31. CHAPTER XXXI.
ONE OF THE INSTITUTIONS.
“Small service is true service while it lasts;
Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.”
— Wordsworth.
ON being bought at the auction-block by Ratcliff, and introduced
into his household, Josephine Volney, the quadroon,
had devoted herself to the health of his wife from purely
selfish motives. But in natures not radically perverse, beneficence
cannot long be divorced from benevolence. Josephine
believed her interests lay in preventing as long as possible a
second marriage: hence, at first, her sedulous care of the
invalid wife.
Those who know anything of society in the Slave States are
well aware that concubinage (one of the institutions of the institution)
is there, in many conspicuous instances, as patiently
acquiesced in by wives as polygamy is in Utah. Mrs. Ratcliff
had, at first, almost adored her husband. Very unattractive,
personally, she had yet an affectionate nature, and one of her
most marked traits was gratitude for kindness. Soon Ratcliff
dropped the mask by which he had won her; and she, instead
of lamenting over her mistake, accepted as a necessary evil
the fact of his relations to the handsome slave. The latter
attempted no deception, but conducted herself as discreetly as
any woman, so educated, could have done, under such compulsory
circumstances.
Mrs. Ratcliff was soon touched by Josephine's obvious solicitude
to minister to her happiness and health. The slave-girl's
childlike frankness begot frankness on the part of the wife.
Seeing that their interests were identical, each was gradually
drawn to the other, till a sincere and tender attachment was
the result. The wife was made aware of her husband's calculations
in regard to a second marriage; and Josephine found in
that wife a faithful and crafty ally, too deep, with all her shallowness,
to be fathomed by the husband.
No sooner had Ratcliff quitted the house, on the morning of
the breakfast described, than Josephine hurried to the invalid's
room. A poor diminutive Creole lady, with wrinkled skin,
darker even than the quadroon's, and with one shoulder higher
than the other, she sat, with a white crape-shawl wrapped
round her, in a large arm-chair. Her face, as Josephine entered,
lighted up with a smile of welcome that for a moment
seemed to transfigure even those withered and pain-stricken
features. In half an hour Josephine had put her in possession
of all the developments of the last two days, and of her own
plans for controlling the movements of Ratcliff in regard to the
young white woman supposed to be his slave.
With absorbed interest the invalid listened to the details, and
approved warmly of what Josephine had planned. Her feminine
curiosity was pleased with the idea of having, in her own
house and under her own eye, this young person whom Ratcliff
had presumed to think of as a second wife; while the thought
of baffling him in his selfish schemes sent a shock of pleasure
to her heart. Furthermore, the excitement seemed to brace
up her frame anew, and to ruffle into breezy action the torpid
tide of her monotonous existence.
Esha was announced and introduced. A new and refreshing
incident for the invalid! And now, if Esha had needed any
further confirmation of the quadroon's story, it was amply
afforded. Josephine's project for the present security of Ratcliff's
white slave was discussed and approved.
The carriage was waiting at the door. “Go now,” said Mrs.
Ratcliff, “and be sure you bring the girl right up to see me.”
In less than twenty minutes afterwards, as Clara, lonely and
anxious, sat in Tremaine's drawing-room, a servant entered and
told her that a colored woman was in Number 13, waiting to
see her. Supposing it could be no other than Esha, she followed
the servant to the room, and, on entering, recoiled at sight
of a stranger. For a moment the quadroon was so absorbed
in scanning the girl's whole personal outline, that there was
silence on both sides.
“What 's wanting?” asked Clara, half dreading some trick.
“Please close the door, and I 'll tell you,” was the reply.
Clara did as she was requested. “Have you any objections to
locking the door?” continued the quadroon.
“None whatever,” replied Clara, and she locked it.
“You fear I may be here as an agent of Mr. Ratcliff,” said
Josephine.
“Ah! am I betrayed?” cried Clara, instinctively carrying
her hand to her bosom, where lay the weapon she had bought.
The quadroon noticed the gesture, and smiled. “Sit down,”
she said, “and do not consider me an enemy until I have
proved myself such. Listen to what I have to propose.”
Clara took a seat where she could be within reach of the door,
and then pointed to the sofa.
“Yes, I will sit here,” said the quadroon, complying with the
tacit invitation. “Now, listen, dear young lady, to a proposition
I am authorized to make. Mr. Ratcliff will very soon be
a widower. His wive cannot survive three months. He has
seen you, and likes you. He is willing to lift you from slavery
to freedom, — from poverty to wealth, — from obscurity to
grandeur, — on one very easy condition; this, namely: that, as
soon after his wife's death as propriety will allow, you will
yourself become Mrs. Ratcliff.”
“Never!” exclaimed Clara, the blood flaming up like red
auroras over neck, face, and brow.
“But consider, my dear. You will, in the first place, be
forthwith treated with all the respect and consideration due to
Mr. Ratcliff's future bride. As soon as he has you secure as
his wife, he will emancipate you, — make you a free woman.
Think of that! Mr. Ratcliff is supposed to be worth at least
five millions. You will at once have such a purse as no other
young woman in the city can boast. Now why not be reasonable?
Why not say yes to the proposition?”
“Never! never!” cried Clara, carrying her hand again to
her breast with a gesture she thought significant only to herself.
Josephine rose and felt of the bosom of Clara's dress till she
distinguished the weapon of which Esha had spoken. Then a
smile, so sincere as to forbid suspicion, broke over the quadroon's
face, and she exclaimed: “Let me kiss you! Let me
hug you!” And having given vent to her satisfaction in an
embrace, she unlocked the door, and there stood Esha.
“What does it all mean, Esha?” asked Clara, bewildered.
“It mean, darlin', dat Massa Ratcliff hab tracked you to dis
yere place, an' we two women mean to pull de wool ober his
eyes, so he can't do yer no harm no how. You jes do what
we want yer to, and we 'll bodder him so he sha'n't know his
head 's his own.”
Josephine then communicated all the facts that had come
to her knowledge in regard to Ratcliff's pursuit of Clara, together
with her own conversation with him that morning, and
the plan she had contrived for his discomfiture. “As soon,”
she said, “as such an opportunity offers that I can be sure you
can be put beyond his reach, I will supply you with money,
and help you to escape.”
Truth beamed from her looks, and made itself musical in her
tones, and Clara gratefully pressed her hand.
“And shall I have Esha with me?” she asked.
“Yes; and Mrs. Ratcliff, though an invalid, will also befriend
you. 'T will be strange indeed if we four women can't
defeat one man.”
“But I shall have all the slave-hunters in the Confederacy
after me if I try to get away.”
“Do not fear. We have golden keys that open many doors
of escape.”
Clara did not hesitate. She had faith in Esha's quickness,
as well as in her own, to detect insincerity. And so she was
persuaded that her safest present course would be to go boldly
into the house of the very man she had most cause to dread!
It was agreed that the three should leave together at once.
Clara went to her sleeping-room, and there, encountering the
chambermaid, made her a present of two dollars, and sent her
off. Laura was absent at the dressmaker's.
“I would like,” said Clara, “to find out at the bar what
charge has been made for my stay here, and pay it.”
“Let me do it for you,” suggested the quadroon.
“If you would be so kind!” replied Clara. “Here are
fifteen dollars. I don't think it can come to more than that.”
Without taking the money, Josephine left the room. In five
minutes she returned with a receipted bill, made out against
“Miss Tremaine's friend.” This receipt Clara enclosed, together
with a five-dollar gold-piece, in a letter to Laura, containing
these words: —
“I thank you for all the hospitality I have received at your
hands. Enclosed you will find my hotel bill receipted, also
five dollars for the use of such dresses as I have worn. With
best wishes for your mother's restoration to health and for your
own welfare, I bid you good by.
The three women now passed through a side entrance to the
street where the carriage was in waiting; and before half an
hour had elapsed, Clara was established in the blue room of the
house in Lafayette Square, — the invalid lady had seen her
and approved, — and Esha, like a faithful hound, was following
her steps, keeping watch, as Ratcliff had directed, though
for other reasons than he had imagined.
Hardly had Clara left the hotel, before Vance called. He
had come, fully resolved to wring from her, if possible, the
secret of her trouble. Much to his disappointment, he learned
she had gone and would not return. He called a second time,
and saw Miss Tremaine. That young lady, warned and threatened
by her father, now displayed such a ready and facile gift
for lying, as would have highly distinguished her in diplomacy.
“Only think of it, Mr. Vance,” said the intrepid Laura, “it
turns out that Miss Brown has been having a love affair with
one of her father's clerks, a low-born Yankee. He followed
her to New Orleans, — managed to send a letter to her at Mrs.
Gentry's, — Clara went forth to find him, but, failing in her
search, came to claim hospitality of me. This morning her
father — a very decent man he seems to be — arrived from
Mobile and took her, fortunately before she had been able to
meet her lover.”
The story was plausible. Vance, however, looked the narrator
sharply and searchingly in the face. She met his glance
with an expression beaming with innocence and candor. It
was irresistible. The strong man surrendered all suspicion,
and gave in “beat.”
