Читать книгу The Daughter of the House - Carolyn Wells - Страница 6

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“FINE, DANE, PERFECTLY fine! You are certainly a go-getter! How did you nail it so quickly?”

“By the merest chance. Just happened to strike a dealer who had one.”

“It’s a perfect specimen,” David Lang eyed lovingly the little glass plate. “Bust of Henry Clay, curled hair, ruffled neck-cloth—and the single-scalloped edge. It almost completes my collection of early cup-plates.”

“We’ll complete it before long, Mr. Lang. And here’s a bit of a salt cellar that I’m quite sure is Stiegel. What do you say?”

Eagerly Lang grasped the piece. It was a small salt cellar in the shape of a section of hollow log, with a squirrel climbing it.

“Splendid!” exclaimed the connoisseur. “Of course, it’s Stiegel. I know the design. I’ve long wanted one of these. By gracious, Wyatt, you’re invaluable.”

“I don’t claim to be that, but I can run around to places, and save your time and energy.”

“That you can, and you sure do get results. Well, put these in the catalogue, and I’ll place them in the cabinet. I say, Dane, I’m building up about the finest collection of early glass that there is in the country.”

“Or in any other country. You have plenty of foreign stuff, as well as American.”

“I have. Some day this lot of mine will be world-renowned. Well, if not, it will be the first time I’ve ever failed in an undertaking. David Lang usually accomplishes what he sets out to do. Eh?”

“Usually? Always!” Dane Wyatt gave his employer a flattering glance. He was not a sycophant or fawner, but he knew Lang’s inordinate desire for expressed appreciation, and he good-naturedly humored it.

Not that Dane Wyatt was blind to his own interests. He well knew on which side his bread was buttered, and since both policy and inclination led him to put his heart and soul into the furtherance of Lang’s hobby, he did so.

Many a rare piece of glass, many a unique specimen stood on the cabinet shelves because of Wyatt’s clever search and shrewd bargaining.

Caring little for the stuff at first, he had grown interested more and more until he was eager and insistent in his quests.

He had scoured New England, New Jersey and Pennsylvania, and had returned, bringing his sheaves with him. He had accompanied Lang abroad, and had been of decided assistance to him in unearthing treasures in England and France.

So the two had become cronies and fellow-workers, and the relations of employer and assistant were pretty well lost sight of.

From the business in hand the talk drifted to personal matters.

“I’m worried about my wife, Dane,” the elder man said; “she’s really ill, I fear.”

“Oh, come now, you know how prone Mrs. Lang is to exaggerate her ailments.”

“Yes, I do know that. But she is more languid than usual, more despondent and listless.”

“How about a trip somewhere?”

“I proposed that, but she says she isn’t up to it.”

“Sanitarium?”

“No, she surely isn’t ill enough for that! I’ll get Mason over, and see what he advises.”

“Do. He’s a fine physician, and he ought to know.”

Wyatt didn’t say that in his opinion Mrs. Lang’s illness was nothing but imagination and tantrums. But he had sagaciously watched the lady and that was what he thought.

Nor was his decision ill-founded. Eleanor was capricious. She would order the car and prepare for a motor ride, then as suddenly fling off her hat and declare she was not well enough to go.

She would invite guests to tea or to dinner, and at the last moment decide to stay in her room, saying she was not able to see them.

This was always tided over by Mary’s presiding, but the girl chafed at being obliged to entertain her mother’s guests.

“I do wish, Mother,” she said, “you wouldn’t ask people unless you’re prepared to take care of them! This is the second time I’ve had to give up a dance to stay home and play bridge with a lot of middle-aged married people. And I don’t like it!”

“I should think you’d be willing to make a little sacrifice for your poor sick mother,” Eleanor quavered, with a grieved air.

“A poor sick mother oughtn’t to invite company then,” Mary stormed on. “If you were only twenty, you wouldn’t want to have to bother with people of forty-five and fifty!”

“Oh, my, Mary, what a fuss you do make! I’ll never invite anybody again! I’ll just suffer alone and in silence.”

“Oh, Muddie,” and Mary was contrite at once, “I didn’t mean it. Ask anybody you like—if you’re not feeling well, I’ll look after ’em.”

“No—you needn’t sacrifice your pleasures for me.” Eleanor gave a deep sigh of resignation. “But you have no heart, Mary—you’re a spoiled child.”

“Of course I am. You and Dad have spoiled me all my life. A few more spankings when I was a child, would have made me a better girl now.”

“I wish you had had them, then. As it is, you have no consideration, no sympathy, no wish to help me bear my burdens.”

“Burdens! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mother. If ever a woman had every blessing in life, it’s you. You haven’t a care or a sorrow—”

“How can you talk so? With my delicate health, my imminent danger of serious illness—”

“Tra la la! If you have a serious illness, it will be because you bring it on yourself by worrying over imaginary ones. Forget it, go out doors, mingle with your friends, take a brace—whoop yourself up—oh, Mother, live—don’t sit around dying!”

“You don’t know, my dear—you don’t understand.”

Eleanor Lang gave her careless daughter a queer little smile, and watched her wistfully as she danced out of the room.

Mary was in fine spirits. Forrester Carr had confessed that he was only teasing her by his attentions to Mrs. Castro, that he cared not a flip of his finger for the charmer, and that her wiles had no lure for him.

And Mary, knowing his bent for teasing, believed him implicitly, and was glad accordingly. Yet she had vague forebodings.

Sauntering down through the Long Gardens she met Alex, who was pacing to and fro, apparently in deep thought.

“Hello, Puss,” he said, as she came up to him. “Whither bound?”

“Nowhere. Just drifting about till lunch time.”

“Drift along by me, then, will you? I want a little confab.”

Willingly Mary complied, and fell into step as they turned into a cross path.

“Mary,” Alex said, “don’t you want to be the small mouse who helps the big lion?”

“Of course I do, Uncle Lion. What’s the best place to gnaw?”

“You’re a brick, dear, the way you catch on. Well—I suppose your alert wits have told you that I’ve fallen a victim to—”

“To the serpentine Giulia! Of course!”

“Don’t call her that! Sounds like Kensington Gardens! Well, do you think I have a chance?”

“I hope you have, for that would keep her away from Forry, and then we’d all be happy.”

“Yes—that’s why I’m talking to you about it. Well, Mary, it’s this way. My inamorata refuses to marry a poor man.”

“Are you a poor man, Uncle Alex? Why, I never thought of it, before, but I supposed you had as much money as Dad.”

“So I have, to all intents and purposes, as long as I live here. But if I strike out for myself, I’ve got just about next to nothing—at least, from Giulia’s point of view.”

“And she cares for that!” Mary’s youthful scorn of financial matters was self-evident. “Why, I’d marry Forry if he hadn’t a cent!”

“You say that, my child, in your blinking ignorance. You’ve always had wealth and you’ve no idea what it means to be without it.”

“Well, never mind that, what can this little mouse do to liberate the big lion?”

“just this, Rosemary. Here it is in a nutshell. When your father dies, and may that day be far distant, I shall inherit a big slice of his fortune. About a third, perhaps. Now, all I want, is to have that money, or part of it, now. It wouldn’t inconvenience your father one bit, and it would enable me to marry and live happy ever after.”

“Yes, and it would remove the only obstacle to my happiness,” Mary cried, quickly grasping the situation.

“Yes. So, as your father positively refuses to do what I ask, I’m wondering if you could persuade him.”

“Oh—I see.” The girl walked along in silence, thoughtfully interlacing and unlacing her fingers, as was her habit when preoccupied.

“Well, Uncle Alex,” she said, at last, “not to put too fine a point on it, I don’t believe for a minute that I could persuade him. But, I’ll try.”

“That’s my good girl. Soon?”

“Soon—yes. But I must watch my time, and catch him when he’s in high good humor. New bit of old glass, or something like that, you know. Oh, leave it to me—I’m a diplomat, and I’ll do all anybody could do. But, Dad’s not an easy mark—”

“I know it. I’m banking on your own anxiety about Carr quite as much as about my prospects.”

“Right you are! I have strong doubts as to whether I should go in for this job if it were not for my own interests.”

Uncle and niece gave one another a comprehending glance, and both burst into laughter.

“Now, don’t hurry me,” Mary went on. “As I said, I must bide my time and watch my chance and all that. Fathers are kittle cattle, and a daughter’s plea is not always granted.”

“Bide your time, watch your step, and do whatever your Machiavellian mind dictates. I wait on your Majesty’s pleasure.”

“No pleasure to me, I do assure you. But Forry is getting insufferable. Even if it is only to tease me, he’s going too far. I say, Uncle Alex, are you sure friend Giulia is all right?”

“As how?”

“Oh, I don’t know. She seems queer—mysterious—”

“That’s her rôle. She’s of the mysterious type—has to be queer. But I like it. I’d never care for a transparent woman. I want one that keeps me guessing.”

“Then I guess you’ve picked a winner! Well, I’ll leave you now, and begin to lay my deep, dark, desperate plans to get around Dad.”

The first move Mary made was to seek out Dane Wyatt.

It goes without saying that the assistant was hopelessly in love with the daughter of the house, but so sensible was he of the hopelessness, that he warded his secret well, and not even David Lang suspected it, much less Mary herself.

“Dane,” she said, sweetly, “do something for me?”

“Certainly, Mary,” he answered quietly, his heart jumping.

The years of association had brought about the use of first names, but the friendship went no further. Indeed, never before had Mary come to him with such an air of intimacy as now.

“It’s only this.” She looked bewitchingly in earnest and Mary was one of those girls at her best when in earnest.

“I want to ask something of Dad—something very—very important, and so—you see, I want to tackle him at just the psychological moment, when he’s in the best possible humor.”

“As if he would refuse you anything, at any time!”

“He may this. Anyway, that’s what I want of you, to tell me when he’s specially happy and contented and pleased with himself and all the world.”

“Well, if it comes to that, I’m not sure you’d ever have a better chance than this very minute. I happened to get some treasures that delight him, and he’s in the “seventh heaven” over it. Yes, to the best of my belief, your psychological moment is right now.”

“Here goes, then. Where is he?”

“In the museum.”

It was in keeping with David Lang’s flourish after his name, that he called the room that held his collection a museum.

Fine though it was for an amateur exhibition, it did not warrant the high-sounding name.

But, Lang held that it did, and his “museum” was classified and catalogued as carefully as a public collection.

Moreover, it was fitted up with the latest type and finest kind of cabinets and glass show-cases, and after all, it presented a brave show.

In the middle of it, on a great divan, David Lang sat, looking probably much as Moses did when he “viewed the landscape o’er.”

The master of the museum was sitting idle, merely gloating over his treasures and congratulating himself on their possession.

Surely a propitious moment, Mary told herself, as she entered the door.

She sidled to his side, and sat down close to him, taking his hand in hers.

“Huh,” he grunted, smiling at her, “what’s wanted now? Something big, judging from the show of affection!”

But he was only bantering, as she well knew, and she plunged boldly in.

“Yes, something big, Daddy dear.” Her tone was cajoling, and the sweet face, now close to his own, was wheedlesome with smiles.

“Make it snappy, my dear, I’ve some matters to attend to soon. What is it? Money? Overspent your paltry allowance?”

This was a joke, for Mary’s allowance was munificent.

“Yes, money, Daddums. But not for me.”

“Oh, a charity? How much?”

“N—no, not exactly a charity—I’ll tell you Dad. I want you to give Uncle Alex his inheritance now—”

“Hush!” Mary had rarely seen her father so stern. “Did Alex dare to put you up to this?”

“I wanted to be put up! I want him to marry that snake-in-the-grass, so she’ll keep off of Forry! I can’t stand it if she doesn’t let him alone! And if she marries Uncle Alex, she will let him alone. And she won’t marry Uncle unless he has a lot of money! And he can’t have it unless you give it to him! And I don’t see why you won’t—what difference can it make to you? Won’t you do that much for your own little girl? Your own daughter Rosemary?”

Mary knew her father preferred her full name, and used it accordingly. But to no avail.

“Child,” he said, severely, “you’re meddling in matters above your head. It is absurd for you to think you can swing a deal like this! Do you suppose for one minute that if I would not grant this act at my brother’s request I’d grant it at yours?”

“Of course I do!” Mary pouted. “I’m sure it’s a small thing to ask—”

“Oh, Lord!” Lang groaned, “a few millions a small thing to ask!”

“I’m not asking the millions! He’ll get them anyway. It’s only to hand them over to him now, instead of waiting till you die. You’d only lose the interest, and you could take that out first.”

“And then, suppose Alex dies before I do?”

“I never thought of that! But you can fix it with the lawyer. In that case, it can come back to you—like a trust fund or something. Oh, Father, please do! Then that horrid person can’t gobble up my Forry the way she’s doing now.”

“Rosemary,” David Lang looked serious, “if you can’t keep your Forry from being gobbled up by another woman—he isn’t worth keeping! What sort of girl are you, if you can’t hold your lover?”

“I know, Dad, I know. But Forry does it mostly to tease me—only—well, she is a siren, and I feel she’s getting him away for keeps.”

“Let her! Let him go! A man like that isn’t worth having.”

“I know it. And that’s what I say when I get mad. But then—when I’m alone—and think it over—I—I don’t want to let him go. I want to keep him. And I—I can’t.”

Mary burst into a silent weeping.

Unmoved, her father watched her shoulders shake with sobs as she buried her face on his breast.

David Lang was as sensitive as most men to a woman’s tears, but when the woman is your own daughter, whose crying spells you have seen from babyhood, it makes a difference.

“There, there, child, let up,” he said, kindly, as he shook out a large handkerchief and offered it to the weeping damsel.

“You know yourself that hysterics won’t affect me, and I may as well tell you that nothing else will, either. I’d do almost anything for your happiness darling, but I do not propose to give Alex his inheritance now, and I will not do it to buy back your fickle, errant lover. Even if you lose Forry Carr, there are others, and, let us hope one with an eye single to the girl he loves and is engaged to. Why, your wedding day is set, isn’t it?”

“Yes—that is, it will be my birthday—if at all.”

“Yes, I thought so. And when is your birthday?”

“The sixth of October.”

“Yes. And now it’s the fourth of August. Well, you try that impressionable youth out a few weeks longer, and if he still seems wayward, you give him the air.”

“Oh, Daddy, don’t you realize I love him?”

“Bah, what does a baby like you know of love? You do as I say. Keep him on a while longer, and then—well, I’ll watch him a little myself. And we’ll see who’s who in Langdene! And don’t let me hear another peep about Uncle Alex! My word! To think of his using you as a catspaw! I’ve a notion to cut him out of my will entirely!”

“Oh, Daddy, don’t do that! It’s bad enough that I’ve failed as his ambassador, but if I am the means of—”

“There, there, child, it isn’t your fault at all. It’s all his fault. I’ve spoiled him, as I’ve spoiled you—and spoiled your mother. I’m too darned good to people—that’s what I am! I must cultivate a spirit of—”

But Mary’s soft fingers stopped his speech.

“Don’t Dad, dear,” she begged. “You haven’t spoiled any of us, and we love and admire you for your kindness and generosity.”

“Goodness, Mary, what a speech! You sound like a Town Hall! Well, kiddy, promise me to put all this nonsense out of your mind and I’ll give you a new diamond bangle. How’s that?”

“Fine! I’ll do it. But I shouldn’t if I didn’t see how utterly useless and hopeless it is to keep nagging at you.”

“You bet it is, and I’m glad you see it so clearly. And—here—just a word in your ear. If you do decide to pitch out the Carr chap, let me know, because—I’ve a candidate.”

“Oh, pooh, you transparent young thing! As if I didn’t know who! You mean Fatty Wyatt.”

“He isn’t fat! He’s just square built. And he’s on the square, too. And that’s more than Forrester Carr is—according to your tales.”

“Forry’s all right. But, I say, Dad, what am I to tell Uncle Alex?”

“Nothing at all. Refer him to me.”

With a final kiss and a repeated permission to select herself a new bangle, Lang dismissed his idolized daughter, and after a few quick, hard thoughts about his brother, he returned to the contemplation of his treasures, and consideration of their arrangement.

As has been said, Dane Wyatt had given no hint of his heart interest in David Lang’s daughter, but that astute father had dimly surmised it, and moreover, had come to the conclusion that from his own standpoint it was a consummation devoutly to be wished. He knew Wyatt’s sterling qualities, and if he was not such a man of the world as Carr, he was far more stable and reliable.

Wyatt himself looked on the matter merely as a lovely dream. He let himself dream away at it, whenever he had spare time, and as often as not, this happened when he strolled about of an evening.

He walked alone, perforce, for while not of the servants’ class, he was yet not quite a member of the family.

This equivocal position troubled him not at all. He took his afternoon or evening strolls with a clear conscience and a contented mind.

Wyatt was a clever man, but one of circumscribed outlook. He was not ambitious, beyond the desire to do his duty in the work assigned him.

On this particular evening, he did some work after dinner, and started rather late for his walk round the grounds, and through the woods.

And thus it happened that it was well on toward midnight when he drew near Willow Dell on his way home.—

He thought little of it, as the engaging widow had no time or place for him, but he saw the front door of the house open just as he came in sight of it.

He paused, not at all in curiosity, but to avoid the awkwardness of running into a guest bidding good-night.

Standing in the shadow of a willow tree, he saw Mrs. Castro come out of the door and give a careful, searching look around. She even stepped down from the porch and peered between the trees.

Not knowing any reason to do otherwise, Wyatt stood silent and motionless.

“All right,” she said, in a low tone, returning to the porch.

And then a man stepped out from the door. It was no one Wyatt knew, he was sure he had never seen the man before.

Without a further word, Mrs. Castro watched him descend the few steps from the porch and walk away in an opposite direction from where Dane stood.

He watched until the stranger was hidden from sight by the numerous trees and then, as Mrs. Castro returned to her house, Wyatt resumed his way home.

The incident lingered in his memory.

It was nothing to him that the widow should have a caller who went away at midnight. That was not so very late. It was the lady’s attitude that gave him thought. She had seemed so stealthy, so furtive—he wondered why.

And then after reconnoitering, she had distinctly, though softly said, “all right,” and the man had appeared.

It was probably all right, as she had declared, but Wyatt didn’t understand it.

If an ordinary caller, why make sure the coast was clear? And if not an ordinary caller, what or who was he? And why?