IN THE ANCIENT MANSION.
“My cousin Jessica! I bid you welcome. Studying my wonderful old
carpet, I see. Your mother did that before you, child, and many another
Waldron besides her. Mr. Hale, I am happy to meet you. Be seated,
please. This other gentleman----”
“Ephraim Marsh, at your sarvice, Ma’am. I belong to Miss Trent. I’m
from Sobrante with her, Ma’am.”
Mr. Hale waited with much interest for what might follow this
statement, but was unprepared for the gracious suavity of Madam
Dalrymple, of whose temper he had heard much. With a kindly, if
patronizing, smile she waved Ephraim aside, directing her own old
servitor to:
“Take Marsh below, Tipkins, and see that he has refreshments.”
Evidently, the Madam had accepted the sharpshooter as a correct feature
of the situation, considering that it was the mark of a gentlewoman
to be well attended; and as the two old men left the room he wondered
how “Forty-niner” himself would relish being classed with the servants
“below stairs.” However, Ephraim cared not one whit for that. He had
attained his ambition. He had come east to share in educating his
“little Captain” and he was now assigned to a home in the same house
with her. “Hooray!” was his thought; and, further, that as soon as one
other small matter was settled he would sit him down and write a letter
to the other “boys” that would make them stare.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Dalrymple sank gracefully into a deep chair, displaying
no sign of the intense pain each movement cost her and physically
unable to stand for a moment longer. Thence she held out a thin white
hand toward the girl who had not yet risen from the floor, nor left off
staring at the lady before her--so wholly different from the picture
she had formed of the “stern old woman” with whom she was to live.
Now blushing at her own rudeness, which she was sure the other had
observed, she rose and came slowly forward and took the extended hand.
Poor hand! So white, yet with such cruelly gnarled and swollen joints!
There was no kiss proffered from either side; even impulsive Jessica
feeling that she would no more dare touch that person in the arm-chair
than she would a bit of the most delicate, and forbidden, porcelain.
“Thank you for welcoming me, Cousin Margaret; if I am to call you
that?” said “Lady Jess,” all the wonder and admiration she felt showing
in her face.
“Certainly, my dear. We are second-cousins twice removed.”
“Then, Cousin Margaret, my mother sends you her dear love and great
respect; and I am to obey you in all things--all things that I can; and
I am to do for you whatever you will let me.”
With that, having ended her little speech as duly instructed by her
mother, Jessica folded her arms across her bosom and tossed back her
yellow curls, in a characteristic gesture, now wholly familiar to Mr.
Hale, but which to a stranger had a little air of defiance. So Mrs.
Dalrymple interpreted it, and with some amusement asked:
“You make some reservation of your obedience, then, do you, Cousin
Jessica? Like Gabriella herself. Meaning, maybe, to obey me when and
only when it suits your mood to do so. Very well; we shall understand
each other perfectly; and those who understand know how to avoid
collision. Be assured, we shall never quarrel, little cousin.”
Jessica was troubled. She felt she had expressed herself badly and
offended this wonderful lady whom she longed to have love her, and who
seemed so little inclined to do so. She hastened to explain:
“I meant only if you should happen to tell me to do something that I
felt wasn’t right--or that is different from what my mother likes--or,
oh! dear! Please _do_ understand what I want to say, for, truly, it was
nothing naughty!”
Madam Dalrymple laughed, and answered:
“Your words, little cousin, are but another instance of the fact that
explanations are the most hopeless things in this world. When Gabriella
left me she, too, tried to ‘explain’ and failed to make a bit of change
in the bare truth. She left me because she wished. You’ll disobey me,
if you do, because you wish. That’s the matter in a nutshell. One thing
I’ll make clear at the beginning: I shall lay no unnecessary commands
upon you, and I shall insist that you remember everywhere and always
that you are a--_Waldron_. You belong to a race that has high ideals
and lives up to them. Ah! yes! One other thing. I don’t care for
demonstrations of affection. We have not come together because we are,
or ever will be, fond of one another; but because we are both Waldrons
and the time is fitting.
“Ah! must you leave us, Mr. Hale? Beg pardon for not--not having
attended more to you than to the child there; and thank you for your
safe escort of her. I shall write my cousin Gabriella at once and
inform her that Jessica has arrived. Good morning.”
Mr. Hale bowed himself out, feeling almost as if he were deserting his
traveling companion to a most unhappy fate. For a girl like “Lady Jess”
to be housed with Madam Dalrymple seemed a bitter thing. The child
had lived in the sunshine, materially and spiritually, and the gloom
of that old mansion in Washington Square had been oppressive even to
him and during such a brief stay. And for the first time since he had
discovered “Forty-niner” a runaway on the train he was thankful for his
presence.
“There’s a trio of stubborn wills shut up in that dark house, this
minute, for even Miss Jessie has a will of her own; as for those of the
Madam and Ephraim, should they happen to clash, I wonder which would
conquer! However, I’ve done with them, for the present, and now for
home and my own dear girls!” thought the lawyer, as he reentered the
waiting carriage and was driven toward the station which led to his own
home, a few miles north of town.
Madam Dalrymple made a slight motion to rise and dropped the slender
cane which had rested against her chair, and the “tap-tapping” of which
had announced her coming through the hall. Instantly, Jessica had
picked it up and restored it, and was as promptly thanked. Moreover the
lady’s eyes, still marvelously dark and bright for one so old, rested
with an interested expression on the young face before them.
“That was well thought, Cousin Jessica. Your mother must have trained
you better than I feared, living so in the wilderness.”
“Oh! it isn’t a wilderness, not in the least. It is the most beautiful
spot in all the world! New York can’t compare with our lovely
Sobrante--not compare! And I hope she didn’t have to ‘train’ me to do a
thing like that, which nobody could help doing, could they?”
“Came naturally, eh? Better still. Sit down. It tires me to see you
standing. Luncheon will be served at one and it is almost that time
now. Sit down and tell me about your journey--or anything you choose.
Only speak low. I observe that by nature, if you are not excited,
your voice is fairly good. Gentlewomen are never noisy nor obtrusive.
Remember that.”
Jessica would rather have remained standing, or, better still, have
stepped through the long open window out into that rain-drenched old
garden, a-glitter now in the sunshine that was almost as bright as
Sobrante’s. But she reflected that here was her first chance to “obey”
and placed herself on a low stool near her hostess, fixing her gaze
upon the lady’s face with a curiosity that failed to offend, it was so
full of admiration. Yet finding that serene scrutiny somewhat trying,
Mrs. Dalrymple herself opened the conversation by asking:
“Does Gabriella, your mother, keep her good looks? Or is she faded from
that rude life she leads and the sorrow she has met?”
“Faded? My--mother--faded? Why, how queer! Cousin Margaret Dalrymple,
she is almost the most beautiful woman in all southern California.
Truly! Mr. Ninian says so, and Mr. Hale did, and--and I think so! She
is just like the Madonna picture in Fra Sebastian’s house, she is
so lovely. Her hair--her hair isn’t quite as white as yours, it is
a beautiful dark gold color--but she has almost as much as you. She
doesn’t wear it in that puffed up, frizzly kind of way, but just turns
it back in one big coil that is--is lovely.”
Mrs. Dalrymple slightly winced. She did wear a profusion of snow-white
locks, as became a venerable woman of fashion, and Jessica was not wise
enough, as yet, to know that such headgear may be bought in a shop
and put on or off at will. The next question followed rather soon and
sharply:
“Does she still sing? She once had a charming voice.”
“Oh! it is like the birds in the trees along the arroyo to hear my
mother sing! She doesn’t often now, it makes her think so much of my
father. Why, all the ‘boys’ say that it was something wonderful when
they two sang together of a Sunday morning, or sometimes at night. John
Benton said it was as near like the music of Heaven as anything on the
earth could be. John is very religious, John is; only, sometimes, when
Aunt Sally tries his patience very much he says--he says things that
don’t sound nice. But Samson is religiouser even than John. They’re
both of them just perfectly splendid ‘boys.’ Oh! all our ‘boys’ are
fine, just fine! You’d love them every one!” answered Jessica with
enthusiasm.
“Humph! I was never any too fond of ‘boys,’ and Gabriella must be crazy
to try and run a ranch by the aid of a few ‘boys.’ Why doesn’t she
employ men, if so be she will persist in living in such an outlandish
place?”
“Little Captain” smiled.
“Well, I suppose they’re not exactly real boys, like Ned or Luis.
They’re quite grown up and gray-headed, most of them. They all worked
for my father, who found them scattered about the world, sort of ‘down
on their luck,’ as Marty says, and brought them all to dear Sobrante to
give them a home and ‘another chance.’ They just about worshipped my
father, I guess, and I know they do my darling mother. Oh! I wish you
could see her!”
“It is wholly her own fault that I cannot. Here comes Tipkins to
announce luncheon, and I have quite forgotten that you should have been
taken to your room to freshen yourself after your journey. Odd! that
Gabriella should have sent a man and not a maid with you. But I suppose
she knew I would prefer one of my own selection, here in the east.”
“Oh! She didn’t _send_ Ephraim. He--he just came because he loved me so
and wouldn’t stay behind. He-- Why dear old ‘Forty-niner’ actually ran
away! Fancy! Just as the _little_ boys so love to do.”
“Humph! A strange life, a strange bringing up you seem to have had.
Tipkins, send Barnes to attend Miss Jessica.”
“Yes, Madam, I’ll--try,” replied the old servant, bowing and
withdrawing upon the errand. Both he and his mistress well knew that
Barnes, my lady’s-maid, was rarely “sent” upon any errand her own will
did not dictate, and that she had more than once declared, since the
coming of Jessica had been decided upon, that “the Madam needn’t go for
to expect me to ’tend upon no brats at my time of life, nor she needn’t
ask it. If she does I’ll give notice and that’ll settle _her_.”
However, curiosity often accomplishes what authority cannot; and
because Tipkins had reported below stairs that “our Miss Gabriella’s
little daughter looks like a hangel out of Heaven,” and the
sharpshooter had treated her maidship with such profound reverence,
upon being presented as “Miss Jessica’s man”--the arbitrary Barnes
condescended to obey the present summons.
Mrs. Dalrymple had made a slight effort to rise from her chair and
Jessica had already sprung forward to help her, when the white-capped
and white-haired maid appeared; but the lady now sank back again,
directing:
“Show Miss Jessica to her room, Barnes, please, and help her to make
what slight change is necessary now. Her luggage can be unpacked before
dinner. I will wait here for her.”
“Luncheon is served, Madam,” remonstrated the maid, rather sharply.
“It can be put back. I will wait for you here,” returned the mistress
with equal sharpness.
With a sniff and a bridling of her head Barnes departed, bidding
Jessica: “This way, please, and mind the stairs. All this twaddle about
old things being better’n new and risking mortals’ legs on rags, beats
me. Hmm. Some folks grow queerer as they grow older, some does.”
Jessica followed in wondering silence and, although warned to “mind the
stairs,” caught her toe in the frayed covering of one and fell. But she
was up again as soon as down and without quite understanding why was
indignant with her guide for the slighting tone in which she spoke.
Certainly, the carpet had once been a very fine one. Even now, where an
unbroken spot appeared, the foot sank deep into a mossy greenness that
was delightful, and fully bore out the vivid description of this old
home which her mother had sometimes given her.
But even in Mrs. Trent’s own girlhood days the furnishings of this
ancient mansion had become worn almost to uselessness, and the years
which had elapsed since then had finished the work of destruction. In
truth, all the floor coverings were now but what Barnes called “man
traps,” where unwary feet would be caught and falls result.
“’Twas one of them same holes the Madam caught her own high heel in
and got an injury was the beginning of her lameness. The doctor calls
it ‘gout,’ he does; but I, well, I calls it ‘pride,’ just plain,
senseless, family pride. Whatever _was_, my lady thinks, is far and
away better nor what _is_. But as for me and the rest of the servants,
give us even the cheapest sort of ‘ingrain,’ providing it was new and
we’d feel safer for our old bones. Well, here is your room, Miss, and
if you’ll let me slip off your frock I’ll soon make you tidy.”
[Illustration: “Thence she held out a thin white hand toward the girl
who had not yet risen from the floor.” (See page 41)]
Had Jessica known it this was a fine concession on the part of
ever-weary Barnes, who acknowledged to her advancing age with a
frankness which her mistress denied, but she looked so tired from her
climb up the long stairs that the girl promptly exclaimed:
“Oh! Don’t you trouble, please, Mrs. Barnes. I can wait upon myself
quite well. Indeed, I never have anybody to wait upon me, except now
and then my darling mother--just for love’s sake.” Then with a swift
recollection of the tenderness those motherly fingers had shown, even
in the matter of buttoning or unbuttoning a frock, her blue eyes
grew moist and for a moment that dreadful homesickness made her turn
half-faint.
Now old Barnes was neither dense nor unkind. She was merely spoiled.
She had domineered over her fractious mistress since both of them were
young and she really felt that she was of more authority in the house
than its owner. She and Tipkins had entered service together, at the
time of Mrs. Dalrymple’s early marriage, and like the storied “brook”
they “had gone on forever.” Dozens, maybe hundreds, of other servants
had “flowed” through the mansion and few had tarried long. None save
these two original servitors willingly put up with the peculiarities of
the Madam, and the old-time inconveniences of the establishment. She
was quick to notice the down dropping of the girlish face and the gleam
of tears beneath the long lashes, and said, consolingly:
“Of course, Miss, it’ll seem lonesome like and different at first. But
you’ll get used to it, you know. A body can get used to anything in
time. I suppose Californy’s a terrible hot place, now ain’t it? So
it’s a good job you’ve come away from it before the summer. That old
man of yours, he’s a queer stick, I judge. But polite, why he’s real
polite. And old. That’s a fine thing, too. If he’d been young, Madam
would have sent him about his business so fast ’twould have made him
dizzy. But she likes everything old. Having old folks about her makes
her forget her own age and fancy herself still a mere girl. Never
remind my lady that she’s not as young as she used to be and you’ll get
on--get on, fairly well, that is. Now, ready? Is that the kind of frock
you generally wear?”
Barnes had comfortably rested in a rocker while Jessica washed and
brushed at the great washstand, furnished with such expensive and badly
nicked china, in one corner of the great chamber. The rocker had been
overlooked, in the preparation of this room for a young girl’s use, and
would have been removed had Madam remembered it. She herself disdained
the use of such a chair and considered it totally unfit for well-bred
people. Easy chairs of ancient and ample proportions--these were quite
different; but until of late, since that accident which Barnes had
mentioned, she had herself never occupied aught but the straight-backed
ones, such as had been the correct thing in her childhood.
“Yes, most of my clothes are made like this. My mother does them. Isn’t
it pretty? I’ve two more;” finished Jessica proudly, sweeping out the
rather scant skirt to show its beauty.
“Two more! Is that all? And you one of the greatest heiresses in the
land, my lady says!” cried Barnes, looking with infinite scorn upon
the simple blue flannel dress which its wearer thought so fine. “Well!
If that ain’t odd! Come. We’ll go down now, and I warn you again--mind
the stairs!”