 | CHAPTER VI.
THE WRECK. What can she do? |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
THE WRECK.
ON Saturday Mr. Allen's stock was rising, and
he ventured to sell a little in a quiet way.
If he “unloaded” rapidly and openly, he would
break down the market.
Mr. Fox watched events uneasily. Mr. Goulden
grew genial and more pronounced in his attentions.
Gus, on Saturday, showed almost equal
solicitude for a decisively favorable answer as Mr.
Fox, if the language of his eyes could mean anything;
but Edith played him and Mr. Fox off
against each other so adroitly that they were learning
to hate one another as cordially as they agreed
in admiring her. Though she inclined in her favor
to Mr. Fox, he was suspicious from nature, and
annoyed at never being able to see her alone.
As before, they were at cards together in the
library, Edith went for a moment into the parlor
to get something. With the excuse of obtaining
it for her, Mr. Fox followed, and the moment they
were alone, he seized her hand and pressed a kiss
upon it. An angry flush came into her face, but
by a great effort she so far controlled herself as to
put her finger to her lips and point to the library,
as if her chief anxiety was that the attention of its
delighted, though the angry flush was a little puzzling.
But if Edith permitted that, she would
permit more, and if her only shrinking was that
others should not see and know at present, that
could soon be overcome. These thoughts passed
through his mind while the incensed girl hastily
obtained what she wished. But she, feeling that
her cheeks were too hot to return immediately to
the critical eyes in the library, passed out through
the front parlor, that she might have time to be
herself again when she appeared. On what little
links destiny sometimes hangs!
That which changed all her future and that of
others—that involving life and death, occurred in
the half moment occupied in her passing out of
the front parlor. The consequences she would
feel most keenly, terribly indeed at times, though
she might never guess the cause. Her act was a
simple, natural one under the circumstances, and
yet it told Mr. Fox, in his cat-like watchfulness,
that with all his cunning he was being made a fool
of. The moment Edith had passed around the
sliding door and thought herself unobserved, an
expression of intense disgust came out upon her
expressive face, and with her lace handkerchief she
rubbed the hand he had kissed, as if removing the
slime of a reptile; and the large mirror at the
farther end of the room had faithfully reflected the
suggestive little pantomime. He saw and understood
all in a flash.
No words could have so plainly told her feeling
toward him, and he was one of those reptiles that
could sting remorselessly in revenge. The nature
of the imposition practiced upon him and the fact
that it was partially successful and might have
been wholly so, cut him in the sorest spot. He
who thought himself able to cope with the shrewdest
and most artful, had been overreached by a girl,
and he saw at that moment, that her purpose to
beguile him long enough for Mr. Allen to extricate
himself from his difficulties, might have been successful.
He had had before an uneasy consciousness
that he ought to act decisively, and now he
knew it.
“I'm a fool—a cursed fool,” he muttered,
speaking the truth for once, “but it's not too late
yet.”
His resolution was taken instantly, but when
Edith appeared after a moment in the library,
smiling and affable again, he seemed in good spirits
also, but there was a steely, serpent-like glitter
in his eyes, that made him more repulsive than ever.
But he staid as late as the others, knowing that
it might be his last evening at the Allens'. For
Edith had said as part of her plan for avoiding Mr.
Fox,—
“We shall be too busy to see any company till
Tuesday evening, and then we hope to see you
all.”
Her sisters had assented, expecting that it
would be the case.
With a refinement of malice, Mr. Fox sought
to give general annoyance, by a polite insolence
toward the others, which they with difficulty ignored,
and a lover-like gallantry toward Edith, which
was like nettles to Gus, and nauseating to her;
but she did not dare resent it. He could at least
torment her a little longer.
At last all were gone, and her father coming in
from his club said, drawing her aside,—
“All right yet?”
“Yes, but I hope the ordeal will be over soon,
or I shall die with disgust, or like some I have read
of in fairy stories, be killed by a poisonous breath.”
“Keep it up a little longer, that is a good brave
girl. I think that by another week, we will be
able to defy him,” said her father in cheerful tones.
“If my stock rises as much in the next few days, as
of late, I shall soon be on terra firma.”
If he had known that the mine beneath his
feet was loaded, and the fuse fired, his full face
would have become as pale as it was florid with
wine, and the dissipation of the evening.
Monday morning came—all seemed quiet. His
stock was rising so rapidly that he determined to
hold on a little longer.
Goulden met and congratulated him, saying that
he had bought a little himself, and would take
more if Mr. Allen would sell, as now he was easier
in funds than when spoken to before on the subject.
Mr. Allen replied rather coldly that he “would
not sell any stock that day.”
Mr. Fox kept out of the way, and quietly attended
to his routine as usual, but there was
a sardonic smile on his face, as if he were gloating
over some secret evil.
Tuesday, the long expected day that the Allens
believed would make one of the most brilliant
epochs in their history, dawned in appropriate
brightness. The sun dissipated the few opposing
clouds and declined in undimmed splendor, and
Edith, who alone had fears and forebodings, took
the day as an omen that the storm had passed, and
that better days than ever were coming.
Invitations by the hundred, with imposing
monogram and coat of arms, had gone out, and
acceptances had flowed back in full current. All
that lavish expenditure could secure in one of the
most luxurious social centres of the world, had
been obtained without stint to make the entertainment
perfect.
But one knew it might become like Belshazzar's
feast.
The avalanche often so hangs over the Alpine
passes that a loud word will bring it whirling down
upon the hapless traveller. The avalanche of ruin,
impending over Mr. Allen, was so delicately poised
that a whisper could precipitate its crushing
weight, and that whisper had been spoken.
All the morning of Tuesday his stock was rising,
and he resolved that on the morning after the
party he would commence selling rapidly, and so
the profit that he had expected.
But a rumor was floating through the afternoon
papers that a well-known merchant, eminent
in financial and social circles, had been detected in
violating the revenue laws, and that the losses
which such violation would involve to him, would
be immense. The stock market, more sensitive
than a belle's vanity, paused to see what it meant.
One of Mr. Allen's partners of the cloth house
brought a paper to him. He grew pale as he read
it, put his hand suddenly to his head, but after a
moment seemingly found his voice and said,—
“Could Fox have been so dastardly?”
His partner shrugged his shoulder as much
as to say, “Fox could do anything in that line.”
Mr. Allen sent for Fox, but he could not be
found. In the meantime the stock market closed
and the rise of his stock was evidently checked for
the moment.
By reason of the party, Mr. Allen had to return
up town, but he arranged with his partner to
remain and if anything new developed to send
word by special messenger.
By eight o'clock the Allen mansion on Fifth
Avenue was all aglow with light. By nine, carriages
began to roll up to the awning that stretched
from the heavy arched doorway across the sidewalk,
and ladies that would soon glide through the spacious
rooms in elegant drapery, now seemed misshapen
bundles in their wrapping, and gathered
the street. The dressing rooms where the spheroidal
bundles were undergoing metamorphose became
buzzing centres of life.
Before the long pier glasses there was a marshalling
of every charm, real or borrowed, (more correctly
bought) in view of the hoped-for conquests
of the evening, and it would seem that not a few
went on the military maxim that success is often
secured by putting on as bold a front, and making
as great and startling display, as possible. But as
fragrant, modest flowers usually bloom in the garden
with gaudy scentless ones, so those inclined to
be loud made an excellent foil for the refined and
elegant, and thus had their uses. There is little in
the world that is not of value, looking at it from
some point of view.
In another apartment the opposing forces, if we
may so style them, were almost as eagerly investing
themselves in—shall we say charms also? or rather
with the attributes of manhood? At any rate the
glass in both rooms seems quite as anxiously consulted.
One might almost imagine them the magic
mirrors of prophecy in which anxious eyes caught
a glimpse of coming fate. There were certain
youthful belles and beaux who turned away with
open complaisant smiles, vanity whispering plainly
to them of noble achievement in the parlors below.
There were others, perhaps not young, who turned
away with faces composed in the rigid and habitual
lines of pride. They were past learning anything
that might reflect disparagingly upon them. Prejudice
in their own favor enveloped their minds as
with a Chinese wall. Conceit had become a disease
with them, and those faculties that might have
let in wholesome, though unwelcome truth, were
paralyzed.
But the majority turned away not quite satisfied—with
an inward foreboding that all was not as
well as it might be—that critical eyes would see
ground for criticism. Especially was this true of
those whom Time's interfering fingers had pulled
somewhat awry, even beyond the remedy of art,
and of those whose bank account, jewels, silks, etc.,
were not quite up to the standard of some others
who might jostle them in the crush. Realize, my
reader, the anguish of a lady compelled to stand
by another lady wearing larger diamonds than her
own, or more point lace, or a longer train? What
will the world think, as under the chandelier this
painful contrast comes out? Such moments of
deep humiliation cause sleepless nights, and the
next day result in bills that become as crushing as
criminal indictments to poor overworked men.
Under the impulse of such trying scenes as these,
many a matron has gone forth on Broadway with
firm lips and eyes in which glowed inexorable purpose,
and placed upon her fat arms or fingers, that
might have helped her husband forward, the gems
that would be mill-stones about his neck. There
are many phases of heroism, but if you want your
some large-souled women, who will not even count
the cost or realize the dire consequences, but like
some martyr of the past who will show to the
world the object of his faith though the heavens
fall, she marches to the counter, selects the costliest,
and says in tones of majesty,—
“Send the bill to my husband!”
O acme of faith! The martyrs knew that the
Almighty was equal to the occasion. She knows
that her husband is not; yet she trusts, or what is
the same thing here, gets trusted. Men allied to
such women are soon lifted up to—attics. It is
still true that great deeds bring humanity nearer
heaven!
Therefore, my reader, deem it not trivial that I
have paused so long over the Allens' party. It is
philosophical to trace great events and phenomenal
human action to their hidden causes.
There were also diffident men and maidens who
descended into the social arena of Mrs. Allen's
parlors, as awkward swimmers venture into deep
water, but this is fleeting experience in fashionable
life. And we sincerely hope that some believed
that the old divine parodox, “It is more blessed to
give than to receive,” was as true in the drawing-room
as when the contribution-box goes round,
and who meant to enjoy themselves by contributing
to the enjoyment of others, and see nothing
that would tempt to heroic conduct at Tiffany's the
next day.
When the last finishing touches had been given,
and maids and hairdressers stood around in wrapt
politic breathlessness, and were beginning to pass
into that stage in which they might be regarded as
exclamation points, Mrs. Allen and her daughters
swept away to take their places at the head of the
parlors in order to receive. They liked the prelude
of applause upstairs well enough, but then it was
only like the tuning of the instruments before the
orchestra fairly opens.
Mrs. Allen, as she majestically took her position,
evidently belonged to that class whom pride marbleizes.
Her self-complacency on such an occasion
was habitual, her coolness and repose that of a
veteran. A nervous creature up stairs with her
family, excitement made her, under the eye of
society, so steady and self-controlled that she was
like one of the old French Marshals who could plan
a campaign under the hottest fire. Her blue eyes
grew quite brilliant and seemed to take in everything,
like your true generals. Some natural color
shone where the cosmetics permitted, and her form
seemed to dilate with something more than the
mysteries of French modistes. Her manner and
expression said,—
“I am Mrs. Allen. We are of an old New
York family. We are very, very rich. This entertainment
is immensely expensive and perfect in
kind. I defy criticism. I expect applause.”
Of course this was all veiled by society's completest
polish, but still by a close observer it could
leaves its outlines perfect.
Laura was the echo of her mother, modified by
the element of youth.
Zell fairly blazed. Between sparkling jewelry,
flaming cheeks, flashing eyes, and words thrown off
like scintillating sparks, she suggested an exquisite
July firework, burning longer than usual and surprising
every one. Admiration followed her like a
torrent, and her vanity dilated without measure as
attention and compliments were almost forced
upon her, and yet it was frank, good-natured vanity,
as naturally to be expected in her case as a throng
of gaudy poppies where a handful of seed had been
dropped. Zell's nature was a soil where good or
bad seed would grow vigorously.
Mr. Van Dam was never far off, watching with
intent gloating eyes, saying in self-congratulation,—
“What a delicious morsel she will make,” and
adding his mite to the general chorus of flattery,
by mild assertions like the following:
“Do you know that there is not a lady present
that for a moment can compare with you?”
“How delightfully frank he is,” thought Zell of
her distinguished admirer, who was open as a quicksand
that can swallow up anything and not leave
a trace on its placid surface.
Edith was quite as beautiful as Zell, but nothing
like so brilliant and pronounced. Though quiet
and graceful, she was not stately like Laura. Her
and they dwelt shrewdly and comprehendingly on
all that was passing, and conveyed their intelligence
to a brain that was judging quite accurately at
times when so many people “lose their head” as it
is expressed.
Zell was intoxicated by the incense offered.
Laura offered herself so much incense that she was
enshrouded in a thick cloud of complacency all the
time. Edith was told by the eyes and manner of
those around her that she was beautiful and highly
favored by wealth and position generally. But she
knew this, as a matter of fact, before, and was not
going to make a fool of herself on account of it.
These points thoroughly settled and quietly realized,
she was in a condition to go out of herself and
enjoy all that was going on.
She was specially elated at this time also, as she
had gathered from her father's words that his danger
was nearly over and that before the week was
out they could defy Mr. Fox, look forward to Europe
and bright voyaging generally.
Mr. Allen did not tell her his terrible fear that
Mr. Fox had been a little too prompt, and that
crushing disaster might still be impending. He
had said to himself, “Let her and all of them make
the most of this evening. It may be the last of
the kind that they will enjoy.”
The spacious parlors filled rapidly. If lavish
expenditure and a large brilliant attendance could
secure their enjoyment, it was not wanting. Flowers
banks on the mantels and in the fire-places, deservedly
attracted much attention and praise, though
the sum expended on their transient beauty was
appalling. Their delicious perfume mingling with
those of artificial origin, suggested a like intermingling
of the more delicate, subtile but, genuine manifestations
of character, and graces of mind and
manner borrowed for the occasion.
The scene was very brilliant. There were marvellous
toilets—dresses not beginning as promptly
as they should, perhaps, but seemingly seeking to
make up for this deficiency by elegance and costliness,
having once commenced. There was no
economy in the train, if there had been in the waist.
Therefore gleaming shoulders, glittering diamonds,
the soft radiance of pearls, the sheen of gold, and
lustrous eyes aglow with excitement, and later in
the evening, with wine, gave a general phosphorescent
effect to the parlors that Mrs. Allen recognized,
from long experience, as the sparkling crown of
success. So much elegance on the part of the
ladies present would make the party the gem of
the season, and the gentlemen in dark dress made
a good black enamel setting.
There was a confused rustle of silks and a hum
of voices, and now and then a silvery laugh would
ring out above these like the trill of a bird in a
breezy grove. Later, light airy music floated
through the rooms, followed by the rhythmic cadence
of feet. A thinly clad shivering little match
caught glimpses of the scene through the oft opening
door and between the curtains of the windows.
It seemed to her that those glancing forms were
in heaven. Alas for this earthly paradise!
Mr. Fox, with characteristic malice, had managed
that Mr. Allen and perhaps the family should have,
as his contribution to the entertainment, the sickening
dread which the news in the afternoon papers
would occasion. As the evening advanced he determined
to accept the invitation and watch the
effect. He avoided Mr. Allen, and soon gathered
that Edith and the rest knew nothing of the impending
blow. Edith smiled graciously on him;
she felt that like the sun, she could shine on all
that night. But as in his insolence, his attentions
grew marked, she soon shook him off by permitting
Gus Elliot to claim her for a waltz.
Mr. Fox glided around, Mephistopheles-like,
gloating on the sinister changes that he would soon
occasion. He was to succeed even better than he
dreamed.
The evening went forward with music and dancing,
discussing, disparaging, flirting and skirmishing,
culminating in numbers and brilliancy as some gorgeous
flower might expand, and seemingly it would
have ended like the flower, by the gay company's
rustling departure as the varied colored petals drop
away from the stem, had not an event occurred
which was like a rude hand plucking the flower in
its fullest bloom and tearing the petals away in mass.
The magnificent supper had just been demolished.
Champagne had foamed without stint,
cause and symbol of the increasing but transient
excitement of the occasion; more potent wines and
liquors suggestive of the stronger and deeper passions
that were swaying the mingled throng, had
done their work, and all, save the utterly blasé and
run down, had secured that noble elevation which
it is the province of these grand social combinations
to create. Even Mr. Allen regained his habitual
confidence and elevation as his waistcoat expanded
under, or rather over, those means of cheer
and consolation which he had so long regarded as
the best panacea for earthly ills. The oppressive
sense of danger gave place to a consciousness of
the warm, rosy present. Mr. Fox and the custom-house
seemed but the ugly phantoms of a past
dream. Was he not the rich Mr. Allen, the owner
of this magnificent mansion, the corner-stone of
this superb entertainment? If by reason of wine
he saw a little double, he only saw double homage
on every side. He heard in men's tones, and saw
in women's glances, that any one who could pay
for his surroundings that night, was no ordinary
person. His wife looked majestic as she swept
through the parlors on the arm of one of his most
distinguished fellow-citizens. Through the library
door he could see Mr. Goulden leaning toward
Laura and saying something that made even her
pale face quite peony-like. Edith, exquisite as a
moss rose, was about to lead off in the German in
sparkling centre of a breezy, merry little throng
that had gathered round her. It seemed that all
that he loved and valued most—all that he wished,
was grouped around him in the guise most attractive
to his worldly eyes. In this moment of unnatural
elation, hope whispered, “To-morrow
you can sell your stock, and instead of failing, increase
your vast fortune, and then away to new
scenes, new pleasures, free from the burden of care
and fear.” It was at that moment of false confidence
and pride, when in suggestive words descriptive
of the ancient tragedy of Belshazzar he “had
drank wine and praised the gods of gold and of
silver,” that he had so long worshipped, and which
had secured to him all that so dilates his soul with
exultation, that he saw the handwriting, not of
shadowy fingers “upon the wall,” but of his partner,
sent, as agreed, by a special messenger. With revulsion
and chill of fear he had torn open the envelope
and read,—
“Fox has done his worst. We are out for a
million—all will be in the morning papers.”
Even his florid, wine-inflamed cheeks grew pale,
and he raised his hand tremblingly to his head, and
slowly lifted his eyes like a man who dreads seeing
something, but is impelled to look. The first object
they rested on was the sardonic, mocking
face of Mr. Fox, who, ever on the alert, had seen
the messenger enter, and guessed his errand. The
moment Mr. Allen saw this hated visage, a sudden
in his clenched fist, and took a hasty stride of
wrath toward his tormentor, stopped, put his hand
again to his head, a film came over his eyes, he reeled
a second, and then fell like a stone to the floor.
The heavy thud of the fall, the clash of the chandelier
overhead, could be heard throughout the rooms
above the music and hum of voices, and all were
startled. Edith in the very act of leading off in
the dance, stood a second like an exquisite statue
of awed expectancy, and then Zell's shriek of fear
and agony, “Father!” brought her to the spot,
and with wild, frightened eyes, and blanched faces,
the two girls knelt above the unconscious man,
while the startled guests gathered round in helpless
curiosity.
The usual paralysis following sudden accident
was brief on this occasion, for there were two skillful
physicians present, one of them having long
been the family attendant. Mrs. Allen and Laura
stood clinging to each other, supported by Mr.
Goulden, in a half hysterical state, as the medical
gentlemen made a slight examination and applied
restoratives. After a moment they lifted their
heads and looked gravely and significantly at each
other; then the family adviser said,—
“Mr. Allen had better be carried at once to his
room, and the house become quiet.”
An injudicious guest, asked in a loud whisper,
“Is it apoplexy?”
Mrs. Allen caught the word, and with a stifled
in an unconscious state. Laura, who had inherited
Mrs. Allen's nervous nature, was also conveyed
to her room, laughing and crying in turns
beyond all control. Zell still knelt over her father,
sobbing passionately, while Edith, with her large
eyes dilated with fear, and her cheeks in wan contrast
with the sunset glow they had worn all the
evening, maintained her presence of mind, and asked
Mr. Goulden, Mr. Van Dam, and Gus Elliot, to
carry her father to his room. They, much pleased
in thus being singled out as special friends of the
family, officiously obeyed.
Poor Mr. Allen was borne away from the pinnacle
of his imaginary triumph as if dead, Zell following,
wringing her hands, and with streaming eyes;
but Edith reminded you of some wild, timid creature
of the woods, which, though in an extremity
of danger and fear, is alert and watchful, as if looking
for some avenue of escape. Her searching
eyes turned almost constantly towards the family
physician, and he as persistently avoided meeting
hers.
| CHAPTER VI.
THE WRECK. What can she do? | |