CHAPTER XXXIII. RECOLLECTIONS OF ST. DOMINGO.
The night was oppressively hot. Finding it impossible to sleep, Francinelay quietly in her bed, thinking. The subject of her reflections was aperson who occupied the humble position of her new servant.
Mrs. Ellmother looked wretchedly ill. Mrs. Ellmother had told Emily thather object, in returning to domestic service, was to try if change wouldrelieve her from the oppression of her own thoughts. Mrs. Ellmotherbelieved in vulgar superstitions which declared Friday to be an unluckyday; and which recommended throwing a pinch over your left shoulder, ifyou happened to spill the salt.
In themselves, these were trifling recollections. But they assumed acertain importance, derived from the associations which they calledforth.
They reminded Francine, by some mental process which she was at a lossto trace, of Sappho the slave, and of her life at St. Domingo.
She struck a light, and unlocked her writing desk. From one of thedrawers she took out an old household account-book.
The first page contained some entries, relating to domestic expenses, inher own handwriting. They recalled one of her efforts to occupy her idletime, by relieving her mother of the cares of housekeeping. For a day ortwo, she had persevered--and then she had ceased to feel any interest inher new employment. The remainder of the book was completely filledup, in a beautifully clear handwriting, beginning on the second page. Atitle had been found for the manuscript by Francine. She had written atthe top of the page: _Sappho's Nonsense_.
After reading the first few sentences she rapidly turned over theleaves, and stopped at a blank space near the end of the book. Hereagain she had added a title. This time it implied a compliment to thewriter: the page was headed: _Sappho's Sense_.
She read this latter part of the manuscript with the closest attention.
"I entreat my kind and dear young mistress not to suppose that I believein witchcraft--after such an education as I have received. When I wrotedown, at your biding, all that I had told you by word of mouth, I cannotimagine what delusion possessed me. You say I have a negro side tomy character, which I inherit from my mother. Did you mean this, dearmistress, as a joke? I am almost afraid it is sometimes not far off fromthe truth.
"Let me be careful, however, to avoid leading you into a mistake. It isreally true that the man-slave I spoke of did pine and die, after thespell had been cast on him by my witch-mother's image of wax. But Iought also to have told you that circumstances favored the working ofthe spell: the fatal end was not brought about by supernatural means.
"The poor wretch was not in good health at the time; and our owner hadoccasion to employ him in the valley of the island far inland. I havebeen told, and can well believe, that the climate there is differentfrom the climate on the coast--in which the unfortunate slave had beenaccustomed to live. The overseer wouldn't believe him when he said thevalley air would be his death--and the negroes, who might otherwise havehelped him, all avoided a man whom they knew to be under a spell.
"This, you see, accounts for what might appear incredible to civilizedpersons. If you will do me a favor, you will burn this little book, assoon as you have read what I have written here. If my request is notgranted, I can only implore you to let no eyes but your own see thesepages. My life might be in danger if the blacks knew what I have nowtold you, in the interests of truth."
Francine closed the book, and locked it up again in her desk. "Now Iknow," she said to herself, "what reminded me of St. Domingo."
When Francine rang her bell the next morning, so long a time elapsedwithout producing an answer that she began to think of sending one ofthe house-servants to make inquiries. Before she could decide, Mrs.Ellmother presented herself, and offered her apologies.
"It's the first time I have overslept myself, miss, since I was a girl.Please to excuse me, it shan't happen again."
"Do you find that the air here makes you drowsy?" Francine asked.
Mrs. Ellmother shook her head. "I didn't get to sleep," she said,"till morning, and so I was too heavy to be up in time. But air has gotnothing to do with it. Gentlefolks may have their whims and fancies. Allair is the same to people like me."
"You enjoy good health, Mrs. Ellmother?"
"Why not, miss? I have never had a doctor."
"Oh! That's your opinion of doctors, is it?"
"I won't have anything to do with them--if that's what you mean by myopinion," Mrs. Ellmother answered doggedly. "How will you have your hairdone?"
"The same as yesterday. Have you seen anything of Miss Emily? She wentback to London the day after you left us."
"I haven't been in London. I'm thankful to say my lodgings are let to agood tenant."
"Then where have you lived, while you were waiting to come here?"
"I had only one place to go to, miss; I went to the village where I wasborn. A friend found a corner for me. Ah, dear heart, it's a pleasantplace, there!"
"A place like this?"
"Lord help you! As little like this as chalk is to cheese. A fine bigmoor, miss, in Cumberland, without a tree in sight--look where you may.Something like a wind, I can tell you, when it takes to blowing there."
"Have you never been in this part of the country?"
"Not I! When I left the North, my new mistress took me to Canada. Talkabout air! If there was anything in it, the people in _that_ air oughtto live to be a hundred. I liked Canada."
"And who was your next mistress?"
Thus far, Mrs. Ellmother had been ready enough to talk. Had she failedto hear what Francine had just said to her? or had she some reason forfeeling reluctant to answer? In any case, a spirit of taciturnity tooksudden possession of her--she was silent.
Francine (as usual) persisted. "Was your next place in service with MissEmily's aunt?"
"Yes."
"Did the old lady always live in London?"
"No."
"What part of the country did she live in?"
"Kent."
"Among the hop gardens?"
"No."
"In what other part, then?"
"Isle of Thanet."
"Near the sea coast?"
"Yes."
Even Francine could insist no longer: Mrs. Ellmother's reserve hadbeaten her--for that day at least. "Go into the hall," she said, "andsee if there are any letters for me in the rack."
There was a letter bearing the Swiss postmark. Simple Cecilia wasflattered and delighted by the charming manner in which Francine hadwritten to her. She looked forward with impatience to the time whentheir present acquaintance might ripen into friendship. Would "DearMiss de Sor" waive all ceremony, and consent to be a guest (later in theautumn) at her father's house? Circumstances connected with her sister'shealth would delay their return to England for a little while. By theend of the month she hoped to be at home again, and to hear if Francinewas disengaged. Her address, in England, was Monksmoor Park, Hants.
Having read the letter, Francine drew a moral from it: "There is greatuse in a fool, when one knows how to manage her."
Having little appetite for her breakfast, she tried the experiment of awalk on the terrace. Alban Morris was right; the air at Netherwoods, inthe summer time, _was_ relaxing. The morning mist still hung over thelowest part of the valley, between the village and the hills beyond. Alittle exercise produced a feeling of fatigue. Francine returned to herroom, and trifled with her tea and toast.
Her next proceeding was to open her writing-desk, and look into the oldaccount-book once more. While it lay open on her lap, she recalled whathad passed that morning, between Mrs. Ellmother and herself.
The old woman had been born and bred in the North, on an open moor. Shehad been removed to the keen air of Canada when she left her birthplace.She had been in service after that, on the breezy eastward coast ofKent. Would the change to the climate of Netherwoods produce any effecton Mrs. Ellmother? At her age, and with her seasoned constitution, wouldshe feel it as those school-girls had felt it--especially that one amongthem
, who lived in the bracing air of the North, the air of Yorkshire?
Weary of solitary thinking on one subject, Francine returned to theterrace with a vague idea of finding something to amuse her--that is tosay, something she could turn into ridicule--if she joined the girls.
The next morning, Mrs. Ellmother answered her mistress's bell withoutdelay. "You have slept better, this time?" Francine said.
"No, miss. When I did get to sleep I was troubled by dreams. Another badnight--and no mistake!"
"I suspect your mind is not quite at ease," Francine suggested.
"Why do you suspect that, if you please?"
"You talked, when I met you at Miss Emily's, of wanting to get away fromyour own thoughts. Has the change to this place helped you?"
"It hasn't helped me as I expected. Some people's thoughts stick fast."
"Remorseful thoughts?" Francine inquired.
Mrs. Ellmother held up her forefinger, and shook it with a gesture ofreproof. "I thought we agreed, miss, that there was to be no pumping."
The business of the toilet proceeded in silence.
A week passed. During an interval in the labors of the school, Miss Laddknocked at the door of Francine's room.
"I want to speak to you, my dear, about Mrs. Ellmother. Have you noticedthat she doesn't seem to be in good health?"
"She looks rather pale, Miss Ladd."
"It's more serious than that, Francine. The servants tell me that shehas hardly any appetite. She herself acknowledges that she sleeps badly.I noticed her yesterday evening in the garden, under the schoolroomwindow. One of the girls dropped a dictionary. She started at thatslight noise, as if it terrified her. Her nerves are seriously out oforder. Can you prevail upon her to see the doctor?"
Francine hesitated--and made an excuse. "I think she would be much morelikely, Miss Ladd, to listen to you. Do you mind speaking to her?"
"Certainly not!"
Mrs. Ellmother was immediately sent for. "What is your pleasure, miss?"she said to Francine.
Miss Ladd interposed. "It is I who wish to speak to you, Mrs. Ellmother.For some days past, I have been sorry to see you looking ill."
"I never was ill in my life, ma'am."
Miss Ladd gently persisted. "I hear that you have lost your appetite."
"I never was a great eater, ma'am."
It was evidently useless to risk any further allusion to Mrs.Ellmother's symptoms. Miss Ladd tried another method of persuasion."I daresay I may be mistaken," she said; "but I do really feel anxiousabout you. To set my mind at rest, will you see the doctor?"
"The doctor! Do you think I'm going to begin taking physic, at my timeof life? Lord, ma'am! you amuse me--you do indeed!" She burst into asudden fit of laughter; the hysterical laughter which is on the verge oftears. With a desperate effort, she controlled herself. "Please, don'tmake a fool of me again," she said--and left the room.
"What do you think now?" Miss Ladd asked.
Francine appeared to be still on her guard.
"I don't know what to think," she said evasively.
Miss Ladd looked at her in silent surprise, and withdrew.
Left by herself, Francine sat with her elbows on the table and her facein her hands, absorbed in thought. After a long interval, she opened herdesk--and hesitated. She took a sheet of note-paper--and paused, asif still in doubt. She snatched up her pen, with a sudden recovery ofresolution--and addressed these lines to the wife of her father's agentin London:
"When I was placed under your care, on the night of my arrival fromthe West Indies, you kindly said I might ask you for any little servicewhich might be within your power. I shall be greatly obliged if you canobtain for me, and send to this place, a supply of artists' modelingwax--sufficient for the product ion of a small image."