MRS3 The Velvet Hand

by Hulbert Footner

  "Certainly! Everybody knows Mrs. Brager."

  "Oh! Oh!" she gasped in a perfect flutter. "Do you think they'd come?"

  "I am sure of it."

  "I'll do it! I'll do it!" She broke off and looked around the circle. "Er—perhaps——"

  Mme Storey whispered: "Yes, I think perhaps it would be better to have them here by themselves the first time."

  "And will you come that day?" asked Mrs. Brager like a little girl. "I shall be so nervous."

  "I should love to," said my mistress.

  After this, of course, Mme Storey was first and the rest nowhere. Mrs. Brager patted my mistress's hand, saying:

  "Do throw off your wraps, dearie, or you won't feel the good of them when you go outside."

  "Thanks," said Mme Storey drily, "but I think I had better keep my coat around me."

  "Oh, do you find it cold in this room?" said Mrs. Brager with a horrified look. She glanced around the circle for confirmation, and instantly the chorus was raised.

  "Oh, no, Mrs. Brager.... It is just right for me! ... Most pleasant, I say.... Indeed, I am if anything too warm.... If there is anything I detest it is these overheated rooms!" And so on. Every face among them was pinched with cold.

  Mme Storey was not to be shouted down by this crew. When she could make herself heard, she said with a good-humoured smile: "I am afraid I am spoiled. I do like to have it warm indoors."

  Mrs. Brager looked at me. "And you, dearie?"

  "It is a little cold," I said.

  A visible struggle took place in the old woman's face between avarice and the desire to stand well with my mistress. The better feeling prevailed, but not easily. "Oh, dear!" she said despairingly. "Mr. Chew, please touch the bell."

  The maid was instructed to ask Mrs. Marlin to step in. The person who came in response to this summons, and whom I took to be the housekeeper, astonished me, she was so different from the other inmates of that weird household. A handsome young woman of thirty, say, with a businesslike, self-controlled air. She was very neatly and trimly dressed, and everything about her bespoke character, resolution, and decency. In fact, she seemed to bring a ray of clean sunlight into the slightly foetid atmosphere. I took to her instantly, and so, as I learned later, did my mistress.

  "Mrs. Marlin," said Mrs. Brager in her affected way, "could we have a little more heat, if you please?"

  In the housekeeper's quick glance at her mistress there was a hint of amused surprise. "Why, certainly, Mrs. Brager. The fire box is only half full." She turned to leave immediately.

  "Just a little more heat," said Mrs. Brager anxiously. "A shovelful of coal."

  Mrs. Marlin, with a bow of acquiescence, continued toward the door; but the struggle was still going on in the old lady. "How is the coal holding out?" she asked.

  "I will order more to-morrow," said the housekeeper quietly.

  At that the ruling passion had its way. "Nothing of the sort!" cried Mrs. Brager in the querulous voice of the very old. "You must make what we bought this month last out, do you hear? I won't have any more coal ordered! They are all robbers. I won't submit to it!"

  Mrs. Marlin, bowing again, went on out without speaking. What a difficult role was hers, I thought. She carried it off with dignity. Mrs. Brager turned her pathetic, faded old eyes on us, still mumbling her grievance as if scarcely aware of what she was saying.

  "Robbers—swindlers—all of them! I've already ordered two tons this month. Soon be in the poorhouse if I didn't make a stand...."

  She did not lack for sympathy from her faithful chorus. "It's simply scandalous, the prices they charge! ... I'm sure I don't know what we're coming to! Where is it going to end? ... My husband says..."

  Mme La France said with a hateful glitter in the glassy blue eyes: "It is Mrs. Marlin's fault. She shows no management."

  The Honourable Chew affected to be good-humoured about it, but the thick lips curled in an ugly sneer. "That young person thinks to put us all in our places, I fancy."

  "I don't see how you can be willing to put up with her, Genevieve," drawled Oneto. "I would undertake to furnish you with a better person to-morrow."

  No doubt! No doubt! I was glad to see that the old lady did not rise to this suggestion. I felt that Mrs. Marlin was honoured by the hatred of such people.

  Mme Storey sought to pour oil on the troubled waters by saying, as one might to a child: "What a pretty dress, Mrs. Brager!"

  Instantly the old lady was all smiles and simpers again. "Oh, do you think so, dearie? I've got a much prettier one upstairs. I'm afraid it is a weakness of mine!"

  "I'd like to see it," said my mistress. "I love pretty clothes."

  "Then come right up to my room," she said, rising at once. "And you too, dearie," she added in my direction. "We'll be back in a minute," she said to the others generally.

  I had been wondering how Mme Storey was going to accomplish the feat of separating her from her parasites, and here it was done as easily as turning over in bed. You can imagine the sort of looks that followed us out of the room. I was sorry for Mr. Riordan, left amid that crew.

  III

  The better we became acquainted with that household, the odder it appeared. On the second floor, as in all houses of this type, there were four big square bedrooms, one in each corner, and a fifth room between the two front rooms and over the entrance hall. It was into this middle room that Mrs. Brager led us. There was much less of a clutter in it; things were arranged in better taste. It was used as both sitting room and bedroom, one guessed. We found Mrs. Marlin sitting by the window sewing. She looked up pleasantly, but did not speak.

  "This is Mrs. Marlin's room," said Mrs. Brager. "I have to go through it to reach my room."

  I wondered why this should be.

  "What a nice room!" remarked Mme Storey, who wished, I could see, to draw the housekeeper into the talk.

  Mrs. Marlin coloured with pleasure. The young woman was positively beautiful when she allowed her feelings to break through her self-controlled mask. "Mrs. Brager is good enough to let me fix it the way I like," she said.

  "Hmph! Pish! Modern notions!" grumbled the old woman.

  Reaching the door in the right-hand side of the room, Mrs. Brager, to my astonishment, produced a key on the end of a long chain and inserted it. The door was fitted with a Yale lock. It admitted us to one of the big corner bedrooms where, as in the rest of the house, we were back in the era of 1890. You know the sort of thing: lace bedspreads and pillow shams; lambrequins, splash cloths, and a crowd of ornaments on the mantel.

  Mrs. Brager herself seemed to feel that some explanation of her peculiar sleeping arrangements was necessary, for she said: "I am timid about sleeping; that's why I keep a spring lock on my door. Nobody has a key to it but Mrs. Marlin and me. The door from my room directly into the hall has been screwed up. I sleep easier knowing that nobody can get to me except through Mrs. Marlin's room, and she a light sleeper."

  Before closing the door behind her, Mme Storey said to Mrs. Marlin: "Mrs. Brager is going to show us her pretty dresses. Won't you come in too?"

  The young woman put down her sewing with a smile and followed us.

  In the big corner room Mme Storey seated herself in a broken-springed "easy" chair before the empty fireplace, and I in a plain chair opposite her. It was even colder in here than downstairs, and my mistress presently rose and sidled over in front of the wall register to get the benefit of what little heat was coming through it. Meanwhile Mrs. Brager was bringing out her dresses. It was not sufficient to show them to us: the ridiculous old woman, with the assistance of Mrs. Marlin, must needs struggle in and out of each dress in turn and parade up and down in it with all the affectations of a mannequin. An absurd and piteous spectacle.

  And how strange it was to observe the relations between mistress and housekeeper. Though Mrs. Brager had just given us the best proof possible of her trust in the younger woman, it appeared that she could not get along without continually abusing h
er. Nothing that Mrs. Marlin did succeeded in pleasing her. As Mme Storey pointed out to me later, this is characteristic of the very old. It is those closest to them who have to bear the burden of their infirmities.

  While my mistress and I sat there making believe to talk to each other, we would hear from the back of the room: "That piece fastens in front, stoopid! Oh, your fingers are all thumbs! Now look at it! look at it! When you are through with me I look like a perfect frump! I declare you do it on purpose to plague me! There is no bearing with you. You want to wear me down, don't you. You will be glad when I'm gone. Well, I warn you, miss, I warn you as I've warned you a hundred times before, you'd better take care of me if you know what's good for you, for you won't profit one cent by my death! Not one cent!"

  This was very embarrassing for strangers to have to listen to. That admirable young woman neither put on the air of a Christian martyr nor answered back. She took it all in a matter-of-fact way, as if she was thoroughly used to it. Only once, when Mrs. Brager was looking elsewhere, did she permit herself to exchange a deprecating glance of amusement with us.

  "Please hold your arm up while I fasten this. There's a little too much fullness here. I will take it in after you take the dress off."

  "Don't you dare to touch it! With your bungling fingers you would ruin my frock."

  "Very well, Mrs. Brager."

  "Besides, I like it better as it is. It makes me look plumper. And with this new tonic I am taking, I am already beginning to fill out."

  "You would do better to leave the tonics alone," murmured Mrs. Marlin.

  "Hold your tongue, miss! What do you know?"

  When the dresses had all been tried on and duly admired, Mrs. Marlin quietly disappeared. From the grateful heat which presently came stealing around us, I guessed that she had gone downstairs to stoke up in spite of her mistress. Mrs. Brager was for returning downstairs, but Mme Storey settled herself in the broken-springed chair.

  "Now we can have a good talk!" she said. "Do you mind if I smoke? I'm a slave to the weed."

  "By all means," said Mrs. Brager, "I am not puritanical, I hope."

  "Perhaps you will join me," said Mme Storey, offering her case.

  "I don't mind if I do," said Mrs. Brager, helping herself with a simper. It was a treat to see the rakish way in which she held it and puffed smoke toward the ceiling. But after a puff or two I noticed she allowed it to go out.

  "It's such a relief to get away from men for a while," said Mme Storey.

  "Didn't you like Raymondo and Mr. Chew?" asked Mrs. Brager coyly.

  "Well, frankly, no," said my mistress. "They are not nice enough for you, dear Mrs. Brager."

  The old lady looked surprised at this line of attack; but she was pleased.

  "You are not serious, of course, in intending to marry Oneto?" said Mme Storey.

  "Oh, not serious," said Mrs. Brager, simpering; "but I hate to send the poor boy about his business, he is so devoted to me! Isn't he just too sweet?"

  "Oh, quite!" said Mme Storey drily. "As for Mr. Chew, his manners are pleasant, but the look in his eyes makes me shiver."

  "Me, too," said Mrs. Brager unexpectedly. She shivered when she said it. Here was the truth popping out, in spite of every affectation. My mistress has the faculty of bringing it out.

  "But I understand from Mr. Riordan..." she said in assumed surprise.

  "I know," said Mrs. Brager, rapidly nodding her head; "the will; I only did that to placate Mr. Chew. I was afraid not to do it. I can always make another will."

  "But, my dear Mrs. Brager, consider what a frightful temptation you are putting in the way of a penniless man! After all, human nature is human nature, and terrible things happen."

  The old lady seemed about to cry like a child, then. "I know," she wailed, all but wringing her hands. "But what was I to do? I can't get rid of him!"

  "You can easily remove temptation out of his way," said Mme Storey, "and out of the way of others like him."

  "How?"

  "By putting the principal of your fortune out of your own control—I think they call it creating a living trust—and letting everybody know what you have done."

  "Then they would all leave me!" cried the old woman piteously. "I am old. I must have friends around me."

  "Make yourself real friends."

  "I don't know how!"

  Mme Storey considered. "You ought to take a more prominent part in Stanfield affairs," she said. "To a woman of your position it is really a duty."

  "They don't want me," said the old woman querulously.

  Mme Storey ignored this. "Why don't you found a great institution at your death," she said, gesticulating with her cigarette, "that would make your name remembered in Stanfield as long as the town exists?"

  "Charity doesn't make friends for you."

  "Not in the ordinary sense, but it brings charitably minded people around you. You would naturally appoint the best people as the trustees of your fund." My mistress slyly named the magic names again. "Mr. Braithwaite, Mr. Eckford, Mrs. Bryan, Mr. Teague, Mrs. Van Loar. They would be proud and happy to serve on such a board. It would bring them into the closest association with you."

  "I couldn't give away my money while I was living!" cried the old woman passionately. "I couldn't! I couldn't!"

  It was useless to combat blind avarice like this, and Mme Storey made no attempt to do so. "Of course not," she said easily. "You create the living trust which is to be devoted to this purpose after you are gone. But in the meantime you have to plan out all the details, to make sure that the thing shall be done as you wish. You could have all the fun of that while you are alive."

  Mrs. Brager began to nibble. "Nobody takes care of old ladies who lose their money," she said. "If I did anything it would be a home for aged gentlewomen."

  "Splendid!" cried Mme Storey. "Can't you see the beautiful big home where they may enjoy every comfort, standing in the midst of its lovely grounds?"

  "Could I change the trustees if I wanted?" demanded Mrs. Brager.

  "Why, certainly!"

  "So that if anybody did not accept the trust in a proper spirit I could replace them with others?"

  My mistress's eyes twinkled, but she answered gravely: "A very wise provision."

  That marked the turning point. Mrs. Brager still raised a hundred objections, but in reality the idea had won her. As she became eager, my mistress cunningly appeared to be holding her back, and thus increased her eagerness. Finally, Mrs. Brager declared that she would give Mr. Riordan his instructions to draw up the necessary papers that very afternoon. As a matter of fact, anybody could persuade that old lady to make a will, but this time, I was hoping, she would get one that would stick. I was sent down to the drawing room to fetch him. The summons to the lawyer threw the Honourable Chew et al. into a visible panic, as you may suppose.

  While Mr. Riordan explained the nature of a living trust to Mrs. Brager, I remained in the adjoining room talking to Mrs. Marlin. "How do you stand it here?" I said.

  She laughed good-naturedly. "You haven't heard the half of it! I go through a regular circus once a month to get the money to pay the household bills. But it isn't as bad as it seems. Mrs. Brager and I understand each other. I don't let her get under my skin. I should be sorry to lose the place."

  There are some people you do not waste time in making friends with. Mrs. Marlin let down the bars of her reserve completely. I learned that she was a widow with three small children to support. They lived with her sister near by and came to see her every day at the noon recess. She confessed that she wished to marry again. Her fiancé was a brilliant young chemist called Dr. Sanford Brill. She seemed to think that I ought to have heard about him, but I had not, of course. Unfortunately, he was poor, and their marriage was likely to be long delayed. Mrs. Marlin had some hopes of interesting Mrs. Brager in Dr. Brill's discoveries. The old lady had promised to receive him on the following day.

  Meanwhile, in the next room everything was proc
eeding smoothly. Mr. Riordan was instructed to draw up the agreement creating the trust, also a new will to carry out its provisions, and to bring them to be signed at four the next day. Like a child, when Mrs. Brager got started, there was no stopping her. She wanted the news given to the papers that night. Mme Storey was dead against it. "Nothing should be published until the papers are actually signed," she said. Mrs. Brager pished and pshawed impatiently.

  Before we got out of the house, she sent after Mr. Riordan again. We waited for him in the lower hall in no little anxiety. There was no knowing where you had that old lady. But he rejoined us with an undisturbed face. Mme Storey looked her question.

  "A codicil to be added to the will," he said. "I am pledged to secrecy."

  "But it does not invalidate the whole scheme?"

  "Oh, no," he answered, smiling; "it reveals a kindness of heart you would not suspect in the old curmudgeon."

  It was close on seven o'clock. By the time we got back to New York it was far too late for me to think of getting supper at my boarding house, and my mistress, with her customary kindness, took me to dinner with her at one of the fashionable new restaurants on Park Avenue. While we were discussing the excellent potage St. Germain, a boy walked through the room paging:

  "Mrs. Pomeroy—Miss Hastings—Mrs. Pomeroy—Miss Hastings."

  Conceive of our astonishment. The names under which we had been introduced at Mrs. Brager's! Who could have known that we were in this restaurant? For a moment we looked at each other blankly; then the obvious explanation suggested itself.

  "Somebody followed us here from Stanfield," said Mme Storey, "and then went somewhere near by to call us up."

  We went to the telephone. Mme Storey made me answer it first. I heard a gruff, common man's voice saying: "Who is this?"

  "Miss Hastings," I replied.

  "Well, Mrs. Pomeroy's the one I want. Is she there?"

  "Yes."

  "Let her come to the 'phone."

  I stood by the open door of the booth while my mistress talked. I could not hear what he said, but I witnessed her comedy. She was making her voice sound terrified. "Why—what do you mean! ... How dare you! ... Who are you, anyway? ... Mrs. Brager is nothing to me.... Just a friendly call..." And so on.