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The Little Lady of Lagunitas

R >> Richard Henry Savage >> The Little Lady of Lagunitas




Hortensc Duval might lose her hold on cold Philip Hardin. The
scheming beauty smiles when she thinks how true Marie Berard will
be to the new Madame de Santos. A thorough adventuress, she can
count on her fellow-conspirator. Two smart women, with a solid
golden bond, united against a distant, aging man.

Marie returns, her business-like manner showing no change. "I have
found the family," she says. "They will take the child at once."

In the evening every arrangement is made for an early departure.
It is a rare day's work.

Marie Berard conducts the friendless child to its new home, in the
morning hours. The luggage and belongings are despatched. All is
over. Safe at last.

Free to move, as soon as the maid returns, Hortense at once leaves
her modest quarters. The bills are all paid. Their belongings are
packed as for departure. To the Hotel Meurice, by a roundabout
route, mistress and maid repair. Hortense Duval is no more. A new
social birth.

Madame de Santos, in superb apartments, proceeds to arrange her
entree into future social greatness. A modern miracle.

No one has seen the children together in Paris. On the steamer not
a suspicion was raised. Natalie de Santos breathes freely. A few
days of preparation makes Madame "au fait" in the newest fashions.
Her notes, cartes de visite, dazzling "batterie de toilette," and
every belonging bear crest, monogram, and initial of the new-born
Senora Natalie.

Securely lodged in an aristocratic apartment, Madame de Santos
receives her bankers, and the members of the Southern circle,
to whom the Judge has given her the freemasonry of his influence.
Madame de Santos is now a social fact, soon to find her old life a
waning memory. The glittering splendors of the court gaieties are
her everyday enjoyments.

Keenly watching all Californians, protected by her former retirement,
her foreign appearance and glamour of wealth impose on all. She
soon almost forgets herself and that dark past before the days of
the El Dorado. She is at last secure within wealth's impregnable
ramparts, and defies adverse fate.

An apartment on the Champs Elysees is judiciously chosen by her
bankers. Marie Berard, with her useful allies, aids in the selection
of the exquisite adornment. Her own treasures aid in the "ensemble."

The servants, the equipage of perfect appointment, all her
surroundings bespeak the innate refinement of the woman who has
for long years pleased even the exacting Hardin.

Natalie de Santos has not neglected to properly report by telegraph
and mail to the guardian of the person and future millions of Col.
Valois' only child.

Her attitude toward society is quiet, dignified, without haste or
ostentation. A beautiful woman, talented, free, rich, and "a la
mode," can easily reach the social pleasures of that gaudy set who
now throng the Tuileries.

There is not a care on Natalie de Santos' mind. Her own child is
visited, with a growing secret pleasure. She thrives in the hands
of the gentle ladies of the Sacred Heart.

Regularly, Marie Berard brings reports of the other child, whose
existence is important for the present.

Madame de Santos, discreetly veiled, finds time to observe the
location and movements of the orphan. Marie Berard's selection
has been excellent.

"Louise Moreau" is the new name of the changeling heiress, now
daily becoming more contented in her new home.

Aristide Dauvray has a happy household. A master decorative workman,
only lacking a touch of genius to be a sculptor, his pride is in
his artistic handiwork. His happiness in his good wife Josephine.
His heart centres in his talented boy.

To educate his only son Raoul, to be able to develop his marked
talent as an artist, has been Aristide's one ambition. The
proposition to take the girl, and the liberal payments promised,
assure the artistic future of Raoul. Marie Berard has appreciated
that the life of this orphan child is the measure of her own golden
fortunes. Good Josephine becomes attached to the shy, sweet little
wanderer, who forgets, day by day, in the new life of Cinderella,
her babyish glimpses of any other land.

Natalie de Santos is safe. Pressing her silken couch, she rests
in splendor. Her letters from Hardin are clear, yet not always
satisfactory. Years of daily observance have taught her to read
his character. As letter after letter arrives she cons them all
together. Not a word of personal tenderness. Not an expression which
would betray any of their secrets. With no address or signature,
they are full only in directions. He is called for a length of time
to Lagunitas, to put the estate in "general order."

Removed from the sway of Hardin, Natalie relies upon herself. Her
buoyant wings bear her on in society. Recognized as an opponent
of the North, she meets those lingering Southern sympathizers who
have little side coteries yet in glittering Paris.

Adulation of her beauty and sparkling wit fires her genius. Her
French is classic. The sealed book of her youth gives no hint of
where her fine idiom came from. Merrily Marie Berard recounts to
the luxurious social star the efforts of sly dames and soft-voiced
messieurs to fathom the "De Santos'" past.

Marie Berard is irreproachable; never presuming. She can wait.

Madame Natalie's stormy past has taught her to trust no one. It
is her rule from the first that no one shall see Isabel Valois,
the pet of the Sacred Heart Convent, but herself. Little remains
in a month or two, with either child, of its cradle memories. The
months spent by the two girls in mastering a new language are final
extinguishers of the past.

Without undue affectation of piety, Madame de Santos gives liberally.
The good nuns strive to fit the young heiress for her dazzling
future.

Keenly curious of the dangers of the situation, Natalie writes Hardin
that she has sent her own child away to a country institution, to
prevent awkward inquiry. As months roll on, drawn in by the whirlpool
of pleasure, Natalie de Santos' letters become brief. They are only
statements of affairs to her absent "financial agent."

Hardin's letters are acknowledgments of satisfactory news, and
directions regarding the education of the child. He does not refer
to the future of the woman who ruled his home so long. No tenderness
for his own child appears. He is engrossed in BUSINESS, and she in
PLEASURE. Avarice is the gentlemanly passion of his later years.
"Royal days of every pleasure" for the brilliant woman; she,
ambitious and self-reliant, lives only for the happy moments.

And yet, as Natalie de Santos sweeps from palace ball or the opera,
she frames plans as to the future control of Hardin. To keep the
child he fears, where his agency can reach her, is her aim. To
place the child he would ignore, where millions will surround her,
is her ambition. With Marie Berard as friend, confidante, agent,
and spy, she can keep these two children apart. Hortense Duval and
Natalie Santos can defy the world.

Distrust of Hardin always burns in her breast. Will he dare to
attempt her life; to cut off her income; to betray her? When the
work of years is reflected in her own child's graces and charms,
will the man now aging ever give its mother the name of wife? Her
fears belie her hopes.

She must guard her own child, and conceal the other. He may live
and work out his schemes. If he acts well, she will be ready to
meet him. If not, the same.

But she has sworn in her heart of hearts, the orphan shall live.
If necessary to produce her, she alone knows her hiding place. If
fortune favors, the properties shall descend to her own child.

The year 1865 opens with the maddest gaieties. Though France is
drained of men and treasure for a foolish war in Mexico, glittering
streets, rich salons, mad merry-makings and imperial splendor do
not warn gay Lutetia she is tottering toward the dawning war-days
of gloom. The French are drunk with pleasure.

Marie Berard has now a nice little fund of ringing napoleons
securely invested, and that hoard is growing monthly. Natalie de
Santos gives freely, amply. The maid bides her time for a great
demand. She can wait.

A rare feminine genius is Natalie de Santos. The steady self-poise
of her nature prevents even a breath of scandal. Frank, daring, and
open in her pleasures, she individualizes no swain, she encourages
no one sighing lover. Her name needs no defence save the open record
of her social life. A solid, undisturbed position grows around
her. The dear-bought knowledge of her youth enables her to read
the vapid men and women around her.

As keen-eyed as a hawk, Madame Natalie watches the scholar of the
Sacred Heart. She takes good care, also, to verify the substantial
comfort and fair education of little Louise Moreau.

With silent lips she moves among the new associates of her later
days. Madame de Santos' position moves toward impregnability, as
the months roll on. A "lionne" at last.






CHAPTER XIV.

A MARIPOSA BONANZA.--NATALIE DE SANTOS BORN IN PARIS.--THE QUEEN
OF THE EL DORADO JOINS THE GALLIC "FOUR HUNDRED."





Philip Hardin's days are busy after the steamer bears away his
"Ex-Queen of the El Dorado." There are his tangled finances to
arrange; giant speculations to follow up. The Lagunitas affairs
are pressing. That hidden mine!

Hardin sets his house in order. The establishment is reduced. He
has, now, peace for his schemes. No petticoat rule now. No prying
eyes. As the winter rain howls among his trees, he realizes that
the crash of the Confederacy will bring back clouds of stragglers
from the ruin yet to come. He must take legal possession of Lagunitas.
He has a good reason. Its hidden gold will give him power.

His public life is only cut off for a time. Gold is potent; yes,
omnipotent! He can bide his time. He must find that mine. He has
now two points to carry in his game. To rid himself of the padre
is easy, in time. To disembarrass himself of old "Kaintuck" is
another thing.

His face grows bitter as he thinks of the boundless wealth to be
reached in Lagunitas's glittering quartz beds. The property must
remain in his care.

If the heiress were to die, the public administrator might take
it. He knows he is not popular. His disloyalty is too well known.
Besides, Valois' death is not yet officially proven. He has kept
his counsel. No one has seen the will. But the returning wave
of Confederates may bring news. The dead colonel was of too great
local fame to drop unheeded into his grave.

His carefully prepared papers make him the representative of Colonel
Valois. He is legal guardian of the child. He will try and induce
"Kaintuck" to quit the rancho. Then he will be able to open the
mines. If the Confederacy totters to its fall, with the control of
that wealth he may yet hold the highest place on the coast.

Dreaming over his cigar, he knows that legislatures can be bought,
governors approached, and high positions gained, by the adroit use
of gold. Bribery is of all times and places.

Telegraphing to "Kaintuck" to meet him near Stockton, at the
station, with a travelling carriage, the Judge revolves plans to
rid himself of this relic of the Valois r‚gime.

His stay at Lagunitas will be for some weeks. He has now several
agents ready to open up the mines.

A liberal use of the income of Lagunitas has buoyed up his sinking
credit. But his stock-gambling has been desperately unlucky.
Hardin revolves in his mind the displacement of old "Kaintuck."
The stage sweeps down the San Joaquin to the station, where his team
awaits him. An unwonted commotion greets him there. His arrival is
opportune. In the room which is the office, bar, and billiard-room
of the little hostelry, poor old "Kaintuck" lies dying, when the
Judge dismounts. It is the hand of fate.

During the hours of waiting, a certain freedom, induced by copious
draughts of fiery Bourbon, caused the old foreman to injudiciously
"Hurrah for Jeff Davis." He gave free vent to his peculiar Southern
opinions.

A sudden quarrel with a stranger results in a quick resort to
weapons. Benumbed with age and whiskey, the old trapper is shot
while tugging at his heavy "Colt."

Before the smoke cleared away the stranger was far away. Dashing
off, he spurred his horse at full speed into the chaparral. No one
dared, no one cared, to follow a desperate man riding for his life.

Hardin orders every attention to the sufferer. Old "Kaintuck" is
going out alone on the dark river.

Hardin, steeled to scenes like this, by an exciting life, blesses
this opportune relief. "Kaintuck" is off his hands forever. Before
the Judge leaves, a rude examination by a justice precedes the
simple obsequies of the dead ranger.

One more red mound by the wayside. A few pencilled words on a shingle
mark the grave, soon to be trampled down by the feet of cattle and
horses. So, one by one, many of the old pioneers leave the theatre
of their aimless lives.

The Judge, happy at heart, bears a grave face. He drives into
Lagunitas. Its fields looked never so fair. Seated in the mansion
house, with every luxury spread out before him, his delighted eye
rests on the diamond lake gleaming in the bosom of the fair landscape.
It already seems his own.

He settles in his easy-chair with an air of conscious lordship.
Padre Francisco, studiously polite, answers every deft question.
He bears himself with the self-possession of a man merely doing
his duty.

Does the priest know of the hidden gold mines? No. A few desultory
questions prove this. "Kaintuck's" lips are sealed forever in
death. The secret is safe.

Padre Francisco does not delay his request to be allowed to depart.
As he sips his ripe Mission claret, he tells Judge Hardin of the
desire of years to return to France. There are now no duties here
to hold him longer. He desires to give the Judge such family papers
as are yet in his charge. He would like practical advice as to his
departure. For he has grown into his quiet retreat and fears the
outer world.

With due gravity the lawyer agrees in the change. He requests the
padre to permit him to write his San Francisco agent of the arrival
of the retiring missionary.

"If you will allow me," he says, "my agent shall furnish your
passage to Paris and arrange for all your wants."

Padre Francisco bows. It is, after all, only his due.

"When will you wish to leave?" queries Hardin.

"To-morrow, Judge. My little affairs are in readiness."

During the evening the light of the good priest glimmers late in
the lonely little sacristy. The chapel bell tolls the last vespers,
for long years, at Lagunitas.

All the precious family papers are accepted by the Judge when the
padre makes ready for his departure. The priest, with faltering
voice, says early mass, with a few attendants. Delivering up the
keys of the sacristy, chapel, and his home to the Judge, he quietly
shares the noonday meal.

If there is sadness in his heart his placid face shows it not. He
sits in the lonely room replete with memories of the past.

He is gone for a half hour, after the wily Judge lights his cigar,
to contemplate the rich domain which shall be his, from the porch
of the old home. When the priest returns, it is from the graves
of the loved dead. He has plucked the few flowers blooming there.
They are in his hand.

His eyes are moist with the silent tears of one who mourns the useless
work of long years. They have been full of sadness, separation,
spiritual defeat, and untimely death. Even Judge Hardin, merciless
as he is, feels compassion for this lonely man. He has asked nothing
of him. The situation is delicate.

"Can I do anything for you, Father Francisco?" says Hardin, with
some real feeling. He is a gentleman "in modo." The priest may be
penniless. He must not go empty-handed.

"Nothing, thank you, save to accept my adieux and my fondest blessing
for the little Isabel."

He hands Judge Hardin the address of the religious house to which
he will retire in Paris.

"I will deliver to your agent the other papers and certificates
of the family. They are stored for safety at the Mission Dolores
church."

"My agent will have orders to do everything you wish," remarks the
Judge, as the carriage drives up for the priest.

Hardin arises, with a sudden impulse. The modest pride of this grave
old French gentleman will not be rudely intruded on. He must not,
he shall not, go away entirely empty-handed. The lawyer returns
with an envelope, and hands it to the padre.

"From the colonel," he says. "It is an order for ten thousand
dollars upon his San Francisco bankers."

"I will be taken care of by those who sent me here," simply remarks
the padre.

Hardin flushes.

"You can use it, father, in France, for the poor, for the friendless;
you will find some worthy objects."

The priest bows gravely, and presses the hand of the lawyer. With
one loving look around the old plaza, the sweeping forest arches,
and the rolling billows of green, he leaves the lonely lake gleaming
amid its wooded shores. Its beauty is untouched by the twenty
long years since first he wandered by its shores. A Paradise in a
forest. His few communicants have said adieu. There is nothing to
follow him but the incense-breathing murmurs of the forest branches,
from fragrant pine and stately redwood, sighing, "Go, in God's
name."

Their wind-wafted voices speak to him of the happy past. The quiet,
saddened, patient padre trusts himself as freely to his unknown
future, as a child in its mother's cradling arms. In his simple
creed, "God is everywhere."

So Fran‡ois Ribaut goes in peace to spend a few quiet days at the
Mission Dolores church. He will then follow the wild ocean waves
back to his beloved France. "Apres vingt ans." A month sees him
nearing the beloved shores.

Walking the deck, he thinks often of that orphan child in Europe.
He remembers, strangely, that the Judge had neglected to give him
any clew to her present dwelling. Ah! he can write. Yes, but will
he be answered? Perhaps. But Judge Hardin is a cunning old lawyer.

Disembarrassed of the grave priest, Hardin at once sends orders
for his prospectors. A new man appears to superintend the grant.

It is with grim satisfaction he reflects that the hand of fate has
removed every obstacle to his control. His fiery energy is shown by
the rapidity with which hundreds of men swarm on ditch and flume.
They are working at mill and giant water-wheels. They are delving
and tracing the fat brown quartz, gold laden, from between the
streaks of rifted basalt and porphyry.

There is no one to spy, none to hinder now. Before the straggling
veterans of Lee and Johnston wander back to the golden West, the
quartz mine of Lagunitas yields fabulous returns.

The legacy of "Kaintuck" was wonderful. The golden bars, run
out roughly at the mine, represented to Hardin the anchor of his
tottering credit. They are the basis of a great fortune, and the
means of political prestige.

When the crash came, when the Southern flags were furled in the
awful silence of defeat and despair, the wily lawyer, safe in
Lagunitas, was crowning his golden fortunes.

Penniless, broken in pride and war-worn, the survivors of the men
whom he urged into the toils of secession, returned sadly home,
scattering aimlessly over the West. Fools of fortune.

Philip Hardin, satisfied with the absence of the infant heiress,
coldly stood aloof from the ruin of his friends.

As the months ran on, accumulating his private deposits, Judge
Hardin, engrossed in his affairs, grew indifferent even to the fate
of the woman he had so long cherished. His unacknowledged child is
naught to him.

It was easy to keep the general income and expenses of the ranch
nearly even in amount.

But the MINE was a daily temptation to the only man who knew its
real ownership. It must be his at any cost. Time must show the way.
He must have a title.

Hardin looked far into the future. His very isolation and inaction
was a proof of no overt treason. With the power of this wealth
he might, when a few years rolled away, reach lofty civic honors.
Young at sixty, as public men are considered, he wonders, looking
over the superb estate, if a high political marriage would not
reopen his career. In entertaining royally at San Francisco and
Sacramento, with solid and substantial claims in society, he may
yet be able to place his name first in the annals of the coast. A
senator. Why not? Ambition and avarice.

With prophetic insight, he knows that sectional rancor will not long
exist in California. Not really, in the war, a divided community,
a debatable land, there will be thousands of able, hardy men,
used to excitement, spreading over the West. It is a land of easy
and liberal opinion. Business and the mine's affairs cause him to
visit San Francisco frequently. He reaches out for all men as his
friends. Seated in his silent parlors, walking moodily through the
beautiful rooms, haunted with memories of the splendid "anonyma"
whose reign is yet visible, he dreams of his wasted past, his
lonely future. Can he repair it? Enveloped in smoke wreaths, from
his portico he surveys the thousand twinkling city lights below.
He is careless of the future movements of his Parisian goddess.

It cost Philip Hardin no heart-wrench to part with voluptuous Hortense
Duval. Partners in a crime, the stain of "French Charlie's" blood
crimsoned their guilty past. An analytical, cold, all-mastering
mind, he had never listened to the heart. He supposed Hortense
to be as chilly in nature as himself. Yet she writes but seldom.
Taught by his profession to dread silence from a woman, he casually
corresponds with several trusted friends of the Confederate
colony in France. What is her mystery? Madame Natalie de Santos is
now a personage. The replies tell him of her real progress in the
glittering ranks of the capital, and her singularly steady life.
As the months roll on, he becomes a little anxious. She is far
too cool and self-contained to suit him. He wishes women to lean
on him and to work his will. Does she intend to establish a thorough
position abroad, and claim some future rights? Has she views of a
settlement? Who knows?

Hardin sees too late, that in the control of both children, and
her knowledge of his past, she is now independent of his mere daily
influence. The millions of Lagunitas mine cannot be hidden. If he
recalls the heiress, will "Natalie de Santos" be as easily controlled
as "Hortense Duval"?

And his own child, what of her? Hardin dares not tie himself up by
acknowledging her claims. If he gives a large sum to the girl, it
will give his "sultana" a powerful weapon for the future.

Is she watching him through spies? She betrays no anxiety to know
anything, save what he imparts. He dare not go to Paris, for fear
of some public scandal and a rupture. He must confirm his position
there. What new friends has she there?

Ah! He will wait and make a final settlement of a handsome fortune
on the child. He will provide a future fixed income for this new
social star, now, at any rate, dependent on her obedience. Reports,
in due form, accompany the occasional communications forwarded
from the "Sacred Heart" as to the heiress. This must all be left
to time.

With a deep interest, Hardin sees the cessation of all hostilities,
the death of Lincoln, the disbandment, in peace, of the great
Union armies.

Bayonets glitter no more upon the crested Southern heights.
The embers of the watchfires are cold, gray ashes now. The lonely
bivouac of the dead is the last holding of the foughten fields.

While the South and East is a graveyard or in mourning, strange
to say, only a general relief is felt in the West. The great issue
easily drops out of sight. There are here no local questions, no
neighborhood hatreds, no appealing graves. Happy California! happy,
but inglorious. The railway approaches completion. A great activity
of scientific mining, enterprises of scope and local development,
urge the Western communities to action. The bonanza of Lagunitas
gives Judge Hardin even greater local prominence. He establishes
his residence at the old home in the Sierras.

With no trusted associates, he splits and divides the funds from
the mine, placing them in varied depositories. He refrains from an
undue appearance of wealth or improvement at the rancho itself.
No one knows the aggregates, the net returns, save himself. Cunning
old robber.

To identify himself with the interior and southern part of the State,
he enters the higher body of the Legislature. His great experience
and unflagging hospitalities make him at once a leader.

Identified with State and mining interests, he engages public
attention. He ignores all contention, and drops the question of
the Rebellion. A hearty welcome from one and all, proves that his
commanding talents are recognized.

There are no relatives, no claims, no meddlesome legatees to question
the disposition of Colonel Valois' estate. His trusteeship is well
known, and his own influence is pre-eminent in the obscure District
Court having control of the legal formalities.

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