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Richard Hakluyt - "The Discovery of Muscovy etc."

Rabindranath Tagore (trans.) - "The Crescent Moon"

Gilbert Parker - "Pierre And His People, [Tales of the Far North], Volume 4."

Geoffrey Chaucer - "The Canterbury Tales and Other Poems"

Ragged Lady, Complete

W >> William Dean Howells >> Ragged Lady, Complete




The joy of her triumph went to her head; she wished to retrieve herself
from any shadow of defeat.

She stood panting a moment, and then, if she had had the professional
instinct, she would have given her admirers the surprise of something
altogether different from what had pleased them before. That was what the
actor would have done, but Clementina thought of how her dance had been
brought to an untimely close by the rolling of the ship; she burned to do
it all as she knew it, no matter how the sea behaved, and in another
moment she struck into it again. This time the sea behaved perfectly, and
the dance ended with just the swoop and swirl she had meant it to have at
first. The spectators went generously wild over her; they cheered and
clapped her, and crowded upon her to tell how lovely it was; but she
escaped from them, and ran back to the place where she had left Mrs.
Milray. She was not there, and Clementina's cap full of alms lay
abandoned on the chair. Lord Lioncourt said he would take charge of the
money, if she would lend him her cap to carry it in to the purser, and
she made her way into the saloon. In a distant corner she saw Mrs. Milray
with Mr. Ewins.

She advanced in a vague dismay toward them, and as she came near Mrs.
Milray said to Mr. Ewins, "I don't like this place. Let's go over
yonder." She rose and rushed him to the other end of the saloon.

Lord Lioncourt came in looking about. "Ah, have you found her?" he asked,
gayly. "There were twenty pounds in your cap, and two hundred dollars."

"Yes," said Clementina, "she's over the'a." She pointed, and then shrank
and slipped away.




XVIII.

At breakfast Mrs. Milray would not meet Clementina's eye; she talked to
the people across the table in a loud, lively voice, and then suddenly
rose, and swept past her out of the saloon.

The girl did not see her again till Mrs. Milray came up on the promenade
at the hour when people who have eaten too much breakfast begin to spoil
their appetite for luncheon with the tea and bouillon of the
deck-stewards. She looked fiercely about, and saw Clementina seated in
her usual place, but with Lord Lioncourt in her own chair next her
husband, and Ewins on foot before her. They were both talking to
Clementina, whom Lord Lioncourt was accusing of being in low spirits
unworthy of her last night's triumphs. He jumped up, and offered his
place, "I've got your chair, Mrs. Milray."

"Oh, no," she said, coldly, "I was just coming to look after Mr. Milray.
But I see he's in good hands."

She turned away, as if to make the round of the deck, and Ewins hurried
after her. He came back directly, and said that Mrs. Milray had gone into
the library to write letters. He stayed, uneasily, trying to talk, but
with the air of a man who has been snubbed, and has not got back his
composure.

Lord Lioncourt talked on until he had used up the incidents of the night
before, and the probabilities of their getting into Queenstown before
morning; then he and Mr. Ewins went to the smoking-room together, and
Clementina was left alone with Milray.

"Clementina," he said, gently, "I don't see everything; but isn't there
some trouble between you and Mrs. Milray?"

"Why, I don't know what it can be," answered the girl, with trembling
lips. "I've been trying to find out, and I can't undastand it."

"Ah, those things are often very obscure," said Milray, with a patient
smile.

Clementina wanted to ask him if Mrs. Milray had said anything to him
about her, but she could not, and he did not speak again till he heard
her stir in rising from her chair. Then he said, "I haven't forgotten
that letter to my sister, Clementina. I will give it to you before we
leave the steamer. Are you going to stay in Liverpool, over night, or
shall you go up to London at once?"

"I don't know. It will depend upon how Mrs. Landa feels."

"Well, we shall see each other again. Don't be worried." He looked up at
her with a smile, and he could not see how forlornly she returned it.

As the day passed, Mrs. Milray's angry eyes seemed to search her out for
scorn whenever Clementina found herself the centre of her last night's
celebrity. Many people came up and spoke to her, at first with a certain
expectation of knowingness in her, which her simplicity baffled. Then
they either dropped her, and went away, or stayed and tried to make
friends with her because of this; an elderly English clergyman and his
wife were at first compassionately anxious about her, and then
affectionately attentive to her in her obvious isolation. Clementina's
simple-hearted response to their advances appeared to win while it
puzzled them; and they seemed trying to divine her in the strange double
character she wore to their more single civilization. The theatrical
people thought none the worse of her for her simple-hearted ness,
apparently; they were both very sweet to her, and wanted her to promise
to come and see them in their little box in St. John's Wood. Once,
indeed, Clementina thought she saw relenting in Mrs. Milray's glance, but
it hardened again as Lord Lioncourt and Mr. Ewins came up to her, and
began to talk with her. She could not go to her chair beside Milray, for
his wife was now keeping guard of him on the other side with unexampled
devotion. Lord Lioncourt asked her to walk with him and she consented.
She thought that Mr. Ewins would go and sit by Mrs. Milray, of course,
but when she came round in her tour of the ship, Mrs. Milray was sitting
alone beside her husband.

After dinner she went to the library and got a book, but she could not
read there; every chair was taken by people writing letters to send back
from Queenstown in the morning; and she strayed into the ladies' sitting
room, where no ladies seemed ever to sit, and lost herself in a miserable
muse over her open page.

Some one looked in at the door, and then advanced within and came
straight to Clementina; she knew without looking up that it was Mrs.
Milray. "I have been hunting for you, Miss Claxon," she said, in a voice
frostily fierce, and with a bearing furiously formal. "I have a letter to
Miss Milray that my busband wished me to write for you, and give you with
his compliments."

"Thank you," said Clementina. She rose mechanically to her feet, and at
the same time Mrs. Milray sat down.

"You will find Miss Milray," she continued, with the same glacial
hauteur, "a very agreeable and cultivated lady."

Clementina said nothing; and Mrs. Milray added,

"And I hope she may have the happiness of being more useful to you than I
have."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Milray?" Clementina asked with unexpected spirit
and courage.

"I mean simply this, that I have not succeeded in putting you on your
guard against your love of admiration--especially the admiration of
gentlemen. A young girl can't be too careful how she accepts the
attentions of gentlemen, and if she seems to invite them--"

"Mrs. Milray!" cried Clementina. "How can you say such a thing to me?"

"How? I shall have to be plain with you, I see. Perhaps I have not
considered that, after all, you know nothing about life and are not to
blame for things that a person born and bred in the world would
understand from childhood. If you don't know already, I can tell you that
the way you have behaved with Lord Lioncourt during the last two or three
days, and the way you showed your pleasure the other night in his
ridiculous flatteries of you, was enough to make you the talk of the
whole steamer. I advise you for your own sake to take my warning in time.
You are very young, and inexperienced and ignorant, but that will not
save you in the eyes of the world if you keep on." Mrs. Milray rose. "And
now I will leave you to think of what I have said. Here is the letter for
Miss Milray--"

Clementina shook her head. "I don't want it."

"You don't want it? But I have written it at Mr. Milray's request, and I
shall certainly leave it with you!"

"If you do," said Clementina, "I shall not take it!"

"And what shall I say to Mr. Milray?"

"What you have just said to me."

"What have I said to you?"

"That I'm a bold girl, and that I've tried to make men admi'a me."

Mrs. Milray stopped as if suddenly daunted by a fact that had not
occurred to her before. "Did I say that?"

"The same as that."

"I didn't mean that--I--merely meant to put you on your guard. It may be
because you are so innocent yourself, that you can't imagine what others
think, and--I did it out of my regard for you."

Clementina did not answer.

Mrs. Milray went on, "That was why I was so provoked with you. I think
that for a young girl to stand up and dance alone before a whole steamer
full of strangers"--Clementina looked at her without speaking, and Mrs.
Milray hastened to say, "To be sure I advised you to do it, but I
certainly was surprised that you should give an encore. But no matter,
now. This letter--"

"I can't take it, Mrs. Milray," said Clementina, with a swelling heart.

"Now, listen!" urged Mrs. Milray. "You think I'm just saying it because,
if you don't take it I shall have to tell Mr. Milray I was so hateful to
you, you couldn't. Well, I should hate to tell him that; but that isn't
the reason. There!" She tore the letter in pieces, and threw it on the
floor. Clementina did not make any sign of seeing this, and Mrs. Milray
dropped upon her chair again. "Oh, how hard you are! Can't you say
something to me?"

Clementina did not lift her eyes. "I don't feel like saying anything just
now."

Mrs. Milray was silent a moment. Then she sighed. "Well, you may hate me,
but I shall always be your friend. What hotel are you going to in
Liverpool?

"I don't know," said Clementina.

"You had better come to the one where we go. I'm afraid Mrs. Lander won't
know how to manage very well, and we've been in Liverpool so often. May I
speak to her about it?"

"If you want to," Clementina coldly assented.

"I see!" said Mrs. Milray. "You don't want to be under the same roof with
me. Well, you needn't! But I'll tell you a good hotel: the one that the
trains start out of; and I'll send you that letter for Miss Milray."
Clemeutina was silent. "Well, I'll send it, anyway."

Mrs. Milray went away in sudden tears, but the girl remained dry-eyed.




XIX.

Mrs. Lander realized when the ship came to anchor in the stream at
Liverpool that she had not been seasick a moment during the voyage. In
the brisk cold of the winter morning, as they came ashore in the tug, she
fancied a property of health in the European atmosphere, which she was
sure would bring her right up, if she stayed long enough; and a regret
that she had never tried it with Mr. Lander mingled with her new hopes
for herself.

But Clementina looked with home-sick eyes at the strangeness of the alien
scene: the pale, low heaven which seemed not to be clouded and yet was so
dim; the flat shores with the little railroad trains running in and out
over them; the grimy bulks of the city, and the shipping in the river,
sparse and sombre after the gay forest of sails and stacks at New York.

She did not see the Milrays after she left the tug, in the rapid
dispersal of the steamer's passengers. They both took leave of her at the
dock, and Mrs. Milray whispered with penitence in her voice and eyes, "I
will write," but the girl did not answer.

Before Mrs. Lander's trunks and her own were passed, she saw Lord
Lioncourt going away with his heavily laden man at his heels. Mr. Ewins
came up to see if he could help her through the customs, but she believed
that he had come at Mrs. Milray's bidding, and she thanked him so
prohibitively that he could not insist. The English clergyman who had
spoken to her the morning after the charity entertainment left his wife
with Mrs. Lander, and came to her help, and then Mr. Ewins went his way.

The clergyman, who appeared to feel the friendlessness of the young girl
and the old woman a charge laid upon him, bestowed a sort of fatherly
protection upon them both. He advised them to stop at a hotel for a few
hours and take the later train for London that he and his wife were going
up by; they drove to the hotel together, where Mrs. Lander could not be
kept from paying the omnibus, and made them have luncheon with her. She
allowed the clergyman to get her tickets, and she could not believe that
he had taken second class tickets for himself and his wife. She said that
she had never heard of anyone travelling second class before, and she
assured him that they never did it in America. She begged him to let her
pay the difference, and bring his wife into her compartment, which the
guard had reserved for her. She urged that the money was nothing to her,
compared with the comfort of being with some one you knew; and the
clergyman had to promise that as they should be neighbors, he would look
in upon her, whenever the train stopped long enough.

Before it began to move, Clementina thought she saw Lord Lioncourt
hurrying past their carriage-window. At Rugby the clergyman appeared, but
almost before he could speak, Lord Lioncourt's little red face showed at
his elbow. He asked Clementina to present him to Mrs. Lander, who pressed
him to get into her compartment; the clergyman vanished, and Lord
Lioncourt yielded.

Mrs. Lander found him able to tell her the best way to get to Florence,
whose situation he seemed to know perfectly; he confessed that he had
been there rather often. He made out a little itinerary for going
straight through by sleeping-car as soon as you crossed the Channel; she
had said that she always liked a through train when she could get it, and
the less stops the better. She bade Clementina take charge of the plan
and not lose it; without it she did not see what they could do. She
conceived of him as a friend of Clementina's, and she lost in the strange
environment the shyness she had with most people. She told him how Mr.
Lander had made his money, and from what beginnings he rose to be
ignorant of what he really was worth when he died. She dwelt upon the
diseases they had suffered, and at the thought of his death, so
unnecessary in view of the good that the air was already doing her in
Europe, she shed tears.

Lord Lioncourt was very polite, but there was no resumption of the ship's
comradery in his manner. Clementina could not know how quickly this
always drops from people who have been fellow-passengers; and she
wondered if he were guarding himself from her because she had danced at
the charity entertainment. The poison which Mrs. Milray had instilled
worked in her thoughts while she could not help seeing how patient he was
with all Mrs. Lander's questions; he answered them with a simplicity of
his own, or laughed and put them by, when they were quite impossible.
Many of them related to the comparative merits of English and American
railroads, and what he thought himself of these. Mrs. Lander noted the
difference of the English stations; but she did not see much in the
landscape to examine him upon. She required him to tell her why the rooks
they saw were not crows, and she was not satisfied that he should say the
country seat she pointed out was a castle when it was plainly deficient
in battlements. She based upon his immovable confidence in respect to it
an inquiry into the structure of English society, and she made him tell
her what a lord was, and a commoner, and how the royal family differed
from both. She asked him how he came to be a lord, and when he said that
it was a peerage of George the Third's creation, she remembered that
George III. was the one we took up arms against. She found that Lord
Lioncourt knew of our revolution generally, but was ignorant of such
particulars as the Battle of Bunker Hill, and the Surrender of
Cornwallis, as well as the throwing of the Tea into Boston Harbor; he was
much struck by this incident, and said, And quite right, he was sure.

He told Clementina that her friends the Milrays had taken the steamer for
London in the morning. He believed they were going to Egypt for the
winter. Cairo, he said, was great fun, and he advised Mrs. Lander, if she
found Florence a bit dull, to push on there. She asked if it was an easy
place to get to, and he assured her that it was very easy from Italy.

Mrs. Lander was again at home in her world of railroads and hotels; but
she confessed, after he left them at the next station, that she should
have felt more at home if he had been going on to London with them. She
philosophized him to the disadvantage of her own countrymen as much less
offish than a great many New York and Boston peuple. He had given her a
good opinion of the whole English nation; and the clergyman, who had been
so nice to them at Liverpool, confirmed her friendly impressions of
England by getting her a small omnibus at the station in London before he
got a cab for himself and his wife, and drove away to complete his own
journey on another road. She celebrated the omnibus as if it were an
effect of his goodness in her behalf. She admired its capacity for
receiving all their trunks, and saving the trouble and delay of the
express, which always vexed her so much in New York, and which had nearly
failed in getting her baggage to the steamer in time.

The omnibus remained her chief association with London, for she decided
to take the first through train for Italy in the morning. She wished to
be settled, by which she meant placed in a Florentine hotel for the
winter. That lord, as she now began and always continued to call
Lioncourt, had first given her the name of the best little hotel in
Florence, but as it had neither elevator nor furnace heat in it, he
agreed in the end that it would not do for her, and mentioned the most
modern and expensive house on the Lungarno. He told her he did not think
she need telegraph for rooms; but she took this precaution before leaving
London, and was able to secure them at a price which seemed to her quite
as much as she would have had to pay for the same rooms at a first class
hotel on the Back Bay.

The manager had reserved for her one of the best suites, which had just
been vacated by a Russian princess. "I guess you better cable to your
folks where you ah', Clementina," she said. "Because if you're satisfied,
I am, and I presume we sha'n't want to change as long as we stay in
Florence. My, but it's sightly!" She joined Clementina a moment at the
windows looking upon the Arno, and the hills beyond it. "I guess you'll
spend most of your time settin' at this winder, and I sha'n't blame you."

They had arrived late in the dull, soft winter afternoon. The landlord
led the way himself to their apartment, and asked if they would have
fire; a facchino came in and kindled roaring blazes on the hearths; at
the same time a servant lighted all the candles on the tables and
mantels. They both gracefully accepted the fees that Mrs. Lander made
Clementina give them; the facchino kissed the girl's hand. "My!" said
Mrs. Lander, "I guess you never had your hand kissed before."

The hotel developed advantages which, if not those she was used to, were
still advantages. The halls were warmed by a furnace, and she came to
like the little logs burning in her rooms. In the care of her own fire,
she went back to the simple time of her life in the country, and chose to
kindle it herself when it died out, with the fagots of broom that blazed
up so briskly.

In the first days of her stay she made inquiry for the best American
doctor in Florence; and she found him so intelligent that she at once put
her liver in his charge, with a history of her diseases and symptoms of
every kind. She told him that she was sure that he could have cured Mr.
Lander, if he had only had him in time; she exacted a new prescription
from him for herself, and made him order some quinine pills for
Clementina against the event of her feeling debilitated by the air of
Florence.




XX.

In these first days a letter came to Clementina from Mrs. Lander's
banker, enclosing the introduction which Mrs. Milray had promised to her
sister-in-law. It was from Mr. Milray, as before, and it was in Mrs.
Milray's handwriting; but no message from her came with it. To Clementina
it explained itself, but she had to explain it to Mrs. Lander. She had to
tell her of Mrs. Milray's behavior after the entertainment on the
steamer, and Mrs. Lander said that Clementina had done just exactly
right; and they both decided, against some impulses of curiosity in
Clementina's heart, that she should not make use of the introduction.

The 'Hotel des Financieres' was mainly frequented by rich Americans full
of ready money, and by rich Russians of large credit. Better Americans
and worse, went, like the English, to smaller and cheaper hotels; and
Clementina's acquaintance was confined to mothers as shy and
ungrammatical as Mrs. Lander herself, and daughters blankly indifferent
to her. Mrs. Lander drove out every day when it did not rain, and she
took Clementina with her, because the doctor said it would do them both
good; but otherwise the girl remained pent in their apartment. The doctor
found her a teacher, and she kept on with her French, and began to take
lessons in Italian; she spoke with no one but her teacher, except when
the doctor came. At the table d'hote she heard talk of the things that
people seemed to come to Florence for: pictures, statues, palaces, famous
places; and it made her ashamed of not knowing about them. But she could
not go to see these things alone, and Mrs. Lander, in the content she
felt with all her circumstances, seemed not to suppose that Clementina
could care for anything but the comfort of the hotel and the doctor's
visits. When the girl began to get letters from home in answer to the
first she had written back, boasting how beautiful Florence was, they
assumed that she was very gay, and demanded full accounts of her
pleasures. Her brother Jim gave something of the village news, but he
said he supposed that she would not care for that, and she would probably
be too proud to speak to them when she came home. The Richlings had
called in to share the family satisfaction in Clementina's first
experiences, and Mrs. Richling wrote her very sweetly of their happiness
in them. She charged her from the rector not to forget any chance of
self-improvement in the allurements of society, but to make the most of
her rare opportunities. She said that they had got a guide-book to
Florence, with a plan of the city, and were following her in the
expeditions they decided she must be making every day; they were reading
up the Florentine history in Sismondi's Italian Republics, and she bade
Clementina be sure and see all the scenes of Savonarola's martyrdom, so
that they could talk them over together when she returned.

Clementina wondered what Mrs. Richling would think if she told her that
all she knew of Florence was what she overheard in the talk of the girls
in the hotel, who spoke before her of their dances and afternoon teas,
and evenings at the opera, and drives in the Cascine, and parties to
Fiesole, as if she were not by.

The days and weeks passed, until Carnival was half gone, and Mrs. Lander
noticed one day that Clementina appeared dull. "You don't seem to get
much acquainted?" she suggested.

"Oh, the'e's plenty of time," said Clementina.

"I wish the'e was somebody you could go round with, and see the place.
Shouldn't you like to see the place?" Mrs. Lander pursued.

"There's no hurry about it, Mrs. Lander. It will stay as long as we do."

Mrs. Lander was thoughtfully silent. Then she said, "I declare, I've got
half a mind to make you send that letta to Miss Milray, after all. What
difference if Mrs. Milray did act so ugly to you? He never did, and she's
his sista."

"Oh, I don't want to send it, Mrs. Landa; you mustn't ask me to. I shall
get along," said Clementina. The recognition of her forlornness deepened
it, but she was cheerfuller, for no reason, the next morning; and that
afternoon, the doctor unexpectedly came upon a call which he made haste
to say was not professional.

"I've just come from another patient of mine, and I promised to ask if
you had not crossed on the same ship with a brother of hers,--Mr.
Milray."

Celementina and Mrs. Lander looked guiltily at each other. "I guess we
did," Mrs. Lander owned at last, with a reluctant sigh.

"Then, she says you have a letter for her."

The doctor spoke to both, but his looks confessed that he was not
ignorant of the fact when Mrs. Lander admitted, "Well Clementina, he'e,
has."

"She wants to know why you haven't delivered it," the doctor blurted out.

Mrs. Lander looked at Clementina. "I guess she ha'n't quite got round to
it yet, have you, Clementina?"

The doctor put in: "Well, Miss Milray is rather a dangerous person to
keep waiting. If you don't deliver it pretty soon, I shouldn't be
surprised if she came to get it." Dr. Welwright was a young man in the
early thirties, with a laugh that a great many ladies said had done more
than any one thing for them, and he now prescribed it for Clementina. But
it did not seem to help her in the trouble her face betrayed.

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