CHAPTER X. — A Blighted Life.
Amongst the many orthodox business men of Montreal, none were more highly esteemed than Mr. Rogers, Manager of the —— Bank. He was what is generally considered a shrewd business man, methodical and precise in all his relations, whether commercial, domestic or ecclesiastical. I say ecclesiastical, because the worthy gentleman was one of the pillars of the church, having held the office of Elder for several years. Mr. Rogers had several children, most of whom he trained in the way in which they should go, but Jack, his eldest son, was incorrigible, and resisted all attempts to keep him under control. On Sunday mornings the family were usually marshalled in the dining-room, and marched off to church, but Master Jack frequently put in an excuse,—he had a bad cold, or a sprained ankle, or some other ailment which precluded the possibility of his attending. No sooner were the family outside the garden gate, however, than the poor boy with the sprained ankle would perform a pas seul on the hearthrug, or, in spite of a cold which prevented his going out of doors, would shout “The old log cabin” with an excellent tone and remarkable vigor of lung; then, returning to his room, he would take a French novel from its hiding place under his pillow, and, lighting a fragrant Havana, would devote the morning to “the improvement of his mind,” as he called it.
Mrs. Rogers employed three servants besides a coachman: a cook, a housemaid, and a tablemaid. The latter was a young and attractive-looking girl from Glengarry, Ontario, named Ellen MacNee, who was about seventeen years old, and had never before been in service. For this damsel Jack Rogers conceived an attachment, and although at first the girl withstood his attentions, ere long she gave way to his importunities, and for months they lived on terms of the closest intimacy. Jack of course promised (as all men do) to marry her, and to do him justice I must say that he fully intended to do so, but his income as a bank clerk was only twenty dollars a month, and he knew he had no hope of receiving any assistance from his father. So things went on till Ellen felt she could keep her secret no longer from those around her, and she told her mistress she was going home to visit a sick aunt, and did not know whether she would return or not. Mrs. Rogers was very sorry indeed to part with her (for she had ingratiated herself with all the family, although not to the same extent), and told her if she would undertake to return she would only fill her place temporarily with another girl. With this understanding Ellen left her place and entered the Female Home, where shortly afterwards her baby (a girl) was born; she had the child baptized almost immediately, calling it Beatrice, after her young mistress, to whom she had been much attached, although it is doubtful if the young lady in question would, had she known it have appreciated the honor conferred upon her.
Ellen was scarcely recovered from her illness when her brother, a country farmer, who had by some means got wind of the state of affairs, came to Montreal, and had his misgivings confirmed. When he learnt the truth he was furious, and would, he vowed, shoot both her and her betrayer; but fraternal affection was so strong within him that he gradually became more calm, and exerted himself to make the best he could of a bad business. He requested me to take the child and place it in a nunnery in spite of the earnest protestations of its mother, and persuaded the latter to return to her home in Glengarry, promising to hide her shame from her mother and friends if she would bid farewell forever to the child and her betrayer. He persistently refused even to look at the baby, but, rough and uncultivated as he was, I could see a tear glisten in his eye as his manly heart quivered with emotion.
Home the poor broken-hearted girl went, and the baby was left in my keeping till the morrow, when, according to agreement, I was to hand it over to the good sisters. It was destined to be otherwise, however. That evening a gentleman called at my house; he was a bachelor, well to do in the world, and hearing the story, which it was necessary to tell him, in order to explain the child’s presence, he asked me with pardonable curiosity to let him see the baby. When he took her in his arms she smiled so sweetly upon him, and crowed so joyously, that his heart was touched, and he could not bear to think that the poor helpless babe should be made to suffer for the sins of its parents; he asked me to let him have the child, promising that he would adopt her, and do for her as if she were his own.
I suggested to him the scandal such a measure would give rise to, and urged him not to place himself in such an unenviable position, but he insisted that he was willing to let society have its fling, and that if I would consent to the child’s adoption, he would take the responsibility attached to it.
What was I to do? The man was well off, and had conceived a fancy for the child. As for the world’s sneers, if he could afford to laugh at them why should I refuse him the gratification of performing a noble action? I handed the child over to his care, having first procured from him written papers of adoption, and little Beatrice was installed in her new home. A nurse was procured for her, and everything that money could procure was provided for her comfort. The gossips sneered and wagged their heads as they spoke of the “adopted” child, insinuating that there were stronger ties than those of mere philanthropy to bind Mr. Richards and the child together, but he, quite unconcerned, paid no attention to their hints and innuendoes, and tried so far as lay in his power to make the child comfortable and happy. When she attained the age of five years he procured a governess for her, and had her instructed thoroughly in all that go to make up a modern education as she grew older.
But a cloud soon appeared on the horizon of the child’s career. Mr. Richards became ill, and was ordered by his medical adviser to a Southerly climate. He was obliged to sell his estate and place little Beatrice in Mrs. Thompson’s boarding school, where she continued for a few years till the return of her adopted father. He came, it is true, but the seeds of a fatal disease had been implanted in his system, and had taken a deadly hold; in a few months he was no more, and as nearly all his money had been eaten up in paying travelling and medical expenses, poor Beatrice was left once more not only without a friend but without a penny in the world. Mr. Richards had paid her school fees annually in advance, and as at the time of his demise several months of the term paid for were unexpired, Beatrice had a comfortable home secured for her at least during that period; for the future she would either have to perform menial services at the school, or go out in the cold world without a friend or protector. The former was considered by the poor girl preferable to going she knew not where, and so she accepted the offer of a situation as housemaid, kindly proffered to her by Mrs. Thompson out of pure charity at two dollars per month less than the previous occupant of the situation.
Poor Beatrice had a hard time of it as housemaid. Her former companions took a fiendish delight in ordering her about till her life became perfectly unbearable. She had but one friend to whom she could unreservedly pour forth her troubles, her Sunday-School teacher, Miss Flint. To this lady she gave an account of her history, so far as she was able, and asked her for advice and assistance. Miss Flint, being both sensible and charitably disposed, advised her to leave her present position, having first procured a suitable one elsewhere, and she promised to exert herself to this end.