Читать книгу Face Cards - Carolyn Wells - Страница 10

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It was after dinner Sunday evening, and they all sat on the terrace.

There was no suggestion of repairing to the study, nor had Goring carried out his proposed plan of going there through the day to learn more of the lore of masks and magic.

In fact, the ever effervescent spirits of the waggish Nicky were rather affected by the general atmosphere of unease that seemed to pervade the whole party. Reference was not made to the experience of Miss Phoebe the night before, for Stephen Clearman had made it decidedly evident that the subject was distasteful to him.

Yet there was no gloom, the talk was light and desultory, and Nicky hoped by degrees to raise it to gayety. He always felt he could not breathe among people in a serious or depressed state of mind, and he fully meant to raise their spirit level, as he expressed it to himself.

"Lulie," said Carlotta, suddenly, "come for a little walk with me in the garden. I want to consult you about something. Then we'll come back and see what we can do to entertain our guests."

"Just come back soon and let us look at you,—that is entertainment enough," Nicky called after them, as the two strolled away together.

"Are we as funny as all that!" retorted Lulie, over her shoulder.

"Everybody's funny," remarked Nan, as the two disappeared in the shrubbery. "You're funny, of course, Nicky,—in almost a professional way——"

"Oh, amateur, please!"

"Well, skilled, expert, anyway. Mr. Clearman is awfully funny, with his masks and such things."

Stephen bowed, with a slight ironical smile.

"You, Miss Phoebe, are delightfully funny, with your quaint, humorous outlook on life and your original comments."

"Don't skip me," begged Jack Raynor.

"You?" and Nan looked at him meditatively. "You're the funniest thing in the world—to fall madly in love with a girl you haven't known twenty-four hours."

"But I have," Raynor looked at his watch. "Nearly twenty-six now. Did she tell you?" He looked hopefully at her, as if the idea pleased him.

"Tell me? No. She has nothing to tell. But you spread the news abroad. Your every glance, every look tells your secret to the universe at large."

"It's no secret," said Raynor, calmly.

"Fiddlesticks!" said Nicky, coming to the aid of his friend's possible embarrassment. "I've known old Jack of Hearts to fall quicker'n that! Why, once at Atlantic City——"

"That'll do, Goring. We don't want my life history just now. I say, Miss Loftis, may we think you're funny, too?"

"Of course," said Nan, "but you must tell me why and in what respects."

To the surprise of all, Stephen Clearman responded.

"You're funny," he said, "and by funny I suppose we all mean unusual or paradoxical, as one does when referring to human nature,—because you never get angry. I've been watching you two girls today, and where my Lulie flares up and loses her temper, Miss Nan merely smiles and returns a soft answer. And yet Lulie is noted for her calmness——"

"Oh, Mr. Clearman," Nan cried, "I only ignore those digs you mean, because they're beneath notice. I really can't bother to resent them."

"I know. But they're beneath Lulie's notice, too. Yet she flies off on a tangent. She's far less patient with me than she used to be. Sometimes she flies into such a rage, that she almost frightens me."

"Frightens you how, dear?" said his sister, looking anxious.

"Oh, I don't know. I think she'll throw something at me, or stab me in the dark."

"I told you Mr. Clearman was funny," broke in Nicky, not at all pleased with the trend of the conversation. "Just think, afraid of a terrible curse and afraid of his terrible daughter!"

"I'm not afraid of the curse," said Clearman, but he let the rest of the insinuation stand.

And then Carlotta and Lulie returned. They were laughing softly, as if at some secret joke.

"Come and defend yourself, Lulie," Raynor said, with an inviting gesture toward a seat beside him on the wicker lounge. "They're saying that your father is afraid of you."

"He'd better be!" she returned, laughing, but with a mock ferocious glare at her father. "If a girl of today can't intimidate her own father, how can she expect to keep a husband in order?"

"Oh, so you're just trying a 'prentice hand on me?" and Clearman laughed lightly.

"Something like that," said Lulie, indifferently. "Who wants to go in and dance?"

"I do," said Carlotta, promptly. "What are you going to do, Stephen?"

"I'm going up to the study—to look over some papers."

"The diary?" she said, a little anxiously.

"No; I've become interested in getting into shape my mission plans. I think to start with two or three stations as an experiment——"

And then West, who was never far in the background, came, to assist his master in any way he might.

"There's a funny man, if you like," Nicky said to Nan Loftis, as they passed into the house. "I don't get that West person at all."

"Whatever does he do for Mr. Clearman,—he isn't an invalid."

"Oh, that part's all right. West is quite as much of a secretary as a valet. He fetches the books or papers Mr. Clearman wants, and does his errands and mails his letters and all that, as well as looks after his clothes and belongings. But he's such a queer personage. So solemn and automaton-like."

"Aren't proper servants like that?"

"Yes, but different. The butler, now, he's stolid, and unimaginative, never sees an inch beyond his work. But Galley West is on to everything. I mean, he watches and listens, though he doesn't seem to. He's quiet, but deep. He knows all about the masks, and I suspect he has, on occasion, worn some himself."

"Nicky, your imagination is working over time. And, too, I don't care if West is a Demon in disguise, he is all right in his part, and it's none of our business. Come on, let's dance."

Phoebe Clearman stayed to watch the dancing. She loved the rhythmic motions and the gay music. The music was machine-made, but it served its purpose and as the partners were uneven, there was always one to sit and talk to Phoebe.

"I say, Miss Clearman," Nan said, as she came to sit beside her, "haven't you an extra bed in your dressing room or something? I want to sleep in your part of the house tonight and see if that thing comes again. I'd love to see it, and Lulie simply won't let me look out of my door."

"You don't want to see it, Nan, dear," said the elder lady, gazing kindly into the sparkling eyes raised to her own. "It isn't a pretty sight."

"I know, but it's frightfully interesting. And, you don't really think it portends any—any trouble, do you? Why, those old traditions haunt lots of houses. And, you know, usually the explanation of the ghost is a practical joke by somebody with a distorted sense of humor."

"What I saw last night was no practical joke," Phoebe said, speaking solemnly. "Nobody in this house could contrive to make that fearful head float round, high up in the air. Nearly up to the ceiling, and nothing but the head——"

"Just suppose—just for a minute, Miss Phoebe, dear,—that it was a joke. Couldn't it—I mean, wouldn't it be possible, if somebody had, say, attached a sort of balloon to the mask, and had held a string——"

"Mercy, no, child! In that case, I should have seen the balloon, the string and the person holding it. No, Nan, there was nothing like that going on. I'm no longer young, but my eyesight is as good as ever it was, except for reading fine print. I saw that face as plainly as I see yours this minute. It glowed with a soft, rather faint light, and that showed up clearly the details of the awful face, and I realized at once that it was the skull mask. You see, I know the different masks and what they mean."

"But why did it appear to you, Miss Phoebe? You've done nothing to incur the curse."

"No, but of course, it was merely by chance that I saw it. Had I not chanced to see it, and give that involuntary cry, it would have gone straight on into my brother's room——"

"Through closed doors?"

Miss Clearman looked at her tolerantly. "Certainly through closed doors. If the thing was demoniac, which it was, of course, it could go through closed doors."

"Ooh! I don't believe I want to see it after all!"

"Of course, you don't. Better not meddle with such things. I'll say good-night now, and let us all pray that all evil spirits be kept away from this house."

The little old lady looked pathetic, as her eyes filled with tears and her voice trembled.

The young people gathered round, and Goring escorted her up to the door of her own suite.

"Good-night, dear Miss Phoebe," he said. "My prayers are not much good, but I'll put 'em up for your peace and safety this night."

"I am not in danger," she returned, "but Stephen is. Oh, Stephen is!" and with these words, almost sobbed out, she left him and closed her door.

"Rum go!" soliloquized Nicky as he went back downstairs. "Wonder what is up with the old dame. Superstition or just nervous fear. Wonder if Clearman's afraid, too. Well, the girls aren't. I think the superstition business is confined to the brother and sister. They're really the only blood relations of the old Dathan terror. Except, of course, Lulie. That girl is afraid of nothing, I believe, not even her august Dad. Queer household, but interesting enough so far. I'm inclined to think that Galley West is the real little joker. Dunno why, but he seems so well fitted for a mysterious rôle."

And by that time, Nicky was downstairs, and stepped off the last step to the time of a gay jazz tune, and at the next step caught Lulie, who was waiting, in his arms and they danced away.

It was rather late when Carlotta herded them all to the dining room for a little light supper, and then sent them peremptorily to bed.

"And keep in your rooms," she said. "If the Duk-Duk gets on the rampage he may not prove so harmless as the skull mask Miss Clearman saw."

Her mocking eyes betokened her own lack of faith in Miss Phoebe's weird story, though she had never openly expressed a doubt of it.

But an attempt on Nan's part to revive the subject of the mask bore no result save a further admonition to go at once to bed and stay there.

Carlotta was the last one up, and the house servants were already locking windows and doors and putting out lights below stairs.

"Good night," she said, her voice a little weary, as she trailed away toward the new wing, looking over her shoulder with a smiling nod.

And then bedroom doors closed, and soon Clearman Court was again wrapped in darkness and silence.

Carlotta had been in bed about an hour, when her door softly opened and a hand lightly touched her shoulder.

She knew at once it was Stephen, and sitting up she whispered, "What is it?"

"Come," he said, in a voice barely audible, and she obediently left her bed and stood at his side.

He put an arm round her, and led her noiselessly into the great hall.

There, in the darkness, high in the air, was the Skull Mask, motionless, faintly glowing, sinister.

She trembled in his protecting arm, and whispered, "Oh, Stephen, what does it mean?"

"That's what I'm going to find out!" he said. "You stay here," and with a spring, he rushed toward the mask.

But before he reached it, it had disappeared. Not floating away, not sinking to the floor, but merely ceasing to exist.

When, in three or four strides he reached the place they had seen it, it was gone.

Carlotta began to cry from sheer nervousness.

He went quickly back to her, and reproached himself for frightening her.

"But I had to call you," he explained, "to corroborate my story. No one would have believed it otherwise."

"Will they believe it now!" she asked. "Will they believe me?"

"You saw it, didn't you?"

"Yes—oh, yes!"

"Then why shouldn't they believe you? Carly, perhaps it means I can't propitiate old Duk-Duk after all."

He spoke grimly, as one who after a long hope begins to sense despair.

"Go to bed, dear," he said. "Call Violet,—where is she?"

"In her room, of course. Probably asleep. I don't need Violet."

"Yes, you do," and Clearman himself rang the maid's bell.

In a few moments Violet came, trying to look wide awake and alert as she straightened the coverlets on Carlotta's bed.

"I wouldn't have called you, Violet, but Mr. Clearman——"

"Look after your mistress," Stephen said, curtly, as he went back to his own rooms and shut the communicating door.

"Are you going to say anything about it?" asked Carlotta, as, with her husband, she descended the stairs at breakfast time next morning.

"Say anything about it? Of course I am! Why not? It's no secret. And look here, Carly, I know,—mind you, I know it cannot have been anything like a joke or a trick, done purposely by anybody. Only, when I tell the story, you watch the faces of all listening, and see if you detect even the slightest tremor or sign of self-consciousness. Oh, I know it isn't possible, but"—he added a little lamely,—"but I wish it might be."

And so, for the second time, the breakfast table was enlivened by what Nan called a real, live ghost story.

She listened in silence, her eyes big with interest, until Clearman had finished, then turned to Carlotta for corroboration.

"Yes," she said, "I saw it, too. It was just like that, Nan. Just as Stephen has described it. But it doesn't mean anything. It was hallucination, you see. Don't you know how often when you expect to see a thing, you think you do see it? That's the way all those wonderful East Indian tricks are done."

"Hypnotism?" asked Nicky, dubiously.

"Well, a sort of self-hypnotism. Sub-conscious, I suppose."

"You mean," Raynor said, "as when you will yourself to wake up at a certain time in the morning to catch a train. You always do it, you know. And in this case I suppose you both thought so surely the thing would appear that you both imagined you saw it."

"Yes," said Carlotta, "that's what I mean. But I don't mind confessing it scared the wits out of me!"

"I should think it would!" cried Nan. "But I want to see it! I know it will scare me to death, but I love to be scared. You couldn't have been really scared, Carly, with Mr. Clearman right there by you."

"I was, though," and Carlotta looked a little abashed. "You see, it looked so awful——"

Miss Clearman rose from the table and left the room.

"Poor dear," said her brother, "she can't bear to hear the horrid details repeated. Now, you young people, don't think any more about it. If it is a supernatural appearance, it certainly is a very innocent and harmless one. If it is a warning, well—nothing has happened yet, and I assure you that I, for one, don't think anything untoward will happen. As I have told you all, the way to manage these things is to fight fire with fire. If these manifestations are genuine magic, they can be rendered harmless by other magic,—which I know. And if they are, by any chance, fakes,—then there is surely no cause for alarm."

"I wish Lulie was down here," said Nan. "May I go for her?"

"No," said Clearman, decidedly. "Nothing upsets our Lulie like being called in the morning. And I don't want to bring about any of her tantrums today. I've quite enough demon business on my hands as it is. She'll be along soon, any way. West, get me another custard. I'll indulge a little this morning."

"This visiting ghost is getting to be a habit, isn't it?" said Raynor. "I'm like Nan, I'd like to see it myself. Can't we have an observation party tonight, Mr. Clearman? Say we agree upon a signal, and whoever sees the ghost first, shall call the others."

"It isn't a ghost," said Clearman, pettishly. "That word annoys me almost as much as spook. The appearance of a Skull Mask is a sign of death, but it is in no sense a ghost or apparition."

"A sign of death!" exclaimed Nan, with horror in her eyes.

"Yes, but remember, I can ward off that death. There is no danger to me, because I understand just what to do. I can't explain all this to you in detail, because you haven't enough rudimentary and statistical information to understand it, but I assure you that I am in no more immediate danger of death than any one of you—than any one in normal health and condition."

"I'm mighty glad to hear that," said Nicky Goring.

"You may rest assured," Clearman went on, "that I have no fear. A poison is harmless if you have a sure antidote. A shot cannot harm the man who wears a coat of mail. A secret foe cannot overtake you if you are prepared for him."

"And your ritual, or whatever it is, protects you?" Nicky asked, greatly interested.

"Yes. As you are so keen on the subject, Goring, I hope you will take up the study, if not seriously, at least, to a degree. You know masks are not unknown in the world of today. Secret societies usually affect the mask, from the Ku Klux Klan down."

"And there are masquerades," put in Nan.

"Yes," Clearman agreed, "and masquerades on a large scale, like Mardi Gras carnival, and in lesser way, the children on Hallowe'en or Thanksgiving Day. But those are all piffle compared to the real thing. Now, the Duk-Duk——"

"Oh, Stephen," Carlotta begged, "don't give us a dissertation now. Mr. Goring may crave it, but the rest of us don't. Mr. Raynor is bored stiff, and so are Nan and I."

"Bless my soul, so you are!" and Clearman laughed. "When I get on my hobby, I suppose I'm a regular nuisance!"

"Never that," and his wife smiled at him, "but your hobby needs curbing. Now, Nan, I'm going to do some intensive housekeeping for a while, then I'll play tennis with you until Lulie comes down. She'll be along shortly."

"And until the game is called, I'm going, if I may, with Mr. Clearman to stalk the festive mask," said Nicky, with an inquiring glance at Clearman.

"Certainly, glad to have you," was the response, and if it lacked cordiality, Goring failed to notice it.

The two men went off to the study, and Raynor observed, "Nicky oughtn't to push himself in like that. Mr. Clearman doesn't want him. As a matter of fact he wants me this morning. We have to settle up a few matters about the contracts and estimates."

"Give him a half hour with Nicky," suggested Carlotta, "and then take half an hour yourself. It's ten now, and you know Mr. Clearman won't see anybody between eleven and twelve."

"Do you never speak to him during the sacred hour?" asked Nan, wonderingly.

"Oh, yes, if it's really necessary. But it seldom is. West sometimes goes in and out, but only if rung for. You know Steve wears a mask during that hour."

"Yes, I know," said Nan. "I think the man is a little touched on that subject."

"If you mean his brain is really affected, you're dead wrong," Carlotta defended her husband. "He has a hobby, but it's nothing more than that. As some men have a hobby for sport or for business, or a religious mania."

"That's what it is most like," observed Raynor, "a religious mania. It doesn't matter that it includes heathen religions, instead of the Christian beliefs, it's a mania all the same."

"Yes," Carlotta was forced to agree, "yes, you're right."

She went off to consult with the cook, and Nan and Raynor drifted out to the garden.

"Can't I amuse you until your innamorata puts in an appearance?" the girl said, smiling at the Jack of Hearts.

"Yes, indeed, if you'll let me talk about her. Which is her window?"

"Come, sit in this arbor,—there, now you can see them. The three just above the porte-cochère. Perhaps she'll peep out in a minute."

"Does she sleep all the morning, or does she putter about her dressing room?"

Nan laughed. "Aren't you a little intrusive? No? Well, she does both."

"You don't mean she putters in her sleep?"

"Oh, no, not both at the same time. But when she has nothing better to do she fusses about her rooms. All girls do."

"Yes, I know. I have three sisters,—born putterers."

"But usually Lulie is downstairs fairly early when there are guests. Especially, guests she likes. Oh, I have it! She's dawdling on purpose to tease you! That's a good sign, isn't it?"

"I don't care about signs, I'll get that girl signs or no signs. I say, you're awfully good to let me rave on like this——"

The raving was interrupted by Nicky Goring who came strolling toward them.

"Fired," he explained, briefly. "The old chap was pretty much on edge about the warning or whatever it was that appeared last night, and he was in no mood to give First Lessons in Maskology to an inquiring neophyte. And he said to tell you, Jack, that he'd postpone that talk with you until after luncheon."

"All right," Raynor agreed. "Did he don his mask before you left?"

"No, but he was just about to do so. He was looking them over, apparently undecided which one was the proper caper. I say, what a nut he is!"

"I thought you believed in it all—a little," Nan said.

"Oh, not believe in it—I'm interested as in a new study, that's all."

"Did he lock himself in?"

"Yes, I heard him turn the key. Mrs. Clearman is writing letters,—why doesn't Lulie come down and play with us?"

"She will soon, I'm sure," said Nan.

"I'm going to throw pebbles at her window," Nicky declared, "it's all foolishness, her neglecting us like this."

"No, don't," Raynor commanded, as Nicky swept up a handful of gravel from the path. "Let her alone, let her sleep."

"A dormouse couldn't sleep like that! I don't believe she is sleeping still," and before Raynor could stop him, the gravel was shot up at Lulie's window. It clattered against the upper pane, some fell in at the open lower sash and more rolled back down the roof below.

But there was no response.

"She's in her bath," and Nan nodded her head, sagaciously. "Or else, sound asleep. Anyway, don't do that again, Nicky, she won't like it."

"Oh, all right, let's go for a little walk in the woods."