Afternoon Tea Mysteries, Volume Two: A Collection of Cozy Mysteries (Four thrilling novels in one volume!)

by Marion Bryce

  “I fear it would scarcely seem consistent in me now to say ‘no,’” returned the radiant girl, with a laughing glance towards the same gentleman.

  But when they were alone, the gentleman having departed on some of the innumerable errands with which ladies seem to delight in afflicting their attendant cavaliers at balls or receptions, she atoned for that glance by remarking,

  “I do not find the average partner that falls to one’s lot in such receptions all that fancy paints.” And then finding she had repeated a phrase of Mr. Ensign’s, blushed, though no one stood near her but Cicely.

  “Fancy’s brush would need to be dipped in but two colors to present to our eye the mass of them,” was Cicely’s laughing reply. “A streak of black for the coat, and a daub of white for the shirt front. Voilà tout.”

  “With perhaps a dash of red in some cases,” murmured a voice over their shoulders.

  They turned with hurried blushes. “Ah, Mr. Ensign,” quoth Cicely in unabashed gaiety, “we reserve red for the exceptions. We did not intend to include our acknowledged friends in our somewhat sweeping assertion.”

  “Ah, I see, the black streak and the white daub are a symbol of, ‘Er—Miss Stuyvesant—very warm this evening! Have an ice, do. I always have an ice after dancing; so refreshing, you know.’”

  The manner in which he imitated the usual languid drawl of certain of the young scapegraces heretofore mentioned, was irresistible. Paula forgot her confusion in her mirth.

  “You are blessed with a capacity for playing both rôles, I perceive,” cried Cicely with unusual abandon. “Well, it is convenient, there is nothing like scope.”

  “Unless it is hope,” whispered Mr. Ensign so low that only Paula could hear.

  “But I warn you,” continued Cicely, with a sweet soft laugh that seemed to carry her heart far out into the passing throng, “that we have no fondness for the model beau of the period. A dish of milk makes a very good supper but it looks decidedly pale on the dinner table.”

  “Yes,” said Paula, eying the various young men that filed up and down before them, some pale, some dark, some handsome, some plain, but all smiling and dapper, if not debonair, “some men could be endured if only they were not men.”

  Mr. Ensign gave her a quick look, and while he laughed at the paradox, straightened himself like one who could be a man if the occasion called. She saw the action and blushed.

  But their conversation was soon interrupted. Mr. Sylvester was seen returning from the supper-room, looking decidedly anxious, and while Paula was ignorant of what had transpired to annoy him, her ready spirit caught the alarm, and she was about to rush up to him and address him, when one of the waiters approached, and murmuring a few words she did not hear, handed him a card upon which she descried nothing but a simple circle. Instantly a change crossed his already agitated countenance, and advancing to the ladies with a word or two that while seemingly cheerful, struck Paula as somewhat forced, excused himself with the information that a business friend had been so inconsiderate as to importune him for an interview in the hall. And with just a nod towards Mr. Ensign, who had drawn back at his advance, left them and disappeared in the crowd about the door.

  “I do not like these interruptions from business friends in a time of pleasure,” cried Paula, looking after him with anxious eyes. “Did you notice how agitated he seemed, Cicely? And half an hour ago he was the picture of calm enjoyment.”

  “Business is beyond our comprehension, Paula,” returned her friend evasively. “It is something like a neuralgic twinge, it takes a man when he least expects it. Have you told Mr. Ensign of our adventure?”

  “No, but I informed Mr. Sylvester, and he said such good, true words to me, Cicely. I can never forget them.”

  “And I told papa; but he only frowned and made some observation about the degeneracy of the times, and the number of scamps thrown to the top by the modern methods of acquiring instantaneous fortunes.”

  “Your papa is sometimes hard, is he not, Cicely?”

  With a flush Miss Stuyvesant allowed her eye to rest for a moment on the crowd shifting before her. “He was dug from a quarry of granite, Paula. He is both hard and substantial; capable of being hewn but not of being moulded. Of such stuff are formed monuments of enduring beauty and solidity. You must do papa justice.”

  “I do, but I sometimes have a feeling as if the granite column would fall and crash me, Cicely.”

  “You, Paula?”

  Before she could again reply, Mr. Sylvester returned. His face was still pale, but it had acquired an expression of rigidity even more alarming to Paula than its previous aspect of forced merriment. Lifting her by the hand, he drew her apart.

  “I shall have to leave you somewhat abruptly,” said he. “An important matter demands my instant attention. Bertram is somewhere here, and will see that you and Ona arrive home in safety. You won’t allow your enjoyment to be clouded by my hasty departure, will you?”

  “Not if it will make you anxious. But I would rather go home with you now. I am sure Cousin Ona would be willing.”

  “But I am not going home at present,” said he; and she ventured upon no further remonstrance.

  But her enjoyment was clouded; the sight of suffering or anxiety on that face was more than she could bear; and ere long she said good-night to Cicely, and accepting the arm of Mr. Ensign, who was never very far from her side, proceeded to search for her cousin.

  She found her standing in the midst of an admiring throng to whom her diamonds, if not her smiles, were all object of undoubted interest. She was in the full tide of one of her longest and most widely rambling speeches, and to Paula, with that stir of anxiety at her breast, was an image of self-satisfied complacency from which she was fain to drop her eyes.

  “Mrs. Sylvester shares the honors with her husband,” remarked Mr. Ensign as they drew near.

  “But not the trials, or the pain, or the care?” was Paula’s inward comment.

  Mrs. Sylvester was not easily wooed away from a circle in which she found herself creating such an impression, but at length she yielded to Paula’s importunities, and consented to accept young Mr. Sylvester’s attendance to their home. The next thing was to find Bertram. Mr. Ensign engaged to do this. Leaving Paula with her cousin, who may or may not have been pleased at this sudden addition to her circle, he sought for the young man who as Mr. Mandeville was not unknown to any of the fashionable men and women of the day. It was no easy task, nor did he find him readily, but at last he came upon him leaning out of a window and gazing at a white lily which he held in his hand. Without preamble, Mr. Ensign made known his errand, and Bertram at once prepared to accompany him back to the ladies.

  “By Jove! I didn’t know the fellow was so handsome!” thought the former, and frowned he hardly knew why. Bertram was not handsome, but then Clarence Ensign was plain, which Bertram certainly was not.

  It was to Mr. Ensign’s face however that Paula’s eyes turned as the two came up, and he with the ready vivacity of his natural temperament observed it, and took courage.

  “I shall soon wish to measure that loop-hole of which I have spoken,” said he.

  And the soft look in her large dark eye as she responded, “It is always open to friends,” filled up the measure of his cup of happiness; a cup which unlike hers, had not been darkened that day by the falling of earth’s most dismal shadows.

  XVIII. IN THE NIGHT WATCHES.

  “Shall I not take mine ease in mine Inn?”

  —HEN. IV.

  “What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight?”

  —HEN. IV.

  “It has been the most delightful evening I have ever passed,” said Mrs. Sylvester, as she threw aside her rich white mantle in her ample boudoir. “Sarah, two loops on that dolman to-morrow; do you hear? I thought my arms would freeze. Such an elegant gentleman as the Count de Frassac is! He absolutely went wild over you, Paula, but not understanding a word of English—O there, if that horrid little w
retch didn’t drop his spoon on my dress after all! He swore it never touched a thread of it, but just look at that spot, right in the middle of a pleating too. Paula, your opinion in regard to the lavender was correct. I heard Mrs. Forsyth Jones whisper behind my back that lavender always made blondes look fade. Of course I needed no further evidence to convince me that I had entirely succeeded in eclipsing her pale-faced daughter. Her daughter!” and the lazy gurgle echoed softly through the room, “As if every white-haired girl in the city considered herself entitled to be called a blonde!” She stopped to listen, examining herself in the glass near by. “I thought I heard Edward. It was very provoking in him to leave us in the cavalier manner in which he did. I was just going to introduce him to the count, not that he would have esteemed it much of an honor, Edward I mean, but when one has a good-looking husband—Sarah, that curtain over there hangs crooked, pull it straight this instant. Did you try the oysters, Paula? They were perfection, I shall have to dismiss Lorenzo without ceremony and procure me a cook that can make an oyster fricassee. By the way did you notice—” and so on and on for five minutes additional. Presently she burst forth with—“I do believe I know what it is to be thoroughly satisfied at last. The consideration which one receives as the wife of the president of the Madison bank is certainly very gratifying. If I had known I would feel such a change in the social atmosphere, I would have advocated Edward’s dropping speculation long ago. Beauty and wealth may help one up the social ladder, but only a settled position such as he has now obtained, can carry you safely over the top. I feel at last as if we had reached the pinnacle of my ambition and had seen the ladder by which we mounted thrown down behind us. If I get my costume from Worth in time, I shall give a German next month.”

  Paula from her stand at the door—for some minutes she had been endeavoring to escape to her room—surveyed her cousin in wonder. She had never seen her look as she did at that moment. Any one who speaks from the heart, acquires a certain eloquence, and Ona for once was speaking from her heart. The unwonted emotion made her cheeks burn, and even her diamonds, ten thousand dollars worth as we have heard declared, were less brilliant than her eyes, Paula left her station on the door—sill and glided rapidly back to her side. “O Ona,” said she, “if you would only look like that when—” she paused, what right had she to venture upon giving lessons to her benefactor.

  “When what?” inquired the other, subsiding at once into her naturally languid manner. Then with a total forgetfulness of the momentary curiosity that had prompted the question, held out her head to the attendant Sarah, with a command to be relieved of her ornaments. Paula sighed and hastened to her room. She could not bring herself to mention her anxiety in regard to the still absent master of the house, to this lazily-smiling thoroughly satisfied woman.

  Put none the less did she herself sit up in the moonlight, listening with bended head for the sound of his step on the walk beneath. She could not sleep while he was absent; and yet the thoughts that disturbed her and kept her from her virgin pillow could not have been entirely for him, or why those wandering smiles that ever and anon passed flitting over her cheek, awakening the dimples that slumbered there, until she looked more like a dreamy picture of delight than a wakeful vision of apprehension. Not entirely for him—yet when somewhere towards three o’clock, she heard the long delayed step upon the stoop, she started up with eager eyes and a nervous gesture that sufficiently betrayed how intense was her interest in her benefactor’s welfare and happiness. “If he goes to Ona’s room it is all right,” thought she; “but if he keeps on upstairs, I shall know that something is wrong and that he needs a comforter.”

  He did not stop at Ona’s room; and struck with alarm, Paula opened wide her door and was about to step out to meet him, when she caught a sight of his face, and started back. Here was no anxiety, that she could palliate! The very fact that he did not observe her slight form standing before him in the brilliant moonlight, proved that a woman’s look or touch was not what he was in search of; and shrinking sensitively to one side, she sat down on the edge of her dainty bed, dropping her cheek into her hand with a weary troubled gesture from which all the delight had fled and only the apprehension remained. Suddenly she started alertly up; he was coming down again, this time with a gliding muffled tread. Sliding past her door, he descended to the floor below. She could hear the one weak stair in the heavy stair-case creak, and— “What! he has passed Ona’s room, passed the bronze figure of Luxury on the platform beneath, is on his way to the front door, has opened it, shut it softly behind him and gone out again into the blank midnight streets. What did it mean? For a moment she thought she would run down and awaken Ona, but an involuntary remembrance of how those lazy eyes would open, stare peevishly and then shut again, stopped her on the threshold of her door; and sitting down again upon the side of her bed, she waited, this time with opened eyes eagerly staring before her, and quivering form that started at each and every sound that disturbed the silence of the great echoing house. At six o’clock she again rose; he had just re-entered and this time he stopped at Ona’s. room.

  XIX. A DAY AT THE BANK.

  “There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,

  Rough-hew them how we will.”

  —HAMLET.

  There are days when the whole world seems to smile upon one without stint or reservation. Bertram Sylvester wending his way to the bank on the morning following the reception, was a cheerful sight to behold. Youth, health, hope spake in every lineament of his face and brightened every glance of his wide-awake eye. His new life was pleasant to him. Bach, Beethoven and Chopin were scarcely regretted now by the ambitious assistant cashier of the Madison Bank, with a friend in each of its directors and a something more than that in the popular president himself. Besides he had developed a talent for the business and was in the confidence of the cashier, a somewhat sickly man who more than once had found himself compelled to rely upon the rapidly maturing judgment of his young associate, in matters oftentimes of the utmost importance. The manner in which Bertram found himself able to respond to these various calls, convinced him that he had been correct in his opinion of his own nature, when he informed his uncle that music was his pleasure rather than his necessity.

  Entering the building by way of Pearl Street, he was about to open the door leading into the bank proper, when he heard a little piping voice at his side, and turning, confronted the janitor’s baby daughter. She was a sweet and interesting child, and with his usual good nature Bertram at once stopped to give her a kiss.

  “I likes you,” prattled she as he put her down again after lifting her up high over his head, “but I likes de oder one best.”

  “I hope the other one duly appreciates your preference,” laughed he, and was again on the point of entering the bank when he felt or thought he felt a hand laid on his arm. It was the janitor himself this time, a worthy man, greatly trusted in the bank, but possessed of such an extraordinary peculiarity in the way of a pair of protruding eyes, that his appearance was always attended by a shock.

  “Well, Hopgood, what is it?” cried Bertram, in his cheery tone.

  The janitor drew back and mercifully shifted his gaze from the young man’s face. “Nothing sir; did I stop you? Beg pardon,” he continued, half stammering, “I’m dreadful awkward sometimes.” And with a nod he sidled off towards his little one whom he confusedly took up in his arms.

  Now Bertram was sure the man had touched him and that, too, with a very eager hand, but being late that morning and consequently in somewhat of a hurry, he did not stop to pursue the matter. Hastening into the Bank, he assisted the teller in opening the safe, that being his especial duty, and was taking out such papers as he himself required, when he was surprised to catch another sight of those same extraordinary organs of which I have just spoken, peering upon him from the door by which he had previously entered. They vanished as soon as he encountered them, but more than once during the morning he perceived them looking upon him from
various quarters of the bank, till he felt himself growing seriously annoyed, and sending for the man, asked him what he meant by this unusual surveillance. The janitor seemed troubled, flushed painfully and fixed his eyes in manifest anxiety on the cashier who, engaged in some search of his own, was just handling over the tin boxes that lined the vault before them. Not till he had seen him shove them back into their place and leave the spot, did he venture upon his reply. “I’m sure, sir, I’m very sorry if I have annoyed you, but do you think Mr. Sylvester will be down at the usual hour?”

  “I know of no reason why he should not,” returned Bertram.

  “I have something to say to him when he comes in,” stammered the man, evidently taken aback by Bertram’s look of surprise. “Will you be kind enough to ring the bell the first moment he seems to be at leisure? I don’t know as it is a matter of any importance but—” He stopped, evidently putting a curb upon himself. “Can I rely on you, sir?”

  “Yes, certainly, I will tell my uncle when he comes in that you want to speak to him. He will doubtless send for you at once.”

  The man looked embarrassed. “Excuse me, sir, but that’s just what I’d rather you wouldn’t do. Mr. Sylvester is always very busy and he might think I wished to annoy him about some matters of my own, sir, as indeed I have not been above doing at odd times. If you would ring when he comes in, that is all I ask.”

  Bertram thought this a strange request, but seeing the man so anxious, gave the required promise, and the janitor hurried off. “Curious!” muttered Bertram. “Can anything be wrong?” And he glanced about him with some curiosity as he went to his desk. But every one was at his post as usual and the countenances of all were equally undisturbed.

  It was a busy morning and in the rash of various matters Bertram forgot the entire occurrence. But it was presently recalled to him by hearing some one remark, “Mr. Sylvester is late to-day,” and looking up from some papers he was considering, he found it was a full hour after the time at which his uncle was in the habit of appearing. Just then he caught still another sight of the protruding eyes of Hopgood staring in upon him from the half-opened door at the end of the bank.