CHAPTER XI.
A STARTLING ENCOUNTER.
Nellie had not been gone from the room with her message to the coachman more than ten minutes when the cook presented herself to ask whether she should serve French peas or artichokes with the lamb for dinner.
“Are you fond of artichokes?” Salome asked, turning to her husband’s mother.
“Yes; but we will have peas to-day,” Madame Winthrop said, addressing the girl rather than answering Salome’s question.
“And will they be served with cream, marm?” the cook asked of her young mistress.
But before she could reply, the elder woman interposed:
“Of course; they are richer and nicer, and should never be served any other way.”
Still the girl hesitated and glanced inquiringly at Salome.
Now, Salome could not eat cream that had been heated—although she could take it cold—therefore she had never ordered any of her vegetables to be prepared with it.
She thought at first that she would say nothing, but let the matter rest and go without her peas for once, although she was exceedingly fond of them. But the same thing was liable to occur again, and, after a moment’s thought, she quietly said, but without the slightest appearance of wishing to thwart her husband’s mother:
“You may serve them both ways, if you please, Bridget, for I cannot eat them with cream; and be sure to have the crumbs nicely browned for the soup.”
“Yes, marm,” said the woman respectfully, as she left the room.
But, once outside the door, she gave vent to a very suggestive chuckle as she remarked in a low voice:
“The young one’ll be enough for her, never fear,” and then she went away to the regions below, a broad grin on her Irish face.
This is but an example, however, of what Salome had to endure day after day. Her orders were countermanded, her plans continually disarranged by some whim or freak of Madame Winthrop’s or Evelyn’s, both becoming, as time elapsed, more and more aggressive and disagreeable.
The young wife tried to meet these trials pleasantly and patiently, but there were times when they seemed almost more than she could bear; for when she tried to please them most, they seemed to be the least satisfied.
One day they culminated in a radical assumption of authority on the part of Evelyn.
She had been bitterly envious of Salome from the first, not only on account of her exceeding beauty, but because of the lavish hand with which her brother showered favors upon her. She especially envied her the possession of her elegant coupé and handsome ponies, and upon this particular morning she insisted that she was afraid to ride after her brother’s more spirited and powerful horses, and so ordered the ponies to be harnessed into the barouche for her use.
Salome’s face grew blank as she listened to this cool command, for she well knew that such an arrangement would never do.
She was saved the disagreeable duty of objecting, however, by Dick, who said:
“The ponies ben’t strong enough for the barouche, marm; they’d never drag it a mile over the pavements without being winded.”
“You’ll do as I tell you,” the young lady retorted imperiously.
Dick looked confused but doggedly determined, scratched his head, and glanced inquiringly at Salome.
She disliked to oppose Evelyn, and yet she knew that her beautiful ponies would be ruined if they were made to draw that heavy vehicle, and Miss Winthrop was not remarkably careful of horseflesh at any time.
“Right is right,” she said to herself, after thinking a moment, and she made up her mind that the little bays should not be overtaxed.
“I think Dick is right, Evelyn,” she said gently. “I am afraid the ponies will be injured. Suppose you take the coupé instead; you are quite welcome to it, and, if you dislike riding in a close carriage, you can lower the windows.”
“Nonsense! the ponies are strong enough—it’s only the man’s stubbornness,” retorted the girl irritably, although she knew that she was wrong. She had not thought of the barouche being too heavy for the horses when she gave the order; her only aim had been to assert herself and overreach Salome.
“Oh, no, you are mistaken; Dick is never stubborn—he is always very willing to oblige,” Salome answered pleasantly, and bestowing a kind glance upon the man. Then she added, with a decision that settled the contested point at once, “Dick, if you please, you may put the ponies in the coupé for Miss Winthrop.”
“Yes, marm,” and with a respectful nod the man disappeared to do her bidding, but muttering, as he got out of hearing, something about the “toppin ways of high-toned upstarts.”
But when the coupé came to the door, in obedience to Salome’s command, Miss Winthrop haughtily informed her that she should not drive; so the young wife, rather than have the man feel that he had had his trouble for nothing, quietly donned her wraps and went herself, although she felt far from equal to the effort after the contest with her sister-in-law, and there was a look of care on her fair face that Dr. Winthrop would not have liked to see.
But she felt better on her return, and her heart was lightened somewhat by finding awaiting her a cable message, telling of her husband’s safe arrival in Liverpool, and stating that a letter was on its way to her.
The daily bulletins from Norman Winthrop, previous to this, had not been of an encouraging nature, for Mr. Winthrop was reported as being very low.
Every steamer after that brought letters from her dear one, and Salome’s spirits arose.
“I will not be disheartened,” she said, after reading one of those precious missives; “I will do my very best, try to be patient, and these trials will all be over in a little while.”
In spite of the care which had fallen so heavily upon her since Dr. Winthrop’s departure, and the continual irritation and anxiety to which she was subjected, she was growing stronger with every day and gaining flesh, and even a little color, which, previous to her illness, had never been natural to her.
But with all her sweetness and self-denial—with all her patience and ceaseless efforts to please—she found it impossible to win the slightest affection from either Madame Winthrop or her daughter.
Several times they had attempted to “pump her,” as Evelyn termed it, regarding her family and her previous life; but Salome, feeling that her first confidence should be given to her husband, adroitly evaded their questions and they learned nothing.
This so angered them that they neglected no opportunity to make her feel that they regarded her as an intruder in the family. They never accompanied her anywhere in public—they never invited her to ride, or to go anywhere with them. If they had callers, she was never asked to meet them, nor did they introduce her to any one.
One day, not knowing that Evelyn had a friend calling upon her, Salome chanced to go into the drawing-room to get a book which she had left there; but on perceiving there was a stranger there, she stopped on the threshold and excused herself.
Evelyn simply stared at her with a frown, and she retreated, feeling like an intruder in her own home.
She heard the visitor exclaim, as she passed out of sight:
“Why, Evelyn, who was that beautiful girl?”
Miss Winthrop made some low-voiced reply, which Salome did not catch, and the other voice responded, in a tone of surprise:
“What a pity! She is far too pretty to be a common seamstress!” and Salome knew that her position was repudiated—that people who called upon her husband’s mother and sister were not allowed to know that Dr. Winthrop had a wife.
What their object could be in thus trying to conceal the fact, she could not understand, but she felt bitterly hurt and humiliated, and her spirit rose in rebellion against such treatment.
“It is outrageous!” she said, with blazing eyes and burning cheek, as she sped up to her own room, “and I will not submit to being so ignored. I will do my best to get so strong and well before True gets home, that he will take me into society and introduce me to these very people from whom they seem to be so anxious to keep the truth.”
But she was naturally so sweet-tempered, that these feelings were soon resolutely conquered, and she continued to exert herself to be as kind and agreeable as possible to her guests.
The next morning she was bitterly disappointed not to receive her usual letter, by the steamer that had just arrived. She feared that Mr. Winthrop must be worse, and her husband had not been able to find time to write as usual.
“I shall surely get one by the next steamer,” she said, and then, to divert her mind from her disappointment, she went for a drive and to do a little shopping.
She made her purchases, and, after wandering about to look at the attractive display in the store, was slowly making her way to the entrance, where her carriage waited, when some one touched her on the arm.
She turned to see who had accosted her thus, and instantly her face blanched.
A tall, awkward, powerful-looking man was standing beside her and gazing down upon her, a sinister smile of triumph lighting his coarse but not altogether ill-favored face.
“Well, pretty one, you didn’t expect to met an old friend in the midst of this busy city, did you?” he asked, in loud resonant tones, which, it seemed to Salome’s terrified ears, everybody about her must hear.
She was so taken aback by this unexpected encounter that she could neither speak nor move for a moment, and the man continued, as if he enjoyed the situation:
“’Pears to me you’re a good way from home, Miss Salome, and you’ve been gone quite a while too. You see I heard that you’d skipped, and I rather imagined that you’d turn up some day in one of these big cities.”
Salome had begun to recover herself somewhat during this speech, and answered, with cold dignity:
“I do not know that I am accountable to you for my movements. Allow me to pass, if you please.”
He had placed himself directly in her path, and did not offer to move at her request.
“Well, well,” he said, the sinister smile still upon his lips, “this is rather curt treatment for such an old friend as I am; having known you for so many years I naturally feel an interest in you, and you might be a little more civil to me, my dear.”
Salome did not deign a reply, but, watching her opportunity, availed herself of a fortunate opening in the crowd of comers and goers, glided swiftly out of the store, and sped across the sidewalk to her carriage.
Dick, who was devoted to his fair young mistress, saw that something was the matter with her, for her face was still pale, and had the door open for her by the time she reached the coupé. She was securely shut within it before the man who had accosted her could make his way out of the store.
“Home! home! as quickly as you can!” panted Salome, as she sank back among the cushions, but not before she had caught a glimpse of a leering face and a pair of triumphant eyes that had been keen enough to spot her before she could get out of sight.
Salome would have been even more disturbed if she had known that her meeting with this strange man had been observed by Evelyn Winthrop.
But such was the case.
Her attention had first been attracted by the resonant tone in which he had addressed Salome, and turning, she had been startled by the sight of the girl’s pallid face. She drew a little back, so as not to be seen by her, and watched and listened.
She understood at once that this man was acquainted with Salome’s past life; that this unexpected encounter terrified her, for some reason; and she determined to avail herself of this discovery, to learn, if possible, the history of her brother’s wife.
There was evidently some secret connected with her past which she was very anxious to preserve; her home, too, had been, she judged, in some distant portion of the country, and the girl, for some reason, had fled from it, and was terrified and dismayed to meet one whom she had formerly known.
She followed the man as he followed Salome, and when he turned back again, after having watched her carriage out of sight, she quietly remarked:
“So you are acquainted with that person, sir. Will you be kind enough to tell me her name?”
“Well, now,” he shrewdly returned, as he eyed his fair questioner from head to foot, “perhaps she might have some objections to my giving you the information you desire.”
“Why?” Evelyn demanded, with more eagerness than she was aware of.
“Hum! well, for one reason, as you heard me tell her, she’s a good ways from home, and—for certain other reasons—perhaps she isn’t known down here in New York by the same name she was in—well, when she was at home with her folks.”
Evelyn flushed; she had not supposed that the man knew she had been watching them, but it was evident he did.
“But I particularly wish to know who she is; perhaps I could make it an object to you to tell me,” she returned, as she glanced down at the costly and well-filled purse in her hand.
“Perhaps you could,” he answered placidly but indifferently, following her glance, “maybe you could tell me where the lady lives, she appears to be pretty well fixed, judging from the carriage that she popped into so suddenly and the pretty ring she had on.”
“No. I cannot tell you that,” Miss Winthrop returned, without the flutter of an eyelid over the untruth; for she had no idea of having this country boor coming to her brother’s house to annoy her, “but—I have met her a number of times, and there seems to be some mystery about her that aroused my curiosity,” she continued, in a confidential tone. “She calls herself Salome Howland; is that her real name?”
The man laughed a silent, amused, internal laugh that shook his broad shoulders visibly. Whether he was amused over her curiosity, or over something connected with Salome, she could not determine.
“I can answer for Salome, but Howland, I won’t be quite so sure about,” he said, after a moment.
“Then Howland is an assumed name?” said Miss Winthrop eagerly.
“Assumed? Hum! Well, it may belong to her for aught I know; but——”
“It isn’t her real surname—that’s what you mean,” supplemented Evelyn as he broke off tantalizingly.
“Well, now, I don’t think it would be just square to give an old friend away, do you?” he questioned evasively. “If she calls herself Salome Howland let her go so—it can’t harm anybody, I’m sure.”
Evelyn saw that it would be useless to press that matter any further, so she turned her artillery in another direction.
“You said she was a good way from home; where did she live?” she inquired.
“Well, it wasn’t Boston, and it wasn’t in San Francisco; maybe it was somewhere between the two, and maybe it wasn’t,” was the provoking reply.
“Stay!” commanded Miss Winthrop haughtily. “I do not wish to bandy words with you; I simply want to know who the girl is—her true name and history. If you can and will give me the information I desire, I will pay you well for it—you may make your own terms. If you will not, upon any terms, there is no more to be said about the matter.”
“Hum! make my own terms, may I? That’s pretty liberal, and you seem to be quite anxious about the girl’s history, it seems to me,” her companion returned, as he searched her face keenly. “Now, I’d give considerable to know where I could find her; suppose you give me her address. I’ll tell you her history and we’ll call it square.”
The proud Miss Winthrop shivered at the thought of having this coarse creature demanding entrance to her brother’s residence, and compliance with his condition was not to be thought of for a moment.
That he was in some way connected with Salome’s past, and most unpleasantly so, she could not doubt, after observing her sudden pallor and terror upon meeting him and her evident desire to escape from his presence, and she was consumed with curiosity to learn the secret of it all. She would cheerfully have paid a large sum to accomplish her object; but to have her brother’s home invaded by such a person, while she was an inmate there, was more than her proud spirit could brook.
“I told you that I could not give you her address,” she coldly replied, “but,” a cunning thought coming to her, “if you will oblige me I might try and ascertain it for you.”
“All right,” the man answered briskly, a shrewd twinkle in his small eyes. “When you find out, just say on a postal where I can meet you—my name is W. H. Brown, and I’m stopping at the Howard—and we’ll exchange confidences.”
Miss Winthrop flushed to her brows at this cool proposition.
She, one of New York’s darling “four hundred,” asked to make an engagement at the Howard with such a creature!
She could have smitten him in the face for daring to propose such a thing, and if a look could have annihilated him, the angry glance which she shot at him would have withered him at once.
His _sang froid_, his presumption, his insolence, astounded her.
Still she was very curious regarding the mystery which surrounded Salome, so she put a curb upon her rage and said earnestly:
“Tell me one thing—there is some mystery—something connected with the girl that is not quite open and above board, isn’t there?”
“Well, miss, how strange that you should have imagined that!” the man began, a broad grin on his face, an irritating drawl in his tone.
“She, perhaps, ran away from her home for some reason, and has been living under the assumed name of Howland since her flight,” Evelyn went on, without appearing to heed him, and determined to have her say out.
He laughed mockingly.
“You’re pretty keen, miss, but guessing at a question isn’t the safest way to settle it,” he retorted. “I always like to oblige a lady, and particularly one so handsome and clever as you appear to be; but I guess we’ll stick to the first proposition. When I get the girl’s address, I’ll shell out about the mystery, as you put it. Remember, W. H. Brown, Howard House. I’m going to be there for the next three weeks.”
He turned abruptly on his heel as he ceased speaking and walked away, leaving Evelyn Winthrop crimson with mortification, anger, and baffled curiosity.
“Does the vulgar creature imagine that I would stoop to make an appointment with him?” she muttered wrathfully, but without remembering that she had already tried to bribe him to give her the information she desired. “However,” she added, with a malicious smile, “I have learned enough to convince me that there is some disgraceful mystery connected with Salome. I am going directly home to acquaint mamma with what I have heard and seen, and she will decide what will be best to do about it. If that girl is some low impostor, as I fear, we must manage some way to get rid of her.”