Читать книгу: «Jolly Sally Pendleton: or, the Wife Who Was Not a Wife», страница 12
CHAPTER XLI
"Now send Mr. Lamont to me here without delay," she said to Antoinette.
The girl did not have to do much searching. Mr. Lamont was in the corridor. He hastened to answer the summons with alacrity.
"There is the money," cried Sally, almost swooning from excitement. "Thirty thousand dollars, and – "
"By George! you are a trump, my dear!" exclaimed Victor Lamont, restraining himself by the greatest effort from uttering a wild whoop of delight. "That was splendidly done!"
Sally looked the disgust that swept over her.
"I have it all to pay back within three months," she said. "You have forgotten that, it seems, Mr. Lamont, and by that time I shall expect you to have procured the money to reimburse these gentlemen."
Victor Lamont laughed a sarcastic laugh.
"I shall not detain you longer, my dear Mrs. Gardiner," he said. "Your husband will be waiting to take you to the train. I shall not say good-bye, but au revoir. I will write you, sending my letters addressed to your maid, Antoinette. She will give them to you."
"No, no!" answered Sally, nervously; "you must never write to me, only send me the money to repay today's indebtedness. Our friendship, which we drifted into unconsciously, was a terrible mistake. It has ended in disaster, and it must stop here and now."
"As the queen wills," murmured Lamont, raising to his lips the little white hand that had given him so much money.
But deep down in his heart he had no intention of letting slip through his fingers a woman who had turned into a veritable gold mine under his subtle tuition. Ah, no! that was only the beginning of the vast sums she must raise for him in the future.
CHAPTER XLII
As the carriage containing Jay Gardiner and Sally came to a sudden stop, he put his head out of the window to learn the cause, and found they had already reached the station.
"We shall reach home by nightfall," he said in a tone of relief.
But to this remark Sally made no reply. She was wondering how she could ever endure life under the same roof with his prying mother and sister.
While we leave them speeding onward, toward the place which was to be the scene of a pitiful tragedy, we must draw back the curtain which has veiled the past, and learn what has become of beautiful, hapless Bernardine.
After her desertion by the young husband whom she had but just wedded, and the theft of the money which he had placed in her hands, she lay tossing in the ravages of brain fever for many weeks in the home to which the kind-hearted policeman had escorted her.
But her youth, health, and strength at last gained the victory, and one day, in the late summer, the doctor in charge pronounced her well, entirely cured, but very weak.
As soon as she was able to leave her bed, Bernardine sent for the matron.
"You have all been very kind to me," she said, tears shining in her dark eyes. "You have saved my life; but perhaps it would have been better if you had let me die."
"No, no, my dear; you must not say that," responded the good woman, quickly. "The Lord intends you to do much good on earth yet. When you are a little stronger, we will talk about your future."
"I am strong enough to talk about it now," replied Bernardine. "You know I am poor, and the only way by which a poor girl can live is by working."
"I anticipated what you would say, my dear, and I have been making inquiries. Of course, I did not know exactly what you were fitted for, but I supposed you would like to be a companion to some nice lady, governess to little children, or something like that."
"I should be thankful to take anything that offers itself," said Bernardine.
"It is our principal mission to find work for young girls who seek the shelter of this roof," went on the matron, kindly. "The wealthy ladies who keep this home up are very enthusiastic over that part of it. Every week they send us lists of ladies wanting some one in some capacity. I have now several letters from a wealthy woman residing at Lee, Massachusetts. She wants a companion; some one who will be willing to stay in a grand, gloomy old house, content with the duties allotted to her."
Bernardine's face fell; there was a look of disappointment in her dark eyes.
"I had hoped to get something to do in the city," she faltered.
"Work is exceedingly hard to obtain in New York just now, my dear child," replied the good woman. "There are thousands of young girls looking for situations who are actually starving. A chance like this occurs only once in a life-time."
Still, Bernardine looked troubled. How could she leave the city which held the one that was dearer than all in the world to her? Ah, how could she, and live?
"Let me show you the paper containing her advertisement," added the matron. "I brought it with me."
As she spoke, she produced a copy of a paper several weeks old, a paragraph of which was marked, and handed it to Bernadine.
"You can read it over and decide. Let me know when I come to you an hour later. I should advise you to try the place."
Left to herself, Bernardine turned to the column indicated, and slowly perused the advertisement. It read as follows:
"Wanted – A quiet, modest young lady as companion to an elderly woman living in a grand, gloomy old house in the suburbs of a New England village. Must come well recommended. Address Mrs. Gardiner, Lee, Mass."
"Gardiner!"
The name fairly took Bernardine's breath away, for it was the name bestowed upon her by the young man who had wedded and deserted her within an hour.
The very sight of it made her heart grow sick and faint. Still, it held a strange fascination for her. She turned to look at it again – to study it closely, to see how it appeared in print, when, to her amazement, she caught the name "Jay Gardiner" in a column immediately adjoining it.
She glanced up at the head-lines, and as she did so, the very breath seemed to leave her body.
It was a sketch of life at Newport by a special correspondent, telling of the gayety that was going on among the people there, particularly at the Ocean House. Nearly, half a column was given to extolling the beauty of young Mrs. Gardiner, née Sally Pendleton, the bride of Doctor Jay Gardiner, her diamonds, her magnificent costumes, and smart turn-outs.
The paper fell from Bernardine's hands. She did not faint, or cry out, or utter any moan; she sat there quite still, like an image carved in stone. Jay Gardiner was at Newport with his bride!
The words seemed to have scorched their way down to the very depths of her soul and seared themselves there. Jay Gardiner was at Newport with his bride!
What, then, in Heaven's name was she?
Poor Bernardine! It seemed to her in that moment that she was dying.
Had he played a practical joke upon her? Was the marriage which she had believed in so fully no marriage at all?
She had no certificate.
It was scarcely an hour from the time the matron had left her until she returned; but when she did so, she cried out in alarm, for Bernardine's face was of an ashen pallor, her dark eyes were like coals of fire, and her hands were cold as death. The matron went up to her in great alarm, and gently touched the bowed head.
"Bernardine," she murmured, gently – "Bernardine, my poor child, are you ill? What has happened?"
After some little correspondence back and forth, Bernardine was accepted by the lady, and in a fortnight more she was able to make the journey.
The matron went down to the depot with her, to see her off, and prayed that the girl would not change her mind ere she reached her destination.
The train moved off, and she waved her handkerchief to the sweet, sad, tear-stained face pressed close to the window-pane until a curve in the road hid it from her sight; then she turned away with a sigh.
Bernardine fell back in her seat, not caring whether or not she lived to reach her destination.
It was almost dusk when the train reached the lovely little village of Lee, nestling like a bird's nest amid the sloping green hills.
Bernardine stepped from the car, then stood quite still on the platform, and looked in bewilderment around her.
Mrs. Gardiner had written that she would send a conveyance to the station to meet her; but Bernardine saw none.
While she was deliberating as to whether she should inquire the way to the Gardiner place of the station agent, that individual suddenly turned out the lights in the waiting-room, and in an instant had jumped on a bicycle and dashed away, leaving Bernardine alone in a strange place.
At that moment, a man stepped briskly beneath the swinging light. One glance, and she almost swooned from horror.
The man was Jasper Wilde!
CHAPTER XLIII
For a moment it seemed to Bernardine as though she must surely fall dead from fright as her startled gaze encountered her greatest enemy, Jasper Wilde.
Had he followed her? Had he come all the way on the same train with her?
She realized that she was alone with him on this isolated railway platform, miles perhaps from any habitation, any human being, far beyond the reach of help.
The thick, heavy twilight had given place to a night of intense darkness. The flickering light of the solitary gas-lamp over the station door did not pierce the gloom more than three feet away. Bernardine did not know this, and she sunk back in deadly fear behind one of the large, old-fashioned, square posts. The long dark cloak and bonnet she wore would never betray her presence there.
Bernardine soon became aware that he had not seen her, for he stopped short scarcely a rod from her, drew out his watch, and looked at the time; then, with a fierce imprecation on his lips, he cried aloud:
"Missed the train by just one minute! Curse the luck! But then it's worth my trip here, and the trouble I've been put to, to know that the Mrs. Jay Gardiner in question is some New York society belle instead of Bernardine. Ah, if it were Bernardine, I would have followed him to the end of the earth and murdered him; taken her from him by force, if no other way presented itself. I love the girl to madness, and yet I hate her with all the strength of my nature!"
As he uttered the words, he wheeled about, hurried down the platform, and stepped into the darkness, the sound of his quick tread plainly dying away in the distance.
It seemed to Bernardine that her escape from the clutches of Jasper Wilde was little short of miraculous. Trembling in every limb, she stepped out from behind the large pillar which shielded her.
He had not come by the same train; he did not know she was here. But what caused him to come to this place to look for Jay Gardiner and his bride? Perhaps it was because he had learned in some way that a family named Gardiner resided here, and he had come out of his way only to discover that they were not one and the same.
While Bernardine was ruminating over this, she saw the short, thick-set figure of a man approaching.
Should she advance or retreat? She felt sure he had seen her. He stopped quite short and looked at her.
"Surely you can't be Miss Moore?" he inquired, incredulously.
"Yes," replied Bernardine in a voice in which he detected tears.
The man muttered something under his breath which she did not quite catch.
"If you please, Miss, where is your luggage?"
"I – I have only this hand-bag," she faltered.
"Come this way, miss," he said; and Bernardine followed him, not without some misgiving, to the end of the platform from which Jasper Wilde had so recently disappeared.
Here she saw a coach in waiting, though she had not heard the sound of the horses' hoofs when they arrived there.
Then came a long ride over a level stretch of country. It was a great relief to Bernardine to see the moon come forth at last from a great bank of black clouds; it was a relief to see the surrounding country, the meadows, and the farm-houses lying here and there on either side of the steep road up which they went.
"Would the lady like her or be displeased with her?" she asked herself.
She determined to throw herself heart and soul into her work and try to forget the past – what might have been had her lover proved true, instead of being so cruelly false. Her red lips quivered piteously at the thought.
Her musings were brought to an end by the lumbering coach turning in at a large gate-way flanked by huge stone pillars, and proceeding leisurely up a wide road that led through a densely wooded park.
Very soon Bernardine beheld the house – a granite structure with no end of gables and dormer-windows – half hidden by climbing vines, which gave to the granite pile a very picturesque appearance just now, for the vines were literally covered with sweet-scented honeysuckles in full bloom.
Mrs. King, the housekeeper, received Bernardine.
"I hope you will like it here," she said, earnestly; "but it is a dull place for one who is young, and longs, as girls do, for gayety and life. You are too tired to see Mrs. Gardiner to-night after your long journey. I will show you to your room after you have had some tea."
The housekeeper was right in her surmise. It did look like an inexpressibly dreary place when Bernardine looked about at the great arched hall.
Grand old paintings, a century old, judging by their antiquated look, hung upon the walls. A huge clock stood in one corner, and on either side of it there were huge elk heads, with spreading antlers tipped with solid gold.
To add to the strangeness of the place, a bright log fire burned in a huge open fire-place, which furnished both light and heat to the main corridor.
"This fire is never allowed to burn out, either in summer or winter," the housekeeper explained, "because the great hall is so cold and gloomy without it."
While Bernardine was drinking her tea, a message came to her that Mrs. Gardiner would see her in her boudoir.
The housekeeper led the way through a long corridor, and when she reached the further end of it, she turned toward the right, and drawing aside the heavy crimson velvet portières, Bernardine was ushered into a magnificent apartment.
The windows were of stained glass, ornamented with rare pictures, revealed by the light shining through them from an inner room; the chandeliers, with their crimson globes, gave a deep red glow to the handsome furnishings and costly bric-a-brac. There was something about the room that reminded Bernardine of the pictures her imagination had drawn of Oriental boudoirs.
Her musings were interrupted by the sound of a haughty voice saying:
"Are you Miss Bernardine Moore?"
By this time Bernardine's eyes had become accustomed to the dim, uncertain light. Turning her head in the direction whence the sound proceeded, she saw a very grand lady, dressed in stiff, shining brocade satin, with rare lace and sparkling diamonds on her breast and fair hands, sitting in a crimson velvet arm-chair – a grand old lady, cold, haughty, and unbending.
"Yes, madame," replied Bernardine, in a sweet, low voice, "I am Miss Moore."
"You are a very much younger person than I supposed you to be from your letter, Miss Moore. Scarcely more than a child, I should say," she added, as she motioned Bernardine to a seat with a wave of the hand. "I will speak plainly," she went on, slowly. "I am disappointed. I imagined you to be a young lady of uncertain age – say, thirty or thirty-five. When a woman reaches that age, and has found no one to marry her, there is a chance of her becoming reconciled to her fate. I want a companion with whom I can feel secure. I do not want any trouble with love or lovers, above all. I would not like to get used to a companion, and have her leave me for some man. In fine, you see, I want one who will put all thought of love or marriage from her."
Bernardine held out her clasped hands.
"You need have no fear on that score, dear madame," she replied in a trembling tone. "I shall never love – I shall never marry. I – I never want to behold the face of a man. Please believe me and trust me."
"Since you are here, I may as well take you on trial," replied the grand old lady, resignedly. "Now you may go to your room, Miss Moore. You will come to me here at nine to-morrow morning," she said, dismissing Bernardine with a haughty nod.
The housekeeper had said she would find the room that had been prepared for her at the extreme end of the same corridor, and in groping her way to it in the dim, rose-colored light which pervaded the outer hall, she unconsciously turned in the wrong direction, and went to the right instead of the left.
The door stood ajar, and thinking the housekeeper had left it in this way for her, Bernardine pushed it open.
To her great astonishment, she found herself in a beautifully furnished sleeping apartment, upholstered in white and gold of the costliest description, and flooded by a radiance of brilliant light from a grand chandelier overhead.
But it was not the magnificent hangings, or the long mirrors, in their heavy gilt frames, that caught and held the girl's startled gaze.
It was a full-length portrait hanging over the marble mantle, and it startled her so that she uttered a low cry, and clasped her little hands together as children do when uttering a prayer.
Her reverie lasted only for a moment. Then she drifted back to the present. She was in this strange house as a companion, and the first thing she came across was the portrait, as natural as life itself, of – Jay Gardiner!
A mad desire came over her to kneel before the picture and – die!
CHAPTER XLIV
Bernardine did not have much time to study the portrait, for all of a sudden she heard footsteps in the corridor without, and in another moment Mrs. King, the housekeeper, had crossed the threshold, and approached her excitedly.
"I feared you would be apt to make this mistake," she said, breathlessly. "Your room is in the opposite direction, Miss Moore."
Bernardine was about to turn away with a few words of apology, but the housekeeper laid a detaining hand on her arm.
"Do not say that you found your way into this apartment, Miss Moore," she said, "or it might cause me considerable trouble. This is the only room in the house that is opened but once a year, and only then to air it.
"This is young master's room," went on the housekeeper, confidentially, "and when he left home, after quite a bitter scene with his mother, the key was turned in the lock, and we were all forbidden to open it. That is young master's portrait, and an excellent likeness it is of him, too.
"The whole house was recently thrown into consternation by a letter being received from him, saying that he was about to bring home his bride. His mother and sister took his marriage very much to heart. The bride is beautiful, we hear; but, as is quite natural, I suppose his mother thinks a queen on her throne would have been none too good for her handsome son.
"My lady has had very little to say since learning that he would be here on the 20th – that is to-morrow night; and his sister, Miss Margaret, is equally as silent.
"I think it will be better to give you another room than the one I had at first intended," said Mrs. King. "Please follow me, and I will conduct you to it."
Bernardine complied, though the desire was strong upon her to fly precipitately from the house, and out into the darkness of the night – anywhere – anywhere, so that she might escape meeting Jay Gardiner and his bride.
Up several flights of carpeted polished stairs, through draughty passages, along a broad corridor, down another passage, then into a huge, gloomy room, Bernardine followed her, a war of conflicting emotions surging through her heart at every step.
"You have plenty of room, you see," said the housekeeper, lighting the one gas-jet the apartment contained.
"Plenty!" echoed Bernardine, aghast, glancing about her in dismay at the huge, dark, four-poster bed in a far-off corner, the dark dresser, which seemed to melt into the shadows, and the three darkly outlined windows, with their heavy draperies closely drawn, that frowned down upon her.
"You must not be frightened if you hear odd noises in the night. It's only mice. This is the old part of the mansion," said the housekeeper, turning to go.
"Am I near any one else?" asked Bernardine, her heart sinking with a strange foreboding which she could not shake off.
"Not very near," answered the housekeeper.
"Would no one hear me if I screamed?" whispered Bernardine, drawing closer to her companion, as though she would detain her, her frightened eyes burning like two great coals of fire.
"I hope you will not make the experiment, Miss Moore," returned the housekeeper, impatiently. "Good-night," and with that she is gone, and Bernardine is left – alone.
The girl stands quite still where the housekeeper has left her long after the echo of her footsteps has died away.
She is in his home, and he is coming here with his bride! Great God! what irony of fate led her here?
Her bonnet and cloak are over her arm.
"Shall I don them, and fly from this place?" she asks herself over and over again.
But her tired limbs begin to ache, every nerve in her body begins to twitch, and she realizes that her tired nature has endured all it can. She must stay here, for the night at least.
Despite the fatigue of the previous night, Bernardine awoke early the next morning, and when the housekeeper came to call her, she found her already dressed.
"You are an early riser, Miss Moore," she said. "That is certainly a virtue which will commend itself to my mistress, who rises early herself. You will come at once to her boudoir. Follow me, Miss Moore."
She reached Mrs. Gardiner's boudoir before she was aware of it, so intent were her thoughts. That lady was sitting at a small marble table, sipping a cup of very fragrant coffee. A small, very odorous broiled bird lay on a square of browned toast on a silver plate before her. She pushed it aside as Bernardine entered.
"Good-morning, Miss Moore," she said, showing a trifle more kindliness than she had exhibited on the previous evening; "I hope you rested well last night. Sit down."
Bernardine complied; but before she could answer these commonplace, courteous remarks, an inner door opened, and a lady, neither very young nor very old, entered the room.
"Good-morning, mamma," she said; and by that remark Bernardine knew that this was Jay's sister.
She almost devoured her with eager eyes, trying to trace a resemblance in her features to her handsome brother.
"Margaret, this is my new companion, Miss Moore," said Mrs. Gardiner, languidly.
Bernardine blushed to the roots of her dark hair, as two dark-blue eyes, so like Jay's, looked into her own.
"Welcome to Gardiner Castle, Miss Moore," replied Margaret Gardiner.
She did not hold out her hand, but she looked into the startled young face with a kindly smile and a nod. Whatever her thoughts were in regard to her mother's companion, they were not expressed in her face.
A score of times during the half hour that followed, Bernardine tried to find courage to tell Mrs. Gardiner that she must go away; that she could not live under that roof and meet the man she loved, and who was to bring home a bride.
But each time the words died away on her lips. Then suddenly, she could not tell how or when the feeling entered her heart, the longing came to her to look upon the face of the young girl who had gained the love she would have given her very life – ay, her hope of heaven – to have retained.
