Читать книгу Where's Emily - Carolyn Wells - Страница 5

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“Where’s Emily?” demanded Betty, coming to Sayre a few moments later.

“Why, she was here a minute or two ago,” returned Rodney, mindful of his instructions.

“Well, where is she now?” and Betty grew impatient.

“Isn’t she in the present room?”

“No, I can’t find her anywhere. And everybody has gone home, except the wedding party, and the Rehearser will be here pretty quick. Oh, it’s awful to be maid of honor to a bride like Emily! Do help me, Rod. Don’t sit there grinning like a Chinese god of happiness! Get up, and find Emily.”

“Not so. You get Black Pearl; she’ll smoke Emily out. Or ask Aunt Judy. I can’t run around looking for the bride.”

Betty went off, and then half a dozen young people from near-by houses came trooping in. They were the rest of the bridesmaids and ushers and with the house party made up the wedding procession that was to be rehearsed.

The minister arrived and for a moment cast a damper on the gayety going on.

But the irrepressible spirits of the younger generation soon rose above such an influence, and gay speeches from the men and shrieks of laughter from the girls made the house ring with merriment.

Aunt Judy sat, looking on placidly. It seemed to her a strange performance, this rehearsal business, but it was Emily’s wish, and that was that.

“Where’s Emily?” was asked again and again, but as no one knew except Sayre, and he didn’t tell, the question remained unanswered.

Then Spinks, the Rehearser, came.

Emily being still absent, Betty took charge of affairs.

“Hello, Mr. Spinks,” she greeted him. “Gracious, what’s all this you’ve brought?”

For the Rehearser had his arms full of gauzy white draperies, artificial flowers and other paraphernalia, while an assistant following bore tall wooden standards, painted white.

“Can’t get along without these traps, miss. Where’ll I put ’em? Where’s Miss Duane?”

“She’ll be here in a minute. Somebody will help you take your stuff to the drawing-room; we’ll rehearse in there.”

Mr. Spinks was a dapper little man who jumped about like a grasshopper. His sandy hair stuck out horizontally from either side of his pinky, small-featured face. He screwed up his eyes when he talked, and was far from prepossessing in appearance.

But he was undoubtedly capable and efficient.

With a glance he swept the room, and seemed to itemize everything in it. He classified the people present, intuitively knowing which were the ushers and which the best man, though Burton Lamb had not spoken to him.

“You the groom?” he said to Sayre, so suddenly that Rodney almost jumped.

“I have that honor,” he returned smiling.

“All right. You’re the maid of honor, of course,” and he nodded at Betty. “And you’re the Knot-Tier.” He grinned waggishly at the Reverend Mr. Garner, who looked grimly disapproving.

“And I’m the chief bridesmaid,” Nell Harding announced, moving toward him.

Spinks gave her a withering look.

“No chief bridesmaids, miss—that is unless Miss Duane so orders. Otherwise, you’re graded by height. You, being so almighty tall, will come last.”

Nell wanted to protest, but the Rehearser had turned away to size up the others.

Asking their names as if he were a census-taker, he jotted them down in a notebook, put the ushers through the same procedure, and in five minutes had the positions arranged in his mind.

“You in the procesh, madam?” he inquired politely of Aunt Judy.

“Yes, and you know it,” she snapped at him. She had met the Rehearser before. “And do get busy and get the thing over, for we want to have dinner some time to-night!”

“Yes, ma’am, yes, ma’am, all in good time,” returned Spinks who was really progressing at a remarkably fast rate.

He scribbled a lot of cards and gave one to each, designating the position to be taken in the rehearsal.

“Got any music?” he asked, abruptly.

“There’s a piano in the drawing-room,” Aunt Judy told him.

“All right, my chap here can play it. Now, in the name of goodness, where’s the bride?”

“Where’s Emily?” rose like a chorus, and everybody looked at everybody else.

Sayre thought it time to speak, for Emily had told him he might after ten minutes, and now more than that had passed.

“She went out on an errand,” he said quietly, still sitting on his sofa.

“Errand! What errand? Where? Why?” and similar questions were flung at him.

“Oh, she’ll be back in a minute,” he parried.

“But where did she go?” Aunt Judy said, and Rod couldn’t ignore her.

“She—well, she went out to kiss somebody.”

“Oh, she did!” exclaimed Nell. “And you let her?”

“Why not?”

“Don’t be silly, Rodney,” Aunt Judy commanded him. “Where has she gone?”

“Well, she went to kiss Kitty Laurence’s baby.”

“What!” came the chorus, and Aunt Judy said:

“Nonsense! Kitty Laurence hasn’t any baby.”

“Yes, she has—that is, she has one now——” Rod grew a little red.

“Where is she?” demanded Betty.

“Who? Mrs. Laurence or the baby? Why, they’re both over at the hospital, and Emily picked the news off of the telephone and ran over to kiss the child for luck.”

“Well, of all fool performances!” Aunt Judy looked disgusted. “Did she go alone?”

“Yes, she insisted upon it, and you know, when Emily insists——”

“I know; it’s worse than when England expects. Well, she’ll be back in a few minutes, then. They won’t let her stay long.”

“That’s what she said. Yes, she’ll be here right away. Go ahead with your rehearsing, Mr. Spinks——”

“But, really, I can’t go any further without the principal figure——”

“Yes, you can,” Sayre was doing the dictating now. “Take the bunch into the drawing-room, and get them stood up in their places. I’ll bring Miss Duane in as soon as she arrives.”

Spinks was clearly annoyed. He stood for a moment looking at his watch and rising on his toes and falling back, as was his habit when perturbed.

“I’ve a notion to call it off——”

“Indeed you shan’t,” Betty declared. “You come right along. Miss Duane will be here in a few minutes——”

“But I’ve a funeral on at eight—a top-hat funeral, lights and everything, you know——”

“Oh, hush,” cried Betty. “Don’t talk about it now, of all things!”

Gathering up his armful of white tarlatan and crumpled flowers, Spinks followed Betty to the drawing-room.

It was an enormous room, for Mr. and Mrs. Duane had been lavish entertainers. The great crystal chandeliers and paneled mural decorations were of two decades back, but it was all in good taste and harmony, and now, cleared of its furniture, it was ready for the wedding celebration.

A beautiful flower-decked altar had been erected at one end, and as the wedding day drew nearer other palms and flowers would be placed.

Spinks gave a swift all-embracing glance around, made a few motions to his assistant, and in a twinkling, it seemed, the white stanchions were in place, the white ribbons slung between them, and bunches of artificial flowers tied to each upright.

“Can’t tell anything about it, lessen the scenery is in place,” the Rehearser stated. “Here, Bob, don’t get them bunches too high. You see,” he addressed the company at large, “if every teeny weeny detail is perfect, the whole bloomin’ show will be perfect. And if it ain’t, it won’t.”

But though the available properties were perfect, the somewhat important detail of the bridal couple was lacking.

Again, the anxious Mr. Spinks rose on his toes, teetered and sank back again, his spirits seeming to sink in unison with his descending physique.

Again he consulted his watch, frowned darkly, quivered through his whole small but energetic frame, and turned to Aunt Judy.

“Now, Mrs. Bell,” he said crisply, “we got to put up or shut up. Miss Duane may come in a minute, and, too, she mayn’t. I know that young lady, and she’s not what you might call a real dependable sort.”

Aunt Judy’s eyes snapped at him, but he was so deeply in earnest, and the statement he made was so undeniably true, that she said nothing.

“And, you see, I got to get round to that funeral. A wedding will keep, but a corpse won’t. They’re expecting me there in about fifteen minutes. Now, I can put this thing through here in that time, if somebody will just stand up in the bride’s place. You do that, ma’am, and then when the young lady comes home you can tell her just how to do it all.”

“Oh, yes,” cried Betty, “let’s do that. Rod will come in, and—oh, my gracious, where’s Mrs. Pennington? I forgot all about her!”

“I remembered her,” said Nell Harding, “but you seemed to be running things, Betty, and of course I wouldn’t interfere.”

Nell was intensely jealous of Betty’s prominence, and as she had hoped to be maid of honor herself, she was both sulky and spiteful.

Also, she had been and was still in love with Rodney Sayre. It was she who had introduced him to Emily, and thereby, as she told herself, lost him.

The whole wedding celebration was like a nightmare to her, but she felt she must come, and, she thought, it might be that seeing her again Rodney might return to his first love.

A brief time had shown her the folly of this notion, but she never let up on her steady efforts to attract his attention or win his admiration.

Emily saw through this and merely smiled at the silly thing.

Sayre saw through it, and was annoyed, but didn’t show it.

Betty didn’t know of Nell’s penchant for Rod, but she did know that the bridesmaid had wanted to be maid of honor, and she secretly exulted over the situation.

She was about to propose that they telephone for Mrs. Pennington when Pearl came to her and said:

“Miss Betty, ma’am, some while ago, Mr. Pennington, he telephomed to know was his wife here. And I tole him she wasn’t.”

“How long ago, Pearl?”

“Lak ’bout half an hour, maybe, maybe not so long, maybe a quarter-hour.”

“That’s funny. The Penningtons went home together, didn’t they, Aunt Judy?”

“Yes, Betty. I said good-by to the two, as they left the house.”

“Well, then,” and Burton Lamb sized up the situation, “Emily took Mrs. Pennington with her over to the hospital to see the new baby, and they’ve no idea how the time has gone by!”

“That’s Emily all over!” declared Nell Harding. “Of course, Burt, you’re right. How can anybody be so thoughtless and so careless of other people’s convenience?”

“Well,” Mr. Spinks said decidedly, “either we put this thing over or we don’t. I suggest we go right straight bang through with it, and we’ll just have time if we begin at once, and then you folks can coach Miss Duane and Mrs. Pennington in their parts afterward. Like’s not they’ll come in while we’re at it. Hey, Mr. Sayre, come along here. Mr. Garner, you get up there in the bower, will you?”

Burton Lamb went back to the lounge to tell Rodney of the decision, and to his surprise the obdurate bridegroom refused to budge.

“You see, Lambkin,” Rod said, and Lamb always knew that when the diminutive was used there was about to be a tussle, “the truth is, I promised Emily I wouldn’t budge from this sofa until she came back.”

“Gosh, old man, she didn’t mean that literally! What ails you?”

“Well, I’m taking it literally, see? Now, you go on and hold your confounded rehearsal. I refuse to be in it without Emily——”

“But Rod, you must. And, too, Emily and Mrs. Pennington will know their stunts without rehearsing. But you won’t. You don’t want to come a cropper at the big show, and you sure will, if you don’t get onto the quirks right here and now.”

“Emily will tell me just what to do, and I’m not such a stupid that I can’t catch on. And if I make a terrible break, they’ll forgive a clumsy bridegroom.”

Rod settled back in the corner of the sofa and lit another cigarette.

Burton Lamb knew Sayre well. He knew that if he bullied him long enough he would give in, but it might be a protracted and wearing process. And the Rehearser couldn’t wait.

“You’re a brute,” he told Rodney. “I haven’t time to argue with you, but as I’m your best man, I’ve got to get you through somehow, I suppose. All right, I’ll do your act myself, and then I can coach you. For Heaven’s sake, when Emily comes, shoot over to the drawing-room as fast as you can. You may be in time.”

Lamb returned and made up the most plausible yarn he could think of, and advised Spinks to whizz things through.

The Reverend Mr. Garner was clearly disturbed at the merry mess that was being made of a solemn ceremony, but little attention was paid to him, in the whirlwind of the Rehearser’s movements.

“You,” Spinks said to Aunt Judy, “please stand up here and personate the matron of honor. That’s right, a little more to the left. There. Now, Miss Maid of Honor, you stand here. Bridesmaid Number One—yes that’s right—here take your bunches of flowers,” he gave each one of his artificial horrors. “Now, stand on your left foot, ready to advance to the music—hold on, Bob, I haven’t stood up the men yet.”

The men were duly stood up, Lamb insisting on being bridegroom and saying he could understudy that and be best man also.

Spinks grew angry and excited, but frequent glances at his watch showed him he had no time for quarrelling, so he ran his fingers through his bristling hair, and went ahead with his work, so familiar to him that the hackneyed direction flowed readily from his lips.

But he suddenly found he had no bride!

Betty was determined to get letter-perfect in her own part and Nell exulted in any contretemps that threatened the perfect performance of Emily’s wedding pageant.

Wildly, Spinks looked around. No servants could be seen—their peeping had been strictly forbidden—with the exception of Pearl, always a privileged character.

Catching sight of a human being, the Rehearser grabbed at her as the only possible last straw, and pushed her into place at Aunt Judy’s side.

“Never mind the matron of honor,” he shouted, dancing about in an agony of haste and excitement. “You’ve got to give the bride away, ain’t you? And you’ve got to have a bride to give away! Well, this is it!”

With the deftness of a lightning-change actor, he threw the long veil of white tarlatan over Black Pearl’s kinky head, and as her startled eyes rolled heavenward, he thrust into her arm a long shower bouquet that had done duty at many rehearsals.

“Best thing, too,” he exulted. “Now, you Blacky, you pay strict attention to everything I say, and then you can tell your mistress exactly what she is to do. See?”

Being nobody’s fool, Pearl saw, and realized that this was no joke, but that she was to be of real help to her beloved Miss Em’ly, and she put her whole mind on the task.

She slipped her hand through the arm of Aunt Judy, as instructed, and stood waiting, every sense alert to obtain all possible information to pass along to the real bride later.

Aunt Judy, too, caught the spirit of the thing, and if some of the bridesmaids giggled at the ill-assorted assembly, the principals did not.

Burton Lamb, doubling as bridegroom and best man, stood back of a tall palm, awaiting the signal to show himself.

But when the opening strains of Mendelssohn were jerked out of the grand piano by the mechanical talent of Spinks’ assistant, it was too much, and excepting, perhaps, the minister, the whole party went off in peals of laughter.

Even this did not bring Rodney Sayre to the scene.

He was thinking deeply. He well knew Emily’s wilful ways, her sudden yielding to a whim, but he didn’t think she would forget or ignore the rehearsal of their wedding.

He was not at all angry at her, or even annoyed, but he couldn’t quite understand.

Well, at any rate, he could obey orders. She had said, “Don’t budge from that sofa until I come back,” and nothing short of an irresistible force would make him budge.

Nor was this merely a dogged or slavish obedience to orders.

It was only that Rod loved his Emily so truly and so deeply that he wanted to do as she asked him, now and always.

She was whimsical, wilful, yes, even stubborn; or, as that queer man had put it, “pig-headed,” but with it all she was open to conviction and quick to acknowledge her mistakes.

So Rodney sat and mused, and when the music began and the party broke into laughter, he heard it unheeding.

What to him was a wedding rehearsal without Emily? Had he taken his part, probably Nell Harding would have slipped into the bride’s place, and that would have been more than he could stand.

Well, all he could do was to wait. When she came, she would tell him all about it, though he thought he knew already, and smiled a little as he fancied Emily bending over the adorable little bundle of humanity, and making those crooning sounds that all women use to address a baby.

A step on the veranda was followed by the entrance of Jim Pennington.

He looked at Sayre in astonishment.

“What are you doing, flocking in here alone? Is the rehearsal over? I called in to take Polly home.”

Lighting a cigarette, he dropped into an easy chair near Rodney, who sat up straight in astonishment.

“Polly? Your wife? Did you think she was here?”

“Yes, sure. To do her part in the rehearsal, you know. What seems to be the matter with you?”

He looked at Rod with a puzzled expression.

“Polly hasn’t been here,” Sayre said, “since she went away with you, after tea. Emily isn’t here, either?”

“Where are they?” Pennington demanded, as if the other had them concealed somewhere.

“I don’t know, Pennington, I’m sure. And I wouldn’t say it to the others, but—well, I’m a little anxious.”

“Anxious about what? I don’t get it. But, what is to be done, anyhow? Surely that’s the wedding! Why are you in here? And where’s Emily?”

“I’ll tell you all I know. And of course, everything is all right. You see some friend of Emily’s is over at the hospital, having a baby.”

“Yes, I know, Kitty Laurence.”

“That’s the one. Well, the child arrived, and nothing would do but Emily must fly over to kiss the youngster for luck.”

“Oh, that’s it,” and Pennington drew a sigh of relief. “That’s where Polly is, then. They’re lost to the world, cuddling that baby——”

Pennington stopped suddenly, remembering how Pauline was affected by children.

“You see, old man,” he went on, in a lower tone, “our own kiddy died—soon after its birth, and Polly never got over it. If she sees or touches a little child, she’s nervously upset for days afterward. Yet she can’t keep away from them, and if she and Emily are over there, with Kitty Laurence’s new baby—well, I’d better go over and take Polly home, that’s all.”

Sayre looked at the nervously working face, and deemed it better to offer no word of sympathy or consolation. He knew vaguely of this tragedy in the Penningtons’ life, but he didn’t feel sufficiently acquainted with the man to talk of it, nor was this the opportunity, for the laughing crowd might come in at any minute.

“If you do go over there, Penn,” he said, using for the first time the abbreviation usual with their crowd, “for Heaven’s sake send Emily home. I’d go myself, only I promised her I’d hold the fort here till she got back. But we’re not sure they’re there.”

“Bound to be, Sayre. Guess I’ll go along over.”

“Just telephone first, will you? I’d do it myself, only I don’t want to get up.”

Pennington looked at the other quizzically.

“Do you mean to say you take her orders as literally as that?”

“Why not? It’s only a trifle, anyway, and as she went out she said, ‘Don’t budge from this sofa till I come back,’ so, I’m not budging.”

“And they’re rehearsing without bride or groom!”

“Also, without the matron of honor!”

“Pshaw, it isn’t a rehearsal at all, then.”

“Oh, yes, it is, Black Pearl represents the bride——”

“No!” and Pennington shook with laughter. “I say, I must see that!”

He rose and started for the hall, the other side of which was the drawing-room.

“Telephone first, Penn, there’s a good chap.”

“All right, I will.”

Pausing at the telephone booth in the hall, Pennington called up the hospital.

It took some time to get the connection, and longer yet to obtain speech with Nurse Graham, who was in charge of Mrs. Laurence.

But at last Pennington’s questions were answered.

Instead of going to the drawing-room to see the spectacle of Black Pearl as a bride, Pennington retraced his steps to the lounge where Sayre still sat on the sofa.

“Neither Emily nor Polly has been at the hospital at all,” he said, with a bewildered look on his face as he sat down beside Sayre.

“What!”

“The nurse told me. She said that Emily telephoned and said she would be right over, but she never appeared. Of Polly she has heard nothing.”

“Where’s Emily?” said Rodney Sayre, a look of awful fear coming into his eyes.