The Actress' Daughter: A Novel

Miss Freddy's hatred came from pretty much the same cause as Mrs. Wildair's. In any case, she would have considered it her duty to follow that lady's lead: but now she had her own private reasons for hating her with all the bitter intensity of a mean little mind.

Miss Freddy was to have married Charley, and was quite ready and willing to do so at a moment's notice, but in her secret heart she would have far preferred his elder brother. Differing from the rest of the world, Richmond, even "from boyhood's hours," had been her favorite; but when she saw his mother's hopes aspire to a coronet and a title, she was overawed, and made up her mind to be cast into the shade. To be rivaled by a lady like this could be borne, but that a peasant girl – a nameless, unknown girl – should win the prize for which she had sought in vain – oh! it was a humiliation not to be endured. So she entered heart and soul into all her aunt's plans, and won that lady's approbation for her dutiful conduct, while she carefully concealed her own motives. And this, then, was the secret of Georgia's persecutions.

The "wall of fire" the amiable young lady had referred to was to make Richmond jealous. Now, jealousy was never a fault of his, but artful people can work wonders, and Miss Freddy went carefully, but surely, to work, with Mrs. Wildair for her stanch backer. And Georgia, all unconscious, walked headlong into the snare laid for her.

As her husband had said, the Arlingfords were the only ones in the house whom Georgia could at all endure. The frank, genial, honest straightforwardness of brother and sister pleased her; and, indignant at the treatment so openly offered her, they devoted themselves in every way to interest and amuse her. And Miss Freddy seeing this, her little keen eyes fairly snapped with gratification, and by a thousand little devices and pretenses she would manage to dispose of the sister, and leave Georgia altogether to be entertained by the brother. And then the attention of the company would be artfully directed to the twain who were so much together, and Richmond would hear from one and another:

"What friends Mrs. Georgia" (so she was called to distinguish her from the other) "and captain Arlingford are!"

"How very intimate they are!"

"Yes, indeed; just see how she smiles upon him – don't you think her handsome when she smiles?"

"Very much so. Captain Arlingford seems to think so, too. What a pity he is the only one she will honor by one of them."

"Well, it is fortunate she has met some one who can please her – she seems so dull, poor thing!"

"A handsome man like Captain Arlingford does not find it very hard to be agreeable, I fancy; he is decidedly the best-looking young man here."

"Mrs. Georgia's opinion exactly," said Miss Harper, sending a spiteful glance at the unconscious objects of these remarks, who sat conversing on a sofa at some distance. "I asked her, yesterday, and she said, 'Yes, she thought he most decidedly was.'"

"Poor, dear Georgia!" chimed in Miss Freddy, looking tenderly toward her; "I am so glad she likes him; she seems to like so few, and indeed nobody could help liking him, he is so charming. What a nice nose, and lovely mustache, and sweet curling hair he has, to be sure!"

"And, by George! he shows his good taste, too, in flirting with the prettiest woman among you," exclaimed Harry Gleason, bluntly. "Arlingford knows what's what, I tell you; he'll go in and win, I'll bet!"

Now these remarks, though at first he paid no attention to them beyond what the words conveyed, jarred disagreeably on Richmond's mind. But as days passed on and they grew more frequent and more meaning in tone, and he saw the curious smiles with which they were regarded, and the expression of his mother's face as she watched them, and saw his cousin look first at them and then at him with a sort of anxiety and tender pity, he felt a growing disagreeable sensation of uneasiness for which he could hardly account. Even to himself, he was ashamed to own he was jealous of Georgia – his leal, true-hearted, straightforward Georgia, whom he had never known to be guilty of a dishonorable thought in her life. Fiery, rash, high-spirited she was, but treacherous, deceitful, wicked she was not. He could have staked his soul upon her truth, and yet – and yet by slow degrees the poison began to enter his mind, and he commenced to watch his wife with an angry, suspicious eye.

Oh, Richmond! Richmond! that you should fall so low as this! You, whom Georgia once regarded as a demi-god; you whom she still believes, in spite of your sorrowful misunderstanding, everything that is upright and true; you, whom, had heaven, and earth, and hades accused of infidelity, she would not have believed. And now, you are growing jealous of your rash but leal-hearted wife, whom you have completely neglected yourself, to attend to others. Oh, Richmond!

"Really, my dear, you are a jewel without price – worth a million in cash!" exclaimed Mrs. Wildair to Freddy, delighted at the success of her diabolical scheme. "Your plan has succeeded beyond all my expectations. I really did not think you could make Richmond jealous without alarming him, and putting him on his guard against us; but, positively, he is growing as jealous as a Turk, and never suspects either of us in the least."

Miss Freddy smiled her sinister and most evil smile.

"Poor Richmond! What a hard time he is going to have of it with that green-eyed monster! And how delightfully unconscious Mrs. Georgia walks into the pit with her eyes open! Really, it is as good as a farce! Oh! the stupidity of these earthworms!"

"Poor Rich! he did look so deliciously miserable to-night when he saw those two sitting together in a corner by themselves, turning over those prints, just as innocent as a couple of angels."

And both ladies leaned back in their seats and laughed immoderately.

Poor Georgia! the sky was rapidly darkening around her, though this, the blackest cloud, was still invisible to her eyes. Sometimes, in her desolation, it seemed to her as if she had not a single friend in the world, for Emily never ventured near Richmond House now, and she had only seen Miss Jerusha once since her return. She could not dissimulate. She had tried it in vain, and she would not bring her haggard face and anguished eyes to tell the tale her tongue was too proud to speak. So she did not visit the cottage, until at last Miss Jerusha grew seriously uneasy, and resolved to brave all obstacles, the impudent footman included, and go up to the house and see Georgia.

Until she was fairly gone, Miss Jerusha had never known how large a share of her heart her protegee had monopolized; and so, worthy reader, behold her arrayed in that respected "kaliker geownd" you are acquainted with, for brown silk could not be worn on a week-day, with the faded shawl, and a pink calico sun-bonnet, a recent addition to her wardrobe, knocking at the hall door of Richmond House.

It was some time in the afternoon, and the household were dressing for dinner, and so the servant told her, respectfully enough, for her first visit had taught them a lesson they did not soon forget.

"Dinner! you git out!" said Miss Jerusha, indignantly, "and it nigh onto four o'clock. Don't tell me no such stuff! Jist be off and tell Georgey I want to see her. Clear!"

The man hesitated; Miss Jerusha looked dangerous; he expected the dinner-bell to ring every moment, and his mistress was in her room; so while he stood hesitating, a rustling of silk was heard behind him, and the next moment Mrs. Wildair stood gazing in haughty surprise on the intruder.

Now, Mrs. Wildair knew well enough who Miss Jerusha was; her niece had pointed her out one day; but as this was an excellent opportunity for mortifying Georgia, she chose to be quite ignorant of the matter.

"What is this?" she said, stepping back haughtily. "What does she want? Wilson, how dare you allow beggars to enter the hall-door?"

"She – she ain't no beggar, ma'am," said Wilson, casting an apprehensive glance at Miss Jerusha, "she's – "

"I don't care what she is. Persons of her class should go round to the kitchen door. Send her out, and let her go there if she wants anything," exclaimed Mrs. Wildair, sharply.

Up to this point Miss Jerusha had stood fairly stupefied. She mistaken for a beggar! She – Miss Jerusha Glory Ann Skamp – whose ward was lady of this great house! For an instant she was speechless, with the blood of all the Skamps boiling within her, and then she burst out:

"Why, you yeller old lantern-jawed be-frizzled be-flowered, impident old woman, to call me a beggar! Oh, my gracious! to think I should be called that in my old ages o' life? A beggar! My-y-y conscience! If you hev the impidence to call me that agin, I'll – I'll – "

"Turn her out, she is crazy! turn her out, I tell you," said Mrs. Wildair, white with passion. "Do you hear me, Wilson? Turn this old wretch out."

The noise had now brought a crowd down into the hall, who stood gazing in mingled curiosity and amusement on this scene between the lady and the beggar, as they supposed her to be.

"Turn me out! Let them try it!" exclaimed Miss Jerusha, looking daggers at the startled Wilson.

"Do you hear me, sir? Am I to be obeyed? Turn this woman out," said Mrs. Wildair, stamping her foot.

"Touch her if you dare!" screamed a fierce voice; and Georgia, with blazing eyes and passionate face, rushed through the crowd, flashed past Mrs. Wildair, and stood, white, panting, and fierce, like a hunted stag at bay, beside Miss Jerusha. "Lay one finger on her at your peril! How dare you, madam!" she almost screamed, facing round so suddenly on the startled lady that she recoiled. "How dare you order her out – how dare you do it?"

"Really, young lady," said Mrs. Wildair, recovering her calm hauteur, "this is most extraordinary language addressed to me. I was not aware that persons of her condition were ever received in my son's house."

"Then learn it now," said Georgia, fiercely; "while I am here, this house shall be free to her in spite of you all. Perhaps you are not aware, madam, who she is?"

"Some of your relations, most probably," said Mrs. Wildair, with a withering sneer. "She looks like it."

"Mother! Georgia! What in the name of wonder is all this?" exclaimed a hurried, startled voice; and Richmond Wildair, pale and excited, made his way toward them.

"It means, sir, that I have been grossly insulted by your wife," said Mrs. Wildair, her very lips white with anger; "insulted, too, in the presence of your guests; spoken to as I never was spoken to before in my life."

"Mother, for mercy's sake, hush!" he said, in a fierce whisper, his face crimson with shame. "And, Georgia, if you ever loved me, retire to your room now, and make no exhibition before these people. Miss Jerusha, persuade her to go before I am eternally disgraced."

"Come, honey, come; I'll go with you," said Miss Jerusha, tremulously, quite nervous at this unexpected scene.

With heaving bosom and flashing eyes Georgia stood, terrible in her roused wrath, as a priestess of doom. Miss Jerusha put her arm around her and coaxingly drew her along, and passed with her into the empty breakfast parlor near. When she was gone, Richmond turned to his guests, who stood gazing at each other in consternation, and forcing a smile, said:

"My friends, you must be surprised at this extraordinary scene, but it will not appear so extraordinary when explained. The singular-looking person who was the cause of all this was a sort of guardian of my wife, and upon her entrance here my mother, deceived by her singular dress, mistook her for a beggar, and ordered her out. An altercation ensued, which my wife overheard, and, indignant at what she supposed a direct intentional insult to her old friend, rushed down, and in the excitement of the moment, thoughtlessly uttered the hasty words you have all overheard. Mother, I beg you will think no more about it; no one will regret them more than Georgia herself when she cools down. And now, there goes the dinner-bell; so, my friends, we will forget this disagreeable little scene, and not let it spoil our appetites."

With a faint smile he offered his arm to Mrs. Gleason and led the way to the dining-room, saying, as he did so:

"You will oblige me by presiding to-day, mother. Georgia, in her excitement, will not care to return to table, I fancy."

With a stiff bow Mrs. Wildair complied, and Richmond, beckoning to a servant, whispered:

"Go to the parlor and request Mrs. Wildair, with my compliments, to retire to her own room, and say I wish her to remain there for the evening."

"My dear cousin," said a low voice, and the small, sallow hand of Freddy was laid on his arm, "allow me to go. It would mortify our proud Georgia to death to have such a message brought by a servant. Remember, she only spoke hastily, and we must have consideration for her feelings."

"My dear, kind little cousin," said Richmond, with emotion, as he pressed her hand, "she does not deserve this from you. But go, lest she should make another scene before the servants."

With her silky smile Freddy glided out and opened the parlor door without ceremony. Sitting on a sofa was Miss Jerusha, while Georgia crouched before her, her face hidden in her lap, her whole attitude so crushed, desolate, and full of anguish, that it is no wonder Miss Jerusha was exclaiming between her sobs:

"There, honey, there! don't feel it so. I wouldn't if I was you. Where's the good of minding of 'em at all? Don't, honey, don't! It's drefful to see you so."

The malicious smile deepened and brightened on Freddy's evil face at the sight.

Miss Jerusha looked sharply up as she entered, and seeing her triumphant look, her tears seemed turned to sparks of fire.

"Well, what do you want?" she demanded.

Without noticing her by look or word, Freddy went over and laid her hand on Georgia's shoulder.

"Georgia," she said, authoritatively.

With a bound Georgia leaped to her feet, and with eyes that shone like coals of fire in a face perfectly white, she confronted her mortal enemy.

Freddy, with all her meanness, was no coward, else she would have fled at sight of that fearful look. As it was she recoiled a step, and her smile faded away as she said:

"My cousin sent me here to tell you to go to your room and stay there until he comes."

Slowly and impressively Georgia lifted her head, and keeping her gleaming, burning eyes fixed on the sallow face before her, pointed to the door.

"Go!" she said, in a hollow voice, "Go!"

Freddy started, and her face flushed.

"I have delivered my message, and intend to. If you don't do as my cousin orders you – take care, that's all."

"Go!" repeated the hollow tones, that startled her by their very calmness, so unnatural was it.

For the very first time in her life Freddy Richmond was terrified, and Miss Jerusha appalled. Without a word, the former glided past, opened the door, and vanished.

For a moment Georgia stood stock-still, like one turned to stone, and then, throwing up her arms with a great cry, she would have fallen had not Miss Jerusha caught her.

"Oh, my heart! my heart!" she cried, pressing her hands over it as though it were breaking. "Oh, Miss Jerusha, they have killed me!"

"Oh, Georgia!" began Miss Jerusha, but her voice choked, and she stopped.

"Oh, leave me! leave me! dear, best friend that ever was in this world, leave me, and never come to this dreadful house again. Oh, Miss Jerusha, why did you not leave me to die that night long ago!"

Miss Jerusha essayed to speak, but something rose in her throat and stopped her. Nothing broke the silence of the room but her sobs and that passionate, despairing voice.

"Go! leave me! I cannot bear you should stay here; and never, never come back again, Miss Jerusha. Oh, me! oh, me! that I were dead!"

There was such painful anguish in her tones that Miss Jerusha could not stay to listen. Throwing her arms around her neck in one passionate embrace, she hurried from the house, sobbing hysterically, and startling the servant who opened the door.

Then Georgia reeled rather than walked from the room, up stairs, and into her own bedroom; and there, sinking down on the floor, she lay as still and motionless as if she were indeed dead. For hours she lay thus, as if frozen there, as if she would never rise again – crushed, humbled, degraded to the dust. Sounds of laughter and music came wafted up the stairs; she heard the voice she hated most singing a gay Italian barcarole, and now another voice joins in —her husband's.

Oh, Georgia, your hour of anguish has come, and where is your help now? Heaven and earth are dark alike; you did not look up when life's sunshine shone on you, and now, in your utter misery, there is no helper near.

Oh, Georgia, where, in your humiliation, is the pride, the independence that has supported you hitherto? Gone – swept away, like a reed in the blast, and you lie there prostrate on the earth, prone in the dust, a living example of human helplessness, unsupported by divine grace.

Hour after hour passed, and still she lay there. The door opened at last, but she did not move. The footsteps she knew so well crossed the threshold, but she was motionless. A voice pronounced her name, and a shiver ran through her whole frame, but the collapsed form was still. A hand was laid on her arm, and she was lifted to her feet and borne to a chair, and then she raised her sunken eyes and saw the stern face of her husband bent upon her.

CHAPTER XVI

REAPING THE WHIRLWIND

"Oh, woman wronged can cherish hateMore deep and dark than manhood may."Whittier."And in that deep and utter agony —Though then than ever most unfit to die —She fell upon her knees and prayed for death."

It was not in human heart, much less in a heart that loved her still, to gaze on that death-like face unmoved; and Richmond's stern gaze relaxed, and his brow lost its cold severity, as he knelt beside her and said:

"Dearest Georgia, one would think you were dying. Deeply as you have mortified me, I have not the heart to see you thus wretched. Look up – smile – speak to me. What! not a word? Good mercy, how deeply you seem to feel these things!"

"Let me go, Richmond; I am tired and sick, and want to be alone."

"Yes, you are sick; the fiery spirit within you is wearing out your body. Oh, Georgia! when are these storms of passion to cease?"

She lifted her melancholy black eyes to his face with a strange, prolonged gaze.

"When I am dead."

"Oh, Georgia, sooner than that! Oh, why did you insult my mother, disgrace me, and horrify all these people to-day! Are you going crazy, Georgia?"

"No; I wish I were."

"Georgia!" he said, shocked as much by her slow, strange tone as by her words.

"Perhaps I will be soon; you are all taking a good way to make me so."

"Georgia!"

"It will be better for you, you know – you can marry a lady then."

"Georgia!"

"Oh, you can marry your cousin – she will never disgrace you, Richmond," she said, with a strange, short laugh.

"Georgia!"

"Oh, Richmond, why did you marry me? Why did you ever marry me?" she cried, suddenly changing her tone to one of piercing anguish, and wringing her pale fingers.

"Because," he said, flushing deeply, "I mistook you for a noble-hearted, generous girl, instead of the vindictive, rebellious one you have turned out to be. Because I made a mistake, as many another has done before me, and will do for all time. Are you satisfied now, my dear?"

She rose from her seat and paced up and down, wringing her hands.

"Oh, I thought I would have been so happy! You said you loved me, and I believed you. I did not know you wanted a wife to bear the brunt of your mother's sneers and your cousin's insults – some one to afford a subject of laughter to your friends. Oh, Richmond, I wish – I wish I had died before I ever met you!"

Richmond stood watching her in silence a moment, and the look of marked displeasure again settled on his face.

"Well, really, this is pleasant!" he said, slowly. "You can act the part of the termagant to the life, Mistress Georgia. I expected, and I believe so did all the rest, to see you knock my mother down a little while ago; that, I presume, will be the next exhibition. You have made out a long list of complaints against me during the past; take care that I do not turn the tables and accuse you of something worse than being a virago, my lady."

"Oh, I shall not be surprised. Say and do what you please; nothing will astonish me now. Oh, that it were not a crime to die!" she cried, passionately wringing her hands.

"Well, madam, you do not believe in hell, you know," he said, with a sneer, "so what does it matter?"

"Two months ago I did not, Richmond; now I know of it."

The frown deepened on his brow.

"What do you mean by that, Mrs. Wildair?" he said, hotly.

"Nothing," she replied, with a cold smile.

"Have a care, my lady; your taunts may be carried too far. It ill becomes you to take the offensive after what has passed this afternoon."

"After what has passed! By that you mean, I suppose, my preventing your mother from making the servants turn my best, my dearest friend, into the street like a dog," she said, stopping in her walk and facing him.

"My mother mistook her for a beggar. How was she to know she was anything to you?"

Georgia broke into a scornful laugh, and resumed her walk.

"Positively, Mrs. Wildair," said Richmond, flushing crimson with anger, "this insulting conduct is too much. If I cannot command your obedience, I at least insist on your respect. And as we are upon the subject, I beg in your intercourse with one of my guests you will remember you are a wedded wife. You seem to have forgotten it pretty well up to the present, both of you."

She had sunk on a sofa, her face hidden in the cushions, her hands clasped over her heart, as if to still the intolerable pain there. She made no reply to the words that had struck her ear, but conveyed no meaning, and after waiting in vain for an answer, he resumed, with a still deepening frown:

"You will not honor me with an answer, madam. Probably your smiles and answers are all alike reserved for the fascinating Captain Arlingford. How do you intend to meet my mother, Mrs. Wildair, after what has happened to-day?"

"Oh, Richmond, I do not know! Oh, Richmond, do, do leave me!"

"Madam!"

"I am so tired, and so sick. I cannot talk to-night!" she cried out, lifting her bowed head, and clasping her hands to her throbbing temples.

"Be it so, then, madam. I shall not intrude again," said Richmond, as, with a face dark with anger, he turned and left the room.

Next morning at breakfast Georgia did not appear. There was an embarrassment – a restraint upon all present, which deepened when the unconscious Captain Arlingford, the only one who ventured to pronounce her name, inquired for Mrs. Wildair.

A dusky fire, the baleful fire of jealousy, flamed up in Richmond Wildair's eyes. Freddy and his mother saw it, and exchanged glances, and the old evil smile broke over the former's face.

"She was indisposed last night," said Mr. Wildair, with freezing coldness, "and I presume has not yet sufficiently recovered to be able to join us at table. You will have the happiness of seeing her at dinner, Captain Arlingford."

There was something in his tone that made Captain Arlingford look up, and Mrs. Wildair, fearing a public disagreement, which did not suit her purpose at all, said hastily in a tone of the most motherly solicitude:

"Poor, dear child. I am afraid that little affair of yesterday has mortified her to death. Freddy, love, do go up to her room, and see how she is."

Now Miss Freddy, who was a most prudent young lady, for sundry good reasons of her own, would have preferred at first not bearding the lioness in her den, but after an instant's thought, the desire of exulting over her proved too strong for her fears, and she rose with alacrity from her seat, and with her unvarying smile on her face, passed from the room, and up stairs.