Читать книгу The Tryst (Musaicum Romance Classics) - Grace Livingston Hill - Страница 9

Table of Contents

Miss Sylvia Cole was generally regarded by her friends and family as an old crab who was too important to be put in her place and punished for her biting sarcasm. Her keen insight into shams and a peculiar sense of humor were not generally understood nor appreciated by her victims. When she sat facing Patricia in the sleeper that night regarding her future companion much in the same light that a cat regards a mouse with whom it intends to enjoy a playful hour before devouring, she suddenly came face to face with her own sense of humor, and burst out laughing in a dry cackle or two at the thought of being attended in her invalidism by this handsome infant.

“Marjorie would have been far more suitable in appearance!” she declared, thinking her thoughts aloud as was her custom.

“Yes, but Marjorie wouldn’t have done as you told her to and I shall,” declared Patty brightly.

“You're no more used to doing as you are told than Marjorie, I can see that with half an eye!” said the old lady, scrutinizing the girl.

“Oh, yes, rather,” reflected the girl pleasantly. “I’m not long out of school, you know. Besides, I am earning my living now and I have to do as I'm told. Will you have that hot water-bag?”

"No, I don't want that hot water-bag now or ever. Such bosh lugging a drug store along just because I'm going a few miles from home! Well, if you're going to do as you're told, you better understand that I don't want to be nagged and bothered. When I want anything I’ll tell you, and I don't hire you to know more about my wants than I do. Understand? Now all I want to-night is a drink of water and to be let alone."

“That sounds easy,” said Patty, smiling; “I’ll get the water. I’d hate to be nagged myself. It makes one feel all riffley inside.”

“Exactly,” said the old lady grimly. “I think we shall get on very well. And you needn't tell me any more about yourself than you want to. I shan't ask you.”

“Thank you,” said Patty pleasantly, “I appreciate that. Perhaps I shan't. Now, which bed is mine, or do I sit up?"

“I'll take the lower berth and you may have the couch. And I like the light turned out and a screen in the window at the foot. I believe that’s all. Good night.”

So they slept. And in the morning they were in Washington and drove straight to the New Willard, took a room, and rested – at least the old lady rested. The girl sat by the window and silently studied out the city trying to locate the different points of interest and wished she might go out and take a walk. But she was a working woman now and must do as her employer wished, and her business was to stick by the old lady. So far that had not been difficult, but she could see that Miss Cole was used to having her own way and might not be pleasant to live with if by any chance that way were crossed.

They took the afternoon train soon after lunch and arrived at the Pine Crest Inn as the sun was beginning to slip behind the blue hills and send long slant shadows among the autumn foliage.

“Isn't it perfectly gorgeous here?” said Patty joyously as she got out of the hack and looked up at the face of the great hotel sitting majestically above the grandeur in its frame of autumn color. The sunset rays touched her face into vivid beauty, and Miss Sylvia reflected with grim satisfaction that perhaps people would think she was bringing a lovely daughter to the Springs for a bit of rest before the winter's season should begin. She resolved to have some pleasure out of that idea and tucked it away in her mind for further consideration.

The hall porter glided out of the door to meet them and attached himself to their baggage and Patty helped Miss Cole up the steps.

It was just inside the door that Patty saw John Treeves, hurrying down the wide staircase at the opposite end of the long hotel lobby, and her heart stood still within her for one brief second. Not since five long years ago had she seen that face, yet she knew it instantly, and with a bound of joy for the comrade of a blessed summer when she had been left behind in a little New York village while her family went abroad. Then came the instant realization that she must not be recognized and she turned her face away and looked coolly toward the office desk. She was trembling all over, and trying with all her might to look natural and unconcerned, telling herself that of course he would not recognize her. She was only a little girl with short skirts and her hair down in two long plaits when he knew her.

She managed to write in the register with a tolerably firm hand, but as she turned away toward the elevator she came almost face to face with Treeves. This time, however, she was prepared, and managed a blank unseeing stare straight past him, although he had stepped up and was just about to speak to her. In sudden panic she turned abruptly toward Miss Coles and began to speak to her, and in a second more they were shut into the elevator and gliding upward, while the disappointed young man stood below hesitating, dismayed, but in nowise uncertain as to her identity, or daunted as to the final issue. She didn’t know him. That was natural after five years, and she not expecting to meet him. He was changed, of course, but not so much. He passed his hand over his smoothly shaven face, and looked down at his trim new suit and shining footgear, glad that he was in proper civilian garb to meet her. Then he strode to the register to get the number of her room and send up his card. She would know that anyway, if she did not recognize his grown-up face.

But he stood before the register page with a startled, unbelieving look, for there before him right on the page, where he had seen her writing there glared out at him two strange names: “Miss Sylvia Cole, New York; Miss Edith Fisher, New York.”

Her name was not there! What could it mean? Had his eyes deceived him? He had been mistaken, of course, but how strange that there could be two people in the world with that look in their eyes. Well, it had shown him one thing and that was that he wanted to look up Patricia Merrill right away and have a talk with her. He had felt a desire for something to comfort his homesick soul ever since he landed, and now he knew what it was. He needed the soothing, uplifting presence of a woman who understood him. His mother was gone, but there was one girl who had seemed to understand him once and who was closely associated with his mother's sweet memory. He would like to see that girl! This stranger, Edith Fisher, or Sylvia Cole, whichever she might be, had looked enough like Patricia to be her sister. He was glad he had seen her. He would watch for her in the dining- room. It would be good to look again and recall the sweet lines of the face of his little pal, Patty. And then, just as soon as he could get free from his old rascal of an uncle, and get a few other things fixed up, he would take a trip out West and see if he could find her. Perhaps he might manage to satisfy his antique relative's curiosity and get away in the morning, in which case he could take the western trip at once. He turned with a sigh and made his way back to his room, where he found his impatient uncle's servitor already demanding his presence again. He hastened through a brief toilet and presented himself before his uncle.

The old man sat in his wheeled chair in full evening garb looking more ghoulish than ever in the dead black and white of dinner coat and stiff collar. The bright, restless eyes fixed themselves in a kind of gloating satisfaction on the young man. It was a possessive, selfish look such as he had worn all his life with regard to anything he desired, and reached after, and acquired and hoarded, almost the strongest element in it being to keep it from others. Before he had seen this young man, even when he was still following his honorable career in the army, he had not been quite sure whether he would seize this prize or fling it aside as unworthy; but now the old eyes snapped with pleasure, and the jaw set firmly with determination. This young man was his; no one, not even the fellow himself, should say him nay. What a wonderful set of shoulders he had! What line of limb and curve of feature! Heavens! How handsome he was! He must have got that from that poor little country upstart of a mother. Sometimes country girls were that way, healthy and handsome, and a strain of such stock wasn’t a bad thing in blood that had been blue for centuries. Now it was over, and she out of the way he could afford to let bygones be bygones. For the boy certainly was stunning! What a sensation he would make in New York society!

Already he was planning his life for him – travel and polish and clubs! The right women! Gad! What a hit he would make with the women! But he would take good care to fix things so that he couldn't make his father's mistake. The hoarded millions would come in there all right. He would tie them up in such a way that the boy could only marry a desirable girl. He must learn to keep the other kind of girl in the background where other respectable young men of wealth and reputation kept their amours. But he would learn. There was keen intelligence behind those eyes. And he knew just where to get the right tutors. He rubbed his hands together in glee. Already he could see the flaring headlines bearing the name of the young and talented nephew of Calvin Treeves, the multimillionaire! Ah! What a future! He could bear, now, to sit back in a wheeled chair and know that his hour was over, for now he could live again through the career of this young man. It almost seemed as if Calvin Treeves must be a corpse dressed up, save for the weird twitching of lips and brow. The keen little eyes focused eagerly and with satisfaction on the broad shoulders and well-set head of his nephew. He noticed with pride the easy grace of his walk, and his look of being at home anywhere, but his only remark was an impatient: “Well, ready? Let’s move!” and the little procession went forward to the elevator.

Treeves marked the obsequiousness of the servants as the old man’s chair rolled through the hall and into the lift like a chariot of state. He saw a look pass into the faces of all who served from the least bellboy to the highest in the house, that look of deference to riches, and his soul rebelled within him as he noted the slight reflection of glory that fell even to his own share because of being in the company of this little old selfish dried-up soul of a man in a withered shell of a body. Again the old wrath boiled within him, and he was almost at the point of turning away from the situation and bolting in disgust. Yet after all there was something pathetic in the smirk of satisfaction that sat upon the waxen lips. This was all the man had, this human adulation. And not for himself, either; the deference was for his riches! What a life to have lived so long, and to have nothing but this at the end I Self incarcerated in that withered old body, shortly to be driven forth into an unknown country where riches of earth count not and deference for such reasons is unknown!

Down in the bright world of the hotel dining-room such thoughts quickly fled. Treeves was searching everywhere for a face. He paid little heed to the gaiety about him, and acknowledged the introductions his uncle gave with indifference. He did not expect to meet these people again. They were out of his sphere. They were interesting merely as specimens from another world. His eyes idly appraised a florid mother, her well-groomed head set off by a black velvet band with jeweled slides above her broad expanse of pink enameled chest. Her pallid daughter, with limpid eyes and an anaemic droop, stood beside her. He wondered why she cared to show so much of a long skinny back, and then his eyes hurried through the group of faces just beyond and Adele Quatrain realized that she had not made a hit with the stunning young nephew of the millionaire.

“He's got the Treeves manner all right!” said the uncle to himself as he watched the young man with satisfaction. "He won't fall for the first little fool that angles for him, that's certain. He takes the first entrance into his own as if he had been here always. It's not going to be difficult at all to train him. That distant air suits him well. No one would guess he was not to the manner born. His mother couldn't have been so bad after all, and I suppose I shall have to say so to him, for he seems to be quite set on her. After all, she's dead and can't make us any more trouble, so what's the difference. And blood will tell. His father was a Treeves all through, if he did marry a poor country parson's daughter. It isn't as if she hadn't had some education of course. This certainly is going to be a good move. I shall enjoy myself! But what is the young cuss looking at? He hasn't taken his eyes off the main entrance! I swear it's almost as if he was watching for someone! He can't have found any friends here surely! I must keep my eye on him. I won't have him making any undesirable acquaintances!”

But although John Treeves watched the main entrance to the great dining-room most carefully, and searched with eager eyes the faces of those seated about the tables, he could not find Patty Merrill nor her double.

The dining-room was long and built of glass, opening on three sides to the mountain scenery. The sun, like a great red ball of fire-opal, slid down in majestic display behind pines and juniper and fir, sending long purple and gold bars through the interstices and left a gorgeous sky behind to linger and glow and die slowly into the deep purples and blues of night The brilliant lights of the dining-hall began to be felt with the dessert and coffee.

“Doggone his fool hide! He isn't impressed at all!” mused his uncle, gulping his black coffee and eying his nephew savagely. “Where in thunder did he get that cool manner? One would think he had been a millionaire all his life! If he wasn't my nephew I'd call him an upstart! And he is! Of course he is! An upstart! But I like him and I'm going to keep him! That manner will go all right, only he mustn't work it on me/ I won't have it! I'll teach him he can't go that way with me! He's got to knuckle down and do as I say or I won't have anything to do with him! I'll teach him!”

Meantime, Patty Merrill, in a pleasant suite of rooms on the third floor of the hotels stood at a window watching the sunset and trying to calm her excited heart and think what had really happened.

She had unpacked Miss Cole's bags, hung up her belongings, and spread out her toilet articles with unaccustomed but intelligent Angers, and a kind of childish pleasure. It was like playing dolls or taking a part in a bit of comedy, this posing as a lady's maid and companion. It really amused her. Miss Cole did not seem a hard woman to please, and so far their relations had been entirely amicable. Now and then during the journey she had lifted her eyes to find those of the older woman upon her in a frank questioning stare. A stare that would have seemed almost impertinent if it had not been kindly. She felt too much alone in this great experiment she had launched herself upon, to resent a pleasant look, so she had answered it by a flush and a smile which somehow seemed always to turn the look, and once or twice had brought an answering smile.

Miss Cole was lying on the couch in the sitting-room of the apartment, a steamer rug over her feet, and her head upon a linen pillow that always accompanied her on her journeys. She had closed her eyes and said she would rest until dinner was brought up; and Patty, feeling herself dismissed for the time being, drifted over to the window and dropped down upon the broad window-seat Looking into the heart of the valley where the shadows among the pines were deepest and smokiest she began to feel sad and full of vague fears and uneasiness. Was that really John Treeves that she had seen downstairs, or was it only her imagination? How would he be here? And if it were really her old comrade, what ought she to do about it?

Since leaving New York her situation had been so entirely novel and amusing that she had had very little leisure to think it over or become depressed. Now, however, the full force of her exile came upon her. She was a fugitive, and must remain unknown. It would not do to be recognized by this young man who knew her family, whose mother had been a dear intimate of her mother in their childhood days, and who would undoubtedly think it his duly to persuade her to return home if he knew she was here under an assumed name; would very likely consider it his duly to let her family know of her whereabouts. Not that he would be disloyal to her wishes if he knew all, she was sure, for he had been a wonderful friend, but how could she possibly explain the unloving attitude of her mother and sister that had made it impossible for her to remain at home? No, for the sake of her father, and the honor of the family she must remain hidden, much as she might desire to renew the acquaintance of the beautiful summer which seemed now so long ago. She drew a deep sigh and her eyes grew dreamy over memories of walks and rides and picnics, and. John Treeves's home, the little white cottage at the end of the village street, which would always seem to her the personification of the word Home; the strong, sweet, womanly, merry mother who had taken her into her arms and kissed her for the sake of her own mother. That kiss and the gentle loving tones that had told her of Mrs. Treevee's childish friendship for Patricia's girl-mother, had served to soften many a harsh word and cold action during the years, because she could always remember little beautiful loving things that Mrs. Treeves had told her about her mother as a child, and somehow she had succeeded in putting the halo of that childhood about the haughty head of the mother who had never shown her the deep love she had always craved.

The sun had slipped out of sight now into the deep blue heart of the pines, and the crimson streak was fading from the ether above. Patty drew another soft little sobbing sigh, scarcely audible, and a tear unbidden slipped out the fringes and dashed silently down her cheek. Then startlingly grim from out the shadows of the room where she had supposed her patient to be peacefully sleeping, came a voice, very much awake indeed:

“How long have you known that young man?”