CHAPTER VIII – Afternoon Tea and a Mystery
Ten days later, returning from another of her now regular visits to the hospital, Betty Ashton was surprised by hearing voices inside the living room just as she was passing the closed door. Possibly Esther had invited some of their new acquaintances in to tea and had forgotten to mention it. Now she could hear her own name being called.
Her hair had been blown in every direction by the east wind and she had been sitting on the floor at the hospital, building a camp fire in the old chimney place, with the grate removed, according to the most approved camping methods. Straightening her hat and rubbing her face for an instant with her handkerchief, Betty made a casual entrance into the room, trying to assume an agreeable society manner to make up for her other deficiencies.
It was five o’clock and growing dark, although as yet the lights were not on. Esther was sitting at a little round wicker table pouring tea and Meg, who had evidently lately arrived, was standing near waiting to receive her cup. But in the largest chair in the room with her back turned to the opening door was a figure that made Betty’s heart behave in the most extraordinary fashion. The hair was so black, the figure so graceful that for the moment it seemed it could only be one person – Polly! Betty’s welcome was no less spontaneous, however, when Mollie O’Neill, jumping up, ran quickly toward her.
“No, I am not Polly, Betty dear! I only wish I were, for then we should at least know what had become of her. But Esther has asked me to spend Christmas with you and I hope you are half as glad to see me as I am to be with you.”
Half an hour later, Esther having disappeared to see about dinner as Meg was also to remain for the night, the three old friends dropped down on sofa cushions before the fire, Camp Fire fashion, and with the tea pot between them began talking all at the same time.
“Do, do tell me everything about Woodford,” Betty demanded. “I never shall love any place half so well as my native town and I have not heard a word except through letters, for ages.”
Ceasing her own questioning of Meg in regard to the pleasures of college life, Mollie at once turned her serious blue eyes upon her other friend. “Haven’t heard of Woodford, Betty!” she exclaimed, “what on earth do you mean? Then what do you and Anthony Graham talk about when he comes to Boston? I know he has been here twice lately, because he told me so himself and said you were well.”
Suddenly in Esther’s pretty sitting room all conversation abruptly ended and only the ticking of the clock could be heard. Fortunately the room was still in shadow, for unexpectedly Meg’s cheeks had turned scarlet, as she glanced toward the window with a perfectly unnecessary expression of unconcern. But Betty did not change color nor did her gray eyes falter for an instant from those of her friend. Yet before she received her answer Mollie was conscious that she must in some fashion have said the wrong thing.
Yet what could have been the fault with her question? It was a perfectly natural one, as Betty and Anthony had always been extremely intimate in the old days, ever since Anthony had lived for a year at Mrs. Ashton’s house. Mollie appreciated the change in the atmosphere, the coldness and restraint that had not been there before. Naturally she would have preferred to change the subject before receiving a reply, but she had not the quickness and adaptability of many girls, perhaps because she was too simple and sincere herself.
“Anthony Graham does not come to see me – us, Mollie,” Betty corrected herself, “when he makes his visits to Boston these days. You see he is now Meg’s friend more than mine. But you must remember, Mollie dear, that Meg has always had more admirers than the rest of us and now she is a full-fledged college girl, of course she is irresistible.”
Betty Ashton spoke without the least suggestion of anger or envy and yet Meg turned reproachfully toward her. Her usually gay and friendly expression had certainly changed, she seemed embarrassed and annoyed.
“You know that isn’t true, Princess, and never has been,” Meg returned, rumpling her pretty yellow hair as she always did in any kind of perplexity or distress. “I never have even dreamed of being so charming as you are. You know that John has always said – ”
Alas, if only Polly O’Neill had been present Mollie might in some fashion have been persuaded not to speak at this unlucky instant! But Polly had always cruelly called her an “enfant terrible.” Now Mollie was too puzzled to appreciate the situation and so determined to get at the bottom of it.
“But does Anthony come to see you and not Betty?” Mollie demanded inexorably of the embarrassed girl.
Meg nodded. “Yes, but it is only because Betty – ”
“Please don’t try to offer any explanation, Meg, I would rather you would not. It is most unnecessary,” Betty now interrupted gently, in a tone that few persons in her life had ever opposed. Then, reaching over, she began pouring out fresh cups of tea for her friends. “You need not worry, Mollie, Anthony and I are perfectly good friends. We have not quarreled, only he has not so much time these days now he is getting to be such a distinguished person. But do tell me whether you have the faintest idea of what Polly O’Neill is doing, or where she is, or a single solitary thing about her?”
Always Mollie’s attention could be distracted by any mention of her sister’s name and it may be that Betty was counting upon this. For Meg had gotten up and strolled over toward the window, leaving the two other girls comparatively alone.
Bluer and more serious than ever grew Mollie’s big, innocent eyes.
“Polly is well, or at least says she is. That much mother confides in me,” Mollie replied soberly. “But where Polly is or what she is doing I have no more idea than you have, not so much perhaps. You were always better at understanding her than I have ever been. But then even Miss Adams has never heard a line from Polly since she told her good-by in New York several months ago. By the way, Betty, Miss Adams and Mr. Hunt are going to be playing here in Boston during the holidays. Won’t you and Esther ask them to your Christmas dinner party?”
Betty at this moment got up from the floor. “Yes, I have seen the notices of their coming and I am glad. We can have an almost home Christmas, can’t we?” Then she walked over toward the window where Meg had continued standing, gazing with no special interest out into the street. The high wind was still blowing and with it occasional flurries of wet snow.
“Do let us draw down the blinds, Meg, it is getting late and is not very cheerful outside.” With apparent unconsciousness Betty slipped an arm about her friend’s waist and for another instant they both stared out into the almost deserted street.
Across on the farther sidewalk some one was standing, as though waiting for a companion. Meg had seen the person before but with no special attention. She was too deeply engaged with her own thoughts. Betty was differently influenced, for the figure had an oddly pathetic and lonely attitude. She could not see the face and the moment she began closing the living-room curtain the figure walked away.
Meg chose this same instant for giving her friend a sudden ardent embrace and Betty’s attention would in any case have been distracted.
With the lights under the rose-colored shades now glowing, and Mollie asking no more embarrassing questions, the atmosphere of the living room soon grew cheerful again. For Mollie had a great deal of Woodford news to tell. Eleanor Meade was getting a beautiful trousseau for her marriage with Frank Wharton in the spring and she and Mollie had been sewing together almost every day. Eleanor had given up her old ambition to become a celebrated artist and was using her taste for color and design in the preparation of her clothes. Frank was in business with his father and would have a good deal of money, and although Eleanor’s family was poor she did not intend to have less in her trousseau than other girls. Her own skill and work should make up for it.
Billy Webster was succeeding better each month with the management of his farm since his father’s death. Now and then Mollie went to call on Mrs. Webster and not long ago she and Billy had walked out to Sunrise cabin. The little house was in excellent condition, although no one had lived in it for several years.
“It is wonderfully kind,” Mollie explained, “but Billy has his own men look after our cabin and make any repairs that are necessary. He even keeps the grass cut and the weeds cleared from about the place, so any one of us could go out there to live with only a few hours preparation,” she ended with her usual happy smile.
For Mollie O’Neill was not self-conscious and did not guess for a moment that while she talked both Betty and Meg were engaged with the same thought. Was there still nothing more between Mollie and Billy than simple friendliness? Once they had believed that there might be something, but now the time was passing and they were both free, Mollie at home helping her mother with the house, Billy the head of his own farm, and yet nothing had happened. Well, possibly nothing ever would and they might always simply remain friends, until one or the other married some one else.
Suddenly Mollie started and her color faded.
“I am awfully sorry, Betty, I know how silly and nervous you and Polly used always to think me, but look, please!” She spoke under her breath and pointed toward the closed blind.
There, sharply defined, was the shadow of a head apparently straining to see inside the room. It had the effect of a gray silhouette.
The two other girls also changed color, for the effect was uncanny. Then Betty laughed somewhat nervously.
“It must be Dick, of course, trying to frighten us, but how silly and unlike him!” She then walked as quickly and quietly toward the window as possible and without a sign or word of warning drew up the curtain. Some one must have instantly jumped backward, for by the time Mollie and Meg had also reached the window they could only catch the outline of a disappearing figure. It was not possible in the darkness to decide whether it was a girl or a young boy.
“Well, it wasn’t Dick anyhow,” said Betty finally; “probably some child. However it might be just as well to go and tell Dick and Esther. They would not enjoy a sneak thief carrying off their pretty wedding presents. And besides it is time for us to get ready for dinner and I haven’t yet had time to tell you about my new Camp Fire.”
CHAPTER IX – Preparations
A few mornings afterwards a letter was handed to Betty Ashton at the breakfast table, bearing a type-written address. Carelessly opening it under the impression that it must be a printed circular she found three lines, also type-written, on a sheet of paper and with no signature. It read:
“Show whatever kindness is possible to the little French girl, Angelique, at the hospital. Pardon her peculiarities and oblige a friend.”
Without a comment Betty immediately passed the letter to Mollie O’Neill, who then gave it to Esther. Esther turned it over to Dr. Ashton, who frowned and straightway ceased eating his breakfast.
“I don’t like anonymous letters, Betty, even if they seem to be perfectly harmless and have the best intentions. Besides, who knows of your going to the hospital except our few intimate friends? I wonder if this queer child you have spoken of could be responsible for this letter herself. One never knows!”
Rather irritably Betty shook her head. “What an absurd supposition, Dick. In the first place the child dislikes me so that she will scarcely speak to me while I am at the hospital. She seems to like Mollie a great deal better. Moreover, she is the only one of the group of girls I made friends with who still refuses to come into our Camp Fire. If she wished my friendship she might at least begin by being civil.”
Always as in former days Esther was quick to interpose between any chance of a heated argument between Dick and his sister. Understanding this they both usually laughed at her efforts. For as long as they lived Dick would scold Betty when he believed her in the wrong, while she would protest and then follow his advice or discard it as seemed wisest.
“But, Betty dear, don’t you consider that there is a possibility that this Angelique may have spoken to some relative or friend of your visits to the hospital, who has written you this letter in consequence. You see, they may think of you as very wealthy,” Esther now suggested.
But before Betty could reply, Mollie O’Neill, who during the moment’s discussion had been thinking the question over quietly, turned her eyes on her friend.
“Have you any idea who has written you, Betty?” she queried.
For no explainable reason Betty flushed. Then with entire honesty she answered, “Of course not.” Surely the idea that had come into her mind was too absurd to give serious consideration.
“By the way, I wonder what I could be expected to do for Angelique?” Betty inquired the next instant, showing that her letter had not failed to make an impression, no matter if it were anonymous. “She has the best kind of care at the hospital; only she seems desperately unhappy over something and won’t tell any one what it is. I know, of course, that she is ill, but the matron tells me she is not suffering and the other girls seem quite different. They are as brave and gay as if there were nothing the matter. Cricket is the best sport I ever knew.”
Dr. Ashton got up from the table, leaning over to kiss Esther good-by.
“Well, don’t do anything rash, Lady Bountiful,” he protested to Betty. “Who knows but you may decide to adopt the little French girl before the day is over just because of a mysterious letter. I must confess I am extremely glad Judge Maynard’s will only permits you to spend your income or you would keep things lively for all of us. I’ve an idea that it must have been Anthony Graham who put Judge Maynard up to making that kind of will. He must have remembered how you insisted on thrusting your money upon him at your first meeting and wished to save you from other impostors.”
Dick was laughing and it was perfectly self-evident that he was only saying what he had to tease his sister. For surely the Princess’ generosities had been a joke among her family and friends ever since she was a little girl. And she was still in the habit of rescuing every forlorn person she saw, often with somewhat disastrous results to herself.
Betty jumped up quickly from her place at the table, her face suddenly grown white and her lips trembling.
“I won’t have you say things like that to me, Dick,” she returned angrily. “Anthony Graham had nothing in the world to do with the money Judge Maynard gave me, he has told you a hundred times he had not. But just the same I won’t have you call him an impostor. Just because you don’t approve of me is no reason why you should – ” But finding her voice no longer steady Betty started hastily for the door, only to feel her brother’s arms about her holding her so close she could not move while he stared closely at her downcast face.
“What is the matter, Betty?” he asked quite seriously now. “It isn’t in the least like you to get into a temper over nothing. You know perfectly well that while all of us may reproach you for being so generous we would not have you different for anything in the world. As for my thinking Anthony Graham an impostor, the thing is too absurd for any comment. You know he is my friend and one of the cleverest fellows in New Hampshire. Some day he will be a Senator at Washington, but I don’t think he’ll mind even then remembering who gave him his start. When he comes here at Christmas I mean to ask him and to tell him you thought it necessary to defend him against me.”
But by this time Betty had managed to pull herself away from Dick’s clasp. “If you speak my name to him I shall never forgive you as long as I live,” she announced and this time managed to escape from the room.
Utterly mystified Dick Ashton gazed at his wife.
“What on earth!” he began helplessly. And Esther nodded at Mollie.
“Won’t you find Betty?” she asked.
Mollie had already risen, but she did not go at once in search of her friend, for although Mollie O’Neill may not have had as much imagination as certain other girls she had a sympathy that perhaps served even better.
Out into the hall Esther followed her husband, and after helping him into his overcoat she stood for an instant with her hand resting on his shoulder. In spite of the change in her circumstances and in spite of her own talent and Dick’s adoration there was never a day when Esther was not in her heart of hearts both humble and deeply puzzled by her husband’s ardent affection. Of course neither he nor Betty ever allowed her to disparage herself these days, but that had not changed the essential elements in Esther’s lovely nature.
“Dick, don’t try to understand,” she now said. “I don’t think we have exactly the right. Anthony and Betty were friends once, you know, and you were desperately afraid they might be something more. Well, I don’t think there is anything between them any longer; whether they have quarreled or not is exactly what I don’t know. Only if Betty should want to do any special thing for this little French girl, please don’t oppose her. It would be an interest for her and you know we don’t want her to spend her money on us. She will, you know, if she has any idea that there is anything either of us wish that we cannot afford to get. Already she says that she is determined to be an old maid so that her money can go to – ”
Esther blushed but could not have finished her speech as her husband’s kiss at this instant made it impossible.
Dick turned to go, but came back almost immediately.
“See here, Esther, I would not think of interfering with any sensible thing the Princess may wish to do with her money. I only can’t let her be reckless. But about Anthony Graham. If you think he has treated Betty badly or hurt her feelings, or goodness knows what, well I won’t stand it for a single little instant. He will have to hear what I think of him – ”
Positively Esther could feel herself turning pale with horror at her husband’s remark, but fortunately she had the good sense to laugh.
“Richard Ashton,” she said, “I am not often firm with you, but if you ever dare – Oh goodness, was there ever anything on earth quite so stupid as a man can be! No matter what may or may not have happened between Betty and Anthony there is nothing that you or I can do or say. You know we interfered as hard as we possibly could with Betty’s German lover. We must leave the poor child to manage some of her own affairs alone. Anthony seems to be devoting himself to Meg these days. But he will be in Boston at Christmas, so perhaps if it is only a quarrel that has come between them they may make it up. But how do you suppose I am ever going to be able to get through with all my Christmas church music and give a dinner party with Miss Adams and Mr. Hunt present and perhaps have Betty’s Camp Fire girls here for an afternoon? The child has some scheme or other of taking them for a drive so that they may be able to see the Christmas decorations and then bringing them home for a party.”
“If it is going to tire you, Esther, we will cut it all out,” was Dr. Ashton’s final protest as he disappeared to begin his morning’s work. Dick had been taken into partnership with an older physician and his office was several blocks away.
At his departure Esther breathed a sigh of relief. At least by dwelling on her own difficulties she had taken his mind away from Betty’s odd mood. She did not understand her sister herself, but certainly she must be left alone.
Late that afternoon when Betty and Mollie had been doing some Christmas shopping in Boston and were sitting side by side on the car, Betty whispered unexpectedly:
“See here, Mollie, do you think by any chance it is possible that Polly O’Neill could have written me that letter about the little French girl? Yes, I realize the question sounds as though I had lost my mind, as Polly may be in South America for all I know. Besides, the child never heard of Polly until I mentioned her in talking of our old club. But somehow, for a reason I can’t even try to explain, I keep thinking of Polly these days as if there was something she wanted me to do and yet did not exactly know how to ask it of me. It used often to be like that, you know, Mollie, when we were younger. Polly and I could guess what was in the other’s mind. We often made a kind of game of it, just for fun. Anyhow you will have to try and see what is making that poor child so miserable, as she seems to like you better than she does me. Perhaps it is because you are so like Polly.”
Quietly Mollie nodded. Of course Betty was absurd in her supposition; yet, as always, she was perfectly willing to help in any practical way that either her erratic sister or Betty suggested.