CHAPTER XIV
A PIECE OF DIPLOMACY
When Lucy, radiant in her own happiness, entered her aunt's room, she wassurprised to find that all Ellen's recent anger had apparently vanished,and that she had dropped into a lethargic mood from which it was difficultto rouse her. It was not so much that the elder woman was out oftemper--that was to be expected--as that she seemed to be turning over inher mind some problem which was either unsolved or unpleasant, and whichknitted her brow into a web of wrinkles, forcing her lips together with anominous curl.
Lucy, who stood at the table arranging a vase of freshly gathered pansies,furtively studied the invalid's sullen reverie.
"How are you feeling to-day, Aunt Ellen?" she at last inquired withcourageous effort.
"No different."
"Melvina said she was afraid you did not have a comfortable night."
The blue eyes flashed a suspicious glance of inquiry over the questioner'scountenance, then closed wearily.
"I didn't," was all she said.
"I am sorry to hear that."
The regret was uttered with gentle sincerity. In an existence cloudless asher own, magnanimousness required little effort. Moreover, Lucy wasforgiving by nature; and had she not been, the helplessness andfriendlessness of the lonely soul before her would have presented apowerful plea for pity.
Ellen did not respond to the words.
"What was the trouble?" went on Lucy, after waiting a suitable length oftime and sensing that no answer was to be forthcoming. "Were you inpain?"
At the interrogation a flame of hatred leaped into the woman's face,flickered there, and then died down, leaving it cold and hard as marble.
"I got to thinkin'," she returned briefly.
"I hope what I said did not worry you, Aunt Ellen."
"It did last night; but it don't now," responded Ellen, with adisagreeable laugh.
"That's good. I should be sorry to have been the cause of your lying herefretting."
"I ain't doin' no frettin' now," repeated Ellen. Then, changing a subjectboth seemed to regard as a delicate one, she asked in a more natural tone:"What were you plannin' to do this mornin'?"
"Oh, just the regular things," Lucy said cordially, glad to be once moreon safer ground. "Why?"
"'Cause I'm possessed of a hankerin' for some raspberries," said Ellen. "Ilike 'em, an' I ain't had any for a long time. Somehow it seems as ifthey'd taste awful good."
Lucy's face lighted.
"Why, I'd be glad to try and get some for you, Aunt Ellen," she cried."You know I'd love to get anything you wanted if I could. I'm so pleasedthat you mentioned it."
Ellen twisted her head on the pillow and began outlining the figures onthe counterpane with her long, misshapen finger.
"I s'pose you couldn't find enough for a shortcake, could you?" sheventured skeptically.
"I don't know but I could. At least, I could try. Of course it's late inthe season for them."
The lean finger continued to follow the flowered design of thebedcovering.
"There used to be some late ones up at the top of Pine Ridge," remarkedthe invalid casually. "That would be quite a walk though, an' likelyfurther than you'd care to go."
"No, indeed it wouldn't!"
There was fervor in the protest. Already visions of a morning in the blueand gold world were shaping themselves in the girl's mind. No doubt JaneHowe would go with her; probably Martin would be too busy to leave hiswork; but if he were not, what a bit of Paradise they could havetogether!
Ellen, who read her niece's thoughts almost as readily as if they had beenopenly expressed, smiled a malevolent smile.
"It's a good four miles to the Ridge," she remarked. "Goin', comin', an'pickin' would take you the whole mornin', I reckon."
"I'm afraid it would," agreed Lucy. "Could you spare me as long as that?"
"Yes. I don't need nothin'; an' if I do, Melviny can get it. I'd ratherhave you go than not. If you could get me enough berries for a shortcakeit would be worth it."
The note of suppressed eagerness in the words caused Lucy to regard heraunt with quick, indefinable suspicion.
But Ellen met the glance unflinchingly, and with a baffled sense of beingmistaken the girl hurried from the room. When she returned shortlyafterward and paused in the doorway, she presented a winning picture.
She had donned a short khaki skirt and a pair of riding leggings such asshe had been accustomed to wear in the West, and the broad sombrerocrowning her golden hair outlined it like a halo. A simple blouse turnedaway to give freedom to the firm white throat completed the costume.Dimpling with anticipation, she held up her tin pail.
"I'm off, Aunt Ellen," she called. "You shall have your shortcake if thereis a berry within five miles."
The woman listened to the fall of the light step on the stairs and thefragment of a song that came from the girl's lips until the last note ofthe music died away; then she called Melvina.
"Melviny!"
"Yes, marm."
"I want you should find Tony and tell him to harness up. There'ssomethin' I need done in the village."
"All right, Miss Webster."
"Bring me a sheet of paper an' a pencil before you go."
The nurse entered with the desired articles.
"I'm sendin' to town for Lawyer Benton," announced the patient withelaborate carelessness.
Neither Melvina's voice nor her face expressed the slightest curiosity.
"There's some business I must see to right away, an' I reckon I may's wellget it fixed up this mornin'."
"Yes, marm."
"Give Tony this note for Mr. Benton and tell him to fetch him back soon'she can."
Nodding acquiescence, Melvina disappeared.
During the interval between the time the wheels rattled out of the yardand rattled in again, Ellen fidgeted at a high-pitched excitement,starting nervously at every sound. Sometimes she scowled; and once sheburst into a harsh, cracked peal of laughter. Her thoughts, whatever theywere, seemed to amuse her vastly.
The moment the tramp of the horse's hoofs sounded on the gravel outside,she was alert and called to Melvina, stationed at the window:
"Is that Tony?"
"Yes, marm."
"Has he got Mr. Benton with him?"
"Yes, Miss Webster. An' there's somebody else, too."
"That's good. Show Mr. Benton right up here. You needn't wait. I'll callyou when I need you. Let the other man sit in the kitchen 'til we wanthim."
Whatever the mysterious business was, it took no great while, for beforean hour had passed Melvina, waiting in the hall outside the chamber door,heard a shrill summons.
"You can come in now, Melviny," Ellen said. "There's something here I wantyou should put your name to; an' you can fetch that man who's downstairs,an' Tony."
"All right."
When, however, a few seconds later Melvina, accompanied by the strangerand the wondering Portuguese boy, entered the patient's room, it was Mr.Benton who stepped into the foreground and who came obsequiously forward,pen in hand, to address the attendant.
"The paper which you are about to sign, Miss Grey," he began pompously,"is----" But Ellen cut short his peroration.
"It don't make no difference to Melviny what it is, Mr. Benton," she saidimpatiently. "All she's got to do is to watch me write my name, an' thenput hers down where you tell her, together with Tony an' the otherwitness. That will end it."
"But don't you think, Miss Webster, that in justice to Miss Grey, youshould inform her----"
"No, I don't," snapped Ellen. "Melviny don't care nothin' about myaffairs. I'll write my name. Then you can give her the pen an' let hersign. That's all she's got to do."
Although Mr. Benton was a man of heavy, impressive appearance, he was inreality a far less effectual person to combat opposition than he seemed,and sensing that in the present instance it was easier to yield than toargue, he allowed himself to be cowed into submission and meekly gave thepen to Melvina who with blind
faith inscribed her name on the crisp whitepaper in a small cramped hand. Caleb Saunders, the witness Mr. Benton hadbrought with him, next wrote his name, forming each letter with suchconscientiousness that Ellen could hardly wait until the painstaking andelaborate ceremonial was completed.
"Now let Tony sign," she ordered imperiously. "He needn't stop to wash hishands. A little dirt won't be no hindrance, an' I'm in a hurry to get thisthing out of the way so Mr. Benton can go back."
Yet notwithstanding Ellen's haste, for Tony to affix his name to thedocument in question proved to be little short of a life work. Six timeshe had to be instructed on which line to write; and when on the seventhadmonition his mind but vaguely grasped what was required of him, thelawyer took his stand at his elbow and with finger planted like aguidepost on the paper indicated beyond all chance of error where thesignature was to be placed. When, however, the pen was redipped andupraised for the final legal touch, again it faltered. This time the delaywas caused by uncertainties of spelling, which, it must be confessed, alsobaffled the combined intellects of the lawyer and the two women.Paponollari was not a name commonly encountered in New England. The threewrestled with it valiantly, but when a vote was taken, and it was set downin accordance with the ruling of the majority, it was disheartening todiscover that, when all was said and done, the Portuguese lad was not atall sure whether Tony was his Christian name or not.
"Good Lord!" ejaculated Ellen when, after more debating, the signature wasfinally inscribed, "I'm clean beat out. Why, I could have deeded away thewhole United States in the time it's taken this lout of a boy to scribblehis name. Is it any wonder that with only a stupid idiot like this forhelp, my garden's always behind other folks', an' my chores never done?"
Then to the bewildered, nerve-wracked alien she thundered:
"Don't blot it, you fool!--don't blot it! Can't you keep your fingers outof the wet ink? Heavens, Melviny, do get him out of here!"
Tony was only too ready to retire. The ordeal had strained his patienceand had left his brain feeling the stress of unaccustomed exercise.Therefore, allowing Melvina to drive him before her much as she would havedriven a docile Jersey from a cabbage patch, he made his way downstairs,followed by the perspiring lawyer.
It was not until both of them were safely on the road to the village, andthe house had assumed its customary calm that Lucy arrived, her hairtumbled by the wind and her eyes glowing like stars.
"I've got your berries, Aunt Ellen," she said, holding aloft a pail heapedwith fruit. "See what beauties they are! You shall have a royalshortcake."
Ellen's appreciation for some reason was, however, scanty and confused.She averted her glance from her niece's face, and even at noontime whenthe girl appeared bearing a marvelously baked and yet more marvelouslydecorated masterpiece of culinary art, she had not regained sufficientpoise to partake of the delicacy in any mood save that of furtive andguilty silence.
Lucy, ever sympathetic, ventured the fear that the invalid was over-tired,and after the meal drew the shades that her aunt might rest.
In the dim light Ellen seemed more at ease and presently fell into a deepslumber that lasted until midnight and was broken only by some phantasy ofher dreams which intermittently brought from her lips a series ofmuttered execrations and bitter, insinuating laughs.
Toward morning she roused herself and gave a feeble cry of pain. Instantlyalert, Melvina hastened to her bedside. But by the time a candle waslighted all human aid was vain. Ellen Webster was dead.