Kitabı oku: «The Automobile Girls at Palm Beach: or, Proving Their Mettle Under Southern Skies», sayfa 8
CHAPTER XVI
WELCOME AND UNWELCOME GUESTS
The sun was just sinking when Mr. Stuart’s weary cavalcade stopped in front of a great iron gate. The gate was covered with rust and hung loose on its hinges. It opened into a splendid avenue of cypress trees. As far as the eye could see on each side of the road, ran overgrown hedges of the Rose of Sharon. The bushes were in full bloom and the masses of white blossoms gleamed in the gathering shadows like lines of new fallen snow.
“How beautiful!” exclaimed the four “Automobile Girls” in chorus.
Mr. Stuart looked anxiously up the lonely avenue as his party stumbled along the rough road and peered cautiously into the hedge first on one side then on the other. It would have been easy for an army to hide itself in the cover of the thicket, which hemmed them in on all sides in an impenetrable wall of green.
“I feel extremely uneasy, Robert,” declared Miss Sallie, her face pale under the stress of the day’s experiences.
Old Madame de Villiers smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “I have no fear for myself,” she said. “My husband is a soldier. I have followed him through two great wars. What comes must come. It is all in the day’s business. But the countess, she is different. She is in my charge; nothing must happen to her. I assure you, Mr. Stuart, it is of the utmost importance that the Countess Sophia be protected.”
Miss Sallie held her head very high. Madame de Villiers was their guest, so Miss Stuart would say nothing. But why should Madame de Villiers think the safety of the Countess Sophia of more importance than that of the four “Automobile Girls?” Miss Sarah Stuart had other ideas. She was equally determined that no harm should overtake any one of her charges.
The narrow avenue finally broadened into a lawn overgrown with flowers and vines. Back of it stood an old house that had once been a fine colonial mansion. The house seemed to frown on the intruders, who had come to destroy its sacred quiet.
“I should think anybody might be ‘teched’ in the head, who lived alone in a queer place like this,” whispered Ruth to Bab, as the two girls stood with their arms about each other, staring ahead of them.
“Will you see Miss Thorne first, Jim, and explain our plight to her?” Mr. Stuart asked the old colored man. “Or do you think it would be better to have me make matters clear?”
“I’ll do the ’splainin’, Massa,” returned old Jim. “My missis will allus listen to me. I done tole you she wasn’t jes’ like other folks.”
“Is your mistress insane, Jim?” inquired Miss Sallie anxiously.
“No-o, ma’am,” returned the old man. “Miss Thorne she ain’t crazy. She’s puffectly quiet, suh, and she’s all right on every subject ’cept one. I hates to tell you what that thing is.”
“Out with it, Jim. What is the lady’s peculiarity?”
“She imagines, suh, that her fambly is still with her, her own ma and pa, and young massa, and her sister Missy Lucy. Missy Rose ain’t never been married.”
“Where is her family, Jim?” Ruth asked.
“They lies yonder in the buryin’ ground, Missy,” replied the old darkey, pointing toward a clearing some distance from the house, where a few white stones gleamed in the twilight.
Miss Sallie shuddered. Grace and Mollie huddled close to her, while Ruth and Bab gave each other’s hands re-assuring pressures.
“Do you look after this Miss Thorne?” Mr. Stuart inquired further.
“Yes, suh; me and my wife Chloe looks after her. Chloe cooks and I works about the place when I’se not down to the beach with my boat. But my missus ain’t so poor. She’s got enough to git along with. I jest likes to earn a little extra.”
By this time Jim had climbed down from his shaky old wagon. He now opened the front door.
“Walk right in,” he said hospitably, making a low bow. “I’ll go find Miss Rose.”
Mr. Stuart’s party entered a wide hall that seemed shrouded in impenetrable gloom. On the walls hung rows of family portraits. The place was inexpressibly dismal. The “Automobile Girls” kept close to Mr. Stuart. In silence they waited for the appearance of the mistress of the house.
Two candles flickered in the dark hallway. Out of the gloom emerged an old lady, followed by her two servants, who were bearing the lights. She was small and very fragile. She wore a gray silk gown of an old fashioned cut. Her dress was ornamented with a bertha and cuffs of Duchess lace.
The old lady advanced and held out her small hand. “I am pleased to offer you shelter,” she declared to Mr. Stuart. “Jim has explained your predicament to me. We shall be only too happy to have you stay with us for the night.”
At the word “we,” the “Automobile Girls” exchanged frightened glances. Their hostess was alone. But that one word “we” explained the situation. Did she mean that all the ghosts of her past still waited in the house to welcome unexpected visitors?
“It has been many years since we have had guests in our home,” continued Miss Thorne. “But I think we have rooms enough to accommodate you.”
Chloe conducted Miss Sallie, Madame de Villiers, the Countess Sophia and the four “Automobile Girls” into a great parlor. The room was furnished with old fashioned elegance. Candles burned on the high mantel shelves. But the dim lights could not dispel the shadow of desolation that pervaded the great room.
A few minutes later Miss Thorne entered the room. “You must tell me your names,” she inquired sociably. “I wish to run upstairs and tell Mama about you. Poor Mama is an invalid or she would come down to see you.”
Then calling Chloe to her, she said in a loud whisper:
“Notify Miss Lucy and Master Tom at once. Papa can wait. He is busy in the library.”
An uncanny silence followed Miss Thorne’s speech. Every one of the seven women looked unhappy and Mr. Stuart tried vainly to conceal a sense of uneasiness. But Chloe quietly beckoned the party from the room.
“I’ll jes’ show the ladies upstairs,” she explained gently and her mistress made no objection.
Miss Sallie would on no account sleep alone in such a dismal house. She shared a large chamber with Ruth and Bab. The countess asked to spend the night with Mollie and Grace, and Madame de Villiers, who was afraid of nothing, had a room to herself. Mr. Stuart went up to the third floor.
“Let us talk and laugh and try to be cheerful, girls,” proposed the countess. “This poor old soul is quite harmless, I believe, and she seems very sad. Perhaps we may be able to cheer her a little.”
“All right, my lovely countess,” replied Mollie. “Ghosts or no ghosts, we will do our best. But don’t count on me for much merriment. I’m a dreadful coward.” Mollie looked over her shoulder with a shudder.
The countess and Grace laughed, but quickly their laugh died.
The sound of weird music floated up through the dark hall. Their hostess, Miss Thorne, was playing the tall harp that stood in the parlor.
“Goodness!” cried Miss Sallie, “what will that poor soul do next? I should not be in the least surprised if the entire departed family were given places at supper to-night.” Which was exactly what happened. Four empty chairs were left at the table.
“Miss Thorne,” said Mr. Stuart, when they were all seated, “could you not be persuaded to visit the outer world? It would give my sister and me much pleasure if you would spend a few days with us at Palm Beach.”
A spark of pleasure lit up the hostess’s faded eyes for an instant. Then she shook her head sadly.
“You are most kind, sir, but I am much needed at home. Lucy, my sister, is quite delicate, you see. And Mama is an invalid.”
Miss Sallie touched her brother’s foot under the table, as a signal to keep away from dangerous topics. But what topic was not dangerous?
“How charmingly you play the harp, Miss Thorne,” ventured the countess, when they had somewhat recovered themselves.
“Ah,” exclaimed the poor woman, smiling archly, “you must praise the right person, my dear. It was my sister Lucy who was playing.”
Miss Sallie dropped her fork with a loud clatter, while Mollie slipped her hand into the countess’s and the other three girls linked their feet under the table, girl fashion.
Jim, who, in an old black coat, was waiting on the table, smiled grimly and mumbled to himself.
“But, young ladies,” cried Miss Thorne, “you are not eating.”
As a matter of fact the supper was delicious; biscuits as light as snow flakes, broiled sea trout, potatoes roasted in their jackets and preserves in delicate cut glass bowls. But who could enjoy a banquet under such conditions? The two candles seemed to accentuate the blackness of the shadows which gathered at the edges of the room. The guests tried to laugh and talk, but gradually gloomy silence settled upon them. Miss Thorne appeared to have forgotten where she was and Mr. Stuart observing the uneasiness of the whole party remarked that as they had had a long day it would be well to retire early.
As they were about to rise from the table a sudden exclamation from the countess who sat at the lower end of the table caused all eyes to turn toward her in startled inquiry. She was staring at the open window in fascinated terror, unable for the moment to do anything save point to the opening which was swathed in shadows.
“A horrible old man!” she at last managed to articulate. “I saw him looking in at us!”
“What old man?” demanded Mr. Stuart.
“He was white haired and looked like a great ape,” she gasped.
“Why that’s the man whom I drove out of your room the other night, Countess,” exclaimed Bab. “What can his object be in following you?”
“Come, my man,” commanded Mr. Stuart, turning to the engineer who sat beside him, “and you too, Jim, we’ll search the grounds. I believe that this formidable old man can tell us something about the wrecking of the engine. Let’s get after him at once!”
Old Jim lost no time in procuring lanterns, and a thorough search of the grounds was made. The women meantime remained in the dining room, but now that the first effects of their fright had worn off, they prepared to give their fearsome intruder a warm reception should he again show himself. Madame de Villiers moved her chair to one side of the open window, her heavy cane in both hands, ready for instant use. While Barbara took up her station at the other side grasping firmly the heavy silver teapot that had been in the Thorne family for generations. Ruth guarded the door at one end, brandishing ferociously a heavy carving knife she had appropriated from a set on the old fashioned side-board, while Mollie, bravely, held the fort, at the other door with the fork. The countess half laughing, half shuddering, clung to a heavy cut glass water bottle, while Miss Sallie had prepared to meet the enemy with a huge bottle of cayenne pepper, which she had taken from the old-fashioned silver castor.
“There is nothing like being prepared,” said Ruth with a hysterical laugh, after ten minutes had passed, and the enemy had not shown himself. “I’m going to get a chair and be comfortable.” Mollie followed suit, and the watchers sat valiantly alert, as the minutes dragged by.
Miss Thorne chattered voluably to and about her family, paying very little attention to her strangely-behaved guests, while Chloe, the old servant, huddled in one corner, her eyes rolling with fright at every sound she heard.
At last the welcome sound of men’s voices was heard and Mr. Stuart, followed by the engineer and old Jim, entered at Mollie’s door.
“What kind of desperado organization is this?” he exclaimed, laughing in spite of himself at the ludicrous appearance this feminine vigilant committee made.
“It’s war to the knife,” cried Ruth.
“And the fork, too, I should say,” laughed her father, “also the teapot, and – what on earth are you cherishing so fondly, Sallie?”
“Cayenne pepper,” responded Miss Sallie, “and I consider myself well armed, at that.”
“I should rather think so,” agreed her brother. “However you are all safe in laying down your arms, for we have searched diligently, and can find no trace of the intruder. He evidently heard the countess and made a quick get away. You must pardon us, Madam, for stirring up your quiet home in this manner,” he said, bowing to Miss Thorne. “I trust we shall meet with no further disagreeable adventures.”
“You have not disturbed either Lucy or me in the least,” declared the demented old woman graciously. “As for Papa and Mama they dearly love to have visitors.” She smiled sweetly and at once began a one-sided conversation with her departed parents.
“Do take us away from her,” whispered Ruth to her father. “She has been addressing the shades of her family ever since you left us, and it’s getting on our nerves.”
“With your kind permission, Miss Thorne, we shall retire,” said Mr. Stuart, and the seven tired women gladly followed him through the shadowy hall and up the wide stairs, to their respective sleeping rooms.
CHAPTER XVII
THE MIDNIGHT INTRUDER
Once in their rooms the drooping spirits of the picnickers revived, somewhat. It was a fine night, the air warm and fragrant. The windows of the sleeping rooms were wide open and the moonlight streamed across the floor, filling the whole place with its soft radiance.
“Oh look!” cried Grace, going over to the open window. “What a darling balcony! I believe the other rooms all open out on it too. Good-bye,” she called to Mollie and the countess, as she stepped nimbly over the sill. “I’m going to make a call.”
Grace had hardly disappeared, before the countess went quickly to the door, closed it, then came back to Mollie, her finger on her lip. Drawing Mollie over to one corner of the room, where they could not be observed from the outside, the countess whispered. “Mademoiselle Mollie, I believe you love me and trust me, even more than do your friends, and because of this I am going to ask you to do me a very great favor.”
Mollie’s blue eyes looked lovingly up into the dark eyes of the countess. So fervent was her feeling of adoration for this fascinating stranger that she was prepared to grant any favor that lay within her power. “I should dearly love to help you in any way I can,” she said earnestly. “You make me very, very happy.”
The countess kissed her.
“Dear child,” she continued, “the thing I am going to ask seems simple enough, but some day you will understand how much it means to me. Wait a moment,” she added almost under her breath. “There is some one whom I hold in such dread that, even in this desolate and far-away place, he or his confederate might be listening.”
She looked about her cautiously, then went to the window and anxiously scanned the balcony. It was quite empty. Her eyes searched the long avenue leading to the grove that looked like a huge black spot in the moonlight. Then she returned to Mollie and said softly, “I am not afraid of ghosts, and neither are you, Mollie, I am sure, because there are no such things; but this place fills me with foreboding. It is so lonesome, so utterly dismal. What was that? I thought I heard a noise below. Did you hear anything?”
“Perhaps it was Jim closing up for the night,” replied Mollie, pressing close to the countess for comfort. “But what was the favor? I will do anything for you.”
“This is it,” answered the countess, her voice again dropping to a whisper. “Will you, for a few days, carry a paper for me? It is a very dangerous paper, dangerous, that is, because some one else wishes it, but it is a very valuable one to me because I may need it, and if you will keep it safely hidden until I do need it, you will not only be doing me a service but Mademoiselle Warren also.”
Mollie looked puzzled. The countess’s words were shrouded in mystery.
“Does it concern the Count de Sonde, too?” she asked breathlessly.
“Yes,” replied the countess; “it concerns him very intimately. Will you do this for me, little Mollie? I know now that the paper is not safe either in my house or on me. It would be quite safe with you, however. Even my enemy would never think of that, and, if anything should happen to me, you may produce the paper at once. Give it to Mr. Stuart. He will know what should be done.”
The countess took from her dress a square, flat chamois bag which fastened with a clasp and evidently contained a document of some sort.
“Fasten it into your dress with this pin,” she said, “and keep the pin as a memento of our friendship.”
And the pin, as Mollie saw later, was no ordinary affair, but a broad gold band on which was a beautifully enameled coat of arms.
“Is this another secret session?” cried Ruth’s voice gayly from the window.
The two conspirators started nervously.
“Come into our room,” Ruth continued. “Papa has sent up the luncheon hamper. There are still some sandwiches and fruit left; likewise a box of candy. We were too frightened to have appetites at supper, but I think a little food, now, will cheer us mightily.”
“This looks quite like a boarding-school spread,” exclaimed Miss Sallie as they gathered around the feast. “But it is really a good idea. I feel that this little midnight luncheon might help me keep up my courage until I get to sleep.”
“What a jolly little feast,” cried the Countess Sophia. “I am quite beginning to take heart again after that fearful ordeal below. I had a feeling all the time that the chairs were not really empty.”
“Goodness me!” cried Grace, “do change the subject, or we shall be afraid to go to bed at all.”
“And I move that we take to our couches at once,” said Ruth, “while we have the courage to do so. Madame de Villiers, are you not afraid to sleep alone?”
“Not in the least, my dear. I am not afraid of the most courageous ghost that ever walked. I believe I will retire at once. I am very tired.”
Taking one of the candles which stood in a row on the mantel, making a cheerful illumination, the stately old woman bade them good night, and the tapping of her stick resounded through the empty hall.
Soon after Grace, Mollie and the countess stepped through the window, and down the balcony to their room.
“You’d better close your shutters,” called Grace over her shoulder. “We’re going to.”
“And lose all this glorious moonlight?” asked Ruth. “Never. This balcony is too high from the ground for any one to climb up, easily, and besides, old Jim is going to be on guard to-night. Aunt Sallie thinks we had better try to make ourselves comfortable without doing much undressing. Even if we don’t sleep very well to-night, we can make up for it when we get back to the hotel.” With these words Ruth blew out the candles and five minutes later, their shoes and outer clothing removed, she and Barbara and Miss Sallie were fast asleep.
Grace and Mollie, however, struggled vainly with the heavy wooden shutters, but try as they might they could not succeed in closing them tightly. After some subdued laughter and many exclamations they abandoned their task in disgust, and blowing out their candles prepared themselves for sleep.
At midnight Ruth awoke with a start. She had a distinct sensation that some one had been looking into her face. But the room was still flooded with moonlight, and she could see plainly that, except for her sleeping companions, no one was there. She turned over and closed her eyes again, but the sudden waking had driven sleep away.
Was that a noise?
Ruth held her breath and listened. There was not a sound except the regular breathing of Miss Sallie.
Ruth lay with every nerve strained to catch the lightest footfall. In a moment it came again, very faint but still distinct. Something – some one – moved somewhere.
She sat up in bed and touched Barbara lightly on the cheek.
Barbara opened her eyes slowly then sat up. Ruth pointed to the next room. The two girls listened intently. Again there was the sound, a soft, a very soft footfall on a creaking board.
Cautiously the two girls climbed from the bed and crept over to the door between the two rooms. On a small bed at the far side of the room lay the countess, sleeping soundly. Grace and Mollie also were fast asleep in the other bed. Suddenly Ruth gripped Bab’s arm. The eyes of both girls were riveted on the old fashioned dressing table in one corner of the room. Before it stood the same terrible old man that Bab had seen at the villa. He was examining minutely every thing on the dresser. Next he turned his attention to the girls’ walking suits which hung over the backs of the chairs. He searched the pockets of the coats, the linings, and even the hems of the skirts.
“He is certainly looking for a paper,” Barbara thought, as she watched him make his systematic search, “and he certainly has something to do with the countess’s affairs.”
Barbara’s mind reverted to the group she had seen on the hotel veranda, the night before. What was the explanation of it all? Was the countess really an impostor and why, when she evidently feared Monsieur Duval and ignored Mrs. De Lancey Smythe, did she hold interviews late at night with them? She had distinctly refused the “Automobile Girls’” invitations to the hotel, yet she had not refused to meet others there. And what part could this ferocious looking old man possibly have in the drama?
All this passed rapidly through Bab’s mind as with her hand clasped tightly in Ruth’s the two girls watched the intruder with bated breath. To Bab there was something strangely familiar about him, his movements suggested some one she had seen before, yet she could find no place in her memory for him.
Failing to find what he desired, the old man again turned toward the countess a look of indescribable menace on his face. He took a step toward her then – a sudden burst of weird music floated up from the gloomy drawing room. With a smothered exclamation the intruder whirled and making for the window swung himself over the ledge. Ruth clutched Barbara for support. She was trembling with fear.
“Don’t be frightened, dear,” soothed Bab bravely. “That isn’t ghost music. It’s only Miss Thorne playing the harp. It’s an unearthly hour for music, but she couldn’t have begun to play at a more opportune moment, either. I believe that frightful old man thought it was ghost music. Just listen to it. It’s enough to give any one the creeps.”
The demented old woman played on in a wailing minor key, and presently footsteps were heard coming down the hall. By this time Mollie, Grace and the countess were wide awake and seeing Bab and Ruth in their room demanded to know what had happened. A moment later Madame de Villiers and Miss Sallie, both fully dressed, entered the room.
“No more sleep for me to-night,” announced Miss Stuart firmly. “I feel that the sooner morning comes and we get out of this house the better pleased I shall be.”
At that instant a melancholy strain like the wail of a lost soul rose from down stairs. Then all was silent.
“I begin to believe it is the departed spirit of her sister Lucy that executed that last passage,” shuddered the countess. “Come, my dears let us finish dressing. It will soon be morning and then surely some way will be provided for us to go back to Palm Beach.”
“Shall we tell her?” whispered Ruth to Bab.
“We’d better,” nodded Bab. “Then she will be constantly on her guard.”
“Listen, everyone,” commanded Ruth. “We are going to tell you something but you mustn’t feel frightened. We think the countess should know it at once. You tell them about it, Bab.”
Bab obediently began a recital of what had transpired after she and Ruth had been so suddenly wakened. The others listened in consternation to her story. The countess who turned very pale while Bab was speaking, looked appealingly at Madame de Villiers. The stern old woman was apparently much agitated. “He shall not harm the Countess Sophia,” she muttered, forgetful of those about her. “I will protect her even from him.”
“Aunt Sallie, shall I call Father?” asked Ruth a few moments later. The seven women were seated about the room in silent dejection.
“No, Ruth,” responded her aunt. “We will not waken him. A man that can sleep through a concert such as we were favored with deserves to be left in peace. It is after four o’clock now. I think we’ll let him sleep until six, at least. Then after breakfast, perhaps, he will be able to devise some means by which we may return to the hotel.”
It was a very tired and sleepy band of picnickers that gathered around the Thorne breakfast table that morning, and breakfast was not over when the honk of an automobile horn was heard and a large touring car rolled up the avenue.
“Hurrah!” shouted Ruth. “It’s Mr. Warren. Oh, but I’m glad to see him.”
It was indeed Mr. Warren, who, when the party did not return that night, had taken the fastest launch he could find and made for the picnic ground. He had discovered the note, as Mr. Stuart had hoped, had returned to the hotel where the history of Thorne house and its mistress was not unknown and had come for them himself after a few hours sleep.
“I should be happy and honored if you would all come again,” said Miss Thorne as she waved adieu to her guests from the front piazza, while Jim and Chloe bobbed and bowed and chuckled over the generous present they had each received from Mr. Stuart.
As the automobile rolled down the avenue they caught a last glimpse of the mistress of Thorne House still waving her handkerchief, and in every heart was a feeling of tender sympathy for the little old woman whose present was so irrevocably linked to the past.
