Loretta Mason Potts

by Mary Chase

  “A dreary creature,” Colin said.

  Mother was so surprised she stopped. Her arm that was about to shake Kathy hung in mid air. But there he was sitting quite calmly whittling with his knife on a stick.

  Mother sighed and shook Kathy.

  “Kathy, why did you take my ermine coat?”

  “Because it was white,” she said, “and white is so me.”

  “What,” Mother gasped—“what did you say?”

  “Oh, Mother,” Kathy’s voice was patient. “She saw it right away.”

  “She?” Mother looked so puzzled. “And who—who is she?”

  Kathy put an elegant hand to her hair.

  “Don’t be dull, Mother. When you are dull, you bore me.”

  “Answer me.” Mother was shaking her harder now. “Who is—she?”

  “She,” began Kathy, beginning to cry. “She—”

  “Kathy,” cried Colin, jumping up from his chair. “Kathy—shhh!”

  And so Kathy stood there, saying nothing.

  Finally Mother went over to Loretta. “Loretta, dear, why didn’t you tell me you hadn’t taken my coat?”

  “I don’t know,” Loretta answered, and she didn’t. But she had something else to say. She pointed at Kathy. “Does she get to have an ermine coat and Irene Irene Lavene, too?”

  “Go to bed, all of you!” cried Mother as she picked up her beautiful white ermine coat, now ripped and stained with plum juice and peanut butter.

  She wept over the coat for a few minutes, and then she lifted her head and began to worry.

  What had come over Kathy? She had never done anything like this before—ever. And yes, there was that sly, secret look in her eyes when she said, “she,” that Colin had in his eyes the day the policemen had found him in the Jaguar. Was it catching like the measles? Had Loretta brought it home with her?

  And who was “she?”

  Mother decided then and there that she would find out who “she” was. She would watch them carefully. She would follow them!

  11. A WONDERFUL BASEMENT

  If Colin had known that this was the last time he would ever go to a party in the castle across the bridge, he might have looked at everything more carefully, the way one does when doing anything for the last time.

  But he was uneasy today for two reasons. First, it had not been easy to slip away from Mother. She had been watching him so carefully!

  Every time he left the house even to go to school or the store she followed him; driving slowly in her car or walking half a block behind and stepping quickly behind a bush or into a doorway when he turned to look back. She had been acting like a “private eye” in a detective story on TV.

  This afternoon, for instance, he had had to pretend he was going up the street to play with George Swenson. He’d watched her slip out the back way and get into her car before he could get the others and run quickly upstairs into Loretta’s clothes closet.

  He was uneasy in the second place today as he watched Kathy run ahead of them over the bridge because he had Sharon by one hand and Jerry by the other. He was never supposed to take “the little ones” away from the house without permission. He could tell they were frightened at the middle of the bridge by the way they were pinching his fingers. Suddenly he felt much taller, and there was a moment when he thought of his mother sitting in her car in the driveway and he felt sorry and ashamed.

  This was the first visit they had ever made without Loretta.

  But Loretta was not interested any more in the castle over the bridge.

  She was interested in getting to school on time and helping with the dishes. The teacher often found her sitting on the steps when she came to open the school-house at eight in the morning.

  And Rosalie had to keep telling her, “You’re only supposed to dry the dishes, not polish them till the flowers come off.”

  And she didn’t say “Ma’am” any more. She said “Mother.”

  “Mother, I’m staying, Mother, after school, Mother, to help, Mother, the teacher, Mother, clean the erasers, Mother.”

  Now as Colin approached the bridge he whispered to the little ones, “Don’t get scared. It’s fun—you’ll see.”

  But at the dizziest part of the bridge, Sharon let go of him and put her hands across her stomach. “Ouch,” she cried out and doubled up. “Ouch!”

  He pulled her to her feet. “Keep moving,” he said, “and keep hold of my hand.”

  It was a warm Indian summer afternoon. The weather was so nice that Sharon and Kathy and Colin had not worn jackets to school. Sharon was in a little red cotton dress with a wide sash and Jerry wore his Levis, a T-shirt and his leather belt with guns.

  But when they crossed over the bridge, Colin stopped suddenly in surprise. The Countess and the General were not on the steps.

  “Look,” cried Kathy, “someone’s waving—down there.”

  And sure enough, Olaf, the butler, was standing by a big door in the stone wall underneath the stone stairs. He signaled to them to come there. Puzzled, they walked slowly to the big door. The butler opened it, bowed and said, “Ladies and gentlemen. Please step inside.”

  They stepped in, stopped and gasped. It was snowing! Snow was coming down thick and fast and soft, like a white blanket. They stared so hard they forgot to shiver in their light clothes. Then they heard someone laughing. They looked.

  In the middle of the snowstorm stood a beautiful woman in a long black fur coat, fur mittens and fur boots; a small fur hat on her blond head. She threw back her head and laughed, then looked at them and smiled. And as always, her smile said, “How wonderful you are! How long I have waited for you!”

  Jerry did not know his mouth was open until he tasted snow on his tongue. He swallowed the snow and said, “Gosh!”

  Then he heard a delicious sound. He heard a horse neigh. It was a whinnying neigh, neigh sound. Sharon tried to make a sound like that.

  “Neigh-ay-ay-ay,” she said.

  “Shh—” Colin poked her. “Look there.”

  And behind the smiling Countess, they could now see through the thick snowflakes, the dim outline of a big shiny black sleigh with brass bells and four black horses, stamping their feet, tossing their manes. There was a man sitting in the sleigh, holding the reins. He wore a fur coat and fur hat like those of the Countess. He took a whip out of the socket and waved it on high.

  “Cheerio,” he cried out. “Welcome everybody.”

  The Countess was bending down now and looking into Sharon’s face. Colin was so excited he forgot to introduce his brother and sister.

  “Gosh,” he cried out. “Snow—where’d you get it? A sleigh! Horses!”

  Jerry was jumping up and down. “Look at the horses! Look at the horses!”

  “I love your hat,” Kathy told the Countess, “and your fur coat, too.”

  The Countess lifted Sharon’s hand and shook it. “I am delighted to see you, my dear. It was so kind of you to come. I know you are so busy.”

  “What?” said Sharon, and she pulled her hand away and got very close to Colin. Colin patted her.

  “She’s—well—she’s young,” he said, “not six till next summer.”

  “She is adorable,” said the Countess, and then she held out her hand to Jerry. “I have heard so much about you, I feel I know you very well.”

  Jerry smiled and his dimples showed. Then he turned his head away shyly. The Countess liked this. “Reserved,” she told Colin. “So becoming in a young man. I adore reserve.” Then she clapped her hands.

  “And now,” she cried out, “shall we go for a sleigh ride before we have tea?”

  “Oh boy,” said Colin, “that sounds sharp.”

  So the Countess picked Jerry up in her arms and carried him over to the sleigh and put him into the back seat. Then she did the same with Sharon. Kathy jumped in by herself.

  “Sit next to me,” she begged the Countess.

  “Dear child,” said the Countess, “I shall. I shall.”

&n
bsp; Colin got in the front seat with the General. First he got in beside him, but the General stood up, stepped outside and handed him the reins.

  “Take the reins, old man.”

  “Who—me?” Colin couldn’t believe his ears.

  “Keep a firm hold.” The General ran around and got in on the other side. “High-spirited, these beasts.”

  And as the Countess covered the children in the back seat with a warm fur robe, tucking them in as carefully as though they were in bed, Colin held the reins and waited for the signal.

  The Countess lifted her gloved hand. “All ready,” she cried. “Let’s go.”

  There was a sudden heave forward as the four black horses leapt into the air. It was so sudden, Colin was almost jolted out of his seat. But he hung on. And the sleigh was sliding along and the brass bells on the horses went, “jingle, jingle.” Colin was sitting on the edge of the seat, holding onto the reins for dear life and things began to whiz by.

  Later he tried to remember what it was that whizzed by. From the corner of his eye he thought he caught a glimpse of lights burning away back in a forest, of mountaintops rising in the distance through the thick curtain of snow. But maybe he didn’t. He was never sure.

  But it was all cold and snow, and whatever road they were traveling seemed to stretch out far and mysterious, and the day seemed to be getting lower and darker and all the delicious feelings and sounds of a late winter afternoon were wrapped around them with the blanket of snow. He could hear the Countess laughing in the back seat. Next to him sat the General, his head buried in his fur collar, his cheeks red.

  Colin had a fur robe over his knees, but his arms were getting cold. It was a long time before he noticed this. He only noticed it because his arms began to ache from holding those black leathery reins in his fingers. Then he realized his hands were cold, too.

  Colin heard Kathy and Sharon in the back seat.

  Sharon cried out, “Don’t pull the blanket away, I’m cold.”

  “Me, too,” said Jerry.

  He heard the Countess say, “One has to feel cold before one can feel warm. Feel cold a little longer.”

  The wind began to blow and now it blew the snow into Colin’s eyes and his mouth and all over his hair. And the water fell down the neck of his shirt as the snow hit his body. He could hardly get his breath. He could hardly see the black, straining bodies of the horses.

  Colin wanted to cry out, “Stop! Stop! Let me get my breath.” But he didn’t. He hung on because he knew that if you hang on long enough, there comes a moment when everything changes. So he gritted his teeth and the water from his eyes fell on his cheeks. The General leaned over and said something to him. But the wind was roaring and he couldn’t hear him.

  Colin started to ask, “What? What did you say, sir?” But the wind blew into his mouth and he was gasping and choking.

  Then he wasn’t choking so much. Were the horses going slower? Yes. He was sure of it now. He could see their black backs more clearly as the wind seemed to shift. Then they stopped.

  The Countess cried, “Time for tea, by the fire.” Gosh that sounded good!

  The General leaned over, took the reins, fastened them and jumped out. Colin’s arms were stiff and cold as he leaned back into the seat of the sleigh. The leather was wet with melted snow. It felt slippery under his fingers.

  Colin turned his head to see his brother and sisters. The Countess and the General were helping them down out of the big sleigh.

  “And now,” the Countess clapped her hands, “come over and let us turn off the snow.”

  Colin forgot that he was cold. Through the winter they walked only a few steps, and then he saw a wall. There was a red button on it which said “Snow” in white letters. The Countess smiled at him. “Press it, Colin.”

  He pressed it. There was a whirring sound, like machinery running down, going a—erp—ah—erp—slurp—stop! As though a thousand white curtains had been pulled by wires up to a ceiling. And now it was possible to see where you were.

  They were standing in a corner of a great, vast room, bigger than the gym at school. There were the sleigh and the horses standing in the center of the room, with puddles of water all around from the melting snow.

  They had been driving round and round this big room and yet it had seemed like forever in a great big place. It was the Countess’s basement.

  “Gosh,” thought Colin, “they are even richer than I’d thought; even have their own snow!”

  Now they were in the library. The General helped himself to a hamburger and brought one to Colin.

  “Great outing! Makes a man’s blood race, eh?”

  “Yes,” said Colin.

  It was not until they had each had six hamburgers and hot dogs that the Countess mentioned the teacup. She spoke to Sharon.

  “My dear,” she smiled, “I would adore to see your teacup.”

  Sharon stared at her. She did not know what she was talking about.

  Kathy jumped up off the floor. “I brought it,” she said, putting her hand into her pocket. “I almost forgot it, then I remembered. I got it out of Sharon’s dollhouse.”

  “You give it to me,” Sharon cried out. “It’s mine. You gave it to me.”

  “Why, just look.” Kathy was so surprised as she reached into her pocket and drew out, not a tiny teacup, but a full-sized teacup.

  “How did this get here? This isn’t Sharon’s little teacup. This is a big cup.”

  She was holding it in her hand wonderingly, when the Countess reached out and grabbed it so quickly, Kathy was startled. The Countess laughed softly. “My dear, I beg your pardon. I’m sorry I frightened you.” But she held the teacup tightly in her hand. Her eyes seemed to say, “At last, at last.” She walked to the table and set it alongside the other cups. “How odd,” she said, “it seems to match my set.”

  Then she turned those eyes, so cold now and so pinpointy, upon Kathy. Kathy shivered, she didn’t know why.

  “Where did you get it?”

  Kathy answered slowly, “I don’t know. I don’t know where I got it. I—I didn’t know I had it. It was a teeny, teeny, teeny one I put into my pocket.”

  “Yes,” nodded the Countess, “and what happened to the teeny, teeny, teeny one, as you call it?”

  “I don’t know.” Kathy was puzzled. “I guess it fell out of my pocket.”

  “Of course.” The Countess smiled as though she were pleased. “But tell me and I hope I don’t bore you—”

  “Oh, no,” Kathy murmured, “that’s all right.”

  “I can understand that the teeny cup fell out of your pocket and you don’t know how you got this big cup, but wherever did you get the teeny cup in the first place?”

  Kathy thought. “Let me think,” she began.

  Then Colin remembered. He suddenly remembered that Rosalie had said she found that cup in his bathrobe. Had Rosalie told Kathy about this? His eyes went to the General. Yes, his hand was still on his sword and he was standing very close to Kathy. Sharon and Jerry sat very still. They did not understand what was happening, but they knew that feeling which always said, “Something’s happening! Something’s wrong! Sit up straight! Keep very still! Listen! Wait!”

  The pin points in the Countess’s eyes had never seemed so pin-pointy. Colin stopped breathing. There was not a sound in the room except the fire crackling in the fireplace. Finally Kathy spoke. “Well,” she said, “it was in the morning. I remember that. I was brushing my teeth and somebody—somebody said, ‘Here’s something for your dollhouse.”’

  “Yes,” urged the Countess, “go on.”

  “Sharon wanted it.” Kathy smiled now and shrugged. “And I gave it to her. That’s all.”

  “Not quite,” said the General. “Not quite, Madame.”

  “You,” the Countess waved at him to hush, “you were a sweet child to give the cup to your sister. But who—who was the somebody who gave it to you?”

  Kathy thought again. “I can’t remember,�
� she answered.

  “Very convenient, Madame,” growled the General.

  But Kathy was saying, “It wasn’t Sharon, because I gave it to her. It wasn’t Colin or Jerry—” and here Colin felt the breath go out of him in a sigh of relief. “They’re boys, and boys don’t play with teacups, only girls.”

  The Countess and the General exchanged a long look. The General said slowly, “Could it, could it—have been— Loretta?”

  “Loretta!” Kathy’s voice was so surprised. “I never thought of Loretta.”

  And as the Countess and General exchanged a look, the look seemed to say, “But we had!”

  “She is a girl,” the General reminded her. “Only girls play with teacups.”

  “Maybe it was Loretta,” Kathy agreed, “but I can’t remember.”

  They waved good-bye to the children as they went down the stone steps, across the bridge and disappeared into the forest.

  Then the General’s face grew hard.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” he reminded the Countess. “In the words of the underworld—Loretta is our pigeon.”

  “I still cannot believe it.” And the Countess was so unhappy. “I have loved Loretta for so long and she has loved me. Why would she disobey me? Why would she take something from my house after all of these years?”

  “I warned you, my dear.” The General’s face was stern. “I warned you days ago. This is serious, and remember your weakness.”

  She sighed. “I know, I know.” And she put her hand on his arm.

  “And someday,” he reminded her, “it will destroy all of us.”

  The Countess’s face grew more serious. “You are right. We cannot take the chance. Loretta must be punished. But how? She has stopped coming here lately. She may never come back again.” And here the Countess’s face turned white and she grabbed his arm. “General, is it possible she has discovered the secret of the bridge and she may tell it to them? How—oh how—can we find out? How can we get her here to find out?”

  The General twirled his mustache and smiled a wintry smile.