CHAPTER XXX.
A FEMININE VAN AMBURGH.
The morning after the dinner, Madame Volney rose at sunrise, and was stealing on tiptoe into her dressing-room, when Ratcliff, always a late riser, grumbled, “What’s the matter?”
“There’s to be an early church-service,” she replied.
“Bah! You’re always going to church!”
The quadroon made no reply, but gently retired, dressed, and glided out of the house into the open air. On through the yet deserted streets she swiftly passed. A white fog brooded over the city. Heavy-winged sea-birds were slowly making their way overhead to the marshes of Lake Ponchartrain, or still farther out to the beaches of the Gulf. The sound of drums and fifes in the distance occasionally broke the matutinal stillness. The walls of the streets were covered with placards of meetings of volunteer companies,—of the Wigman Rifles, the MacMahon Guards, the Beauregard Lancers, the Black Flag Invincibles.
After half an hour’s walk, the quadroon paused before a house, on the door of which was a brass plate presenting the words,—“Mrs. Gentry’s Seminary for Young Ladies.” While she looked and hesitated, a black girl came up from some steps leading into the basement, and with a mop and pail of water proceeded to wash the sidewalk.
“Is Esha in?” asked the quadroon.
“Yes, missis, Esha am in. Jes you go down dem steps inter de kitchen, an’ dar you’ll fine Esha, sure.” And taking the direction pointed out, Madame found herself in the presence of a large, powerfully built mulatto woman, who was engaged in preparations for breakfast.
“Is this Esha?”
“Yes, missis, dis am nob’dy else.”
“Esha, I want a few minutes’ talk with you.”
“Take a char, den, missis, and ’scuse my looks.”
“You look like a good woman, Esha, so no matter for dress.”
“Tahnk yer, missis. Esha’s like de res’,—not too good,—but nebdeless dar’s wuss folks dan she.”
“Esha, who is this young girl Mr. Ratcliff is after?”
Esha’s eyes snapped, and she looked sharply at her visitor. “Why you want ter know?” she asked.
“Are you a slave, Esha?”
“Yes, missis, I’se born a slabe,—hab libd a slabe, an’ ’spek to die a slabe.”
“I too am a slave, Esha. I belonged to old Etienne La Harpe, who died six years ago. Though I had had two children, one by him and one by his son, the old man’s widow sent me to the auction-block. I was sold to the highest bidder. I was bought by Mr. Carberry Ratcliff.”
“Ah! by him? by him?” muttered Esha.
“I was handsome. He made me his favorite. I’ve been faithful to him. Even his wife, poor thing, blesses the day I came into the house. She would have died long ago but for my care. The slaves, too, come to me with their sorrows. I do what I can for their relief. I am not, by nature, a bad woman. I would continue to serve this man and his household.”
“Do yer lub him,—dis Massa Ratcliff?”
“That’s a hard question, Esha. He has treated me like a lady. I am practically at the head of his house. I have a carriage at my command. He gives me all the money I ask for. He prizes me for my prudence and good temper. I love him so far as this: I should hate the woman who threatened to step between me and him. Now tell me who this girl is whose photograph he has.”
“She, missis? She am a slabe too.”
“She a slave? Whose slave?”
“She ’longs to Massa Ratcliff!”
“And he has kept it a secret from me!”
Esha, like most slaves, was a quick judge of character. She had an almost intuitive perception of shams. Convinced of the quadroon’s sincerity, she now threw a cushion on the floor, and, seating herself on it after the Oriental fashion, frankly told the whole story of the child Clara, and disclosed the true nature of her own relations to Ratcliff. When she had concluded, Madame Volney impulsively kissed her.
“And are you sure,” she asked, “quite sure that little Darling, as you call her, will resist Ratcliff to the last?”
“Dat chile will sooner die dan gib up ter dat ole man. What you ’spose she went out ter buy dat day I met her last? Wall, missis, she buyed a dagger.”
“Good! I love her!” cried Madame Volney, with flushed cheeks. “But Esha, do you know where she is now?”
“Yes, missis; but I tink I better not tell eb’n you,—’cause you see—”
“She’s with Miss Tremaine, at the St. Charles!”
“De Lord help us! How yer know dat, missis?” cried Esha, alarmed. “Do Massa Ratcliff know ’bout it?”
“He knows it all, and has made his preparations for seizing the girl this very day. He’ll be here this morning to give you your directions. Now, Esha, don’t make a blunder. Don’t let him see that you’re the girl’s friend. Say nothing of my visit. I’ll tell you what I suspect: Ratcliff knows his wife can’t live three months longer. He has never had a child by her. All his children are mulattoes and illegitimate. The desire of his heart is for a lawful heir. He means—Are you sure the girl is white?”
“I tell yer, missis, whoebber sold her, fust stained her skin to put up de price. Shouldn’t be ’stonished if dat chile was kidnapped.”
Madame Volney looked at her watch. “Esha,” she said, “you’ll be employed by Ratcliff to help secure her person. If, when he comes to you, the ribbon on his straw hat is green, do as he tells you. Should the ribbon be black, tell him to wait ten minutes. Then do you run round the corner to Aurora Street, where you’ll see a carriage with a white handkerchief held out at the right-hand window. You’ll find me there. We’ll drive to the St. Charles, and take the girl with us somewhere out of Ratcliff’s reach. Can you remember all I’ve told you?”
“Ebry word ob it, missis! Tahnk de Lord fur sendin’ yer. Watch Massa Ratcliff sharp. Fix him sure, missis,—fix him sure!”
“Trust me, Esha! He seizes no young girl to-day, unless I let him. But be very prudent. You may need money.”
“No, missis. No pay fur tellin’ de troof.”
“But you may need it for the child’s sake.”
“O yis, missis. I’ll take it fur de chile, sure.”
Madame Volney placed in her hands thirty dollars in gold, then left the house, and, hailing a carriage at a neighboring stand, told the driver where to take her. “Double speed, double fare!” she added. In ten minutes she was at home.
Ratcliff had not yet come down. He had rung the bell, and given orders for an early breakfast. Madame went up to her dressing-room, and put on her most becoming morning attire. We have called her a quadroon; but her complexion was of that clear golden hue, mixed with olive and a dash of carnation, which so many Southern amateurs prefer to the pure red and white of a light-haired Anglo-Saxon.
When Ratcliff came down, he complimented her on her good looks, and kissed her.
“I’ve been to confession,” she said, as she touched the tap of a splendid silver urn, and let hot water into the cups.
“And what have you been confessing, Josy?”
“I’ve been confessing how very foolish I’ve been the last few months.”
“Foolish in what, Josephine?”
“Foolish in my jealousy of you.”
“Jealousy? What cause have I given you for jealousy? I’ve been too much bothered about public matters to have time to think of any woman but you.”
“That’s partly true. But don’t I know what you most desire of earthly things?”
“Of course! You know I desire the success of the Southern Confederacy, corner-stone and all.”
“No, not that. You covet one thing even more than that.”
“Indeed! What is it?”
“A legitimate child who may inherit your wealth, and transmit your name.”
“Yes, I’d like a child. But we must take things as they come along. You mustn’t be jealous because now and then I may have dropped a hint of regret that I’ve no direct heir to my estate.”
“You’ve not confined yourself to hints. You’ve been provident in act as well as in thought.”
“What the deuce do you mean?”
“Don’t be angry when I tell you, you haven’t planned a plan, the last three months, of which I haven’t been aware.”
“Well, I’ve always thought you the keenest woman of my acquaintance; but I’d like to have it put through my hair what you’re exactly driving at now. What is it?”
“This: I know your scheme in regard to Miss Murray, and, what is more, I highly approve of it.”
“You’re the Devil!” exclaimed Ratcliff, starting up from his seat. Then, seeing Josephine’s unaffected smile and evident good humor, he sat down.
“At first I was a little chagrined,” she said, “especially when I found Mademoiselle so very pretty. But I’ve reflected much on it since, and talked with my confessor about it.”
“The deuce you have! Talked with your confessor, eh?”
“Yes, with my confessor. And the result is, that, so far from opposing you in your plan, I’ve concluded to give it my support.”
“And what do you understand to be my plan?”
“Perhaps ’ tis vague even in your own mind as yet. But I’ll tell you what I mean. Your wife is not likely to live many weeks longer. You’ll inherit from her a large estate. You’ll wish to marry again, and this time with a view to offspring. Both taste and policy will lead you to choose a young and accomplished woman. Who more suitable than Miss Murray?”
“Why, Josephine, she’s a slave!”
“A slave, is she? Look me in the face and tell me, if you can, you believe she has a drop of African blood in her veins. No! That child must have been kidnapped. And you have often suspected as much.”
“Where the Devil—Confound the woman!” muttered Ratcliff, half frightened at what looked like clairvoyance.
“Yes,” she continued, “her parents must have been of gentle blood. Look at her hands and feet. Hear her speak.”
“What is there you don’t find out, Josy?” exclaimed Ratcliff. “Here you tell me things that have been working in my mind, which I was hardly aware of myself till you mentioned them!”
“O, I’ve known all about your search for the girl. ’T was not till after a struggle I could reconcile it to my mind to lend you my aid. But this was what I thought: He will soon be a widower. He will desire to marry; not that he does not love his Josy—”
“Yes, Josy, you’re right there; you’re a jewel of a woman. Such devilish good common sense! Go on.”
“He would marry, not that he does not love his Josy, but because he wants a legitimate child of his own. That’s but natural and proper. Why should I oppose it, and thus give him cause to cast me out from his affections? Why not give him new reason for attachment, by showing him I am capable of a sacrifice for his sake? Yes, he will love me none the less for letting him see that without one jealous pang I can help him to a young and beautiful wife.”
“But, Josy, would you really recommend my marrying this girl?”
“Why not? Where will you find her equal?”
“But just think of it,—she was sold to me at public auction as a slave.”
“Yes, and the next day Mrs. Gentry wrote you that the coloring stuff had washed off from her skin, and she was whiter than any one in the school. You wrote not a word in reply. But did not the thought occur to you, the child has been kidnapped? Of course it did! In this great city of rogues and murderers, did you not consider there were plenty of men capable of such an act? Deny it if you can.”
“Josy, you’re enough to unsteady a man’s nerves. How did you discover there was such a being as Miss Murray? and how did you get out of my mind what I had thought about the kidnapping? and how, what I myself had hardly dreamed of, the idea, namely, of making her my wife?”
“When one loves,” replied Josephine, “one is quick to watch, and sharp to detect. At first, as I’ve told you, I was disposed to be jealous. But reflection soon convinced me ’ would be for your happiness to take this young person, now in the false position of a slave, and educate her for your wife. Even if the world should know her story, what would you care? You’re above all social criticism. Besides, would it not be comical for our swarthy Creole ladies to snuff at such a beautiful blonde, whose very presence would give the lie to all that malice could insinuate as to her birth?”
“O, I don’t care for what society may say. I’m out of the reach of its sneers. And what you urge, Josy, is reasonable,—very. Yes, she’s a remarkably fine girl, and I’ve certainly taken a strong fancy to her. Some of our first young men are already deep in love with her. Of course she’d be eternally grateful, if I were to emancipate her and make her my wife.”
Josephine could hardly repress a smile of triumph to see this thorough-bred tyrant, who knew no law but his own will, thus falling into the snare she was so delicately spreading for him. Something of the satisfaction Van Amburgh might have felt when his tiger succumbed, spread its glow over her cheeks. Never in his coarse calculations had Ratcliff thought of showing Clara any further mercy than he had shown to the humblest of his concubines. And yet Josephine, by her apt suggestions, had half persuaded him, little given as he was to introspective analysis, that the idea of making the girl his wife had originated in his own mind!
“Did he keep the whole story from her because he supposed Josy would be jealous?” asked the quadroon, with a caress.
“Why, yes, Josy; to tell the truth, I thought there’d have to be a scene sure, when you found out I’d been educating such a girl with a view to her taking your place some time. So I kept dark. But you’re a trump,—you are! I shouldn’t wonder if you could acquire the same influence over her that you now have over my wife.”
“Easily!” said Josephine. “I’ve seen her. I like her. I know we should agree. When she learns it was my wish you should emancipate and marry her, she will regard me as her friend. I can teach her not to be jealous of me.”
“Capital!” exclaimed Ratcliff. “Josy can remain where she is in the family. Josy will not have to abdicate. There’ll be no unpleasant row between the two women. The whole thing can be harmoniously managed.”
“Why not, Carberry? And let me say ’ would be folly to seize this girl rudely, wounding her pride and rousing her resentment. The true way is to decoy her gently till you get her into your possession, and then secure her by such means as I can suggest.”
“Hang me, but you’re right again, Josy! I had thought of carrying her off this very day.”
“Yes, I supposed so.”
“Supposed so? Where in the name of all the devils did you get your information? For there’s but one person beside myself who knows anything about it.”
“And that’s Mr. Tremaine!”
“So it is, by Jove! How did you know it?”
“I put this and that together, and drew an inference. You mean to place her again, for the present, at Mrs. Gentry’s.”
“True! That was my plan. But I hadn’t mentioned it to a soul.”
“What of that? Where one loves, one has such insight! But is there any one at Mrs. Gentry’s on whom you can rely to keep watch of the girl?”
“Yes, there’s an old slave-woman,—Esha. She has a grudge against the little miss, and isn’t likely to be too indulgent.”
“But why, Carberry, would you take the little miss to Mrs. Gentry’s rather than to your own house? I see! You thought I would be in the way; that I would be jealous of her! Confess!”
“Yes, Josy, I didn’t think anything else.”
“Well, now, let me plan for you: first, I, with Esha, will call on her. Esha can easily persuade her that the best thing she can do will be to come with us to this house. We’ll have the blue room ready for her. It being between two other rooms, and having no other exit than through them, she will not have another chance to abscond. Esha would perhaps be a suitable person to keep guard. But then probably Mrs. Gentry wouldn’t part with Esha.”
“Bah! Gentry will have to do as I order, or see her school broken up as an Abolition concern. Your plan strikes me favorably, Josy; but what if the girl should refuse to accompany you?”
“We can have an officer close by to apply to in case of need.”
“Of course! What a woman you are for plotting!”
“Yes, Carberry, give me carte blanche to act for you, and I’ll have her here before one o’clock. But there’s a condition, Carberry.”
“Name it, Josy.”
“It is, that so long as your present wife lives, you shall keep strictly aloof from the maiden, not even taking the liberty of a kiss. Don’t you see why? She has been religiously brought up. She is pure, with affections disengaged. Would it be for your future interests as a husband to undo all that has been done for her moral education? Surely no! You mean to make her your wife; and the wife of Carberry Ratcliff must be intemerate!”
“Right! right! A thousand times right!” exclaimed the debauchee, his pride getting the ascendency.
“For the present, then,” continued the quadroon, “you, a married man, must hardly look on her. Consent to this, and I’ll take the whole trouble of the affair off your hands. I’ll bring the girl here, and so mould her that she will be prepared to be your lawful wife as soon as decency may permit.”
Ratcliff rose from the table, and paced the floor. Under Josephine’s way of presenting the subject, what had seemed rather an embarrassing job began to assume a new and attractive aspect. How well-judged the whole arrangement! The idea of elevating Clara to the exalted position of successor to the present Mrs. Ratcliff was fast becoming more and more inviting to his contemplation. Wealth in a wife would be of no account. He would have enough of his own. Family rank was desirable; but did not the girl give every sign of high blood? It would not be surprising if, in fact, she were of a stock almost equal to his own in gentility. Besides, would not he, a Ratcliff, carry, lodged in his own person, sufficient dignity of pedigree to cover the genealogical shortcomings of a wife?
The fact that Onslow and Kenrick admired her did much to enhance the girl’s value in his eyes; and he could readily see how it would be for Madame Volney’s interests, since she knew he meant to marry again, to have the training, to a certain extent, of his future wife, and put her under a seeming obligation. And so the quadroon’s protestations that she had conquered all jealousy on the subject seemed to him the most natural thing in the world.
“Well, Josy,” said he, after a silence of some minutes, “I accept your condition; I give the promise you demand.”
“Honor bright?”
“Yes; you’ll have me close under your eyes. I commit the girl entirely to your keeping. I will myself go at once and see Esha, and send her to you here. I’ll also see Tremaine, and shut up his mouth with a plug that will be effectual. The fellow owes me money. Then you can take Esha in the carriage, and go and put your plan in execution.”
“Good! You’ve decided wisely, Carberry. Shall I order the carriage for you?”
“Yes. I’ll send it back to you with Esha, and then myself go on foot to the St. Charles to see Tremaine.”
Ratcliff passed out of the breakfast-room, and the quadroon went to the hat-closet in the hall, and removed the straw hat with a black ribbon on it, leaving the one distinguished by a green band. She then rang and ordered the carriage.