Meanwhile Maraquita, up on the hill range, was fast recovering her
equanimity. With Lizzie and the Doctor’s bungalow out of sight; with
her mother’s assurance that De Courcelles should be banished from
Beauregard before they returned to it; with recuperated health, and
the prospect of a marriage beyond her most ambitious dreams, life
seemed to stretch out like one long vista of pleasure before her.
Hers was a shallow, frivolous nature, incapable of looking beyond the
present, or of dwelling long upon the past. She was a terrible coward
though, and had she remained on the plantation, and been subjected
to the entreaties and reproaches of her lover, might have thrown up
everything to link her fate with his, and regretted it bitterly for
ever afterwards. The marriage she was about to make with Sir Russell
Johnstone was in reality far better suited to her. So long as he was
attentive to her, and loaded her with presents, she didn’t mind his
being middle-aged and ugly, for she had very little sentiment in her
nature, and no idea of love as it should be betwixt man and woman.
Her notion of a lover was of some one who must be always paying her
compliments, or giving her pretty things, or devising schemes for
her enjoyment, and in these particulars Sir Russell was perfect. He
displayed all the infatuation and imbecility which usually attacks
an elderly man who finds himself in sudden and unexpected possession
of a beautiful girl; and Maraquita could never inhale too much of the
incense of flattery. She bridled, and simpered, and blushed under his
adoring glances, as if she had never been subjected to such an ordeal
before; whilst Mrs Courtney would entreat ‘dear Sir Russell to spare
her little girl such a battery of admiration, or he would frighten
her back into her shell.’ Quita was beginning to give herself also
all the airs and graces of a Governor’s wife, and to hold her head
above even her own mother. The Government Bungalow was charmingly
commodious, and filled with official servants, whom the little lady
ordered about as if they already belonged to her; and in fact she had
already reconciled herself so effectually to her new position, that
she had almost forgotten that which was just past, and which she was
ready to try and believe had never existed. She rode with the Governor,
and walked with him, and smiled at his compliments, and even suffered
him to embrace her, without the least display of repugnance or dislike.
Not that the recollection of Henri de Courcelles had entirely ceased
to trouble her. She thought of him often, but with no warmer feeling
than fear. She would start, every now and then, in the midst of her
occupation, to remember the threat he had made her, and to shiver under
the apprehension that he might fulfil it. She would run at such times
to her mother, and implore her to find out if De Courcelles had really
left their service, and if he had quitted San Diego, or was lingering
round Beauregard. She declared that she never could summon courage to
be married until she knew that there was no fear of her former lover
way-laying her on her way to church, as he had sworn to do, and perhaps
injuring or frightening her into a betrayal of the secret between them.
Mrs Courtney became so anxious at last that her daughter’s mind should
be set at rest, that she asked her husband to join them on the hills
for a few days, thinking it would be safer to confer with him on the
subject by word of mouth, than through a letter. Mr Courtney came up as
soon as his business would permit him, and the first moment his wife
had him to herself, she broached the distasteful subject.
‘What have you done about De Courcelles, Mr Courtney? Have you given
him warning to leave us?’
‘I have, my dear, for I feel very dissatisfied concerning him. I
sent for him as soon as you had left home, as I told you I should,
and informed him that reports had reached me concerning himself and
Maraquita that I could not pass over without comment.’
‘Oh, Mr Courtney! I _begged_ you not to use our dear girl’s name.’
‘Well, I couldn’t tell him a lie, Nita, and I really could invent no
better excuse for sending him away. So I thought honesty would be, as
usual, the best policy.’
‘But what did he say to it?’ demanded Mrs Courtney breathlessly. ‘Did
he deny the fact, or--or--tell any falsehoods about it?’
‘Not that I am aware of. He neither admitted nor denied the truth of
my statement, but I could see from his manner that it had hit home. So
I told him he could stay on the plantation on one condition only, and
that was that he fulfilled his engagement with Lizzie Fellows.’
‘I _wish_ you hadn’t,’ replied his wife, with a look of vexation. ‘I
don’t want him to stay, under any circumstances. Things can never be
the same again between us after the avowal of his impudent pretensions,
and I can’t see how the matter would be improved by his marrying Lizzie
Fellows. In fact, Mr Courtney, I think you should also try and provide
for Lizzie elsewhere, for Quita can hardly notice her when she is Lady
Johnstone, after what she has done.’
‘Nita, I don’t believe she has done anything she need be ashamed of.
I have full faith in Lizzie, as I have told you before, and I will
not insult her by a suspicion of wrong. However, with regard to her
marrying Henri de Courcelles, you may set your mind at rest, for she
has refused him.’
‘Lizzie has _refused_ to marry De Courcelles?’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney,
with amazement.
‘Have I not said so? De Courcelles seemed quite ready to accede to
my proposal, and I gave him a week to settle it in. Before a couple
of days were over our heads, however, he came to tell me that it was
of no use, and Miss Fellows had refused to have anything to do with
him. I told him I couldn’t go back from my word, and that (under
the circumstances) I refused to retain him on the plantation as an
unmarried man, so I would pay him a quarter’s salary, and he must clear
out in a week. But before I did so, I walked down to Lizzie’s bungalow,
and had a very plain conversation with her on the subject.’
Mrs Courtney’s complexion faded to a dull yellow.
‘About the nurse-child? Does she still deny that it is hers?’
‘Emphatically, and with such undeniable sincerity, that I quite believe
her. I would stake my life that she has nothing to do with that child
except to take care of it. She is a most injured woman, in my opinion,
and I urged her, for her own sake as well as ours, to do as her father
(were he living) would command her, and reveal the name of the mother
of the infant.’
‘Oh, Mr Courtney, how _very_ wrong of you to try and make Lizzie break
her oath! Why, it would be _perjury_!’ cried Mrs Courtney, virtuously
indignant, and trembling with anxiety, ‘and I would rather think she
had fallen, than commit such a crime. Surely she was not so weak as to
be persuaded to do such a thing?’
‘No; she is adamant, and her lips are closed like a vice. She refuses
to say anything upon the subject, excepting to reiterate her former
assertion that the child is not hers. And she told me the reason she
had rejected Monsieur de Courcelles’ proposal is because he has said
the same thing of her as other people.’
‘Well, of course. What can she expect?’ said his wife, looking
infinitely relieved. ‘It is very hard on the poor girl, but she is
bound to keep her oath; and people _will_ talk. I have heard the
coolies speaking of it in the most confident manner, as if they had not
the slightest doubt that she is the baby’s mother.’
‘I’d like to hear a coolie talking of her affairs in _my_ presence!’
returned Mr Courtney, clenching his fist. ‘He wouldn’t talk again in
a hurry. If I can’t do anything else for the daughter of my poor dead
friend, I will protect her. But there was something Lizzie said that
somewhat puzzled me, Nita. In speaking of De Courcelles, she used these
terms,--“_He_, who of all others should have died before he accused
me of a crime of which he _knew_ I was guiltless.” She emphasised the
word “_knew_” so deeply that it attracted my attention, and I asked her
_how_ De Courcelles should _know_ of her innocence above other people.
But I could get nothing further out of her. She blushed to her eyes,
poor girl, and was silent; but I was sure she felt she had gone too
far. What can De Courcelles know for certain, Nita? Is it possible he
can have anything to do with this mysterious little stranger at the
bungalow?’
‘Dear me, Mr Courtney, how can _I_ answer the question?’ exclaimed his
wife pettishly. ‘I don’t see anything peculiar in Lizzie’s words. She
meant, doubtless, that being her betrothed husband, he should have had
more faith in her virtue; and so he should. But men judge women by
themselves, and so we seldom come off scot-free. But are you going to
get another overseer? _That_ is the most important thing to me. I can’t
think of that De Courcelles’ presumption with any patience.’
‘Yes, yes, my dear! it is all settled, and he leaves us next week. I
have already engaged his successor--Mr Campbell, who used to manage the
Glendinning estates before old Mr Houston died. He bears an excellent
character, and, I trust, may prove all we require. He is noted for his
kindness to his coolies; and I am afraid De Courcelles has not raised
the character of Beauregard in that respect.’
‘Oh, he is a wretch all round!’ cried Mrs Courtney; ‘and I shall
not breathe freely till he is gone. I hope he will leave the island
altogether.’
‘That I cannot tell you, for I have nothing to do with his movements
after he quits the plantation. I think he is sure to do so, however,
as he is not a favourite in San Diego, and would find it difficult to
get another situation here. But let us talk of something more pleasant,
Nita. How is our Maraquita getting on with the Governor? Is it all
plain sailing?’
‘_Plain sailing?_’ echoed Mrs Courtney. ‘What a term to apply to it.
Why, they positively _adore_ each other, my dear, and are never happy
when apart. Sir Russell is only _too_ charming. He follows Quita about
everywhere, and waits on her like a slave. He has given her the most
exquisite diamond pendant, and an Arab horse that cost him two hundred
pounds. I am longing to see our darling installed as the mistress of
Government House. Sir Russell means to go over to Trinidad for the
honeymoon. The Government steamer will take them on board directly
after the wedding-breakfast; and they will be absent for a month.
The day after they return to Government House, the marriage will be
celebrated by a splendid ball. He is going to issue invitations to
everybody in the island--high and low. Isn’t it noble of Sir Russell?
But he says he would ask the whole world, if he could, to witness his
triumph in the possession of so lovely a bride.’
‘I don’t wonder at his enthusiasm,’ exclaimed the father, ‘for he has
got the loveliest girl in the British possessions! But what about her
fal-lals, my dear? Can they be got ready in time?’
‘Only just enough to go on with, Mr Courtney; but Sir Russell is as
impatient as a boy of twenty, and refuses to wait a day over the
month. I have sent my orders to England, as you desired me; but, of
course, they can’t be here in time. The wedding-dress I can luckily
supply. Perhaps you have forgotten the exquisite dress of Honiton
lace you gave me when the dear child was born. I am having it made up
over white satin; and she could wear nothing, Sir Russell says, more
elegant or appropriate. As the happy event is taking place in the hot
season, Maraquita can wear nothing but white muslin and lace, which I
shall have no trouble in procuring for her; and by the time the rainy
season sets in, her dresses will have arrived from England. Really, Mr
Courtney, it seems as if the fates smiled upon her, for nothing could
be more fortunate than everything has turned out.’
The planter acquiesced in his wife’s opinion, and the few days he spent
on the hills confirmed it as his own. No two people could appear to be
happier than Quita and her _fiancé_. She suffered herself to be loved,
and caressed, and petted to any extent; and Sir Russell was always
ready to gratify her. Her proud father thought she looked lovelier than
ever, under the consciousness of her coming honours, and went back to
Beauregard fully satisfied that she was the most fortunate girl in the
world. But as the time passed on, and the moment drew near when the
mother and daughter must also quit the hills, Quita’s agitation became
very apparent.
‘Mamma,’ she would say, in a horrified whisper, clinging fast to her
mother’s hand, ‘are you quite, _quite_ sure _he_ has left Beauregard?’
‘Quite sure, my dearest. Your father sent him away a fortnight ago, and
Mr Campbell, the new overseer, is living at the Oleander Bungalow in
his stead.’
‘But might he not be hiding somewhere near? At Shanty Hill, or in the
Miners’ Gulch? There are public-houses in both those places.’
‘Quita, my child, you must get over this foolish fear. In the first
place, your father is quite convinced that De Courcelles has left San
Diego, as there is no vacant situation in the island for which he
could apply; and in the second, even if he were in the neighbourhood he
would not dare to speak to you, far less to try and injure you.’
‘Ah, mamma, you don’t know Henri! You should have seen his eyes when
he said he would stab me at the altar. He is terrible when he is in a
rage. And I feel convinced he will keep his word. He will hang about
Beauregard till my wedding-day, and then he will hide in the church
and shoot me, and I shall die in my wedding-dress, bespattered with
blood!’ replied Quita, relapsing into tears at the awful picture she
had conjured up in her imagination.
‘Quita, you will make yourself ill if you go on like this!’ said Mrs
Courtney, with grave solicitude. ‘You are really too silly to be
reasoned with. Do you forget you are going to be the Governor’s wife?
You are not going to marry a nobody, but a man high in position and
power, and no one will dare to assail you either by word or deed. The
church in which you are married will be lined with the military; and
if you are nervous, Sir Russell will have a special guard of honour to
protect you. But don’t let _him_ guess at any of your nervous fears,
for Heaven’s sake, or he may get curious to learn the cause of them.
Rely on me, Quita, that all will be well.’
‘But there is another thing, mamma,’ said the girl, after a pause.
‘I am horribly afraid that old Jessica knows too much. One night
when--when--I had been at the bungalow, I found her awake and watching
for my return. And two or three times she has muttered hints that I
could not misunderstand.’
‘Oh, Quita, Quita, what trouble you have got yourself into. It seems as
if we should never surmount the difficulties in our path. I shall know
no peace until you are Lady Johnstone.’
‘Nor I either, mamma! But can’t we send Jessica away too? I don’t
intend to take her to Government House, and you will have no use for
her when I am gone.’
‘My dear, I am afraid it would be dangerous to dismiss her. She would
guess the reason, and these negroes are very revengeful. They will
serve you to the death, so long as you make them your friends; but
once turn round on them, and their malice knows no bounds. Jessica
has been with you since your birth, and to send her adrift just as
you are going to be married, would be to set her tongue going like a
mill-wheel. No, Quita, you must pursue a more politic course! I think
we made a mistake in not bringing Jessica up to the hills with us. Had
I known what you tell me now, I would not have consented to her being
left behind; but you must take her some presents when we return, and do
all in your power to conciliate her. Don’t encourage any familiarity,
nor appear to understand any hints she may give you, but keep her in a
good temper, my dear child, until after the fourteenth, whatever you
do.’
Acting on her mother’s advice, Maraquita took a gaily-coloured shawl
and a necklace of gilt beads to Jessica when she returned to the White
House, and made the old nurse’s heart repent that she had been led
into repeating any scandal about her missy. But the departure of the
overseer was too important an event to be passed over in silence,
and Maraquita was doomed to hear a repetition of what was thought
concerning it in the coolie quarters.
‘Missy seen de new oberseer?’ Jessica commenced, the first moment they
were left alone. ‘He berry fine man,--broader den Massa Courcelles,
and plenty more colour in face; nice hair too--same colour as de
carrots--and a soft voice, kinder like a woman’s.’
‘No, Jessica, I haven’t seen him yet; but papa has asked him to dine
with us this evening.’
‘Ah, Missy won’t like him same as Massa Courcelles, for sure,--but
Massa Campbell good man for all dat, and Massa Courcelles berry bad
man--all de niggers dance when he go ’way, and Jerusha she throw mud
after him, and frighten his horse so he stand right up on his two legs.’
‘Was he hurt?’ cried Quita suddenly.
However frivolous a woman may be, she cannot quite lose all interest,
at a moment’s notice, in the man she has loved.
‘Oh, no, missy! Massa Courcelles same like part of horse. He nebber
thrown; only, he swear and curse plenty at Jerusha.’
‘Who _is_ Jerusha?’ asked Quita, betrayed by curiosity into forgetting
her studied reticence; ‘and why should she throw dirt at Monsieur de
Courcelles?’
‘Ah, missy not knowing. Jerusha only a poor coolie, but all de niggers
would throw dirt at Massa Courcelles if they dared. But he been berry
bad man to poor Jerusha--same as he been to my missy,’ added Jessica,
in a lower tone.
Maraquita turned deathly white.
‘How has he hurt Jerusha?’ she asked, in spite of herself.
‘He’s left her with a baby, Missy Quita--a nice baby, too, most as
white as himself, with his eyes and hair; but Jerusha feel bad about
it, ’cause he’s treated her berry cruel, and whipt them both with de
cowhide.’
Maraquita turned her head aside, and burst into tears. She would
have given worlds that the old nurse should not have witnessed her
emotion, but she could not restrain it. How true it is that the love
of most women is founded on vanity, and that even if they do not want
a man themselves, they cannot bear that any one else should have him.
Besides, this degrading _liaison_ with a coolie girl had taken place
at the very time that Henri de Courcelles had been swearing eternal
love to herself. Quita did indeed feel at that moment that she had
parted with a woman’s best possession for nothing. She had never been
so terribly humiliated before. Jessica was not slow to take advantage
of her young mistress’s weakness.
‘Don’t cry, missy,’ she said; ‘dat man not worth one tear from my
missy’s bright eyes. He false and cruel, and got bad heart. Missy
forget all about dis trouble when she marry de Governor. And Missy Liz
will keep de secret, nebber fear, and old Jessica too. Nobody tell
nuffin, de Governor nebber know, and den eberyting go right.’
But this allusion roused the instinctive fear in Maraquita’s bosom.
She forgot her mother’s caution, and the folly of resenting the
old nurse’s hints. She forgot everything, except the awful fear of
exposure, and in her alarm she played her worst card, and turned round
upon Jessica like a fury.
‘What do you mean by speaking to me like that?’ she panted. ‘How _dare_
you pretend to think that I cried because I was in trouble for any one
but the poor coolie girl? I know I am a fool to feel such things. Any
one is a fool who wastes a tear on you coloured people, for you are all
false, and mischief-making, and scandalous; but it is too bad that you
should speak as though I were crying for myself. What trouble could I
be in? I have everything I want, and in a few days I shall marry the
Governor, and none of you will dare to say a word against me; and if
you do, Sir Russell will have you whipped, and put in prison, and you
may lie and die there, for aught I care.’
It was a foolish and childish rage in which she indulged, but Quita
was not much raised above the coloured people she professed to scorn,
either in intellect or education. Yet it was sufficient to excite the
desire for revenge in the object of her wrath.
‘Missy have me whipped and put in prison?’ she shrieked; ‘_me_--who
hab nursed her in my bosom, ever since she was a tiny baby? Oh, no,
Missy Quita, you nebber mean dat! I will tell Massa Courtney, and de
Governor, eberyting before dat. I tell dem all I know. I clare de
character of poor Missy Liz, down at de Doctor’s bungalow, and I tell
_whose_ child dat is what she nurse day and night.’
‘Oh, Jessica!’ cried Maraquita, frightened beyond expression, as she
threw herself on her knees before the old negress, ‘don’t say that.
I was beside myself. I didn’t stop to weigh my words. I know you are
good and faithful, and will be true to me, and keep my terrible secret,
for you wouldn’t ruin your poor little missy who loves you; would you,
Jessica?’
But the old negress was not to be so easily conciliated. She looked
very surly, even whilst Maraquita’s white arms were wreathed about her
withered neck.
‘Missy Quita, you berry ungrateful gal,’ she murmured presently. ‘How
many nights I sit up and watch and wait, while you flirting wid dat
overseer, fear your moder or some one come and find you out? Den when
you taken bad, ole Jess know your trouble all de time, and nebber speak
one word. But now you going to be grand rich lady, you want to kick
old Jessica out, and forget all she done for you. But I won’t be kicked
out, Missy Quita. You must take me to Government House, and give me
good wages, or I won’t keep your secret any longer; and it isn’t no
good saying I’m ungrateful, missy, ’cause you were ungrateful first,
and you knows it.’
Maraquita saw the terrible mistake she had made, when it was too late.
Why had she not remembered her mother’s advice to conciliate the old
negress until the marriage was an accomplished fact? _Then_, Mrs
Courtney would have devised some plan to keep her quiet. But now there
was but one course open to her,--to promise to give Jessica everything
she demanded, however unreasonable.
‘Why, of course, Nursey,’ she answered, with assumed playfulness. ‘Did
you think I was going to leave my old darkey behind? What should I do
without you? You shall come to Government House as soon as I am settled
there, and dress me in the mornings, as you have always been used to
do; and perhaps some day you may nurse my little children as you nursed
me. Will that content you, Jessica?’ she added, with trembling lips
that ill-concealed her anxiety.
‘And missy will raise my wages?’ demanded the negress; ‘Governor’s
lady give better wages than planter’s daughter, and I hab worked for
eighteen long years in your service, Missy Quita.’
‘Yes, yes! You shall have any wages you like, Jessica. I shall tell Sir
Russell what a good servant you have been to me, and he will be proud
to reward you. But perhaps you would rather have a pension,’ said Quita
wistfully, ‘or a lump sum of money, that will enable you to go back to
your own country, and live there.’
‘No, missy; I rather live and die with you. You seem like my own child
to me, and San Diego like my country. I no want go way; and if missy
good to me, I keep her secrets always, and no one shall hear ole Jess
tell de truth about her.’
Maraquita felt this was only a compromise, but she had no alternative
but to accept it. There was a hard, stony look in old Jessica’s eyes
that alarmed her, and made her doubt her promises of fidelity. She was
not slow to perceive, either, the mercenary motive of her demand for
higher wages, but she could not afford to comment on it. She had put
herself in the power of another woman--the most terrible bondage the
sex is ever subjected to--and she saw no way to loosen her chains,
except by perfect acquiescence. But she loathed the old negress, even
while she forced herself to caress her. The affection of her whole life
seemed to have faded beneath the ordeal to which it had been subjected.
Jessica was no longer the kind and faithful nurse who had tended her
from her infancy, and to whom she had run in every dilemma, but a hard
and grasping creditor, who had possession of that which might ruin her
life, and demanded her very blood in ransom. However, there seemed no
way but one out of the scrape, and so Maraquita promised to do all and
everything that the negress might require, and tried to soothe her
ruffled feelings with soft words and caresses.
But she did not feel sure that she had succeeded, even though Jessica
paid her some honied compliments in return, and lay down in her bed
that night longing more than ever that the wedding-day had come and
gone.
All went smoothly, however. No one saw or heard anything further of
Henri de Courcelles, nor was Quita even annoyed by the mention of his
name. He seemed to have totally disappeared from Beauregard, and Mr
Courtney fully believed that he had left the island. The old nurse made
no further disagreeable allusions to the past, and appeared to be as
devoted to her young mistress as she had ever been, so that Maraquita
regained her lightness of heart, and turned her attention entirely to
the brilliant prospects before her. The fourteenth was close at hand,
and the preparations for the Governor’s wedding, which was to take
place in the Fort church, were on a scale of magnificence never before
attempted in San Diego. The church was to be embowered in flowers; the
military were to line the road leading to it; half the gentry in the
island were to be engaged in singing a choral service; and a splendid
barouche, drawn by four horses, and preceded by a guard of honour, was
to convey the newly-married couple back to Beauregard.
Here, naturally, all were in a flutter. Mrs Courtney, never a good
housekeeper, was nearly out of her mind over the wedding-breakfast and
the completion of Maraquita’s dress, and was thankful to delegate the
issuing of the invitations to her husband and her daughter. Mr Courtney
made out the list of names, whilst Maraquita wrote the invitations in
a very irregular hand on gold-edged paper. Half-way down the list she
came upon the name of Miss Fellows.
‘_Lizzie?_’ she exclaimed, with rather rashly expressed astonishment.
‘Of course! why not?’ returned her father quickly.
‘Well, because, although _we_ don’t believe the reports about her,
papa, _other_ people do, and some of the ladies of San Diego might
object to meet her.’
Mr Courtney consigned the ladies of San Diego to a warmer region, but
held to his determination.
‘There shall be no festivity held in my house to which Lizzie Fellows
is not invited,’ he answered sternly; ‘and the fact that she is still
welcomed here, will be the best denial of these infamous calumnies
against her. I should be ashamed of you, my daughter, if you consented
to her name being omitted from our guests. The poor girl has suffered
enough from the death of her father, and the rascality of that
scoundrel De Courcelles, to say nothing of these cruel rumours, without
our turning our backs upon her.’
The mention of De Courcelles’ name was enough to stop Maraquita’s
tongue, and she wrote the invitation without further comment. Only,
as both she and her mother anticipated, Lizzie’s reply was in the
negative. She made her recent loss the excuse for not joining in any
gaiety; but Maraquita and Mrs Courtney knew that after the insults they
had hurled at her, she would never place her foot voluntarily again
within the walls of the White House.
END OF VOL. II.
COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.