CHAPTER VIII.SHADOWINGS OF WHAT WAS TO BE.
It was very pleasant at Aikenside that afternoon, and the cool breeze blowing from the miniature fish-pond in one corner of the grounds, came stealing into the handsome parlors, where Agnes Remington, in becoming toilet, reclined languidly upon the sofa, bending her graceful head to suit the height of Jessie, who was twining some flowers among her curls, and occasionally appealing to Guy to know “if it was not pretty.”
In his favorite seat in the pleasant bay-window, opening into the garden, Guy was sitting, apparently reading a book, though his eyes did not move very rapidly down the page, for his thoughts were on some other subject. When his pretty step-mother first came to Aikenside, three months before, he had been half sorry, for he knew just how his quiet would be disturbed, but as the weeks went by, and he became accustomed to Jessie’s childish prattle and frolicsomeways, while even Agnes herself was not a bad picture for his handsome home, he began to feel how he should miss them when they were gone, Jessie particularly, who made so much sunshine wherever she went, and who was very dear to the heart of the half brother. He knew, too, that Agnes would rather stay there, for her income did not warrant as luxurious a home as he could give her, and by remaining at Aikenside during the warmer season she could afford to pass the winter in Boston, where her personal attractions secured her quite as much attention as was good for her. Had she been more agreeable to him he would not have hesitated to offer her a home as long as she chose to remain, but, as it was, he felt that Lucy Atherstone would be much happier alone with him. Lucy, however, was not coming yet, and until she did come Agnes perhaps might stay. It certainly would be better for Jessie, who could have a teacher in the house, and it was upon these matters that he was reflecting.
As if divining his thoughts Agnes said to him rather abruptly:
“Guy, Ellen Laurie writes me that they are all going to Saratoga for a time, and then to Newport,and she wishes I would join then. Do you think I can afford it?”
“Oh, yes, that’s splendid, and I’ll stay here while you are gone; I like Aikenside so much better than Boston. Mamma can afford it, can’t she, Guy?” Jessie exclaimed, dropping her flowers and springing upon her brother’s knee.
Smoothing her bright hair and pinching her soft cheek, Guy replied:
“That means, I suppose, that I can afford it, don’t it? but I, too, was thinking just now about your staying here, where you really do improve.”
Then turning to Agnes he made some inquiries as to the plans proposed by the Lauries, ascertaining that Agnes’s plan was that he should invite her to go with him to Saratoga, or Newport, or both, and that Jessie meantime should remain at Aikenside, just as she wished to do.
Guy could not find much pleasure in escorting Agnes to a fashionable watering-place, particularly as he was expected to pay the bills; but he sometimes did unselfish things, and as he had not been very gracious to her on the occasion of her last visit to Aikenside, he decided to martyr himself and go to Saratoga. But who would care for Jessie? She must not be leftwholly with the servants. A governess of some kind must be provided, and he was about speaking of this to Agnes, when the doctor was announced, and the conversation turned into another channel. Agnes Remington would not have confessed how much she was interested in Dr. Holbrook. Indeed, only that morning, in reply to a joking remark made to her by Guy, she had petulantly exclaimed:
“The idea of my caring for him, except as a friend and physician. Why, he must be younger than I am, or at most about my age. A mere boy, as it were.”
And yet, in making her toilet that afternoon, she had arranged every part of her dress with direct reference to the “mere boy,” her heart beating faster every time she remembered the white sun-bonnet and the Scotch plaid shawl she had seen beside him when driving that morning. Little Maddy Clyde would hardly have credited the story had she been told that the beautiful lady from Aikenside was positively jealous of Dr. Holbrook’s attentions to herself; yet it was so, and the jealousy was all the more bitter when she remembered who Madeline was, and how startled that aged couple of the red cottage would be, could they know whoshewas. But they did not; she was quite sure of that; and so she had ventured to pass theirdoor, her heart throbbing with a strange sensation as the old way-marks came in view, way-marks which she remembered so well, and around which so many sad memories were clustering. Agnes was not all bad. Indeed, she was scarcely worse than most vain, selfish fashionable women; and all that day, since her return from riding, haunting, remorseful thoughts of the long ago had been clinging to her, making her more anxious to leave that neighborhood for a time at least, and in scenes of gayety forget, if possible, that such things as broken vows or broken hearts existed.
The arrival of the doctor dissipated her sadness in a measure, and after greeting him with her usual expressions of welcome, she said, half playfully, half spitefully: “By the way, doctor, who was that old lady, all bent up double in shawls and things, whom you were taking out for an airing?”
Guy looked up quickly, wondering where Agnes could have seen the doctor, who, conscious of a sudden pang, answered naturally:
“That old lady, bent double and bundled in shawls, was young Maddy Clyde, to whom I thought a short ride might do good.”
“Oh, yes; that patient about whom Jessie has gone mad. I am glad to have seen her.”
There was unmistakable irony in her voice now, and turning from her to Guy, the doctor continued:
“The old man was telling me to-day of your kindness in saving his house from being sold. It was like you, Guy; and I wish I, too, had the means to be generous, for they are so very poor.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Jessie, who had stolen to the doctor’s side, and lain her fat, bare arm upon his shoulder, as if he had been Guy. “You might give Maddy the doctor’s bill. I remember how mamma cried, and said she never could pay papa’s bill when it was sent in.”
“Jessie!” said Agnes and Guy, simultaneously, while the doctor laughingly pulled one of her long, black curls.
“Yes, I could do that. I have thought of it, but they might not accept it, as they are proud as well as poor.”
“Mr. Markham has no one to care for but his wife and this Madeline, has he?” Agnes asked; and the doctor replied:
“I did not suppose so until a few days since, when I learned from a Mr. Green that Mrs. Markham’s youngest and only brother has been an inmate of a lunatic asylum for years; and that though they cannotpay his expenses, they do what they can toward providing him with comforts.”
“What is a lunatic asylum, mother? What does he mean?” Jessie asked; but it was the doctor, not Agnes, who explained to the child what a lunatic asylum was.
“Is insanity hereditary in this family?” Guy asked.
Agnes’s cheek was very white, though her face was turned away, as the doctor answered, “I do not know; I did not ask the cause. I only heard the fact that such a man as Joseph Mortimer existed.”
For a moment there was silence in the room, and then Guy told the doctor of what Agnes and himself were speaking when he arrived.
“I suppose it’s of no use asking you to join us for a week or so.”
“There was not,” the doctor said. “His patients needed him and he must stay at home.”
“Doctor, how would this Maddy Clyde do to stay here with Jessie while we are gone, partly as companion and partly as her teacher?” was Guy’s next question, which awoke Mrs. Agnes at once from her reverie.
“Guy,” she exclaimed, “are you crazy? That child Jessie’s governess! No, indeed! I shall havea teacher from Boston—one whose manners and style are unexceptionable.”
Guy had a will of his own, and few could provoke it into action as effectually as Agnes, who, in thus opposing him, was working directly against herself. Paying her no attention, except to bow in token that he heard, Guy asked Jessie her opinion.
“Oh, it will be splendid! Can she come to-morrow? I sha’n’t care how long you are gone if I can have Maddy here, and doctor will come up every day, will you not?” and the soft eyes looked up pleadingly into the doctor’s face.
“It is not settled yet that Maddy comes,” the doctor replied; adding, as an answer to Guy’s question: “If Agnes were willing, I do not think you could do better than secure Miss Clyde’s services. Two children will thus be happy, for Maddy, as I have told you, thinks Aikenside must be a little lower than Paradise. I shall be happy to open negotiations, if you say so.”
“I’ll ride down and let you know to-morrow,” Guy said. “These domestic matters, where there is a difference of opinion, are better discussed alone,” and he turned good-humoredly toward Agnes, who knew it was useless to oppose him then.
But she did oppose him that night, after the doctor had gone, taking at first the high stand that sooner than have a country girl like Maddy Clyde associated daily with her daughter, whether as teacher or companion, she would give up Saratoga and stay at home. Guy could not explain why it was that opposition from Agnes always aroused all his powers of antagonism. Yet so it was, and now he was as fully determined that Maddy Clyde should come to Aikenside as Agnes was that she should not. He knew, too, how to attain his end without further altercation.
“Very well,” was his quiet reply, “you can remain at home if you choose, of course. I had intended taking you myself, wherever you wished to go; and not only that, but I was about to ask how much was needed for the necessary additions to your wardrobe, but if you prefer remaining here to giving up a most unfounded prejudice against a girl who never harmed you, and whom Jessie already loves, you can do so;” and Guy walked from the room, leaving Agnes first to cry, then to pout, then to think it all over, and finally to decide that going to Saratoga and Newport under the protection of Guy was better than carrying out a whim, which, after all, was nothing but a whim.
Accordingly, next morning, as Guy was in his libraryreading his papers, she went to him, and folding her white hands upon his shoulder, said very prettily:
“I was real cross last night, and let my foolish pride get the ascendency. But I have reconsidered the matter, and am willing for this Miss Clyde to come, provided you still think it best.”
Guy’s mustache hid the mischievous smile lurking about his mouth, and he received the concession as graciously as if he did not know perfectly the motive which impelled it. As she had commenced being amiable, she seemed determined to continue it, and offered herself to write a note soliciting Maddy’s services.
“As I am Jessie’s mother, it will be perfectly proper for me to hire and manage her,” she said, and as Guy acquiesced in this suggestion, she sat down at the writing-desk, and commenced a very pleasantly-worded note, in which Miss Clyde was informed that she had been recommended as a suitable person with whom to leave Jessie during the summer and part of the autumn, and that she, Jessie’s mother, wrote to ask if for the sum of one dollar per week she was willing to come to Aikenside as governess, or waiting-maid.
“Orwhat?” Guy asked, as she read to him whatshe had written. “Maddy Clyde will not be waiting-maid in this house, neither will she come for one dollar per week, as you propose. I hire her myself. I have taken a fancy to the girl. Write another note; substitute companion for waiting-maid, and offer her three dollars per week, instead of one.”
As long as Guy paid the bill, Agnes could not demur to the price, although, remembering a time when she had taught a district school for one dollar per week and boarded ‘round besides, she thought three dollars far too much. But Guy had commanded, and she generally obeyed him, so she wrote another note, which he approved, and, sealing it up, sent it by a servant to Madeline.