner behind it; gratefully permitting Florence's efforts with the
cologne, which yet she knew could avail nothing but the kind feelings of
the operator; for herself patiently waiting her enemy's time. Constance
was sitting on the floor looking at her.
"I can't conceive how you can bear so much," she said at length.
Fleda thought, how little she knew what was borne!
"Why you could bear it I suppose if you had to," said Edith
philosophically.
"She knows she looks most beautiful," said Florence, softly passing her
cologned hands down over the smooth hair;--"she knows
"'Il faut souffrir pour être belle.'"
"La migraine ne se guérit avec les douceurs," said Mr. Carleton
entering;--"try something sharp, Miss Evelyn."
"Where are we to get it?" said Constance springing up, and adding in a
most lack-a-daisical aside to her mother, "(Mamma!--the fowling
piece!)--Our last vinegar hardly comes under the appellation; and you
don't expect to find anything volatile in this house, Mr. Carleton?"
He smiled.
"Have you none for grave occasions, Miss Constance?"
"I won't retort the question about 'something sharp,'" said Constance
arching her eyebrows, "because it is against my principles to make people
uncomfortable; but you have certainly brought in some medicine with you,
for Miss Ringgan's cheeks a little while ago were as pure as her
mind--from a tinge of any sort--and now, you see--"
"My dear Constance," said her mother, "Miss Ringgan's cheeks will stand a
much better chance if you come away and leave her in peace. How can she
get well with such a chatter in her ears."
"Mr. Carleton and I, mamma, are conferring upon measures of relief,--and
Miss Ringgan gives token of improvement already."
"For which I am very little to be thanked," said Mr. Carleton. "But I am
not a bringer of bad news, that she should look pale at the sight of me."
"Are you a bringer of any news?" said Constance, "O do let us have them,
Mr. Carleton!--I am dying for news--I haven't heard a bit to-day."
"What is the news, Mr. Carleton?" said her mother's voice, from the more
distant region of the fire.
"I believe there are no general news, Mrs. Evelyn."
"Are there any particular news?" said Constance.--"I like particular news
infinitely the best!"
"I am sorry, Miss Constance, I have none for you. But--will this headache
yield to nothing?"
"Fleda prophesied that it would to time," said Florence;--"she Would not
let us try much beside."
"And I must confess there has been no volatile agency employed at all,"
said Constance;--"I never knew time have less of it; and Fleda seemed to
prefer him for her physician."
"He hasn't been a good one to-day," said Edith nestling affectionately
to her side. "Isn't it better, Fleda?"--for she had covered her eyes
with her hand.
"Not just now," said Fleda softly.
"It is fair to change physicians if the first fails," said Mr. Carleton.
"I have had a slight experience in headache-curing,--if you will permit
me, Miss Constance, I will supersede time and try a different
prescription."
He went out to seek it; and Fleda leaned her head in her hand and tried to
quiet the throbbing heart every pulsation of which was felt so keenly at
the seat of pain. She knew from Mr. Carleton's voice and manner,--she
_thought_ she knew,--that he had exceeding good tidings for her; once
assured of that she would soon be better; but she was worse now.
"Where is Mr. Carleton gone?" said Mrs. Evelyn.
"I haven't the least idea, mamma--he has ventured upon an extraordinary
undertaking and has gone off to qualify himself, I suppose. I can't
conceive why he didn't ask Miss Ringgan's permission to change her
physician, instead of mine."
"I suppose he knew there was no doubt about that." said Edith, hitting the
precise answer of Fleda's thoughts.
"And what should make him think there was any doubt about mine?" said
Constance tartly.
"O you know," said her sister, "you are so odd nobody can tell what you
will take a fancy to."
"You are--extremely liberal in your expressions, at least, Miss Evelyn,--I
must say," said Constance, with a glance of no doubtful
meaning.--"Joe--did you let Mr. Carleton in?"
"No, ma'am."
"Well let him in next time; and don't let in anybody else."
Whereafter the party relapsed into silent expectation.
It was not many minutes before Mr. Carleton returned.
"Tell your friend, Miss Constance," he said putting an exquisite little
vinaigrette into her hand,--"that I have nothing worse for her than that."
"Worse than this!" said Constance examining it. "Mr. Carleton--I doubt
exceedingly whether smelling this will afford Miss Ringgan any benefit."
"Why, Miss Constance?"
"Because--it has made me sick only to look at it!"
"There will be no danger for her," he said smiling.
"Won't there?--Well, Fleda my dear--here, take it," said the young
lady;--"I hope you are differently constituted from me, for I feel a
sudden pain since I saw it;--but as you keep your eyes shut and so escape
the sight of this lovely gold chasing, perhaps it will do you no
mischief."
"It will do her all the more good for that," said Mrs. Evelyn.
The only ears that took the benefit of this speech were Edith's and Mr.
Carleton's; Fleda's were deafened by the rush of feeling. She very little
knew what she was holding. Mr. Carleton stood with rather significant
gravity watching the effect of his prescription, while Edith beset her
mother to know why the outside of the vinaigrette being of gold should
make it do Fleda any more good; the disposing of which question
effectually occupied Mrs. Evelyn's attention for some time.
"And pray how long is it since you took up the trade of a physician, Mr.
Carleton?" said Constance.
"It is--just about nine years, Miss Constance," he answered gravely.
But that little reminder, slight as it was, overcame the small remnant of
Fleda's self-command; the vinaigrette fell from her hands and her face was
hid in them; whatever became of pain, tears must flow.
"Forgive me," said Mr. Carleton gently, bending down towards her, "for
speaking when I should have been silent.--Miss Evelyn, and Miss Constance,
will you permit me to order that my patient be left in quiet."
And he took them away to Mrs. Evelyn's quarter, and kept them all three
engaged in conversation, too busily to trouble Fleda with any attention;
till she had had ample time to try the effect of the quiet and of the
vinegar both. Then he went himself to look after her.
"Are you better?" said he, bending down and speaking low.
Fleda opened her eyes and gave him, what a look!--of grateful feeling. She
did not know the half that was in it; but he did. That she was better was
a very small item.
"Ready for the coffee?" said he smiling.
"O no," whispered Fleda,--"it don't matter about that--never mind
the coffee!"
But he went back with his usual calmness to Mrs. Evelyn and begged
that she would have the goodness to order a cup of rather strong
coffee to be made.
"But Mr. Carleton, sir," said that lady,--"I am not at all sure that it
would be the best thing for Miss Ringgan--if she is better,--I think it
would do her far more good to go to rest and let sleep finish her cure,
before taking something that will make sleep impossible."
"Did you ever hear of a physician, Mrs. Evelyn," he said smiling, "that
allowed his prescriptions to be interfered with? I must beg you will do me
this favour."
"I doubt very much whether it will be a favour to Miss Ringgan," said Mrs.
Evelyn,--"however--"
And she rang the bell and gave the desired order, with a somewhat
disconcerted face. But Mr. Carleton again left Fleda to herself and
devoted his attention to the other ladies, with so much success, though
with his usual absence of effort, that good humour was served long before
the coffee.
Then indeed he played the physician's part again; made the coffee himself
and saw it taken, according to his own pleasure; skilfully however seeming
all the while, except to Fleda, to be occupied with everything else. The
group gathered round her anew; she was well enough to bear their talk by
this time; by the time the coffee was drunk quite well.
"Is it quite gone?" asked Edith.
"The headache?--yes."
"You will owe your physician a great many thanks, my dear Fleda," said
Mrs. Evelyn.
Fleda's only answer to this, however, was by a very slight smile; and
she presently left the room to go up stairs and arrange her yet
disarranged hair.
"That is a very fine girl," remarked Mrs. Evelyn, preparing half a cup of
coffee for herself in a kind of amused abstraction,--"my friend Mr. Thorn
will have an excellent wife of her."
"Provided she marries him," said Constance somewhat shortly.
"I am sure I hope she won't," said Edith,--"and I don't believe
she will."
"What do you think of his chances of success, Mr. Carleton?"
"Your manner of speech would seem to imply that they are very good, Mrs.
Evelyn," he answered coolly.
"Well don't you think so?" said Mrs. Evelyn, coming back to her seat with
her coffee-cup, and apparently dividing her attention between it and her
subject,--"It's a great chance for her--most girls in her circumstances
would not refuse it--_I_ think he's pretty sure of his ground."
"So I think," said Florence.
"It don't prove anything, if he is," said Constance dryly. "I hate people
who are always sure of their ground!"
"What do you think, Mr. Carleton?" said Mrs. Evelyn, taking little
satisfied sips of her coffee.
"May I ask, first, what is meant by the 'chance' and what by the
'circumstances.'"
"Why Mr. Thorn has a fine fortune, you know, and he is of an excellent
family--there is not a better family in the city--and very few young men
of such pretensions would think of a girl that has no name nor standing."
"Unless she had qualities that would command them," said Mr. Carleton.
"But Mr. Carleton, sir," said the lady,--"do you think that can be? do you
think a woman can fill gracefully a high place in society if she has had
disadvantages in early life to contend with that were calculated to unfit
her for it?"
"But mamma," said Constance,--"Fleda don't shew any such thing."
"No, she don't shew it," said Mrs. Evelyn,--"but I am not talking of
Fleda--I am talking of the effect of early disadvantages. What do you
think, Mr. Carleton?"
"Disadvantages of what kind, Mrs. Evelyn?"
"Why, for instance--the strange habits of intercourse, on familiar terms,
with rough and uncultivated people,--such intercourse for years--in all
sorts of ways,--in the field and in the house,--mingling with them as one
of them--it seems to me it must leave its traces on the mind and on the
habits of acting and thinking?"
"There is no doubt it does," he answered with an extremely
unconcerned face.
"And then there's the actual want of cultivation," said Mrs. Evelyn,
warming;--"time taken up with other things, you know,--usefully and
properly, but still taken up,--so as to make much intellectual acquirement
and accomplishments impossible; it can't be otherwise, you know,--neither
opportunity nor instructors; and I don't think anything can supply the
want in after life--it isn't the mere things themselves which may be
acquired--the mind should grow up in the atmosphere of them--don't you
think so, Mr. Carleton?"
He bowed.
"Music, for instance, and languages, and converse with society, and a
great many things, are put completely beyond reach;--Edith, my dear, you
are not to touch the coffee,--nor Constance either,--no I will not let
you,--And there could not be even much reading, for want of books if for
nothing else. Perhaps I am wrong, but I confess I don't see how it is
possible in such a case"--
She checked herself suddenly, for Fleda with the slow noiseless step that
weakness imposed had come in again and stood by the centre-table.
"We are discussing a knotty question, Miss Ringgan," said Mr. Carleton
with a smile, as he brought a bergère for her; "I should like to have your
voice on it."
There was no seconding of his motion. He waited till she had seated
herself and then went on.
"What in your opinion is the best preparation for wearing
prosperity well?"
A glance at Mrs. Evelyn's face which was opposite her, and at one or two
others which had undeniably the air of being _arrested_, was enough for
Fleda's quick apprehension. She knew they had been talking of her. Her
eyes stopped short of Mr. Carleton's and she coloured and hesitated. No
one spoke.
"By prosperity you mean--?"
"Rank and fortune," said Florence, without looking up.
"Marrying a rich man, for instance," said Edith, "and having one's
hands full."
This peculiar statement of the case occasioned a laugh all round, but the
silence which followed seemed still to wait upon Fleda's reply.
"Am I expected to give a serious answer to that question?" she said a
little doubtfully.
"Expectations are not stringent things," said her first questioner
smiling. "That waits upon your choice."
"They are horridly stringent, _I_ think," said Constance. "We shall all be
disappointed if you don't, Fleda my dear."
"By wearing it 'well' you mean, making a good use of it?"
"And gracefully," said Mrs. Evelyn.
"I think I should say then," said Fleda after some little hesitation and
speaking with evident difficulty,--"Such an experience as might teach one
both the worth and the worthlessness of money."
Mr. Carleton's smile was a sufficiently satisfied one; but Mrs.
Evelyn retorted,
"The _worth_ and the _worthlessness!_--Fleda my dear, I don't
understand--"
"And what experience teaches one the worth and what the worthlessness of
money?" said Constance;--"Mamma is morbidly persuaded that I do not
understand the first--of the second I have an indefinite idea from never
being able to do more than half that I want with it."
Fleda smiled and hesitated again, in a way that shewed she would willingly
be excused, but the silence left her no choice but to speak.
"I think," she said modestly, "that a person can hardly understand the
true worth of money,--the ends it can best subserve,--that has not been
taught it by his own experience of the want; and--"
"What follows?" said Mr. Carleton.
"I was going to say, sir, that there is danger, especially when people
have not been accustomed to it, that they will greatly overvalue and
misplace the real worth of prosperity; unless the mind has been steadied
by another kind of experience, and has learnt to measure things by a
higher scale."
"And how when they _have_ been accustomed to it?" said Florence.
"The same danger, without the 'especially'," said Fleda, with a look that
disclaimed any assuming.
"One thing is certain," said Constance,--"you hardly ever see _les
nouveaux riches_ make a graceful use of anything.--Fleda my dear, I am
seconding all of your last speech that I understand. Mamma, I perceive, is
at work upon the rest."
"I think we ought all to be at work upon it," said Mrs. Evelyn, "for Miss
Ringgan has made it out that there is hardly anybody here that is
qualified to wear prosperity well."
"I was just thinking so," said Florence.
Fleda said nothing, and perhaps her colour rose a little.
"I will take lessons of her," said Constance, with eyebrows just raised
enough to neutralize the composed gravity of the other features,--"as soon
as I have an amount of prosperity that will make it worth while."
"But I don't think," said Florence, "that a graceful use of things is
consistent with such a careful valuation and considering of the exact
worth of everything--it's not my idea of grace."
"Yet _propriety_ is an essential element of gracefulness, Miss Evelyn."
"Well," said Florence,--"certainly; but what then?"
"Is it attainable, in the use of means, without a nice knowledge of their
true value?"
"But, Mr. Carleton, I am sure I have seen improper things--things improper
in a way--gracefully done?"
"No doubt; but, Miss Evelyn," said he smiling "the impropriety did not in
those cases, I presume, attach itself to the other quality. The graceful
_manner_ was strictly proper to its ends, was it not, however the ends
might be false?"
"I don't know," said Florence;--"you have gone too deep for me. But do
you think that close calculation, and all that sort of thing, is
likely to make people use money, or anything else, gracefully? I never
thought it did."
"Not close calculation alone," said Mr. Carleton.
"But do you think it is _consistent_ with gracefulness?"
"The largest and grandest views of material things that man has ever
taken, Miss Evelyn, stand upon a basis of the closest calculation."
Florence worked at her worsted and looked very dissatisfied.
"O Mr. Carleton," said Constance as he was going,--"don't leave your
vinaigrette--there it is on the table."
He made no motion to take it up.
"Don't you know, Miss Constance, that physicians seldom like to have
anything to do with their own prescriptions?"
"It's very suspicious of them," said Constance;--"but you must take it,
Mr. Carleton, if you please, for I shouldn't like the responsibility of
its being left here; and I am afraid it would be dangerous to our peace of
mind, besides."
"I shall risk that," he said laughing. "Its work is not done."
"And then, Mr. Carleton," said Mrs. Evelyn, and Fleda knew with what a
look,--"you know physicians are accustomed to be paid when their
prescriptions are taken."
But the answer to this was only a bow, so expressive in its air of haughty
coldness that any further efforts of Mrs. Evelyn's wit were chilled for
some minutes after he had gone.
Fleda had not seen this. She had taken up the vinaigrette, and was
thinking with acute pleasure that Mr. Carleton's manner last night and
to-night had returned to all the familiar kindness of old times. Not as it
had been during the rest of her stay in the city. She could be quite
contented now to have him go back to England, with this pleasant
remembrance left her. She sat turning over the vinaigrette, which to her
fancy was covered with hieroglyphics that no one else could read; of her
uncle's affair, of Charlton's danger, of her own distress, and the
kindness which had wrought its relief, more penetrating and pleasant than
even the fine aromatic scent which fairly typified it,--Constance's voice
broke in upon her musings.
"Isn't it awkward?" she said as she saw Fleda handling and looking at the
pretty toy,--"Isn't it awkward? I sha'n't have a bit of rest now for fear
something will happen to that. I hate to have people do such things!"
"Fleda my dear," said Mrs. Evelyn,--"I wouldn't handle it, my love; you
may depend there is some charm in it--some mischievous hidden
influence,--and if you have much to do with it I am afraid you will
find a gradual coldness stealing over you, and a strange forgetfulness
of Queechy, and you will perhaps lose your desire ever to go back there
any more."
The vinaigrette dropped from Fleda's fingers, but beyond a heightened
colour and a little tremulous gravity about the lip, she gave no other
sign of emotion.
"Mamma," said Florence laughing,--"you are too bad!"
"Mamma," said Constance, "I wonder how any tender sentiment for you can
continue to exist in Fleda's breast!--By the way, Fleda, my dear, do you
know that we have heard of two escorts for you? but I only tell you
because I know you'll not be fit to travel this age."
"I should not be able to travel to-morrow," said Fleda.
"They are not going to-morrow," said Mrs. Evelyn quietly.
"Who are they?"
"Excellent ones," said Mrs. Evelyn. "One of them is your old friend
Mr. Olmney,"
"Mr. Olmney!" said Fleda. "What has brought him to New York?"
"Really," said Mrs. Evelyn laughing,--"I do not know. What should keep
him away? I was very glad to see him, for my part. Maybe he has come to
take you home."
"Who is the other?" said Fleda.
"That's another old friend of yours--Mrs. Renney."
"Mrs. Renney?--who is she?" said Fleda.
"Why don't you know? Mrs. Renney--she used to live with your aunt Lucy in
some capacity--years ago,--when she was in New York,--housekeeper, I
think; don't you remember her?"
"Perfectly, now," said Fleda. "Mrs. Renney!--"
"She has been housekeeper for Mrs. Schenck these several years, and she is
going somewhere out West to some relation, her brother, I believe, to take
care of his family; and her road leads her your way."
"When do they go, Mrs. Evelyn?"
"Both the same day, and both the day after to-morrow. Mr. Olmney takes the
morning train, he says, unless you would prefer some other,--I told him
you were very anxious to go,--and Mrs. Renney goes in the afternoon. So
there's a choice for you."
"Mamma," said Constance, "Fleda is not fit to go at all, either time."
"I don't think she is," said Mrs. Evelyn. "But she knows best what she
likes to do."
Thoughts and resolutions came swiftly one after another into Fleda's mind
and were decided upon in as quick succession. First, that she must go the
day after to-morrow, at all events. Second, that it should not be with
Mr. Olmney. Third, that to prevent that, she must not see him in the mean
time, and therefore--yes, no help for it,--must refuse to see any one that
called the next day; there was to be a party in the evening, so then she
would be safe. No doubt Mr. Carleton would come, to give her a more
particular account of what he had done, and she wished unspeakably to hear
it; but it was not possible that she should make an exception in his
favour and admit him alone. That could not be. If friends would only be
simple and straightforward and kind,--one could afford to be
straightforward too;--but as it was she must not do what she longed to do
and they would be sure to misunderstand. There was indeed the morning of
the day following left her if Mr. Olmney did not take it into his head to
stay. And it might issue in her not seeing Mr. Carleton at all, to bid
good-bye and thank him? He would not think her ungrateful, he knew better
than that, but still--Well! so much for kindness!--
"What _are_ you looking so grave about?" said Constance.
"Considering ways and means," Fleda said with a slight smile.
"Ways and means of what?"
"Going."
"You don't mean to go the day after to-morrow?"
"Yes."
"It's too absurd for anything! You sha'n't do it."
"I must indeed."
"Mamma," said Constance, "if you permit such a thing, I shall hope that
memory will be a fingerboard of remorse to you, pointing to Miss Ringgan's
pale cheeks."
"I shall charge it entirely upon Miss Ringgan's own fingerboard," said
Mrs. Evelyn, with her complacently amused face. "Fleda, my dear,--shall I
request Mr. Olmney to delay his journey for a day or two, my love, till
you are stronger?"
"Not at all, Mrs. Evelyn! I shall go then;--if I am not ready in the
morning I will take Mrs. Renney in the afternoon--I would quite as lief go
with her."
"Then I will make Mr. Olmney keep to his first purpose," said Mrs. Evelyn.
Poor Fleda, though with a very sorrowful heart, kept her resolutions, and
for very forlornness and weariness slept away a great part of the next
day. Neither would she appear in the evening, for fear of more people than
one. It was impossible to tell whether Mrs. Evelyn's love of mischief
would not bring Mr. Olmney there, and the Thorns, she knew, were invited.
Mr. Lewis would probably absent himself, but Fleda could not endure even
the chance of seeing his mother. She wanted to know, but dared not ask,
whether Mr. Carleton had been to see her. What if to-morrow morning should
pass without her seeing him? Fleda pondered this uncertainty a little,
and then jumped out of bed and wrote him the heartiest little note of
thanks and remembrance that tears would let her write; sealed it, and
carried it herself to the nearest branch of the despatch post the first
thing next morning.
She took a long look that same morning at the little vinaigrette which
still lay on the centre-table, wishing very much to take it up stairs and
pack it away among her things. It was meant for her she knew, and she
wanted it as a very pleasant relic from the kind hands that had given it;
and besides, he might think it odd if she should slight his intention. But
how odd it would seem to him if he knew that the Evelyns had half
appropriated it. And appropriate it anew, in another direction, she could
not. She could not without their knowledge, and they would put their own
absurd construction on what was a simple matter of kindness; she could not
brave it.
[Illustration: "I told him, 'O you were not gone yet!'"]
The morning, a long one it was, had passed away; Fleda had just finished
packing her trunk, and was sitting with a faint-hearted feeling of body
and mind, trying to rest before being called to her early dinner, when
Florence came to tell her it was ready.
"Mr. Carleton was here awhile ago," she said, "and he asked for you; but
mamma said you were busy; she knew you had enough to tire you without
coming down stairs to see him. He asked when you thought of going."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him, 'O you were not gone yet!'--it's such a plague to be bidding
people good-bye--_I_ always want to get rid of it. Was I right?"
Fleda said nothing, but in her heart she wondered what possible concern it
could be of her friends if Mr. Carleton wanted to see her before she went
away. She felt it was unkind--they did not know how unkind, for they did
not understand that he was a very particular friend and an old
friend--they could not tell what reason there was for her wishing to bid
him good-bye. She thought she should have liked to do it, very much.