CHAPTER XXX

SALOME BECOMES THE VICTIM OF A VILE SCHEME.

We have now filled the gap between the time of Salome’s disappearance from her husband’s home, and the day when Mrs. Rochester and her daughter discovered her identity, upon removing her disguise when she fainted in the hall outside their door.

After her second swoon in their room, she revived only to be seized with a fierce fever, and it became evident that she must now pay the penalty of her recent overwork—that weary nature demanded rest and would have it.

Mrs. and Miss Rochester were dismayed when they found that the girl was going to be sick on their hands.

“What shall we do with her?” the latter asked of her mother, when they found that she was too ill to be moved, and had become so delirious that it would be impossible to conceal her identity if any one were admitted to their rooms.

“There is only one thing that can be done at present,” Mrs. Rochester remarked, after a few moments of thought: “you must take her place, and wait upon Dr. Winthrop, while I look after her.”

“Can’t we send her to some hospital?” questioned Miss Rochester, with a frown.

“I shouldn’t dare to have her moved while she is so ill, she might die——”

“If she would be so accommodating it would smooth things wonderfully for us,” interposed the younger woman heartlessly.

Mrs. Rochester flushed. Some such thought had been in her own mind, but she had shrunk from giving expression to it.

“She may die with the best of care,” she said, “but I’m not quite callous enough, yet, to wish to hasten such a result, and so we shall have to manage as best we can until she is able to be moved.”

“I am willing enough to take her place in attending Dr. Winthrop,” returned Miss Rochester, “but I am afraid that he will insist upon prescribing for her if he learns that she is ill.”

“We must not let him know that she is in the house,” her mother returned; “we will tell him that she was taken suddenly ill, and had to be removed to the convent to be cared for.”

“But can we keep her presence here a secret?”

“Yes, easily enough, if we are cautious. Your chamber, fortunately, leads from mine, and there is no other way of reaching it, except by passing through these two rooms. We can keep her there, you can sleep with me, and no one will be the wiser for her presence. I only hope she will not be ill long, and just as soon as she is able to be moved, we will post her off to some place where she will give us no further trouble. I think it is fortunate that she has fallen into our hands in this way,” she added thoughtfully; “she might have had this attack in the doctor’s rooms, and thus betrayed herself to him—you know what the result would have been in that case. I am thankful, too, that madam and Evelyn are away, and know nothing of the affair.”

So Salome was put to bed in Miss Rochester’s room, which was the end one of a suite of three, and remote from the living rooms of the villa, and also from the young physician’s apartments, and Mrs. Rochester devoted herself to the care of her.

Miss Rochester reported to Dr. Winthrop that Sister Angela, fearing she was going to be seriously ill, had insisted upon returning at once to the convent, where she would have every needful care and attention.

The young man was very much disturbed.

“She has worn herself out taking care of me. I should have let her go last week when she suggested it,” he said regretfully. Then he added reproachfully, “Why did you not call me when she fainted?—I might have given her something to help her immediately.”

“Oh, mamma would not listen to such a proposition—she said you were not strong enough yet to be troubled; besides, she thought she could do everything that was necessary,” answered this glib romancer without the slightest change of color.

“Poor Sister Angela!” sighed Dr. Winthrop. “There was something very sweet about her, in spite of her ugly dress. I never saw a gentler or more efficient nurse—we all owe her more than we can ever repay, I shall miss her sadly.”

“I hope you will allow me to take her place as far as I can,” Miss Rochester sweetly remarked, and bestowing an appealing glance upon the interesting invalid.

“Thank you,” the young man replied. “I suppose I am really able to be without a nurse, although I am not very strong yet, and Norman will be back as soon as he has seen my mother and Evelyn comfortably settled—he ought to be here, I think, by this time to-morrow.”

He seemed very anxious, and questioned the girl closely regarding Sister Angela’s attack. But though she made as light of it as possible, and exerted herself to amuse and interest him, he was grave and depressed during the remainder of the day.

He did not feel comfortable, either, to have Miss Rochester wait upon him—it seemed too much like assuming that she had a special interest and right in him, and he could not help recalling that unlucky episode in Paris, which had been witnessed by Mrs. Rochester, and so misconstrued. He felt that she had placed and was continuing to place him by these attentions, in a false position.

He was therefore thankful enough when his brother made his appearance the next day and relieved her of her self-imposed task.

Miss Rochester herself appeared to be in better spirits after Norman’s return, for in spite of the fact that she was fully determined to marry his brother, she was secretly very deeply in love with him, and knew that his affection for her was even stronger.

With Mrs. Rochester confined to the sick-room of Salome, and Dr. Winthrop not yet able to be about the house, there was ample opportunity for these two to indulge their preference for the society of each other. Norman Winthrop really and truly loved the girl, and had determined to win her in spite of the contract that was so much talked about; but while Miss Rochester was steadfastly set upon securing the Rochester-Hamilton fortunes, she nevertheless craved excitement and amusement, and enjoyed coquetting with one who paid her such delightful compliments and who appeared so genuinely devoted to her.

Much of her time, after his return, was spent in roaming about the grounds of the chateau with him, greatly to her mother’s annoyance, but much to Dr. Winthrop’s relief and comfort, although he did not know how she was employing her time.

Salome was very ill for a week, but not delirious after the first day or two. She refused to have a physician, telling Mrs. Rochester that, if she would follow her directions, she could treat her well enough without one, since she had no local disease, and nature only required rest and some simple remedies to restore her to her normal condition.

Mrs. Rochester was only too glad to dispense with a doctor, for she knew that his regular visits would excite comment among the servants, since Dr. Winthrop did not now need assistance, and she was determined to keep the girl’s presence in the house a secret if she could possibly do so.

After the first week her fever subsided and she began to mend, and by the end of three weeks she said that she thought she was able to return to Paris.

“What are you going to do when you get well?” Mrs. Rochester asked, while they were talking the matter over.

“I intend to go back to my work in the hospitals, for the present,” Salome answered.

Mrs. Rochester did not like the idea of this, for if Dr. Winthrop should also resume his practice there was great danger that the two might be reunited, in spite of the fact that Salome did not seem to wish her identity discovered. If she could only get her to leave the country there would be no need of trying to carry out her dangerous scheme of shutting her up in some institution.

“You are not strong enough for nursing, Salome. Why don’t you go home to America?” she asked.

“Do you ask me that? Where should I find a home in America?” inquired Salome bitterly.

“You can go back to the old place and remain there, if you wish, until we return.”

“I do not wish to go back to the old place,” said Salome coldly.

“But it is not proper for you to remain in Paris alone; you are liable to get into trouble, going about by yourself,” returned Mrs. Rochester, somewhat impatiently at being thus opposed.

“I am not alone—I am at present under the protection of the gray sisters.”

“Do you intend to ally yourself with them permanently?”

“No; only as long as I can be especially useful in this emergency.”

“Perhaps you are seeking for a reconciliation with Dr. Winthrop—possibly you think you may yet win him to acknowledge you as his wife, or rather lure him to ratify that ceremony which occurred in Boston. Is that what you are here for?” demanded Mrs. Rochester, searching the young face opposite her with an eagle glance.

Salome flushed a vivid scarlet, and a look of anguish almost convulsed her features for a moment.

Then she said proudly:

“No, I could never wish any man to acknowledge me as his wife, who had once thrust me from his home—I did not even know that Dr. Winthrop was in Paris until I met him in the hospital.”

Mrs. Rochester’s face lighted.

“I am glad to know you are so sensible,” she said. “Of course, you could not expect him to acknowledge you after he had committed himself to another. Who is the Harriet Winter who came here to nurse us through your recommendation?” she continued, with some curiosity, for she had recognized the woman as an American, and wondered how she happened to be associated with Salome.

“She is a woman who came to Europe on the same steamer with me,” the young girl evasively answered.

“How is it you happen to be so friendly?—she seems a very common sort of person.”

“She is at least a true-hearted person,” Salome returned, with some warmth. “She was maid to a lady who recently died of cholera, and whom I nursed. She also was very ill, and I took care of her.”

Salome did not consider it needful to give further particulars regarding her relations with Miss Leonard or Harriet.

“Do you get paid for your services in the hospital?” queried Mrs. Rochester, wondering how she lived if she did not.

“No.”

“Then what supports you—how can you live?”

“I have sufficient for my needs,” Salome quietly responded.

“You are fortunate, truly,” sneered her companion, “though to be sure you must have been well paid for your services for this family, and—I will add something to that when you go away.”

“You offer to give money to me!” Salome cried, with blazing eyes.

The woman colored vividly, while her glance wavered before the almost fierce indignation of her companion, and Salome went on vehemently.

“I beg you will not add insult to injury. You have wronged me enough already; and now if you will provide me with a carriage I will leave for Paris immediately. I do not wish to remain here another hour.”

“Very well, you shall return to Paris, but not to-day; you shall go to-morrow. But you need not be so resentful, Salome; it is your own fault that you and I are not better friends. If you had only done as I wished——”

Salome lifted her hand with an imperative gesture, but her face was very pale.

“Never refer to that subject again,” she said; “the past is past, and it is useless to talk about it; and as for the lack of friendship between you and me, Heaven and your own conscience know whether it is your fault or mine. There are some other things, too, for which you may be called to account by and by.”

“What do you mean? You are not going to——” began Mrs. Rochester, in undisguised alarm.

“I do not know what I may be tempted to do if you goad me much further,” the almost desperate girl returned bitterly; “therefore I wish to get away from you as soon as possible.”

“Very well, you shall go to-morrow; I promise you that you shall go to-morrow,” Mrs. Rochester replied, but with a peculiar smile.

She left the room almost immediately, sought an interview with her daughter, whom she informed with much excitement of the conversation just narrated, after which she herself hastened with all possible dispatch to Paris.

Two hours later she might have been seen sitting in the gloomy reception-room of a celebrated “nervine” establishment of that city, engaged in confidential conversation with a middle-aged, rather prepossessing, but very stern and resolute-looking man.

“You say that the young lady, your daughter, is about twenty-three years of age?” he inquired, making a note upon some tablets which he held in his hand. “And her name is——”

“Salome.”

“Ah! Salome Rochester, like your own, madam?”

“Yes,” but madam flushed vividly as she thus replied.

“She has been ill, you say,” the gentleman continued, “her nerves are in a peculiar state—in fact, her mind is affected with strange ideas, which make it unsafe for her to be left to herself, and you desire to leave her in my care until you return from your travels, or—she is better?”

“Yes. The girl is possessed with the idea that she must go into the hospitals of the city as a nurse; she has assumed the dress of a gray nun, and declares this work is her mission—a most absurd fancy, I am sure you will agree when you see her in her present weakened state,” Mrs. Rochester volubly explained. “I am travelling with friends; we go to Rome very soon for the winter, and my plan is to leave her with you until—we return. I wish her to have the best of care, and all the privileges that are possible without infringing upon the rules of your establishment; but you are on no account to allow her to go away from here. I shall hold you responsible for her safety until I come to claim her.”

“We are willing to be so held, madam, for—the usual considerations,” the man returned, with the politest of bows; “that is a part of our business. When will madam bring the young lady?”

“To-morrow, but I do not know just how to arrange for her coming,” Mrs. Rochester said with a slight show of nervousness. “I certainly cannot accompany her, as she imagines that I have become her enemy,” and the lady wiped away an imaginary tear.

“Ah, it often occurs that people in her unfortunate condition, acquire sudden aversion to their best friends,” the learned doctor sympathetically remarked.

“And—and you may even find some difficulty about persuading her to enter this institution; she is very wilful at times, and cunning as well,” said his companion.

“I understand, madam, she is unconscious of her malady, and does not like to be governed; we will arrange everything to your satisfaction. We will send our own carriage for mademoiselle; there is an entrance to the institution that is like a private house; the driver will be ordered to stop just opposite and discover that a portion of the harness has suddenly given out, and must be repaired before the young lady can go on; she will be cordially invited to step inside during the delay, and—all the rest will be easily arranged. Does the little stratagem please madam?”

“Perfectly,” responded Mrs. Rochester, with a sigh of relief, as she arose to leave. “At what hour shall I expect the carriage?”

“Not until the cool of the evening. It is not well for an invalid to travel during the heat of the day, and it will be better that it should be dusk when mademoiselle arrives, lest her suspicions be aroused and we have trouble.”

“Very well; I leave it all with you,” Mrs. Rochester said, as she poured a handful of glittering gold coins into the doctor’s soft palm. Then she went away, well pleased with the success of her errand and congratulating herself that Salome was well disposed of, at least for the present; what future disposition should be made of her, she would have to decide later.