The Maid of Maiden Lane by Amelia E. Barr (free novels to read TXT) 📗

This sudden destruction of all her hopes for her brother distressed Arenta. Her own marriage had been a most unfortunate one, but its misfortunes had the importance of national tragedy. She had even plucked honour to herself from the bloody tumbril and guillotine. But Rem’s matrimonial failure had not one redeeming quality; it was altogether a shameful and well-deserved retribution. And she had boasted to her friends not a little of the great marriage her brother was soon to make, and even spoken of Miss Damer, as if a sisterly affection already existed between them. She could anticipate very well the smiles and shrugs, the exclamations and condolences she might have to encounter, and she was not pleased with her brother for putting her in a position likely to make her disagreeable to people.

But the heart of her anger was Cornelia—“but for that girl,” Rem would have married Mary Damer, and his home in Boston might have been full of opportunities for her, as well as a desirable change when she wearied of New York. Altogether it was a hard thing for her, as well as a dreadful sorrow for Rem; and she could not think of Cornelia without anger, “Just for her,” she kept saying as she dressed herself with an elaborate simplicity, “Just for her! Very much she intruded herself into my affairs; my marriage was her opportunity with Lord Hyde, and now all she can do is to break up poor Rem’s marriage.”

When Cornelia entered the Van Ariens parlour Arenta was already there. She was dressed in a gown of the blackest and softest bombazine and crape. It had a distinguishing want of all ornament, but it was for that reason singularly effective against her delicate complexion and pale golden hair. She looked offended, and hardly spoke to her old friend, but Cornelia was prepared for some exhibition of anger. She had not been to see Arenta for a whole week, and she did not doubt she had been well aware of something unusual in progress. But that Rem had accused himself did not occur to her; therefore she was hardly prepared for the passionate accusations with which Arenta assailed her.

“I think,” she said, “you have behaved disgracefully to poor Rem! You would not have him yourself, and yet you prevent another girl—whom he loves far better than ever he loved you—from marrying him. He has gone away ‘out of the world,’ he says, and indeed I should not wonder if he kills himself. It is most certain you have done all you can to drive him to it.”

“Arenta! I have no idea what you mean. I have not seen Rem, nor written to Rem, for more than two years.”

“Very likely, but you have written about him. You wrote to Miss Darner, and told her Rem purposely kept a letter, which you had sent to Lord Hyde.”

“I did not write to Miss Damer. I do not know the lady. But Rem DID keep a letter that belonged to Lord Hyde.”

Then anger gave falsehood the bit and she answered, “Rem did NOT keep any letter that belonged to Lord Hyde. Prove that he did so, before you accuse him. You cannot.”

“I unfortunately directed Lord Hyde’s letter to Rem, and Rem’s letter to Lord Hyde. Rem knew that he had Lord Hyde’s letter, and he should have taken it at once to him.”

“Lord Hyde had Rem’s letter; he ought to have taken it at once to Rem.”

“There was not a word in Rem’s letter to identify it as belonging to him.”

“Then you ought to be ashamed to write love letters that would do for any man that received them. A poor hand you must be, to blunder over two love letters. I have had eight, and ten, at once to answer, and I never failed to distinguish each; and while rivers run into the sea I never shall misdirect my love letters. I do not believe Rem ever got your letter, and I will not believe it, either now or ever. I dare be bound, Balthazar lost it on the way. Prove to me he did not.”

“Oh, indeed! I think you know better.”

“Very clever is Lord Hyde to excuse himself by throwing the blame on poor Rein. Very mean indeed to accuse him to the girl he was going to marry. To be sure, any one with an ounce of common sense to guide them, must see through the whole affair.”

“Arenta, I have the most firm conviction of Rem’s guilt, and the greatest concern for his disappointment. I assure you I have.”

“Kindly reserve your concern, Miss Moran, till Rem Van Ariens asks for it. As for his guilt, there is no guilt in question. Even supposing that Rem did keep Lord Hyde’s letter, what then? All things are fair in love and war, Willie Nicholls told me last night, he would keep a hundred letters, if he thought he could win me by doing so. Any man of sense would.”

“All I blame Rem for is—”

“All I blame Rem for is, that he asked you to marry him. So much for that! I hope if he meddles with women again, he will seek an all-round common-sense Dutch girl, who will know how to direct her letters—or else be content with one lover.”

“Arenta, I shall go now. I have given you an opportunity to be rude and unkind. You cannot expect me to do that again.”

She watched Cornelia across the street, and then turned to the mirror, and wound her ringlets over her fingers. “I don’t care,” she muttered. “It was her fault to begin with. She tempted Rem, and he fell. Men always fall when women tempt them; it is their nature to. I am going to stand by Rem, right or wrong, and I only wish I could tell Mary Damer what I think of her. She has another lover, of course she has—or she would not have talked about her ‘honour’ to Rem.”

To such thoughts she was raging, when Peter Van Ariens came home to dinner, and she could not restrain them. He listened for a minute or two, and then struck the table no gentle blow?

“In my house, Arenta,” he said, “I will have no such words. What you think, you think; but such thoughts must be shut close in your mind. In keeping that letter, I say Rem behaved like a scoundrel; he was cruel, and he was a coward. Because he is my son I will not excuse him. No indeed! For that very reason, the more angry am I at such a deed. Now then, he shall acknowledge to George Hyde and Cornelia Moran the wrong he did them, ere in my home and my heart, he rights himself.”

“Is Cornelia going to be married?”

“That is what I hear.”

“To Lord Hyde?”

“That also, is what I hear.”

“Well, as I am in mourning, I cannot go to the wedding; so then I am delighted to have told her a little of my mind.”

“It is a great marriage for the Doctor’s daughter; a countess she will be.”

“And a marquise I am. And will you please say, if either countess or marquise is