Rathfelder's Hotel

by Annie E. Bosworth

Aunt and I passed a delightful day together—a day full of sweet, tranquil enjoyment. For many hours, during the hottest time, we remained under the refreshing shade of the fruit trees, reading, working or talking, as the mood inclined us. Occasionally I wandered about, attracted by the musical note of some bird I wanted to see or the gay tints of some insect I wished to capture for a brief while that aunty and I might examine it closely. But of all happy, joyous little creatures whom it charmed me to watch, the chameleons were the most amusing as they glanced about amidst the branches of the trees, in their hunt for insects, their varying colours contrasting brightly and beautifully with the rich hues of the fruit and flowers.

In the evening a disappointment befell us. We were hopefully expecting the return of our loved ones, when instead there came a letter from uncle, saying that particular business would detain him in town until the following evening. As for Lotty, he continued, her friends, from whose house he was then writing, were only too delighted to have her with them for as long as she could be spared, and he had therefore agreed to her remaining their guest for the present, "an arrangement very agreeable to Lotty herself," uncle added. He then went on to say he had met Dr. Manfred, who strongly advised that as his patient, Mrs. Rossiter, was deriving so much benefit from the air of the Flats, she should stay out the fortnight, returning again to Rathfelder's in another month, and so on repeatedly while she found she gained any advantage to her health. "I am glad to say," uncle concluded, "that Susan's mother is so much better that she hopes to be able to come back with Charlotte and myself to-morrow evening, which will make your longer visit in that 'wilderness,' as Lotty calls it, more agreeable, I hope, to all parties."

"Dear, good old Susan!" exclaimed I; "excepting that the attendance of such a servant and friend must always be an acquisition, and the sight of her kind face in the highest degree cheering to me because of her genuine piety and sound sense, I should not otherwise wish any addition to our present party or any alteration in our ways. That it does you good to be here, my own dear aunt," jumping up and kissing her fondly, "is in my opinion sufficient to make it delightful were it far less charming than it really is or our arrangements far less convenient."

I was very anxious that my aunt would allow me to share her bed-room that night, feeling uneasy at the thought of her being so entirely alone in the present delicate state of her health. But oh no, she would not on any account agree to such a proposal, she said; I had quite enough to do during the day without the risk of my nights being also unnecessarily disturbed. She was a very uncertain sleeper, she added, and often extremely restless, without, however, feeling ill or requiring anything, and my rest would perhaps be much broken and to no purpose. There was but one room between our bed-rooms, and should she be seriously in want of assistance, nothing could be easier than to open her door and make me hear instantly.

I will here explain that Rathfelder's Hotel was a portion of building entirely separated from the part inhabited by our host and his family, which lay at the back—a long line of rooms on the ground floor. The hotel, a substantial house of two stories high, consisted of suites of rooms, sleeping and sitting-rooms alternately on the upper floor, and spacious reception-rooms with one bed-room, filling up the whole of the ground floor. The latter were for the accommodation of casual visitors, picnic parties or travellers to Port Elizabeth, but all the first were reserved exclusively for boarders who stayed weeks or months at a time. There was no staircase in the building, access to the upper rooms being only obtained by means of flights of steps ascending at different points to the broad balcony which I have before mentioned. No servants slept in the visitors' portion of the hotel, and oddly enough, though sometimes full of company at other seasons, no one but ourselves was lodging there just at the present time; consequently, aunt and I had the whole hotel at our disposal. This independent state of affairs did not in the least disconcert us; on the contrary, the novelty of our situation afforded us amusement; and in the evening we wandered through the large rooms, which all opened into each other by single doors, without any feeling of apprehension.

The next day we were again disappointed. Uncle and Charlotte did not come, and a second letter of much the same import as the first once more put off their return until the day after.

In the evening, toward night, aunty and I once more perambulated the great suite of rooms, and though feeling no fear of danger, we as a matter of course shut and fastened the venetians and locked the different doors, which, conducting from one room to another, finally opened into a narrow passage running through the upper house and beginning and terminating with the balcony. This securing of windows and doors the servants considered superfluous, and therefore never performed; as it was, they had now completed their last services in our sitting and bed-rooms, paid their last visit to see if we wanted anything and taken their departure, evidently without a thought being given to the other parts of the house above or below.

It was still sufficiently light to admit of our seeing with tolerable clearness without candles, and on passing on our way to the extreme end with intent to begin shutting up the first room in that direction and all the rest backward in succession, we noticed a fowl roosting on the back of a chair beside one of the beds. A large quantity of poultry was always wandering about, outside the hotel, and frequently they walked into the rooms and laid their sweet white or brown eggs in some sheltered corner. It had become quite a matter of amusement to Charlotte and me to search for the eggs every evening.

"We must turn Mrs. Hen out of the window when we return," observed aunty; "it won't do to leave her there all night." And laughing together at the domestic character displayed by the bonny-looking feathered lady, we continued our way. Having fastened the doors and windows of the end room, we were on the point of quitting it, when at that instant I was startled by a sudden shriek from the fowl as she flew down from her perch in the distant chamber. With some feeling of terror I looked inquiringly at Aunt Rossiter, but her perfectly composed smile reassured me as she said:

"She evidently heard our remarks, Mechie, upon her ill-regulated disposition, and is either offended or ashamed."