Clara took the girl by the hand, made her sit down, and then, with all the persuasiveness she could summon, tried to reach her better nature, and induce her to aid in her escape. Failing in the effort to move the girl’s heart, Clara appealed to her acquisitiveness, promising a large reward in money for such help as she could give. But the girl had been pre-persuaded by Ratcliff that Clara’s promises were not to be relied upon; and so, disbelieving them utterly, she simply shook her head and simpered. How could Agnes, a slave, presume to disobey a great man like Massa Ratcliff? Besides, he meant the young missis no harm. He only wanted to make her his wife. Why should she be so obstinate about it? Agnes couldn’t see the sense of it.
During the rest of the day, Clara felt for the first time that her every movement was watched. If she went to the window, Agnes was by her side. If she took up a bodkin, Agnes seemed ready to spring upon her and snatch it from her hand.
Terrible reflections brought their gloom. Clara recalled the case of a slave-girl which she had heard only the day before her last walk with Esha. It was the case of a girl quite white belonging to a Madame Coutreil, residing just below the city. This girl, for attempting to run away, had been placed in a filthy dungeon, and a thick, heavy iron ring or yoke, surmounted by three prongs, fastened about her neck.[[43]] If a mistress could do such things, what barbarity might not a master like Ratcliff attempt?
And where was Ratcliff all this while?
Still keeping in the house, brooding on the one scheme on which he had set his heart. He smoked cigars, stretched himself on sofas, cursed the perversity of the sex, and theorized as to the efficacy of extreme measures in taming certain feminine tempers. Was not a woman, after all, something like a horse? Had he not seen Rarey tame the most furious mare by a simple process which did not involve beating or cruelty? The consideration was curious,—a matter for philosophy to ruminate.
Ratcliff dined late that day. It was almost dark enough for the gas to be lighted when he sat down to the table. The viands were the choicest of the season, but he hardly did them justice. All the best wines were on the sideboard. Sam filled three glasses with hock, champagne, and burgundy; but, to his surprise and secret disappointment, Ratcliff did not empty one of them. “Mr. Semmes used to praise this Rudesheimer very highly,” said Sam, insinuatingly. Ratcliff simply raised his hand imperiously with a gesture imposing silence. He sipped half a glass of the red wine, then drank a cup of coffee, then lit a cigar, and resumed his walk on the piazza.
It was now nine o’clock in the evening. Without taking off any of her clothes, Clara had lain down on the bed. Agnes sat sewing at a table near by. The room was brilliantly illuminated by two gas-burners. Light also came through the corridor from a burner in the parlor. Every few minutes the chambermaid would look round searchingly, as if to see whether the young “missis” were asleep. In order to learn what effect it would have, Clara shut her eyes and breathed as if lost in slumber. Agnes put down her work, moved stealthily to the bed, and gently felt around the maiden’s waist and bosom, as if to satisfy herself there was no weapon concealed about her person.
While the negro woman was thus engaged, there was a sound as if a key had dropped on the billiard-room floor, which was of oak and uncarpeted. Agnes stopped and listened as if puzzled. There was then a sound as if the outer door of the billiard-room communicating with the entry were unlocked and opened. Agnes went up to the mantel-piece and looked at the clock, and then listened again intently.
There was now a low knock from the billiard-room at the chamber-door, which was locked on the inside, and the key of which was left in while Agnes was present, but which she was accustomed to take out and leave on the billiard-room side when she quitted the apartments to go down-stairs.