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

The bowl of bread and milk and the cup of tea were sent up to Bernardine, and she disposed of them with a heartiness that amused her companion.

"I am afraid you will not sleep well after eating so late," she said, with a great deal of anxiety in her voice.

"I shall rest all the better for taking the hot milk. I fall asleep generally as soon as my head touches the pillow, and I do not wake until the next morning. Why, if the house tumbled down around me, I believe that I would not know it. I will remove my jacket, to keep it from wrinkling."

This information seemed to please her companion. She breathed a sigh of relief, and an ominous glitter crept into her small black eyes.

"But I do not want to go to sleep to-night," added Bernardine in the next breath. "I shall sit by the window, with my face pressed against the pane, watching for my – my husband."

Her companion, who had introduced herself as Margery Brown, cried out hastily:

"Don't do that. You will look like a washed-out, wilted flower by to-morrow, if you do, and your – your husband won't like that. Men only care for women when they are fresh and fair. Go to bed, and I will sit up and watch for you, and wake you when he comes; though it's my opinion he won't come until to-morrow, for fear of disturbing you."

But Bernardine was firm in her resolve.

"He may come any minute," she persisted, drawing her chair close to the window, and peering wistfully out into the storm.

But a tired feeling, caused by the great excitement She had undergone that day, at length began to tell upon her, and her eyes drooped wearily in spite of her every effort to keep them open, and at last, little by little, they closed, and the long, dark, curling lashes, heavy with unshed tears, lay still upon the delicately rounded cheeks.

Margery Brown bent forward, watching her eagerly.

"Asleep at last," she muttered, rising from her seat and crossing the room with a stealthy, cat-like movement, until she reached Bernardine's side.

Bending over her, she laid her hand lightly on her shoulder.

Bernardine stirred uneasily, muttering something in her, sleep about "loving him so fondly," the last of the sentence ending in a troubled sigh.

"They used to tell me that I had the strange gift of being able to mesmerize people," she muttered. "We will see if I can do it now. I'll try it."

Standing before Bernardine, she made several passes with her hands before the closed eyelids. They trembled slightly, but did not open. Again and again those hands waved to and fro before Bernardine with the slowness and regularity of a pendulum.

"Ah, ha!" she muttered at length under her breath, "she sleeps sound enough now."

She laid her hand heavily on Bernardine's breast. The gentle breathing did not abate, and with a slow movement the hand slid down to the pocket of her dress, fumbled about the folds for a moment, then reappeared, tightly clutching the well-filled wallet.

"You can sleep on as comfortably as you like now, my innocent little fool!" she muttered. "Good-night, and good-bye to you."

Hastily donning Bernardine's jacket and hat, the girl stole noiselessly from the room, closing the door softly after her.

So exhausted was Bernardine, she did not awaken until the sunshine, drifting into her face in a flood of golden light, forced the long black lashes to open.

For an instant she was bewildered as she sat up in her chair, looking about the small white room; but in a moment she remembered all that had transpired.

She saw that she was the sole occupant of the apartment, and concluded her room-mate must have gone to breakfast; but simultaneously with this discovery, she saw that her jacket and hat were missing.

She was mystified at first, loath to believe that her companion could have appropriated them, and left the torn and ragged articles she saw hanging in their place.

As she arose from her chair, she discovered that her pocket was hanging inside out, and that the pocket-book was gone!

For an instant she was fairly paralyzed. Then the white lips broke into a scream that brought the matron, who was just passing the door, quickly to her side.

In a hysterical voice, quite as soon as she could command herself to articulate the words, she told the good woman what had happened.

The matron listened attentively.

"I never dreamed that you had money about you my poor child," she said, "or I would have suggested your leaving it with me. I worried afterward about putting you in this room with Margaret Brown; but we were full, and there was no help for it. That is her great fault. She is not honest. We knew that, but when she appealed to me for a night's lodging, I could not turn her away. The front door is never locked, and those who come here can leave when they like. We found it standing open this morning, and we felt something was wrong."

But Bernardine did not hear the last of the sentence. With a cry she fell to the floor at the matron's feet in a death-like swoon.

Kind hands raised her, placed her on the couch, and administered to her; but when at length the dark eyes opened, there was no glance of recognition in them, and the matron knew, even before she called the doctor, that she had a case of brain fever before her.

This indeed proved to be a fact, and it was many a long week ere a knowledge of events transpiring around her came to Bernardine.

During the interim, dear reader, we will follow the fortunes of Jay Gardiner, the young husband for whom Bernardine had watched and waited in vain.

When he was picked up unconscious after the collision, he was recognized by some of the passengers and conveyed to his own office.

It seemed that he had sustained a serious scalp-wound and the doctors who had been called in consultation looked anxiously into each other's faces.

"A delicate operation will be necessary," said the most experienced physician, "and whether it will result in life or death, I can not say."

They recommended that his relatives, if he had any, be sent for. It was soon ascertained that his mother and sister were in Europe, traveling about the Continent. The next person equally, if indeed not more interested, was the young lady he was betrothed to marry – Miss Pendleton. Accordingly, she was sent for with all possible haste.

A servant bearing a message for Sally entered the room.

The girl's hands trembled. She tore the envelope open quickly, and as her eyes traveled over the contents of the note, she gave a loud scream.

"Jay Gardiner has met with an accident, and I am sent for. Ah! that is why I have not heard from him for a week, mamma!" she exclaimed, excitedly.

"I will go with you, my dear," declared her mother. "It wouldn't be proper for you to go alone. Make your toilet at once."

To the messenger's annoyance, the young lady he was sent for kept him waiting nearly an hour, and he was startled, a little later, to see the vision of blonde loveliness that came hurrying down the broad stone steps in the wake of her mother.

"Beautiful, but she has no heart," was his mental opinion. "Very few girls would have waited an hour, knowing their lover lay at the point of death. But it's none of my business, though I do wish noble young Doctor Gardiner had made a better selection for a wife."

The cab whirled rapidly on, and soon reached Doctor Gardiner's office.

Sally looked a little frightened, and turned pale under her rouge when she saw the group of grave-faced physicians evidently awaiting her arrival.

"Our patient has recovered consciousness," said one of them, taking her by the hand and leading her forward. "He is begging pitifully to see some one – of course, it must be yourself – some one who is waiting for him."

"Of course," repeated Sally. "There is no one he would be so interested in seeing as myself."

And quite alone, she entered the inner apartment where Jay Gardiner lay hovering between life and death.

CHAPTER XXXIII

The room into which Sally Pendleton was ushered was so dimly lighted that she was obliged to take the second glance about ere she could distinguish where the couch was on which Jay Gardiner lay. The next moment she was bending over him, crying and lamenting so loudly that the doctors waiting outside were obliged to go to her and tell her that this outburst might prove fatal to their patient in that critical hour.

Jay Gardiner was looking up at her with dazed eyes. He recognized her, uttered her name.

"Was it to-night that I left your house, after settling when the marriage was to take place?" he asked.

Miss Pendleton humored the idea by answering "Yes," instead of telling him that the visit he referred to had taken place several weeks before.

"To-day was to have been our wedding-day," she sobbed, "and now you are ill – very ill. But, Jay," she whispered, bending down and uttering the words rapidly in his ear, "it could take place just the same, here and now, if you are willing. I sent a note to a minister to come here, and he may arrive at any moment. When he comes, shall I speak to him about it?"

He did not answer; he was trying to remember something, trying, oh, so hard, to remember something that lay like a weight on his mind.

Heaven help him! the past was entirely blotted out of his memory!

He recollected leaving Miss Pendleton's house after setting the date for his marriage with her, but beyond that evening the world was a blank to him.

He never remembered that there were such people as David Moore, the basket-maker, and a beautiful girl, his daughter Bernardine, to whom he had lost his heart, and whom he had wedded, and that she was now waiting for him. His mind was to be a blank upon all that for many a day to come.

"What do you say, Jay?" repeated Miss Pendleton; "will not the ceremony take place to-day, as we had intended?"

"They tell me I am very ill, Sally," he whispered. "I – I may be dying. Do you wish the ceremony to take place in the face of that fact?"

"Yes," she persisted. "I want you to keep your solemn vow that you would make me your wife; and – and delays are dangerous."

"Then it shall be as you wish," he murmured, faintly, in an almost inaudible voice, the effort to speak being so great as to cause him to almost lose consciousness.

Sally stepped quickly from Jay's beside out into the adjoining room.

"Mr. Gardiner wishes our marriage to take place here and now," she announced. "A minister will be here directly. When he arrives, please show him to Doctor Gardiner's bedside."

Mamma Pendleton smiled and nodded her approval in a magnificent way as she caught her daughter's eye for a second. The doctors looked at one another in alarm.

"I do not see how it can take place just now, Miss Pendleton," said one, quietly. "We have a very dangerous and difficult operation to perform upon your betrothed, and each moment it is delayed reduces his chance of recovery. We must put him under chloroform without an instant's delay."

"And I say that it shall not be done until after the marriage ceremony has been performed," declared Sally, furiously; adding, spitefully: "You want to cheat me out of becoming Jay Gardiner's wife. But I defy you! you can not do it! He shall marry me, in spite of you all!"

At that moment there was a commotion outside. The minister had arrived.

Sally herself rushed forward to meet him ere the doctors could have an opportunity to exchange a word with him, and conducted him at once to the sick man's bedside, explaining that her lover had met with an accident, and that he wished to be married to her without a moment's delay.

"I shall be only too pleased to serve you both," replied the good man.

"You must make haste, sir," urged Miss Pendleton sharply. "See, he is beginning to sink."

The minister did make haste. Never before were those solemn words so rapidly uttered.

How strange it was that fate should have let that ceremony go on to the end which would spread ruin and desolation before it!

The last words were uttered. The minister of God slowly but solemnly pronounced Sally Pendleton Jay Gardiner's lawfully wedded wife.

The doctors did not congratulate the bride, but sprung to the assistance of the young physician, who had fallen back upon his pillow gasping for breath.

One held a sponge saturated with a strong liquid to his nostrils, while another escorted the minister, the bride, and her mother from the apartment.

"Remain in this room as quietly as possible," urged the doctor, in a whisper, "and I will let you know at the earliest possible moment whether it will be life or death with your husband, Mrs. Gardiner."

At last the door quickly opened, and two of the doctors stood on the threshold.

"Well, doctor," she cried, looking from one to the other, "what tidings do you bring me? Am I a wife or a widow?"

"Five minutes' time will decide that question, madame," said one, impressively. "We have performed the operation. It rests with a Higher Power whether it will be life or death."

And the doctor who had spoken took out his watch, and stood motionless as a statue while it ticked off the fatal minutes.

CHAPTER XXXIV

Sally Pendleton and her mother watched their faces keenly.

The time is up. They open the inner door reluctantly. The two doctors, bending over their patient, look up with a smile.

"The heart still beats," they whisper. "He will live."

And this is the intelligence that is carried out to the young bride, the words breaking in upon her in the midst of her selfish calculations.

She did not love Jay Gardiner. Any genuine passion in her breast had been coolly nipped in the bud by his indifference, which had stung her to the quick.

She could not make him jealous. She knew that he would have been only too relieved if she had fallen in love with some one else, and had been taken off his hands.

He always treated her in a cool, lordly manner – a manner that always impressed her with his superiority. She was obliged to acknowledge him her master; she could never make him her slave.

And now he was to live, and she was his wife. She would share his magnificent home, all the grandeur that his position would bring to her. She had been brought up to regard money as the one aim of existence. Money she must have. She coveted power, and she was girl of the world enough to know that money meant power.

"Yes, he will live; but whether he will gain his full reasoning powers is a matter the future alone can decide," the doctors declare.

Two long months, and Doctor Gardiner is slowly convalescing. His young wife flits about the room, a veritable dream in her dainty lace-trimmed house-gowns, baby pink ribbons tying back her yellow curls. But he looks away from her toward the window with a weary sigh.

He has married her, and he tells himself over and over again, that he must make the best of it. But "making the best of it" is indeed a bitter pill, for she is not his style of woman.

During the time he has been convalescing, he has been studying her, and as one trait after another unfolds itself, he wonders how it will all end.

He sees she has a passionate craving for the admiration of men. She makes careful toilets in which to receive his friends when they call to inquire after his health; and last, but not least, she has taken to the wheel, and actually appears before him in bloomers.

What would his haughty old mother and his austere sister say when they learned this?

There had been quite an argument between the young husband and Sally on the day he received his mother's letter informing him of her return from abroad, and her intense amazement at his hasty marriage.

"I had always hoped to persuade you to let me pick out a wife for you, Jay, my darling son," she wrote. "I can only hope you have chosen wisely when you took the reins into your own hands. Come and make us a visit, and bring your wife with you. We are very anxious to meet her."

Sally frowned as he read the letter aloud.

Never in the world were two united who were so unsuited to each other. Why did the fates that are supposed to have the love affairs of mortals in charge, allow the wrong man to marry the wrong woman?

There was one thing over which Sally was exceedingly jubilant, and that was his loss of memory. That he had known such a person as Bernardine Moore, the old basket-maker's beautiful daughter, was entirely obliterated from his mind.

Some one had mentioned the great tenement-house fire in Jay Gardiner's presence, and the fact that quite a quaint character, a tipsy basket-maker, had lost his life therein, but the young doctor looked up without the slightest gleam of memory drifting through his brain. Not even when the person who was telling him the story went on to say that the great fire accomplished one good result, however, and that was the wiping out of the wine-house of Jasper Wilde & Son.

"Wilde – Jasper Wilde! It seems to me that I have heard that name before in connection with some unpleasant transaction," said Doctor Gardiner, slowly.

"Oh, no doubt. You've probably read the name in the papers connected with some street brawl. Jasper Wilde, the son, is a well-dressed tough."

"Before going to see your mother, why not spend a few weeks at Newport with Sally," suggested Mrs. Pendleton to the doctor. "You know she has not been away on her wedding-trip yet."

He laughed a dry, mirthless laugh.

"She can go if she likes," he replied. "I can endure it."

Mrs. Pendleton bit her lip to keep back the angry retort, but wisely made no reply.

"It will never do to have the least disagreement with my wealthy, haughty son-in-law, if I can help it," she said to herself. "Especially as my husband is in such sore straits, and may have to come to him for a loan any day."

The following week Jay Gardiner and his bride reached Newport. The season was at its height. Yachts crowded the harbor; the hotels were filled to overflowing; every one who intended going to Newport was there now, and all seemed carried away on the eddying current of pleasure.

Young Mrs. Gardiner —née the pretty Sally Pendleton – plunged into the vortex of pleasure, and if her greed for admiration was not satisfied with the attention she received, it never would be.

Young Mrs. Gardiner knew no restraint. Her society was everywhere sought after. She was courted in every direction, and she took it all as her just due, by virtue of her marriage with the handsome millionaire, whom all the married belles were envying her, sighing to one another:

"Oh! how handsome he is – how elegant! and what a lordly manner he has! But, best of all, he lets his wife do just as she pleases."

But the older and wiser ones shook their heads sagaciously, declaring they scented danger afar off.

Little did they dream that the terrible calamity was nearer than they had anticipated.

CHAPTER XXXV

Although, outwardly, young Mrs. Gardiner and her handsome husband lived ideal lives, yet could one have taken a peep behind the scenes, they would have seen that all was not gold that glittered.

In their own apartments, out of sight of the world's sharp eyes, Jay Gardiner and his wife used each other with the scantest possible courtesy. He never descended to the vulgarity of having words with her, though she did her utmost to provoke him to quarrel, saying to herself that anything was better than that dead calm, that haughty way he had of completely ignoring her in his elegant apartments.

During what every one believed to be the most blissful of honey-moons, Sally learned to hate her proud husband with a deadly hatred.

On the evening Mr. Victor Lamont made his appearance at the Ocean House, there was to be a grand ball given in honor of the guests, and, as every one had hoped, Mr. Lamont strolled in during the course of the evening, accompanied by mine host, who was over head and ears with delight in having such an honored guest stopping at his hotel.

Scores of girlish eyes brightened as they entered the arched door-way, and scores of hearts beat expectantly under pretty lace bodices. But their disappointment was great when this handsome Apollo glanced them all over critically, but did not ask any of them out to dance, and all the best waltzes were being then played.

Victor Lamont seemed quite indifferent to their shy glances.

During this time he was keeping up quite an animated conversation with his host, who was telling him, with pride, that this pretty girl was Miss This, and that pretty girl Miss So-and-So. But Victor Lamont would sooner have known who their fathers were.

At length, as his eyes traveled about the great ball-room with business-like carefulness, his gaze fell upon a slender figure in rose pink and fairly covered with diamonds. They blazed like ropes of fire about the white throat and on the slender arms; they twinkled like immense stars from the shell-like ears and coyly draped bosom, and rose in a great tiara over the highly piled blonde hair.

She was standing under a great palm-tree, its green branches forming just the background that was needed to perfect the dainty picture in pink.

She was surrounded as usual by a group of admirers. Victor Lamont's indifference vanished. He was interested at last.

"Who is the young lady under the palm directly opposite?" he asked, quickly.

"The belle of Newport," was the reply. "Shall I present you?"

"I should be delighted," was the quick response. Instantly rebellion rose in the heart of every girl in the room, and resentment showed in scores of flushed cheeks and angry eyes as the hero of the evening was led over to pretty Sally Gardiner.

No wonder they watched him with dismay. From the moment graceful Mr. Lamont was presented to her, he made no attempt to disguise how completely he was smitten by her.

"That is a delightful waltz," he said, bending over the little hand as the dance music struck up.

Sally bowed, and placed a dainty little hand lightly on his shoulder, his arm encircled the slender waist, and away they went whirling through the bewildering stretch of ball-room, a cloud of pink and flashing diamonds, the curly blonde head and the blonde, mustached face dangerously near each other.

CHAPTER XXXVI

If young Mrs. Gardiner heard the ominous whispers on all sides of her, regarding her open flirtation with handsome Victor Lamont, she did not heed them. She meant to show the haughty husband whom she had learned to hate with such a deadly hatred, that other men would show her attention.

The world owed her pleasure, a good time, and love by right of her youth and beauty, and she meant to have them at whatever cost.

Victor Lamont struck her fancy. He was gay, debonair, and was certainly in love with her; and, in open defiance of the consequences, she rushed madly on, in her quest of pleasure, toward the precipice covered with flowers that was yawning to receive her.

The beginning of the end came in a very strange way. One evening there was a grand hop at the Ocean House. It was one of the most brilliant affairs of the season. The magnificent ball-room was crowded to overflowing with beauty and fashion. Every one who was any one in all gay Newport was present. Jay Gardiner had been suddenly called away to attend to some very important business in Boston, and consequently would not be able to attend. But that made no difference about Sally's going; indeed, it was a relief to her to know that he would not be there.

It occasioned no surprise, even though comments of disapproval waged louder than ever, when the beautiful young Mrs. Gardiner, the married belle of the ball, entered, leaning upon Victor Lamont's arm.

Those who saw her whispered one to another that the reigning beauty of Newport quite surpassed herself to-night – that even the buds had better look to their laurels. The maids and the matrons, even the gentlemen, looked askance when they saw Victor Lamont and young Mrs. Gardiner dance every dance together, and the murmur of stern disapproval grew louder.

At last, the couple was missed from the ball-room altogether. Some one reported having seen them strolling up and down the beach in the moonlight. There was no mistaking the tall, broad-shouldered, handsome Englishman, and the trim, dainty little figure in fleecy white, with the ermine wrap thrown over the pretty plump shoulders and round neck, on which rare diamonds, that would have paid a king's ransom, gleamed fitfully whenever the sportive breeze tossed back the ermine wrap.