Читать книгу The Broken O - Carolyn Wells - Страница 8

Table of Contents

Brave little Perilla, always happy and courageous in the presence of those she loved, was frightened now. For the first time in her sheltered young life she knew the meaning of stark, staring fear.

Corey dead! Corey, her darling,—no, it couldn't be! Her thoughts ran wildly—how could he die, with nothing to kill him? Why would he die, when he loved her so?

Yet, down deep below her foolish, if logical, questions she knew he was dead, knew he would never again speak to her, never again call her tender, loving names, never again vow his love.

What she had to do was clear to her. First of all, she must call Sarah, good old Sarah, her stand-by and help.

But stay, was there, could there, be any mistake. Any hope that he wasn't dead—that help might avail!

She pushed the bell for Sarah, and then turned to telephone.

But she couldn't reach the instrument, and Sarah, coming quickly, found her clutching the edge of a table, staring at the huddled figure of Corey on the floor. Without a word the maid picked up the forlorn little bride, who clung to her tightly.

"What is it, Miss Perilla," she whispered, "what has happened?"

The words and presence of another human being roused Perilla to speech, and she said, steadily and distinctly, "Sarah, Mr. Malden is dead—I think. Now you must help me. Don't give way—help me to keep my balance. I'll have time enough to grieve afterward. First, call Boynton, and then call the night clerk, or whoever is down there now. Make them come at once."

Boynton, who had been expecting a summons, came first. He drew a quick breath at sight of his master.

"Something has happened, Boynton," she said. "You must stand by. I have called the night clerk.

"I cannot tell you what ailed Mr. Malden; I only know he died suddenly as if from a stroke. After the doctor arrives—no, why wait?—go now. Go at once and telephone to father, to Mr. Lovell. You'd better go down to the main switchboard, and get our house on Long Island. No matter if you have trouble, keep at it till you get it. Get Dad and simply say that Mr. Malden has died suddenly, and that he and Mr. Malcolm must come down here to me immediately. Urge them to come at once, in a plane, if possible. Don't leave off till father says he will start at once."

In the doorway Boynton met the night clerk, Hughes, coming in, and paused.

"What is it, Mrs. Malden?" Hughes cried out. "What has happened?"

"I d—don't know," she returned, frightened afresh at his manner, at finding apparent reprimand where she had looked for help.

Sarah took up the cudgels. "Don't you speak to her like that!" she exclaimed sternly. "Can't you see Mr. Malden is dead? He must have had a stroke or something. Call the doctor."

"Call Mr. Hardwicke, the manager; he is nice," said Perilla, recovering her poise.

The note in her voice made Hughes realise he was not playing his part.

"I can't do that, Mrs. Malden," he said, more gently. "Mr. Hardwicke is not on duty. I will call the doctor." He took up the telephone, and, seeing Boynton, said: "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"This is Boynton, my chauffeur, and the valet to my late husband. Boynton, go and do the errand I told you."

No further word was spoken until Dr. Hornby arrived. After a brief examination, he said, "He is dead; has been dead but a few moments. Who is he?"

Not giving Hughes time to reply, Perilla answered, "He is my husband, Corey Malden, of Richmond."

"Malden! of Malden House!"

"Yes," Perilla returned. "We are—were, on our wedding trip."

"Who is in your party?" the doctor asked. "My husband and myself," said Perilla, not noticing the tense of the verb, "and the chauffeur, who also looks after his packing and clothes, and my own maid, Sarah, here."

"And you are from?"

"My home is in New York, Mr. Malden's, as I said, in Richmond. I have never been there: we expected to go to-morrow—that is, to-day."

"I see," and Dr. Hornby returned to his scrutiny of the dead man.

A few moments more, and Boynton returned. "I followed your instructions, Mrs. Malden," he said. "You may expect your father and brother as soon as they can possibly make it. As you know, they are not far from the Roosevelt Airport at Garden City, and will telephone for a plane at once. They hope to be here about five or six in the morning, though it may be a bit later."

"Thank you, Boynton, you did well. Sit down there, please. I want you in strict attendance until father comes. Now, Dr. Hornby, will you please tell me the cause of Mr. Malden's death?"

"I will ask you, first, to tell me the exact circumstances of his passing."

"There is little to tell," Perilla looked sadly at Corey's still untouched body. She looked at the doctor appealingly.

"Why can't he be placed on a bed?" she asked.

"In a few moments," he said, gently. "Tell me about it first."

"We had been out to a dinner dance," Perilla began, "and we came home a bit early, because I was tired. We sat here in this little living room for a few moments, talking of our plans for the following day. It was about twelve o'clock, I should say, when we rose to go to bed."

"Your rooms?"

"This is my room," and Perilla pointed to it, "and the adjoining one is—was, Mr. Malden's. As we stood up, he put his arms round me to say good night. I clasped my arms round his neck, and kissed him—I am assuming you want these details—and as we stood a moment I felt his body begin to sag, to slip down, and he slid, rather rapidly, to the floor. Naturally, his arms drew me along, and not understanding, I too, fell to my knees. Then, I saw a strange look come over his face, and I felt sure he was ill. I jumped up and tried to raise him. I could not do so, and frightened and shocked, I managed to ring for my maid, and that's all I could do, at the moment."

"Did you faint?"

"No, I didn't faint, but I almost lost command of my faculties."

"Answer this carefully, Mrs. Malden. Do you know of any reason, or any suggestion of any reason for your husband's sudden death?"

She looked at him, wonderingly. "No, of course I do not. How could I?"

"Just brief, even terse answers, please. You know of no sort of weakness he had? Of heart, lungs—any organ?"

"I know of nothing of the sort."

"Do you, Boynton?" and the doctor turned to the man.

"No, sir. My master was sound in mind and limb. He was never ill. I'm sure he has no ailment of any sort."

"Then, if you will help me, we will put the body on the bed, and I will make some further examination, which, I feel sure, will merely confirm my decision that he died from an unsuspected weakness of the heart."

The two raised the inert man, and carried him to his own bedroom, where Dr. Hornby completed his work. He turned to Perilla, also facing Hughes.

"That is all I can do; I leave the matter in your hands. I will give you a certificate of death from natural causes. You are expecting your people, Mrs. Malden?"

"Yes, I hope to see my father and brother here this morning. Now, it seems to me, Dr. Hornby, that the mother of my husband should be notified. Do you think it a good idea that you get in touch, by telephone, with their family physician? Then, let him break the news to Mrs. Malden."

"I think that a fine plan. I don't know his name, but I can get the nurse, or a secretary, perhaps, and find out. I will then report to you. And please do not hesitate to call on me for anything I can do to help you."

"Thank you, I may be glad to do so."

"Shall we leave the chauffeur in charge of Mr. Malden's room?" Hughes asked. "And may I send you up some breakfast, and will you take a little rest, then, until your father comes?"

"Yes, thank you. My father's name is John Lovell and my brother is Mr. Fairfax. Mr. Lovell is a stepfather to us two."

Hughes left, and Sarah took the helm. "I think you must dress, dearie," for Perilla had on a teagown, "there's no telling who will come next."

"Yes, Sarah, and order coffee and croissants and a bit of marmalade for both of us. I can't be left alone.

"No, my lamb, you shan't. And we'll let the chambermaid straighten up a bit. You step out on the balcony, meanwhile."

Out to the balcony Perilla went, where the morning sun was just beginning to lighten the horizon. Calmly, quietly, she sat, in a big easy chair, half wondering what it all meant.

Yet, think coherently, she could not; her brain seemed incapable of definite action. Now, it seemed inevitable that Corey should step out through the French window, and quickly she knew she should never see him again.

Never see him again! No, no, that wasn't possible; that, of all things couldn't be!