CHAPTER XLVI.AT THE ST. JAMES.
It was too late in the season for guests to be coming from the North, but the increasing heat of the warm spring days was driving the people from points up the river, so that Jacksonville was full of visitors, and the St. James was crowded when Reinette arrived there in the train from Tallahassee.
“A small room will suit me; I do not care for a very expensive one,” she said, timidly, as she stood before the clerk’s desk, with Pierre and Axie on either side of her.
But the only vacant room in the house was one on the third floor front, and of this Queenie took possession, glad to escape for a time at least from the curious eyeswhich she felt were turned upon her. In all large hotels where the guests mingle freely together at table d’hote and in a common parlor, there is necessarily a good deal of gossip, and talk, and speculation with regard to strangers, especially if the latter chance to be at all out of the common order. And to this rule the St. James was not an exception. As Mrs. Strong had said, it had its cats, as what hotel has not? Idle, listless cats, who lead an aimless life, with nothing to do but scratch and tear each other, sometimes with claws unsheathed, but oftener with velvet paws and purring notes, and dark insinuations, which are far more dangerous, inasmuch as they cannot be met and combatted openly. Cliques, too, there were, the members of which, after criticising and talking each other up, turned their attention to any new-comers unfortunate enough to differ from the ordinary type of women, and Queenie was one of these. Everybody was interested in her. Everybody turned to look after her as she walked through the hall, or entered or left the dining-room, and many sought the books for information. But “Miss Hetherton, Merrivale, Mass.,” told them nothing definite of the dark-faced little girl in black, who sat apart from them all, with a strange expression in the brilliant eyes, which swept the room so often and so rapidly, and which had in them a far-off look of weariness and pain rather than any particular interest in what was passing around her. Then one of the ladies tried Pierre. But at the first alarm the old man conveniently forgot every word of English he had ever known, and jabbered in his native tongue so rapidly that his interlocutor turned from him in dismay and opened her batteries upon Axie, whom she encountered in the hall. But Axie, too, was non-committal, or mostly so. Miss Hetherton was French and had always lived in Paris until quite recently, when she came to Merrivale, the old home of her father, who died upon the voyage, leaving her alone. Magnolia Park, near Tallahassee, belonged to the Hethertonestates, and thither the young lady had come for a change of air and scene, but finding that the place was a good deal run down and needed some repairs, she had decided to spend a little time at the St. James while they were being made.
This was Axie’s explanation, which was wholly satisfactory, and as it was repeated with sundry additions, all in Queenie’s favor, she was indorsed at once, and had she chosen, she might have been a belle and headed every clique in the house. But Queenie was far too sad and her heart was too full of pain to care for flattery, and yet in a way she was interested and amused with what she saw of life at the St. James, and liked to sit alone by herself in a quiet corner of the great parlor and watch the people around her—the devotees of whist, who night after night sat at the same table, with the same people, and usually with the same result; the dancers, who occasionally varied the monotony with a quadrille or a waltz; and the knots of lookers-on gathered here and there in groups, and whispering their confidences to each other. It was all very new and very strange to Queenie, who had never seen anything like it, and she was beginning to forget in part her great sorrow in the scenes around her, when an unexpected arrival brought the past back to her in all its bitterness, and made her shrink more than ever from intercourse with strangers. This arrival was none other than that of Mistress Anna Rossiter,neeAnna Ferguson, who had been three weeks a bride, and afterdoingWashington, as she expressed it, had resolved to see a little of Florida life before the season was fairly over and the Northerners gone home.
Miss Anna’s wedding had been a very quiet one, owing to poor Phil’s recent death, and only a few of the villagers had been honored with an invitation; but those so honored had been among the first in town—the Grangers, and Markhams, and Marshalls, against whom Anna had once rebelled so hotly because of fanciedslights and indignities. It was now her turn to hold up her head, she thought: she was to be Mrs. Lord Seymour Rossiter, with a house in New York, and another on the Hudson if she liked. She was to have a maid, and diamonds, and her carriage, and servants in livery, for she liked those long coats and yellow boots, she said, and she meant to have her women servants wear caps, as she was told they did abroad.
Anna was very happy. The old days of dressmaking and drudgery were over. No more pricked red fingers for her, no more bundles to be carried home to those who bade her ring at the side instead of the front door.
All that was past and gone. The sign which had once so annoyed her was split and burned. It was hers now tosnubinstead of being snubbed, and so she began by slighting the very ones who had been kind to her, but whom she did not consider worthy of her notice in the days of her prosperity. She should begin her new life as she could hold out, and she would not have Tom, Dick, and Harry hanging to her skirts, she said, and she put aside the friends with whom she had been in the habit of associating intimately, and invited only those with whom it could scarcely be said she had ever been recognized as an equal. Margery was, of course, one of the guests, for she was now Miss Hetherton, of Hetherton Place, and it was an honor to claim her as a relation.
Mrs. La Rue was wholly ignored. A woman of her reputation, whose life had been a lie, had no right to expect civilities from the people she had deceived, Anna argued, and Mrs. La Rue’s name was omitted from the list.
But the intended slight failed to touch the sad, remorseful woman, who now lived quite alone at the cottage, having resisted all Margery’s entreaties that she should make her home at Hetherton Place. Since her confession, and especially since Queenie’s departure for the South, she had fallen into a sad and silent mood,shrinking from every one, and preferring to live entirely alone, as solitude was best suited to such as she. And so she scarcely gave a thought to the wedding which took place one afternoon in the best room of Tom Ferguson’s house, with only theeliteof Merrivale looking on and commenting upon the airs of the bride and the childish delight of the bridegroom, who did not attempt to conceal his joy, but rubbed his hands in the exuberance of delight and kissed the bride many times the moment she was pronounced his wife.
There was a short trip to New York, and a long one to Washington, where Anna created a great sensation with her satins, and velvets, and diamonds, which she wore on all occasions. She had sold her youth and beauty for gold, and she meant to reap the full price of her charms. Every day she blossomed out in a new costume, with jewelry to match, and as she was really pretty, and could be very gracious when she tried, Mrs. Lord Seymour Rossiter, became the rage and was flattered, and admired, and complimented to her heart’s content, and mentioned in the papers as the mostdistingueand lovely woman in Washington—notices which she read with great satisfaction at the breakfast-table every morning, and then passed to her husband, with the remark:
“How perfectly absurd! Did you ever read such nonsense?”
Anna was growing very fast, and talked of her relations, the Rossiters, and the Hethertons, and enjoyed herself immensely in her handsome suite of rooms at the Riggs House, where she would have spent a longer time, but for a letter received from Grandma Ferguson, which threw her into a wild state of alarm and apprehension. The good old lady had long wished to visit Washington and see thedoin’s, she wrote, and “she couldn’t have a better time than when Anna was there to go round with her and show her theelephant. So, she’d about made upher mind to pick up and start, as her clothes were all nice and new, and Anna might expect her any day, and had better engage a room at once. A small one on the top floor would answer, as she did not mean to spend all her money on rooms, and she could just as well take some of her meals at a restaurant as not!”
“Oh-h!” and Anna fairly gasped as she read this letter, which she found lying by her plate one morning, when she came down to breakfast alone after a brilliant party, of which she had been the belle. “Oh-h!” and the cold sweat oozed from every pore as she thought of her grandmother swooping down upon her, and with her brown silk, and purple gloves, and pink ribbons, and dreadful grammar, demolishing the fair structure of blood, and family, and position, which she had secured for herself.
Knowing her grandmother as she did, she felt certain that she would come, if some decisive step were not taken to prevent it. And Anna took the decisive step, and turning her back upon the fresh fields of glory she had meant to win in Washington, she telegraphed immediately to her grandmother that she should leave the city that day, but said nothing of her destination.
“She would not mind following me to Europe, if she knew I was going there—the vulgar old thing!” she thought, with an indignant toss of fine-ladyism. “I will not have her spoiling everything. I am done with the old, hateful life. I am Mrs. Lord Seymour Rossiter and mistress of my own actions.”
So she sent the telegram and then sought her husband, who had breakfasted before her and was reading his paper in his room.
“Dearest,” she said, laying her hand caressingly upon his head, “I am so tired of Washington, where they say such silly things of me. Such a nonsensical article as there is in the paper this morning about the young and beautiful Mrs. Rossiter, whose sweet, fresh face andcharming manners please every one, and whose dress is a marvel of taste and elegance. Why, they even estimated the value of my diamonds. I am sick of it all; it makes one so common; and then I know they would say the same of the next new-comer, if her dress was richer than mine. These reports are insufferable. Let’s go away—to-night; go to Florida for a week or two: it is not too late, and I don’t mind hot weather in the least. We shall be more quiet there, and I shall see more ofyou. Now, with the driving, and dressing, and calling, I scarcely have a bit of your company.”
She was in his lap by this time and her fingers were lifting deftly his scant hair and fixing it over his bald spot. Whatever Anna might lack she knew how to manage her husband, who, throwing down his paper and encircling her slender waist, said to her:
“Sick of it, are you, Pussy? Why, I thought you liked it immensely: women generally do; but it shows your good sense not to want to be stared at and written up by a lot of snipper-snappers. But for heaven’s sake don’t go to Florida! You will roast alive.”
The major had once been to St. Augustine in the days before the war, and it made him tired to think of the long, wearisome journey by land and the still worse trip by sea. But Anna’s heart was set upon Florida, and she carried her point and left Washington that night with her three trunks and maid, who had been found in New York, and on whom Mrs. Anna called for the most trivial service, even to the picking up of her handkerchief, which it would seem she sometimes dropped on purpose, for the sake of showing her authority. Anna was very proud of her position and proud of her name, so out of the common order of names.Lord Seymour Rossiterhad a sound of nobility in it, and she persuaded her husband to leave off theMr.when he registered at hotels, “just to try the effect,” she said. And so “Lord Seymour Rossiter, lady, and maid,” was the record in the book atthe St. James, which the bridal pair reached one evening about nine o’clock.
Of course such a registry attracted attention and comment, and before ten o’clock half the people in the parlor heard that a real live lord and lady had arrived, and great was the interest in and the curiosity to see them.
And Anna bore herself like a grand duchess, and had all the airs of twenty titled ladies, when next morning she stepped out of the elevator into the broad hall, the train of her blue morning dress sweeping far behind her, and a soft, fleecy white shawl wrapped gracefully and negligently around her. She knew she was creating a sensation, and her voice, never very low, was pitched a little higher as she asked the clerk if he had no private parlors—no sitting-rooms attached to the bedrooms. The clerk was very sorry, but there were no suites of rooms, he said; they were seldom called for, as the guests generally preferred sitting in the parlor, and hall, and upon the piazzas.
“Yes, butIdo not,” Anna replied, in her most supercilious tone; “and I think it very strange that a hotel like this should have no suites of rooms; but possibly you can obviate that difficulty by giving us an extra room. I should like the one adjoining mine. It will not be much trouble to take out the bed and convert it into a parlor.”
She spoke as if the thing were settled, and was moving away, when the clerk stopped her by saying:
“But, madam, it is impossible to give you No. —, as it is already occupied by Miss Hetherton.”
“Miss Hetherton! What Miss Hetherton, pray?” and Anna’s voice lost the lady-like tone to which she had been trying to bring it since her accession of dignity.
Quietly turning the pages of the book back to a previous date, the clerk pointed to the entry, “Miss Hetherton, Merrivale, Mass.,” while Anna repeated, scornfully:
“‘Miss Hetherton, Merrivale Mass.!’ Is she here, and alone?” while the elevating of her eyebrows, and the significant shrug of her shoulders expressed more than her words.
“You know the lady, then?” the clerk ventured to say; for, in spite of Anna’s diamonds and airs, there was something about her which told him he could take more liberty with her than with many another guest of far less pretension.
“Know her? Yes; but I did not expect to find her here,” Anna answered, and then swept on toward the dining-room door, where her husband was waiting for her.
Everybody looked up as she entered the room, and many whispers and many glances were exchanged as she passed on to her seat, which was quite at the end of the long hall; and so acute is the Yankee perception of the true and the false, the washed metal and the real, that even before she had been settled in her chair by her attentive husband, the verdict passed upon her by those for whose opinion she would care the most was, “Not a genuine lady, whatever her rank may be.” There was too much show and arrogance about her, and the diamonds in her ears, and, more than all, the heavy cross and chain she wore, were sadly out of place at the breakfast-table.
Meanwhile another guest had entered the dining-room, a graceful little figure, clad in black, which was, however, relieved by plain linen collar and cuffs, and a cream-colored rose at the throat, which wonderfully heightened the effect and made Queenie an object to be looked after as she moved up the hall, the color deepening in her cheeks and her brilliant eyes lifted occasionally and flashing a look of recognition upon those she knew. Her seat was at the same table with Mistress Anna, who was never so startled in her life as she waswhen a hand was laid familiarly upon her shoulder and a voice she recognized said to her:
“Oh, Anna, are you here? I am so glad to see you!”
And Queenie was glad, for, though she had never liked Anna Ferguson much, the unexpected meeting with her in far-off Florida, where all were strangers, made her seem very near to the desolate, heart-sick girl, who could have fallen upon her neck and kissed her for the something in her face which brought the dead Phil to mind.
But Anna’s manner was not provocative of any such demonstrations. She was not glad to see Queenie, for like all low, mean natures, she was ready to suspect others of what she knew she would do in similar circumstances, and when she learned that Queenie was in the hotel her first thought was that now her antecedents, of which she was so much ashamed, would be known, either from Queenie or Axie, neither of whom had much cause to love her, and thus the castle she had built for herself would be demolished.
And this was the reason why her manner toward Queenie was so cold and constrained, and even haughty, that the young girl felt repelled and wounded, and the hot blood mounted to her face and then left it deadly pale, as she took her seat at the table directly opposite Anna, who scarcely spoke to her again, except to ask some commonplace question or to remark upon the weather.
This little scene, however, was noticed by those sitting near, and the conclusion reached that the new-comer meant to slight Miss Hetherton; but it did not harm her one whit, for her sad, sweet face and quiet dignity of manner had won upon the guests, while, owing to Mrs. Strong’s influence, some of the best and first people in town had called upon her, so that her standing was assured, and Anna’s coldness could not matter, but it hurt her cruelly to be thus treated, when she was longingso much for sympathy, and she could scarcely restrain her tears until breakfast was over, and in the privacy of her room she could indulge her grief, with no one to see her but Axie, who learned at last the cause of her grief.
Axie was not a girl of many words, but there was a look in her black eyes which boded no good to Mrs. Anna, and, before the day was over, every one in the hotel at all interested in the matter knew exactly who Mrs. Lord Seymour Rossiter was and where she came from, and that at home, to use Axie’s words, “she was of no kind o’ count side of Miss Hetherton.”
So Anna’s star began to wane almost before it had risen, or would have done so but for her perseverance and push, which oftentimes compelled attention where it might not otherwise have been given. She was pretty, and fast, and rich, and this gained her favor with a certain class, and especially with the young men, with whom she was very popular. Night after night, while her husband played at whist or euchre in the gentlemen’s room, she danced and flirted in the parlors, and wore her handsome dresses and diamonds, and furnished thecatswith no end of gossip, and flattered herself that at last she was happy. With a woman’s ready wit she soon discovered that she had made a mistake with regard to Queenie, and so she changed her tactics and tried to be very gracious to her, but Queenie did not need her patronage. She had scores of friends, and the days passed pleasantly and rapidly away. Axie had returned to the Park soon after Anna’s arrival, and wrote her mistress at last that the house would be ready for her within a week, and at the end of that time Queenie left the Hotel with Pierre, and went to begin a new life in a home as unlike everything she had ever known as it well could be.