The curse of gold

That night a house on Murry Hill was lighted up with more than usual splendor, not exactly for a party, for then those broad stone steps would have been carpeted to the street, and a sound of music would have been heard by every passer-by. Still there were sufficient indications of company; all the front windows were ablaze with light. The large gas lanterns on each side the steps flooded the pavement with their radiance. The soft hum of voices came faintly through draperies of lace and curtains of satin, and there seemed to be a good deal of commotion in the basement, quite enough to justify the idea of a large party gathered socially.

All this troubled Jane Kelly, who stood by the stone railing with the velvet prayer-book under her shawl, doubtful whether she had not better put off her errand to another day, than risk a denial at the door. Jane was not a woman to hesitate over small difficulties. She was seized with curiosity to know what was going on in that lofty mansion, and went down the basement-steps as if she belonged there.

A sharp pull at the bell brought a servant to the hall-door, a woman-servant, for the men were all up-stairs, dressed like ministers, and with white gloves on their hands.

“Why, Ellen Burns! is it you?”

“Hush.”

The servant lifted up both hands with something like terror, when she uttered this word, and looked over her shoulder to make certain that no one was listening.

“Come in,” she said, in a whisper; “but not one word about the hospital; I should lose my place if it were known that I had ever been a nurse there.”

“Is the lady as particular as that?” answered Jane, sinking her voice and slipping inside the door. “Well, well, never fear, I know how to keep a close mouth, you know that of old.”

“Yes, yes, I know,—step in here,—you have come at a fortunate time; two of the girls are up-stairs, and the men are all so busy that we can have the parlor here almost to ourselves.”

Jane slipped through the door opened for her, and found herself in a room that struck her as sumptuous.

“Won’t the lady come down and catch us in her parlor?” she asked a little anxiously.

Ellen laughed, and throwing herself on a sofa, made room for Jane by her side.

“She come here! Why, this is the servants’ parlor, Jane Kelly; we have nice times here, I tell you, especially when she is away at the watering-places;—not that we stay here much, why should we when the drawing-room is more convenient,—such balls and parties as we have! such wine! to say nothing of——, well, no matter. Tell me what brought you here, of all places in the world?”

“No, tell me more about your way of living. It must be sumptuous; I should like it.”

“Like it! of course you would; double the wages you get, and half the work.”

“No vacancy? One would not get in with the help of a friend like you, Ellen. I should like it, you know.”

“Impossible,” said Ellen, firmly.

“I thought so. Well, never mind. You were speaking about parties and wine—champagne, perhaps?”

“Plenty of it—like water, in fact—that is, when she’s away.”

“But how do you get it?”

“She takes the keys of the wine-cellar, of course, but careful as a woman can be, such things will sometimes be mislaid or lost. Hers got lost one day. She had to get a locksmith and have another made. Singular, wasn’t it? but weeks after I found that very key in my pocket.”

“Very singular,” said Jane demurely.

“Isn’t it, now? but our little parties have gone off splendidly ever since.”

“I should think so,” said Jane; “I only wonder you never thought to invite me.”

“Couldn’t,” answered Ellen, shaking her head. “The aristocracy would have turned up its nose clear through the basement. Nothing but first-class ladies and gentlemen get into these little swarrys,—ladies’ maids, footmen, and so on,—awfully rechercher, I can tell you. Why, some of us wear real diamonds; I don’t, for my duties are down-stairs, but you may bet on it the girls that take care of their mistress’s things shine now and then.”

“Real diamonds,” said Jane Kelly, feeling hastily in her pocket, and drawing out a paper box which she opened, “something like that, maybe.”

“Goodness gracious! where did you get it?” cried the girl, snatching at the diamond ear-ring, which flashed and quivered in the gas-light.

“At any rate, it’s my own and borrowed from no mistress, you may stake your life on that—so you see that I can cut a splash when I want to.”

“Let me see the other,” said Ellen, reaching forth her hand toward the box.

“Oh, they are exactly alike, of course,” answered Jane, crowding a tuft of pink cotton wool into the box; “mates, you know, and worth lots of chink.”

“How did you come by them? now, tell me.”

“Never you mind; they belong to me, and I can wear them before the Queen of England if I like.”

“Well, you have been lucky!”

“Some folks are lucky one way, and some another,—you are great on wine and aristocratic company—I—no matter about me,—I’m not good enough for these little swarrys.”

“Oh, but I didn’t say that. You always was a stylish girl, Jane, and those rings are sumpt’us. With them in your ears, and coming as my friend, what could be said agin you? Got other things to match, I dare say.”

“Well, yes,” answered Jane, after a moment’s hesitation, “or that which will get ’em.”

Ellen put a finger to her lips and fell into thought. Jane watched her with side glances, while she packed away her ear-ring in the pink cotton.

“I should be glad to have you come like a princess—you could look it, Jane Kelly. I’ve often heard young doctors say how handsome you was; among all us nurses, you always would cut the widest swath. If you’ll promise to sweep over some of these topping ladies’ maids and outshine ’em out and out, I’ll get you an invite to our next.”

“I’ll do it,” said Jane with emphasis. “Trust me, I’ll walk right straight over ’em.”

“That is just what I shall glory in. O Maria! how you startled me; this is my friend, Miss Kelly, just got in from New Haven, where she has been living with, with—”

“The president of the College—lovely family,” said Jane.

The young person thus addressed put one hand into the pocket of her dainty white apron, and dropped a little curtsy which had plenty of reservations in it. Then she went to a glass and arranged the hair that rolled tightly back from her forehead, patting it coquettishly on each temple with her hand.

“I—I am glad to see your friend, Ellen, though just this minute it is the least mite of a disappointment. Mr. Simpson asked me to be in the parlor about this time. He will be bringing things down, you know, and I was going to ask, as the greatest favor, that you would take my place up-stairs awhile. I hope your friend will excuse me mentioning it.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” said Jane, rising with the air of an empress.

“Couldn’t you go up-stairs with me?” said Ellen, greatly impressed by this grand air. “It is only to sit there while I get the ladies’ things as they come up.”

Jane hesitated. She saw that her chances of an interview with Mrs. Judson were very small, but still the temptation to see more of the house had its force.

“Oh, don’t let me drive your friend away!” said the girl they called Maria, settling her apron with great nicety. “I would not have spoken for the world if I had dreamed of such a thing.”

“I am not going away, thank you,” answered Jane, with a fling of the head which delighted her friend. “Ellen wants me to go up-stairs with her, and I’m agoing.”

Now, the girl Maria did not care a fig where either Ellen or her friend went, so long as they left the servants’ parlor to her and Mr. Simpson, who had with his own white-gloved hands put away some dainties for this special occasion. These dainties the two had no idea of sharing with any one, much less had Maria the least intention of giving a portion of Mr. Simpson’s society to either of the two females whom, much to her disgust, she had found in occupation when she came into the parlor.

“Dear me, I’m so afraid I’ve disturbed you! hadn’t the least intention of doing it; perhaps I had better go up-stairs again.”

Here Maria seated herself in a rocking-chair, shook out her dress, made herself generally comfortable, and concealed a yawn behind her hand.

“That’s just like her,” said Ellen, as she went up-stairs with her guest. “She thinks there is nobody on earth but herself; just as if Mr. Simpson ever asked her; she don’t wait for that, let me tell you.”

“I should like to have her for a patient, that’s all,” said Jane Kelly, giving her hand a fierce grip. “Wouldn’t I let her beg for drink? Oh, no!”

“Hush!” whispered Ellen; “we are close by the dressing-room—some one may be there.”

Jane became silent on the instant, and walking almost on tiptoe, followed her friend along the upper hall.