Temple House a novel |
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| 32. | CHAPTER XXXII. |
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 | CHAPTER XXXII. Temple House |  |
32. CHAPTER XXXII.
Mat Sutcliffe, going up the alley, towards home,
saw a woman flitting from his door, and Mary standing
by it, apparently wrenching the handle off.
“Oh Mat,” she cried, when he stepped across the
threshold, “did you ever?”
“Who is in fits now? Let the door alone, and
don't be jiggery.”
“Did you see Mrs. Bailey?”
“I saw petticoats scudding.”
“Well, says she to me, as I was sitting by the table
darning stockings—your blue ones, and every
mite of color is going to wash out of them, for the
rinsing water was as blue as anything—coming in
out of breath, says she, `Have you heard the story
that's going round like wildfire, Mrs. Sutcliffe?'
`No,' says I, `I'm attending to my own business.'
`So you be,' says she, `but I'm bound to tell it
to you, 'cause I know you have friends interested,
and 'cause I want to know whether you believe
it.' It is the worst thing I ever heard in my life,
Mat.”
“Has Clark's sow eat up her pigs again? Hold
on a bit, I want to light my pipe. Let me know
when you get to the middle of next week, and I'll
clap on my ears.”
“She said, they said, that Mr. Brande's Sarah, the
gal that hands the vittles, said yesterday at Mrs.
Paulding's, the milliner's, that she was getting most
tired of the state of affairs up at the Forge: that the
very night before, Virginia Brande's beau, Mr. Carfield,
was in her very bedroom over an hour; and
she, Sarah knew, was in her night-clothes; and that
wasn't all she could tell: and that Argus Gates
couldn't be aware what he was after.”
Mat's pipe fell on the floor, and he stamped it into
powder.
“Toad, adder, skunk, bitch!” he yelled. “Why
didn't some of the Christians there choke her, and
throw her into the well?”
“You mean, Sarah. Mrs. Bailey said they all believed
the story; that they had been expecting it.
If something wasn't wrong, why hadn't Mr. Carfield
married her before? She was no chicken; and they
guessed she had been ready some time. Says she,
Mrs. Baily, “There wasn't a store on Main Street,
that hadn't the whole particulars by six o'clock yesterday
afternoon; they do say, too, that the church
will have to look into it.' I know there is not a
word of truth in it; and I said so to Mrs. Bailey.”
“There is something in it, half on't may be true;
if that hound did get into Miss Brande's room, you
may be sure he went out with a yelp. But blarsted
if I can puzzle out how she has found anything about
Argus Gates.”
“What is there to know?”
“I guess I'll go right up to the Capen, and tell
him this.”
“Why—why should you tell him?”
“If you knew, you'd be returning Mrs. Bailey's
kindness in ten minntes.”
“I can guess.”
“Guess.”
“Argus Gates has a notion of courting Virginia
Brande; she has courted him long enough. But I
am for it, Mat, and I wish I could help her. She
has always demeaned herself to me beautiful, and
made me feel that I was as good as anybody.”
“That's so; and you have guessed it. I carried
a billet to her for the Capen, and I am afraid I
kinder acted like a noodle, by giving it to her afore
folks, and so brought on a crisis, as they call it.
Keep dark now; it will all come out soon,—right
side up, with care, glass. What would you do, if
you was me?”
“If I was you, after what you have told me, I'd
tend strictly to the business of picking oakum. You
can make good, straight rope-yarn, but you get everything
else you undertake into knots.”
“Hang it, I do kinder feel as if my tail was between
my legs.”
“Go right off, and tell the whole thing to Gates
I'll look out of the window, and out of doors; besides,
I am going up to Cuff and Smith's after pear-lash,
I may see how the wind blows towards the Forge.
It will be a flaw in Argus if he marries her after
this. A girl never gets rid of such a smut on her;
the little children now growing up, and hearing this
story, will remember it whenever they see her, if she
angel. If she should have children, the story will
always be mentioned, when they are mentioned.”
“Damned, brutal, stinking hole of a Kent!”
yelled Mat again, “I wish I had the tying of a stone
round your neck, I'd sink ye a hundred fathoms in
hell!”
“Some other town would come up in its place,
just like it. Didn't that missionary say, who
preached in the hall, for ten cents a ticket, that
human nature in the Burmese Empire was much
like the human nature of our own enlightened New
England.”
“Then I guess the missionaries had better stay to
home; for, 'pears to me, human nature's too much
for 'em.”
And Mat turned on his heels, and went after Argus.
Going in at the kitchen door, he found a man
waiting from the Forge, and talking with Chloe.
Tempe had written a note, to inform her mother that
she meant to stay a day or two longer, and requested
that some articles of dress should be sent her. When
Mat heard this, he felt still more uneasy; it seemed
to him that he must follow the man to Mr. Brande's
house, drag out Mr. Carfield, pound him to death,
and bring away Tempe, and Virginia, too. If it
wasn't a States Prison offence, he'd certainly cripple
Brande by burning his house, and the Forge buildings.
He wished Kent was in Mr. Ford's country—
South America, where there were chances of an
earthquake, and the cunning control and power of the
could be managed. “Chloe,” he said, solemnly and
reproachfully, “in the Lord's name, why did you
ever leave your missey?”
“'Twas in the Lord's name that I did leave, I suppose,”
she answered crossly. “What did you come
for?”
“To see the Capen; where is he?”
“Up stairs with missis; they are looking at the
old, empty, south rooms.”
“Be they? Well, they must stop. Have you heard
anything to-day?”
“There, there—didn't I say so? I have felt it in
my bones.”
“Your bones are in a bad way, then.”
He ran from the door to the fireplace, half doubling
his body, spit furiously into the fire, and whispered
fiercely:
“There's a vile, beastly, rotten lie spread all over
town, about your missey. I wouldn't tell ye, if I
didn't know that some fool would surprise ye worse,
and make ye show off against your will.”
Her dry mouth opened and shut a dozen times
before she could speak, then she seized him, and
shook him.
“Who dares?” she said. “Does she know it is
out? Get Tempe home. Do you want the Capen
to know it? I say you must go for Tempe, or there
will be two of them.”
She fell back into a chair, and wrung her hands
silently; her face was wrinkled and knit with pain.
Mat looked at her in astonishment and disgust.
“Blarsted if this ere sister don't believe it against
her missey.”
“How did it get out?” she asked, in a faint voice.
“Get out,” he repeated, indignantly, “what do you
mean by that face? Put on a different one. Would
you insult one of the best girls alive? This comes
from your idees of total depravity. Or is it something
worse? Never was so disappointed in anybody
as I am in you.”
“What do you mean by coming here to scare me
half to death with a lot of nonsense?”
“You'll find no nonsense here.”
In a few words he told her the story, and then
sent her up stairs for Argus.
When Mat had finished his relation, Argus immediately
repeated it to Roxalana; they were both entirely
unmoved by it. If it were true,—and Argus,
from his knowledge of Mr. Carfield, thought there
might be foundation for the report, it was only a reason
more for haste in their marriage. Virginia must
be removed from that house. He told Roxalana his
own story now, and she listened to it with calm
approval, and understood him thoroughly.
“Between us all,” she said, “I believe she will be
happy. A new happiness in this house, Argus, I
never again expected.”
“It is to come, Roxalana, from the cloud you
wrapped us all in. The chill wind from it, and its
threatening darkness, drove me from my position.”
“Must I learn at this late period, that good comes
from evil? But, Argus, no time must be lost. I
stay under my wing; no legal power can take her
away.”
“Is she not infirm of will?”
“Through her love and duty only. But she must
be made to understand that she has a right to individual
happiness. However, she has firmly loved
you for years.”
“How sly you women are—all alike! Why did
you not teach her that I was worthless? You know
that I can only shine as your companion! Have
you ever had the mercy and compassion to view me
imaginatively, as the husband of Virginia Brande?”
“I never was gifted with imagination, Argus.
Upon what a bed of thorns should I have lived, had
it been the case. Do not delay any longer. Shall I
send Chloe? and Tempe is there. Keep this story
from Sebastian at present.”
“Ah, Sebastian, Tempe,—yes. What do you
think of his plan, for you know it.”
“I do not think, and do not intend to think, an
avenue is opened there which I shall close my eyes
upon,—both now and hereafter.”
Argus chuckled, and accused her of the endeavor
to wash her hands of a bad business. It was evident
that he was in better spirits.
An hour or so, and Chloe had reached the Forge.
It was dusk when she came in sight of the walls of
the house—as clean and white as those of a sepul
chre. She shook her fist at them.
“The Indian has got here first this time,” she
wait a few minutes for her.”
She went into the premises by a gate in the wall at
the back of the stables, and put her head in one of
the doors partly open.
“Oh Moses,” she said carelessly, “I thought I
should find you milking. That's Mossy, ain't it?
S'pose she knows me? Koh, Mossy, do you 'member?
She shakes her horns; she has forgotten me.
Chloe is coming! Koh, Koh! there, Moses, she does
know me. How much milk does she give?”
“Nigh on to four quarts. You are quite a
stranger, Chloe.”
“So dreadful busy doing nothing, is the reason.
How's the family? Going on the same?”
“I don't know but they be, and I don't know as
they be; me and Sarah have quit.”
“Marsy, I haven't heard a word about it.”
“There's plenty of news flying in the air; but it
is none of my business, and nothing to me.”
“I hope there's no bad news, Moses.”
“Go in, Chloe, may be you will find out from
Martha what's to do; I can't make head nor tail on
it. Somebody has been lying, or the world is so bad
I wish I hadn't been born.”
“The Lord reigns, Moses.”
“I pray accordingly. But it seems to me sometimes,
that if I turned my prayers the other way,
hind side afore, as it were, I should get more attention.”
Chloe proceeded up the yard, looking furtively at
meeting Sarah, or Martha. From what Moses
had said, it was evident enough that the scandal had
widely spread; was known to the servants and all
the workmen at the Forge; known to everybody,
except the actors, and Mr. Brande. No one saw her
enter the house. She passed the dining-room door
and heard the rattle of dishes, (Sarah was there arranging
the tea-table probably,) and passed the parlor
doors intently listening. Mr. Carfield was inside,
and with him Tempe. She heard Tempe's gay laugh,
and Mr. Carfield's rapid utterance. Like a cat she
sped up stairs, and entered Virginia's chamber without
knocking. Virginia was at the glass adjusting
her dress.
“Oh, Chloe,” she cried, “you have brought me
good news, I am sure!”
“I got up here without anybody's seeing me,”
Chloe answered, searching her countenance.
“That's right.”
“Is it?”
“Were you not sent directly to me?”
“Yes; but I think I has brought you no news to
please you concisely; but something bad for you to
hear.”
Virginia dropped into a chair, extended her Land,
and Chloe handed her the note Argus had written.
She drew a breath of relief as she read, for there was
no hint of Chloe's mystery; he simply asked her to
return with Chloe as far as the pines, and meet him
there. She raised her eyes to Chloe, and saw she
was closely examined.
“Well, Chloe,” she asked, with impatience, “there
is no time to lose.”
“So Missis Gates said.”
“You seem to understand present affairs. Who
told you?”
“I had to be told.”
“There must be just so many confidants, I suppose,
when things get to such a pass as this, or what
would become of the romance?”
“Tempe is wanted, too.”
“Now,—to go with us?”
“This is no place for the like of her.”
“Come, old Chloe,—haven't you teazed me enough
with your oracleship?”
“Missey, Sarah made a world of mischief in Kent
the other day. I must say she did her work so well,
I almost think she was hired to do it; else, she has a
grudge against some of you.”
Virginia, struck with a true apprehension of the
case, turned away from Chloe, caught at a corner of
the dressing table for something to steady herself by,
and signed to Chloe to go on.
“Don't you think she peeked through the keyhole?
I do; 'cause she mentioned particulars she must have
seen, when that rascal was in here, an hour or more,
that night, and you undressed.”
“Is it because of this, that Roxalana sent me
word there must be no delay?”
“Yes, indeed; they do feel a storm brewing. It is
all over the town, and many of your friends believe
it. Some pity you.”
Virginia laughed wildly, and clenched her hand
upon the note.
“They sent you to me, thinking I must be taken
away?”
“Yes, Missey. Had you better go? Isn't one
place as good as another, now?”
Chloe, still possessed by her Indian demon, probably,
looked severe and spoke coldly.
“Best Argus!” exclaimed Virginia, kissing the
crumpled paper, so much devotion shining in her
pale face, so much tenderness filling her eyes, that
Chloe was pierced as with a sword. “And Roxalana,
generous friend, strong soul! So will I at last be
generous and strong. Help me, Lord!”
Shutting the note in both her hands, she raised
them towards heaven, and Chloe was again transfixed.
“Oh Missey,” she cried, “I do see that it is all
right with you. I—”
She was struck dumb by Virginia's slow uprising
from her chair; she looked so tall and terrible that
it seemed to Chloe that she would touch the ceiling,
and spread all over it like an avenging spirit.
“Say no more, Chloe. I will write a line to Captain
Gates, and you may take it at once. Do not
come to me again.”
“Dear Argus,” she scribbled, “the story is partly
true; but I doubt whether I should ever have told it
to you. We must wait, now, till it clears itself up for
us, without your interference. Tell Roxalana I am
quite ready to live in her service. Keep Mr. Ford
send for Tempe, to-morrow.”
Folding the note, she gave it, unsealed, to Chloe,
and pointed to the door: and Chloe did not dare to
disobey. She stopped on the door-mat an instant,
while putting it in her pocket, and whispered to herself
that she had found the best chance she ever had
in her life to despise Chloe; and she reckoned she
would make the most of it. She also paused before
the dining-room door, and it opened; she and Sarah
found themselves face to face. A swift impulse
seized Chloe; she pushed Sarah back into the room,
kicked the door to behind them, and with wiry
hands set her into the depths of one of the stuffed
chairs, and stood over her.
“I shan't box your ears yet,” she hissed to the
amazed, helpless girl, “but I shall, and maybe cut out
your tongue. I can do it, for the knives are sharp
here. What devil possessed you to bring this dreadful
trouble on Missey? And Moses is decent man
enough to give you the sack, is he? Glory for that.”
After shaking the breath out of her, Chloe asked
her why she didn't answer.
“I had a mind to do it, you black, evil thing; I
guess I've come up with them. That Mr. Carfield
always put me down; he called me a servant over
and over again. As for Miss Virginia, we shall see
if my lady, with her ten silk dresses, and her ten
breastpins, will flaunt it quite so high. Let me
alone; let me get up. He was in her bedroom,
—I saw him go in, and come out; and he staid in
and—”
Chloe would not allow her to go on, but fell upon
her with fury, striking her in the face with all the
strength she had.
“You may kill me,” gasped Sarah, “but I won't
take back a word; and I'll have you taken up for
this.”
Mr. Brande opened the door as Chloe's rage had
exhausted itself, and Sarah was half insensible with
the stinging blows she had received. He stood
amazed at the sight, but even then his ear caught the
sound of laughter and conversation going on still
between Tempe and Mr. Carfield, and it disturbed
him.
“Why, Chloe,” he said presently, “what in the
world does this mean? Can't you come on a visit,
even, to your old home, without bringing a surplus
of the old Adam.”
“It means, sir, that the old Adam is too much
for me, when I meet him in your premises.”
Sarah tried to get out of the chair, with loud “Ohs.”
“Stay where you are,” said Chloe, “or I'll pound
your legs to jelly.”
In spite of himself, Mr. Brande could hardly help
a smile at Sarah's plight and Chloe's victorious attitude.
“You have got to own,” continued Chloe, “before
you get out of that chair, what you have said about
Missey Brande!”
“I've said the truth,” she answered sullenly.
“Chloe,” said Mr. Brande hastily, “I request you
to let Sarah go. She is hardly presentable just now;
the supper hour is at hand, and we are entirely unaccustomed
to such disturbance.”
“Such disturbance! Yes. Very well, sir. Go,
Sarah, I can give the particulars to Mr. Brande.”
Sarah rushed, not only from the room but the
house, and did not return.
Within a month she married a Scotch workman,
one of the Forge hands, whom, for politic reasons Mr.
Brande did not discharge afterwards. She sent an
invitation to Moses to come to her wedding, written
on a card ornamented with yellow doves, and blue
roses. Moses wrapped it in a piece of newspaper,
and put it away as an eternal remembrance of the
deceitfulness of females.
Mr. Brande, instead of being angry when Chloe related
what Sarah had done, fell into a fit of deep
musing. She waited to hear something from him; not
a word came. His usually restless hands and slippery
eyes were motionless. She never saw his head
hang so before; his eyes seemed to be fixed upon
something within his breast, and his chin rested upon
it. The French clock on the mantel-piece ticked,
and ran down. Once, she recollected, the pendulum
would not have had a minute's rest; now he did not
notice its silence. The fire was disarranged, and embers
fell with charred ends against the fender, and he
did not rise with the old formal alacrity to replace
them over the dogs. An indescribable change had
taken place in that house, since she had been there;
could not reason upon, but wondered whether it was
owing to him. At last remembering the necessity of
returning, she said: “I believe my duty is done, Mr.
Brande.”
“Yes,” he replied absently, “you can go. I will
attend to it. And, Chloe,—you had better come
back, hadn't you? don't she like you?”
“I am afraid, Sir, I have made Missey angry.”
“Missey! I meant—Oh,—ah; yes, you can go.”
And he waved her out after the old fashion.
Argus saw her speeding along the path alone, and
said, when she came up to him: “It is not lucky for
me,—the Forge path; I have half a mind to send
you back.”
“Not to-night, Captain. I have an answer, and I
know Missey so well that I promise you she wishes
to hear a word from nobody this night.”
“Now for my personal venture,” he muttered as
they went back to Temple House.
| CHAPTER XXXII. Temple House | |