The Mystery of M. Felix

by B. L. Farjeon

Then commenced a life of torture. The children she had to teach were quarrelsome and vicious, and no taskmaster could have been harder than Mrs. Seaton was to the servants in her house. Two had left; two had given notice to leave. The consequence was that Emilia's mistress called upon her to do every kind of menial office, and willing as Emilia was, she found herself unequal to them. She sat up late at night, and rose early in the morning, played the part of nurse, schoolmistress, lady's maid, and housemaid, never receiving a word of thanks, until existence became unbearable. Driven to despair, without a home, without a friend, without money, she did not know which way to turn. Delicately nurtured, a lady by instinct and education, refined in her manners, and unused to menial work, no more deplorable position could be imagined. It was while she was in this sore strait that she made the acquaintance of Gerald Paget.

Twice in each week she had the privilege of walking out alone for an hour in the afternoon. Gerald, passing her, was attracted by the gentle beauty of her face, and blessed his good fortune when he met her for the second time. On this second occasion chance assisted him to an introduction. She was crossing the road, engrossed in sad thought, when warning shouts aroused her from her musings. There were cabs coming one way, carts another, and between them she was in danger of being run over. She slipped and fell, and Gerald, rushing forward, caught her up and bore her to the pavement. But fright and weakness had prostrated her, and she lay in his arms in a fainting condition. He carried her into a chemist's shop, where she revived. The words of kindness and sympathy which fell upon her ears when she opened her eyes, the tender consideration expressed in Gerald's voice, overpowered the suffering girl, and she burst into a passion of hysterical tears. With difficulty he soothed her, but every word he uttered rendered more profound the impression he had already produced upon the young girl. The unaccustomed notes of tenderness touched Emilia's heart, and that night as she lay in bed she recalled the words and the voice and dwelt with infinite gratitude upon the image of the young gentleman who had treated her with so much gentleness and consideration. But he did not leave her before he saw her safely to Mrs. Seaton's door; she would have had it otherwise, but he would not allow her to have her way, and on their road he heard from her lips the pitiful story of her misfortunes, He made inquiries, and learnt that her story was true, and this increased his pity for her. As she dwelt upon his image on that night, so did he on hers, and thus from their first meeting was established a spiritual connection between them. On the following day he called at Mrs. Seaton's house to inquire how Miss Paget was after her accident, and as this was the first time that lady had heard of it she was not in the most amiable of moods when she next spoke to the young lady she had engaged, and whom she was treating as a slave.

"I cannot," she said, "have young gentlemen calling at my house after my domestics."

But Emilia's spirit had been roused by the adventure. The consciousness that she was not entirely friendless gave her confidence and courage.

"It was not improper that he should call to inquire," she said. "He would have done so had I been living at home with my father."

"The cases are different," observed Mrs. Seaton, loftily. "Not entirely, madam," said Emilia, with a certain firmness. "Mr. Paget is a gentleman, and I am a lady."

"You! A lady!" exclaimed Mrs. Seaton, in great astonishment.

"Yes, madam. Poverty does not degrade one."

Upon this Mrs. Seaton commenced to storm and use bad language, and was so violent that Emilia was glad to escape from the room. From that day the unkind woman practised a system of oppression which almost drove Emilia mad. Had she possessed sufficient means to keep herself for even a week she would have fled from the house; but although she had now been in Mrs. Seaton's service for longer than the stipulated month not a word had been said about salary, nor had she received a shilling from her mistress. She remained because she was compelled to remain, and because she was powerless. Had Gerald been a lady instead of a gentleman she would have mustered courage to ask assistance from him, but as it was such a request was impossible. Mrs. Seaton's character, however, was well known to her neighbors, and from one with whom he had a slight acquaintance Gerald obtained information which made him unusually serious and grave. He had continued to call at the house, and had contrived to meet Emilia upon her afternoon walks; but Mrs. Seaton had received him with unbending stiffness, and he could not fail to observe Emilia's unhappiness. He loved the young girl, and it was not long before he made his sentiments known to her, but she, contrasting their positions, hardly dared to listen to him. For this he had partly to thank Mrs. Seaton, who, seeing that Gerald was strongly inclined to Emilia, treated the young girl to long and bitter dissertations upon the "infamy "--it was the word she used--of encouraging his attentions. She declared that such conduct was indelicate, unwomanly, disgraceful, and heaven knows what; there was no limit to her vituperation, and the unhappy girl, conscious that she loved Gerald and was not his equal, passed long nights in tears and sighs. When he commenced to speak upon the theme which was nearest his heart, she said, "I must not listen to you. I must not, I must not! If you have any respect for me, do not continue." Having more than a respect for her, having now a love as honest as it was profound, he obeyed her for a time; but still when he parted from her at the door he said, "Good-by, Emilia," as he pressed her hand, and she did not chide him for the familiarity. This gave him what he lacked, courage, and he did not lose hope. At length he resolved to put an end to this uncertainty, and as she begged him not to speak, he did the next best thing. He wrote, and entreated her to reply. But no reply came; and on the next occasion of her hour's holiday he did not see her at the accustomed place. What was the reason? Had he offended her? Had he been mistaken in believing that she loved him? Why did she not write to him? Why did she keep away from him? Lovers only who have gone through the stages of doubt and uncertainty can understand what he suffered.

But on the next occasion she did appear. He hastened to her side.