CHAPTER XV
SOWING THE WIND
Merry days those were in Richmond House, with the old halls resounding with music and laughter, and the hum of gay voices, from morning till night. Astonished and awed were the people of Burnfield by the glittering throng of city fashionables, who promenaded their streets and swept past them in the sweeping amplitude of flashing silks and rich velvets and furs. As for our city friends themselves, the ladies pronounced the place "horrid stupid;" but as the young gentlemen, with one or two exceptions, found the country girls exceedingly willing to be flirted with, they rather liked it than otherwise.
A proud man was the Reverend Mr. Barebones the first Sunday after their arrival, when the bewildering throng flashed into the meeting-house, and, with a great rustle of silks and satins, and an intoxicating odor of eau de Cologne, filled the two large front pews that from time immemorial had belonged to Richmond House. It was not religion altogether that brought them – at least, not all. Languid Miss Reid, for instance, went because the rest did, and it was less trouble to go than to form excuses for staying; and that quintessence of exquisiteness, Mr. Adolphus Lester, who was tender on that young lady, went because she did. Miss Harper went because Captain Arlingford was going, and Miss Freddy Richmond went because she was a very discreet young lady and it was "proper" to attend divine worship, and Miss Richmond never shocked the proprieties. Georgia went because she had to, and Lieutenant Gleason and his father went to kill time, which always hung heavy on their hands, on Sunday. Of the whole party, only Master Henry Gleason and Mr. Curtis were absent; Master Henry, having pronounced the whole establishment of Christian churches on earth and their attendant Christian ministers "horrid old bores," declared his intention of staying at home and having a "jolly good snooze."
Every one seemed to have enjoyed themselves the last week at Richmond House but its young mistress. There were rides, and drives, and excursions during the day, and sailing parties on the river in Mr. Wildair's yacht; and there were dancing, and music, and acting charades, and all sorts of amusements for the evening, into which all the young people entered with eager zest – all but Georgia.
Those days, few as they were, had wrought a marked change in her. The flush of her health and happiness had faded from her cheeks, leaving only two dark purple spots, that burned there like tongues of flame; her eye had lost its sparkle, her brow was worn and haggard, and her step was slow and weary. She lived in daily martyrdom, such as none but a spirit so morbidly proud and keenly sensitive can comprehend. Slights, insults, insolence, and little galling acts of malice, "making up in number what they wanted in weight," were daily to be borne now from her supercilious mother-in-law and her malicious, insolent shadow and echo, Miss Richmond. And these were offered openly, in the presence of all; not an opportunity was allowed to escape of mortifying her; until sometimes, wild and nearly maddened, she would fly up to her room, and, alone and frenzied, struggle with the storm raging in her heart.
Richmond, absorbed in attending to the comfort and amusement of his guests, knew nothing of all this. It was not their policy to let him suspect their dislike – yes, hatred of his bride; and, as they well knew, the rest, who saw it all, would not venture to speak on so delicate a subject to their proud host. It is true, he saw the change in Georgia's face, and the freezing coldness her manners were assuming to all, even to him; but from some artfully dropped hints of immaculate Miss Freddy's, he set it down to stubborn sullenness. And believing her to be incorrigible in her disagreeableness and insubordination, he grew markedly reserved and cold when alone in her society; and thus the misunderstanding between them daily widened.
Georgia was too proud to complain of what she herself suffered and endured – she was dumb; and indeed if she had been inclined, she would have found it hard to make out a list of her grievances and relate them, for Miss Freddy's insults were offered in such a way that, keenly as they struck home, they dwindled into nothing when related to a third party. Had he not been so absorbed in the duties of hospitality, and striving to atone for his wife's neglect, he might have seen for himself; but he was blind and deaf to all, and only saw her uncourteous treatment of his friends and her wifely disobedience. And before long – no one scarcely knew how – Georgia was pushed aside, and Mrs. Wildair and Freddy began to take the place of hostess, and Richmond looked on and tacitly consented. All were consulted in their plans and amusements but Georgia; she was overlooked with the coolest and most insolent contempt; and if sometimes, as a matter of form, her opinion was asked by either of the ladies, it was worded in such a way or uttered in such a tone as made it even a more galling insult. And Georgia, with a swelling heart and with lips compressed in proud, bitter endurance, consented to bare her place usurped, without a word or attempt to regain it. With a heart that underneath all her calmness seemed ready to burst at such times, she would refuse to accompany them, pleading indisposition, or sometimes giving no reason at all; and Mrs. Wildair would turn away with an indifferent, "Oh, very well, just as you please," and Richmond would say nothing at the time, until he would find her alone, and then he would coldly begin:
"Mrs. Wildair, may I beg to know the reason you will not honor us with your company to-morrow?"
"Because I do not wish to," she would flash, with all her old defiance flaming up in her dusky eyes.
"Because you do not wish to! Insolent! Madam, I insist upon your accompanying us to-morrow!"
"You find my society so brilliant and agreeable, no doubt, that my absence will destroy your pleasure," she would say, with a bitter laugh that jarred painfully on the ear.
"No, madam, I regret to say that your fixed determination to disobey me, and be uncourteous and disagreeable, is carried out in the very letter and spirit. Still, I cannot allow my guests to be treated with marked discourtesy. I have some regard for the laws of hospitality, if you have not. Therefore, Mrs. Wildair, you will prepare to join our party to-morrow."
"And if I refuse?"
His eye flashed, and his mouth grew stern.
"You will be sorry for it! Do not attempt such a thing! You may disobey, but you shall not trifle with me."
She lifted her eyes, and he would see a face so haggard and utterly wretched that his heart would melt, and he would go over and put his arm around her, and say, gently:
"Come, Georgia, be reasonable. What evil spirit has got into you of late? Why will you persist in treating our friends in this way?"
"Our friends! —your friends, you mean."
"It is all the same; for my sake you ought to treat my friends differently."
Her heart swelled and her lip quivered. Yes, his friends might slight and insult her, but she was to put her head under their heels, and smile on those who crushed her.
"Well, Georgia, you do not speak," he would say, watching her closely.
"Mr. Wildair, I have nothing to say. Your mother and cousin are mistresses here; my part is to stand aside and obey them. If you command me to go to-morrow, I have no alternative. I am still capable of submitting to a great deal, sooner than willingly displease you."
"My mother and cousin undertook no authority here, Georgia, until you neglected all your duties as hostess, and they were obliged to do so. It is all your own fault, and you know it, Georgia."
She smiled bitterly.
"We will not discuss the subject, if you please, Richmond. I make no complaint; they are welcome to do as they please, and all I ask for is the same privilege. I cannot have it, it appears, and – I will go to-morrow, since you insist; my absence or presence will make little difference to your friends."
"Georgia, why will you persist in this absurd nonsense?" he would exclaim, almost angrily. "Really you are enough to try the patience of a saint. I wish some of this foolish, morbid pride of yours had been kept where it came from, and a little plain, practical common sense put in its place. You have taken a most unaccountable prejudice to my mother and cousin, which, if you had that regard for me you profess, you certainly would not pain me by displaying; in fact, you resolved from the first to dislike all I invited, and you have kept that promise wonderfully well I must say, except as regards the two Arlingfords, toward whom you evince a partiality that makes your neglect of the rest all the more glaring. It is certainly a pity you did not receive the education of a lady, Georgia, and then common politeness would teach you to act differently."
In silence, and with a curling lip and an unutterable depth of scorn in her beautiful eyes, Georgia would listen to this conjugal tirade, but her lips would be sealed; and Richmond, indignant and deeply offended, would leave the room, and the next moment, all smiles and suavity, rejoin his guests. And Georgia, left alone, would press her hand to her breast with that feeling of suffocation rising again until the very air of the perfumed room would seem to stifle her. And such scenes as this were of frequent occurrence now, and one and all sank deep in her heart, to rankle there in anguish and bitterness untold.
Perhaps it may seem strange that Mrs. Wildair and Miss Richmond should hate Georgia; but so it was. Mrs. Wildair was the haughtiest, the most overbearing, and the most ambitious of women. Her sons were her pride and her boast, in public as well as in private, and she had often been heard to declare that they should marry among the highest in the land, and perpetuate the ancient glory of the Richmonds. When Charley had disappointed all this expectation, and had become an alien from her heart and home, the shock, given more to her ambition than to her affections, was terrible, and when she recovered from it, all her hopes centered in her first-born, Richmond.
There was an English lady of rank, the daughter of an earl, at that time visiting an acquaintance of Mrs. Wildair in New York, and to this high-born girl did she lift her eyes and determine upon as her future daughter-in-law. But before she had time to write to Richmond, and desire him to return home for that purpose, his letter came, and there she read the quiet announcement that, in a week or two, he was to be married in Burnfield to a young, penniless girl, "rich alone in beauty," he wrote.
Mrs. Wildair sat nearly stunned by the shock. Down came her gilded coroneted chateau d'Espagne with a crash, to rise no more. Her son was his own master; she knew his strong, determined, unconquerable will of old, to combat which was like beating the air. Nothing remained for her but to consent, which she did with a bitter hatred against the unconscious object that had thwarted her burning in her heart, and a determination to make her pay dearly for what she had done, which resolution she proceeded to carry into effect the moment she arrived in Richmond House.
"To think that she – a thing like that – sprang from the dregs of the city, for she is not even an honest farmer's daughter – should have dared to become my son's wife," she said, hissing the words through her clenched teeth; "a low wretch, picked up out of the slime and slough of the city filth, to come between me and my son. Oh! was Charley's act not degradation enough, that this must fall upon us too?"
"Let us hope, my dear aunt, that the place she has had the effrontery to usurp will not long be hers," murmured the dulcet voice of her niece, to whom she had spoken. "We have built up already a wall of brass between them, and I have a plan in my head that will transform it to one of fire. Recollect, aunt, divorces are easily obtained, and then your son will be free once more, and our queenly pauper will be ignominiously cast back into the slime she rose from."
Miss Freddy's hatred came from pretty much the same cause as Mrs. Wildair's. In any case, she would have considered it her duty to follow that lady's lead: but now she had her own private reasons for hating her with all the bitter intensity of a mean little mind.
Miss Freddy was to have married Charley, and was quite ready and willing to do so at a moment's notice, but in her secret heart she would have far preferred his elder brother. Differing from the rest of the world, Richmond, even "from boyhood's hours," had been her favorite; but when she saw his mother's hopes aspire to a coronet and a title, she was overawed, and made up her mind to be cast into the shade. To be rivaled by a lady like this could be borne, but that a peasant girl – a nameless, unknown girl – should win the prize for which she had sought in vain – oh! it was a humiliation not to be endured. So she entered heart and soul into all her aunt's plans, and won that lady's approbation for her dutiful conduct, while she carefully concealed her own motives. And this, then, was the secret of Georgia's persecutions.
The "wall of fire" the amiable young lady had referred to was to make Richmond jealous. Now, jealousy was never a fault of his, but artful people can work wonders, and Miss Freddy went carefully, but surely, to work, with Mrs. Wildair for her stanch backer. And Georgia, all unconscious, walked headlong into the snare laid for her.
As her husband had said, the Arlingfords were the only ones in the house whom Georgia could at all endure. The frank, genial, honest straightforwardness of brother and sister pleased her; and, indignant at the treatment so openly offered her, they devoted themselves in every way to interest and amuse her. And Miss Freddy seeing this, her little keen eyes fairly snapped with gratification, and by a thousand little devices and pretenses she would manage to dispose of the sister, and leave Georgia altogether to be entertained by the brother. And then the attention of the company would be artfully directed to the twain who were so much together, and Richmond would hear from one and another:
"What friends Mrs. Georgia" (so she was called to distinguish her from the other) "and captain Arlingford are!"
"How very intimate they are!"
"Yes, indeed; just see how she smiles upon him – don't you think her handsome when she smiles?"
"Very much so. Captain Arlingford seems to think so, too. What a pity he is the only one she will honor by one of them."
"Well, it is fortunate she has met some one who can please her – she seems so dull, poor thing!"
"A handsome man like Captain Arlingford does not find it very hard to be agreeable, I fancy; he is decidedly the best-looking young man here."
"Mrs. Georgia's opinion exactly," said Miss Harper, sending a spiteful glance at the unconscious objects of these remarks, who sat conversing on a sofa at some distance. "I asked her, yesterday, and she said, 'Yes, she thought he most decidedly was.'"
"Poor, dear Georgia!" chimed in Miss Freddy, looking tenderly toward her; "I am so glad she likes him; she seems to like so few, and indeed nobody could help liking him, he is so charming. What a nice nose, and lovely mustache, and sweet curling hair he has, to be sure!"
"And, by George! he shows his good taste, too, in flirting with the prettiest woman among you," exclaimed Harry Gleason, bluntly. "Arlingford knows what's what, I tell you; he'll go in and win, I'll bet!"
Now these remarks, though at first he paid no attention to them beyond what the words conveyed, jarred disagreeably on Richmond's mind. But as days passed on and they grew more frequent and more meaning in tone, and he saw the curious smiles with which they were regarded, and the expression of his mother's face as she watched them, and saw his cousin look first at them and then at him with a sort of anxiety and tender pity, he felt a growing disagreeable sensation of uneasiness for which he could hardly account. Even to himself, he was ashamed to own he was jealous of Georgia – his leal, true-hearted, straightforward Georgia, whom he had never known to be guilty of a dishonorable thought in her life. Fiery, rash, high-spirited she was, but treacherous, deceitful, wicked she was not. He could have staked his soul upon her truth, and yet – and yet by slow degrees the poison began to enter his mind, and he commenced to watch his wife with an angry, suspicious eye.
Oh, Richmond! Richmond! that you should fall so low as this! You, whom Georgia once regarded as a demi-god; you whom she still believes, in spite of your sorrowful misunderstanding, everything that is upright and true; you, whom, had heaven, and earth, and hades accused of infidelity, she would not have believed. And now, you are growing jealous of your rash but leal-hearted wife, whom you have completely neglected yourself, to attend to others. Oh, Richmond!
"Really, my dear, you are a jewel without price – worth a million in cash!" exclaimed Mrs. Wildair to Freddy, delighted at the success of her diabolical scheme. "Your plan has succeeded beyond all my expectations. I really did not think you could make Richmond jealous without alarming him, and putting him on his guard against us; but, positively, he is growing as jealous as a Turk, and never suspects either of us in the least."
Miss Freddy smiled her sinister and most evil smile.
"Poor Richmond! What a hard time he is going to have of it with that green-eyed monster! And how delightfully unconscious Mrs. Georgia walks into the pit with her eyes open! Really, it is as good as a farce! Oh! the stupidity of these earthworms!"
"Poor Rich! he did look so deliciously miserable to-night when he saw those two sitting together in a corner by themselves, turning over those prints, just as innocent as a couple of angels."
And both ladies leaned back in their seats and laughed immoderately.
Poor Georgia! the sky was rapidly darkening around her, though this, the blackest cloud, was still invisible to her eyes. Sometimes, in her desolation, it seemed to her as if she had not a single friend in the world, for Emily never ventured near Richmond House now, and she had only seen Miss Jerusha once since her return. She could not dissimulate. She had tried it in vain, and she would not bring her haggard face and anguished eyes to tell the tale her tongue was too proud to speak. So she did not visit the cottage, until at last Miss Jerusha grew seriously uneasy, and resolved to brave all obstacles, the impudent footman included, and go up to the house and see Georgia.
Until she was fairly gone, Miss Jerusha had never known how large a share of her heart her protegee had monopolized; and so, worthy reader, behold her arrayed in that respected "kaliker geownd" you are acquainted with, for brown silk could not be worn on a week-day, with the faded shawl, and a pink calico sun-bonnet, a recent addition to her wardrobe, knocking at the hall door of Richmond House.
It was some time in the afternoon, and the household were dressing for dinner, and so the servant told her, respectfully enough, for her first visit had taught them a lesson they did not soon forget.
"Dinner! you git out!" said Miss Jerusha, indignantly, "and it nigh onto four o'clock. Don't tell me no such stuff! Jist be off and tell Georgey I want to see her. Clear!"
The man hesitated; Miss Jerusha looked dangerous; he expected the dinner-bell to ring every moment, and his mistress was in her room; so while he stood hesitating, a rustling of silk was heard behind him, and the next moment Mrs. Wildair stood gazing in haughty surprise on the intruder.
Now, Mrs. Wildair knew well enough who Miss Jerusha was; her niece had pointed her out one day; but as this was an excellent opportunity for mortifying Georgia, she chose to be quite ignorant of the matter.
"What is this?" she said, stepping back haughtily. "What does she want? Wilson, how dare you allow beggars to enter the hall-door?"
"She – she ain't no beggar, ma'am," said Wilson, casting an apprehensive glance at Miss Jerusha, "she's – "
"I don't care what she is. Persons of her class should go round to the kitchen door. Send her out, and let her go there if she wants anything," exclaimed Mrs. Wildair, sharply.
Up to this point Miss Jerusha had stood fairly stupefied. She mistaken for a beggar! She – Miss Jerusha Glory Ann Skamp – whose ward was lady of this great house! For an instant she was speechless, with the blood of all the Skamps boiling within her, and then she burst out:
"Why, you yeller old lantern-jawed be-frizzled be-flowered, impident old woman, to call me a beggar! Oh, my gracious! to think I should be called that in my old ages o' life? A beggar! My-y-y conscience! If you hev the impidence to call me that agin, I'll – I'll – "
"Turn her out, she is crazy! turn her out, I tell you," said Mrs. Wildair, white with passion. "Do you hear me, Wilson? Turn this old wretch out."
The noise had now brought a crowd down into the hall, who stood gazing in mingled curiosity and amusement on this scene between the lady and the beggar, as they supposed her to be.
"Turn me out! Let them try it!" exclaimed Miss Jerusha, looking daggers at the startled Wilson.
"Do you hear me, sir? Am I to be obeyed? Turn this woman out," said Mrs. Wildair, stamping her foot.
"Touch her if you dare!" screamed a fierce voice; and Georgia, with blazing eyes and passionate face, rushed through the crowd, flashed past Mrs. Wildair, and stood, white, panting, and fierce, like a hunted stag at bay, beside Miss Jerusha. "Lay one finger on her at your peril! How dare you, madam!" she almost screamed, facing round so suddenly on the startled lady that she recoiled. "How dare you order her out – how dare you do it?"
"Really, young lady," said Mrs. Wildair, recovering her calm hauteur, "this is most extraordinary language addressed to me. I was not aware that persons of her condition were ever received in my son's house."
"Then learn it now," said Georgia, fiercely; "while I am here, this house shall be free to her in spite of you all. Perhaps you are not aware, madam, who she is?"
"Some of your relations, most probably," said Mrs. Wildair, with a withering sneer. "She looks like it."
"Mother! Georgia! What in the name of wonder is all this?" exclaimed a hurried, startled voice; and Richmond Wildair, pale and excited, made his way toward them.
"It means, sir, that I have been grossly insulted by your wife," said Mrs. Wildair, her very lips white with anger; "insulted, too, in the presence of your guests; spoken to as I never was spoken to before in my life."
"Mother, for mercy's sake, hush!" he said, in a fierce whisper, his face crimson with shame. "And, Georgia, if you ever loved me, retire to your room now, and make no exhibition before these people. Miss Jerusha, persuade her to go before I am eternally disgraced."
"Come, honey, come; I'll go with you," said Miss Jerusha, tremulously, quite nervous at this unexpected scene.
With heaving bosom and flashing eyes Georgia stood, terrible in her roused wrath, as a priestess of doom. Miss Jerusha put her arm around her and coaxingly drew her along, and passed with her into the empty breakfast parlor near. When she was gone, Richmond turned to his guests, who stood gazing at each other in consternation, and forcing a smile, said:
"My friends, you must be surprised at this extraordinary scene, but it will not appear so extraordinary when explained. The singular-looking person who was the cause of all this was a sort of guardian of my wife, and upon her entrance here my mother, deceived by her singular dress, mistook her for a beggar, and ordered her out. An altercation ensued, which my wife overheard, and, indignant at what she supposed a direct intentional insult to her old friend, rushed down, and in the excitement of the moment, thoughtlessly uttered the hasty words you have all overheard. Mother, I beg you will think no more about it; no one will regret them more than Georgia herself when she cools down. And now, there goes the dinner-bell; so, my friends, we will forget this disagreeable little scene, and not let it spoil our appetites."
With a faint smile he offered his arm to Mrs. Gleason and led the way to the dining-room, saying, as he did so:
"You will oblige me by presiding to-day, mother. Georgia, in her excitement, will not care to return to table, I fancy."
With a stiff bow Mrs. Wildair complied, and Richmond, beckoning to a servant, whispered:
"Go to the parlor and request Mrs. Wildair, with my compliments, to retire to her own room, and say I wish her to remain there for the evening."
"My dear cousin," said a low voice, and the small, sallow hand of Freddy was laid on his arm, "allow me to go. It would mortify our proud Georgia to death to have such a message brought by a servant. Remember, she only spoke hastily, and we must have consideration for her feelings."
"My dear, kind little cousin," said Richmond, with emotion, as he pressed her hand, "she does not deserve this from you. But go, lest she should make another scene before the servants."
With her silky smile Freddy glided out and opened the parlor door without ceremony. Sitting on a sofa was Miss Jerusha, while Georgia crouched before her, her face hidden in her lap, her whole attitude so crushed, desolate, and full of anguish, that it is no wonder Miss Jerusha was exclaiming between her sobs:
"There, honey, there! don't feel it so. I wouldn't if I was you. Where's the good of minding of 'em at all? Don't, honey, don't! It's drefful to see you so."
The malicious smile deepened and brightened on Freddy's evil face at the sight.
Miss Jerusha looked sharply up as she entered, and seeing her triumphant look, her tears seemed turned to sparks of fire.
"Well, what do you want?" she demanded.
Without noticing her by look or word, Freddy went over and laid her hand on Georgia's shoulder.
"Georgia," she said, authoritatively.
With a bound Georgia leaped to her feet, and with eyes that shone like coals of fire in a face perfectly white, she confronted her mortal enemy.
Freddy, with all her meanness, was no coward, else she would have fled at sight of that fearful look. As it was she recoiled a step, and her smile faded away as she said:
"My cousin sent me here to tell you to go to your room and stay there until he comes."
Slowly and impressively Georgia lifted her head, and keeping her gleaming, burning eyes fixed on the sallow face before her, pointed to the door.
"Go!" she said, in a hollow voice, "Go!"
Freddy started, and her face flushed.
"I have delivered my message, and intend to. If you don't do as my cousin orders you – take care, that's all."
"Go!" repeated the hollow tones, that startled her by their very calmness, so unnatural was it.
For the very first time in her life Freddy Richmond was terrified, and Miss Jerusha appalled. Without a word, the former glided past, opened the door, and vanished.
For a moment Georgia stood stock-still, like one turned to stone, and then, throwing up her arms with a great cry, she would have fallen had not Miss Jerusha caught her.
"Oh, my heart! my heart!" she cried, pressing her hands over it as though it were breaking. "Oh, Miss Jerusha, they have killed me!"
"Oh, Georgia!" began Miss Jerusha, but her voice choked, and she stopped.
"Oh, leave me! leave me! dear, best friend that ever was in this world, leave me, and never come to this dreadful house again. Oh, Miss Jerusha, why did you not leave me to die that night long ago!"
Miss Jerusha essayed to speak, but something rose in her throat and stopped her. Nothing broke the silence of the room but her sobs and that passionate, despairing voice.
"Go! leave me! I cannot bear you should stay here; and never, never come back again, Miss Jerusha. Oh, me! oh, me! that I were dead!"
There was such painful anguish in her tones that Miss Jerusha could not stay to listen. Throwing her arms around her neck in one passionate embrace, she hurried from the house, sobbing hysterically, and startling the servant who opened the door.
Then Georgia reeled rather than walked from the room, up stairs, and into her own bedroom; and there, sinking down on the floor, she lay as still and motionless as if she were indeed dead. For hours she lay thus, as if frozen there, as if she would never rise again – crushed, humbled, degraded to the dust. Sounds of laughter and music came wafted up the stairs; she heard the voice she hated most singing a gay Italian barcarole, and now another voice joins in —her husband's.
Oh, Georgia, your hour of anguish has come, and where is your help now? Heaven and earth are dark alike; you did not look up when life's sunshine shone on you, and now, in your utter misery, there is no helper near.
Oh, Georgia, where, in your humiliation, is the pride, the independence that has supported you hitherto? Gone – swept away, like a reed in the blast, and you lie there prostrate on the earth, prone in the dust, a living example of human helplessness, unsupported by divine grace.
Hour after hour passed, and still she lay there. The door opened at last, but she did not move. The footsteps she knew so well crossed the threshold, but she was motionless. A voice pronounced her name, and a shiver ran through her whole frame, but the collapsed form was still. A hand was laid on her arm, and she was lifted to her feet and borne to a chair, and then she raised her sunken eyes and saw the stern face of her husband bent upon her.