CHAPTER XIV
AN EGG-NOG AND A TELEGRAM
We had discovered Louise at the lodge Tuesday night. It was WednesdayI had my interview with her. Thursday and Friday were uneventful, saveas they marked improvement in our patient. Gertrude spent almost allthe time with her, and the two had grown to be great friends. Butcertain things hung over me constantly; the coroner's inquest on thedeath of Arnold Armstrong, to be held Saturday, and the arrival of Mrs.Armstrong and young Doctor Walker, bringing the body of the deadpresident of the Traders' Bank. We had not told Louise of either death.
Then, too, I was anxious about the children. With their mother'sinheritance swept away in the wreck of the bank, and with their loveaffairs in a disastrous condition, things could scarcely be worse.Added to that, the cook and Liddy had a flare-up over the proper way tomake beef-tea for Louise, and, of course, the cook left.
Mrs. Watson had been glad enough, I think, to turn Louise over to ourcare, and Thomas went upstairs night and morning to greet his youngmistress from the doorway. Poor Thomas! He had the faculty--foundstill in some old negroes, who cling to the traditions of slaverydays--of making his employer's interest his. It was always "we" withThomas; I miss him sorely; pipe-smoking, obsequious, not over reliable,kindly old man!
On Thursday Mr. Harton, the Armstrongs' legal adviser, called up fromtown. He had been advised, he said, that Mrs. Armstrong was comingeast with her husband's body and would arrive Monday. He came withsome hesitation, he went on, to the fact that he had been furtherinstructed to ask me to relinquish my lease on Sunnyside, as it wasMrs. Armstrong's desire to come directly there.
I was aghast.
"Here!" I said. "Surely you are mistaken, Mr. Harton. I should think,after--what happened here only a few days ago, she would never wish tocome back."
"Nevertheless," he replied, "she is most anxious to come. This is whatshe says. 'Use every possible means to have Sunnyside vacated. Mustgo there at once.'"
"Mr. Harton," I said testily, "I am not going to do anything of thekind. I and mine have suffered enough at the hands of this family. Irented the house at an exorbitant figure and I have moved out here forthe summer. My city home is dismantled and in the hands of decorators.I have been here one week, during which I have had not a single nightof uninterrupted sleep, and I intend to stay until I have recuperated.Moreover, if Mr. Armstrong died insolvent, as I believe was the case,his widow ought to be glad to be rid of so expensive a piece ofproperty."
The lawyer cleared his throat.
"I am very sorry you have made this decision," he said. "Miss Innes,Mrs. Fitzhugh tells me Louise Armstrong is with you."
"She is."
"Has she been informed of this--double bereavement?"
"Not yet," I said. "She has been very ill; perhaps to-night she can betold."
"It is very sad; very sad," he said. "I have a telegram for her, Mrs.Innes. Shall I send it out?"
"Better open it and read it to me," I suggested. "If it is important,that will save time."
There was a pause while Mr. Harton opened the telegram. Then he readit slowly, judicially.
"'Watch for Nina Carrington. Home Monday. Signed F. L. W.'"
"Hum!" I said. "'Watch for Nina Carrington. Home Monday.' Very well,Mr. Harton, I will tell her, but she is not in condition to watch forany one."
"Well, Miss Innes, if you decide to--er--relinquish the lease, let meknow," the lawyer said.
"I shall not relinquish it," I replied, and I imagined his irritationfrom the way he hung up the receiver.
I wrote the telegram down word for word, afraid to trust my memory, anddecided to ask Doctor Stewart how soon Louise might be told the truth.The closing of the Traders' Bank I considered unnecessary for her toknow, but the death of her stepfather and stepbrother must be broken toher soon, or she might hear it in some unexpected and shocking manner.
Doctor Stewart came about four o'clock, bringing his leather satchelinto the house with a great deal of care, and opening it at the foot ofthe stairs to show me a dozen big yellow eggs nesting among the bottles.
"Real eggs," he said proudly. "None of your anemic store eggs, but thereal thing--some of them still warm. Feel them! Egg-nog for MissLouise."
He was beaming with satisfaction, and before he left, he insisted ongoing back to the pantry and making an egg-nog with his own hands.Somehow, all the time he was doing it, I had a vision of DoctorWilloughby, my nerve specialist in the city, trying to make an egg-nog.I wondered if he ever prescribed anything so plebeian--and sodelicious. And while Doctor Stewart whisked the eggs he talked.
"I said to Mrs. Stewart," he confided, a little red in the face fromthe exertion, "after I went home the other day, that you would think mean old gossip, for saying what I did about Walker and Miss Louise."
"Nothing of the sort," I protested.
"The fact is," he went on, evidently justifying him self, "I got thatpiece of information just as we get a lot of things, through thekitchen end of the house. Young Walker's chauffeur--Walker's morefashionable than I am, and he goes around the country in a Stanhopecar--well, his chauffeur comes to see our servant girl, and he told herthe whole thing. I thought it was probable, because Walker spent a lotof time up here last summer, when the family was here, and besides,Riggs, that's Walker's man, had a very pat little story about thedoctor's building a house on this property, just at the foot of thehill. The sugar, please."
The egg-nog was finished. Drop by drop the liquor had cooked the egg,and now, with a final whisk, a last toss in the shaker, it was ready, asymphony in gold and white. The doctor sniffed it.
"Real eggs, real milk, and a touch of real Kentucky whisky," he said.
He insisted on carrying it up himself, but at the foot of the stairs hepaused.
"Riggs said the plans were drawn for the house," he said, harking backto the old subject. "Drawn by Huston in town. So I naturally believedhim."
When the doctor came down, I was ready with a question.
"Doctor," I asked, "is there any one in the neighborhood namedCarrington? Nina Carrington?"
"Carrington?" He wrinkled his forehead. "Carrington? No, I don'tremember any such family. There used to be Covingtons down the creek."
"The name was Carrington," I said, and the subject lapsed.
Gertrude and Halsey went for a long walk that afternoon, and Louiseslept. Time hung heavy on my hands, and I did as I had fallen into ahabit of doing lately--I sat down and thought things over. One resultof my meditations was that I got up suddenly and went to the telephone.I had taken the most intense dislike to this Doctor Walker, whom I hadnever seen, and who was being talked of in the countryside as thefiance of Louise Armstrong.
I knew Sam Huston well. There had been a time, when Sam was a gooddeal younger than he is now, before he had married Anne Endicott, whenI knew him even better. So now I felt no hesitation in calling himover the telephone. But when his office boy had given way to hisconfidential clerk, and that functionary had condescended to connecthis employer's desk telephone, I was somewhat at a loss as to how tobegin.
"Why, how are you, Rachel?" Sam said sonorously. "Going to build thathouse at Rock View?" It was a twenty-year-old joke of his.
"Sometime, perhaps," I said. "Just now I want to ask you a questionabout something which is none of my business."
"I see you haven't changed an iota in a quarter of a century, Rachel."This was intended to be another jest. "Ask ahead: everything but mydomestic affairs is at your service."
"Try to be serious," I said. "And tell me this: has your firm made anyplans for a house recently, for a Doctor Walker, at Casanova?"
"Yes, we have."
"Where was it to be built? I have a reason for asking."
"It was to be, I believe, on the Armstrong place. Mr. Armstronghimself consulted me, and the inference was--in fact, I am quitecertain--the house was to be occupied by Mr. Armstrong's daughter, whowas engaged to marry Doctor Wa
lker."
When the architect had inquired for the different members of my family,and had finally rung off, I was certain of one thing. Louise Armstrongwas in love with Halsey, and the man she was going to marry was DoctorWalker. Moreover, this decision was not new; marriage had beencontemplated for some time. There must certainly be someexplanation--but what was it?
That day I repeated to Louise the telegram Mr. Warton had opened.
She seemed to understand, but an unhappier face I have never seen. Shelooked like a criminal whose reprieve is over, and the day of executionapproaching.