Читать книгу Silver Slippers - Temple Bailey - Страница 6

CHAPTER TWO
THE ENCHANTED NIGHT

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When Joan came down that night for dinner, she found the Hallams and her aunt in front of a roaring fire in the living-room. Back of the house was the darkness of a great forest, in front of it the grim bluff that overlooked the sea. But within the fog was shut out, and the light of the low lamps and of flames of the pine logs played on the silver and green of Adelaide’s gown and the sapphire of Nancy’s and made a rich pattern of color amid the shadows.

Joan was in white with a string of pearls wound twice about her throat. Her arms were bare, there was a silver ribbon about her hips, and her slippers were of silver. When Drew Hallam placed a chair for her and she sat down in it, he touched her shoulders lightly with the tips of his fingers. It was a caress and it thrilled her.

Nancy Hallam saw the caress and wished that Drew wouldn’t. He thought he was in love with Joan, and the money would help a lot. But Drew and Joan! Nancy couldn’t see it. The child had dreams. And Drew would never live up to them.

Nancy was long and lithe. Her hair was red and she admitted, frankly, that she had made it so. Before changing its color she had been an insignificant ash-blonde. Now everybody looked at her and that was what she wanted. She wore colors which were keyed to the red of her hair. Tonight in her sapphire gown with a metal rose of a copper shade catching up the sheer draperies she was a striking figure. Penelope Sears coming in to announce dinner, felt as if there had strayed into her Maine cabin something exotic like a gay-plumaged bird, which didn’t belong there and which was better away. She didn’t approve of Nancy Hallam. She didn’t in fact approve of any of her summer guests except Joan Dudley. She was glad they were going. Mrs. Delafield had talked with her earlier in the day and had stated that she would see that Penelope lost nothing by their unexpected departure. Penelope had said, stiffly, that other people were waiting for rooms. She told herself that she would miss Joan. The child was sincere and sweet. And she was falling in love with Drew Hallam which Penelope felt was a pity.

The dinner was, as usual, an achievement. From soup to shortcake everything was superlative. Penelope’s guests were aware that at no resort hotel would they find roast chicken so delicious, vegetables straight from the garden, such whipped cream and fresh blackberries between layers of flaky crust.

While there was a woman to help with the heavy work about the house, Penelope did all of the cooking and serving. She had no sense of degradation in any household task. A sea-captain’s granddaughter could not be lowered by her occupation. A princess with a tray in her hand was still a princess!

Throughout the meal Joan had little to say, and when after dinner, they adjourned to the living room and while the others had their cigarettes, she sat among them, smiling into the fire, rapturous in the thought of her happy secret, yet shy because of it.

The discussion had to do with their changed plans.

“We will have six weeks before the hotel closes,” Adelaide said, “and we hope you’ll go when we do.”

Nancy was eager. “I’d love it. But Drew will have to decide.”

Hallam delaying his decision, asked: “Is there anything for a man to do down there? I’m keen for the out-of-doors you know. That’s why I came to this place.”

“As much as there is to do here. You can ride with Joan, walk with Joan, play bridge with Joan ...” Adelaide’s voice trailed off into laughter.

Hallam laughed, too. He tossed his cigarette into the fire, then with a quick lift of his head faced Mrs. Delafield:

“If you’ll promise to let me play with Joan for the rest of my life I’ll agree to anything.”

Joan caught her breath. How daring! And how well he knew Aunt Adelaide. She adored sensations. His boldness would please her.

The brown eyes in the old face sparkled. “So that’s it, you want to marry Joan?”

“Who wouldn’t want to marry her?”

“Oh, well, she’s not a belle and a beauty.”

“She is more than that—she is springtime and violets and morning stars ...” His eyes as he looked down at Joan burned with a deep light. “Give me the word and I’ll carry her off.”

Adelaide demanded of Joan: “My dear, do you want to marry this—highwayman?”

“Oh, he isn’t that, Aunt Adelaide.”

“Why not? He wants to steal you from me.” Mrs. Delafield was playing a game, and getting a lot out of it. She wanted Joan married, yet it pleased her to enact the rôle of reluctant guardian. “He wants to steal you, my dear,” she reiterated, “and I repeat that he’s a—robber.”

Hallam drew Joan up beside him—“Give us your blessing, Aunt Adelaide,” he said, with a sort of delightful impudence.

The old woman glowed under his smiling glance, “A thousand blessings, if you wish.” She made a little gesture with her hands.

Joan kissed her aunt. She was trembling with emotion. She wanted to cry in her lover’s arms. But of course she couldn’t. She could only stand blushing and smiling when Nancy said, “You’re too good for him,” and Drew flung back, “You don’t know how good I can be, Nancy.”

Later in the evening, when Drew was at the telephone getting Granitehead and information about the hotel, Joan went out to the kitchen where Mrs. Sears was washing dishes. The big room was warm and shining, and Penelope was making the matter of dish-washing an attractive rite, with her bright pans, her snowy suds, the smooth, checked towels of Irish linen.

“I am sorry we are going away,” Joan said.

“I am sorry you have to go.”

“Nothing will ever be quite—like this ...”

Penelope, setting hot plates in the rack, said: “You mean being up here?”

“Yes.”

There was silence for a moment between them, then Joan asked, “Can’t I help you with the dishes?”

“Not in that dress.”

“Oh, but I’ll get an apron.”

She found one of Penelope’s in a drawer. It was of blue gingham and it covered her up. Below it shone the silver slippers.

Penelope, caught by the shine of the little shoes said: “I never wore silver slippers.”

“These are my first. Before I lived with Aunt Adelaide I had very few pretty things.”

“Do you like living with her better than at home?”

“Oh, yes. It has been rather wonderful. Of course if mother were alive I shouldn’t want to be away from her. But then if I hadn’t been with Aunt Adelaide, I shouldn’t have met Drew Hallam. I am going to marry him, Mrs. Sears. I wanted you to know.”

Penelope waited for a moment before she said: “My dear child, I wish you happiness ...”

“I am so happy now that I feel a bit frightened—as if it couldn’t last. Yet I know it will—last.”

Penelope’s brain rapped. “How can you know it?” But she did not voice her doubt. She went on washing dishes.

When Drew Hallam came into the kitchen to look for Joan, she was wiping the last cup. He frowned as he saw her occupation. “Take off that apron, Joan. I don’t like it.”

She stood in front of him. “Am I always to obey orders?”

“When it comes to your looks!” He had crossed the room and was busy with the button on the bib of the apron. It was at the back of her neck, and for the second time that night she thrilled to his touch. “There,” he said, at last, “and don’t do it again. You belong to beautiful things, not to serviceable ones.”

He turned away without a word to Penelope. But Joan, following him, waved a hand and said with a note of defiance, “I’ll do it again sometime, Mrs. Sears, when he isn’t looking.”

In the hall Hallam stopped. “You mustn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because you should be above it.”

Joan was puzzled, “Above what?”

His tone was impatient. “Don’t pin me down to definitions. I want your loveliness untouched by practical things,” he put a finger under her chin, “Look at me, Joan.”

She lifted her eyes to him, her cheeks pink with excitement. “I want you beautiful always ... for me ... for my kisses ...”

How strong he was! Her bronze head lay now in the hollow of his arm. How strong he was ... and ... splendid ...!

The door was open and they went out into the forest. The moonlight came splashing through the trees in a golden shower. The dark branches made shadows on the ground.

Joan said, leaning on her lover’s arm. “Don’t you adore the stillness?”

He smiled down at her. She was like a nymph in the enchanted night, with her pale draperies, and the sheen of her silver. “Of course I love it. With you to make it perfect.”

“I don’t mean that,” she insisted. “Even if you were not here I should feel there was something solemn and sacred about it—like a cathedral. Do you know what I mean? It’s as if there were nothing between the tops of the trees and heaven.”

He laughed aloud, “You funny little thing.”

Her eyes were startled. “What do you mean by ‘funny’?” she asked.

“With your raptures and enthusiasms. They are out of date, my sweet.”

“Don’t you like them?”

“Of course. Only you mustn’t live too much in the clouds. Or I can’t follow you.”

“Why should you follow me. When I can follow—you?”

He caught her up in his arms at that, and as he set her down he whistled under his breath a waltz song from a popular musical play. “We have never danced together. Let’s see how well we do it.”

They took a step or two, tentatively, then swept on. It was a magical night, the pine needles made a soundless floor under their feet, the moonlight splintered against Joan’s hair in a thousand sparkles.

In Drew’s arms she was as light as the wind, the soft draperies of her sheer gown fluttered and flew, her silver slippers shone.

Then suddenly, she was jerked roughly away from him by an unseen force.

“Oh,” she gasped as he held her up. “My heel is caught in a root.”

It was wedged so tightly that she had to pull her foot out of the shoe before Hallam could release her. He handed her the slipper and she surveyed it ruefully. “The heel is loose. It will have to be mended.”

“Why not buy another pair.”

“They’re expensive.”

“But my dear child,” he knelt to put on the slipper, while she steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, “isn’t your aunt generous with your allowance?”

“Yes. But I’ve had too many years of having to be thrifty.”

“Why not forget them?”

“Why not remember?”

They let it go at that. But later the thing was to come back to them. Tragically. Silver slippers. Mended.