Ransom

by Grace Livingston Hill

  The Harper family sat in tense silence listening, looking at one another in horror.

  “Phil, that is the same Kershaw that used to live across the road!” Mrs. Harper said when the voice had died away and the soft strains of the symphony soothed in upon the interruption. “The baby’s name was Randall. He was named after his father. He would be about seventeen now. Philip, I think you ought to go and see if there is anything you can do to help.”

  “I’m going, of course,” said the young man, rising alertly. “Don’t worry, Mother, if I’m gone all night. Nobody will kidnap me, you know,” he said with a quick little laugh. “There are no bonding houses connected to us.”

  The mother smiled through sudden tears.

  “There are worse things than being poor,” she said gently. “Oh, Phil, how would I feel if it had been you! He had such a sweet little mother! She’s where it can’t worry her any. But the poor father! And there was a sister. I can remember her.”

  “Yes, a nice girl,” June said. “She used to divide her candy with me, and she needn’t have. I was younger than she was. She wasn’t selfish one little bit. I wish there was something I could do. If only I was a boy now—”

  “You and mother can pray,” said Philip, turning from the doorway where he was putting on his coat. “They brought an answer to my prayer, Mother. We ought to give them a little service that way now.”

  “Yes,” said the mother tenderly. “Our God knows where the boy is! He can help when others fail. Oh, I wonder if the poor family knows our God!”

  So Philip hurried off down the street, while Mother and June, and even little Hazel, knelt down beside the decrepit old couch and asked God to bring back Rannie Kershaw.

  It was Christobel who opened the front door when Philip Harper rang at the Kershaw residence. For the last half hour police had been coming and going. A detective had just gone. She thought he had perhaps forgotten something and hurried to the door, with Maggie calling out to her anxiously, “Bide a wee minit dearie, I’ll go.”

  But Christobel was not afraid anymore, with Maggie here and all the police about. In fact, her mind was so taken up with worry about her brother that she was no longer afraid of anything for herself.

  She looked very frail and sweet as she stood there holding the door open, her brown hair blown about by the wind, her eyes showing signs of recent tears, which were even now held in abeyance.

  At once the young man knew who she must be, realizing a resemblance to the little girl he used to know so long ago. But suddenly he doubted whether he should have come here at this time, even with offer of assistance.

  “I’m afraid I shouldn’t have come to the house,” he said. “I’m rather a stranger, of course, though I used to be an old neighbor of the family when I was a boy. I’ve just come to say that I heard the announcement over the radio, and if there’s anything at all I could do, I’d be so glad. I’d go to the ends of the earth to help find this young man.”

  But Christobel knew his voice instantly, even though she had not got a very good view of his face with the light behind him. That was the voice she had heard in prayer only a few hours before. She wondered if he had somehow found out that she had listened to that prayer. Conscious of having listened to what was not intended for her ears, and also conscious of her red eyes and distraught appearance, she spoke shyly. “Thank you,” she said. “Won’t you—come in?” She did not know whether that was what she should do or not. Her father was out in the garage for the moment with one of the detectives from the agency.

  “No,” said Phil Harper quickly. “I don’t want to intrude. Won’t you just tell your father—you are Miss Christobel, aren’t you? I’m Phil Harper. You won’t remember me, of course, but Mother thought a lot of your mother, and I’d be awfully glad if there was anything I could do. I thought there might be just a chance that there was some clue a young fellow could follow out or something. I’d like to be of use in any way.”

  It was just as he was saying this that Christobel heard her father come in. She turned and looked back at him quickly, her mind suddenly leaping back to their trouble, scanning his face anxiously to read if he had any news. Already, though only a trifle over a couple of hours had passed since Rannie had disappeared, her heart was acquiring that alert apprehensiveness, that burden of a long-borne fear that cried out to be relieved and would keep hoping for good news that would lift the painful tension.

  Christobel saw her father was looking keenly at the young man, and she spoke quickly, eagerly. “This is Phil Harper, Father, who lives across the road from our old home. He came to offer help.”

  Mr. Kershaw put out his hand gravely, still looking keenly at the young man.

  “I appreciate that offer,” he said, “and it comes just when I needed someone. I can’t get away from here very well, and I want to send a note over to a friend by someone I can trust, and get an answer back again. If you can do that for me, I shall be grateful indeed.”

  “I am honored that you can trust me,” said Philip earnestly.

  “I have no choice in the matter,” answered the older man with a quick appreciative look at the younger one. “You look so much like your father that one would know you were trustworthy.”

  “You couldn’t say anything that would please me better,” said the young man.

  A look of mutual warmth and liking passed between the two men, and Christobel found a little gladness in it. She stood a moment talking to Philip while her father went to write his note, recalling the last day she remembered seeing him, riding away to school on his bicycle the day they moved from Seneca Street. Then suddenly the memory of Rannie’s disappearance came over her in a great wave of anxiety and the tears welled up in her eyes and brimmed over.

  “Excuse me,” she said in a little quavering voice. “I’m so worried about my brother.”

  “I know,” said the young man quickly. “I wish I could do something. How long is it since—you missed him?”

  Christobel told him briefly the experiences of the last two hours and then went back and told him about the thieving servants and the tramp on the other side of the street. It relieved her to have someone to speak to about it. Then her father returned with the note and gave directions, and there was something comforting to them both to feel that this young man was interested, helping, a real friend who was connected with the old dear life of home and Mother, and Rannie’s little boyhood.

  After Philip was gone her father was called to the telephone and then had to go out to the garage with some officers once more, and Christobel was left alone in the big alien house.

  She turned on the lights in the great reception room, looked about her to get rid of the feeling that someone, something was lurking there in hiding, turned on the lights in the small reception room and gave a survey, and then sat herself down on the stairs with her chin in her hands and stared down at the thick rug from which strange menacing faces seemed to be grimacing at her. Somehow she didn’t seem to belong anywhere in this huge house.

  Out in the kitchen, Maggie was cleaning up. She said the place wasn’t fit for pigs. There were tears on her cheeks. She was too nervous to sit down. She was thinking of the tall, nice boy with traces of the baby in his face, the baby she had cared for years ago.

  Christobel didn’t want to be in the kitchen with Maggie. She sensed that Maggie was anxious, too. She wanted to stay near her father and see if anything developed from the telephone message. Perhaps they would have found Rannie. Perhaps he hadn’t been kidnapped after all. Just gone off on some crazy errand. Maybe he had gone out to pawn his watch as he said he was going to do. That would be like Rannie, if he got some wild idea in his head. Dear, blusterous Rannie! Oh, if that would only be it, and he would come back pretty soon, whistling, angry with them for imagining that he was lost, furious when he found he had been mentioned on the radio. But oh, what a relief it would be if he came!

  It was just then she heard a car stop in front of the door, and a moment later t
he bell pealed annoyingly through the house, giving Christobel a shiver of apprehension as she rose from her seat on the stairs and hurried to the door.

  Chapter 10

  But Maggie had heard the bell and came hurrying to open the door. She did not intend to have her other blessed lamb kidnapped. Christobel retreated when she saw Maggie and stood on the stair landing wide-eyed, her hand upon her heart.

  It was a lady at the door this time, and suddenly Christobel knew, even before she saw her, who it must be. She was not surprised when she saw the slight altercation at the door end by Maggie being swept aside peremptorily.

  “I am an intimate friend of the family, my good woman!” said a hard, imperious voice that yet resembled the fawning voice that Christobel knew. And Maggie, still holding the door open because she did not want to admit that she was conquered and shut the unwelcome guest inside, gave one protesting glance upward to where her nursling stood, just in the act of flight. Maggie was not quite sure, but she didn’t like this woman as an intimate for her master’s family. Her lips were too red and her perfume too subtle.

  For an instant Christobel remained poised on the landing for flight. Then she heard her father return from the garage and enter the telephone booth in the back hall. At any moment he might come out and be the prey of this interloper. Christobel thought she could not bear to have this added to the burden of the evening. Very likely this persistent woman would somehow persuade her father that he must either allow her to stay here and share in their anxiety and distress, or else that she, Christobel, must go home with the woman and be protected. The thought of either was horrible to the girl. It must not be. She did not know how she was going to prevent it, but some way she must.

  So she turned quietly, adjusting an untried dignity, and went swiftly downstairs, an odd thought flitting through her mind. Afterward, she wondered why it had come. The thought was a wish that Phil Harper would come back. A feeling that somehow he would sense the need and find a way to get this woman courteously out of the house. But she put it swiftly by, knowing that this was an emergency she must meet herself if it was to be met.

  It was Maggie who spoke, raising an angry, frustrated face and flashing blue eyes. “This wumman was wantin’ ta see yer father, Miss Chrissie, an’ I was tellin’ her he was very much occypied, an’ that ye was wore out with the trubble and excitement.”

  Christobel smiled indulgently.

  “It’s all right, Maggie. Mrs. Romayne didn’t understand. Never mind, I will speak to her for just a moment. Good evening, Mrs. Romayne. Will you just step in here where we shall be free from interruption.”

  Christobel swept the light on again in the small reception room, drew Mrs. Romayne within, and pulled the curtains after her. Now, if her father came back, he would not see who was there.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Romayne,” said the girl, suddenly feeling quite grown up and able to deal with this person, knowing that the situation was a desperate one and she must somehow conquer it or she might have it to deal with it the rest of her life. “You have been very kind to call of course, and we appreciate all your solicitation. But I’m sure you will understand that tonight my father is too deeply engaged to see you or anyone. In fact, we are both too much worried and disturbed to talk.”

  “Oh, but my dear, I certainly do understand all that!” cooed the lady. “I’ve not come here to talk or to ask questions, that is, any more than necessary. I’ve come here to save you from others. I’ve made arrangements just to stay indefinitely and look after the house and the servants for you, and answer all callers and questions. I’d even be willing to see reporters and detectives for you. Poor dear Rannie!” She got out her delicately bordered handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes with an effective gesture.

  “That is kind,” said Christobel, trying not to have her voice sound like an icicle, “but it is not necessary. The household is running perfectly smoothly and it needs no help. As for reporters and detectives, we do not intend to admit them, and they will be looked after by the police. I do hope you will understand when I tell you that the very best way you can help us now is by staying away. I’m sorry if that sounds rude, Mrs. Romayne, but it really is the truth. In fact, I heard the officer tell my father it would be best for us not to admit anyone just now, even very close friends, until he has the case a little better in hand. You know, it may be possible that my brother just took it into his head to go somewhere for the evening. He may come home pretty soon—” She said this with a confidence she was far from feeling and tried to summon a brave smile.

  “Oh,” said the lady eagerly, with ill-veiled curiosity in her tones, “have you any reason to expect any such thing? Was there any reason for his having gone off like that? He hadn’t had a quarrel with either of you, had he?”

  Christobel laughed with a nervous little ripple that scarcely hid her indignation and weariness.

  “Oh, no indeed!” she answered. “Of course not. What would we quarrel about? Rannie never quarreled. We were so happy together.” And suddenly her lip quivered and her eyes brimmed over, to her great dismay and annoyance. Then she drew her head up and smiled bravely into the lady’s face again, saying with dignity, “We are quite sure this will all clear up very soon, Mrs. Romayne, and Rannie will be back again safely, but Father thought it wise these days when so many strange things are happening to have him paged on the radio. Now, would you mind going? The officers may be back at any time, and Father prefers there be no one present except the family when they come in to consult with him.”

  “Oh, but my dear,” protested the lady, wafting the sickish perfume on her frail handkerchief into the girl’s reluctant nostrils, “I couldn’t think of going away and leaving you. I’ll go upstairs and stay with you till news comes and I’m sure you are all right. Or, if you should prefer, suppose you come with me. A young girl should not stay alone where there are policemen—”

  “I am not alone,” said Christobel. “I have a trusted servant with me, and I certainly do not want anyone with me and will not be willing to go away from here at present. If I should need your help I will call you up and let you know.” She was still struggling to be courteous.

  “Well, then, let us sit down a little while and talk,” said the visitor, with a subtle cunning in her voice, yielding for the time to be inevitable. “I want to know all about it. What time did your brother go? When did you last see him? What were the circumstances? Have you the least idea where he may be? Does your father think he may have gone back to school? Who were his young friends in the city? He might be off at a dance, you know.”

  The smooth voice rattled off the questions, and they fell like sharp pebbles against the sister’s consciousness as she stood watching this impertinent, beautiful woman and wondering what other way she might try to get rid of her. Then she became aware that Mrs. Romayne had paused for a reply, and she turned bright determined eyes upon her guest.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Romayne, I can’t answer your questions at present. The officer in charge has asked us to say nothing to anybody.”

  “Not even a friend of the family?” said the purring voice with a velvet scratch to its tones.

  “Not to anyone.”

  “But that is ridiculous!” said the lady indignantly. “My dear, I shall have to insist on seeing your father!” And she made as if to pass the girl and go in search of him.

  Christobel had been aware of soft noises in the hall, feet stirring on the thick rug and hushed voices. She was frantic to get rid of this woman, yet she must send her out if something was going on in the hall. Perhaps her father was there! What should she do?

  Then, just as she had opened her lips to protest, someone pushed the heavy curtain back, and there stood Phil Harper, tall, grave, courteous, peremptory.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Christobel.” He spoke like one vested with authority. “You’re wanted in the other room at once, please, and if you will kindly introduce me to this lady, I will escort her to her car. I presume that is he
rs outside?” He lifted questioning eyes to the lady’s and summoned a grave smile. “Sorry to interrupt,” he added apologetically as Christobel murmured an introduction. “But, you see, we are all under orders just now.” He motioned the girl to go and held out his arm to escort the lady with all the grace a man of the world might have shown.

  Mrs. Romayne, never quite impervious to the charms of a good-looking young man, submitted herself to be led away quite willingly, tossing back a sweet caressing farewell to Christobel, calculated to impress the young man.

  Christobel slipped quickly away to the library, tears of swift relief filling her eyes. It seemed to be true that Mrs. Romayne was really gone before her father appeared on the scene. It was wonderful that the young man had seemed to understand and had managed it all so courteously without offending the lady. How much had heard her say, she wondered?

  There were two officers in the library waiting for her father. They arose as she came in. The chief asked her if she was Miss Kershaw.

  “We want to ask you a few questions about the tramp your father says you saw lurking around the street and watching the house.”

  Christobel sat down with wildly beating heart and forgot everything but the tragedy that had befallen the home, as she searched her mind for the exact data: just what time it was when she had seen the man, whether he might have been lurking in the shadow of the street when her brother drove away to put the car in the garage. And then, almost casually, with nevertheless a keen searching look, the chief asked her if there had been any unpleasantness in the family, any reason to suppose her brother might have gone away of his own accord, or had he mentioned any errand that might have taken him away?

  “Oh, no,” said Christobel earnestly. “He was intending to come right to dinner. He said he was hungry. And—why, we never quarreled!” There was indignation in her tone. How terrible it was to have outsiders, strangers, prying into their family affairs, having a right to think all sorts of terrible things about them. A sudden and oppressive sense of what this thing was going to mean to them in the way of publicity came over her.