Keeping up Appearances CHAPTER 14.
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It was weary work for Annetta to sit bending over the task she had allotted to herself. What was gained, after the first week, by greater skill — was lost from fatigue, that was so oppressive at times as to require a temporary suspension of labor. Thus she toiled on, hoping almost against hope, or sick at heart from doubts that were too well grounded. Not with fears of being unable to effect a marriage with Mr. Lewis, was she alone troubled — the false position in which she was placed was a source of constant distress of mind. The longer she continued to hold it, and the more efforts she made to sustain it, the greater was her self-condemnation, and the heavier the weight that rested upon her spirit. In more than one instance, she had deceived Mr. Lewis by a deliberate falsehood; in fact, she felt that falsehood was stamped upon every act of her life that had regard to him, and that, sooner or later, he must know this — know it, whether she were married to him or not.
"And this," she murmured, as she sat over her work one day, and a realization of the fact came most distinctly to her mind, "will not add to my happiness in either event." Tears filled her eyes, and so blinded her that she could see neither the needle in her fingers nor the pattern of the work before her.
The quarter rent day came around to within two weeks. Only twenty-seven pounds ten shillings had been received for the piano. It sold for thirty pounds, and the auctioneer's commissions were two pounds ten shillings. We will not pain the reader by picturing the effect this sacrifice had upon the mind of the mother and daughter. Various articles of chamber furniture, such as elegant mahogany wardrobes, dressing bureaus, etc., were sent off, one after another, some taken out by the back way, and some in front, and at intervals of days, to avoid observation. These brought, under the auction, from one-half to one-third of their original cost. After heavy heavy sacrifices of this kind, fifty pounds were realized.
The rent day was at hand, and yet there was a deficiency. But still a means of raising more money was held in reserve, namely, the capes and collars that Annetta had been so industriously engaged upon, for the previous six weeks. She had wrought five large and handsome capes, and as many collars in that time. The work was very elegantly done.
"The capes will bring at least thirty-two shillings apiece," she said to her mother, as she was preparing to take them out and make an effort to dispose of them; "and the collars ought to sell for twelve shillings apiece, which will make eleven pounds; we only need sufficient to make up the rent."
"If you get ten, I will be satisfied," returned Mrs. Laurie. "You must sell them in Broadway; and I suppose you will be more likely to obtain a fair price for them at the department store than at any other place. They keep the richest assortment of lace goods in the city, and will be glad to get such beautiful work as this."
"Yes, the department store is the place; but I dread the thought of going there. I shall be certain to meet someone I know. The shop is always full of customers, and it will be impossible for me to bargain with them, without attracting the attention of someone."
"It will be easy, you know, for you to say that the work is not your own; that you are selling it for someone not able to go out."
"Yes, it is easy enough to say that, mother," returned Annetta, sadly; "but it will not be the truth, and I have already found, that equivocations and direct falsehoods of this kind don't make anyone feel any the more comfortable afterwards. I wish it were possible to avoid saying a word that was not true."
"But it is not possible, my dear," replied Mrs. Laurie. "You must think of the end in view. Think how much is at stake — how much is to be gained or lost."
"I think of it every hour, and almost every minute of the day," said Annetta. "I dream of it at night. Oh! what would I not give if this suspense were over! More than once have I regretted that we did not fall to our true position at once, and let things take their natural course."
"You certainly do not know what you are saying, Annetta. Depend upon it, this is our only hope. Once let Mr. Lewis have a well-grounded suspicion of the truth — and all is over. Persevere a little longer. Bear up, bravely, for a time, and we shall soon reach the so much and so long desired haven. I think the little equivocation proposed, you call by too harsh a name. It hurts no one."
"Unless it hurts me, mother," said Annetta.
"I am sorry, child, that you are so weak-minded. How can it hurt you? Rather say, it will do you good, if it prevents the discovery of our real condition."
Annetta felt in no mood to argue this point with her mother. Besides, it was a useless waste of words. There was no such thing as looking back, now. So she took up the little bundle of work, and placing it under her cloak went forth upon her errand with a heavy heart. Familiarity with a duty like this, had not made it any more agreeable to her than at first — but rather increased, tenfold, the shrinking reluctance at first experienced.
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