May Agnes Fleming
The Actress' Daughter: A Novel
CHAPTER XIV
A DREAM COMING TRUE
"I had a dream which was not all a dream."
Byron.
"And we saw Medea burning
At her passion-planted stake."
Browning.
Richmond House at last was full of guests; every room was filled; peals of laughter, and silvery voices of ladies, and the deeper tones of gentlemen, made music through the long silent house, and scared the swallows from their homes in the eaves. The idle servants had enough to do now, and were tearing distractedly up stairs and down stairs, and here, and there, and everywhere with a terrible noise and clatter, and all was gay bustle and lively animation.
Georgia, superb as a young empress, in purple satin, with a brilliant flush on her cheek, and a streaming light in her eyes, had never looked so handsome as that day when she received and welcomed her husband's guests. And when this ceremony was over, they were shown to their rooms to dress for dinner, and Richmond, with a gratified smile, congratulated her on the elegant manner in which she had performed her part. Georgia listened, and her cheek flushed deeper, and her eye grew brighter as she replied to his smile with one that made her face fairly radiant, and inwardly resolved that to merit his approbation, she would try to dissimulate, and try to be amiable and courteous to all, even to the detestable Miss Richmond.
The great dining-room of Richmond House was all ablaze that evening, and the long table fairly glittered and flashed with its wealth of massive silver and cut-glass; and around it gathered all the gay guests from the city, and not a lady among them all was half so handsome or brilliant as the dark, bright girl, in her rich sheeny dress, who sat at the head of the table and did the honors.
A very select party they were whom Richmond Wildair had invited. There was Colonel Gleason, a tall, pompous-looking gentleman; and Mrs. Gleason, a stiff, frigid lady, not unlike Mrs. Hamm; then there was a Mrs. Harper, a buxom, jolly-looking matron; and her two daughters, dashing, stylish-looking girls, who had never been guilty of a blush in their lives. There, too, was Miss Reid, a silent, languid, delicate-looking young lady, reminding one of a fragile wax japonica; and a Mr. Lester, one of those irresistible bipeds known as "Broadway swells," who never pronounced the letter R. and had the nicest little bits of feet and hands in the world. There was Lieutenant Gleason, the Colonel's eldest son, remarkable for nothing but a ferocious mustache and a pair of long and slender legs; and there was Mr. Henry Gleason, a youth of eighteen, who stared at the company generally through an eye-glass, and gave it as his opinion that there never was such a rum old house, or such a jolly stupid old place as Burnfield in the world before. There was Miss Arlingford, a pale, dark-eyed, pleasant-looking girl, and her brother, Captain Arlingford, a handsome, dashing young sailor – frank, off-hand, and brave, as all sailors are. And last, but by no means least, there was Mr. Dick Curtis, who on a certain interesting occasion had "stood up" with Richmond, and now, resplendent in a white vest and excruciating neck-tie, was making most anxious inquiries about our friend Emily Murray, about whom he said his private opinion, publicly expressed, was, that she was a "real nice girl – a regular stunner, sir, and no mistake!"
"Aw – should like to see her – weally," lisped Mr. Lester; "this heaw Burnfield seems so good at that sort of thing, you know – waising handsome gals, eh?" And the exquisite glanced with what he fancied to be an unmistakable look at his hostess, whose haughty lip, in spite of every effort, curled while meeting Captain Arlingford's laughing eye; she had to smile, too.
"I say, Lester," called Mr. Henry Gleason from across the table, "that must have been the little beauty we saw standing in the road as we drove up. By Jove! she was a screamer, a regular out-and-outer, a tip-top, slap-up girl," said the youth, enthusiastically.
"Henry, my dear," said his mother, looking shocked, "how can you use such dreadful language? 'Slap-up!' I'm really astonished at you!"
"Well, so she was slap-up!" reiterated Master Henry, determinedly, "nothing shorter. Ask our Tom, or Lester, or any of the fellows, if you don't believe me."
"A true bill, Harry," replied his brother Tom, the hero of the ferocious moustache. "I say, Wildair, you'll have to present us."
"Couldn't, my dear fellow," said Mr. Wildair, laughing; "little Emily would fly in terror at sight of your gold lace and sword-knot. No chance of getting up a flirtation with her."
"Aw – couldn't expect anything bettah from a wustic; they ah not wuth the time spent in flirting, you know," drawled Mr. Lester, sipping his wine.
Georgia gave a sudden start, and, had looks the power to kill, poor obtuse Mr. Lester would never have murdered the king's English again. Glances were exchanged, and one or two malicious smiles curled sundry female lips. The gentleman looked down at their plates, and Richmond's mouth grew stern. Not one present but felt the words, save the noodle who had spoken, and that fast youth, Master Henry Gleason.
"Curtis is a goner, anyhow," said Master Henry, breaking the awkward silence; "he turned as red as a boiled lobster the moment he clapped his eyes on her. Eh, Curtis, you're a gone case, ain't you?"
"It's no use though, my dear fellow," said Richmond, recovering his bland look; "my little friend, Emily, wouldn't have you if you were President of the United States. Isn't that so, Georgia?" he said, gayly, appealing to his wife, who was conversing with Miss Arlingford and her brother, the only two whom she did not positively dislike.
"I really do not know," she said, gravely, for she did not exactly relish this free use of Emily's name.
"And why, Wildair?" said Curtis, so earnestly that all laughed.
"Simply, my dear fellow, because you and she have antagonistic views on many subjects."
A change of theme was soon after effected by the ladies rising and seeking the drawing-room. There they dispersed themselves in various directions. The eldest Miss Harper sat down at the piano, in the hope of attracting the attention of Miss Arlingford, whom she professed a strong attachment for, on the principle of "let me kiss her for her brother," to change the song a little. But Miss Arlingford, who had taken a deep interest in the proud young lady of the house, sat down beside her and began to converse. The rest gathered in groups to chat or listen to the music, or turn over prints, until the entrance of the gentlemen – for which they had not to wait long, as that fast young scion of the house of Gleason had moved a speedy adjournment to the drawing-room, pronouncing the talk over the "walnuts and the wine" awfully slow without the girls. And immediately upon their entrance Master Henry crossed over to where Georgia and Miss Arlingford sat, and drawing up an ottoman, deposited himself at their feet, and began opening a conversation with his young hostess, whom, he had informed Captain Arlingford, he considered the greatest "stunner" he had ever seen in his life, and that, in spite of all people said about it, his opinion was that Rich Wildair had showed his good taste and good sense by marrying her.
"Where's the other Mrs. Wildair – the dowager duchess, you know?" he said, by way of commencing.
"In her room," replied Georgia, with a smile. "She was rather fatigued after her journey, and would not come down to dinner. She will grace the drawing-room by her presence by and by."
"Horridly easily fatigued she must be," said Henry, who was one of those favored individuals who can say and do anything they like without giving offense. "Freddy Richmond's with her, I suppose?"
"Yes; she would not leave her aunt. Both will be here very shortly," replied Georgia.
Even as she spoke the drawing-room door opened, and a tall, hard-featured, haughty-looking, elderly lady entered, leaning on the arm of a small, wiry girl with little keen gray eyes, and hair which her friends called auburn, but which was red, and very white teeth, displayed by a constant, unvarying smile. A smiling face ought to be a pleasant one, but this freckled one was not. There was a cringing, fawning, servility about her which made most people, except those fond of flattery and adulation, distrust her, and which fairly sickened Georgia.
"Speak of the – ," began Henry, sinking his voice pianissimo, and concluding the sentence to himself.
Georgia arose, and almost timidly approached them, and inquired of the elder lady if she felt better. Mrs. Wildair opened her eyes and favored her with a stare that was downright insolent; and then, before her slow reply was formed, Miss Freddy Richmond took it upon herself to answer, with a fawning smile:
"Thank you, yes – quite recovered. A night's rest will perfectly restore her."
Georgia turned her flashing eyes down on the smiling owner of the ferret optics and red hair, and a hot "I did not address myself to you – speak when you are spoken to," leaped to her tongue; but Georgia was learning to restrain herself since her marriage, and so she only bit her lip till the blood started, at the open slight.
"Can we not get on, Fredrica?" said Mrs. Wildair, impatiently.
Georgia was standing before them, and now Miss Freddy, with her silkiest smile, put out her hand – a limp, moist, sallow little member – and gave her a slight push saying:
"Will you be kind enough, Georgia" (she had called her by her Christian name from the first, as if she had been a maid-of-all-work), "and let us pass. I see Mrs. Colonel Gleason over there, and Mrs. Wildair wants to join her."
Richmond, standing over Miss Harper, who was deafening the company with one of those dreadful overtures from "Il Trovatore," had not witnessed this little scene. Indeed, had he, it is probable he would have observed nothing wrong about it; but the gesture, the tone, and the insolent look – half supercilious, half contemptuous – that accompanied it, sent a shock through Miss Arlingford, brought a flush to her brother's cheek, and even made Master Henry mutter that it was a "regular jolly shame."
They brushed past Georgia as if she had been the housemaid, and she was left standing there before those who had witnessed the direct insult. Her head was throbbing, her face crimson, and her breath came so quick and stifled that she laid her hand on her chest, feeling as though she should suffocate. She forgot the curious eyes bent upon her – some in compassion, some in gratified malice – she forgot everything but the insult offered her by the worm she despised. With one hand resting on the table to steady herself, for her brain was whirling, and with the other pressed hard on her bosom, she stood where they had left her, until Miss Arlingford arose, and taking her arm, said, kindly:
"The heat has made you ill, Mrs. Wildair; allow me to lead you to a seat."
She did not resist, and Miss Arlingford conducted her to a remote seat somewhat in the shadow, if such a thing as shade it could be called in that brilliantly lighted room. And then the young lady began talking carelessly about the music, without looking at her, until Georgia's emotion had time to subside and, outwardly at least, she grew calm. Outwardly – but, oh! the bitterness that swelled and throbbed in that proud heart until it seemed ready to burst, that left her white even to the very lips, that sent such a dreadful fire into her dusky eyes as if all the life in her heart had fled and concentrated there.
She did not hear a word Miss Arlingford was saying, she scarcely knew she was beside her; she did not know what was going on around her for a moment, until, with one grand crash that might have smashed a more firm instrument, Miss Harper arose from the piano and sailed over to where the young captain and Henry Gleason were talking, and made herself quite at home with them at once. And then Georgia, whose eyes were fixed in a sort of terrible fascination on Miss Richmond, saw her led to the piano by her husband, and heard her singing, or rather screeching some terrific Italian song, and all the time she was combating a fierce, mad impulse to spring upon her and do – she did not know what – strangle her, perhaps. And then her song was ended – the final unearthly shriek was given, like to nothing earthly but the squeal of a steamboat, and she saw her approach, and, with her small, glittering, snaky eyes fixed upon her, in a voice audible to all, ask her – their hostess – to favor them next. Now she, as well as most there, knew Georgia could not play; but, wishing to have a little pleasure quizzing the "country girl," they came crowding around, and it was:
"Oh, pray do, Mrs. Wildair."
"Don't refuse us now."
"Do favor us, Mrs. Wildair; I am sure you sing beautifully."
"Of course Georgia will play; she knows it's not polite to refuse her guests," said Miss Richmond, winding up the chant and smiling insolently up in her face as she laid her hand on her arm.
Georgia started as if a viper had stung her, and, striking off the hand, arose white with concentrated passion.
Richmond, coming up at the moment, had just heard his cousin's silvery-toned request, and the startling way in which it had been received.
Miss Richmond and Miss Harper started back with two simultaneous little shrieks, and looked at Georgia as they would at a Shawnee savage, had one suddenly appeared before them, and a profound silence fell on all around.
Richmond's brow for one moment grew dark as night, and he caught and transfixed Georgia with a look that made her start as if she had received a galvanic shock. The next, with his strong self-command, his brow cleared, and, making his way through the startled group, he said, smiling:
"My wife does not play, Freddy. You forgot music teachers are not so easily obtained in Burnfield as in New York city. Why, Georgia, you are looking quite pale. Are you ill?"
She did not speak; she only lifted her eyes to his face with a look of such utter anguish that his anger gave way to a mingled feeling of compassion and annoyance.
"I am afraid Mrs. Wildair is indisposed," said Miss Arlingford. "We will leave her to your care, Mr. Wildair, while, if my poor efforts will be accepted, I will endeavor to take her place at the instrument."
As Miss Arlingford was known to be a beautiful singer, the offer was instantly accepted, and the kind-hearted young lady was followed to the piano by all present, who seated themselves near, while Richmond, Freddy, and Mrs. Wildair, who, with a frown on her brow, had just come up, gathered round Georgia.
"Really, Richmond, your wife has made a most extraordinary exhibition of herself this evening," said his mother, in a tone of withering contempt. "Are you quite sure she is perfectly sane? I do not ask from curiosity, but because Mrs. Gleason has been quite terrified."
Georgia started as if she would have sprung from the sofa, but Richmond held her down, while he said, coldly:
"You can tell Mrs. Gleason she need not alarm herself on the subject; the unusual excitement has been too much for her, that is all."
"The unusual excitement! Oh, I perceive," said Mrs. Wildair, with a smile more cutting than any words could have been. "Perhaps she had better retire to her room altogether, and I will endeavor to play the hostess to your guests."
"My dear Georgia," said Freddy, laying her hateful hand on Georgia's, and looking up in her face with a hateful smile, "I am afraid my request offended you. I am sure I quite forgot you could not play, and never thought you would have resented being asked; it is so common for people to play nowadays that one cannot realize another is ignorant of what every child understands. I really cannot leave you until you say you forgive me."
Georgia shuddered at the hateful touch, and her hands clinched as she listened, but Richmond's eye was upon her, and she only shook off the hand, and was silent.
"Do say you forgive me, Georgia, do, please, I am so sorry," fawned Freddy, with one arm around her neck.
"Oh, Richmond, take her away! Oh, Richmond, do!" she cried out, shrinking in loathing from her.
Freddy, with the sigh of deeply injured but forgiving spirit, got up and stood meekly before her.
"Really," began Mrs. Wildair, with haughty anger; but her son, with a darkened brow, said, hastily:
"Mother, leave her to me. Freddy, go; she does not know what she is saying; she will regret this by and by, and be the first to apologize. She is excited now; to-morrow you will see her in a very different frame of mind."
"I hope so, I am sure; it is very much needed, I must say," observed Mrs. Wildair, coldly, as, with a frown on her face, she drew Freddy's arm within hers and led her away.
"Oh, Richmond!" began Georgia, passionately lifting her eyes to his face.
And there she stopped, the words frozen on her lips. He did not speak, but catching her wrists in a steady grasp, he looked sternly and steadily in her eyes, until she sat shivering and trembling before him. And then he dropped her hands, and without a word drew her arm within his and led her down to where the rest were, and seated her on a sofa between Colonel Gleason and himself.
The song was finished, and amid a murmur of applause Miss Arlingford rose from the piano and came over to where Georgia sat, to inquire if she felt better. And then Captain Arlingford and Henry Gleason came, too, and Georgia was soon the center of a gay, laughing group, who strove to dissipate her gloom and restore the disturbed harmony of the evening. And Georgia, now that her evil genius was gone, remembering her husband's look, tried to smile and talk cheerfully with the rest, but, as she said herself, she had not yet learned to dissimulate. And the wild glitter of her eye and her marble-like face told a far different story, and her efforts to be at ease were so evident and so painful, that all felt it a relief when the hour came for retiring and they could seek their own rooms.
Mr. and Mrs. Wildair bade their last guest good-night, and then they were alone in the drawing-room.
Georgia sank down on a sofa, dreading even to look at him; and Richmond, his courteous smile totally gone and his face grave and stern, stood with his elbow leaning on the marble mantel, looking down on her with a stern, steady gaze.
"Mrs. Wildair!" he said, coldly.
"Oh, Richmond!" she cried, passionately.
"Well, this a delightful beginning, I must say," he observed, calmly. "Are you aware, madam, that you made both yourself and me ridiculous to-night?"
"Oh, Richmond, I could not help it! Oh, Richmond, I felt as if I should go mad!"
"It would not take much to convince our friends that you are that already, my dear. May I ask if it was Fredrica's simple and natural request that you would play for the company, that came so near driving you mad? I saw you drop her hand as if there were contamination in the touch."
"Oh, so there is! so there is!" she cried, in frenzied tones.
"Really, madam," said Mr. Wildair, in a tone of marked displeasure, "this is carrying your absurdity too far. Take care that I do not begin to believe you mad, as well as the rest. Are you aware that you grossly insulted my cousin before my guests this evening?"
"She insulted me! – the low, fawning hypocrite! Oh, that I should be obliged to live under the same roof with that thing!" exclaimed Georgia, wildly, wringing her hands.
There was a dead pause. It had more effect on Georgia than any words he could have uttered. She looked up, and saw him standing calm, stern, and deeply displeased, with his large, strong eyes fixed upon her in sorrow, surprise, and grave anger.
"Oh, Richmond! what shall I do? I am going crazy, I think. Oh, Richmond! I tried to do well, and not displease you, but she – Oh! everything that is bad in my nature she rouses when she comes near me! Richmond! Richmond! I cannot bear to have you angry with me. Tell me —do tell me – what I shall do?"
"It is very plain what you must do, my love. You must apologize to Miss Richmond."
As if she had received a spear-thrust, Georgia bounded to her feet, her eyes blazing, her lips blanched.
"What!"
"Nay, my dear; it is folly to excite yourself in this way. Be calm. Of course, you must apologize – there is no other way in which you can atone for your unparalleled madness."
"Never!"
"You will not? Georgia, do I understand you right? You mean you will apologize?"
"Never!"
"Georgia, you will!"
"I will NOT!"
There was another dead pause. Still he stood calm and coldly stern, while she stood with her full form drawn up to its full height, her eyes flashing sparks of fire, her brow corrugated, her lips white with passion and defiance.
"Georgia," he said, coldly, and his words fell like ice on the fire raging in her stormy breast, "once your boast was that you never told a lie; now you have sworn one. You vowed before God's minister to obey me, and yet the first command I have given you since, you passionately refuse to obey. I am no tyrant, Georgia, and I shall never request you to do anything for me again; but remember, madam, I shall not forget this."
He was turning away, but with a great cry she sprang after him and caught his arm.
"Oh, Richmond, unsay your words! Oh, I will do anything, anything, anything sooner than part with you in anger! Oh, Richmond, my heart feels as if it were breaking. I shall die if you do not say you forgive me!"
"Will you go to my cousin to-morrow, and beg her pardon for your insane conduct to-night?"
She shivered as one in an ague fit, while from her white lips dropped the hollow word:
"Yes."
"That is my own brave Georgia. The insult was publicly given, and should be publicly atoned for; but I will spare you that humiliation. And now I feel that this lesson, severe as it is, will do you good. You will be more careful for the future, Georgia."
She lifted her head, and looked up in his face with a smile that startled him.
"It has come true, Richmond," she said.
"What has, my love?" he asked, uneasily.
"My dream. Do you not remember the dream I told you and Charley, long ago, when I first knew you?"
"Yes, I remember it. You told it so impressively I could not forget it. What of that dream, my dear?"
She laughed – such a mockery of laughter as it was!
"It was you I saw in that dream, Richmond; it was you who drove me, all wounded and bleeding, through the fiery furnace. You are doing it now, Richmond. But I did not tell you all my dream then. I did not tell you then that at last I turned, sprang upon my torturer, and STRANGLED him in my own death throes!"
Again she laughed, and looked up in his face with her gleaming eyes.
"My dear, you are hysterical," he said in alarm. "Be calm; do not excite yourself so. I always knew you were wild; but positively this is the very superlative of wildest. To-morrow you will feel better, Georgia."
"Oh, yes – to-morrow, when I shall have begged her pardon! Listen, 233Richmond, do you know what I wished to-night?"
"No, dear Georgia; what was it?"
"It was, Richmond, that I had never married you!"
