The Rich Mrs. Burgoyne by Kathleen Thompson Norris
CHAPTER V
From the moment of her arrival in Santa Paloma, when she stood on thestation platform with a brisk spring wind blowing her veil about herface, and a small and chattering girl on each side of her, Mrs.Burgoyne seemed inclined to meet the friendly overtures of her newneighbors more than half-way. She remembered the baggage-agent's namefrom her visit two weeks before--"thank Mr. Roberts for his trouble,Ellen"--and met the aged driver of the one available carriage with aready "Good afternoon, Mr. Rivers!" Within a week she had her pew inchurch, her box at the post-office, her membership in the library, anda definite rumor was afloat to the effect that she had invested severalthousand dollars in the Mail, and that Barry Valentine had bought thepaper from old Rogers outright; and had ordered new rotary presses, andwas at last to have a free hand as managing editor. The pretty youngmistress of Holly Hall, with her two children dancing beside her, andher ready pleased flush and greeting for new friends, became a familiarfigure in Santa Paloma's streets. She was even seen once or twiceacross the river, in the mill colony, having, for some mysteriousreason, immediately opened the bridge that led from her own grounds tothat unsavory region.
She was not formal, not unapproachable, as it had been feared she mightbe. On the contrary, she was curiously democratic. And, for a womanstraight from the shops of Paris and New York, her clothes seemed tothe women of Santa Paloma to be surprising, too. She and her daughterswore plain ginghams for every day, with plain wide hats and trim sergecoats for foggy mornings. And on Sundays it was certainly extraordinaryto meet the Burgoynes, bound for church, wearing the simplest of dimityor cross-barred muslin wash dresses, with black stockings and shoes,and hats as plain--far plainer!--as those of the smallest children.Except for the amazing emeralds that blazed beside her wedding ring,and the diamonds she sometimes wore, Mrs. Burgoyne might have been atrained nurse in uniform.
"It is a pose," said Mrs. Willard White, at the club, to a few intimatefriends. "She's probably imitating some English countess. Englishwomenaffect simplicity in the country. But wait until we see her eveningfrocks."
It was felt that any formal calling upon Mrs. Burgoyne must wait untilthe supposedly inevitable session with carpenters, painters,paper-hangers, carpet-layers, upholsterers, decorators, furnituredealers, and gardeners was over at the Hall. But although the old househad been painted and the plumbing overhauled before the new owner'sarrival, and although all day long and every day two or threePortuguese day-laborers chopped and pruned and shouted in the garden, aweek and then two weeks slipped by, and no further evidences ofrenovation were to be seen.
So presently callers began to go up to the Hall; first Mrs. Apostlemanand Mrs. White, as was fitting, and then a score of other women. Mrs.Apostleman had been the social leader in Santa Paloma when Mrs. Whitewas little Clara Peck, a pretty girl in the High School, whose richwidowed mother dressed her exquisitely, and who was studying French,and could play the violin. But Mrs. Apostleman was an old woman now,and had been playing the game a long time, and she was glad to put thesceptre into younger hands. And she could have put it into none morecompetent than those of Mrs. Willard White.
Mrs. White was a handsome, clever woman, of perhaps six-orseven-and-thirty. She had been married now for seventeen years, and forall that time, and even before her marriage, she had been the mostenvied, the most admired, and the most copied woman in the village. Hermother, an insipid, spoiled, ambitious little woman, whose fondest hopewas realized when her dashing daughter made a financially brilliantmatch, had lost no time in warning the bride that the agonies ofmotherhood, and the long ensuing slavery, were avoidable, and Clara hadentirely agreed with her mother's ideas, and used to laughingly assurethe few old friends who touched upon this delicate topic, that sheherself "was baby enough for Will!" Robbed in this way of her naturalestate, and robbed by the size of her husband's income from theexhilarating interest of making financial ends meet, Mrs. White, forseventeen years, had led what she honestly considered an enviable andcarefree existence. She bought beautiful clothes for herself, andbeautiful things for her house, she gave her husband and her mothervery handsome gifts. She was a perfect hostess, although it must beadmitted that she never extended the hospitalities of her handsome hometo anyone who did not amuse her, who was not "worth while". She ruledher servants well, made a fine president for the local Women's Club,ran her own motor-car very skillfully, and played an exceptionally goodgame of bridge. She was an authority upon table-linens, fancyneedlework, fashions in dress, new salads, new methods in serving thetable.
Willard White, as perfect a type in his own way as she was in hers, wasvery proud of her, when he thought of her at all, which was really muchless often than their acquaintances supposed. He liked his house to benicely managed, spent his money freely upon it, wanted his friendshandsomely entertained, and his wine-cellar stocked with everyconceivable variety of liquid refreshment. If Clara wanted moreservants, let her have them, if she wanted corkscrews by the gross,why, buy those, too. Only let a man feel that there was a maid aroundto bring him a glass when he came in from golfing or motoring, and acorkscrew with the glass!
As a matter of fact, his club and his office, and above all, hismotor-cars, absorbed him. His natural paternal instinct had beendiverted toward these latter, and, quite without his knowing it, hiscars were his nursery. Willard White had owned the first electric carever seen in Santa Paloma. Later, there had been half-a-dozen machines,and he loved them all, and spoke of them as separate entities. He spokeof the runs they had made, of the strains they had triumphantlysustained, and he and his chauffeur held low-toned conferences over anysmall breakage, with the same seriousness that he might have used hadWillard Junior--supposing there to have been such a littleperson--developed croup, and made the presence of a physiciannecessary. He liked to glance across his lawn at night to thecommodious garage, visible in the moonlight, and think of histreasures, locked up, guarded, perfect in every detail, and safe.
He and Mrs. White always spoke of Santa Paloma as a "jay" town, andcompared it, to its unutterable disadvantage, to other and largercities, but still, business reasons would always keep them there forthe greater part of the year, and they were both glad to hear that afabulously wealthy widow, and a woman prominent in every other respectas well, had come to live in Santa Paloma. Mrs. White determined toplay her game very carefully with Mrs. Burgoyne; there should be noindecent hurry, there should be no sudden overtures at friendship."But, poor thing! She will certainly find our house an oasis in thedesert!" Mrs. White comfortably decided, putting on the very handsomestof her afternoon gowns to go and call formally at the Hall.
Mrs. Burgoyne and the little girls were always most cordial tovisitors. They spent these first days deep in gardening, great heaps offragrant dying weeds about them, and raw vistas through the prunedtrees already beginning to show the gracious slopes of the land, andthe sleepy Lobos down beneath the willows. The Carew children and thelittle Browns were often there, fascinated by the outdoor work, aschildren always are, and little Billy Valentine squirmed daily throughhis own particular gap in the hedge, and took his share of the fun witha deep and silent happiness. Billy gave Mrs. Burgoyne many a heartache,with his shock of bright, unbrushed hair, his neglected grimed littlehands, his boyish little face that was washed daily according to hisown small lights, with surrounding areas of neck and ears whollyoverlooked, and his deep eyes, sad when he was sad, and somehowinfinitely more pathetic when he was happy. Sometimes she stealthilysupplied Billy with new garters, or fastened the buttons on his blueoveralls, or even gave him a spoonful of "meddy" out of a big bottle,at the mere sight of which Ellen shuddered sympathetically; a dosewhich was always followed by two marshmallows, out of a tin box, by wayof consolation. But further than this she dared not go, except in thematter of mugs of milk, gingerbread, saucer-pies, and motherly kissesfor any bump or bruise.
The village women, coming up to the Hall, in the pleasant summerafternoons, were puzzled to find the old place almost unchanged. Whya
Very simply, very unpretentiously, the new mistress of Holly Hallentered upon her new life. She was a woman of very quiet tastes,devoted to her little girls, her music, her garden and her books. Withthe negress, she had one other servant, a quiet little New Englandgirl, with terrified, childish eyes, and a passionate devotion to hermistress and all that concerned her mistress. Fanny had in charge asplendid, tawny-headed little boy of three, who played happily byhimself, about the kitchen door, and chased chickens and kittens withshrieks of delight. Mrs. Burgoyne spoke of him as "Fanny's littlebrother," and if the two had a history of any sort, it was one at whichshe never hinted. She met an embarrassing question with a readinesswhich rather amused Mrs. Brown, on a day when the two younger ladieswere having tea with Mrs. Apostleman, and the conversation turned tothe subject of maids.
"--but if your little girl Fanny has had her lesson, you'll have notrouble keepin' her," said Mrs. Apostleman.
"Oh, I hope I shall keep Fanny," said Mrs. Burgoyne, "she comes of suchnice people, and she's such a sweet, good girl."
"Why, Lord save us!" said the old lady, repentantly, "and I was almostready to believe the child was hers!"
"If Peter was hers, she couldn't be fonder of him!" Mrs. Burgoyne saidmildly, and Mrs. Brown choked on her tea, and had to wipe her eyes.
In the matter of Fanny, and in a dozen other small matters, theindependence of the great lady was not slow in showing itself in Mrs.Burgoyne. Santa Paloma might be annoyed at her, and puzzled by her, butit had perforce to accept her as she stood, or ignore her, and she wasobviously not a person to ignore. She declined all invitations fordaytime festivities; she was "always busy in the daytime," she said. Nocards, no luncheons, no tea-parties could lure her away from the Hall,although, if she and the small girls walked in for mail or were down inthe village for any other reason, they were very apt to stop somewherefor a chat on their way home. But the children were allowed to gonowhere alone, and not the smartest of children's parties could boastof the presence of Joanna and Ellen Burgoyne.
Santa Paloma children were much given to parties, or rather theirparents were; and every separate party was a separate great event. Thelittle girls wore exquisite hand-made garments, silken hose and whiteshoes. Professional entertainers, in fashionably darkened rooms, keptthe little people amused, and professional caterers supplied the supperthey ate, or perhaps the affair took the shape of a box-party for amatinee, and a supper at the town's one really pretty tea-roomfollowed. These affairs were duly chronicled in the daily and weeklypapers, and perhaps more than one matron would have liked thedistinction of having Mrs. Burgoyne's little daughters listed among herown child's guests. Joanna and Ellen were pretty children, in awell-groomed, bright-eyed sort of way, and would have been popular evenwithout the added distinction of their ready French and German andItalian, their charming manners, their naive references to othercountries and peoples, and their beautiful and distinguished mother.
But in answer to all invitations, there came only polite, stiltedlittle letters of regret, in the children's round script. "Mother wouldd'rather we shouldn't go to a sin-gul party until we are young ladies!"Ellen would say cheerfully, if cross-examined on the subject, leavingit to the more tactful Joanna to add, "But Mother thanks you JUST asmuch." They were always close to their mother when it was possible, andshe only banished them from her side when the conversation grewundeniably too old in tone for Joanna and Ellen, and then liked to keepthem in sight, have them come in with the tea-tray, or wave to heroccasionally from the river bank.
"We've been wondering what you would do with this magnificentdrawing-room," said Mrs. White, on her first visit. "The house ought totake a colonial treatment wonderfully--there's a remarkable man in SanFrancisco who simply made our house over for us last year!"
"It must have been a fearful upheaval," said Mrs. Burgoyne,sympathetically.
"Oh, we went away! Mr. White and I went east, and when we came back itwas all done."
"Well, fortunately," said the mistress of Holly Hall cheerfully, as shesugared Mrs. Apostleman's cup of tea, "fortunately all these things ofMrs. Holly's were in splendid condition, except for a little cleaningand polishing. They used to make things so much more solid, don't youthink so? Why, there are years of wear left in these carpets, and thechairs and tables are like rocks! Captain Holly apparently got the verybest of everything when he furnished this place, and I reap thebenefit. It's so nice to feel that one needn't buy a chair or a bed forten years or more, if one doesn't want to!"
"Dear, sweet people, the Hollys," said Mrs. White, pleasantly, utterlyat a loss. Did people of the nicer class speak of furniture as if itwere made merely to be useful? "But what a distinct period these thingsbelong to, don't they?" she asked, feeling her way. "So--so solid!"
"Yes, in a way it was an ugly period," said Mrs. Burgoyne, placidly."But very comfortable, fortunately. Fancy if he had selected LouisQuinze chairs, for example!"
Mrs. White gave her a puzzled look, and smiled.
"Come now, Mrs. Burgoyne," said she, good-naturedly, "Confess that youare going to give us all a surprise some day, and change all this. Onesees," said Mrs. White, elegantly, "such lovely effects in New York."
"In those upper Fifth Avenue shops--ah, but don't you see lovelythings!" the other woman assented warmly. "Of course, one could bealways changing," she went on. "But I like associations withthings--and changing takes so much time! Some day we may think all thisquite pretty," she finished, with a contented glance at the comfortableugliness of the drawing-room.
"Oh, do you suppose we shall REALLY!" Mrs. White gave a littleincredulous laugh. She was going pretty far, and she knew it, but as amatter of fact, she was entirely unable to believe that there was awoman in the world who could afford to have what was fashionable andexpensive in household furnishings or apparel, and who deliberatelypreferred not to have it. That her own pretty things were no soonerestablished than they began to lose their charm for her, never occurredto Mrs. White: she was a woman of conventional type, perfectlysatisfied to spend her whole life in acquiring things essentiallyinvaluable, and to use a naturally shrewd and quick intelligence incopying fashions of all sorts, small and large, as fast as advancedmerchants and magazines presented them to her. She was one of the greatarmy of women who help to send the sale of an immoral book well up intothe hundreds of thousands; she liked to spend long afternoons with abox of chocolates and a book unfit for the touch of any woman; a bookthat she would review for the benefit of her friends later, with ashocked wonder that "they dare print such things!" She liked to tell aman's story, and the other women could not but laugh at her, for shewas undeniably good company, and nobody ever questioned the taste ofanything she ever said or did. She was a famous gossip, for like allwomen, she found the private affairs of other people full offascination, and, having no legitimate occupation, she was always atliberty to discuss them.
Yet Mrs. White was not at all an unusual woman, and, like herassociates, she tacitly assumed herself to be the very flower ofAmerican womanhood. She quoted her distinguished relatives on alloccasions, the White family, in all its ramifications, supplied
Personally, Mrs. White vaguely felt that there was something innatelyindecent about children anyway, the smaller they were the lessmentionable she found them. The little emergencies, of nose-bleeds andtorn garments and spilled porridge, that were constantly arising in theneighborhood of children, made her genuinely sick and faint. And shehad so humorous and so assured an air of saying "Disgusting!" or"Disgraceful!" when the family of some other woman began to presentitself with reasonable promptness, that other women found themselveslaughing and saying "Disgusting!" too.
Mrs. Burgoyne, like Mrs. White, was a born leader. Whether she made anyparticular effort to influence her neighbors or not, they could not butfeel the difference in her attitude toward all the various tangiblethings that make a woman's life. She was essentially maternal, wantedto mother all the little living and growing things in the world, wantedto be with children, and talk of them and study them. And she wassimple and honest in her tastes, and entirely without affectation inher manner, and she was too great a lady to be either laughed at orignored. So Santa Paloma began to ask itself why she did this or that,and finding her ways all made for economy and comfort and simplicity,almost unconsciously copied them.