CHAPTER VIII
The countryside adjacent to Silverwood was eminently andself-consciously respectable. The fat, substantial estates stillbelonged to families whose forefathers had first taken title to them.There were, of course, a number of "colonial" houses, also a "colonial"inn, The Desboro Arms, built to look as genuine as possible, althoughonly two years old, steam heated, and electric lighted.
But things "colonial" were the traditional capital of Silverwood, andits thrifty and respectable inhabitants meant to maintain the"atmosphere." To that end they had solemnly subscribed a very small sumfor an inn sign to swing in front of The Desboro Arms; the wheelwrightpainted it; somebody fired a shotgunful of antiquity into it, andAmerican weather was rapidly doing the rest, with a gratifying resultwhich no degenerate European weather could have accomplished in half acentury of rain and sunshine.
The majority of the mansions in Silverwood township were asinoffensively commonplace as the Desboro house. Few pre-Revolutionarystructures survived; the British had burned the countryside from MajorLockwood's mansion at Pound Ridge all the way to Bedford Village andacross to the Connecticut line. With few exceptions, Silverwood houseshad shared the common fate when Tarleton and DeLancy galloped amuckamong the Westchester hills; but here and there some sad old mansionstill remained and was reverently cherished, as was also the graveyard,straggling up the hill, set with odd old headstones, upon which mostremarkable cherubim smirked under a gladly permitted accumulation oflichen.
Age, thrift, substance, respectability--these were the ideals ofSilverwood; and Desboro and his doings would never have been toleratedthere had it not been that a forbear of his, a certain dissolutehalf-pay captain, had founded the community in 1680. This sacredcolonial fact had been Desboro's social salvation, for which, however,he did not seem to care very much. Good women continued to be acidlycivil to him on this account, and also because Silverwood House and itsestates could no more be dropped from the revered galaxy of the countythan could a star be cast out of their country's flag for frivolousbehavior.
So worthy men endured him, and irreproachable women grieved for him,although it was rumoured that he gave parties now and then which realactresses had actually attended. Also, though he always maintained theDesboro pew in church, he never decorated it with his person. Nor couldthe countryside count on him socially, except at eccentric intervalswhen his careless, graceful presence made the Westchester gaiety seemrather stiff and pallid, and gave the thin, sour claret an unwontededge. And another and radical incompatibility; the Desboros were theonly family of Cavalier descent in the township. And deep in the heartsof Silverwood folk the Desboros had ever seemed a godless race.
Now, there had been already some gossip among the Westchester hillsconcerning recent doings at Silverwood House. Even when it became knownthat the pretty girl who sped to and fro in Desboro's limousine,between house and station, was a celebrated art expert, and was engagedin cataloguing the famous Desboro collection, God-fearing people askedeach other why Desboro should find it necessary to meet her at thestation in the morning, and escort her back in the evening; and whetherit were actually obligatory for him to be present while the cataloguingwas in progress.
Westchester womanhood was beginning to look wan and worried; substantialgentlemen gazed inquiringly at each other over the evening chess-board;several flippant young men almost winked at each other. But these latterhad been accustomed to New York, and were always under suspicion intheir own families.
Therefore, it was with relief and surprise that Silverwood began toobserve Desboro in furs, driving a rakish runabout, and careering aboutWestchester with Vail, his head farmer, seated beside him, evidentlyintent on committing future agriculture--palpably planning for twograss-blades where only one, or a mullein, had hitherto flourishedwithin the memory of living man.
Fertiliser in large loads was driven into the fallow fields of theDesboros; brush and hedges and fences were being put in order. Peoplebeheld these radical preliminaries during afternoon drives in theirautomobiles; local tradesmen reported purchases of chemicals for soilenriching, and the sale of all sorts of farm utensils to Desboro'sagent.
At the Country Club all this was gravely discussed; patriarchs mentionedit over their checkers; maidens at bowls or squash or billiards listenedto the exciting tale, wide-eyed; hockey, ski, or skating partiesgossiped recklessly about it. The conclusion was that Desboro hadalready sowed his wilder oats; and the worthy community stood watchingfor the prodigal's return, intending to meet him while yet he was faroff.
He dropped in at the Country Club one day, causing a little less flutterthan a hawk in a hen-yard. Within a week he had drifted casually intothe drawing-rooms of almost all his father's old friends for a cup oftea or an informal chat--or for nothing in particular except to saunterinto his proper place among them with all of the Desboro grace andamiable insouciance which they had learned to tolerate but neverentirely to approve or understand.
It was not quite so casually that he stopped at the Hammerton's. And hewas given tea and buns by Mrs. Hammerton, perfectly unsuspicious of hismotives. Her husband came rambling in from the hothouses, presently,where he spent most of his serious life in pinching back roses andchrysanthemums; and he extended to Desboro a large, flat and placidhand.
"Aunt Hannah and Daisy are out--somewhere--" he explained vaguely. "Youmust have passed them on the way."
"Yes, I saw Daisy in the distance, exercising an old lady," said Desborocarelessly. He did not add that the sight of Aunt Hannah marching acrossthe Westchester horizon had inspired him with an idea.
From her lair in town, she had come hither, for no love of her nephewand his family, nor yet for Westchester, but solely for economy's bittersake. She made such pilgrimages at intervals every year, upsetting theHammerton household with her sarcasms, her harsh, high-keyed laughter,her hardened ways of defining the word "spade"--for Aunt Hannah was aterror that Westchester dreaded but never dreamed of ignoring, she beinga wayward daughter of the sacred soil, strangely and weirdly warped fromlong transplanting among the gay and godless of Gotham town. And thoughher means, after her husband's scared soul had taken flight, werepainfully attenuated, the high priests and captains among the gay andgodless feared her, and she bullied them; and she and they continued toforegather from sheer tradition, but with mutual and sincere dislike.For Aunt Hannah's name would always figure among the names of certainmetropolitan dowagers, dragons, gorgons, and holy harridans; always beconnected with certain traditional social events as long as the old ladylived. And she meant to survive indefinitely, if she had anything to sayabout it.
She came in presently with Daisy Hammerton. The latter gave her handfrankly to her childhood's comrade; the former said:
"Hah! James Desboro!" very disagreeably, and started to nourish herselfat once with tea and muffins.
"James Desboro," she repeated scornfully, darting a wicked glance at himwhere he stood smiling at her, "James Desboro, turning plow-boy inWestchester! What's the real motive? That's what interests me. I'm a badold woman--I know it! All over paint and powder, and with too small afoot and too trim a figger to be anything except wicked. Lindley knowsit; it makes his fingers tremble when he pinches crysanthemums; Susanknows it; so does Daisy. And I admit it. And that's why I'm suspiciousof you, James; I'm so wicked myself. Come, now; why play the honestyokel? Eh? You good-looking good-for-nothing!"
"My motive," he said amiably, "is to make a living and learn what itfeels like."
"Been stock-gambling again?"
"Yes, dear lady."
"Lose much?" she sniffed.
"Not a very great deal."
"Hah! And now you've got to raise the wind, somehow?"
He repeated, good-humouredly: "I want to make a living."
The trim little old lady darted another glance at him.
"Ha--ha!" she laughed, without giving any reason for the disagreeableburst of mirth; and started in on another muffin.
"I think," said Mr. Hammerton, vag
uely, "that James will make anexcellent agriculturist----"
"Excellent fiddlesticks!" observed Aunt Hannah. "He'd make a goodthree-card man."
Daisy Hammerton said aside to Desboro:
"Isn't she a terror!"
"Oh, she likes me!" he said, amused.
"I know she does, immensely. She makes me take her for an hour's walkevery day--and I'm so tired of exercising her and listening toher--unconventional stories--about you."
"She's a bad old thing," said Desboro affectionately, and, in hisnatural voice: "Aren't you, Aunt Hannah? But there isn't a smarter foot,or a prettier hand, or a trimmer waist in all Gotham, is there?"
"Philanderer!" she retorted, in a high-pitched voice. "What about thatVan Alstyne supper at the Santa Regina?"
"Which one?" he asked coolly. "Stuyve is always giving 'em."
"Read the _Tattler_!" said the old lady, seizing more muffins.
Mrs. Hammerton closed her tight lips and glanced uneasily at herdaughter. Daisy sipped her tea demurely. She had read all about it, andburned the paper in her bedroom grate.
Desboro gracefully ignored the subject; the old lady laughed shrillyonce or twice, and the conversation drifted toward the more decorousthemes of pinching back roses and mixing plant-food, and preparingnourishment for various precocious horticultural prodigies nowdeveloping in Lindley Hammerton's hothouses.
Daisy Hammerton, a dark young girl, with superb eyes and figure, chattedunconcernedly with Desboro, making a charming winter picture in herscarlet felt hat and jacket, from which the black furs had fallen back.She went in for things violent and vigorous, and no nonsense; rode ashard as she could in such a country, played every game that demandedquick eye and flexible muscle--and, in secret, alas, wrote verses andshort stories unanimously rejected by even the stodgier periodicals. Butnobody suspected her of such weakness--not even her own mother.
Desboro swallowed his tea and took leave of his rose-pinching host andhostess, and their sole and lovely progeny, also, perhaps, the result ofscientific concentration. Aunt Hannah retained his hand:
"Where are you going now, James?"
"Nowhere--home," he said, pretending embarrassment, which was enough tointerest Aunt Hannah in the trap.
"Oh! Nowhere--home!" she mimicked him. "Where is 'nowhere home'?Somewhere out? I've a mind to go with you. What do you say to that,young man?"
"Come along," he said, a shade too promptly; and the little, bright,mink-like eyes sparkled with malice. The trap was sprung, and AuntHannah was in it. But she didn't yet suspect it.
"Slip on my fur coat for me," she said. "I'll take a spin with you inyour runabout."
"You overwhelm me," he protested, holding up the fur coat.
"I may do that yet, my clever friend! Come on! No shilly-shallying!Susan! Tell your maid to lay out that Paquin gown which broke myfinancial backbone last month! I'll bring James back to dinner--or knowthe reason why!"
"I'll tell you why not, now," said Desboro. "I'm going to town earlythis evening."
"Home, nowhere, and then to town," commented Aunt Hannah loudly. "Amulti-nefarious destination. James, if you run into the _Ewigkeit_ byway of a wire fence or a tree, I'll come every night and haunt you! Butdon't poke along as Lindley pokes, or I'll take the wheel myself."
The deaf head-farmer, Vail, who had kept the engine going for fear offreezing, left the wheel and crawled resignedly into the tonneau.
Aunt Hannah and Desboro stowed themselves aboard; the swift car went offlike a firecracker, then sped away into the darkness at such a pacethat presently Aunt Hannah put her marmot-like face close to Desboro'sear and swore at him.
"Didn't you want speed?" he asked, slowing down.
"Where are you going, James--home, or nowhere?"
"Nowhere."
"Well, we arrived there long ago. Now, go home--_your_ home."
"Sure, but I've got to catch that train----"
"Oh, you'll catch it--or something else. James?"
"Madame?"
"Some day I want to take a look at that young woman who is cataloguingyour collection."
"That's just what I want you to do now," he said cheerfully. "I'm takingher to New York this evening."
Aunt Hannah, astonished and out of countenance, remained mute, her sharpnose buried in her furs. She had been trapped, and she knew it. Then hereyes glittered:
"You're being talked about," she said with satisfaction. "So is she!Ha!"
"Much?" he asked coolly.
"No. The good folk are only asking each other why you meet her at thestation with your car. They think she carries antique gems in hersatchel. Later they'll suspect who the real jewel is. Ha!"
"I like her; that's why I meet her," he said coolly.
"You _like_ her?"
"I sure do. She is some girl, dear lady."
"Do you think your pretense of guileless candour is disarming me, youngman?"
"I haven't the slightest hope of disarming you or of concealing anythingfrom you."
"Follows," she rejoined ironically, "that there's nothing to conceal.Bah!"
"Quite right; there is nothing to conceal."
"What do you want with her, then?"
"Initially, I want her to catalogue my collection; subsequently, I wishto remain friends with her. The latter wish is becoming a problem. I'vean idea that you might solve it."
"_Friends_ with her," repeated Aunt Hannah. "Oh, my!
"'And angels whisper Lo! the pretty pair!'
"I suppose! Is that the hymn-tune, James?"
"Precisely."
"What does she resemble--Venus, or Rosa Bonheur?"
"Look at her and make up your mind."
"Is she _very_ pretty?"
"_I_ think so. She's thin."
"Then what do you see unusual about her?"
"Everything, I think."
"Everything--he thinks! Oh, my sense of humour!"
"That," said Desboro, "is partly what I count on."
"Have you any remote and asinine notions of educating her and marryingher, and foisting her on your friends? There are a few fools still aliveon earth, you know."
"So I've heard. I haven't the remotest idea of marrying her; she isbetter fitted to educate me than I am her. Not guilty on these twocounts. But I had thought of foisting some of my friends on her. You,for example."
Aunt Hannah glared at him--that is, her tiny eyes became almostluminous, like the eyes of small animals at night, surprised by a suddenlight.
"I know what you're meditating!" she snapped.
"I suppose you do, by this time."
"You're very impudent. Do you know it?"
"Lord, Aunt Hannah, so are you!" he drawled. "But it takes genius to getaway with it."
The old lady was highly delighted, but she concealed it and began such arapid-fire tirade against him that he was almost afraid it mightbewilder him enough to affect his steering.
"Talk to _me_ of disinterested friendship between you and a girl of thatsort!" she ended. "Not that I'd care, if I found material in her toamuse me, and a monthly insult drawn to my order against a solvent bankbalance! What is she, James; a pretty blue-stocking whom nobody'understands' except you?"
"Make up your own mind," he repeated, as he brought around the car andstopped before his own doorstep. "I'm not trying to tell _you_ anything.She is here. Look at her. If you like her, be her friend--and mine."
Jacqueline had waited tea for him; the table was in the library, kettlesimmering over the silver lamp; and the girl was standing before thefire, one foot on the fender, her hands loosely linked behind her back.
She glanced up with unfeigned pleasure as his step sounded outside alongthe stone hallway; and the smile still remained, curving her lips, butdied out in her eyes, as Mrs. Hammerton marched in, halted, and staredat her unwinkingly.
Desboro presented them; Jacqueline came forward, offering a shy hand toAunt Hannah, and, bending her superb young head, looked down into thebeady eyes which were now fairly elect
ric with intelligence.
Desboro began, easily:
"I asked Mrs. Hammerton to have tea with----"
"I asked myself," remarked Aunt Hannah, laying her other hand overJacqueline's--she did not know just why--perhaps because she was vain ofher hands, as well as of her feet and "figger."
She seated herself on the sofa and drew Jacqueline down beside her.
"This young man tells me that you are cataloguing his grandfather'saccumulation of ancient tin-ware."
"Yes," said Jacqueline, already afraid of her. And the old lady divinedit, too, with not quite as much pleasure as it usually gave her toinspire trepidation in others.
Her shrill voice was a little modified when she said:
"Where did you learn to do such things? It's not usual, you know."
"You have heard of Jean Louis Nevers," suggested Desboro.
"Yes--" Mrs. Hammerton turned and looked at the girl again. "Oh!" shesaid. "I've heard Cary Clydesdale speak of you, haven't I?"
Jacqueline made a slight, very slight, but instinctive movement awayfrom the old lady, on whom nothing that happened was lost.
"Mr. Clydesdale," said Mrs. Hammerton, "told several people where I waspresent that you knew more about antiquities in art than anybody elsein New York since your father died. That's what he said about you."
Jacqueline said: "Mr. Clydesdale has been very kind to me."
"Kindness to people is also a Clydesdale tradition--isn't it, James?"said the old lady. "How kind Elena has always been to you!"
The covert impudence of Aunt Hannah, and her innocent countenance, hadno significance for Jacqueline--would have had no meaning at all exceptfor the dark flush of anger that mounted so suddenly to Desboro'sforehead.
He said steadily: "The Clydesdales are very old friends, and arenaturally kind. Why you don't like them I never understood."
"Perhaps you can understand why one of them doesn't like me, James."
"Oh! I can understand why many people are not crazy about you, AuntHannah," he said, composedly.
"Which is going some," said the old lady, with a brisk and unabashedemployment of the vernacular. Then, turning to Jacqueline: "Are yougoing to give this young man some tea, my child? He requires a tonic."
Jacqueline rose and seated herself at the table, thankful to escape. Teawas soon ready; Aunt Hannah, whose capacity for browsing was infinite,began on jam and biscuits without apology. And Jacqueline and Desboroexchanged their first furtive glances--dismayed and questioning on thegirl's part, smilingly reassuring on Desboro's. Aunt Hannah, lookingintently into her teacup, missed nothing.
"Come to see me!" she said so abruptly that even Desboro started.
"'I--I beg your pardon,' said Jacqueline"]
"I--I beg your pardon," said Jacqueline, not understanding.
"Come to see me in town. I've a rotten little place in a fashionableapartment house--one of the Park Avenue kind, which they number insteadof calling it the 'Buena Vista' or the 'Hiawatha.' Will you come?"
"Thank you."
The old lady looked at her grimly:
"What does 'thank you' mean? Yes or no? Because I really want you. Don'tyou wish to come?"
"I would be very glad to come--only, you know, I am in business--and goout very little----"
"Except on business," added Desboro, looking Aunt Hannah unblushingly inthe eye until she wanted to pinch him. Instead, she seized anotherbiscuit, which Farris presented on a tray, smoking hot, and applied jamto it vigorously. After she had consumed it, she rose and marched aroundthe room, passing the portraits and book shelves in review. Half turningtoward Jacqueline:
"I haven't been in the musty old mansion for years; that young man neverasks me. But I used to know the house. It was this sort of house thatdrove me out of Westchester, and I vowed I'd marry a New York man ornobody. Do you know, child, that there is a sort of simpering smugnessabout a house like this that makes me inclined to kick dents in thefurniture?"
Jacqueline ventured to smile; Desboro's smile responded in sympathy.
"I'm going home," announced Aunt Hannah. "Good-bye, Miss Nevers. I don'twant you to drive me, James; I'd rather have your man take me back.Besides, you've a train to catch, I understand----" She turned andlooked at Jacqueline, who had risen, and they stood silently inspectingeach other. Then, with a grim nod, as though partly of comprehension,partly in adieu, Aunt Hannah sailed out. Desboro tucked her in besideVail. The latter being quite deaf, they talked freely under his verynose.
"James!"
"Yes, dear lady."
"You gave _yourself_ away about Elena Clydesdale. Haven't you anycontrol over your countenance?"
"Sometimes. But don't do that again before _her_! The story is a lie,anyway."
"So I've heard--from you. Tell me, James, do you think this littleNevers girl dislikes me?"
"Do you want her to?"
"No. You're a very clever young one, aren't you? Really quite an expert!Do you know, I don't think that girl would care for what I might have tooffer her. There's more to her than to most people."
"How do you know? She scarcely spoke a word."
The old lady laughed scornfully:
"I know people by what they _don't_ say. That's why I know you so muchbetter than you think I do--you and Elena Clydesdale. And _I_ don'tthink you're much good, James--or some of your married friends, either."
She settled down among the robes, with a bright, impertinent glance athim. He shrugged, standing bareheaded by the mud-guard, a lithe,handsome young fellow. "--A Desboro all over," she thought, with amental sniff of admiration.
"Are you going to speak to Miss Nevers?" she asked, abruptly.
"About what!"
"About employing me, you idiot!"
"Yes, if you like. If she comes up here as my guest, she'll need agorgon."
"I'll gorgon you," she retorted, wrathfully.
"Thanks. So you'll accept the--er--job?"
"Of course, if she wishes. I need the money. It's purely mercenary on mypart."
"That's understood."
"Are you going to tell her I'm mercenary?"
"Naturally."
"Well, then--_don't_--if you don't mind. Do you think I want _every_living creature to detest me?"
"_I_ don't detest you. And you have an unterrified tabby-cat at home,haven't you?"
She could have boxed his ears as he leaned over and deliberately kissedher cheek.
"I love you because you're so bad," he whispered; and, stepping lightlyaside, nodded to Vail to go ahead.
The limousine, acetylenes shining, rolled up as the other car departed.He went back to the library and found Jacqueline pinning on her hat.
"Well?" he inquired gaily.
"Why did you bring her, Mr. Desboro?"
"Didn't you like her?"
"Who is she?"
"A Mrs. Hannah Hammerton. She knows everybody. Most people are afraid ofher. She's poor as a guinea-pig."
"She was beautifully gowned."
"She always is. Poor Aunt Hannah!"
"Is she your aunt?"
"No, she's Lindley Hammerton's aunt--a neighbour of mine. I call herthat; it made her very mad in the beginning, but she rather likes itnow. You'll go to call on her, won't you?"
Jacqueline turned to him, drawing on her gloves:
"Mr. Desboro, I don't wish to be rude; and, anyway, she will forget thatshe asked me in another half-hour. Why should I go to see her?"
"Because she's one species of gorgon. Now, do you understand?"
"What!"
"Of course. It isn't a case of pin-money with her; it's a case ofclothing, rent, and nourishment. A microscopic income, supplemented bygifts, commissions, and odd social jobs, keeps her going. What you and Iwant of her is for her to be seen at various times with you. She'll dothe rest in talking about you--'my unusually talented young friend, MissNevers,' and that sort of thing. It will deceive nobody; but you'lleventually meet some people--she knows all kinds. The main point is thatwhen
I ask you here she'll bring you. People will understand that youare another of her social enterprises, for which she's paid. But itwon't count against you. It will depend on yourself entirely how you arereceived. And not a soul will be able to say a word--" he laughed,"--except that I am very devoted to the beautiful Miss Nevers--aseverybody else will be."
Jacqueline remained motionless for a few moments, an incomprehensibleexpression on her face; then she went over to him and took one of hishands in her gloved ones, and stood looking down at it in silence.
"Well," he asked, smiling.
She said, still looking down at his hand lying between her own:
"You have behaved in the sweetest way to me--" Her voice grew unsteady,and she turned her head sharply away.
"Jacqueline!" he exclaimed under his breath. "It's a broken reed you'retrusting. Don't, dear. I'm like all the others."
She shook her head slightly, still looking away from him. After a shortsilence, her voice returned to her control again.
"You are very kind to me, Mr. Desboro. When a man sees that a girl likeshim--and is kind to her--it is wonderful to her."
He tried to take a lighter tone.
"It's the case of the beast born in captivity, Jacqueline. I'm onlygoing through the tricks convention has taught me. But every instinctremains unaltered."
"That _is_ civilisation, isn't it?"
"Oh, I don't know what it is--you wonderful little thing!"
He caught her hand, then encircled her waist, drawing her close. After amoment, she dropped her big, fluffy muff on his shoulder and hid herflushed face in the fur.
"Don't trust me, will you?" he said, bluntly.
"No."
"Because I--I'm an unaccountable beast."
"We--both have to account--sometime--to somebody. Don't we?" she said ina muffled voice.
"That would never check me."
"It would--me."
"Spiritual responsibility?"
"Yes."
"Is that _all_?"
"What else is there to remember--when a girl--cares for a man."
"Do you really care very much?"
Perhaps she considered the question superfluous, for she remained silentuntil his nerveless arm released her. Then she lifted her face from themuff. It was pale but smiling when he met her eyes.
"I'll go to see Mrs. Hammerton, some day," she said, "because it wouldhurt too much not to be able to come here when you ask me--and otherpeople--like the--the Clydesdales. You _were_ thinking of me when youthought of this, weren't you?"
"In a way. A girl has got to reckon with what people say."
She nodded, pale and expressionless, slowly brushing up the violetsfastened to her muff.
Farris appeared, announced the time, and held Desboro's coat. They hadjust margin enough to make their train.