Keeping up Appearances CHAPTER 9.
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OW much did he pay you?" eagerly asked Mrs. Laurie, as her daughter entered the room where she was sitting. "Twenty-three pounds, fourteen shillings, and eightpence," replied Annetta, in a deep hoarse voice.
"What?"
"Twenty-three pounds, fourteen shillings and eightpence."
"On account?"
"No, ma'am. That, he said, was all the silverware was worth."
"You should not have taken it. He has cheated us shamefully," said Mrs. Laurie.
"There is no doubt of that — but I could not help myself. He had melted it all up. The large waiter he said was plated instead of solid silver."
"That is false. It was every ounce silver, and alone worth fifteen or twenty pounds."
"He had us completely in his power, and he knew it. There was and is no redress," said Annetta. "To seek for justice, will only cause an exposure of our real condition and make bad worse."
The truth of this fell like a cold blast upon the heart of Mrs. Laurie, withering up many a tender bud of hope. She could not refrain from weeping. The disappointment was too severe to be borne without an exhibition of the pain it occasioned. It took many hours for her mind to recover its tone, during which time she shut herself up in her room, and brooded in sadness over the almost hopeless condition of her affairs.
After tea, on that evening, Annetta dressed herself, as usual, to await the coming of her lover. It was more than a week since she had received a call from him. The time seemed very long, and gave occasion for many misgivings and much anxiety. These, however, were relieved in a measure by one of his welcome visits.
"You look pale this evening," he said, after he had taken her by the hand, with an air of more than usual cordiality. "Are you not well?"
"I am very well," she replied, smiling, "with the exception of a slight headache. I was not aware that I looked pale."
"Rather more so than usual." As Mr. Lewis said this, his eyes rested upon her with so steady a gaze that her own sank beneath them to the floor. There was something real or imagined in their expression, that made her heart flutter for a moment. When she again looked into his face, that expression, whatever it was, had vanished. "Did I not see you downtown this morning?" the young man asked.
This question, so unexpected, startled Annetta. Her first impulse was to say no — but the instant thought that he might have seen her so distinctly as to make her presence in that part of the city a matter to him of certainty and not doubt, prevented the utterance of a falsehood.
"I don't know," she replied, after slightly hesitating. "I made some calls in East Broadway this morning, and passed down the Bowery on my way to that part of the city."
It so happened that Mr. Lewis had observed her going up the Bowery, and had actually seen her enter the shop of the silversmith, who had purchased her mother's silverware. This he did not mention — but a doubt arose in his mind as to whether it were precisely as she had said. That is, whether she had really been visiting in East Broadway. But he drove out this ungenerous thought in a moment, as unworthy of him and a wrong to her.
"You remember the Hartmans?" he said, during a pause in the conversation that followed.
"O yes! What has become of them?" "You know that Mr. Hartman failed in business?"
"Yes."
"It is said that this failure was hastened, or in part occasioned, by the refusal of Lucy Hartman, his niece, to accept an offer of marriage made to her by Mr. Burnside, who was so angry that he withdrew some borrowed money from the hands of Mr. Hartman at a critical period, and secretly assailed his credit."
"Yes, I remember hearing that said," returned Annetta. "And also, that Mr. Hartman had turned his niece out of doors, and that she had since been teaching in Mr. Bolmero's school. Do you know whether that is true or not?"
"The last part of the story is true; but the first part I believe is all a mistake. She left her uncle's house voluntarily, after declining the marriage?"
"Indeed! I never heard that."
"It is true, I believe. I had it from Mrs. Morton, at whose house she has ever since been residing."
"At Mrs. Morton's?" ejaculated Annetta in surprise. "Is she boarding there? I did not know that Mrs. Morton took boarders."
"Nor does she," replied Mr. Lewis. "While the mother of Lucy Hartman was living, she was one of Mrs. Morton's most intimate friends. Since her death, a warm affection has existed between Mrs. Morton and Lucy. When the latter felt it to be her duty to act in opposition to the wishes of her uncle, who insisted, it is said, upon her marrying Mr. Burnside — she felt it to be also her duty to leave her uncle's house and depend upon her own efforts for a support. There was no one to whom she could so well go for counsel as to her mother's friend, and to her she went. Mrs. Morton conferred immediately with Mr. and Mrs. Hartman on the subject, and they made every effort in their power to induce Lucy to come back — but no persuasion could induce her to break the resolution she had taken to depend upon herself alone. It was then agreed between Mr. and Mrs. Hartman and Mrs. Morton that Lucy should remain for a time at her house, and under her protection. But this did not satisfy Lucy — she would rest short of nothing but some employmentby which she could maintain herself in independence. This being the case, Mrs. Morton applied for and obtained a place for her in Mr. Bolmero's school as a French and Spanish teacher, for which she is now receiving a salary of one hundred and twenty pounds a year."
"Isn't she a strange girl?" said Annetta. "I always knew her to be proud and self-willed."
"There may be less of pride and self-will than true independence in all this," suggested Mr. Lewis. "That she acted right, the sequel will show. Her uncle's failure made a total wreck of him, in mind as well as in property. He lost all energy, and sank into supineness and indifference. Of course he was reduced to poverty, and had it not been that Lucy almost forced the money she earned upon her aunt, they would have suffered for the necessities of life. A week ago Mr. Hartman, who has been quite sick for a month, died. I saw Mrs. Morton today, and she tells me that Mrs. Hartman and Lucy have rented half of a house, and are now living together again. She expresses much regret in having to part with Lucy, of whom she speaks in very warm terms. Now, is not that a romantic — but interesting and instructive history?"
"It is romantic enough, certainly. I have heard Lucy much blamed for her conduct. The thought that her uncle was totally ruined in business, and his death hastened in consequence, must be a distressing one to her, knowing, as she does, that she might have prevented it all."
A reply so different from what Mr. Lewis had expected to hear from the lips of Annetta, caused him to look at her for a few moments with surprise.
"Do you not approve of what she did?" he asked.
"I suppose it is all right," Annetta said, in rather an equivocal voice. She perceived that her remark had not made a favorable impression. "But the inducements to act differently were certainly very strong. Few girls could have resisted them."
"What were the inducements?" asked Mr. Lewis.
"The great wealth of Mr. Burnside was one inducement; but the strongest motive for accepting the offer, was the peculiar condition of her uncle's affairs, with which I am told she was made fully acquainted before she declined it, as well as with the effect that must follow."
"So I understand; and so much the more noble do I esteem her conduct. It is a great act, Miss Laurie, for a young girl, against such an array of influence, to decide to do right, and to adhere as firmly as Lucy Hartman has done to her conscientious decisions. The wreck of her uncle's affairs was a small matter compared with the total wreck of her happiness. He had no right to ask for this sacrifice — nor had she a right to make it. No one can censure her justly."
Annetta was surprised to hear an expression of such sentiments by Mr. Lewis. It caused more than a doubt as to the true policy of the course she was pursuing. When she rejoined her mother, and repeated a portion of his remarks, Mrs. Laurie did not herself feel altogether satisfied. But there was no looking back now.
Before retiring for the night, the mother and daughter held an earnest conference upon the present state of affairs. Instead of receiving sixty or eighty pounds for their silverware — but twenty-three pounds fourteen shillings and eightpence had been obtained.
"I am afraid the music teacher will have to be dispensed with. Twelve pounds a quarter for the two girls is a large item in our expenses," said Mrs. Laurie.
"And so is four pounds a month to the driver," returned Annetta. "I think we had better let John go. He is no very great use to us. I believe the last three times that Mr. Lewis called, he was away, and the housemaid had to go to the door. The effect of that, you know, is the same on the mind of Mr. Lewis as if we had no driver at all. He wouldn't know the difference."
"I think you are right," said Mrs. Laurie. "John's month is up the day after tomorrow. I will notify him in the morning that we shall not need him any longer. The difference in our expenses, after letting him and the music teacher go, will be at least ten pounds a month. Half as much as the rent."
"A very great saving that, certainly," remarked Annetta.
"And I think, as a matter of prudence, we had better take the girls home from school for the present. Their bills are very high. There is no telling how long Mr. Lewis will be in coming to the point. After sacrificing everything, it would be dreadful to break down at the last moment, exposing everything, and ruining everything."
"Indeed it would!" said Annetta, with a deep sigh.
These matters determined upon, the unhappy mother and her no less unhappy daughter retired for the night; but not to pass its silent hours in sweet refreshing sleep; this came not to their pillows — but, instead, long wakeful hours of troubled thoughts, and brief periods of slumber, broken ever by anxious or frightful dreams.
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