Читать книгу Robert Kimberly - Spearman Frank Hamilton - Страница 4

"I am hoping it will all be settled satisfactorilysoon," said Dolly De Castro to Alice oneafternoon a few weeks afterward. She had invitedAlice out from town for a fortnight at Black Rockwhile MacBirney, with McCrea and the activepartners of the Kimberly interests were workingon the negotiations for the purchase of theMacBirney factories.

"And when it is settled, I can congratulate you,I think, my dear, most sincerely on any issue thatassociates your husband and his interests withthose of my brothers."

"Indeed, I realize that it would be a matter forcongratulation, Mrs. De Castro. I hope if theydo come to terms, your brothers will findMr. MacBirney's Western acquaintance andexperience of some value. I am sorry you haven'tseen more of my husband-"

"I understand perfectly how engaged he has been."

"He is an unceasing worker. I told himyesterday, when he was leaving home, thatMrs. De Castro would think I had no husband."

"Then," continued Dolly, pursuing her topic,"if you can secure the little Cedar Lodge estateon the west shore-and I think it can bearranged-you will be very comfortable."

Dolly had suggested a drive around the lake, and as she made an admirable guide Alice lookedforward with interest to the trip. If it should beobjected that Dolly was not a good conversationalist,it could be maintained that she was a fascinating talker.

It is true that people who talk well must, asa penalty, say things. They can have nocontinued mental reserves, they must unburden theirinner selves. They let you at once into the heartof affairs about them-it is the price that thebrilliant talker must pay. Such a one gives you forthe moment her plenary confidence, and beforeAlice had known Dolly a month, she felt as if shehad known her for years.

On their drive the orders were to follow theprivate roads, and as the villas around the entire lakeconnected with one another, they were obliged touse the high-roads but little. Each of the placeshad a story, and none of these lost anything inDolly's dramatic rendering.

From the lower end of the lake they drove toSunbury, the village-commonplace, but Colonial,Dolly explained-and through it. Taking theridge road back of the hills, they approachedanother group of the country places. The houses ofthese estates belonged to an older day than thoseof the lake itself. Their type indicated thedescent from the earlier simplicity of the Colonial, and afforded a melancholy reminder of thearchitectural experiments following the period of theCivil War.

"Our families have been coming out here for ahundred years," observed Dolly. "These dreadfulFrench roofs we have been passing, give youthe latest dates on this side of the ridge." As shespoke they approached a house of brown sandstoneset in an ellipse of heavy spruces.

"This was the Roger Morgan place. Mrs. Morgan,Bertha, was our half-sister, dear, theonly child of my father's first marriage-she diedseven years ago. This villa belongs to FritzieVenable. She was Roger Morgan's niece. Butshe hasn't opened it for years-she just keeps acaretaker here and makes her home withImogene. To me, spruces are depressing."

"And what is that?" asked Alice, indicatingan ivy-covered pile of stone in the midst of acluster of elms at some distance to the left of thehouse and on a hill above it. "How odd and pretty!"

"That is the Morgan chapel."

"Oh, may we see it?"

"Of course," assented Dolly, less enthusiastically."Do you really want to see it?"

It was Alice's turn to be interested: "Why, yes,if we may. How quaint-looking," she pursued, scrutinizing the façade.

"It is, in fact, a mediæval style," said Dolly.

The car was turned into the driveway leading upto the chapel. When the two women had alightedand walked up the steps to the porch, Alice foundthe building larger than it had appeared frombelow the Morgan house.

Dolly led the way within. "It really is abeautiful thing," she sighed as they entered. "Areproduction in part-this interior-of a little churchin Rome, that Mrs. Morgan was crazy about, SantaMaria in-dear me, I never can remember, SantaMaria in something or other. But I want youto look at this balustrade, and to walk up intoone of these ambones. Can't you see somedark-faced Savonarola preaching from one on the sinsof society?" Dolly ascended the steps of oneambone as she spoke, while Alice walked up intothe other.

"You look as if you might do very well thereyourself on that topic," suggested Alice.

"But I don't have to get into an ambone topreach. I do well anywhere, as long as I have anaudience," continued Dolly as she swept the modestnave with a confident glance.

They walked back toward the door: "Here's aperfect light on the chancel window," said Dollypausing. "Superb coloring, I think."

Alice, held by the soft rich flame of the glass, halted a moment, and saw in a niche removedfrom casual sight the bronze figure of a knightstanding above a pavement tomb. "Is this amemorial?"

"Poor Bertha," continued Dolly; "ordered mostof these windows herself."

"But this bronze, Mrs. De Castro, what is it?"

"A memorial of a son of Bertha's, dear."

The shield of the belted figure bore the Morganarms. An inscription set in the tomb at his feettook Alice's attention, and Dolly without joiningher waited upon her interest.

"And in whose memory do you say this is?"persisted Alice.

"In memory of one of Bertha's sons, dear."

"Is he buried here?"

"No, he lies in Kimberly Acre, the familyburial-ground on The Towers estate-where weshall all with our troubles one day lie. This poorboy committed suicide."

"How dreadful!"

"It is too sad a story to tell."

"Of course."

"And I am morbidly sensitive about suicide."

"These Morgans then were relatives of theMrs. Morgan I met last night?"

"Relatives, yes. But in this instance, thatsignifies nothing. These, as I told you, were Fritzie'speople and are very different."

They reëntered the car and drove rapidly downthe ridge. In the distance, to the south and east, the red gables of a cluster of buildings showed faraway among green, wooded hills.

"That is a school, is it?" asked Alice.

"No, it is a Catholic institution. It is a school,in a way, too, but not of the kind youmean-something of a charitable and training school.The Catholic church of the village stands justbeyond there. There are a number of Catholicsover toward the seashore-delightful people. Wehave none in our set."

The ridge road led them far into the countryand they drove rapidly along ribboned highwaysuntil a great hill confronted them and they beganto wind around its base toward the lake and home.Half-way up they left the main road, turned intoan open gateway, and passing a lodge entered theheavy woods of The Towers villa.

"The Towers is really our only show-place,"explained Dolly, "though Robert, I think, neglectsit. Of course, it is a place that stands hardtreatment. But think of the opportunities on thesebeautiful slopes for landscape gardening."

"It is very large."

"About two thousand acres. Robert, I fancy, cares for the trees more than anything else."

"And he lives here alone?"

"With Uncle John Kimberly. Uncle John isall alone in the world, and a paralytic."

"How unfortunate!"

"Yes. It is unfortunate in some ways; inothers not so much so. Don't be shocked. Oursis so big a family we have many kinds. UncleJohn! mercy! he led his poor Lydia a life. Andshe was a saint if ever a wife was one. I hopeshe has gone to her reward. She never sawthrough all the weary years, never knew,outwardly, anything of his wickedness."

Dolly looked ahead. "There is the house.See, up through the trees? We shall get a fineview in a minute. I don't know why it has to be, but each generation of our family has had a brainyKimberly and a wicked Kimberly. The legendis, that when they meet in one, the Kimberlyswill end."