31. CHAPTER XXXI.
THE UNDERTOW.
Miss Plumy Alicia Eyre came to Woodylin young,
destitute, and unknown. Her first service was in the Governor's
Family, where she was little maid of all work, and
particular little maid of Mrs. Melbourne. This lady always
had a pet, — if not an animate, an inanimate thing; sometimes
it was the asparagus-bed in the garden; now the horses in
the barn; at one moment it was a poor widow in the neighborhood;
again it was somebody arrested for murder, a
thousand miles off. In the present instance, it chanced to
be Plumy Alicia. Neglect in any shape fired her compassion,
and Plumy Alicia was neglected; her feet were neglected,
and her head, — she had no shoes, no bonnet, and a
scant wardrobe. Here was a fine theatre for Mrs. Melbourne's
piety and benevolence, and she improved it. She taught
the child to read and to sew, and gave her books and bright
clothes. She put the little maid under great obligation; but
the little maid did not like the load. She was froward,
vain, ambitious, or what it may be, and wanted higher
wages and a higher post; and she left the Governor's.
She exchanged Mrs. Melbourne's fine chamber for Mrs.
Tunny's dark kitchen; but she got better pay, a more independent
way of life, and a nearer view of the world at large,
— or a view of Mrs. Tunny's view. Whatever aristocratic
aspirations the Green Grocer's lady may have cultivated, she
was free with her domestics, — very free with such as had
lived in good families; and Plumy Alicia had lived at the
Governor's; and Mrs. Tunny seemed to feel that her house,
or rather her means of making a house, went up a number
of degrees in the acquisition of such a servant. Miss Eyre
left Mrs. Tunny for the Factories and Whichcomb's, where
this Tale found her.
Cessation of intercourse was not the only method by
which Miss Eyre chose to signify her sentiments towards
Richard; she matured a story that vitally touched his reputation.
With this she went to the Governor's, and sought
an interview with her old mistress. These two had kept
up the remembrance of each other, and Mrs. Melbourne
ever offered to her former servant and pet the assurance of a
perpetual consideration. Miss Eyre looked pensive and
sad; — she was really distressed; she was apparently outraged.
There was truth with a coloring of falsehood, and
falsehood with a coloring of truth, in all she said. Richard
had been attentive to her, confidential with her, and often
alone with her. These were things not to be questioned.
“He won my heart,” said Miss Eyre; — that might be. “I
had no other friend but him;” — of the same sort. “He
knew that I sacrificed many others for him;” — that might
admit of question. Mrs. Melbourne could see no question
in it. “I surrendered at discretion;” — true. Here she
shed tears; — mixed. “Is he so black-hearted?” flared
Mrs. Melbourne. “Heartless!” sobbed Miss Eyre. “Blackhearted!”
continued Mrs. Melbourne. “He unites the vulgarity
of the lower classes with the insolence of the higher.
He is reckless from instinct, and designing from position.
He is; he must be. That is it! I understand him now.
I see through him. How blinded I have been! What creatures
we are, when God leaves us to ourselves! How can I
thank you for opening my eyes, and all our eyes, before it
was too late?”
The result of this interview appeared in the note, a copy
of which has been furnished for the perusal of the reader.
The original remained in Richard's hand, and brain, and
agony.
