III
THE MOUSE
On the same September day, in Moreton and Payntor's department store inNew York, might have been seen a wisp of a girl "cheeking" a managerinto giving her a situation on the strength of her being Irish.
By chance, the side door of the big Sixth Avenue shop opened for CloRiley (her true, Irish, baptismal name was Clodagh, but she didn't thinkthat would "go" in New York), on the day when Roger Sands' stateroomdoor, on the Santa Fe Limited, opened for a very different girl and forRomance. No one would have thought that they could be in the samestory--the mysterious Vision and the little, sharp-faced thing fromCounty Cork. Yet without Clo Riley it would have been another storyaltogether, even though, for more than six months, she and Mr. and Mrs.Roger Sands never heard each other's names, nor saw each other's faces.
It was in the April after her marriage that Mrs. Sands came upon anadvertisement in a newspaper. Moreton and Payntor were making a splashabout their lately started department for antique furniture. They hadobtained "eight magnificent, unique pieces of satinwood furniturepainted by Angelica Kaufmann, bought by a representative of Moreton andPayntor, from a titled family in England."
Beverley Sands (her husband called her "Bev") loved painted satinwood,when it was good. How she knew that things were good or bad, Rogersometimes wondered: but she did know. Roger had taken a house at Newportwhich had come into the market, and Beverley was picking up "beautifulpieces" with which to furnish it. The house would, they hoped, be readyto move into by June.
When she read Moreton and Payntor's advertisement, Beverley decided tosee the satinwood suite and buy it if genuine. Her present wealthemphasized her astonishing, incredible happiness. "He gives meeverything I want, he trusts me to do everything I like," she thought.Life was wonderful. Slowly she was coming out from under the cloud offear, and had ceased to be afraid of Something terrible that mighthappen.
Roger went every morning to the offices of the firm which had his nameat its head. She had breakfasted with him in a kind of super-dressinggown which Roger said was like an opal seen through a sunrise mist. Asher maid hooked up her frock she sang for happiness. She wished shecould earn it by making someone else happy. Roger didn't count in thatway. The credit would be to do things for a person you didn't love.
"To the first creature I meet to-day, who needs help, I'll give it," shesaid to herself. "I'll do something big ... like sacrificing on analtar."
She went out in Roger's latest present, a limousine car, so silent andso swift that it travelled like a cloud-shadow. Outside the car was darkblue; inside, the pale azure of a robin's egg. Beverley told thechauffeur to drive to Moreton and Payntor's, avoiding traffic becauseshe was in a hurry. To do this, he approached the shop by passingthrough a side street in which was the entrance for employees, as wellas that leading to minor departments, and so connecting with the mainshop. It was comparatively a quiet street, but to-day there was a crowd.Something had happened, and only a moment ago, for a policeman was justcoming up. The chauffeur would have hurried by to spare Mrs. Sands whatmight be an unpleasant sight, but on one of her impulses she stoppedhim. The car windows were open. Beverley heard the words "Poor child"and "Ambulance." She opened the door and jumped out. Because she wasbeautiful and beautifully dressed, and had a fine car, people made wayfor her.
On the pavement a girl was lying. There was some blood, and that wouldhave made Beverley sick, if the face streaked red hadn't struck her asthe most tragic, the most pathetic face she had ever seen. It was soghastly white, so thin, and yet so young!
"What is it? What's happened?" she inquired of the innermost group.
"Chucked herself out of a fourth story window," a fat woman answered."Somebody was beastly to her, I guess."
"Is she dead?" Beverley asked.
"Not yet ... though she must be a bag o' broken bones. She'll die on theway to hospital, likely, in the ambulance, with nobody to care."
At that instant, as if she heard the terrible words, the girl's eyesopened. It seemed to Beverley that they looked straight at her.
Suddenly she remembered her own resolve. It had been almost a vow: "Tothe first creature I meet to-day who needs help I'll give it."
Here was the creature. If ever there were an appeal in human eyes, itwas in these. Perhaps it was an unconscious appeal. Perhaps the brainhad been stunned asleep, but the deep-down soul was awake. It wascalling to Beverley's soul, and the call had to be answered, or the vowwould be broken. Roger Sands' wife dared not break such a vow lest sheshould be punished and lose her magical happiness.
She hated the sight of blood. She wanted to think that, if the girl weredying, she could do no good. Yet, while reason argued, instinct hadalready decided that this was the claimant of the vow. Beverley kneltdown beside the curiously flat-looking body which lay on the pavement.Her dress dipped into a widening pool of blood, but she did not sickenas she had thought she would. And to her own surprise she found her handstroking back a lock of dark red hair from the upturned face. Poor,thin, child's face!
"Don't be afraid, you're going to be loved and cared for," she promised.
By this time a doctor had arrived. He, too, knelt by the sufferer. Hespoke to Beverley, thinking she had some acquaintance with the injuredgirl. The police had cleared away the sensation seekers, but the lovelylady of the blue automobile was left in peace. She seemed to be helpingthe doctor.
"Keep off, please, keep off," the policemen repeated. "The ambulance'llbe round any instant."
But the ambulance did not take its cue. This was strange, for theservice was splendidly prompt. A man ran up bringing news that there'dbeen a collision with a trolley. No one was hurt, but it meant a delaybefore another ambulance could be called and respond.
"Can't we take her away in my car?" asked Beverley. "Oh, why shouldn't Ihave her at my house? She's only a child, so thin and frail! Loving caremight save her. I'd have a trained nurse in. I'm Mrs. Roger Sands. Youmay know my husband's name."
The name of Roger Sands was impressive. So was Beverley, and so was thecar. The ambulance wasn't at hand, and time pressed. It seemed as if theoffer might be accepted. The doctor was the physician engaged to attendthe employees of Moreton and Payntor, and had authority in theneighbourhood. To test Mrs. Roger Sands' character he abruptly orderedher into the surgical department--"ground floor, close by the sidestreet entrance"--to "fetch out a stretcher and be quick." Beverleyresponded without hesitation, and in two minutes a startled boy appearedwith a canvas thing like a cot.
The doctor and one of the policemen got the childish body on to thiswhile Beverley darted to her waiting chauffeur. He--Robbins, an elderlyEnglishman--was furious, but short of giving notice then and there,could do nothing save obey. The folding chairs were pulled out: on onewas piled the car's best ornament, a large chinchilla rug, and some bluesilk cushions. These gave support for the foot of the stretcher, itshead resting on the seat; and the other folding chair was taken by thedoctor who, sitting there, could hold his patient safely in place. Mrs.Roger Sands scrambled up beside her chauffeur, and did not even noticethat the man's face was a thundercloud.
Robbins could have cried. His last situation in England had been with aduke. He would still have occupied it, had he not long passed the"smart" age. Roger Sands had thought him an excellent guardian forBeverley. Robbins didn't approve of America, but he had approved of hismistress. There had seemed to him something queenly about her which"reminded him of home," but to-day he was ashamed of her: to drivethrough the streets of New York sitting on the front seat beside him, asif she were a lady's maid! Worse than all, her dress, her gloves, werestained with blood. As for the inside of the new car, it would beruined. The man felt responsible, and believed that his master wouldconsider him so. Sitting beside Mrs. Sands, with the look of an inferiorRoman statue on his square face, the chauffeur resolved to see Mr. Sandsbefore the tale of this morning's work could be told by Sands' Americanchauffeur, who drove him to and from the office. The Englishman decidedto b
ribe the American to "lend his job" that afternoon. They couldarrange an excuse. Harter had a cold. But, as it happened, Roger Sandsread of the affair in a second edition of an evening paper while hewaited for his car.
To see Beverley's name in big letters gave him a shock. He becameconscious that somewhere within him had always been a horror of findinghis wife's name in a newspaper, heading "scarelines." His first feelingas he read on was of relief. Why, this was nothing!
Some reporter had worked up the incident into a romance, and his editor,appreciating Roger Sands' importance, had given it nearly a wholecolumn. On the surface it was a tribute to Mrs. Sands' goodness ofheart; but as Roger's rush of thankfulness passed, he began to see anunpleasant side of the business.
The reporter had interviewed various persons in the firm of Moreton andPayntor. He had learned that the girl befriended by Mrs. Roger Sands wasemployed in the restaurant for women "assistants." By certain of these,she had been suspected of small thefts. They had watched her, and it wasin the midst of a "scene" following an accusation, that the waitress hadsuddenly flung herself out of a fourth story window. She was an Irishgirl not long in New York. Her name was Clo Riley, and she had been inthe employ of Moreton and Payntor for nearly seven months. She had madeno friends, and was considered "Mysterious."
At the Park Avenue apartment of Mr. and Mrs. Roger Sands an interviewhad been refused; but the reporter had learned from a servant that, ifthe invalid were "a dear relative" of Mrs. Sands, she could not be morelovingly cared for. The largest and handsomest spare room had beenhastily prepared, a trained nurse engaged, and a famous surgeon had beencalled in consultation with the doctor who had undertaken the case.Following these details came a description of Mrs. Roger Sands, gleanedfrom an "eye witness" of the "sensational scene" enacted in the street.
The story developed strangely to Roger. He saw something behind it. Heknew things about Beverley which, he trusted, few others knew, and sawthe affair in another light.
Roger's marriage experiment was a success. He was glad that he had takenthe girl "as she stood." To have what she had called a "figure cut offits background out of an unseen picture," was better than to have lostforever a figure of such beauty. He believed that Beverley was as goodas she was sweet, but she had been right in her prophecy; it washideous, sometimes, to see her outlined against darkness.
The incident had happened close to Moreton and Payntor's departmentstore. Beverley had been in the habit of going there lately. She mighthave had a reason for choosing that shop. Indeed, it struck Roger asincredible that even her impulsiveness could lead her so far, for astranger's sake. Besides, why hadn't she telephoned? It looked as if shewere determined to carry out her scheme before he could oppose it.
In this mood he went to his automobile. He was surprised to see Robbins,but not sorry, because Robbins had been mixed up in the morning'saffair.
"What's this I've been reading in the _Evening Star_?" he broke in.
Here was luck for Robbins! He began to excuse himself for the disgracewhich had fallen upon the new car. "It was the mistress's order, sir,and I had no choice; but I can't help thinking if she'd known what amess the blood would make, she'd 'ave let me call a taxi."
"Another lining is easily put in," said Roger, coolly; but he was angryfor the first time with Beverley. Of all women, she was the one whoought to think twice before doing a thing to get herself talked about;but she never thought twice. As he drove homeward, doubts of her crowdedinto his mind.
At home, Beverley was in the room which had been turned into a hospitalward. The nurse had called her, to announce that the "patient" hadreturned to consciousness and had begun asking questions.
"I saw it would worry her to be put off," went on Sister Lake, "so Itold her a few things. She remembered throwing herself out of thewindow, and the fall, and then waking up, lying in the street. She saidshe'd dreamed of an angel-girl bending over her. When she heard whatyou'd done, she insisted on speaking to you."
"I'll go at once!" Beverley exclaimed.
"Just for a few minutes," the nurse hinted.
Beverley let herself be led in. The room looked strange to her. Theservants, directed by the doctor, and later by the trained nurse, hadswiftly, noiselessly made the changes before the girl came back toherself. The curtains had been taken down, and rugs cleared away fromthe parquet floor. Most of the furniture had disappeared, and on a glasstable were a number of bottles. The bed faced the door, and as Mrs.Sands softly entered a pair of eyes looked at her. Beverley's heartjumped as her eyes met them. She had not known how immense and dark theywere, or that they were beautiful.
The nurse drew Mrs. Sands near to the bed, and issued her orders beforethe girl could open her lips.
"Neither of you must talk much," she commanded. "Mrs. Sands has come tolet you see that she exists, and you can thank her if you like, but shemustn't stay many minutes."
"Sister Lake is right," said Beverley. "You mustn't excite yourself.You're going to get well; and this is your home."
"I'm not excited," the girl answered, in a low, monotonous voice, hardlyabove a whisper. "But I had to see you, and tell you this one thing. Ididn't want to live, because ... I was miserable, and everyone hated me;still, it seemed awful to die. You saved me. I wish to live now, if onlyto show you what gratitude can be. I expect you're awfully rich. I'mpoorer than any church mouse. It doesn't look as if I could do anythingfor one like you. But who knows? There was a mouse once helped a lion.It gnawed a hole in a net. I feel as if the time must come when I can doas much, because I want to so dreadfully. That's all!"
The Lion's Mouse Page 3
