CHAPTER XXVI.
SALOME LEARNS A BIT OF MISS LEONARD’S HISTORY.
“And what are the wages to be, if you please, marm?” Miss Leonard continued in the same strain, but with a chuckle of appreciation that was not lost upon Salome.
Salome colored slightly, then with grave courtesy she said:
“Really, madam, I had not thought much about the question of remuneration. Let me tell you frankly that I am alone in the world, and I care more for the protection of a home and something to occupy my time and thoughts than for money. I shall be satisfied, I hope, with whatever you may honestly consider my services worth after you have given me a trial.”
“Really! Are you some princess in disguise that you are so indifferent?” sneered her companion, while she eyed her sharply, as if she distrusted her motives in making this unusual reply; for heretofore she had found applicants greedy enough in the matter of wages.
“No, madam,” Salome quietly responded, though her eyes blazed a trifle at the rudeness of the question. “I am only a poor girl without home or friends.”
“Humph! It seems to me it’s a queer arrangement,” was the short retort; then, after a moment’s thought, she added: “But I’m going to take you at your word. You shall come to me, and we’ll say nothing about pay until you’ve been here a month.”
“Very well; I accept that proposition,” said Salome pleasantly, and with no anxiety about what she should receive, for she still had money in her purse—more than enough for a month’s needs.
She felt attracted toward this woman, in spite of her eccentricities, and she believed that, with the exercise of a little tact, she would have no difficulty in living amicably with her, and might, perhaps, even help to smooth off some of her rough corners.
“All right; but I shall want you immediately,” said Miss Leonard imperiously.
“I am at liberty, and can come to you whenever you wish,” Salome answered.
“This afternoon, then, at four o’clock,” was the brief command of her new employer.
She rang a bell as she spoke, and the servant who had ushered Salome in immediately made her appearance.
“Harriet, show Miss Howland out; then come back and get my writing-desk for me,” said her mistress.
She waved her hand authoritatively, and Salome felt herself dismissed without further ceremony.
She bowed politely, as she turned to leave the room, but though her salute was not returned, she caught sight of the quizzical smile that wreathed the strange woman’s lips as she went out.
“Well, did you suit her?” asked the girl, as they were on their way downstairs.
Salome laughed out softly.
“I am afraid that would be a hard question to answer,” she said. “However, I am coming to stay with her on trial for a month.”
“If she keeps you, and you can stand it, for a month, you’ll stay longer,” returned Harriet. Then she added kindly: “Let me give you a bit of advice, young woman. You see, I like your looks, and I think it might be pleasant to have you in the house. Just make up your mind that Miss Leonard is the crankiest old woman you ever saw, and lay in an abundant stock of patience for your month of trial—and it will be trial, you may depend. If you can endure her whims for that length of time, she’ll gradually come around all right, you’ll learn how to manage her, and you’ll have no great trouble afterward.”
“Thank you; I will remember what you tell me,” Salome said gratefully. “Now, please, tell me what I shall call you?”
“Harriet’s my name—Harriet Winter.”
“And mine is Salome Howland. I hope we shall be good friends, Harriet,” the young girl said, smiling, and holding out her hand to her fellow-servant, and from that moment Miss Leonard’s maid was her sworn ally.
Salome had her dinner, after which she made some needful purchases, which she put into a small trunk, and ordered the whole sent by express to Miss Leonard’s residence.
Then, having a couple of hours at her disposal, she slipped into a gallery to look at some new pictures which had been advertised as on exhibition.
They were in an upper room; finding a comfortable seat, she sat down to examine them at her leisure.
She had been there alone for, perhaps, half an hour, when two ladies entered and sat down behind her.
They conversed for a few moments; then one of them suddenly exclaimed:
“Mrs. Rogers, do look at that portrait in the corner—whom does it resemble? Do you see a likeness to any one whom you know?”
“Well, I should say it looks as much like Miss Polly Leonard as any one,” was the reply.
“Exactly. There is the same parchment-colored face; the same shrewd, malicious eyes and grim mouth; while the prim, starched figure is almost identical. By the way, isn’t she the queerest specimen of humanity that you have ever met?”
“She is peculiar, Mrs. Allison; but, poor woman! I can hardly wonder at it, for she has had trouble enough during her life to make her so,” was the pitiful reply of Mrs. Rogers.
It was very strange, Salome thought, that the very woman with whom she was going to live should be thus discussed in her presence.
At first she thought she would go away, for she was sensitive about listening to a conversation like this.
Then she reasoned that the ladies must have seen her, and must know that she could hear all that was said, and if they did not think it worth their while to be cautious in their remarks it was no affair of hers, while she might possibly learn something about her patron that would aid in her future service, if she remained; so she sat still and waited with increasing interest for further developments.
“I suppose she has,” the lady who had been called Mrs. Allison replied; “at least, I have heard that she was disappointed in love when she was young, and it completely changed her disposition. Do you know her history?”
“Yes, and a very sad one it is, too,” Mrs. Rogers returned. “She was engaged to a fine young fellow and they were about to be married. She was living in Washington at that time; the day was set for the wedding, and she had everything ready, even to her veil and gloves. Her lover was an Eastern man—a native of Massachusetts—but he was in Washington for several weeks preceding the date set for their marriage. They had a bitter quarrel over something one evening at some private theatricals, and the match was broken off. Of course it broke the girl’s heart, and it came out later that some people, who had a petty spite against her, for some unknown reason, had influenced her betrothed against her, misrepresenting her character and disposition with the sole purpose of breaking off the marriage. It changed Miss Leonard from a bright, lovely, and fascinating girl into a wretched, revengeful woman—a despiser of all men—a hater of her own sex. Soon after she lost her father and mother, then a little later her only sister, and that left her without a relative in the world, though with a large fortune at her disposal, and she might have made a brilliant marriage. But her troubles, instead of chastening her, only served to increase the bitterness; she seemed to imagine every one her enemy, and so made herself everybody’s enemy. She left Washington soon after the death of her sister, and came to New York, where she secluded herself from all society. She bought and furnished that beautiful house on Thirty-ninth Street, where she has lived alone with her servants ever since. I have heard that she leads them a terrible life, and can keep no one with her very long, but her maid, Harriet, who seems to know just how to manage her, and has been with her for ten years. She is so exceedingly antagonistic she has very few friends, and yet I have heard that there is kindness in her heart, if any one can but once get down to it. I have heard that she is very generous, and has secretly done a great deal of good among the poor.”
“How much do you imagine she is worth?” Mrs. Allison inquired.
“I have no idea—a great deal, I have been told; while, living as she does, she cannot of course spend her income, so it must be accumulating.”
“What will become of it when she gets through with it?”
“That is another subject which excites considerable comment,” replied Mrs. Rogers. “She is so peculiar, she will probably make some exceedingly eccentric disposal of it; perhaps she will found an institution for the advancement of some strange whim.”
“Well, she is truly a pitiable object, for of course, with her peculiarities, there are not many, if any, who love her, and life, without love, is not worth living,” sighed Mrs. Allison. Then she added, “You called her Miss Polly Leonard, is that really her name?”
“No; she is Miss Pauline Leonard, but I suspect that she has been so queer that the Pauline has degenerated into Polly through the spite of her enemies. But,” looking at her watch, “I have an appointment with my dressmaker, and I must go at once.”
The two ladies rose and passed out, but Salome still sat there and wiped away the tears which had been quietly flowing down her cheeks during the above recital. Her heart was full of sympathy and tenderness for the poor woman whose life had been warped and blighted by the spite of evil-disposed persons.
“I am glad that I have heard her history,” she murmured, “for I know it will help me to have patience with her, and pity for her moods. I am going to try to make her life a little brighter, poor, poor woman! Who can tell what possibilities were destroyed when those revengeful people sought to ruin her happiness—she might have been a loving wife, a noble mother, and the world a great deal better for her influence. Those women will have a great deal to answer for by and by; but I believe my coming here this afternoon was providential.”
Precisely at four o’clock, Salome rang the bell at the door of her new home, and was soon admitted by the good-natured Harriet.
“You’re on time, Miss Howland, and that will please Miss Leonard—though you’ll never know it from her,” she remarked. “I am to show you to your room—your trunk is already there—and then you’re to have dinner with the mistress.”
Salome followed Harriet up two flights of stairs to a pleasant room directly over the one where she had met Miss Leonard in the morning. It was comfortably furnished, and had a home-like air that was very restful and satisfying to her.
She removed her wraps, rearranged her hair, then tied a pretty white apron about her waist, and was ready to go down to the second story, where she found Harriet just going to her mistress, and at a signal from her followed her into the room.
Miss Leonard did not pay the slightest heed to her, until she had given her orders to Harriet, and dismissed her; then, in an extremely matter-of-fact manner, as if the girl had already been there a month, she remarked:
“The leaves of this new magazine are waiting to be cut, Miss Howland, and by the time you have finished, dinner will be served. Afterward I shall want you to make out a list for some shopping that must be done to-morrow.”
Salome sat down in a low rocker near Miss Leonard, and began to cut the leaves of the book with an exquisite paper-cutter of solid silver, and thus entered upon her duties as companion to the most peculiar character she had ever met.
When dinner was announced, she followed to the dining-room, and took the seat opposite her. Harriet was present to wait. Everything about the table was rich and elegant, and arranged in the most perfect manner, while the numerous courses plainly indicated that Miss Leonard was not indifferent to luxuries, even if she did live the life of a recluse.
The meal was somewhat tedious, for Miss Leonard did not seem inclined to be social, and Salome did not feel at liberty to introduce any topic for conversation; but it was over at last, and they went to the library, where Salome was required to make out the list for shopping.
Then she was sent for the magazine, which she had made ready before dinner, and for nearly two hours she read aloud, beginning with the first article, and reading everything in course. Evidently Miss Leonard intended to get her money’s worth out of her periodicals, for she would allow nothing to be skipped, and she was a tireless listener, taking in everything, as the quick glancing of her intelligent eyes and the varying expression of her face plainly betrayed.
“Do you play backgammon?” she abruptly asked, as Salome finished a long article on ancient architecture.
“Yes,” she answered, she knew both the Russian and the common games.
“Then wheel that little table over here, and we’ll play for a while before we go to bed,” Miss Leonard commanded, and for another hour not much was heard but the rattle of dice and the moving of men.
At half-past nine, Miss Leonard pushed back her chair and asked Salome to ring the bell for Harriet.
“Now you can go to bed if you want to,” she said, “but we have breakfast promptly at eight o’clock.”
Salome experienced a feeling of relief, on learning that her duties would not begin until that time, and told herself that, by rising early, she would have at least two hours for work or study, as she chose.
She bade Miss Leonard a pleasant good-night, remarking that she hoped she would rest well.
“Humph! what is it to you whether I rest well or not?” bluntly demanded her patron, while she searched her face with her keen black eyes.
Salome looked up surprised.
“Why,” she answered sweetly, “in my own home I was taught to take leave of my parents when I retired, and to say something pleasant and courteous before leaving them; and truly, Miss Leonard, I do hope that you may have a comfortable night. Is there anything that I can do for you before I go?”
“No, child, no. Good-night,” Miss Leonard returned, in a mollified tone, while a slight flush for a moment intensified the sallowness of her face; then, as Harriet came, Salome went away to her own room.
“What do you think of her, Harriet?” Miss Leonard demanded of her maid, when, a few moments later, she was herself preparing to retire.
“She seems like a nice kind of person, pleasant-spoken and good-natured,” the girl responded.
“Humph! she isn’t what she seems, by a good deal,” curtly observed her mistress.
“Marm?” and Harriet looked surprised.
“She never was brought up to work for her living; she was reared a lady,” explained Miss Leonard.
“So I thought, marm,” quietly observed the maid, but with an enlightened smile.
“Oh, you did, did you? Pray what caused you to arrive at such an astute conclusion?” sarcastically demanded her mistress.
“Well, marm, as you know, I’ve served gentlefolks ever since I was a girl, and I can tell a lady after I’ve seen her eat one meal, let alone her other manners.”
“Really!”
“Yes’m,” asserted Harriet, in nowise daunted by her mistress’ mocking tone; “they’ll always show at table whether they’ve been served and taught genteel manners, and Miss Howland never once made a mistake at dinner.”
“Don’t you suppose I know it as well as you?” snapped the elder woman. “There, turn out the gas and then go; but you may tell cook to make coffee in the morning—it isn’t likely the girl is fond of that weak cocoa that I have to drink.”
Harriet quietly obeyed her orders, and then softly withdrew from the room, smiling wisely to herself at this evidence of Miss Leonard’s appreciation of her new companion, for never before had she been known to give an order independent of her own interests.