CHAPTER XXXIX.FLOSSIE DECLINES.
FLOSSIE had given the driver the address of her only cousin she remembered; a certain Mrs. Lyman, whose husband she believed was some instructor or professor at some college, she could not remember where. They had sent her cards upon their wedding; but Flossie had never been near them in her previous trips to Boston. She had an idea they might be poor; and did not wish to trouble them; and after all, what could there be between her life and theirs?
So she had some qualms of social conscience when the carriage stopped at the little brick house; the first time, perhaps, in twenty years, that she felt the slightest doubt as to her reception. But she was determined that she would go to no hotel, where Wemyss might find her.
But they proved hospitable people, and really glad to see her, if just the least bit surprised. Evidently they were much afraid of her, and still more of her maid; but a room was found for Justine too; and in the morning Mrs. Gower dismissed her, with her wages paid some time ahead. And gradually Flossie found that they doubted not so much theirbreeding as her own; they were by no means ashamed of the little house and its two maid-servants, but feared that Flossie might be. And they knew people high-placed enough in the world to be known, by name, even to her. “How different from New York!” she said to herself; perhaps she should have said, how different from that New York that she had made. They had several children, who all came to the breakfast-table; and Flossie noted, with much compassion, that Mrs. Lyman was her own nurse. She was persuaded to stay with them over the next day; their mode of life was a curious study to her. She did not envy it; possibly she even looked at it with horror, for she never lost her essential love for wealth; but she was quite clever enough to have for it a certain respect. Her favorite classifications seemed to fail; they were not “bourgeois,” but even gentlefolk, such as she had read poor rectors’ families were in England. And such as there are many in America, though she did not know it. Flossie went back to New York on the morning train the next day, the same way she had come. She read in the paper that Mr. Caryl Wemyss was a passenger in the Parthia for Europe. It was the best thing he could do.
She had given much thought to her coming meeting with her husband. Would he suspect anything, she wondered? She hoped not; and she turned about the paper to see what happened in New York. She had not read a newspaper for several days; her own news she had made, and she cared for no other.A black headline caught her eye:Failure of the Starbuck Oil Company. Great heavens!
All her fortune was still in that; save only the house upon Fifth Avenue. She read it with avidity. The failure appeared to be complete; and from the account she gathered also the facts of the great fire. It was believed to be incendiary the paper said. How terrible that people could commit such crimes; what were the laws for, and the decalogue? The house of Townley & Tamms had also failed; it was believed the assets would not realize ten per cent. As most of the loss fell upon trusts held for rich private individuals, it was thought the failure would have no further disastrous consequences upon the street, the paper added grimly. Mr. Phineas Tamms was known to be in Montreal; young Mr. Townley was also a fugitive. The Allegheny Central was also heavily involved, but it was believed this property might recover. Warrants were out for the arrest of Mr. Townley, Senior.
Flossie put the paper down with horror. She found it impossible to believe that she was ruined; that she could really ever be poor.
And then the thought came to her, what a fortunate escape; Lucie still had money; but what would she have been, as his wife, undivorced perhaps, who had fled from him with Caryl Wemyss? She shuddered at the idea; well she knew how her world would have regarded her, poor, no longer able to dazzle her careless court into complaisance, no longer materially able to set the fashion she could lead sowell. I cannot say she felt any remorse; women like Flossie Gower do not feel remorse; but she was at least devoutly thankful she had not made a worldly blunder.
How would Lucie take it? This was her one thought, now. He had been absent on his sporting trip; but was certain to be back the very day she left. How fortunate, after all, had been poor Wemyss’s cowardice! She had all a woman’s ignorance of business; and she felt, for the first time in her life, a need of leaning on her husband. Poverty was the one thing she dreaded, more than death, more even than old age; in dishonor she did not much believe. But she had never been frightened in her life before.
The journey passed much more quickly than her journey on; and arriving back at the great terminus, she had never thought to see again, she got nimbly into a carriage and drove quickly to her house. It was Lucie himself who met her at the door.
“I am so glad to see you again, Flo,” said he; and she let him kiss her twice. “I have been so terribly anxious!”
“Tell me, Lucie—is it all gone?”
“All what gone?” said he; and he took her in his arms again. “You left no word where you had gone; and I have been almost crying!” And the honest fellow did let drop two big salt tears upon her little hand.
“I have been to Boston—staying with my cousin—fora little rest. But do tell me—have we lost everything?”
“Lost? Oh, yes, I believe the Starbuck Oil has pretty well gone up,” said he. “But what does it matter? I’ve got enough for two, you know. My dear, I haven’t told you, but I’ve made some money lately! Isn’t it a joke that I should make money? And I can’t tell you how glad I am that I can give you something at last! Your income shall be just what it always was—I’ll take care of that.” Flossie gave a sigh of relief; and actually kissed him, all herself.
Poor Lucie! He had never been so happy in his life. Not even when they had first been married; for though he was a simple gentleman, his heart had grown, since then; and hearts do more of God’s work than intellects, even now in the world. And that very day he went down and bought her diamonds, even finer than those he had given her upon their wedding-day.
Did Flossie change? I think not. It is only in novels that such natures change at nearly forty; it is only in novels, too, that the unrepentant are brought up with a round turn, and a moral pointed, in a flare of transformation-scene blue lights. But Flossie is still rich, and still she leads her set; she is still successful, and will doubtless be so to the very end. It is true some people say she is in her decadence. She seems to have resigned herself to her final place in life; and other younger members of her set, Baby Malgam, perhaps, or Mrs. Jimmy De Witt, are passing her. She will have no catastrophe; and though (perhaps)against all morals of romance, it must be said that she is making simple Lucie happier than he has ever been before.
She still had one great scare, however. It was some weeks or months after this, that the servant brought Lucie word a lady wished to see him. It was in the early afternoon; and he said that it must be for Mrs. Gower; but no, she insisted, the man told him, that it was for him. She was a veiled lady, the servant said, and he ran to his dressing-room and gave orders for her to be ushered to the parlor.
Going down, to his astonishment, he met Justine. He commonly took little note of his wife’s maids; but this one he remembered because she had been with them so long. “You must wish to see Mrs. Gower,” he said. “I’ll go and find her.”
But no, simpered the Frenchwoman, her business was with him.
“Has she not paid you your wages? she told me she had dismissed you—and for cause.”
A black scowl disfigured the handsome face. “Madame has turned me out—like a dog. And I have had no time to get even the dresses that I left. And—” the maid looked at him curiously. “I do know somesings about Madame Monsieur would like to know—and Madame, she would give almost her beaux yeux not to have me tell.”
Lucie’s eyes opened wide; but in a moment their honest wonderment was changed to a look that Justine misinterpreted. “If Monsieur will make it worth my while—je connais la générosité de Monsieur—I cantell of Madame’s voyage to Boston—sings zat he would like to know!”
She stopped; for Mr. Gower was struggling with many words. The soubrette looked cunningly at the gentleman; and he began with an indignant burst; but then he mastered himself. He took her by the wrist, and led her forcibly to Mrs. Gower’s room. It must be confessed that Flossie’s color changed when she saw the strange pair enter.
“Has this woman been fully paid?” said he to his wife.
“Of course,” said Flossie. “I had to discharge her for insolence to me, and she went away vowing revenge.”
“I thought so,” said Lucie. “James, show this woman the door; and hark ye, Pauline, Fifine, whatever your name is, if you even ring this door-bell again, I’ll have you arrested.”
Ah, Miss Flossie, there are some advantages you had not understood, in marrying a gentleman, though not a clever one—are there not?
And this scene ended Flossie Gower’s episode. She lived on, and still went to balls, and gave her dinners; some people even say that she fell in love with her husband. But this the author, at least, takes liberty to doubt; she liked him, in a way, for he made her own way his so good-naturedly. I do not even know if she be contented; but she certainly has more than her deserts. Perhaps she still hears, with half a sigh, of Kitty Farnum’s—the Countess of Birmingham’s—success in England; and casts a glance of envy at thatlady’s varied photographs in the shop-windows, if she ever walks down Broadway. But then her whilom protégée had married a peer of the realm; and I am sure that she is glad she has not married Caryl Wemyss.
But Mrs. Gower leads no longer. She even has little influence for ill; or if she has, she does not choose to exert it. She is a model no longer; the débutantes have taken other patterns. I am not sure that Mrs. Haviland even has not greater influence—but this is anticipating. The young men no longer cluster round her carriage at the races; poor Arthur’s was perhaps the last of all the lives she injured.
Let us turn to others, in whom, as may be hoped, the reader takes more interest. But first, we turn one glance at Mr. Wemyss. One glance will be enough. No one, of course, ever knew of his great adventure; he has sometimes wished to tell it, but never wholly dared. Moreover, his honor as a gentleman forbids. Clarendon has sometimes spoken of his queer meeting with him and Flossie Gower; people wonder idly, when they grow scandalous, what has been between them; but no one really cares. Mr. Wemyss himself, as Flossie thought, did the best thing possible under the circumstances; he went to Europe on the Parthia, and has stayed there ever since. Let us dismiss him from our thoughts; he is surely not a hero of romance, nor yet even a man in a French play, as he fondly fancied; nor yet even a real man at all. Perhaps there will even be no Décadence.
Of his life he made a poor play; yet could not even play it to the end.