CHAPTER XVI
MADAME CERISE, CUSTODIAN
The woman closed the hall door and locked it. Then she led the way to along, dim drawing-room in which a grate fire was smouldering. A standlamp of antique pattern but dimly illuminated the place, which seemedwell furnished in an old fashioned way.
"Will not you remove your wraps, Mees--Mees--I do not know ma'm'selle'sname."
"What is your own name?" asked Louise, coming closer to gaze earnestlyinto the other's face.
"I am called Madame Cerise, if it please you."
Her voice, while softened to an extent by the French accent, wasnevertheless harsh and emotionless. She spoke as an automaton, slowly,and pausing to choose her words. The woman was of medium size, slim andstraight in spite of many years. Her skin resembled brown parchment; hereyes were small, black and beady; her nose somewhat fleshy and her lipsred and full as those of a young girl. The age of Madame Cerise might beanywhere between fifty and seventy; assuredly she had long been astranger to youth, although her dark hair was but slightly streaked withgray. She wore a somber-hued gown and a maid's jaunty apron and cap.
Louise inspected her closely, longing to find a friend and protector inthis curious and strange woman. Her eyes were moist and pleading--anappeal hard to resist. But Madame Cerise returned her scrutiny with awholly impassive expression.
"You are a French maid?" asked Louise, softly.
"A housekeeper, ma'm'selle. For a time, a caretaker."
"Ah, I understand. Are your employers asleep?"
"I cannot say, ma'm'seile. They are not here."
"You are alone in this house?"
"Alone with you, ma'm'seile."
Louise had a sudden access of alarm.
"And why am I here?" she cried, wringing her hands pitifully.
"Ah, who can tell that?" returned the woman, composedly. "Not Cerise,indeed. Cerise is told nothing--except what is required of her. I butobey my orders."
Louise turned quickly, at this.
"What are your orders, then?" she asked.
"To attend ma'm'selle with my best skill, to give her every comfort andcare, to--"
"Yes--yes!"
"To keep her safely until she is called for. That is all."
The girl drew a long breath.
"Who will call for me, then?"
"I am not inform, ma'm'selle."
"And I am a prisoner in this house?"
"Ma'm'selle may call it so, if it please her. But reflect; there is noplace else to go. It is bleak weather, the winter soon comes. And here Ican make you the comforts you need."
Louise pondered this speech, which did not deceive her. While stillperplexed as to her abduction, with no comprehension why she should havebeen seized in such a summary manner and spirited to this lonely,out-of-the-way place, she realized she was in no immediate danger. Herweariness returned tenfold, and she staggered and caught the back of achair for support.
The old woman observed this.
"Ma'm'selle is tired," said she. "See; it is past four by the clock, andyou must be much fatigue by the ride and the nervous strain."
"I--I'm completely exhausted," murmured Louise, drooping her headwearily. The next moment she ran and placed her hands on Madame Cerise'sshoulders, peering into the round, beady eyes with tender pleading asshe continued: "I don't know why I have been stolen away from my homeand friends; I don't know why this dreadful thing has happened to me; Ionly know that I am worn out and need rest. Will you take care of me,Madame Cerise? Will you watch over me while I sleep and guard me fromall harm? I--I haven't any mother to lean on now, you know; I haven'tany friend at all--but _you!_"
The grim features never relaxed a muscle; but a softer look came intothe dark eyes and the woman's voice took on a faint tinge of compassionas she answered:
"Nothing can harm ma'm'selle. Have no fear, _ma chere_. I will take careof you; I will watch. _Allons_! it is my duty; it is also my pleasure."
"Are there no--no men in the house--none at all?" enquired the girl,peering into the surrounding gloom nervously. "There is no person atall in the house, but you and I."
"And you will admit no one?"
The woman hesitated.
"Not to your apartment," she said firmly. "I promise it."
Louise gave a long, fluttering sigh. Somehow, she felt that she couldrely upon this promise.
"Then, if you please, Madame Cerise, I'd like to go to bed," she said.
The woman took the lamp and led the way upstairs, entering a large, airychamber in which a fire burned brightly in the grate. The furniture herewas dainty and feminine. In an alcove stood a snowy bed, the coversinvitingly turned down.
Madame Cerise set the lamp upon a table and without a word turned toassist Louise. The beautiful Kermess costume, elaborately embroideredwith roses, which the girl still wore, evidently won the Frenchwoman'sapproval. She unhooked and removed it carefully and hung it in a closet.Very dextrous were her motions as she took down the girl's pretty hairand braided it for the night. A dainty _robe de nuit_ was provided.
"It is my own," she said simply. "Ma'm'selle is not prepared." "Butthere must be young ladies in your family," remarked Louise,thoughtfully, for in spite of the stupor she felt from want of sleep thenovelty of her position kept her alert in a way. It is true she was tootired and bewildered to think clearly, but slight details wereimpressing themselves upon her dimly. "This room, for instance--"
"Of course, _ma chere_, a young lady has lived here. She has left someodd pieces of wardrobe behind her, at times, in going away. When youwaken we will try to find a house-dress to replace your evening-gown.Will ma'm'selle indulge in the bath before retiring?"
"Not to-night, Madame Cerise. I'm too tired for anything but--sleep!"
Indeed, she had no sooner crawled into the enticing bed than she sankinto unconscious forgetfulness. This was to an extent fortunate. Louisepossessed one of those dispositions cheery and equable under ordinarycircumstances, but easily crushed into apathy by any sudden adversity.She would not suffer so much as a more excitable and nervous girl mightdo under similar circumstances.
Her sleep, following the severe strain of the night's adventure, didlittle to refresh her. She awoke in broad daylight to hear a cold windwhistling shrilly outside and raindrops beating against the panes.
Madame Cerise had not slept much during the night. For an hour afterLouise retired she sat in her room in deep thought. Then she went to thetelephone and notwithstanding the late hour called up Diana, who had abranch telephone on a table at her bedside.
Miss Von Taer was not asleep. She had had an exciting night herself. Sheanswered the old caretaker readily and it did not surprise her to learnthat the missing girl had been taken to the East Orange house by theorders of Charlie Mershone. She enquired how Louise had accepted thesituation forced upon her, and was shocked and rendered uncomfortable bythe too plainly worded protest of the old Frenchwoman. Madame Cerise didnot hesitate to denounce the abduction as a heartless crime, and in hercommunication with Diana swore she would protect the innocent girl fromharm at the hands of Mershone or anyone else.
"I have ever to your family been loyal and true, Ma'm'selle Diana," saidshe, "but I will not become the instrument of an abominable crime atyour command or that of your wicked cousin. I will keep the girl here insafety, if it is your wish; but she will be safe, indeed, as long asCerise guards her."
"That's right, Madame," stammered Diana, hardly knowing at the momentwhat to say. "Be discreet and silent until you hear from me again; guardthe girl carefully and see that she is not too unhappy; but for heaven'ssake keep Charlie's secret until he sees fit to restore Miss Merrick toher friends. No crime is contemplated; I would not allow such a thing,as you know. Yet it is none of my affair whatever. My cousin hascompromised me by taking the girl to my house, and no knowledge of theabduction must get abroad if we can help it. Do you understand me?"
"No," was the reply. "The safest way for us all is to send Miss Merrickaway.
"
"That will be done as soon as possible."
With this the old Frenchwoman was forced to be content, and she did notsuspect that her report had made Miss Von Taer nearly frantic withfear--not for Louise but for her own precious reputation. Accustomed toobey the family she had served for so many years, Madame Cerisehesitated to follow her natural impulse to set the poor young lady freeand assist her to return to her friends. So she compromised with herconscience--a thing she was not credited with possessing--by resolvingto make the imprisonment of the "_pauvre fille_" as happy as possible.
Scarcely had Louise opened her eyes the following morning when the oldwoman entered her chamber, unlocking the door from the outside to secureadmission.
She first rebuilt the fire, and when it was crackling cheerfully sheprepared a bath and brought an armful of clothing which she laid out forinspection over the back of a sofa. She produced lingerie, too, andLouise lay cuddled up in the bedclothes and watched her keeperthoughtfully until the atmosphere of the room was sufficiently warmed.
"I'll get up, now," she said, quietly.
Madame Cerise was assuredly a skilled lady's maid. She bathed the girl,wrapped her in an ample kimono and then seated her before the dresserand arranged her _coiffure_ with dextrous skill.
During this time Louise talked. She had decided her only chance ofescape lay in conciliating this stern-faced woman, and she began byrelating her entire history, including her love affair with ArthurWeldon, Diana Von Taer's attempt to rob her of her lover, and the partthat Charlie Mershone had taken in the affair.
Madame Cerise listened, but said nothing.
"And now," continued the girl, "tell me who you think could be so wickedand cruel as to carry me away from my home and friends? I cannot decidemyself. You have more experience and more shrewdness, can't you tell me,Madame Cerise?"
The woman muttered inaudibly.
"Mr. Mershone might be an enemy, because I laughed at his love-making,"continued Louise, musingly. "Would a man who loved a girl try to injureher? But perhaps his love has turned to hate. Anyhow, I can think of noone else who would do such a thing, or of any reason why CharlieMershone should do it."
Madame Cerise merely grunted. She was brushing the soft hair with gentlecare.
"What could a man gain by stealing a girl? If it was Mr. Mershone, doeshe imagine I could ever forget Arthur? Or cease to love him? Or thatArthur would forget me while I am away? Perhaps it's Diana, and shewants to get rid of me so she can coax Arthur back to her side. Butthat's nonsense; isn't it, Madame Cerise? No girl--not even Diana VonTaer--would dare to act in such a high-handed manner toward her rival.Did you ever hear of Miss Von Taer? She's quite a society belle. Haveyou ever seen her, Madame Cerise?"
The woman vouchsafed no reply to this direct enquiry, but busied herselfdressing the girl's hair. Louise casually turned over the silver-mountedhand mirror she was holding and gave a sudden start. A monogram wasengraved upon the metal: "D.v.T." She gazed at the mark fixedly and thenpicked up a brush that the Frenchwoman laid down. Yes, the same monogramappeared upon the brush.
The sharp eyes of Cerise had noted these movements. She was a littledismayed but not startled when Louise said, slowly: "'D.v.T.' stands forDiana Von Taer. And it isn't likely to stand for anything else. I thinkthe mystery is explained, now, and my worst fears are realized. Tell me,Madame, is this Diana Von Taer's house?"
Her eyes shone with anger and round red patches suddenly appeared uponher pallid cheeks. Madame Cerise drew a long breath.
"It used to be," was her quiet answer. "It was left her by hergrandmother; but Mr. Von Taer did not like the place and they have notbeen here lately--not for years. Miss Von Taer informed me, some timeago, that she had transferred the property to another."
"To her cousin--Mr. Mershone?" asked Louise quickly.
"That may be the name; I cannot remember," was the evasive reply.
"But you must know him, as he is Diana's cousin," retorted Louise. "Whywill you try to deceive me? Am I not helpless enough already, and do youwish to make me still more miserable?"
"I have seen Mr. Mershone when he was a boy, many times. He was not thefavorite with Ma'm'selle Diana, nor with Monsieur Von Taer. For myself,I hated him."
There was decided emphasis to the last sentence. Louise believed her andfelt a little relieved.
From the _melange_ of apparel a modest outfit was obtained to clothe thegirl with decency and comfort, if not in the prevailing style. The fitleft much to be desired, yet Louise did not complain, as weightiermatters were now occupying her mind.
The toilet completed, Madame Cerise disappeared to get a traycontaining a good breakfast. She seemed exceedingly attentive.
"If you will give me the proper directions I will start for home atonce," announced Louise, with firm resolve, while eating her egg andtoast.
"I am unable to give you directions, and I cannot let you go,ma'm'selle," was the equally firm reply. "The day is much toodisagreeable to venture out in, unless one has proper conveyance. Here,alas, no conveyance may be had."
Louise tried other tactics.
"I have no money, but several valuable jewels," she said, meaningly. "Iam quite sure they will obtain for me a conveyance."
"You are wrong, ma'm'selle; there is no conveyance to be had!" persistedthe old woman, more sternly.
"Then I shall walk."
"It is impossible."
"Where is this place situated? How far is it from New York? How near amI to a street-car, or to a train?"
"I cannot tell you."
"But this is absurd!" cried Louise. "You cannot deceive me for long. Iknow this is Diana Von Taer's house, and I shall hold Diana Von Taerresponsible for this enforced imprisonment."
"That," said Madame Cerise, coldly, "is a matter of indifference to me.But ma'm'selle must understand one thing, she must not leave thishouse."
"Oh, indeed!"
"At least, until the weather moderates," added the woman, more mildly.
She picked up the tray, went to the door and passed out. Louise heardthe key click in the lock.