“Here we are. And it looks as though Sonia had company.” Frank’s voice aroused her from her abstraction. She sat up tensely as the car slowed to a stop outside Sonia’s cottage. There were four other cars parked about in the driveway and street.
Frank whistled shrilly as he considered them. His eyes were bleak. “I’m afraid we’re interrupting something,” he said tonelessly. “I’d forgotten that Sonia invited me to attend one of her things this afternoon.”
“What do you mean? A party?”
“Hmmm.” Frank looked at her gravely. “Sort of,” he said slowly. “Use your imagination to its fullest extent … then multiply by infinity. That will give you a vague idea of one of Sonia’s things.”
“Well, I’m going to interrupt this one,” Barbara said decidedly. A flush arose in her cheeks as she opened the door.
“No!” Frank’s voice was hoarse. Barbara looked at him and surprised a peculiar expression of horror on his face. Yet, it wasn’t horror. Something more than that. Horrified gladness. A strangely terrorized joy.
“I will too,” Barbara said defiantly. “I’ll only keep her for a minute.”
“You’ll stay in this car,” Frank said heavily. “Those who enter are forever damned. An appropriate slogan over the door would be Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here. I’ll go in and send Sonia out. You wait in the car.”
Their glances interlocked. Frank was breathing stertorously. His face was haggard and strained. In his eyes was something which struck a queer chill to Barbara’s heart. It was impossible to doubt his sincerity.
“All right,” she said, relaxing. “If you really think I shouldn’t.”
“I know you shouldn’t,” he told her gravely. “You wait right here and put your proposition up to Sonia. I only hope she’s not too far gone.” The last words were muttered to himself as he slipped from behind the wheel and walked to the front door.
Barbara followed him with her eyes. Her imagination drove ahead furiously as the door opened and closed behind him silently. She shivered for no apparent reason. There was something dreadful about the silence which enwrapped the cottage.
Four automobiles parked outside hinted at a considerable gathering within the snug white walls. Yet there was no sound; no gayety; no mirth; no music, laughter, nor voices.
Barbara sank lower on the seat as her imagination seized upon that silence and gave it awful meaning. What mysterious rites were taking place? What orgies did those white walls hide? Hideous phantoms rushed upon her. She wondered if Bob were in there with Sonia.
Frank had said, “Those who enter are forever damned.” “Forever damned.” No! God wouldn’t let Bob be damned. Bob was hers! She could save him. She must save him!
She bit her lip savagely to stop a little cry which escaped her. If Bob was there she should go in to him. But she wouldn’t believe he was there. She would wait … wait for Sonia.
The door opened just as Barbara was on the point of throwing discretion to the winds and rushing after Frank.
A white-robed figure stood on the threshold. The gown was pure white and hung like a surplice from Sonia’s shoulders. A great crimson cross on the front of the robe was the only note of relieving color. The vertical stripe starting at her waistline ran halfway to her knees, crossed by a horizontal bar at her loins.
Sonia stood momently on the doorstep, seemingly blinded by the afternoon sun, then moved toward Barbara. Her face was white, and the black hair was combed out to frame her chalky features with startling contrast.
She moved slowly, mechanically, almost like an automaton. As she drew nearer Barbara saw that her dark features were hidden beneath a white mask, and her eyes seemed to blaze in vivid contrast to her unnatural pallor.
Barbara shrank back from her as she approached the car. She gripped her hands into fists, and forced the fingernails into her flesh to control the shiver of aversion which passed over hey.
“Frank said you wanted to talk to me about Robert.” Sonia’s voice was flat and unaccented. Her lips and her eyes were the only clew to life beneath the mask.
“I … I … yes.”
“What is he to you?”
“He’s … he’s everything in the world to me,” Barbara cried passionately, overcoming her fear in the necessity for convincing Sonia.
“What are you to him?” Sonia’s voice was measured and expressionless. As though she repeated a lesson by rote.
“I … I’m going to marry him. That is, if you’ll help me. You must help me,” she cried tragically. “You don’t want him and … and I do. And I need him. I love him!”
“Love?”
“Yes, love!” Barbara said desperately. “Something you know nothing about. Something finer and better than anything you know.”
“Love?” She thought a flicker passed over Sonia’s face as she repeated the word. A flicker of pain … or of amusement.
“Is he in there now?” Barbara asked accusingly. She held her breath as she awaited Sonia’s answer. It seemed to her that everything in life depended upon a negative reply. After viewing Sonia she could not doubt the fearsome things which were being done in the cottage.
Spnia hesitated a long time before replying. She seemed to be considering the question. Perhaps she understood the look upon Barbara’s face. Perhaps she glimpsed how much depended upon her answer. Perhaps her scarred and mutilated soul was touched by the distress upon the fresh young face which awaited her answer, yet feared to hear it.
No matter the reason … Sonia lied magnificently.
“No. He is not here.”
“But you’re going to see him to-night,” Barbara persisted. “You’re going to the Brierly Ball with him?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there, masked,” Barbara said tensely. “He won’t know I’m there. He’s forgotten me since you’ve … since you’ve cast your spell over him. Give me a chance to win him back to-night. Let me try. That’s all I ask. It means so much to me, and to him … so little to you.”
“Perhaps it means more to me than you think.” Sonia’s voice was still expressionless.
“Oh, but it can’t,” Barbara cried wildly. “He means nothing to you. Another toy to break. Another man to add to your collection. It means our life … our happiness … if you knew what love means you’d understand.”
“Perhaps … he can teach me love.” Sonia’s voice was not so toneless. There was a suggestion of gentle musing in her tone.
Barbara started violently.
“Please!” she cried tragically. “You mustn’t do that. You mustn’t do that to him.”
“What … do you propose?”
“I just ask you for a chance. He’s bewitched by you. Lured by your body … by the charm of forbidden things. I … I want the same chance. Send him away from you to-night. I’ll be there … watching. I’ll be a stranger to him. I can give him more than you … so much more. I can win him back to me if you’ll let him go.”
“You think you can give him more … than I?” Sonia’s voice was wearied.
“I know I can. Please, please.”
“Very well.” Sonia turned away abruptly. “To-night … you can match your charms against mine. I will give him to you … to-night.”
Barbara-sank back on the seat and sobbed helplessly. She was exhausted. A terrible reaction set in and she shivered in the grip of fear.
The white-robed figure seemed to flow across the lawn to the front door of the cottage. The door opened silently … and closed silently. Frank did not return. It was as though he had been swallowed up by the inscrutable silence of the house.
Chapter Nineteen
Nothing happened. Barbara waited in the car and the sun sank lower in the west.
Still the oppressive silence hung over the scene like a heavy mantle. The white cottage seemed to shrink furtively in its setting of shrubbery; smug and satisfied, as though turning a disdainful shoulder to the outer world.
Frank did not return and an inexplicable fear g
ripped Barbara’s soul as she recalled the look on his face as he moved toward that silent front door. Perhaps Frank would not return. Ever. Perhaps something terrible had happened to him. Barbara choked back her sobs and sat up straighter. Her shoulders squared themselves and her face was drawn. She was fascinated by the intolerable hush, more pregnant with mysterious horror than ribald merriment.
The cottage seemed to beckon to her. It was as though unseen fingers reached out to clutch at her heart … drawing her on … a faint, muted cry which struck an answer from some hidden force within her body. She found that she was powerless to resist the call. It was stronger than reason, stronger than all the conscious will she could summon to her aid. Something within her was identified with that beckoning silence. The muscles of her body stiffened, and it seemed that her veins were frozen.
She moved mechanically from the car and stood erect upon the ground. The world did not exist. Her eyes saw only the white door which drew her on.
Then the door burst open. Barbara was halfway up the path.
She paused, and the spell was broken. The door slammed shut violently, and reason reasserted itself as the figure of a girl groped toward her, seemingly dazed and blinded by the light and by release.
It was Ethel. A wraith-like figure, robed as had been Sonia, with the difference that her robe was crimson with a white cross at her loins.
Her eyes were glazed and staring. She would have passed Barbara on the path without seeing her had not Barbara grasped her arm and spoken sharply:
“Ethel! It’s you! Speak to me! What’s happened? What’s the matter?”
“Let me go,” Ethel muttered. “Oh God! let me go!” Her voice rose shrilly as she tore at Barbara’s grasp.
“Stop it,” Barbara said sternly. She was herself again and able to cope with anything. “Look at me,” she exclaimed. “Don’t you recognize me?”
Ethel stared at her for a moment, and her features were distorted in an awful grimace of fear. Her eyes were distended and blazing wildly. Her hands went up, claw-like, to push away what she saw.
“Go away.” Her voice was choked and guttural. “Go away and leave me alone. I know you! You’re Ocypete … the Harpy! Go away! You shan’t have my soul.…” The last words were shrieked and little bubbles appeared at the corners of her mouth.
Barbara slapped her. Twice. With all her strength.
Ethel’s hands fell limply to her sides. Her features relaxed from the horrible grimace, and her eyes saw again.
“Oh,” she said vaguely.
“Come with me.” Barbara led her toward Frank’s car. Ethel did not resist. She followed submissively and silently.
“I’m sorry,” she said, making a pitiable attempt to smile. Then she recognized Frank’s car.
“I saw Frank,” she whispered. “He told me to take his car and drive it home. We’ll give it to him at the Brierly Ball to-night.”
“Can you drive?” Barbara asked briefly.
“No.” Ethel shuddered. “You drive,” she said hastily. “Just drive around for a while … then we’ll go home. I’ve got to get rid of this terrible thing and in some other clothes.” She glanced down at the crimson robe with loathing.
“Haven’t you anything beneath it?” Barbara asked practically as she slid into the seat behind the steering wheel and cautiously gave her attention to the unfamiliar actions necessary to put the car in motion.
“No,” Ethel said quietly. “Not a stitch beneath it.”
“Where are your clothes?” Barbara maneuvered the heavy car away from the cottage and turned into an unfrequented street leading north.
“Back … back there. This is … Sonia’s robe.” Ethel spoke with difficulty, seeming to force the words out.
“Tell me when to turn,” Barbara said evenly.
Ethel did not reply, and Barbara drove silently northward until the street crossed a highway leading weft. She turned into the stream of traffic on the highway and followed it slowly.
Ethel seemed sunk in a trance on the seat beside her. Barbara stole quick glances at her as she drove along, but asked her no questions. It seemed to her that she wanted to ask no questions. Perhaps she feared the answers Ethel would give. Perhaps it was merely a natural disinclination to probe into her friend’s secrets.
No matter the reason, she waited patiently for any revelations Ethel cared to make. She refused to let her mind dwell on the forces which had driven Ethel from the cottage. She would listen if Ethel cared to speak of them. But it didn’t seem to matter particularly. She had Sonia’s promise that Bob would be given back to her to-night. That was more important than anything else in the world. She felt tranquil and wholly at peace with the world.
“I … I suppose you think I’m crazy?” Ethel’s voice was anguished.
“I don’t think anything,” Barbara told her calmly.
“It’s … it’s all like a terrible dream!” Ethel shuddered and was silent.
“Don’t talk about it,” Barbara said. “Try and forget what happened. It’s over. Nothing can hurt you now. And it doesn’t matter.”
“I must forget it,” Ethel said determinedly. “I … I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. But I can’t forget it as long as I’m wearing this damned, shrieking costume.” She fingered the crimson material as though the mere touch of it aroused active aversion.
“That’s the first consideration,” Barbara admitted. “Don’t you have some friend where you could stop and borrow a dress or coat to wear home? You are … awfully conspicuous in that.”
“Oh yes. That’s … that’s what I’ll do.” Ethel brightened perceptibly at the thought of ridding herself of the garment. She sat up and looked around eagerly.
“Where are we?” she questioned slowly. “Oh, I know. Listen.… Take the next turn to the left. Jane Leffingwell lives out here. She’ll lend me something to wear. Here! Turn to your left. I’m sure this is the street.”
Barbara turned the car into a side street and followed Ethel’s directions till they came to a rambling house surrounded by an orchard.
“This is it,” Ethel said. “Drive in the driveway right up to the garage. Jane’s a dear friend of mine, and even if she isn’t home her mother will let me in her room to borrow something.”
Barbara drove into the driveway and Ethel got out to enter a side door. She cut off the ignition and waited for her to return.
It was almost sundown, and it was very quiet and serene here at the Leffingwell home. The city and the frenzied festival of Mardi Gras seemed almost a mirage. Sonia, Frank, the white cottage, all seemed to fade away and become of little importance. Night was coming on. Mardi Gras would end. The Brierly Ball and Bob filled her thoughts.
She did not fear the outcome of the evening. Some hidden strength came to her aid as she might have faltered. She felt it was right that God should reunite Bob with her. If it was right in His eyes … it would be done.
She breathed a little prayer to a God who she felt was very close to her. It seemed He had guided her footsteps unerringly toward this end. Her lips curled in a little smile as she enlarged upon the fantasy. Perhaps it was absurd to see the hand of God in the swift march of events which had carried her along since coming to New Orleans.
It would have seemed preposterous to the Barbara of a week ago. But this was a new Barbara. Strengthened and assured. She had met her problem and conquered it. To-night she would conquer the larger problem of the future. Her future … and Bob’s.
She smiled whimsically at Ethel as she hurried from the side door to the car. Jane Leffingwell was evidently a large girl. A gingham frock was grotesquely swathed about Ethel. But her face was flushed with relief, and her eyes were bright.
“You drive,” Barbara said thankfully, slipping over to the other side of the seat. “I was frightened to death for fear I’d press the wrong thing when I was driving.”
“All right.” Ethel took the wheel competently. “What a blessed relief,” she breathed. “I felt that ro
be was strangling me, suffocating me. I told Jane to burn the damned thing,” she ended viciously.
Barbara smiled understandingly. There seemed no need for words. She leaned back against the seat happily as Ethel drove swiftly homeward.
“You don’t seem at all perturbed.” Ethel glanced at her curiously.
“I’m not,” Barbara admitted. “I don’t want to think about this afternoon. I want to forget what I saw when you reeled out of that awful place.”
“I’m afraid I’ll never forget,” Ethel shuddered. “But I’ve learned my lesson,” she went on. “A burnt child fears the fire. It’ll be a long time before I let myself in for anything like that again.”
“Let’s think about to-night,” Barbara prompted. “Sonia … promised to turn Bob over to me to-night at the Ball.”
“Sonia promised …?” Ethel gasped. She was silent for a moment. She wondered if Barbara knew Bob had been one of the votaries at the mystic shrine in the cottage.
“I was so glad he wasn’t there this afternoon,” Barbara went on pensively. “I don’t believe I could have stood that.”
“How did you find out he wasn’t there?”
“Sonia told me.”
“Oh.” Ethel bit her lip and was silent. Then she spoke with forced brightness. “Guess what? I found out something about Cousin Hattie that’ll send you into hysterics.”
“What? Tell me.”
“This takes the cake,” Ethel chuckled. “You remember what we overheard Sonia telling about her drinking the punch at the Dancing Dervish last night? And about the man who was with her? Talk about a scream! You’d never guess who it was in a thousand years.”
“Well, tell me,” Barbara insisted.
“The Widower Simpson,” Ethel said gravely.
“The Widower Simpson?” Barbara repeated in bewilderment. “Simpson? I don’t think I know …”
“Don’t you remember the man on the train? The one we picked up at the depot? With the two darling kids?”
“Oh yes. Of course. They said he wanted to find a new mammy for them … one that would let them come to Mwada Gwa every year.” Barbara laughed merrily. “Do you suppose?” she asked laughingly, “that he selected Cousin Hattie for their new mammy?”
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