MRS. ANGLESEA'S VISIT
It was late in the winter afternoon when Mr. and Mrs. Force, with their
family and guest, reached Mondreer.
They were met by attentive servants, who were eager to behold the
returning bride and bridegroom, and looked astonished to see the bride
return in charge of her parents, accompanied by a strange woman.
"Where was the bridegroom?" was the question that their amazed faces put,
though their tongues said nothing.
An accident must have happened. His horses must have run away and upset
the carriage. Maybe he might be brought home on a stretcher presently.
They curbed their curiosity until they could interview the coachman, who
must know all about it.
They waited on the returning party in respectful silence.
"Miss Meeke, my dear," said Mrs. Force, as they entered the hall, "will
you oblige me and take charge of our guest, and show her into the best
spare room, where there is a fire, and attend to her comfort? Take
Wynnette with you. You see, dear, that I have to give my whole care to my
poor child here. Mrs. Anglesea, I am sure you will excuse me for a little
while?"
"Oh, go along with you and look after the gal! She's 'most dead! How she
can take on so after that beat beats me! Lord! there's no accounting for
gals' whims! But there! go along with her. Never mind me; I can make
myself at home anywheres!" exclaimed the visitor, beginning to pull off
her overshoes then and there.
Miss Meeke and Wynnette invited and conducted her upstairs to the best
bedchamber, situated in front of the house, with windows overlooking the
bay; furnished with maple wood and blue chintz, and warmed by a fine,
open, wood fire.
Wynnette drew an armchair to the fire, and made the panting guest sit down
in it, while Miss Meeke looked to the washstand, to see if there were
water and towels enough.
"I have to get one of you young ones to lend me the loan of a hair brush
and comb, for I didn't bring any. If I had knowed I was coming, I'd 'a'
done it. But, Lord! no one ever knows! And there! I have just remembered
as I never took leave of that good soul, Miss Sibby! And whatever will she
think of me, a-going off at a tangent in this onthankful manner?"
meandered the woman, talking partly to her attendants and partly to
herself.
"Oh, she will say you were so flambergasted by the rumpus--I mean confused
and excited by the occasion--that you forgot to bid her good-by," said
Wynnette.
"You will find new combs and hair brushes, and everything else you will
require, on the dressing table, or on the washstand," Miss Meeke
explained.
While the governess and her pupil were doing all they could to make the
stranger guest comfortable in the spare room, Mrs. Force, assisted by her
woman, Luce, and followed by Elva, supported her helpless daughter up to
Odalite's own room, where they undressed and put her to bed.
Odalite soon fell into a deep sleep.
Her mother sat down by her bed to watch, and told Elva to go downstairs
and help to entertain their guest; and told Luce to leave the room, but to
remain within call.
When the lady was left alone with her sleeping child, and had time to
collect her thoughts, she was divided between a sense of relief in her
daughter's unexpected rescue from the martyrdom of an abhorrent marriage,
and terror as to what the archenemy and artful plotter might do next.
Would he pocket his shame and go back to his own land?
Would he linger in the neighborhood, stubborn, defiant and aggressive, as
he had shown himself in the church?
Above all, would he attempt to see her again, to get any other advantage
over her from the power he possessed in the knowledge of her secret?
He could not insist on any marital rights over Odalite--that was quite
certain now.
Would he demand money as the price of his silence? If so, he should have
all the money she could command of her own by the sale of her jewels,
laces and India shawls, on condition that he should leave the country.
And still her thoughts reverted to the great relief that she felt in the
fact that he could no longer persecute Odalite. The proof of his former
marriage in the substantial presence of his living wife forbade that.
This latter suggested another question:
What under heaven could have caused Angus Anglesea--certainly a gentleman
by birth and position; certainly a man of cultivated mind, fastidious
tastes and of refined manners, except when evil passions got the mastery
and turned him, for the time, into a ruffian--what could have induced such
a man to marry such a woman as she who claimed to be his wife?
In the midst of these speculations, the door opened silently, and Abel
Force entered the room on tiptoes, and silently signaled his wife to come
and speak to him.
She arose and went to meet him.
"How is Odalite?"
"She is sound asleep--so sound that you need not fear to wake her,"
replied the lady.
"But, is that sleep well? She was very lethargic in the church, I noticed.
Had I not better send for a physician?"
"No, no, certainly not. Her sleep is well. It is the effect of an opiate I
gave her. The best treatment under the circumstances. Do not feel the
least anxious as to present or future consequences of this day's events.
Believe me, our child will never break her heart for the loss of that
unmasked villain."
"And yet he was a friend of yours, Elfrida?"
"Never! I told you so from the beginning of your acquaintance with him. I
explained that he was my brother's friend, and that they were brother
officers in the Indian campaign. I distinctly assured you that he was not
my friend."
"Ah, I remember! Then it was his manner that misled me. Well, he is gone.
Let him go. I hope he will soon take his departure for his own country.
Great Heaven! Suppose the criminal marriage had been consummated before
the discovery of the living wife had been made! Elfrida, I should have
killed that man! Oh, my dear, it is not only the murderers who are
criminally capable of murder!"
"Do not talk so, Abel. The temptation was saved you."
"By a hair's breadth only. It was a narrow escape!"
"Oh, no! The woman, I hear, had been in the neighborhood for a week past,
watching him, no doubt."
"Then, why in the name of decency did she not make herself and her claims
known to us sooner, and here, at the house?"
"I do not know, unless she wished to put him to a public shame. She says
she has a great deal to tell us; perhaps she will tell us that."
"I shall ask for an explanation of that, at least. Well, my dear, I will
leave you with our child. You will come down as soon as you can."
"I will join you at dinner," said the lady.
And, as her husband left the room, she went and resumed her seat by her
daughter's bedside.
Wynnette and Elva, who had not at all changed their pretty bridesmaids'
dresses of cream-white cashmere trimmed with satin, were seated at the
piano in the drawing room, playing a duet for the entertainment of Mrs.
Anglesea, who sat in a big, blue velvet rocker, and applauded whenever the
music pleased her.
Miss Meeke had taken temporary charge of household affairs, and was out
advising the servants.
The truth about the absence of the bridegroom had to be told some time or
other, and so she told them then and there of the interrupted wedding, and
of the identity of their new guest as the lawful wife of Col. Anglesea.
Though the faithful negroes were full of wrath against the impostor, and
would have liked to hang him on a tree until dead, yet, upon the whole,
they were glad of what had happened. They had never liked "the furriner,"
as they called Col. Anglesea, and they felt secretly delighted that he was
not to marry their young mistress, to take her away to "furrin" parts.
"To go to want to marry our young mistress, and he wid anoder wife libin'!
Oh, de wickedness ob mankind! But it is a habit dey gibs deirselves,
child'en! 'Deed it is! Nuffin' 'tall but a habit dey gibs deirselves!"
said Aunt Lucy, dogmatically.
"But 'bout de deception, miss?" inquired the cook.
"There will be no reception. The minister was requested to announce from
the chancel that there could be none," replied the young lady.
"Lor'! Lor'! Lor'! An' all dem good t'ings to eat goin' to waste!"
deplored the cook.
"They need not. Cakes and sweetmeats and candies will keep until they are
consumed."
"Yes, miss; but de chickun sallit, an' de bone turkey, an' de pattydy four
craws, dey won't keep till to-morrow, not even on ice."
"I suppose, then, that what cannot be consumed to-day must be lost. I see
no remedy."
"An' whey we gwine to set de dinner table, w'en de dinin' room is all took
up long ob de weddin' feas' spread out on dat yonder stension table? We
ain't got time to take all de fings offen dat!"
"No, indeed, you have not. You had better lock up the dining room, just as
it stands, to wait your mistress' orders, and set the table in the sitting
room."