Books: The Maid of Maiden Lane
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Amelia E. Barr >> The Maid of Maiden Lane
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"But you must suffer."
"Not much. None of us weep if we lose what is of no value. And I have
noticed that the happiness of any one is always conditioned by the
unhappiness of some one else. Love usually builds his home out of the
wrecks of other homes. Your cousin and Cornelia will be happy, but there
are others that must suffer, that they may be so. I will go now, Annie,
because until I have written to Mr. Van Ariens, I shall not feel free.
And also, I do not wish him to come here, and in his last letter he
spoke of such an intention."
So the two letters--that of Hyde to Cornelia, and that of Mary Darner to
Van Ariens, left England for America in the same packet; and though Mary
Darner undoubtedly had some suffering and disappointment to conquer, the
fight was all within her. To her friends at the Manor she was just the
same bright, courageous girl; ready for every emergency, and equally
ready to make the most of every pleasure.
And the tone of the Manor House was now set to a key of the highest joy
and expectation. Hyde unconsciously struck the note, for he was happily
busy from morning to night about affairs relating either to his
marriage, or to his future as the head of a great household. All his old
exigent, extravagant liking for rich clothing returned to him. He had
constant visits from his London tailor, a dapper little artist, who
brought with him a profusion of rich cloth, silk and satin, and who
firmly believed that the tailor made the man. There were also endless
interviews with the family lawyer, endless readings of law papers, and
endless consultations about rights and successions, which Hyde was glad
and grateful to leave very much to his father's wisdom and generosity.
At the beginning of this happy period, Hyde had been sure that the
business of his preparations would be arranged in three weeks; a month
had appeared to be a quite unreasonable and impossible delay; but the
month passed, and it was nearly the middle of November when all things
were ready for his voyage. His mother would then have urged a
postponement until spring, but she knew that George would brook no
further delay; and she was wise enough to accept the inevitable
cheerfully. And thus by letting her will lead her, in the very road
necessity drove her, she preserved not only her liberty, but her desire.
Some of these last days were occupied in selecting from her jewels
presents for Cornelia, with webs of gold and silver tissues, and
Spitalfields silks so rich and heavy, that no mortal woman might hope to
outwear them. To these Annie added from her own store of lace, many very
valuable pieces; and the happy bridegroom was proud to see that love was
going to send him away, with both arms full for the beloved.
The best gift however came last, and it was from the Earl. It was not
gold or land, though he gave generously of both these; but one which
Hyde felt made his way straight before him, and which he knew must have
cost his father much self-abnegation. It was the following letter to Dr.
John Moran.
MY DEAR SIR:
It seems then, that our dear children love each other so well, that it
is beyond our right, even as parents, to forbid their marriage. I ask
from you, for my son, who is a humble and ardent suitor for Miss Moran's
hand, all the favour his sincere devotion to her deserves, We have both
been young, we have both loved, accept then his affection as some
atonement for any grievance or injustice you remember against myself.
Had we known each other better, we should doubtless have loved each
other better; but now that marriage will make us kin, I offer you my
hand, with all it implies of regret for the past, and of respect for the
future. Your servant to command,
RICHARD HYDE.
"It is the greatest proof of my love I can give you, George," said the
Earl, when the letter had been read; "and it is Annie you must thank for
it. She dropped the thought into my heart, and if the thought has
silently grown to these written words, it is because she had put many
other good thoughts there, and that these helped this one to come to
perfection."
"Have you noticed, father, how small and fragile-looking she is? Can she
really be slowly dying?"
"No, she is not dying; she is only going a little further away--a little
further away, every hour. Some hour she will be called, and she will
answer, and we shall see her no more--HERE. But I do not call that
dying, and if it be dying, Annie will go as calmly and simply, as if she
were fulfilling some religious rite or duty. She loves God, and she will
go to Him."
The next morning Hyde left his father's home forever. It was impossible
that such a parting should be happy. No hopes, no dreams of future joy,
could make him forget the wealth of love he was leaving. Nor did he wish
to forget. And woe to the man or woman who would buy composure and
contentment by forgetting!--by really forfeiting a portion of their
existence--by being a suicide of their own moral nature.
The day was a black winter day, with a monotonous rain and a dark sky
troubled by a ghostly wind. Inside the house the silence fell on the
heart like a weight. The Earl and Countess watched their son's carriage
turn from the door, and then looked silently into each other's face. The
Earl's lips were firmly set, and his eyes full of tears; the Countess
was weeping bitterly. He went with her to her room, and with all his old
charm and tenderness comforted her for her great loss.
At that moment Annie was forgotten, yet no one was suffering more than
she was. Hyde had knelt by her sofa, and taken her in his arms, and
covered her face with tears and kisses, and she had not been able to
oppose a parting so heart-breaking and so final. The last tears she was
ever to shed dropped from her closed eyes, as she listened to his
departing steps; and the roll of the carriage carrying him away forever,
seemed to roll over her shrinking heart. She cried out feebly--a pitiful
little shrill cry, that she hushed with a sob still more full of
anguish. Then she began to cast over her suffering soul the balm of
prayer, and prostrate with closed eyes, and hands feebly hanging down,
Doctor Roslyn found her. He did not need to ask a question, he had long
known the brave self-sacrifice that was consecrating the child-heart
suffering so sharply that day; and he said only--
"We are made perfect through suffering, Annie."
"I know, dear father."
"And you have found before this, that the sorrow well borne is full of
strange joys--joys, whose long lasting perfumes, show that they were
grown in heaven and not on earth."
"This is the last sorrow that can come to me, father."
"And my dear Annie, you would have been a loser without it. Every grief
has its meaning, and the web of life could not be better woven, if only
love touched it."
"I have been praying, father."
"Nay, but God Himself prayed in you, while your soul waited in deep
resignation. God gave you both the resignation and the answer."
"My heart failed me at the last--then I prayed as well as I could."
"And then, visited by the NOT YOURSELF in you, your head was lifted up.
Do not be frightened at what you want. Strive for it little by little.
All that is bitter in outward things, or in interior things, all that
befalls you in the course of a day, is YOUR DAILY BREAD if you will take
it from His hand."
Then she was silent and quite still, and he sat and watched the gradual
lifting of the spirit's cloud--watched, until the pallor of her face
grew luminous with the inner light, and her wide open eyes saw, as in a
vision, things, invisible to mortal sight; but open to the spirit on
that dazzling line where mortal and immortal verge.
And as he went home, stepping slowly through the misty world, he himself
hardly knew whether he was in the body or out of it. He felt not the
dripping rain, he was not conscious of the encompassing earthly vapours,
he had passed within the veil and was worshipping
"In dazzling temples opened straight to Him, Where One who had great
lightnings for His crown Was suddenly made present; vast and dim Through
crowded pinions of the Cherubim."
And his feet stumbled not, nor was he aware of anything around, until
the Earl met him at the park gates and touching him said reverently--
"Father, you are close to the highway. Have you seen Annie?"
"I have just left her."
"She is further from us than ever."
"Richard Hyde," he answered," she is on her way to God, and she can
rest nothing short of that."
CHAPTER XIV
"HUSH! LOVE IS HERE!"
On the morning that Hyde sailed for America, Cornelia received the
letter he had written her on the discovery of Rem's dishonourable
conduct. So much love, so much joy, sent to her in the secret foldings
of a sheet of paper! In a hurry of delight and expectation she opened
it, and her beaming eyes ran all over the joyful words it brought her--
sweet fluttering pages, that his breath had moved, and his face been
aware of. How he would have rejoiced to see her pressing them to her
bosom, at some word of fonder memory or desire.
There was much in this letter which it was necessary her father and
mother should hear--the Earl's message to them--Hyde's own proposition
for an immediate marriage, and various necessities referring to this
event. But she was proud and happy to read words of such noble,
straightforward affection; and the Doctor was especially pleased by the
deference expressed for his wishes. When he left the house that day he
kissed his daughter with pride and tenderness, and said to Mrs. Moran--
"Ava, there will be much to get, and much to do in a short time, but
money manages all things Do not spare where it is necessary." And then
what important and interesting consultations followed! what lists of
lovely garments became imperative, which an hour before had not been
dreamed of! what discussions as to mantua makers and milliners! as to
guests and ceremonies! as to all the details of a life unknown, but
invested by love and youth, with a delightfully overwhelming importance.
Cornelia was so happy that her ordinary dress of grey camelot did not
express her; she felt constrained to add to it some bows of bright
scarlet ribbon, and then she looked round about her room, and went
through her drawers, to find something else to be a visible witness to
the light heart singing within her. And she came across some coral combs
that Madame Jacobus had given her, and felt their vivid colouring in the
shining masses of her dark hair, to be one of the right ways of saying
to herself, and all she loved, "See how happy I am!"
In the afternoon, when the shopping for the day had been accomplished,
she went to Captain Jacobus, to play with him the game of backgammon
which had become an almost daily duty, and to which the Captain attached
a great importance. Indeed, for many weeks it had been the event of
every day to him; and if he was no longer dependent on it, he was
grateful enough to acknowledge all the good it had done him. "I owe your
daughter as much as I owe you, sir," he would say to Doctor Moran, "and
I owe both of you a bigger debt than I can clear myself of."
This afternoon he looked at his visitor with a wondering speculation.
There was something in her face, and manner, and voice, he had never
before seen or heard, and madame--who watched every expression of her
husband--was easily led to the same observation. She observed Cornelia
closely, and her gay laugh especially revealed some change. It was like
the burst of bird song in early spring, and she followed the happy girl
to the front door, and called her back when she had gone down the steps,
and said, as she looked earnestly in her face--
"You have heard from Joris Hyde? I know you have!" and Cornelia nodded
her head, and blushed, and smiled, and ran away from further question.
When she reached home she found Madame Van Heemskirk sitting with her
mother, and the sweet old lady rose to meet her, and said before
Cornelia could utter a word:
"Come to me, Cornelia. This morning a letter we have had from my Joris,
and sorry am I that I did thee so much wrong."
"Madame, I have long ago forgotten it; and there was a mistake all
round," answered Cornelia, cheerfully.
"That is so--and thy mistake first of all. Hurry is misfortune; even to
be happy, it is not wise to hurry. Listen now! Joris has written to his
grandfather, and also to me, and very busy he will keep us both. His
grandfather is to look after the stables and the horses, and to buy more
horses, and to hire serving men of all kinds. And a long letter also I
have had from my daughter Katherine, and she tells me to make her duty
to thee my duty. That is my pleasure also, and I have been talking with
thy mother about the house. Now I shall go there, and a very pleasant
home I shall make it. Many things Joris will bring with him--two new
carriages and much fine furniture--and I know not what else beside."
Then Cornelia kissed madame, and afterwards removed her bonnet; and
madame looked at her smiling. The vivid coral in her dark hair, the
modest grey dress with its knots of colour, and above all the lovely
face alight with love and hope, delighted her.
"Very pretty art thou, very pretty indeed!" she said, impulsively; and
then she added, "Many other girls are very pretty also, but my Joris
loves thee, and I am glad that it is thee, and very welcome art thou to
me, and very proud is my husband of thee. And now I must go, because
there is much to do, and little time to do it in."
For nearly a week Cornelia was too busy to take Arenta into her
consideration. She did not care to tell her about Rem's cruel and
dishonourable conduct, and she was afraid the shrewd little Marquise
would divine some change, and get the secret out of her. Indeed, Arenta
was not long in suspecting something unusual in the Doctor's household--
the number of parcels and of work people astonished her; and she was not
a little offended at Madame Van Heemskirk spending a whole afternoon so
near to her, and "never even," as she said to her father, "turning her
head this way." For Arenta had drunk a rather long draught of popular
interest, and she could not bear to believe it was declining. Was she
not the American heroine of 1793? It was almost a want of patriotism in
Madame Van Heemskirk to neglect her.
After a week had elapsed Cornelia went over one morning to see her
friend. But by this time Arenta knew everything. Her brother Rem had
been with her and confessed all to his sister. It had not been a
pleasant meeting by any means. She heard the story with indignation, but
contrived to feel that somehow Rem was not so much to blame as Cornelia,
and other people.
"You are right served," she said to her brother, "for meddling with
foreigners, and especially for mixing your love affairs up with an
English girl. Proud, haughty creatures all of them! And you are a very
fool to tell any woman such a--crime. Yes, it is a crime. I won't say
less. That girl over the way nearly died, and you would have let her
die. It was a shame. I don't love Cornelia--but it was a shame."
"The letter was addressed to me, Arenta."
"Fiddlesticks! You knew it was not yours. You knew it was Hyde's. Where
is it now?"
She asked the question in her usual dominant way, and Rem did not feel
able to resist it. He looked for a moment at the angry woman, and was
subdued by her air of authority. He opened his pocketbook and from a
receptacle in it, took the fateful letter. She seized and read it, and
then without a word, or a moment's hesitation threw it into the fire.
Rem blustered and fumed, and she stood smiling defiantly at him. "You
are like all criminals," she said; "you must keep something to accuse
yourself with. I love you too well to permit you to carry that bit of
paper about you. It has worked you harm enough. What are you going to
do? Is Miss Darner's refusal quite final?"
"Quite. It was even scornful."
"Plenty of nice girls in Boston."
"I cannot go back to Boston."
"Why then?"
"Because Mary's cousin has told the whole affair."
"Nonsense!"
"She has. I know it. Men, whom I had been friendly with, got out of my
way; women excused themselves at their homes, and did not see me on the
streets. I have no doubt all Boston is talking of the affair."
"Then come back to New York. New Yorkers attend strictly to their own
love affairs. Father will stand by you; and I will."
"Father will not. He called me a scoundrel, when I told him last night,
and advised me to go to the frontier. Joris Van Heemskirk will not talk,
but madame will chatter for him, and I could not bear to meet Doctor
Moran. As for Captain Jacobus, he would invent new words and oaths to
abuse me with, and Aunt Angelica would, of course, say amen to all he
says;--and there are others."
"Yes, there is Lord Hyde."
"Curse him! But I intended to give him his letter--now you have burnt
it."
"You intended nothing of the kind, Rem. Go away as soon as you can. I
don't want to know where you go just yet. New York is impossible, and
Boston is impossible. Father says go to the frontier, I say go South.
What you have done, you have done; and it cannot be undone; so don't
carry it about with you. And I would let women alone--they are beyond
you--go in for politics."
That day Rem lingered with his sister, seeing no one else; and in the
evening shadows he slipped quietly away. He was very wretched, for he
really loved Mary Damer, and his disappointment was bitterly keen and
humiliating. Besides which, he felt that his business efforts for two
years were forfeited, and that he had the world to begin over again.
Without a friend to wish him a Godspeed the wretched man went on board
the Southern packet, and in her dim lonely cabin sat silent and
despondent, while she fought her way through swaying curtains of rain to
the open sea. Its great complaining came up through the darkness to him,
and seemed to be the very voice of the miserable circumstances, that had
separated and estranged his life from all he loved and desired.
This sudden destruction of all her hopes for her brother distressed
Arenta. Her own marriage had been a most unfortunate one, but its
misfortunes had the importance of national tragedy. She had even plucked
honour to herself from the bloody tumbril and guillotine. But Rem's
matrimonial failure had not one redeeming quality; it was altogether a
shameful and well-deserved retribution. And she had boasted to her
friends not a little of the great marriage her brother was soon to make,
and even spoken of Miss Damer, as if a sisterly affection already
existed between them. She could anticipate very well the smiles and
shrugs, the exclamations and condolences she might have to encounter,
and she was not pleased with her brother for putting her in a position
likely to make her disagreeable to people.
But the heart of her anger was Cornelia--" but for that girl," Rem would
have married Mary Damer, and his home in Boston might have been full of
opportunities for her, as well as a desirable change when she wearied of
New York. Altogether it was a hard thing for her, as well as a dreadful
sorrow for Rem; and she could not think of Cornelia without anger, "Just
for her," she kept saying as she dressed herself with an elaborate
simplicity, "Just for her! Very much she intruded herself into my
affairs; my marriage was her opportunity with Lord Hyde, and now all she
can do is to break up poor Rem's marriage."
When Cornelia entered the Van Ariens parlour Arenta was already there.
She was dressed in a gown of the blackest and softest bombazine and
crape. It had a distinguishing want of all ornament, but it was for that
reason singularly effective against her delicate complexion and pale
golden hair. She looked offended, and hardly spoke to her old friend,
but Cornelia was prepared for some exhibition of anger. She had not been
to see Arenta for a whole week, and she did not doubt she had been well
aware of something unusual in progress. But that Rem had accused himself
did not occur to her; therefore she was hardly prepared for the
passionate accusations with which Arenta assailed her.
"I think," she said, "you have behaved disgracefully to poor Rem! You
would not have him yourself, and yet you prevent another girl--whom he
loves far better than ever he loved you--from marrying him. He has gone
away 'out of the world,' he says, and indeed I should not wonder if he
kills himself. It is most certain you have done all you can to drive him
to it,"
"Arenta! I have no idea what you mean. I have not seen Rem, nor written
to Rem, for more than two years."
"Very likely, but you have written about him. You wrote to Miss Darner,
and told her Rem purposely kept a letter, which you had sent to Lord
Hyde,"
"I did not write to Miss Damer. I do not know the lady. But Rem DID keep
a letter that belonged to Lord Hyde."
Then anger gave falsehood the bit and she answered, "Rem did NOT keep
any letter that belonged to Lord Hyde. Prove that he did so, before you
accuse him. You cannot."
"I unfortunately directed Lord Hyde's letter to Rem, and Rem's letter to
Lord Hyde. Rem knew that he had Lord Hyde's letter, and he should have
taken it at once to him."
"Lord Hyde had Rem's letter; he ought to have taken it at once to Rem."
"There was not a word in Rem's letter to identify it as belonging to
him."
"Then you ought to be ashamed to write love letters that would do for
any man that received them. A poor hand you must be, to blunder over two
love letters. I have had eight, and ten, at once to answer, and I never
failed to distinguish each; and while rivers run into the sea I never
shall misdirect my love letters. I do not believe Rem ever got your
letter, and I will not believe it, either now or ever. I dare be bound,
Balthazar lost it on the way. Prove to me he did not."
"Oh, indeed! I think you know better."
"Very clever is Lord Hyde to excuse himself by throwing the blame on
poor Rein. Very mean indeed to accuse him to the girl he was going to
marry. To be sure, any one with an ounce of common sense to guide them,
must see through the whole affair."
"Arenta, I have the most firm conviction of Rem's guilt, and the
greatest concern for his disappointment. I assure you I have."
"Kindly reserve your concern, Miss Moran, till Rem Van Ariens asks for
it. As for his guilt, there is no guilt in question. Even supposing that
Rem did keep Lord Hyde's letter, what then? All things are fair in love
and war, Willie Nicholls told me last night, he would keep a hundred
letters, if he thought he could win me by doing so. Any man of sense
would."
"All I blame Rem for is--"
"All I blame Rem for is, that he asked you to marry him. So much for
that! I hope if he meddles with women again, he will seek an all-round
common-sense Dutch girl, who will know how to direct her letters--or
else be content with one lover."
"Arenta, I shall go now. I have given you an opportunity to be rude and
unkind. You cannot expect me to do that again."
She watched Cornelia across the street, and then turned to the mirror,
and wound her ringlets over her fingers. "I don't care," she muttered.
"It was her fault to begin with. She tempted Rem, and he fell. Men
always fall when women tempt them; it is their nature to. I am going to
stand by Rem, right or wrong, and I only wish I could tell Mary Damer
what I think of her. She has another lover, of course she has--or she
would not have talked about her 'honour' to Rem."
To such thoughts she was raging, when Peter Van Ariens came home to
dinner, and she could not restrain them. He listened for a minute or
two, and then struck the table no gentle blow?
"In my house, Arenta," he said, "I will have no such words. What you
think, you think; but such thoughts must be shut close in your mind. In
keeping that letter, I say Rem behaved like a scoundrel; he was cruel,
and he was a coward. Because he is my son I will not excuse him. No
indeed! For that very reason, the more angry am I at such a deed. Now
then, he shall acknowledge to George Hyde and Cornelia Moran the wrong
he did them, ere in my home and my heart, he rights himself."
"Is Cornelia going to be married?"
"That is what I hear."
"To Lord Hyde?"
"That also, is what I hear."
"Well, as I am in mourning, I cannot go to the wedding; so then I am
delighted to have told her a little of my mind."
"It is a great marriage for the Doctor's daughter; a countess she will
be."
"And a marquise I am. And will you please say, if either countess or
marquise is better than mistress or madame? Thank all the powers that
be! I have learned the value of a title, and I shall change marquise for
mistress, as soon as I can do so."
"If always you had thought thus, a great deal of sorrow we had both been
spared."
"Well, then, a girl cannot get her share of wisdom, till she comes to
it. After all, I am now sorry I have quarrelled with Cornelia. In New
York and Philadelphia she will be a great woman."
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