A CROWN OF SHAME.CHAPTER I.
A CROWN OF SHAME.
H
HE left Liz weeping over the dead body of her father. How paltry all other troubles seemed to be, as she did so. She had no power, at that moment, to realise any fact but one,—that he had left her, and without a warning. He, who had been her sole protector and companion, beside whom she had walkedevery moment of her life, sharing his knowledge, and his duties, and his cares, had gone forth into the dreamland without her, and for the future she must struggle through life as best she might, alone. Liz was not ignorant of the cause of her father’s death, but she had been quite unprepared for it. She had known for some time past that he had a weak heart, but men lived with such, sometimes to their three score years and ten. He had passed a tranquil and unexciting life. The passions which had raged stormily perhaps in his youth had forsaken him in his latter days, and he had appeared likely to live on to a good old age. But the events of the last week had greatly upset him. Liz had no doubt, as she looked at his pale, calm features, that his sudden death lay, in a greatmeasure, at Maraquita’s door, and the fact did not make her feel more tenderly towards her adopted sister. But the infant was wailing in her arms, and she felt that something must be done at once. This was no time for weeping, or inaction. She turned on her heel, with set features, and teeth closely clenched together, and passed into the outer room to summon her negress attendant Chloe to her aid. Chloe was conspicuous only by her absence, but on the threshold of the outer door she found the yellow girl, Rosa, slowly rocking herself to and fro.
‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Lizzie sternly. ‘Have you not brought me into enough trouble already?’
The girl turned round and caught the folds of her dress, and buried herface in them, crying. The coloured people are very emotional, and a sudden remorse had stabbed the depths of poor Rosa’s heart.
‘Oh, Miss Lizzie,’ she sobbed, ‘I’se so sorry the poor Doctor dead! Massa Courcelles tell me so as he went out. The dear good Doctor, who was so berry kind to me in my sickness, and so good to my little Carlo, and now he gone too, and me nebber see him any more, and my heart is broke, Miss Liz, my heart is broke!’
This tribute to her dead father’s virtues affected Liz more than anything else could have done.
‘Ifyouare so sorry for his loss, Rosa,’ she answered gently, ‘what do you supposeImust feel. I seem to have lost everything to-day—everything,’ she added, in a vague and weary tone.
‘Oh, Missy Liz, I’se so sorry!’ repeated Rosa. ‘But what can I do to help you, and to take some of dis trouble off you? Let me do something, Missy Liz, to show I’se real sorry.’
‘You can go up to the White House, Rosa, and tell Mr Courtney of—of—this, and say I should like to see him as soon as he can come to me. I can’t find Chloe anywhere.’
‘Ah! dat Chloe no good. She too stupid!’ cried Rosa, with all a negress’s jealousy. ‘And may I come back, too, Missy Liz, with Massa Courtney, and help you nurse the baby, same as you helped me with little Carlo?’
The allusion to the child brought the trouble it had caused her too vividly to Lizzie’s mind. She dropped into a chair, and burst into tears.
‘Oh, Rosa! Rosa! you have spoiled my life for me. How could you be so cruel?’
The yellow girl crawled on her knees to the side of the Doctor’s daughter.
‘Missy Liz, what I done so bad? Isn’t dat baby your own baby, then?’
‘Of course it isn’t! How could you think such a thing of me? It is a little nurse-child which was left in charge of my dear father, and I was minding it for him. But you made Monsieur de Courcelles believe that it belongs to me, and you have parted us for ever. He was to have been my husband, Rosa, but he never will be so now; never—never!’
Rosa’s eyes opened with surprise.
‘Missy Liz, you must tell him I’se a liar. I know noting of de baby, only I see it on your bed, and I’se so sorryI speak to Massa Courcelles about it. It was de debbil spoke, Missy Liz, and not me. Something seem to come in my head and say dat chile like my little Carlo, and you no better den me. But I see now I’se all wrong, and you too good to do such a drefful thing. You tell Massa Courcelles I’se a liar, and it’ll be all right again, Missy Liz.’
‘No, Rosa, it will never be right again in the way you mean. Ididtell Monsieur de Courcelles what you say, but he refused to believe me. No one will believe me now, I am afraid,’ said Liz mournfully, ‘and I must bear the brunt of my own rash promise.’
‘Oh! Missy Liz, must you keep dat baby dat isn’t yours, and take de trouble of it all your life?’
‘I think so, Rosa. I have nowhere to send it; and you would not have me turnit out on the cold world alone? No, my dear dead father left it to me as a sacred charge,’ cried Lizzie, weeping, ‘and I will guard it, whatever it may cost me. It will be something to do for his sake.’
‘Oh, Miss Lizzie!’ exclaimed Rosa, awed by a display of heroism she could not understand, ‘you berry good woman! I nebber know till dis day how good a woman you are. Let me stay with you, Miss Lizzie. Send dat Chloe back to huts, and let me be your servant, ’stead of her. Chloe don’t know nuffin of children.Shenot had a little boy, like me. Let me nurse dat baby for you, and I will be faithful, trust me, Missy Liz, and nebber let de debbil speak through my mouth again.’
‘I believe you, Rosa,’ replied Lizzie. ‘I believe you are sorry for the mischief you have done, and that youwould undo it if you could. You were a good mother to little Carlo, and you would be a kind nurse to this poor little one. If it can be managed, it shall be arranged so, but we can do nothing without the leave of Mr Courtney. Go now and tell him of the grief I am in, and we will talk of these things another day.’
‘But I will come back and hold de baby for you, Missy Liz!’ exclaimed the yellow girl, as she set off towards the White House.
Liz walked back into the death chamber, and mechanically performed the necessary offices to prepare her father’s body for the grave. She did not weep again as she did so. The blow of her two great losses, coming so quickly one upon the other, had stunned her, and dried up the sources of her tears. Shewould have time to think and weep, she thought, by-and-by. When Mr Courtney arrived post-haste in answer to her summons, his grief appeared to be scarcely less than her own. He had been sincerely and deeply attached to this erring friend of his youthful days, and had never anticipated losing him so soon. He shed tears freely over the silent corpse, and kept on assuring Lizzie that her future should be one of his first cares.
‘Don’t let that trouble you, my dear,’ he reiterated. ‘I looked upon your dear father as my brother, and you shall never miss his protection whilst I can extend it to you. From this moment, Lizzie, I shall regard you as my daughter, and as soon as the sad ceremonies which we must go through, are concluded, I shall carry you off to theWhite House, and consider you second only in my affection to Maraquita.’
‘Dear Mr Courtney, you are too good to me,’ gasped Lizzie, ‘but—but—please don’t speak of my future to me to-day.’
‘No, no, of course not. It was thoughtless of me,’ said the planter; ‘but I did it with the view to set your mind at ease. To-day we must give up entirely to thoughts of my dear and valued friend.’
He imagined that the girl’s mind was too distracted to dwell on anything but her great loss; but Lizzie had remembered that before the morrow, the scandal that was being spread abroad concerning her would reach his ears, and render her unfit in his eyes to be the companion of his daughter.
When he had told her what arrangements he had made for the funeral,which (according to the custom in hot climates) was to take place that evening, Mr Courtney, with a farewell grasp of his dead friend’s hand, turned to leave the bungalow, when his eye fell upon the yellow girl, Rosa, squatting on the floor with the baby in her arms.
‘What infant is that?’ he demanded indifferently, for it was so wrapped up in flannel that he could not see its face.
Liz had anticipated the question, and dreaded it; but she felt evasion would be useless, and had not attempted to send the child out of his sight.
‘It is a little girl which was confided to my dear father’s care,’ she answered, in a low voice. ‘And he was going to consult Dr Martin at the Fort about a nurse to take the charge of it, when he was called away.’
Mr Courtney’s eyes opened somewhat at her explanation.
‘Is it a white child then?’ he asked.
‘Yes, it is a white child,’ replied Lizzie, with a deep sigh, as she stood trembling at what might follow. But Mr Courtney said no more on the subject. Perhaps his mind was too full of his lost friend to think of minor things, anyway he left the bungalow without another word or look, and Lizzie breathed more freely when he had gone. She spent the remainder of the day beside the remains of the father whom she had loved so well, and when the sun had sunk in the west, and the cool sea breezes commenced to blow over San Diego, she followed his coffin to the little European burial ground, which was situated on the top of a hill, and in full view of the glorious ocean. She saw that therewere many friends, both white and coloured, gathered round the open grave but she was in no fit condition to recognise who they were. Only, as the last words of the solemn service were concluded, and she heard the sods of earth rattle on the coffin lid, and felt as if she must throw herself in with them, and be buried with all she loved best in this world, she found some one supporting her failing steps on either side, and looking up saw she was standing between Mr Courtney and Captain Norris.
‘Come, my dear child,’ whispered the former. ‘It is all over now. Let us see you safely to your home.’
They led her between them back to the empty bungalow, and the three friends sat down together in the sitting-room, whilst Rosa squatted in theverandah with Maraquita’s baby in her arms. Liz, making an effort to battle with her emotion, busied herself with setting some light refreshment before her guests. Mr Courtney drank a glass of iced sherbet in silence, and then cleared his throat as though to force himself to speak.
‘Lizzie, my dear, I have a good deal to say to you, and I wish to say it now. I might leave it till to-morrow, but I think it will do you good to fix your mind at once upon business, and to settle what you are to do in the future.’
Lizzie turned a little paler than she had been. She had understood her future to be settled that morning. But she guessed why it required further explanation now.
‘Captain Norris, than whom I thinkyour dear father had no warmer friend, has been talking to me on the subject this afternoon, and has consented to become the guardian and trustee of your interests.’
‘I am of age,’ interrupted Lizzie, with open eyes; ‘I require no guardian.’
‘Stop, my dear, and let me finish what I have to say. You may not require a personal guardian, but your monetary interests may need looking after. I am not likely to forget you at my death, Lizzie.’
‘Indeed, Mr Courtney, you are too good to me,’ said Liz,—‘as you were to my poor father,’ she added, in a lower voice.
‘Your father was my dearest friend: I can never forget that,’ replied the planter; ‘and I am only following the dictates of my affection for him in making a suitable provision for his daughter. I have beenthinking the matter over deeply, Lizzie, and I have decided that I cannot spare you from amongst my coolies. Why should you not carry on the work from which your father has been so suddenly called away? I know you are competent to do so, from what he himself has told me, and in any difficult cases you can always call in the assistance of the Doctor from the Fort. What I propose is that you should continue to live in this bungalow (the furniture and effects of which I shall make over to you as your own property), and to work amongst the coloured people; and I will gladly pay you the same remuneration as heretofore. Don’t you think it will be the best plan, Lizzie, and that you will be happier if you bravely try to forget your grief, in carrying on a life of activity and usefulness?’
‘I amsureit will be best,’ she answered, in a low tone.
Her pride, which had made her divine at once the cause of her benefactor’s change of mind, would have also prompted her to refuse his offers of assistance, but she was helpless in the matter. She had no friends to go to, no resources to fall back upon. What could she have done, left alone in San Diego, but live on charity, which she would rather have died than accept? Mr Courtney’s proposal was at least not a humiliating one. He offered her money in return for her labour, and she was resolved to earn it, and thanked Heaven she was capable of doing so. That he should not even have alluded to his promise of the morning wounded but did not surprise her. He had heard the wretched slander, which was doubtless already going the round of theplantation, concerning her. Henri de Courcelles had, perhaps, repeated it, and Mr Courtney already regretted that he had held out hopes he could not fulfil. Well, he should not read her disappointment in her eyes. She would put a brave face on the matter, and battle (as best she could) for herself; for the oath she had taken to her dead father was doubly sacred, now that all hope of release from it was over.
‘We will do all in our power to make your life comfortable,’ continued Mr Courtney; ‘and you may always depend on me, Lizzie, as your friend.’
He did not include his wife’s and daughter’s friendship with his own, and Lizzie noticed the omission, and shrunk under it.
‘Mr Courtney,’ she said, in a firm voice, though her eyes were full of tears,‘I thank you for your offers of assistance, and I accept them gratefully. I did not know till a few days back, the whole extent to which my poor father was indebted to you, but I shall never forget it, and if I can ever repay it in the slightest degree, I will.’
‘Hush, my dear! It was nothing. Don’t speak of it now.’
‘It was hislife, Mr Courtney, and I should not be his daughter were I unmindful of it. I should have liked to relieve you of the burden, nowheis gone, but I don’t know what I could do, without friends, and in a foreign country. So I will remain on (as you are good enough to propose), and work among your plantation hands, and do all I possibly can to return your kindness to us both.’
‘Lizzie, my dear, I don’t wish you to think of it as if it were a favour. Theobligation is quite as much on my side. And you mustn’t speak of yourself as friendless, either, my dear. You have friends on all sides, I am sure of that. You know whatIfeel towards you; and here is Captain Norris, grieving only second to myself for your loss; and every one in San Diego loves and respects you. You may take my word for that, Lizzie.’
Mr Courtney had risen, as if to take his departure, whilst he spoke, and now stood in the doorway, with his straw hat in his hand, and beckoned her towards him.
‘By the way,’ he added, in a lower tone, ‘what do you intend to do about that child, Lizzie?’ jerking his head towards Rosa and the baby.
‘What should I do about it?’ she returned. ‘I know no place to send it to. It was in the charge of Mammy Lila, butshe died of the fever. I suppose I must keep it here.’
‘Where are its parents?’ demanded the planter inquisitively.
‘It has none, Mr Courtney, or none who will own it.’
‘Dear me! That is very strange, and very awkward. Who confided it to your father’s care?’
‘I am not at liberty to tell you, sir.’
‘Do you know then?’
She paused for a moment, and then answered, in a husky tone,—
‘Yes.’
‘And you will not tell me, Lizzie?’
‘I am bound under a solemn oath, Mr Courtney, not to reveal anything about that child, and I must beg of you not to question me.’
‘It looks bad for you, my dear, and may be the cause of a great deal of futureunhappiness. There are not so many Europeans on the island that such an event can occur without comment; and if you persist in holding your tongue on the subject, peoplewilltalk about it, and to your disadvantage.’
‘Then theymusttalk, Mr Courtney,’ replied Lizzie boldly, though she had turned very pale. ‘I cannot break my promise to my father, for any consideration, not even to save my reputation.’
‘Lizzie,’ whispered the planter presently, ‘promise me at least to send the child away. Letmesend it away for you. You don’t knowwhatpeople are saying about you. Even De Courcelles has heard the rumour, and came to me for an explanation of it. I will ask you no questions, my dear, but let me help you in the matter by sending the infant to one of the sister islands. I cannot bear to think thatany one should dare to say a word against you, for your father’s sake.’
‘You are very kind, Mr Courtney, but I have made up my mind on this subject, and the child will remain with me. Sending her away now to the care of a hireling, will not remove the stain her presence here has cast upon my character; and I have reasons for wishing to bring her up myself. If you object to it, I will relieve you of the burden of both of us; but that infant is my father’s last charge to me, and I will keep it.’
‘If you would only trustmewith the secret of its birth, I could fight your battle with you,’ said Mr Courtney sadly.
‘I will trust no one, sir. I have lost all that I cared for in this world, through its means, and I will at least have the satisfaction of knowing that I have remained true to myself.’
‘Very well, my dear; good-night; and remember I am still your friend,’ replied the planter, as he walked slowly away.
Lizzie looked after him for a moment, and then returning to the apartment, and regardless of the presence of Hugh Norris, she flung herself into a chair, and burst into a flood of tears.
‘Still my friend!’ she repeated. ‘Yes, but a friend without any trust or confidence left in me. Ah! what is the use of his assurances? I can read his heart too well! I have not a friend left in the world.’