Brenda's Ward

  CHAPTER XXIV

  PORTSMOUTH AND AFTERWARD

  It was not until they were on their way to Portsmouth, that Clare andMartine had their first good chance to talk to Balfour about theburglar.

  "It is really true," said Balfour, "that the fellow has been arrestedfor entering a Portsmouth shop. I was pretty sure of him, and when thisshop was entered, I told the police about this man. He was wearing apair of topaz sleeve-links, and you said, I remember, that these werethe only things missing from Miss Elinor's trunk."

  Balfour spoke modestly. From him the girls could get no idea of the manyhours he had put into the case until he had assured himself that thiswas the very man wanted by the police of more than one city.

  "How excited Angelina will be if she really identifies him as the manwho took her mother's money long ago."

  "Yes," added Martine, "if she is only called in court as a witness, shewill be perfectly happy."

  At Kittery, as on the day they went to the Shoals, Balfour was left withhis car on the Kittery Shore.

  "I believe this will be the pleasantest of all our excursions," saidMartine to Clare as the two strolled about. "A crowd would seem out ofplace in these quiet old streets."

  "Is there anything you especially care to see before we go to CousinMary's?" asked Clare. "You know she expects us there to luncheon, andshe always has any number of stories to tell."

  "I'd like to see Strawberry Bank," replied Martine. "It sounded soattractive when I came across it in my History as the first name ofPortsmouth."

  "I fear there are no strawberries there now, though the first settlersare said to have built the Great House in the centre of ground coveredwith wild strawberry-vines. There's little to see there now, though youhave enough imagination to picture where the Great House stood in thetime of Mason."

  So they went down on Water Street, and thence to the substantial littlehouse where Washington's secretary, Tobias Lear, lived. Here Washingtonhimself called on Madame Lear when he visited Portsmouth soon after hisinauguration.

  As they turned back toward the statelier mansions of Congress andPleasant Streets, Clare tried to fit the things she had heard about oldPortsmouth to the right persons and people.

  "I remember that some distinguished French nobleman described theLangdon House as elegant and well furnished. Washington, too, called itthe handsomest house in Portsmouth, and when Louis Philippe was in exilehere, he lived for some time in this house. But I like this oldWentworth House better because I really remember one of the romanticstories connected with it."

  "Tell me, please."

  "Oh, this is simply about Frances Wentworth who jilted her cousin Johnbecause he was too poor. John went to England, and Frances marriedTheodore Atkinson, who was rich and amiable and delicate. In the courseof time John Wentworth returned from London as governor of the Province,and when two years later the husband of Frances died, she mourned onlyten days, and then became the bride of her cousin John. But here we areat Cousin Mary's, and I ought to have left this story for her. She cantell it so dramatically."

  Cousin Mary lived near the old Warner house, and she had much to say tothe girls about a former owner of this historic dwelling, whom hermother remembered as one of the last of the townsmen to wear a cockedhat and knee-breeches. After luncheon she took her young visitors tocall at the Warner mansion, where they saw the curious wall paintingsthat no one had known about, until the removal of several layers ofpaper brought the paintings to the light a few years ago.

  "You can see how little this house has been changed," said the owner,proudly. "It is really an eighteenth century house of the best type."

  "Such as Amy Wentworth dwelt in," added Martine, reciting.

  "'With stately stairways worn By feet of old Colonial knights, And ladies gentle-born. And on her from the wainscot old Ancestral faces frown, And this has worn the soldier's sword, And that--the judge's gown?'

  "You did not know I could quote Portsmouth poetry?" asked Martine,turning mischievously to Clare, "but I caught the habit from Amy lastsummer, as she had a ballad or a story for every place we visited."

  "Portsmouth is full of stories," responded Clare; "I wish, Cousin Mary,we could stay here three or four days. Martine would enjoyeverything--old stories as well as old houses--"

  "We have plenty of both, my dear," said Cousin Mary, laying her hand onMartine's arm.

  "I have been wondering about the houses, there are so many more of whatyou might call 'stately mansions,' than there are in Plymouth," andMartine looked enquiringly at Cousin Mary.

  "Oh, that is easily explained," replied the older woman, understandingMartine's unexpressed question. "Portsmouth was a Royal Province, andits merchants were prosperous and fond of the good things of life. Theyvied with one another in the eighteenth century in building handsomedwellings. There were also many government officials here, who felt thatfine surroundings were their rightful due. When the Revolution came,Portsmouth was full of Tories, as you may have read in some of therecent historical novels. They were far from pleased with the change ingovernment."

  "Martine and I certainly must come over again," cried Clare, looking ather watch, "there are two or three special stories that I hope you willtell her, though they are too long for to-day. I am afraid we havebarely time for the church, if we mean to get back to York to-night."

  "This church," explained Cousin Mary, as they drew near old St. John's,"is interesting because it succeeds the old Queen's Chapel. It maysurprise you to learn that in Portsmouth the first church observed theforms of the Church of England. But after the earliest years, for a longtime there was no Episcopal church until the Queen's Chapel was built inthe early eighteenth century."

  "They couldn't have a Queen's Chapel after the Revolution!" exclaimedMartine.

  "Well, it was Queen's Chapel for a few years. This was its name whenWashington attended service here. But in 1791, when the parish wasre-organized, the new church was known as 'St. John's.'"

  The girls made the most of the short time they had to spend at the oldchurch. There were a number of things to see, but nothing, not even thefamous Queen Caroline chairs interested Martine more than the old bellin the tower. For Cousin Mary told her that it had been brought from anold church at Louisburg by Sir William Pepperell's victorious men.

  "I must come down some Sunday," she said, "just to hear it. In NovaScotia they tell some weird stories about these old French bells," andas she spoke, Martine recalled her afternoon with Balfour and Amy nearthe site of the Acadian church.

  "You certainly must spend a day or two with me soon," said Cousin Mary,and when the girls bade her good-bye, the day was set for a longer visitfrom Clare and Martine.

  A slight fog overtook them as they rode home, and this, perhaps, loweredMartine's spirits. Had Clare known Martine longer, she would have beeneven more surprised than she was at her friend's despondent tone, forthose who knew her best had seldom seen her out of spirits.

  It was Clare herself, however, who had turned the conversation in adirection not exactly enlivening.

  "I suppose we shall see Herbert to-morrow," she said. "He won't beexactly pleased when he hears about Carlotta's luncheon."

  "You mean my being left out? Oh, he won't care. Boys never take up thosethings. Besides, I hope no one will tell him. Besides, I shouldn't havecared if it hadn't been for Mrs. Dundonald, though I shall probably havea chance to meet her again, somewhere."

  "Of course," responded Clare, "she is likely to be in Boston, and youknow so many people. I think you have been very amiable about the wholething. For certainly it was hard to bear."

  Now sympathy is often the last straw to break one down, and as shereplied to Clare, Martine did not control a little quaver in her voice.

  "Naturally no one likes to be slighted, but then nothing has goneexactly right this summer. I have hardly done a thing I wanted to, and Ihave been left out of things I might have gone to."

  "But, my dear, I have heard
you say over and over again that youwouldn't have any gayety on account of your father and--"

  "Yes, that is true," replied Martine, undisturbed by her owninconsistency, "but all the same it isn't pleasant to be left out, and Ireally don't like being economical, although I have to pretend I don'tmind. I suppose that's why some people slight me. I never believedbefore that money made any difference, but now I know."

  "Martine," said Clare, "you are ridiculous. I believe you have beenworking too hard, and so are a little run down."

  "I haven't slept well lately," Martine admitted, "I have been thinkingso much about my father and Lucian."

  "Isn't your father improving?"

  "The last letter was more cheerful. But we haven't heard for threeweeks, and I am wondering what we shall do next year if he has lost_all_ his money. It will be so hard for Lucian to give up college."

  Clare was at a loss for a reply. Mrs. Stratford and Martine were newfriends and she really knew little about their affairs. She had tocontent herself with rather vague attempts to cheer Martine, and she wasgratified before they reached their stopping place to see the smilesreturn to Martine's face.

  It was almost dusk as the car sped down a long hill near the CountryClub.

  "Why, that was Carlotta driving," exclaimed Clare, as they passed arestive horse that was driven by a girl in a high cart.

  "She has poor control of her horse," rejoined Martine.

  "It's curious," added Clare, "that Carlotta, who is so good at othersports, knows so little about a horse. She seldom drives alone. I wonderhow it happens that no one is with her now."

  "She may swim better than I," rejoined Martine, "but I believe I couldgive her points about managing a horse."

  Soon the two friends had reached their corner and were about to partwhen they heard the clatter of hoofs and wheels.

  "Keep to the side, Clare," cried Martine. "It's Carlotta, the horse isrunning away."

  Hardly had she uttered these words when the horse and carriage were uponthem. The reins had fallen, and Carlotta, helpless, was clinging to theside of the carriage. Martine did not hesitate. Instantly she plungedforward, and unheeding Clare's warning scream, flung herself before thehorse. Yet, in spite of her impetuosity, she knew what she was doing.The creature's speed was less than it seemed to the frightened Clare.Martine with a sure aim reached the bridle. Although she was dragged afew steps, the horse slackened his pace, and stopped. Carlotta, too muchshaken to resume control, jumped to the ground on the opposite side fromMartine.

  "Look!" cried Clare, running up to her as she came to the horse's head.

  "Is she hurt?" asked Carlotta, anxiously, as Clare stooped down towardMartine, who had fallen to the ground.

  "She must be," replied Clare. "What shall we do?"

  "I cannot very well leave my horse," responded Carlotta, still with herhand on the bridle; "if only somebody--"

  At that moment "somebody" did appear, in the shape of Mr. Gamut.

  "Bless my soul!" he exclaimed, "What is this? An accident?"

  Martine lay white and still. Clare, stooping down, could not rouse her.

  "Let us take her to the house, and then I will go for Mrs. Stratford,"cried Clare; "she has been spending the day with my mother."

  "I was on my way to Red Knoll," said Mr. Gamut. "I came on the afternoontrain, and I felt anxious to talk over the good news; but now, thislooks serious," he continued, as together he and Clare lifted Martinefrom the ground.

  "May I take my horse to your stable, Clare?" asked Carlotta. "He isquiet enough, but I would rather not drive now, and then I will hurry tothe village for a doctor. I am so sorry for all this," she concluded.

  "There are certainly no bones broken," said the practical Clare; "shehas simply fainted."

  Clare and Mr. Gamut slowly carried Martine to the side of the road, andnow Clare was supporting her friend's head on her knee, while Mr. Gamuthad gone to Red Knoll for water.

  As Carlotta disappeared down the lane leading to the Ethridge house,Martine stirred slightly, and opened her eyes.

  "Where am I?" she asked, faintly. "Oh--yes--I remember," and though sheclosed her eyes again, she no longer lay a dead weight against Clare'sarm.