CHAPTER XI
INCOGNITA
Philip and his father went away in early June. There were, of course,many rumors about their plans, one being to the effect that the house onWindy Hill might not be reopened for several years, in spite of the factthat greenhouses and gardens were to be maintained as usual. One thingalone was certain, that they were to spend the summer either on boardthe yacht of a Mr. Challoner, John Angus's close business associate, orat his house at one of the resorts on the Maine coast.
Poppea had seen very little of Philip since his father's return, for hissinging lessons had become more and more irregular, until they finallyceased. Stephen Latimer, when he frankly asked John Angus the reason,was met by the vague excuse that he had been so long away that he wishedhis son's society; there was much to be arranged. Also Philip was tiringof singing.
On the day before he was to leave, Poppea met Philip at the Feltons',whither he had gone to say good-by. When she entered, he was in thegreat, cool library, and the blinds being drawn to keep out theafternoon sun, all the light in the room seemed focussed on his facewhere he sat by the book-strewn table, his head resting on one hand. Hewas so intensely quiet and so pale Poppea's heart went out to him morethan ever; that he was suffering pain not merely physical she was sure,and equally so that she must not ask its cause.
Nora came into the room at that minute to say, "Miss Felton and Mr.Esterbrook had gone to Bridgeton and would Miss Gilbert come upstairs?Miss Emmy was suffering from a bad headache, and so Mr. Philip mustexcuse her."
"Then I must tell you good-by and go home," Philip said to Poppea;"Harvey is waiting for me with the chair, for somehow I'm rather tiredthis week. Please come into the light and turn your face as I saw you inthe garden from the parapet the day, long ago, when you picked up thelittle bird. There, that is it. I want to remember every line to takewith me, for I shall be so lonely."
"And I too, Philip. Look up at me and remember, that whatever isworrying you worries me also, and let me halve it with you," and Poppea,stooping, lifted his face and kissed him gently on the forehead.
The young man bent his head as if in reverence for an instant, thenraising it again to look Poppea in the eyes whispered, so far away hisvoice sounded, "I shall not be lonely any more, for it seems as thoughyou must have called my mother's angel and she kissed me." And yet JohnAngus could not understand, and would not had he been there.
* * * * *
The summer residents of Quality Hill had returned in full force,increasing the work at the post-office so much that Poppea had butlittle time to herself. Yet she was satisfied so long as everything ransmoothly and no possible criticism could fall upon the postmaster; forit was not only the income and certain fixed position that mattered somuch to Oliver Gilbert, but in and about the associations of hisappointment were woven the very elements of his patriotism and theverbal contact with Lincoln that became more precious as time went on.Of course Gilbert knew that the day would come when he must resign whathe called his trust, but that was not yet. In some respects he felt hisseventy years less than he had the weight of a lonely fifty. That hisconducting of the business might be unsatisfactory or the post-officemight be taken away from him had never troubled his thoughts evenremotely.
It was therefore a great surprise to both postmaster and mistress, whenone day, about the middle of June, a duly accredited governmentinspector appeared one morning, and after going over the accounts andputting many abrupt and, to those in charge, meaningless questions, tooka seat by the sorting shelf, opened a newspaper, and seemed prepared tospend the day. The visit being all the more strange from the fact thatthe usual but rather perfunctory official visit had been paid less thantwo months before.
When noontime came and the official made no move to leave, Gilbert,knowing that there was no suitable place of refreshment in town, withold-time hospitality asked the stranger to join them at their mid-daymeal. The invitation was accepted, and the moment that the official lefthis post behind the beehive, his entire manner changed; he talked andlaughed with Gilbert in a way that dismissed a growing apprehension,complimented Satira Potts, who was substituting for the day, upon hercooking, and kept his eyes fastened upon Poppea in a way that made hercolor hotly and then turn rigid with resentment, saying that he hadheard Harley's Mills was a very quaint town, and that there was a prettywalk by the river toward the hills. Wouldn't she be his guide thatafternoon?
Poppea, feeling that she must hold herself in check at any cost, repliedthat she could not leave the office, but that Oliver Gilbert woulddoubtless drive him about town with horse and chaise; then turning tothe old man, she urged him to go, as he had been out so little of late.
Poor Gilbert, entirely oblivious of the undercurrent, protested that hecould do all the office work required before night, saying ingood-hearted indiscretion, "Go you out, Poppy; the young gentleman willenjoy the trip much better than with a half-deaf old codger like me."
For a moment Poppea struggled for words less abrupt than "I will notgo," with which to extricate herself from the net. Then Satira Potts(who was Pegrim, and having once taught Poppea what she called hermanners never forgot it), grasping the situation, rose so suddenly fromthe table that she scattered the crumbs that she had in her apron, andsaid, "Poppy couldn't go with you noway, nohow, Mister--I don't thinkyou've mentioned your name. Our Newfield County girls don't take upwith strangers, and besides, even if they did, Miss Gilbert, holdingwhat might be called a public place, has got to draw the line evenshorter!"
Gilbert, who had raised his hand deprecatingly toward his, as heconsidered, too officious sister, stopped short as he caught sight ofPoppea's face, while into the other man's eyes there flashed a glare ofrage which was far less offensive than the expression it replaced.Getting up slowly with an affected yawn of boredom, he bit the end froma cigar, lit it without asking leave, nodded curtly to the postmasterand, picking up his bag of papers and hat, which he put on beforereaching the door, went on his way.
"Shoo! Scat!" said Satira Potts, who, following him closely, drove awaya stray cat from the porch and scattered the remaining crumbs in herapron on the flagging for the birds.
For a minute Gilbert and Poppea sat looking at one another, then hesaid: "I wonder why that smart Aleck dropped in here just now and hungaround so? Most likely missed connections in Bridgeton for somewhereelse and thought he'd pass the time and get a dinner. He wasn't manneredlike the regular inspector that's been here for three years past. It'stoo bad he riled you so, Poppy; it's likely he thought he was beingpolite and pleasuring of you."
It was well for his feeling of content that Gilbert did not look back,for when Satira Potts returned to the kitchen, Poppea, who had left thetable for the window and was looking with eyes that did not see upthrough the orchard to the back garden, wheeled suddenly, and, throwingher arms about Satira's neck, began to sob with the broken-heartedabandon of a child.
"There, there, dearie, that skate has gone flying, so don't you care. Isensed right off the way he was squinting at you, and if only you hadn'tbeen born a lady baby, and so mustn't, I could have wished you'd slappedhis face."
All that afternoon and for many days, whenever Poppea paused in her workin the office or in the bank garden, where the flowers seeded from thegarden above ran riot and needed much restraining, the thought, "Iwonder, oh, I wonder, who sent that man here?" came to her.
One day, as the insistence of the query was beginning to pass, Miss Emmysent for Poppea to come up to luncheon and hear the plans for theafternoon and evening entertainment that the Felton ladies were in thehabit of giving each year, either at rose time or at midsummer. Thisyear, the season being late and also the roses, the twenty-first ofJune, the summer equinox, was chosen; for, as time went on, the ladiesfelt less like entertaining and keeping open house in the humid Julyweather, though they did not yet acknowledge it even to one another. Butat sixty and sixty-two, why should not even those to whom that form oftyranny known as duty to societ
y is a law relax, and prepare to spendthe afternoon of life a little more naturally?
As for Mr. Esterbrook, at threescore and ten, relaxation of any kindwould be impossible. For the last dozen years, having practically ceasedto take manly exercise, he was propped by his rigid surroundings,courteous formalities of the old school, and clothes to such a degree,that had he sought to escape from them, collapse would have resulted,and it would have been as impossible to collect him as water thatsuddenly rebelled against the confines of its pail.
The ladies themselves could hardly have told when the thinning iron-grayhair had been first subtly concealed, and then replaced by a wig of itsown exact shade; nor did they know that he had abandoned billiards atthe club in favor of whist or piquet, because following the course ofthe red or white balls over the vivid green cloth with eyes slow tofocus had twice given him a fit of vertigo. As for riding, OliverGilbert, hip-crippled as he was, could still throw himself across theold white horse and follow the cow to its hill pasture, while the verythought of riding made William Esterbrook dizzy; so wide apart is thelife natural from the life artificial.
The afternoon reception, Poppea found, was to be general, the Bridgetonband supplying outdoor music; the evening function, an affair in costumecombined of music, dancing, and a half-dozen tableaux of the seasons. Tothe latter the residents of the hill and their guests, together with theFeltons' more intimate neighborhood acquaintances, were bidden.
Before leaving home, Poppea had resolved to decline Miss Emmy'sinvitation to the evening party. Hugh being away and also JeanneLatimer, she was not in the mood for going among strangers, as theywould largely be. Then, too, a sense of depression had hung over her oflate, as she realized for the first time that the comparative luxury andspecial privileges that her contact with the Feltons had surrounded her,were not only not hers by right, but that at any time she must become,at least in part, the financial protector of the man who had for twentyyears protected her.
Virtually she was living under false pretences when she went to theFeltons and mingled with their guests. As a child it had been different;now it must stop, and the sooner the better. She did not find it easy tocarry out her resolutions at once when she found that Miss Emmy took itfor granted that she would sing half a dozen of the songs that StephenLatimer said few others could sing so well, either from point ofphrasing or simple pathos. Besides, Miss Emmy argued, New York friendswould be there who might help her to turn her music to account, and asfor the costume, anything dainty and summerish would do. There was achest full of old muslins and flowered organdies in the attic from whichPoppea could surely select something, and Nora should help her fashionit if she herself lacked time.
Under such circumstances how could Poppea refuse those who had mademusic possible, as well as given all her education, even to the finallessons in French pronunciation that made the Creole songs fall from herlips in such perfection. So saying to herself, "only this once," she hadgone to the attic chest in question, and selected from it a soft greenmuslin with embroidered fern fronds scattered over it, a relic of thedays when skirts were six yards full and further amplified by threeflounces; then declining Nora's help, she took it home to brood over.
As she went slowly down the stairs, the muslin gathered into a hastybundle, Miss Emmy called to her from her morning room where she wassealing some invitations, the social secretary not, as yet, havingbecome an institution. As she waited for the notes, Poppea, glancingidly about the room, caught sight of a colored print of Gainsborough'sMrs. Robinson as Perdita, in her pretty furbelows. This gave her an ideathat once at home she quickly put into form with scissors, thread, andneedle.
To the muslin bodice, made a trifle low, frills falling from the halfsleeves, she added an open-fronted over-skirt, which, being caught backbelow the waist, gave somewhat the appearance of the print. Then, othermatters calling her, she put the dress away until the day came for theparty. By this time she had forgotten how Perdita had arranged her hair,and she had also discovered that the even green of the muslin lookedmonotonous by lamplight. Ah me, what could she do? Mrs. Shandy, beingappealed to, with true bucolic British taste could suggest nothing but"red ribbons, and plenty of them, to liven of yourself up, Miss."
Walking about the room at a loss how to proceed, Poppea picked up theminiature of her "little mother" as she called her to herself, thatother Poppea with the wreath of fragile summer poppies in her hair. Ithad become almost a habit, this looking at the picture in moments ofperplexity either serious or trivial, as though the laughing eyes andparted lips could in some way respond. In this instance, the reply,though indirect, was instantaneous.
"The poppies twisted in the hair and bunched at the neck; could anythingbe better!" cried Poppea, "and the garden is full of the fall sown ones,open and in bud. Frail as they are, if I pick buds this morning and putthem in water in the bright sun, they will be open by afternoon and keepopen if I do not let them see the dark. The leaves are the color of themuslin, only of a lighter shade. Thank you, little mother!"
As Poppea dressed that evening, taking the flowers that she hadtransferred from sun to lamplight to put in her hair when she arrived,she again turned to the miniature, talking to it as if it were a person.
"You've stayed here by yourself too long," she said; "to-night you shallgo out and whisper to the people who will hear me sing and ask them tobe kind." Slipping the chain over her head, she let the locket hang halfveiled among the folds of drapery that crossed her bosom.
There was no one but Nora in the dressing-room at the Feltons' whenPoppea looked shyly in, and, seizing the chance, dropped music and lightshawl upon a chair to arrange the flowers. They adjusted themselveseasily to her coiled hair. In a half wreath with a great bunch at thewaist, so intangible did they seem in their cloud colors of rose, pink,salmon, and flame fading back to white, that it was impossible tobelieve that they would not flutter away from their perch likebutterflies.
"Look at that now! there isn't a dress here to-night'll touch yours,dearie," said Nora, hands raised in honest admiration. "But I mistrustthem posies not to last long, gi'n you dance too hard."
"That's precisely it, Nora," said Poppea, a mischievous smile banishingthe little pathetic droop that her lips sometimes wore, and the opalcolors flashing from the black-lashed eyes. "I must not dance, but singmy songs and disappear, else my finery will drop away as Cinderella'sdid when the clock struck."
Downstairs among the maze of faces, she saw that of Stephen Latimer, andmotioning to him that she was there when needed, Poppea glancedwistfully across the room, slipped through one of the long windows, thendrew into the shadows where she could see and not be seen, except as thelight fell now and then upon her eager face as she leaned forward towatch the tableaux, dreading the time when she must step before sofashionable and critical an audience.
Evidently, she had not been as wholly unobserved as she thought, forMiss Emmy, who had reached the veranda through another window in companywith a youngish man, came toward her, saying:--
"Ah, here she is, Bradish, keeping quiet until her own time comes. Juliadear" (Miss Emmy often used this name in formal society), "this is Mr.Winslow, the son of my dearest Boston friend, who wishes to meet you. Itis the first time that we have been able to lure him into the country,and we wish him to like it. Where is your shawl, child? It is quitebreezy here, and you mustn't risk your voice. Upstairs? No, don't go; Iwill tell Nora to fetch it," and as Miss Emmy flitted away, hershimmering silver costume, with a crescent and gold stars in her fluffylight hair still guiltless of gray, caught and held the combined lightsof moon and lamp, helping to perfect the part of "Evening" for which shewas costumed.
For a moment after she had recognized Mr. Winslow's bow, Poppeacontinued looking into the room. She wished that Miss Emmy had notintroduced her to this stranger; she did not care to talk, but to remainquiet and alone. Then making an effort, she turned toward him to put theorthodox query as to what character he represented, when before thesentence was half fram
ed, she realized that he wore conventional eveningdress, and her air of embarrassment turned to a smile when she saw thehalf quizzical, half satirical expression of his cleanly shaven face.
"Confess that you not only did not look at me, but that you are rathervexed at either being obliged to do so now or be rude," he said, placinga chair with a dexterous turn of the wrist in the exact spot where shecould continue to look at the tableaux and yet be seated.
"I'm afraid that you are right, and yet I will not allow that I was evenalmost rude to one of the Aunties' friends. It is this way; I am to singto-night before all these men and women from the city who know whatmusic means; I have only sung before here in the church for Mr. Latimeror at some little musicals at Bridgeton. If I had to go into the roomnow and be shut in among them all, I should simply run away. So I cameout here to find myself, and when Miss Emmy spoke your name, I was sofar away that I do not think I heard it. Pray forgive me." Somethingabout the direct simplicity of her excuse touched a new chord inWinslow's perfectly controlled nature. This was not the simpering,self-satisfied young woman of the small towns who usually, when takingpart in amateur social functions, keeps well in the limelight.
He drew up a second chair, saying quietly: "I understand so well that Iwill either go away or stay and play watch-dog; which do you prefer? Isee two callow youths in there who are looking toward this window astheir only loophole of escape, but they will not come until I go."
"Then please stay," said Poppea, with a shimmer of a laugh, soothed intoperfect tranquillity by the self-possession of her companion,--acondition that caused her much wonder when she afterward analyzed it.
Much clapping of hands announced the completion of the first group ofpictures, and the stringed quartet struck up a Strauss waltz, to thecompelling measure of which Poppea's fingers, hanging over the back ofthe chair, tapped time.
"Are you fond of dancing?"
"Yes and no; there are times when it seems as if I must dance, but I donot believe that I could ever dance to order."
"I have seen you somewhere before, but very long ago," he said abruptly.
"Yes, I remember your face. I have been thinking and thinking when andwhere. Ah! now I have it!" Poppea exclaimed, flushing deeply, so thateven in the moonlight it rivalled the color of the flowers in her hair.
"Do you remember once calling upon the Felton ladies in New York oneafternoon and finding a half-wild girl dancing before the parlormirror?"
"By Jove! that's it, and you were the little girl! I can see it allperfectly. I should judge that it was one of the times that you dancedbecause you must, was it not?"
"Oh, yes, the windows were so heavy that they would not open, and thecarpets so thick they held my feet, and I began to feel as though I werein prison and should never get out, and so I danced to be sure that Iwas alive."
"Do you know what I said to myself as you slid away behind the heavystair guards?"
"Probably that you wondered why the Feltons harbored such a barbarian."
"No, that I wished that I might meet you again six or seven years hence;and you see I have my wish."
Noticing that Poppea seemed once more inclined to withdraw into herself,Winslow dropped the personal tone that he had been forcing into theconversation and sought more neutral ground in his next venture.
"If, as I understand, you have lived about here all your life, you cangive me some help in a little matter of business, that, combined withpleasure, brought me here. I suppose, of course, that you know everyresident in the town?"
"Most surely, as well as almost every one who comes to or goes throughit;" Poppea was going to add, "because all news comes to thepost-office," but a sudden influence caused her to suppress the lastsentence.
"Very good, now I will explain my errand, if you have the patience tolisten, and I have confidence in asking that what I say will go nofurther, because the matter concerns others rather than myself."
Poppea, nodding her head in assent, leaned forward, her lips slightlyparted in an attitude of undivided attention.
"A cousin of mine, a young New Yorker, who is working his way intopolitics _via_ being secretary to the postmaster-general, was intrustedto look up a matter in this vicinity during a week of vacation. Meetingme at the club a couple of days ago and finding I was coming here, heasked me to help him out by doing the investigating and letting himspend his time in town.
"It seems that Postmaster Gilbert, here at Harley's Mills, is gettingrather old and doddering, and has for his assistant a young woman, afoundling or something, that he has brought up. Complaints have beencoming in for the past year of the conduct of the office from a man whois not only a prominent resident here, but one who has strong politicalinfluence both in New York and Washington."
Poppea straightened herself, opened her lips to speak, but no soundcame; meanwhile Winslow, intent upon reciting the story word for word ashe had had it from his cousin, paid no heed.
"Under ordinary circumstances a change would possibly have been made onthe matter of age, but as the complainant is known to be a man ofviolent prejudices and the appointment was one of the few now existingmade by Lincoln himself, extra trouble was taken in the matter.Examinations showed the accounts to be all straight, and there theaffair halted on both sides.
"A month ago new complaints came from the same source in a differentkey; the young woman, called by the fantastic name of Poppea, it seems,was causing trouble among the youths of the town, and the complainantdid not hesitate to call her a dangerous adventuress. A special sent tocast his eye over the ground brought back an unsatisfactory and garbledaccount. Now my point is, can you from an outside and perhaps kinderpoint of view set me straight upon this matter?"
It seemed to the woman sitting opposite that she had lived a lifetimewhile Winslow was speaking; shame and courage, despair and pride, wereall struggling for the mastery, and courage, with the chance forjustification, won.
"Yes, I know them both, the postmaster and his daughter, as well as JohnAngus, the man who has complained."
"Then his dislike is public property?"
"Most assuredly; he has harried Oliver Gilbert for years because hewould not sell him his homestead to round out his own land."
"Very good, a motive proven; that settles one point," said Winslow,with legal brevity. "Now how about the girl?"
"That is--not, cannot be told in so few words," said Poppea, nervingherself with a visible effort. "It is true that she was a foundling leftin a storm upon Oliver Gilbert's porch. He took her in for the sake ofhis dead wife and baby Marygold. Then he grew to love her until he quiteforgot she was not his own, and she thought all the world of 'Daddy,' asshe had learned to call him. By and by as he grew older she naturallyhelped him in the office until, as the business grew and she became ofage, she was appointed his assistant.
"She tried, oh, so hard, to work steadily and not forget her place, butshe could not help the fact that John Angus's son, a couple of yearsyounger and a cripple, who had no one to be kind to him, liked to talkto her. She couldn't help being glad to find some one to help make upfor the sisters and brothers she had never known, for all the real kinshe had was an ivory miniature of a young woman with a wreath of poppiesin her hair, that hung about her neck on a gold chain the night she cameto Gilbert's. There was one word engraved upon the locket, 'Poppea' anda date, '1850.' So they two practised singing together with Mr. Latimerdown at St. Luke's, Philip and she, and he made a bust of her, for he isstudying to be a sculptor. But John Angus did not understand, and thoughno one but himself knows what he thought, it is bringing evil to Poppea,for the last man they sent from Washington dared to insult her. Yet allshe asks is to be let work for her Daddy until his quarter century isout and he resigns; for it would kill him if he thought that any onecould say anything against him or his that could take away the trustthat Lincoln gave him."
Poppea stopped, her hands twisting at a flower that had fallen to herlap, and then looked quietly at Winslow as though waiting for hisanswer
. As for him, he was completely taken out of himself and hisacquired stoicism in regard to all things feminine. The spectacle of thebeautiful young woman pleading the cause with such unconscious dignityswept him from his feet and made him feel until he tingled.
"Well?" she queried at last.
"You have made it as plain as if I had seen the whole business myself,and I'm no end grateful for the trouble you've taken. This meeting seemsto have been quite providential for the post-office family; all I needdo is to take a look at them to-morrow and leave. Let me think quickly;there is so much more I wanted to say to you. I see the musical dominiecoming our way, and they are drawing the curtains on the last tableau."
"Yes, it _was_ providential your coming, but there is one thing more tobe said, and I must say it before you go to the office to-morrow. Lookat this," and bending toward him, she held out the locket on its chainthat had lain concealed in the folds of her waist, pressing the springthat opened it as she did so.
Winslow looked and then grew bewildered.
"Read," she said. "'Poppea, 1850.'"
"Then you are--Impossible!"
"Poppea of the post-office, whom you have heard accused, and have tried,and, I hope, acquitted for her Daddy's sake." But the eyes that sheturned so bravely to meet his reassuring ones were full of tears thatcould not be recalled.
"What a brute I have been," he said, standing with bent head.
Then Stephen Latimer came to lead her in.
"You will dance with me or at least speak to me afterward?" Winslowmanaged to ask, instinctively expecting refusal after the ordeal she hadgone through.
"This is one of the nights I could not dance; in fact, I doubt if I evershall again."
Winslow sought out the darkest corner of the porch, where he was yetwithin sound of her voice. Lighting a cigar, he gave himself over to anuninterrupted train of musing, while those within who missed him thoughthim merely escaping them after the manner of a man of the world, who,having been courted for a decade by maids, wives, and widows, prefershis own society.
After the final applause, which was unusually long and loud for such anaudience, had ceased, Winslow threaded his way rapidly through the roomsin search of _Incognita_, as he called her to himself, but she wasnowhere to be found.
"The excitement of her success was too much for the dear child," saidMiss Emmy, taking his arm and switching him in the direction where hecared least to go.
"I've sent Nora home with her in the coupe, for she looked reallyoverdone. Don't be so disappointed; you can go and inquire for herto-morrow."
When Winslow broke away from his hostess at last, he wondered what hadhappened to him. He had intended leaving in the morning if he hadcompleted his inquiry. Well, he would sleep on it; some impressions losetheir color the next day. But in the morning he resolved to telegraphhis cousin and put off going at least until another to-morrow.