Читать книгу The Mystery of the Sandalwood Boxes - Harriet Pyne Grove - Страница 5

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AUDREY’S NEIGHBORS

For several days the big house beyond the hedge continued to be the scene of lively operation. Audrey occasionally peeped out at her neighbors when she heard an especially ringing laugh, or saw them out in the yard. There they were making the most of such shrubbery and flowers as were already there, or busily planting seeds in new beds. She did not happen to meet any of them, for Durga drove her to the private school, which she attended and often came for her, though not always.

Mornings at the Avery home had a regular program. The car was ready before breakfast, standing in the drive. Durga served them at a seven-thirty breakfast. Audrey supposed that he ate his own breakfast next. She made ready for school, but Durga usually drove Mr. Avery to his train before he took her to school, unless there was a plan for both brother and sister to drive to the city. But as a rule Mr. Avery preferred the train. The car was too recent an addition to their life to tempt him and the distance not agreeable in bad weather.

Meanwhile Audrey had not failed to arouse some interest in the young people next door. “Who’s the girl in the vault next to us, Nance?” inquired the dark-haired boy whom Audrey had noticed that first day. He was standing on a step-ladder as he spoke, putting up the curtains in the living room.

Nancy Russell, who had been handing up the curtains, broke out into a little laugh at his speech. “How should I know?” she replied. “So that is what you call the house next door?”

“Those two dark servants go around as if some one were in the last stages, anyway. The Irish one is the only person over there that looks human.”

“Except the girl, Verne.”

“Oh, yes; except the girl. But she doesn’t look as if she could call her soul her own.”

“Verne, my son,” reprovingly said Mrs. Russell, who sat near, slipping fresh, clean curtains into the rods, “there are some very fine, quiet people who live in an atmosphere of culture and refinement, and do not think it necessary to show that they are alive by shouting all over the place.”

“Nance,” said Verne, grinning, “do you suppose that Mother means anything by that remark?”

“Certainly not,” said Nance. “Poor mother. She ought to have had a chance with two or three kiddies of her own kind,—”

“Instead of the gang she has,” Verne Russell finished. “But I’m surprised, Nance, to think that you and Retta have not already called, to borrow something, or carry over a dish of something.”

“We never borrow, as you well know, Verne Russel, and as we have just moved into a new neighborhood, we shall wait until the neighbors call on us first.”

“If they ever do.”

“Then it will be just as well,” said Mrs. Russell. “It is different in a city. We can be friendly, of course, if overtures are made, but after all, we make our own circle.” Mrs. Russell sighed. “I suppose that we shall have to join a different church out here. I simply could not get to prayermeeting from here. We shall meet the best people in church, and if any of them like us we shall have friends.”

“Listen to Mom! If ‘any of them’ like her, for instance! And I’m surprised at you, Mom, to join a church to have friends.”

Mrs. Russell smiled. She was not troubled about her boy’s understanding what she meant.

“Give me that last curtain, Nance,” said Verne, after he had climbed down from the step-ladder, placed it before another of the long windows, and hung the first curtain. “What possessed Dad to buy a house with such high ceilings anyhow? Now there is that handsome modern place just across the street.” Verne began to whistle a little.

“Yes, Verne,” said his sister, “and look at the price. Besides, there is a great deal more air in this place,—”

“And it will cost twice as much to heat, too.”

“Your father bought this at a great bargain, children. It had been empty for a long time. They would not rent it.”

“They could not, my dear Mother. But as for us, we don’t care for spooks. Come one, come all. Don’t worry, Mother, I’m not knocking this as much as it seems. Anything is better than this family in an apartment; and after we do all that we are going to do to this and prove to the whole neighborhood that the ghost story is a whopper, Pop can sell it for twice what he paid for it.”

“Never, children, in my right mind, am I going to move from this spot,” asserted Mrs. Russell, in a tone which would have shown any hearer where her children obtained their spirit.

“Poor little Mom,” laughed Verne, “but I can think of circumstances which would make our mother change her mind.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” Mrs. Russell admitted.

“But we are not wanting to move, Mother,” declared Nancy very firmly. “Whatever we may say in our frank and sincere way,”—here Nancy looked at Verne with a comical expression. “Whatever we say in criticism of this house, we all really like it. Moreover, it’s big enough.”

“I’ll say it is,” slangily said Verne. “Better shut up part of it, so Mom won’t wear herself out.”

“That is just what we are going to do. We’re not going to use the third story at all except for storage and our own peculiar stunts. You can fit up a gym there if you want to. When we want to buy some more furniture, then we can each have a room to ourselves if we want it,—and take care of it ourselves, too!”

“I see that Mom has no chance at all now. Hail the new Russell manager-in-chief!” Verne, now sitting on top of the ladder to rest from his labors, bowed to Nancy and nearly fell off.

It had, indeed, been hard to squeeze this family into the city apartment where they had lived since coming to New York two years before. They had come from a small town where they had owned their own home and were acquainted with all their neighbors. A business opportunity had brought Mr. Russell. Then there were visions of university advantages, for all of the children, and other attractions in the great city.

The suburban street on which the Averys and the Russells lived was not so closely built up as is sometimes the case. The yards were small, but neat and pretty, separated from each other as a rule by hedges. The houses, for the most part, were tall red brick houses, massive, but of various sizes and shapes. A few more modern homes had been recently built among them.

Among the largest was the home recently acquired by the Russell family. It had been a white elephant on the hands of the dealers, which fact accounted for the reduction in price in itself, without the hazy story of a ghost. Few people were interested in a house so large, one not completely modern. Yet few of the modern houses were built so well. It would require considerable fuel and care to heat it; “but,” said Mr. Russell, “we’ll spread all over it in the summer, and heat only a part of it in winter. Bear that in mind when you choose your rooms.”

It was their own. That was a great deal. Verne said that he intended to fix up a “bachelor apartment” on the third floor, and woe betide any female member of the family that had designs on the room he wanted! But with his older brother Rob, who was already in Columbia, he regularly occupied a room on the second floor, a big room where they had put twin beds and had their own book-cases and traps of various sorts. How fine it was to get the things out of storage that simply could not be crowded into the apartment. Even the boys were excited over this move, though Rob could do little because of his heavy work. It was Verne’s spring vacation, really past the end of it, but he stayed on. The end of the front hall, near their room, was as big as a room, and had immense windows and a balcony. The heavy woodwork was such as they do not put in the modern houses.

“Intrinsically,” said Robert, “this house is worth a good deal.”

Robert was twenty-one, Verne seventeen, only a year younger than Nancy, who was the oldest daughter. Then came Doretta, who was always called Retta. She was a little past fifteen, but was as tall and seemed as old as Audrey. Last were the twins, who were ten. They were Harry and Billee, though contrary to one’s natural expectations, Billee was a little girl. She had named herself thus at the mature age of four, not liking her baptismal name at the time. Named Ethel for an aunt, she said that it did not match Harry, so she would be Billee. The name did seem to fit the child better than her own. In consequence the family gradually began to adopt it, with Harry, who had conferred with Billee over the matter first. Now she was Ethel only at school and upon formal occasions. To her family and playmates she was the merry Billee, her early pronunciation of Billy.

All this was to be found out by Audrey in due time. The whole undertaking was a great adventure for the Russells and in that spirit they happily met it. Father and Mother Russell, with the responsibility, had many quiet discussions upon ways and means before they dared buy a home; but the opportunity came and an apartment for a family of that size was no economy.

Audrey’s first acquaintance with her neighbors was introduced by Billee. The theme, which she did write on a phase of India, her lessons, and other things had rather absorbed Audrey’s time; but one afternoon after school she was in the garden; “fussing,” as she called it, with the flowers. One thing she and Cousin Serena had in common, a love for flowers. When the season permitted, Audrey enjoyed the small yard in the rear of the house more than anything else about the place.

Small as it was, the shrubbery was prettily massed, the flowers and bushes wandering along a winding path; and it boasted an artistic bird bath, a rustic seat under a fruit tree, and a pretty trellis for climbing roses. Audrey had put a large apron over her dress and was digging away with a trowel when she heard a child’s voice. “We’re going to have some of them,” it said.

Audrey looked up, tucking back some wavy wisps of hair, and tossing back a long braid of her hair which would persist in trailing on the ground. There stood, close to the hedge, on the other side, a little girl.

“Oh, how do you do?” said Audrey, “do you like flowers?” She rose, and trowel in hand, she walked to the hedge.

“Yes. I think I do! I like the spring ones best, too. Aren’t our lilacs pretty?” The child waved toward some beautiful bushes in full bloom that stood not far from the house. “Wait till I pick you some,” and before Audrey could protest or ask her if her mother would want her to pick them, the child ran to the bushes and pulled several of the fragrant plumes from their branches.

“Oh, they are lovely, aren’t they!” Audrey exclaimed, burying her nose in the cool blossoms. “Thank you,—but I’m afraid that you should not have picked them. Cousin Serena has very particular ideas about when we must or must not pick our flowers.”

“Mother does not care. We have such loads of these.” The sunny-haired child was looking at Audrey with bright eyes. “Is Cousin Serena the lady that lives here? I s’posed she was your mother.”

“No. My mother is in heaven.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I thought it was funny that you were so pretty if—but I’d better not say that, I guess.”

Audrey was amused. The compliment was not unpleasing, if it was hard on Cousin George and Cousin Serena. “Mr. and Mrs. Avery are my cousins and they took me into their home when my parents—died.”

“That was nice of them, but you must be lonesome without any brothers or sisters. Didn’t you ever have any, or do they live some other place?”

“I never had any. I have an uncle who is an English officer in India, and that is all.”

Billee screwed up her small forehead and shook her head. Audrey looked at her smilingly. She was not shy with this sweet youngster. It was a pity that she had not had a sister! “You have a nice family, I see. What is your name?”

“Billee Russell; that is, I always have to tell people that my real name, the name I was baptized by, is Ethel. But when I was little I wanted to have a name that would match Harry’s, you see. Harry is my twin.”

“Why, how fine,—you have a twin. I did notice a little boy, but he is a little taller than you.”

“Yes. Mother says that he’s started to grow, but that I can catch up with him when I start.”

“Do you want to catch up?”

“Why, yes, of course. I have to do everything that Harry does.”

“I think that it is nicer for boys to be bigger than girls and take care of them.” Audrey said this purposely, for she rather felt from Billee’s expression that Harry’s growing taller was a sore point.

“Perhaps it is. I hadn’t thought of that.” Billee sighed.

“Then wouldn’t it be funny for girls to do exactly what boys do?”

“I s’pose so. That is what Mother and the girls say. But I do wish that I was a boy, too!”

“I used to wish that when I was your age, but Father said that while he might enjoy a boy, he kind of loved me more than if I’d been one.”

“That was just because you were a girl. But my mother and father love us all alike, though Mother says that she has a separate corner for each one and doesn’t lump us all together. I shouldn’t like that.”

Mrs. Russell glancing out from the kitchen window, saw the conference by the hedge. “There is your chance, girls, if you want to make an acquaintance,” said she, beating up some cream in a bowl.

Nancy, closing the oven door, for the roast needed further cooking, crossed the kitchen and looked out.

“There’s Billee by the hedge, Retta. Go out and take her cap or something. It’s cool and it will be an excuse.”

Retta needed no urging. Out she flew, and after reaching the back porch changed her pace to a decorous walk, between flower-beds, to where the ground sloped by the hedge. Audrey was smiling pleasantly as she waited, and Billee, seeing Audrey’s look of recognition, turned to see who was coming. “I don’t want to go in, Retta, please.”

“You needn’t. Just slip this over your head. Mother thinks it too cool for you. Have you made acquaintance with our neighbor?”

Audrey and Retta were smiling at each other as Billee exclaimed, “Oh, yes! This is my sister Retta,—I don’t know your name, and Retta, it isn’t Avery, ’cause they are not her father and mother at all!”

“My name is Audrey Craig, and I am ever so glad to know you. I have been noticing what good times you have together.”

Audrey said this so naturally that Retta had no idea how much effort it was, or how Audrey both wanted and dreaded to meet the happy family next door.

“We have seen you, too, and wanted to get acquainted. You must come over some time soon. We are about settled now, though we shall be doing different things to the place all the time. We bought it, you know. Do come over to see us.”

“Thank you. I want to, and I will if I can.”

“Can’t you always do what you want to?” asked Billee.

“Billee!” reproved Retta. “Nobody can, Billee; can you?”

“No,” said the frank Billee, “but I should think anybody could go next door in the daytime.”

“I think that I shall be able to do it, Billee,” said Audrey, soberly.

“I’d like to have you tell us about your uncle in India when you come. Were you ever there?”

“Yes, I lived there.”

“Oh, and that’s where those queer,—those—”

“Sh-sh, Billee, you are such a little chatterbox. Give me a chance.” Retta knew that Billee was about to make some comment on the Hindu servants and the point was to stop her.

“But please let me ask her if she was a missionary!”

“No, Billee, I wasn’t a missionary, and neither was my father, though he really gave his life for India, too. I will tell you all about it, some time, if you really want to hear.

“I do. Now, Retta, you can talk. There’s Harry!”

Billee scampered away as Harry, laden with small parcels from the suburban grocery, entered the Russell yard. But Audrey and Retta had no opportunity, for Moti was coming down the walk. “The mem-sahib says that dinner is early tonight,” said Moti.

“All right, Moti. I’m sorry to be obliged to go in, Miss Russell, but you see how I would look for dinner,” and Audrey looked down at her big apron, brandishing her trowel. “Cousin Serena likes to have me dress for dinner, you know.”

“It must be a nuisance, but it is the proper thing to do, I suppose,” replied Retta. “But I’m Retta, not Miss Russell, and I do hope that you will come over very soon.”

As Audrey hurried up the walk into the kitchen, where a red-cheeked Nora was taking up the meal, or beginning to do so, she was thinking of her relations with her neighbors. That was the trouble. She thought she could manage very easily to call, but the return visits would be the trouble, and how could she tell them that Cousin Serena did not want her to have company! Audrey ran up the stairs in her hurry to be ready in time.

But she had some rights, didn’t she, to live and know nice people? Audrey began to feel cross. Well, she would go, then let them come once and get frozen out by Cousin Serena,—no, this thing called for strategy! She would invite the two girls over some time when Cousin Serena went to her club! She would have them up in her room to look at her curios, and Moti would bring in some lemonade and cakes! Nora liked her, besides. She would just mention it to Nora after Cousin Serena had gone. Would that be wrong?

Audrey was in too much of a hurry to decide then and there. Her hands needed more scrubbing than usual, of course! But Moti had every garment ready to slip over her head. Instead of braiding her hair again, Moti wound the braids around her head and tucked in the loose ends with hairpins.

“Why, Moti, that looks real nice!” she exclaimed. “I’ll give you a recommendation as a lady’s maid any time you want it!”

“When you grow tired of Moti, I’ll want it.”

“The idea! As if I’d ever grow tired of you! I was just joking. Let’s think up a good way to do my hair that will be different.” But as she spoke, Audrey hurried into the hall and felt like sliding down the bannisters to reach the parlor, whence issued Cousin George’s bass tones. Wouldn’t Durga be horrified if she did come hurtling down like the little girl she was at heart?