Jolly Sally Pendleton: or, the Wife Who Was Not a Wife

If ever a woman looked guilty, she did at that moment. She stands trembling before him, her eyes fixed upon the floor, her figure drooping, her hands tightly clasped.

"Well?" he says, sharply; and she realizes that there is no mercy in that tone; he will be pitiless, hard as marble.

"It ought never to have been," she said, as if speaking to herself. "I wish I could undo it."

"You wish you could undo what?" asked her husband, sternly.

"Our marriage. It was all a mistake – all a mistake," she faltered.

She must say something, and those are the first words that come across her mind. While he is answering them, she will have an instant of time to think what she will say about the contents of the letter.

Deny it she will with her latest breath. Let him prove that she went riding with Victor Lamont —if he can!

Jay Gardiner's face turns livid, and in a voice which he in vain tries to make steady, he says:

"How long have you thought so?"

"Since yesterday," she answered, her eyes still fixed on the floor.

"Since yesterday" – Jay Gardiner is almost choking with anger as he repeats her words – "since you, another man's wife, took that midnight ride which this letter refers to?"

The sarcasm which pervades the last words makes her flush to the roots of her yellow hair.

"But that I am too much amused, I should be tempted to be angry with you for believing a story from such a ridiculous source," she declared, raising her face defiantly to his.

"Then you deny it?" he cried, grasping her white arm. "You say there is no truth in the report?"

"Not one word," she answered. "I left the ball-room early, because it was lonely for me there without you, and came directly to my room. Antoinette could have told you that had you taken the pains to inquire of her."

"It would ill become me to make such an inquiry of a servant in my employ," he replied. "You are the one to answer me."

"If the ridiculous story had been true, you could not have wondered at it much," she declared, with a hard glitter in her eye, and a still harder laugh on her red lips. "When a man neglects his wife, is it any wonder that she turns to some one else for amusement and – and comfort?"

"Call your maid at once to pack up your trunks. We leave the Ocean House within an hour."

With these words, he strode out of the room, banging the door after him.

"God! how I hate that man!" hissed Sally. "I think his death will lay at my door yet."

CHAPTER XL

Leave Newport when the season was at its height! The very thought of such a thing was bitterness itself to Sally Gardiner, this butterfly of fashion, who loved the whirl of society as dearly as the breath of life.

Antoinette entered, bearing a bouquet of fragrant crimson roses in her hand.

Sally sprung from the chair, into which she had sunk a moment before, with a frightened little cry.

What if Jay Gardiner had by chance been in the room when those roses were brought in, with Victor Lamont's card attached? What if he had snatched them from Antoinette's hand, and discovered the note that was hidden in their fragrant depths?

"The handsome English gentleman sends these, with his compliments, to madame," whispered the girl, after casting a furtive glance about the apartment, to make sure Doctor Gardiner had gone.

"Yes, yes," murmured Sally, blushing furiously. "Hand them to me, and then go into the next room. I shall not want you for a few moments. When I do, I will ring."

She could hardly restrain her impatience until the door had closed to learn what Victor Lamont had been so rash, after last night's escapade, as to write to her about.

She had little difficulty in finding the note.

There were but a few lines, and they read as follows:

"My dear Mrs. Gardiner – Sally – I must see you without delay. I am pacing up and down the beach, waiting for you to come to me. You would not dare fail me if you knew all that depends upon my seeing you.

"Yours, in haste and in waiting,"Victor."

"Great Heaven!" muttered Sally, "how can I go to him after the stormy interview I have just had with my husband? It is utterly impossible, as we go from here within the hour. I ought to say good-bye to the poor fellow. But what if Jay should be out on the beach, or on the piazza, or in the office, and see me slip out of the hotel? He would be sure to follow me, and then there would be a scene, perhaps a fight."

Again and again she read the note, which she was twisting about her white fingers.

We all know what happens to the woman who hesitates – she is lost.

She touched the bell with nervous fingers.

"Antoinette," she said, when her French maid appeared, "I should like to borrow your cloak, hat, and veil for a little while. One does not always like to be known when one goes out on a mission of charity."

"Certainly, madame," replied Antoinette. "Take anything I have in welcome. But, oh, dear me, my smartest jacket will look wofully clumsy on madame's lovely form!"

"Help me on with them quickly, my good girl," cut in Sally, nervously; "and if any one asks for me when I am out – no matter who it is – say that I have lain down with a severe headache, and can not on any account, be disturbed."

In a few moments more, a trim, dainty figure was gliding swiftly along the beach, heavily veiled and all alone.

Yes, he was there waiting for her. There was no mistaking that splendid figure, which was attracting the attention of so many young girls and their chaperons.

With a sweep of her white hand, Sally put back her veil, and stood before him in the garb of her French maid.

For an instant, this unexpected discovery and the remembrance of the remark he had but just uttered recurred to him, and a dull red swept over his face.

"Mrs. Gardiner – Sally!" he cried, rapturously, "I – I was just about to give the woman to whom I intrusted that note to give to your Antoinette a fine setting out."

"Let us walk leisurely along," he suggested. "We will then be less likely to attract attention. I was anxious to know if you reached your apartments in safety," he went on in his most winning tone; but before she had time to reply, he went on quickly: "I was not so fortunate in escaping recognition. I no sooner stepped into the office of the hotel, than a gentleman approached me.

"'Ah, Lamont,' he exclaimed, 'I am very glad to see you, though you have given me a deuce of a long wait.'

"Turning quickly, I beheld, to my utter dismay, the gentleman from New York to whom I owed that large sum of money I told you about.

"'I was here in time to take in the ball last night,' he went on. 'I came on particularly to see you. You were having such a good time dancing, with that pretty little creature in white that I did not disturb you by letting you know of my presence; but after the ball you suddenly disappeared, and I have been waiting in this office for you, expecting you to appear every moment. I could not wait a moment longer than was absolutely necessary, my business with you is so imperative.'

"To make a long story short, Mrs. Gardiner – Sally – he informed me that he should be obliged to draw upon me at once for money I owed him; in fact, that he must have it to-day."

"Oh, what will you do, Mr. Lamont?" cried Sally, sympathetically. "What in the world will you do – what will you say?"

"That is just the trouble – what shall I do – what can I say to him? He is a man of iron will and terrible temper. He knows, he has learned through my bankers in New York, that I drew out every cent I had in their bank to pay him. How am I to face him, and tell him that it is gone? I know full well he will have me arrested, and the coachman will be brought forward who drove me up to the door, and then the whole story will leak out."

"Oh! oh! oh!" cried Sally, standing quite still on the sands, wringing her hands and commencing to cry, "if that story comes out, I am ruined. Jay Gardiner will leave me, and I will be a beggar!"

"Just so," returned Victor Lamont, softly. "We must make every effort to keep the matter quiet, and there is but one way out of the tangle – only one."

"And what is that?" cried Sally.

"You must save me, and in doing so, save yourself. Sally – Mrs. Gardiner," he whispered, rapidly, "you must help me raise money somehow to meet this man's demands."

"But I haven't any money!" moaned Sally. "I have spent the money my husband gave me – spent it long ago!"

"You must get it somehow," he declared, hoarsely. "Borrow it from some of the husbands of your lady friends, and tell them not to let Jay Gardiner know. You are a woman of wealth and influence; you can easily raise the money I want – and you must do it!"

"I shall not have time to even try to get the money," she declared. "We leave Newport within the hour. Antoinette is packing the trunks now. It will be almost time to leave when I reach the hotel."

"You must ask Jay Gardiner for the money, then," he replied, doggedly, "and instruct Antoinette to hand it to me in the reading-room, and that, too, ere you step into your carriage."

"Is that a threat?"

She had hardly time to ask the question, ere she saw Antoinette coming hurriedly toward her.

With a hurried, "You heard what I said; do not fail me," Victor Lamont raised his hat, turned on his heel, and strode away.

She was racking her brains as to how she should raise the money for Victor Lamont in a half hour's time, in order to save herself from the exposure that would be sure to follow if she failed to do so.

She was driven to extremities. Yes, there was no other way but to borrow it from some of the guests she knew, and this could not be accomplished without Antoinette's assistance.

By the time the girl returned, she had made up her mind as to what course she would pursue. To-day's work would put her forever in the French maid's power; but there was no help for it – none whatever.

"Antoinette," she said in an unsteady voice, as soon as she had drained the wine the maid had brought, "I am in trouble, and I want you to help me."

"You can rely upon me, my lady," replied the girl. "I will do anything in the world for you, and tell no one."

"You are very good," murmured her young mistress incoherently. "I – I have lost something valuable belonging to my husband. It will take a great deal of money to replace it, and it must be replaced at once, before he misses it. To do this, I am obliged to borrow money until I get my next allowance from him. There are several persons in the hotel who would willingly loan me the money if they but knew of my predicament. I must see one after another in that little private parlor off the reception-room, until I have secured the amount I need. You will bring them to me."

"I understand, my lady," nodded the maid.

Flushed, and trembling with excitement, Sally stepped down to the private parlor, after giving Antoinette a score of names on a slip of paper.

One by one, the clever French maid conducted the persons she had been sent in search of to her mistress.

Each gentleman listened in surprise to the appeal young Mrs. Gardiner made to them – she the bride of a man worth millions.

In most instances, the gentlemen carried large sums of money with them, and their hands flew to their well-filled pockets at once. They would be only too pleased, they declared. How much would she need?

Sally named as large a sum as she thought each of them could stand, and in less than half an hour she had the full amount which Victor Lamont had said he must have.

CHAPTER XLI

"Now send Mr. Lamont to me here without delay," she said to Antoinette.

The girl did not have to do much searching. Mr. Lamont was in the corridor. He hastened to answer the summons with alacrity.

"There is the money," cried Sally, almost swooning from excitement. "Thirty thousand dollars, and – "

"By George! you are a trump, my dear!" exclaimed Victor Lamont, restraining himself by the greatest effort from uttering a wild whoop of delight. "That was splendidly done!"

Sally looked the disgust that swept over her.

"I have it all to pay back within three months," she said. "You have forgotten that, it seems, Mr. Lamont, and by that time I shall expect you to have procured the money to reimburse these gentlemen."

Victor Lamont laughed a sarcastic laugh.

"I shall not detain you longer, my dear Mrs. Gardiner," he said. "Your husband will be waiting to take you to the train. I shall not say good-bye, but au revoir. I will write you, sending my letters addressed to your maid, Antoinette. She will give them to you."

"No, no!" answered Sally, nervously; "you must never write to me, only send me the money to repay today's indebtedness. Our friendship, which we drifted into unconsciously, was a terrible mistake. It has ended in disaster, and it must stop here and now."

"As the queen wills," murmured Lamont, raising to his lips the little white hand that had given him so much money.

But deep down in his heart he had no intention of letting slip through his fingers a woman who had turned into a veritable gold mine under his subtle tuition. Ah, no! that was only the beginning of the vast sums she must raise for him in the future.

CHAPTER XLII

As the carriage containing Jay Gardiner and Sally came to a sudden stop, he put his head out of the window to learn the cause, and found they had already reached the station.

"We shall reach home by nightfall," he said in a tone of relief.

But to this remark Sally made no reply. She was wondering how she could ever endure life under the same roof with his prying mother and sister.

While we leave them speeding onward, toward the place which was to be the scene of a pitiful tragedy, we must draw back the curtain which has veiled the past, and learn what has become of beautiful, hapless Bernardine.

After her desertion by the young husband whom she had but just wedded, and the theft of the money which he had placed in her hands, she lay tossing in the ravages of brain fever for many weeks in the home to which the kind-hearted policeman had escorted her.

But her youth, health, and strength at last gained the victory, and one day, in the late summer, the doctor in charge pronounced her well, entirely cured, but very weak.

As soon as she was able to leave her bed, Bernardine sent for the matron.

"You have all been very kind to me," she said, tears shining in her dark eyes. "You have saved my life; but perhaps it would have been better if you had let me die."

"No, no, my dear; you must not say that," responded the good woman, quickly. "The Lord intends you to do much good on earth yet. When you are a little stronger, we will talk about your future."

"I am strong enough to talk about it now," replied Bernardine. "You know I am poor, and the only way by which a poor girl can live is by working."

"I anticipated what you would say, my dear, and I have been making inquiries. Of course, I did not know exactly what you were fitted for, but I supposed you would like to be a companion to some nice lady, governess to little children, or something like that."

"I should be thankful to take anything that offers itself," said Bernardine.

"It is our principal mission to find work for young girls who seek the shelter of this roof," went on the matron, kindly. "The wealthy ladies who keep this home up are very enthusiastic over that part of it. Every week they send us lists of ladies wanting some one in some capacity. I have now several letters from a wealthy woman residing at Lee, Massachusetts. She wants a companion; some one who will be willing to stay in a grand, gloomy old house, content with the duties allotted to her."

Bernardine's face fell; there was a look of disappointment in her dark eyes.

"I had hoped to get something to do in the city," she faltered.

"Work is exceedingly hard to obtain in New York just now, my dear child," replied the good woman. "There are thousands of young girls looking for situations who are actually starving. A chance like this occurs only once in a life-time."

Still, Bernardine looked troubled. How could she leave the city which held the one that was dearer than all in the world to her? Ah, how could she, and live?

"Let me show you the paper containing her advertisement," added the matron. "I brought it with me."

As she spoke, she produced a copy of a paper several weeks old, a paragraph of which was marked, and handed it to Bernadine.

"You can read it over and decide. Let me know when I come to you an hour later. I should advise you to try the place."

Left to herself, Bernardine turned to the column indicated, and slowly perused the advertisement. It read as follows:

"Wanted – A quiet, modest young lady as companion to an elderly woman living in a grand, gloomy old house in the suburbs of a New England village. Must come well recommended. Address Mrs. Gardiner, Lee, Mass."

"Gardiner!"

The name fairly took Bernardine's breath away, for it was the name bestowed upon her by the young man who had wedded and deserted her within an hour.

The very sight of it made her heart grow sick and faint. Still, it held a strange fascination for her. She turned to look at it again – to study it closely, to see how it appeared in print, when, to her amazement, she caught the name "Jay Gardiner" in a column immediately adjoining it.

She glanced up at the head-lines, and as she did so, the very breath seemed to leave her body.

It was a sketch of life at Newport by a special correspondent, telling of the gayety that was going on among the people there, particularly at the Ocean House. Nearly, half a column was given to extolling the beauty of young Mrs. Gardiner, née Sally Pendleton, the bride of Doctor Jay Gardiner, her diamonds, her magnificent costumes, and smart turn-outs.

The paper fell from Bernardine's hands. She did not faint, or cry out, or utter any moan; she sat there quite still, like an image carved in stone. Jay Gardiner was at Newport with his bride!

The words seemed to have scorched their way down to the very depths of her soul and seared themselves there. Jay Gardiner was at Newport with his bride!

What, then, in Heaven's name was she?

Poor Bernardine! It seemed to her in that moment that she was dying.

Had he played a practical joke upon her? Was the marriage which she had believed in so fully no marriage at all?

She had no certificate.

It was scarcely an hour from the time the matron had left her until she returned; but when she did so, she cried out in alarm, for Bernardine's face was of an ashen pallor, her dark eyes were like coals of fire, and her hands were cold as death. The matron went up to her in great alarm, and gently touched the bowed head.

"Bernardine," she murmured, gently – "Bernardine, my poor child, are you ill? What has happened?"

After some little correspondence back and forth, Bernardine was accepted by the lady, and in a fortnight more she was able to make the journey.

The matron went down to the depot with her, to see her off, and prayed that the girl would not change her mind ere she reached her destination.

The train moved off, and she waved her handkerchief to the sweet, sad, tear-stained face pressed close to the window-pane until a curve in the road hid it from her sight; then she turned away with a sigh.

Bernardine fell back in her seat, not caring whether or not she lived to reach her destination.

It was almost dusk when the train reached the lovely little village of Lee, nestling like a bird's nest amid the sloping green hills.

Bernardine stepped from the car, then stood quite still on the platform, and looked in bewilderment around her.

Mrs. Gardiner had written that she would send a conveyance to the station to meet her; but Bernardine saw none.

While she was deliberating as to whether she should inquire the way to the Gardiner place of the station agent, that individual suddenly turned out the lights in the waiting-room, and in an instant had jumped on a bicycle and dashed away, leaving Bernardine alone in a strange place.

At that moment, a man stepped briskly beneath the swinging light. One glance, and she almost swooned from horror.

The man was Jasper Wilde!

CHAPTER XLIII

For a moment it seemed to Bernardine as though she must surely fall dead from fright as her startled gaze encountered her greatest enemy, Jasper Wilde.

Had he followed her? Had he come all the way on the same train with her?

She realized that she was alone with him on this isolated railway platform, miles perhaps from any habitation, any human being, far beyond the reach of help.

The thick, heavy twilight had given place to a night of intense darkness. The flickering light of the solitary gas-lamp over the station door did not pierce the gloom more than three feet away. Bernardine did not know this, and she sunk back in deadly fear behind one of the large, old-fashioned, square posts. The long dark cloak and bonnet she wore would never betray her presence there.

Bernardine soon became aware that he had not seen her, for he stopped short scarcely a rod from her, drew out his watch, and looked at the time; then, with a fierce imprecation on his lips, he cried aloud:

"Missed the train by just one minute! Curse the luck! But then it's worth my trip here, and the trouble I've been put to, to know that the Mrs. Jay Gardiner in question is some New York society belle instead of Bernardine. Ah, if it were Bernardine, I would have followed him to the end of the earth and murdered him; taken her from him by force, if no other way presented itself. I love the girl to madness, and yet I hate her with all the strength of my nature!"

As he uttered the words, he wheeled about, hurried down the platform, and stepped into the darkness, the sound of his quick tread plainly dying away in the distance.

It seemed to Bernardine that her escape from the clutches of Jasper Wilde was little short of miraculous. Trembling in every limb, she stepped out from behind the large pillar which shielded her.

He had not come by the same train; he did not know she was here. But what caused him to come to this place to look for Jay Gardiner and his bride? Perhaps it was because he had learned in some way that a family named Gardiner resided here, and he had come out of his way only to discover that they were not one and the same.

While Bernardine was ruminating over this, she saw the short, thick-set figure of a man approaching.

Should she advance or retreat? She felt sure he had seen her. He stopped quite short and looked at her.

"Surely you can't be Miss Moore?" he inquired, incredulously.

"Yes," replied Bernardine in a voice in which he detected tears.

The man muttered something under his breath which she did not quite catch.

"If you please, Miss, where is your luggage?"

"I – I have only this hand-bag," she faltered.

"Come this way, miss," he said; and Bernardine followed him, not without some misgiving, to the end of the platform from which Jasper Wilde had so recently disappeared.

Here she saw a coach in waiting, though she had not heard the sound of the horses' hoofs when they arrived there.

Then came a long ride over a level stretch of country. It was a great relief to Bernardine to see the moon come forth at last from a great bank of black clouds; it was a relief to see the surrounding country, the meadows, and the farm-houses lying here and there on either side of the steep road up which they went.

"Would the lady like her or be displeased with her?" she asked herself.

She determined to throw herself heart and soul into her work and try to forget the past – what might have been had her lover proved true, instead of being so cruelly false. Her red lips quivered piteously at the thought.

Her musings were brought to an end by the lumbering coach turning in at a large gate-way flanked by huge stone pillars, and proceeding leisurely up a wide road that led through a densely wooded park.

Very soon Bernardine beheld the house – a granite structure with no end of gables and dormer-windows – half hidden by climbing vines, which gave to the granite pile a very picturesque appearance just now, for the vines were literally covered with sweet-scented honeysuckles in full bloom.