A crown of shame, volume 2 (of 3)

He left Liz weeping over the dead body of her father. How paltry all other troubles seemed to be, as she did so. She had no power, at that moment, to realise any fact but one,--that he had left her, and without a warning. He, who had been her sole protector and companion, beside whom she had walked every moment of her life, sharing his knowledge, and his duties, and his cares, had gone forth into the dreamland without her, and for the future she must struggle through life as best she might, alone. Liz was not ignorant of the cause of her father’s death, but she had been quite unprepared for it. She had known for some time past that he had a weak heart, but men lived with such, sometimes to their three score years and ten. He had passed a tranquil and unexciting life. The passions which had raged stormily perhaps in his youth had forsaken him in his latter days, and he had appeared likely to live on to a good old age. But the events of the last week had greatly upset him. Liz had no doubt, as she looked at his pale, calm features, that his sudden death lay, in a great measure, at Maraquita’s door, and the fact did not make her feel more tenderly towards her adopted sister. But the infant was wailing in her arms, and she felt that something must be done at once. This was no time for weeping, or inaction. She turned on her heel, with set features, and teeth closely clenched together, and passed into the outer room to summon her negress attendant Chloe to her aid. Chloe was conspicuous only by her absence, but on the threshold of the outer door she found the yellow girl, Rosa, slowly rocking herself to and fro.

‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Lizzie sternly. ‘Have you not brought me into enough trouble already?’

The girl turned round and caught the folds of her dress, and buried her face in them, crying. The coloured people are very emotional, and a sudden remorse had stabbed the depths of poor Rosa’s heart.

‘Oh, Miss Lizzie,’ she sobbed, ‘I’se so sorry the poor Doctor dead! Massa Courcelles tell me so as he went out. The dear good Doctor, who was so berry kind to me in my sickness, and so good to my little Carlo, and now he gone too, and me nebber see him any more, and my heart is broke, Miss Liz, my heart is broke!’

This tribute to her dead father’s virtues affected Liz more than anything else could have done.

‘If you are so sorry for his loss, Rosa,’ she answered gently, ‘what do you suppose I must feel. I seem to have lost everything to-day--_everything_,’ she added, in a vague and weary tone.

‘Oh, Missy Liz, I’se so sorry!’ repeated Rosa. ‘But what can I do to help you, and to take some of dis trouble off you? Let me do something, Missy Liz, to show I’se real sorry.’

‘You can go up to the White House, Rosa, and tell Mr Courtney of--of--_this_, and say I should like to see him as soon as he can come to me. I can’t find Chloe anywhere.’

‘Ah! dat Chloe no good. She too stupid!’ cried Rosa, with all a negress’s jealousy. ‘And may I come back, too, Missy Liz, with Massa Courtney, and help you nurse the baby, same as you helped me with little Carlo?’

The allusion to the child brought the trouble it had caused her too vividly to Lizzie’s mind. She dropped into a chair, and burst into tears.

‘Oh, Rosa! Rosa! you have spoiled my life for me. How could you be so cruel?’

The yellow girl crawled on her knees to the side of the Doctor’s daughter.

‘Missy Liz, what I done so bad? Isn’t dat baby your own baby, then?’

‘Of course it isn’t! How could you think such a thing of me? It is a little nurse-child which was left in charge of my dear father, and I was minding it for him. But you made Monsieur de Courcelles believe that it belongs to me, and you have parted us for ever. He was to have been my husband, Rosa, but he never will be so now; never--never!’

Rosa’s eyes opened with surprise.

‘Missy Liz, you must tell him I’se a liar. I know noting of de baby, only I see it on your bed, and I’se so sorry I speak to Massa Courcelles about it. It was de debbil spoke, Missy Liz, and not me. Something seem to come in my head and say dat chile like my little Carlo, and you no better den me. But I see now I’se all wrong, and you too good to do such a drefful thing. You tell Massa Courcelles I’se a liar, and it’ll be all right again, Missy Liz.’

‘No, Rosa, it will never be right again in the way you mean. I did tell Monsieur de Courcelles what you say, but he refused to believe me. No one will believe me now, I am afraid,’ said Liz mournfully, ‘and I must bear the brunt of my own rash promise.’

‘Oh! Missy Liz, must you keep dat baby dat isn’t yours, and take de trouble of it all your life?’

‘I think so, Rosa. I have nowhere to send it; and you would not have me turn it out on the cold world alone? No, my dear dead father left it to me as a sacred charge,’ cried Lizzie, weeping, ‘and I will guard it, whatever it may cost me. It will be something to do for his sake.’

‘Oh, Miss Lizzie!’ exclaimed Rosa, awed by a display of heroism she could not understand, ‘you berry good woman! I nebber know till dis day how good a woman you are. Let me stay with you, Miss Lizzie. Send dat Chloe back to huts, and let me be your servant, ’stead of her. Chloe don’t know nuffin of children. She not had a little boy, like me. Let me nurse dat baby for you, and I will be faithful, trust me, Missy Liz, and nebber let de debbil speak through my mouth again.’

‘I believe you, Rosa,’ replied Lizzie. ‘I believe you are sorry for the mischief you have done, and that you would undo it if you could. You were a good mother to little Carlo, and you would be a kind nurse to this poor little one. If it can be managed, it shall be arranged so, but we can do nothing without the leave of Mr Courtney. Go now and tell him of the grief I am in, and we will talk of these things another day.’

‘But I will come back and hold de baby for you, Missy Liz!’ exclaimed the yellow girl, as she set off towards the White House.

Liz walked back into the death chamber, and mechanically performed the necessary offices to prepare her father’s body for the grave. She did not weep again as she did so. The blow of her two great losses, coming so quickly one upon the other, had stunned her, and dried up the sources of her tears. She would have time to think and weep, she thought, by-and-by. When Mr Courtney arrived post-haste in answer to her summons, his grief appeared to be scarcely less than her own. He had been sincerely and deeply attached to this erring friend of his youthful days, and had never anticipated losing him so soon. He shed tears freely over the silent corpse, and kept on assuring Lizzie that her future should be one of his first cares.

‘Don’t let that trouble you, my dear,’ he reiterated. ‘I looked upon your dear father as my brother, and you shall never miss his protection whilst I can extend it to you. From this moment, Lizzie, I shall regard you as my daughter, and as soon as the sad ceremonies which we must go through, are concluded, I shall carry you off to the White House, and consider you second only in my affection to Maraquita.’

‘Dear Mr Courtney, you are too good to me,’ gasped Lizzie, ‘but--but--please don’t speak of my future to me to-day.’

‘No, no, of course not. It was thoughtless of me,’ said the planter; ‘but I did it with the view to set your mind at ease. To-day we must give up entirely to thoughts of my dear and valued friend.’

He imagined that the girl’s mind was too distracted to dwell on anything but her great loss; but Lizzie had remembered that before the morrow, the scandal that was being spread abroad concerning her would reach his ears, and render her unfit in his eyes to be the companion of his daughter.

When he had told her what arrangements he had made for the funeral, which (according to the custom in hot climates) was to take place that evening, Mr Courtney, with a farewell grasp of his dead friend’s hand, turned to leave the bungalow, when his eye fell upon the yellow girl, Rosa, squatting on the floor with the baby in her arms.

‘What infant is that?’ he demanded indifferently, for it was so wrapped up in flannel that he could not see its face.

Liz had anticipated the question, and dreaded it; but she felt evasion would be useless, and had not attempted to send the child out of his sight.

‘It is a little girl which was confided to my dear father’s care,’ she answered, in a low voice. ‘And he was going to consult Dr Martin at the Fort about a nurse to take the charge of it, when he was called away.’

Mr Courtney’s eyes opened somewhat at her explanation.

‘Is it a white child then?’ he asked.

‘Yes, it is a white child,’ replied Lizzie, with a deep sigh, as she stood trembling at what might follow. But Mr Courtney said no more on the subject. Perhaps his mind was too full of his lost friend to think of minor things, anyway he left the bungalow without another word or look, and Lizzie breathed more freely when he had gone. She spent the remainder of the day beside the remains of the father whom she had loved so well, and when the sun had sunk in the west, and the cool sea breezes commenced to blow over San Diego, she followed his coffin to the little European burial ground, which was situated on the top of a hill, and in full view of the glorious ocean. She saw that there were many friends, both white and coloured, gathered round the open grave but she was in no fit condition to recognise who they were. Only, as the last words of the solemn service were concluded, and she heard the sods of earth rattle on the coffin lid, and felt as if she must throw herself in with them, and be buried with all she loved best in this world, she found some one supporting her failing steps on either side, and looking up saw she was standing between Mr Courtney and Captain Norris.

‘Come, my dear child,’ whispered the former. ‘It is all over now. Let us see you safely to your home.’

They led her between them back to the empty bungalow, and the three friends sat down together in the sitting-room, whilst Rosa squatted in the verandah with Maraquita’s baby in her arms. Liz, making an effort to battle with her emotion, busied herself with setting some light refreshment before her guests. Mr Courtney drank a glass of iced sherbet in silence, and then cleared his throat as though to force himself to speak.

‘Lizzie, my dear, I have a good deal to say to you, and I wish to say it now. I might leave it till to-morrow, but I think it will do you good to fix your mind at once upon business, and to settle what you are to do in the future.’

Lizzie turned a little paler than she had been. She had understood her future to be settled that morning. But she guessed why it required further explanation now.

‘Captain Norris, than whom I think your dear father had no warmer friend, has been talking to me on the subject this afternoon, and has consented to become the guardian and trustee of your interests.’

‘I am of age,’ interrupted Lizzie, with open eyes; ‘I require no guardian.’