CHAPTER XIV
THE GIRL IN GRAY
My first thought was to find the crypt door and returnthrough the tunnel before Bates reached the house.The chapel was open, and by lighting matches I foundmy way to the map and panel. I slipped through andclosed the opening; then ran through the passage withgratitude for the generous builder who had given it aclear floor and an ample roof. In my haste I miscalculatedits length and pitched into the steps under thetrap at a speed that sent me sprawling. In a momentmore I had jammed the trap into place and was runningup the cellar steps, breathless, with my capsmashed down over my eyes.
I heard Bates at the rear of the house and knew I hadwon the race by a scratch. There was but a moment inwhich to throw my coat and cap under the divan, slapthe dust from my clothes and seat myself at the greattable, where the candles blazed tranquilly.
Bates’ step was as steady as ever—there was not theslightest hint of excitement in it—as he came and stoodwithin the door.
“Beg pardon, Mr. Glenarm, did you wish anything,sir?”
“Oh, no, thank you, Bates.”
“I had stepped down to the village, sir, to speak tothe grocer. The eggs he sent this morning were notquite up to the mark. I have warned him not to sendany of the storage article to this house.”
“That’s right, Bates.” I folded my arms to hide myhands, which were black from contact with the passage,and faced my man servant. My respect for his rascallypowers had increased immensely since he gave me mycoffee. A contest with so clever a rogue was worthwhile.
“I’m grateful for your good care of me, Bates. I hadexpected to perish of discomfort out here, but you aretreating me like a lord.”
“Thank you, Mr. Glenarm. I do what I can, sir.”
He brought fresh candles for the table candelabra,going about with his accustomed noiseless step. I felta cold chill creep down my spine as he passed behindme on these errands. His transition from the rôle ofconspirator to that of my flawless servant was almosttoo abrupt.
I dismissed him as quickly as possible, and listenedto his step through the halls as he went about lockingthe doors. This was a regular incident, but I was awareto-night that he exercised what seemed to me a particularcare in settling the bolts. The locking-up processhad rather bored me before; to-night the snapping ofbolts was particularly trying.
When I heard Bates climbing to his own quarters Iquietly went the rounds on my own account and foundeverything as tight as a drum.
In the cellar I took occasion to roll some barrels ofcement into the end of the corridor, to cover and blockthe trap door. Bates had no manner of business in thatpart of the house, as the heating apparatus was underthe kitchen and accessible by an independent stairway.I had no immediate use for the hidden passage to thechapel—and I did not intend that my enemies shouldavail themselves of it. Morgan, at least, knew of it and,while he was not likely to trouble me at once, I had resolvedto guard every point in our pleasant game.
I was tired enough to sleep when I went to my room,and after an eventless night, woke to a clear day andkeener air.
“I’m going to take a little run into the village, Bates,”I remarked at breakfast.
“Very good, sir. The weather’s quite cleared.”
“If any one should call I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned his impenetrable face toward me as I rose.There was, of course, no chance whatever that any onewould call to see me; the Reverend Paul Stoddard wasthe only human being, except Bates, Morgan and theman who brought up my baggage, who had crossed thethreshold since my arrival.
I really had an errand in the village. I wished tovisit the hardware store and buy some cartridges, butPickering’s presence in the community was a disturbingfactor in my mind. I wished to get sight of him,—to meet him, if possible, and see how a man, whoseschemes were so deep, looked in the light of day.
As I left the grounds and gained the highway Stoddardfell in with me.
“Well, Mr. Glenarm, I’m glad to see you abroad soearly. With that library of yours the temptation mustbe strong to stay within doors. But a man’s got to subjecthimself to the sun and wind. Even a good wettingnow and then is salutary.”
“I try to get out every day,” I answered. “But I’vechiefly limited myself to the grounds.”
“Well, it’s a fine estate. The lake is altogethercharming in summer. I quite envy you your fortune.”
He walked with a long swinging stride, his handsthrust deep into his overcoat pockets. It was difficultto accept the idea of so much physical strength beingwasted in the mere business of saying prayers in a girls’school. Here was a fellow who should have been captainof a ship or a soldier, a leader of forlorn hopes. Ifelt sure there must be a weakness of some sort in him.Quite possibly it would prove to be a mild estheticismthat delighted in the savor of incense and the mournfulcadence of choral vespers. He declined a cigar and thisrather increased my suspicions.
The village hack, filled with young women, passed ata gallop, bound for the station, and we took off our hats.
“Christmas holidays,” explained the chaplain. “Practicallyall the students go home.”
“Lucky kids, to have a Christmas to go home to!”
“I suppose Mr. Pickering got away last night?” heobserved, and my pulse quickened at the name.
“I haven’t seen him yet,” I answered guardedly.
“Then of course he hasn’t gone!” and these words,uttered in the big clergyman’s deep tones, seemed whollyplausible. There was, to be sure, nothing so unlikely asthat Arthur Pickering, executor of my grandfather’sestate, would come to Glenarm without seeing me.
“Sister Theresa told me this morning he was here.He called on her and Miss Devereux last night. Ihaven’t seen him myself. I thought possibly I mightrun into him in the village. His car’s very likely on thestation switch.”
“No doubt we shall find him there,” I answered easily.
The Annandale station presented an appearance ofunusual gaiety when we reached the main street of thevillage. There, to be sure, lay a private car on thesiding, and on the platform was a group of twenty ormore girls, with several of the brown-habited Sisters ofSt. Agatha. There was something a little foreign inthe picture; the girls in their bright colors talkinggaily, the Sisters in their somber garb hovering about,suggesting France or Italy rather than Indiana.
“I came here with the idea that St. Agatha’s was acharity school,” I remarked to the chaplain.
“Not a bit of it! Sister Theresa is really a swell, youknow, and her school is hard to get into.”
“I’m glad you warned me in time. I had thought ofsending over a sack of flour occasionally, or a few boltsof calico to help on the good work. You’ve saved mylife.”
“I probably have. I might mention your good intentionsto Sister Theresa.”
“Pray don’t. If there’s any danger of meeting heron that platform—”
“No; she isn’t coming down, I’m sure. But youought to know her,—if you will pardon me. And MissDevereux is charming,—but really I don’t mean to beannoying.”
“Not in the least. But under the circumstances,—the will and my probationary year,—you can understand—”
“Certainly. A man’s affairs are his own, Mr. Glenarm.”
We stepped upon the platform. The private car wason the opposite side of the station and had beenswitched into a siding of the east and west road. Pickeringwas certainly getting on. The private car, evenmore than the yacht, is the symbol of plutocracy, andgaping rustics were evidently impressed by its grandeur.As I lounged across the platform with Stoddard, Pickeringcame out into the vestibule of his car, followed bytwo ladies and an elderly gentleman. They all descendedand began a promenade of the plank walk.
Pickering saw me an instant later and came up hurriedly,with outstretched hand.
“This is indeed good fortune! We dropped off herelast night rather unexpectedly to rest a hot-box andshould have been picked u
p by the midnight express forChicago; but there was a miscarriage of orders somewhereand we now have to wait for the nine o’clock, andit’s late. If I’d known how much behind it was Ishould have run out to see you. How are things going?”
“As smooth as a whistle! It really isn’t so bad whenyou face it. And the fact is I’m actually at work.”
“That’s splendid. The year will go fast enough,never fear. I suppose you pine for a little human societynow and then. A man can never strike the rightmedium in such things. In New York we are all rushedto death. I sometimes feel that I’d like a little rusticationmyself. I get nervous, and working for corporationsis wearing. The old gentleman there is Taylor,president of the Interstate and Western. The ladiesare his wife and her sister. I’d like to introduceyou.” He ran his eyes over my corduroys and leggingsamiably. He had not in years addressed me so pleasantly.
Stoddard had left me to go to the other end of theplatform to speak to some of the students. I followedPickering rather loathly to where the companions ofhis travels were pacing to and fro in the crisp morningair.
I laugh still whenever I remember that morning atAnnandale station. As soon as Pickering had got mewell under way in conversation with Taylor, he excusedhimself hurriedly and went off, as I assumed, to be surethe station agent had received orders for attaching theprivate car to the Chicago express. Taylor proved to bea supercilious person,—I believe they call him ChillyBilly at the Metropolitan Club,—and our efforts to conversewere pathetically unfruitful. He asked me thevalue of land in my county, and as my ignorance on thissubject was vast and illimitable, I could see that he wasforming a low opinion of my character and intelligence.The two ladies stood by, making no concealment of theirimpatience. Their eyes were upon the girls from St.Agatha’s on the other platform, whom they could seebeyond me. I had jumped the conversation from Indianafarm-lands to the recent disorders in Bulgaria,which interested me more, when Mrs. Taylor spokeabruptly to her sister.
“That’s she—the one in the gray coat, talking to theclergyman. She came a moment ago in the carriage.”
“The one with the umbrella? I thought you said—”
Mrs. Taylor glanced at her sister warningly, andthey both looked at me. Then they sought to detachthemselves and moved away. There was some one onthe farther side of the platform whom they wished to see,and Taylor, not understanding their manoeuver—he wasreally anxious, I think, not to be left alone with me—started down the platform after them, I following. Mrs.Taylor and her sister walked to the end of the platformand looked across, a biscuit-toss away, to where Stoddardstood talking to the girl I had already heard describedas wearing a gray coat and carrying an umbrella.
The girl in gray crossed the track quickly and addressedthe two women cordially. Taylor’s back was toher and he was growing eloquent in a mild well-bredway over the dullness of our statesmen in not seeing theadvantages that would accrue to the United States infostering our shipping industry. His wife, her sisterand the girl in gray were so near that I could hearplainly what they were saying. They were referringapparently to the girl’s refusal of an invitation to accompanythem to California.
“So you can’t go—it’s too bad! We had hoped thatwhen you really saw us on the way you would relent,”said Mrs. Taylor.
“But there are many reasons; and above all SisterTheresa needs me.”
It was the voice of Olivia, a little lower, a little morerestrained than I had known it.
“But think of the rose gardens that are waiting forus out there!” said the other lady. They were showingher the deference that elderly women always have forpretty girls.
“Alas, and again alas!” exclaimed Olivia. “Pleasedon’t make it harder for me than necessary. But I gavemy promise a year ago to spend these holidays in Cincinnati.”
She ignored me wholly, and after shaking hands withthe ladies returned to the other platform. I wonderedwhether she was overlooking Taylor on purpose to cutme.
Taylor was still at his lecture on the needs of ourAmerican merchant marine when Pickering passed hurriedly,crossed the track and began speaking earnestlyto the girl in gray.
“The American flag should command the seas. Whatwe need is not more battle-ships but more freight carriers—”Taylor was saying.
But I was watching Olivia Gladys Armstrong. In along skirt, with her hair caught up under a gray toquethat matched her coat perfectly, she was not my Oliviaof the tam-o’-shanter, who had pursued the rabbit; noryet the unsophisticated school-girl, who had suffered myidiotic babble; nor, again, the dreamy rapt organist ofthe chapel. She was a grown woman with at leasttwenty summers to her credit, and there was about heran air of knowing the world, and of not being at all aperson one would make foolish speeches to. She spoketo Pickering gravely. Once she smiled dolefully andshook her head, and I vaguely strove to remember whereI had seen that look in her eyes before. Her gold beads,which I had once carried in my pocket, were claspedtight about the close collar of her dress; and I was glad,very glad, that I had ever touched anything that belongedto her.
“As the years go by we are going to dominate trademore and more. Our manufactures already lead theworld, and what we make we’ve got to sell, haven’t we?”demanded Taylor.
“Certainly, sir,” I answered warmly.
Who was Olivia Gladys Armstrong and what wasArthur Pickering’s business with her? And what wasit she had said to me that evening when I had found herplaying on the chapel organ? So much happened thatday that I had almost forgotten, and, indeed, I hadtried to forget I had made a fool of myself for the edificationof an amusing little school-girl. “I see youprefer to ignore the first time I ever saw you,” she hadsaid; but if I had thought of this at all it had beenwith righteous self-contempt. Or, I may have flatteredmy vanity with the reflection that she had eyed me—her hero, perhaps—with wistful admiration across thewall.
Meanwhile the Chicago express roared into Annandaleand the private car was attached. Taylor watchedthe trainmen with the cool interest of a man for whomthe proceeding had no novelty, while he continued todilate upon the nation’s commercial opportunities. Iturned perforce, and walked with him back toward thestation, where Mrs. Taylor and her sister were talkingto the conductor.
Pickering came running across the platform with severaltelegrams in his hand. The express had picked upthe car and was ready to continue its westward journey.
“I’m awfully sorry, Glenarm, that our stop’s soshort,”—and Pickering’s face wore a worried look as headdressed me, his eyes on the conductor.
“How far do you go?” I asked.
“California. We have interests out there and I haveto attend some stock-holders’ meetings in Colorado inJanuary.”
“Ah, you business men! You business men!” I saidreproachfully. I wished to call him a blackguard thenand there, and it was on my tongue to do so, but I concludedthat to wait until he had shown his hand fullywas the better game.
The ladies entered the car and I shook hands withTaylor, who threatened to send me his pamphlet onThe Needs of American Shipping, when he got back toNew York.
“It’s too bad she wouldn’t go with us. Poor girl!this must be a dreary hole for her; she deserves widerhorizons,” he said to Pickering, who helped him uponthe platform of the car with what seemed to be unnecessaryprecipitation.
“You little know us,” I declared, for Pickering’sbenefit. “Life at Annandale is nothing if not exciting.The people here are indifferent marksmen or there’d bemurders galore.”
“Mr. Glenarm is a good deal of a wag,” explainedPickering dryly, swinging himself aboard as the trainstarted.
“Yes; it’s my humor that keeps me alive,” I responded,and taking off my hat, I saluted Arthur Pickeringwith my broadest salaam.