CHAPTER XV.MRS. BROWNE.
It was a boarding house, kept by a Mrs. Browne, an English woman, who had seen better days, as she constantly reminded her boarders, whom she preferred to call guests. She was particular to impress upon her guests that she spelled her name with a final “e.” That was more aristocratic! Many of her boarders were away, and for this reason, perhaps, I was offered as a sitting room the one where madame had received us and we had played whist with Sophie. I could almost have sworn that some of the furniture was the same, especially the chair in which madame had sat, clutching the arms so tightly, with a look of terror on her face which I could see so plainly, and a kind of creepy feeling came over me, as if the place were haunted.
“Yes, this is very nice,” I said; “but have you no other rooms I can look at?”
Mrs. Browne was a woman with a square jaw, and it fell at once, as she repeated, “Other rooms? Yes; but the likes of you don’t want them. Ain’t you an American,and don’t they always want the best? What ails the room? It has been occupied by nobility!”
I saw that she must be conciliated, and hastened to assure her that the room was all that could be desired by nobility or Americans.
“In Heaven’s name! what’s the matter, then?” she asked; and I replied that to me it seemed haunted by the people whom I once knew.
Her shriek might have been heard on the Nevsky, as she fell against an old serving woman, who was just entering the room, and kept her mistress from falling.
“Haunted? Explain! What do you mean? What do you know of the people who once lived here? I was told by the proprietor, of whom I rented it a year ago, that it was perfectly respectable every way. There isn’t a more first-class house in St. Petersburg. Do you think I would have anything that was not first-class—I, who wasn’t brought up to keep boarders?”
“Of course not,” I said, taking a chair and removing my hat, for the day was very warm.
The woman’s manner was so offensive that I resolved to tell her the truth about her first-class house, and was rather anxious to see the effect, especially as her first question to us, after learning that we were Americans,was to ask if we sympathized with the anarchists, of whom America was full, and who were always killing a President or somebody, just like the nihilists. She detested them, she said, and would not have one in her house, if she knew it. She did have one, as she found after he had left, and she burned sulphur candles in his room for two days, to remove the taint. Her servants were all loyal to the government, such as it was. She thought it might be improved, but it was the duty of its citizens to stand by it. All this she had said, and more, and I was wondering if she knew that nihilists had occupied her house, and were now in Siberia.
“Did you ever hear of the Scholaskies?” I asked, when I could get in a word.
“Scholaskies?” she repeated. “The name sounds familiar. Alex!” and she turned to the old woman, against whom she was still propped, and who seemed to be her prime factor. “Alex,” she screamed, saying, apologetically to us, “She is deaf as a post,” “Alex, did you ever hear of the Scholaskies?”
The old woman shook her head, and Mrs. Browne continued, in Russian, which she had no idea I understood: “This American woman speaks as if the Scholaskieshad something to do with this house—this room. Think hard!”
The old woman looked at my friend, Mrs. Whitney, and myself curiously, as if we were some rare specimens, while she seemed to be thinking, and her tan-colored face wrinkled up into folds; then she shook her head again, and Mrs. Browne said to me: “Alex never heard of them; but, then, she has only been a year here from Moscow, have you, Alex?”
Alex didn’t answer, and the question was screamed into her ear.
“Faith of my fathers!” she exclaimed, backing away from her mistress. “Madame needn’t yell like that. Take my good ear,” and she turned her right toward Mrs. Browne, “and I hear fairly well. I don’t know the Scholaskies. Shall I dust now? I see some on the furniture.”
Mrs. Browne nodded, and the old woman began her dusting, moving very slowly, and not letting a particle escape her, I was sure. Addressing us again, but watching her servant narrowly, to see that she was doing her duty, Mrs. Browne continued:
“These Scholaskies could not be disreputable, or Alex would have heard of them. She knows everything, deafas she is. She was highly recommended by a titled English family, who had her for a short time, but long enough to know her value. She is old, to be sure, though not as old as she looks, I imagine. I have never asked her age. She was worked to death as a serf on a farm when young—was abused, I believe, though she never talks about it. She does not talk much, anyway, and is true as steel to her friends, poor thing! She has had so few. I asked her once if she had seen a great deal of trouble, and she replied, ‘I have been in hell; don’t ask me any more.’ Dreadful, wasn’t it? I dare say they beat her on the farm. They used to, before the emancipation, you know.”
I began to think I should never get the Scholaskies in, if Mrs. Browne kept on with her eulogy of Alex, when there came a little break, as Mrs. Browne went forward to show Alex a spot of dust she had missed.
“I know the Scholaskies,” I said. “They once lived here. They were nihilists, all of them—father, mother, son and daughter!”
As Alex was not near enough to lean upon, Mrs. Browne fell back into her chair, with a scream which Alex’s good ear must have heard, for she came at once to her mistress, asking what she could do for her, andfanning her with the feather duster she had been using, the effect of which was to make the lady sneeze vigorously.
“Go ‘way—go ‘way!” she said, pushing Alex aside; then, turning to me, she continued: “You must excuse me, I have such delicate nerves. It is in our family. But tell me what you know of the Scholaskies.”
I told her of meeting Sophie on the train; of all she was to us as a friend; of the evening when, with my nephew and niece, I sat in that room, playing whist, and a gendarme came in——
“In here? In this room?” and there was a gurgling sound in her throat, as she called for Alex, whose good ear was at the end of the room, and did not hear. “Go on,” she said, at last. “I shall throw up the lease. Gendarmes and nihilists both in this room!”
I went on and told her the whole story, in which she at last became greatly interested, especially in the arrest on the Neva.
“Dreadful! Horrible!” she exclaimed. “Didn’t you die with fright and shame?”
“Oh, no,” I replied. “I was shocked and astonished, but not ashamed. I would have saved Ivan, if I could.”
“You would!” she exclaimed. “Are you a nihilist, or an anarchist?”
“Neither,” I answered her. “Ivan was my friend, and I was sorry for him—a young man in his prime, to be banished from all that made life worth living for. But suppose we come to business about the rooms? I’ve told you why they seemed haunted, but sitting here as long as I have, that feeling has vanished, and I rather think I’d like them, for the sake of old times, if my friend is agreeable,” and I turned to Mrs. Whitney, a frail little body, who had been an amused listener to the conversation, and who left everything to me.
She was quite willing, she said, but what was it about giving up the lease because the house had been contaminated by nihilists? She would not like to get settled and then have to move.
Mrs. Browne was taken by surprise. She had made a good bargain with the landlord. The house was well situated for boarders. Those she had had in the last winter were to return the coming winter. She could not afford to throw up the lease, as half her rent was paid in advance. This she explained, and added: “I’m in a tight place.”
I think it is in my nature to give advice, whether askedfor or not, and I said to her: “If you burned sulphur candles two days for one nihilist, burn them eight days for four—Monsieur and Madame Scholaskie, Ivan and Sophie. That, surely, would clear the atmosphere.”
I felt nearly certain that I heard a chuckle from Alex, who was wiping a window, but, as her bad ear was toward me, I might have been mistaken. For a moment Mrs. Browne’s gray eyes shone angrily; then she laughed, and said: “It is so long since those people were here that I think I’ll risk the house without the candles. Will you take the rooms?”
She was coming to business, which was settled at once, although I thought her price rather exorbitant, but Mrs. Whitney paid the bills without a murmur. Indeed, I don’t know that I should have dared protest, under any circumstances. I was somewhat cowed by Mrs. Browne, with her blue blood and the “e” at the end of her name. She was a wiry little woman, with a tongue; and, after we had agreed upon the rooms—to her evident satisfaction and surprise that we had not tried to beat her down—she began very volubly to descant upon the great privileges we enjoyed as her guests—the best the market could produce, the cleanest house and most attentive servants, especially Alex, whose virtues she began again to extol. Incidentally, she called our attention to the fact that Alex never went out but once a week, and not always that.
“Fanning her with the feather duster she had been using, the effect of which was to make the lady sneeze vigorously.”
“Fanning her with the feather duster she had been using, the effect of which was to make the lady sneeze vigorously.”
“Fanning her with the feather duster she had been using, the effect of which was to make the lady sneeze vigorously.”
“To-night happens to be her evening out,” she said. “Where she goes I don’t know. She is never late, and when she comes in she takes off her shoes, so as not to make a noise. She will not disturb you. Come, Alex, you have dusted this room enough.”
With a bow, she left us, followed by Alex, who was a little lame, and limped as she walked.
“Broke her leg at hard work, and it was not set right,” Mrs. Browne explained, as she saw us looking after her. “Poor thing, she has been through fire and water, but is strong as an ox. Can pick me up as if I were a little child. Good-morning!”
I was glad when she was gone, with her enumeration of Alex’s virtues. I had taken a prejudice against the old woman, and believed she could hear more than she pretended. That afternoon we moved into our new quarters, and took our first dinner with Mrs. Browne. Everything was homelike, well cooked and well served. The linen was spotless, the china pretty, and the silver real—as Mrs. Browne took pains to inform us, saying she would have no shams about her house, if she knew it.
That night was warm and bright, with a full moon, but I could not sleep for the thoughts crowding so fast upon my brain. Where were Madame Scholaskie and Ivan? And where was Michel Seguin, and should I see him again? I would not ask Mrs. Browne if she knew anything of him. I would wait and let him find me. Attracted by the beauty of the night, I arose at last and went to a window, where I stood looking out, when, just as a clock struck twelve, I saw Alex stealing softly up to the house, and taking off her shoes, as her mistress had said.
“She is not a very early bird, with all her virtues,” I thought; but I heard no sound as she entered the house; and, going to bed, I fell asleep at last, and dreamed of M. Seguin and his dog.