The Street of Seven Stars

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  CHAPTER XVII

  Christmas-Day had had a softening effect on Mrs. Boyer. It had openedbadly. It was the first Christmas she had spent away from her children,and there had been little of the holiday spirit in her attitude as sheprepared the Christmas breakfast. After that, however, things happened.

  In the first place, under her plate she had found a frivolous chain andpendant which she had admired. And when her eyes filled up, as they didwhenever she was emotionally moved, the doctor had come round the tableand put both his arms about her.

  "Too young for you? Not a bit!" he said heartily. "You're better-lookingthen you ever were, Jennie; and if you weren't you're the only woman forme, anyhow. Don't you think I realize what this exile means to you andthat you're doing it for me?"

  "I--I don't mind it."

  "Yes, you do. To-night we'll go out and make a night of it, shall we?Supper at the Grand, the theater, and then the Tabarin, eh?"

  She loosened herself from his arms.

  "What shall I wear? Those horrible things the children bought me--"

  "Throw 'em away."

  "They're not worn at all."

  "Throw them out. Get rid of the things the children got you. Go outto-morrow and buy something you like--not that I don't like you inanything or without--"

  "Frank!"

  "Be happy, that's the thing. It's the first Christmas without thefamily, and I miss them too. But we're together, dear. That's the bigthing. Merry Christmas."

  An auspicious opening, that, to Christmas-Day. And they had carriedout the program as outlined. Mrs. Boyer had enjoyed it, albeit a bithorrified at the Christmas gayety at the Tabarin.

  The next morning, however, she awakened with a keen reaction. Her headached. She had a sense of taint over her. She was virtue rampantagain, as on the day she had first visited the old lodge in theSiebensternstrasse.

  It is hardly astonishing that by association of ideas Harmony cameinto her mind again, a brand that might even yet be snatched from theburning. She had been a bit hasty before, she admitted to herself. Therewas a woman doctor named Gates, although her address at the club wasgiven as Pension Schwarz. She determined to do her shopping early andthen to visit the house in the Siebensternstrasse. She was not a hardwoman, for all her inflexible morality, and more than once she hadhad an uneasy memory of Harmony's bewildered, almost stricken facethe afternoon of her visit. She had been a watchful mother over a notparticularly handsome family of daughters. This lovely young girl neededmothering and she had refused it. She would go back, and if she foundshe had been wrong and the girl was deserving and honest, she would seewhat could be done.

  The day was wretched. The snow had turned to rain. Mrs. Boyer, shopping,dragged wet skirts and damp feet from store to store. She found nothingthat she cared for after all. The garments that looked chic in thewindows or on manikins in the shops, were absurd on her. Her insistentbosom bulged, straight lines became curves or tortuous zigzags, placketsgaped, collars choked her or shocked her by their absence. In the mirrorof Marie Jedlicka, clad in familiar garments that had accommodatedthemselves to the idiosyncrasies of her figure, Mrs. Boyer was a plump,rather comely matron. Here before the plate glass of the modiste, underthe glare of a hundred lights, side by side with a slim Austrian girlwho looked like a willow wand, Mrs. Boyer was grotesque, ridiculous,monstrous. She shuddered. She almost wept.

  It was bad preparation for a visit to the Siebensternstrasse. Mrs.Boyer, finding her vanity gone, convinced that she was an absurdityphysically, fell back for comfort on her soul. She had been a good wifeand mother; she was chaste, righteous. God had been cruel to her in theflesh, but He had given her the spirit.

  "Madame wishes not the gown? It is beautiful--see the embroidery! Andthe neck may be filled with chiffon."

  "Young woman," she said grimly, "I see the embroidery; and the neckmay be filled with chiffon, but not for me! And when you have had fivechildren, you will not buy clothes like that either."

  All the kindliness was gone from the visit to the Siebensternstrasse;only the determination remained. Wounded to the heart of herself-esteem, her pride in tatters, she took her way to the old lodge andclimbed the stairs.

  She found a condition of mild excitement. Jimmy had slept long after hisbath. Harmony practiced, cut up a chicken for broth, aired blankets forthe chair into which Peter on his return was to lift the boy.

  She was called to inspect the mouse-cage, which, according to Jimmy, hadstrawberries in it.

  "Far back," he explained. "There in the cotton, Harry."

  But it was not strawberries. Harmony opened the cage and very tenderlytook out the cotton nest. Eight tiny pink baby mice, clean washed by themother, lay curled in a heap.

  It was a stupendous moment. The joy of vicarious parentage was Jimmy's.He named them all immediately and demanded food for them. On Harmony'sdelicate explanation that this was unnecessary, life took on a newmeaning for Jimmy. He watched the mother lest she slight one. Hisresponsibility weighed on him. Also his inquiring mind was very busy.

  "But how did they get there?" he demanded.

  "God sent them, just as he sends babies of all sorts."

  "Did he send me?"

  "Of course."

  "That's a good one on you, Harry. My father found me in a hollow tree."

  "But don't you think God had something to do with it?"

  Jimmy pondered this.

  "I suppose," he reflected, "God sent Daddy to find me so that I would behis little boy. You never happened to see any babies when you were outwalking, did you, Harry?"

  "Not in stumps--but I probably wasn't looking."

  Jimmy eyed her with sympathy.

  "You may some day. Would you like to have one?"

  "Very much," said Harmony, and flushed delightfully.

  Jimmy was disposed to press the matter, to urge immediate maternity onher.

  "You could lay it here on the bed," he offered, "and I'd watch it. Whenthey yell you let 'em suck your finger. I knew a woman once that had ababy and she did that. And it could watch Isabella." Isabella was themother mouse. "And when I'm better I could take it walking."

  "That," said Harmony gravely, "is mighty fine of you, Jimmy boy. I--I'llthink about it." She never denied Jimmy anything, so now she temporized.

  "I'll ask Peter."

  Harmony had a half-hysterical moment; then:

  "Wouldn't it be better," she asked, "to keep anything of that sort asecret? And to surprise Peter?"

  The boy loved a secret. He played with it in lieu of other occupation.His uncertain future was sown thick with secrets that would never flowerinto reality. Thus Peter had shamelessly promised him a visit to thecircus when he was able to go, Harmony not to be told until the ticketswere bought. Anna had similarly promised to send him from America apitcher's glove and a baseball bat. To this list of futurities he nowadded Harmony's baby.

  Harmony brought in her violin and played softly to him, not to disturbthe sleeping mice. She sang, too, a verse that the Big Soprano had beenfond of and that Jimmy loved. Not much of a voice was Harmony's, butsweet and low and very true, as became her violinist's ear.

  "Ah, well! For us all some sweet hope lies Deeply buried from human eyes,"

  she sang, her clear eyes luminous.

  "And in the hereafter, angels may Roll the stone from its grave away!"

  Mrs. Boyer mounted the stairs. She was in a very bad humor. She hadsnagged her skirt on a nail in the old gate, and although that verymorning she had detested the suit, her round of shopping had againendeared it to her. She told the Portier in English what she thoughtof him, and climbed ponderously, pausing at each landing to examine thedamage.

  Harmony, having sung Jimmy to sleep, was in the throes of an experiment.She was trying to smoke.

  A very human young person was Harmony, apt to be exceedingly wretchedif her hat were of last year's fashion, anxious to be inconspicuous bydoing what every one else was doing, conventional as are the very young,fearful of b
eing an exception.

  And nearly every one was smoking. Many of the young women whom she metat the master's house had yellowed fingers and smoked in the anteroom;the Big Soprano had smoked; Anna and Scatchy had smoked; in thecoffee-houses milliners' apprentices produced little silver mouth-piecesto prevent soiling their pretty lips and smoked endlessly. Even Peterhad admitted that it was not a vice, but only a comfortable bad habit.And Anna had left a handful of cigarettes.

  Harmony was not smoking; she was experimenting. Peter and Anna hadsmoked together and it had looked comradely. Perhaps, without reasoningit out, Harmony was experimenting toward the end of establishing herrelations with Peter still further on friendly and comradely grounds.Two men might smoke together; a man and a woman might smoke togetheras friends. According to Harmony's ideas, a girl paring potatoes mightinspire sentiment, but smoking a cigarette--never!

  She did not like it. She thought, standing before her little mirror,that she looked fast, after all. She tried pursing her lips together,as she had seen Anna do, and blowing out the smoke in a thin line. Shesmoked very hard, so that she stood in the center of a gray nimbus. Shehated it, but she persisted. Perhaps it grew on one; perhaps, also,if she walked about it would choke her less. She practiced holding thething between her first and second fingers, and found that easier thansmoking. Then she went to the salon where there was more air, and triedexhaling through her nose. It made her sneeze.

  On the sneeze came Mrs. Boyer's ring. Harmony thought very fast. Itmight be the bread or the milk, but again--She flung the cigarette intothe stove, shut the door, and answered the bell.

  Mrs. Boyer's greeting was colder than she had intended. It put Harmonyon the defensive at once, made her uncomfortable. Like all the innocentfalsely accused she looked guiltier than the guiltiest. Under Mrs.Boyer's searching eyes the enormity of her situation overwhelmed her.And over all, through salon and passage, hung the damning odor of thecigarette. Harmony, leading the way in, was a sheep before her shearer.

  "I'm calling on all of you," said Mrs. Boyer, sniping. "I meant to bringDr. Boyer's cards for every one, including Dr. Byrne."

  "I'm sorry. Dr. Byrne is out."

  "And Dr. Gates?"

  "She--she is away."

  Mrs. Boyer raised her eyebrows and ostentatiously changed the subject,requesting a needle and thread to draw the rent together. It had been inHarmony's mind to explain the situation, to show Jimmy to Mrs. Boyer,to throw herself on the older woman's sympathy, to ask advice. Butthe visitor's attitude made this difficult. To add to her discomfort,through the grating in the stove door was coming a thin thread of smoke.

  It was, after all, Mrs. Boyer who broached the subject again. She hadhad a cup of tea, and Harmony, sitting on a stool, had mended the rentso that it could hardly be seen. Mrs. Boyer, softened by the tea and bythe proximity of Harmony's lovely head bent over her task, grew slightlymore expansive.

  "I ought to tell you something, Miss Wells," she said. "You remember myother visit?"

  "Perfectly." Harmony bent still lower.

  "I did you an injustice at that time. I've been sorry ever since. Ithought that there was no Dr. Gates. I'm sorry, but I'm not going todeny it. People do things in this wicked city that they wouldn't do athome. I confess I misjudged Peter Byrne. You can give him my apologies,since he won't see me."

  "But he isn't here or of course he'd see you."

  "Then," demanded Mrs. Boyer grimly, "if Peter Byrne is not here, who hasbeen smoking cigarettes in this room? There is one still burning in thatstove!"

  Harmony's hand was forced. She was white as she cut the brown-silkthread and rose to her feet.

  "I think," she said, "that I'd better go back a few weeks, Mrs. Boyer,and tell you a story, if you have time to listen."

  "If it is disagreeable--"

  "Not at all. It is about Peter Byrne and myself, and--some others. Itis really about Peter. Mrs. Boyer, will you come very quietly across thehall?"

  Mrs. Boyer, expecting Heaven knows what, rose with celerity. Harmonyled the way to Jimmy's door and opened it. He was still asleep, a wastedsmall figure on the narrow bed. Beside him the mice frolicked in theircage, the sentry kept guard over Peter's shameless letters from theTyrol, the strawberry babies wriggled in their cotton.

  "We are not going to have him very long," said Harmony softly. "Peter ismaking him happy for a little while."

  Back in the salon of Maria Theresa she told the whole story. Mrs. Boyerfound it very affecting. Harmony sat beside her on a stool and she kepther hand on the girl's shoulder. When the narrative reached Anna'sgoing away, however, she took it away. From that point on she satuncompromisingly rigid and listened.

  "Then you mean to say," she exploded when Harmony had finished, "thatyou intend to stay on here, just the two of you?"

  "And Jimmy."

  "Bah! What has the child to do with it?"

  "We will find some one to take Anna's place."

  "I doubt it. And until you do?"

  "There is nothing wicked in what we are doing. Don't you see, Mrs.Boyer, I can't leave the boy."

  "Since Peter is so altruistic, let him hire a nurse."

  Bad as things were, Harmony smiled.

  "A nurse!" she said. "Why, do you realize that he is keeping threepeople now on what is starvation for one?"

  "Then he's a fool!" Mrs. Boyer rose in majesty. "I'm not going to leaveyou here."

  "I'm sorry. You must see--"

  "I see nothing but a girl deliberately putting herself in a compromisingportion and worse."

  "Mrs. Boyer!"

  "Get your things on. I guess Dr. Boyer and I can look after you until wecan send you home."

  "I am not going home--yet," said poor Harmony, biting her lip to steadyit.

  Back and forth waged the battle, Mrs. Boyer assailing, Harmony offeringlittle defense but standing firm on her refusal to go as long as Peterwould let her remain.

  "It means so much to me," she ventured, goaded. "And I earn my lodgingand board. I work hard and--I make him comfortable. It costs him verylittle and I give him something in exchange. All men are not alike. Ifthe sort you have known are--are different--"

  This was unfortunate. Mrs. Boyer stiffened. She ceased offensivetactics, and retired grimly into the dignity of her high calling ofvirtuous wife and mother. She washed her hands of Harmony and Peter. Shetied on her veil with shaking hands, and prepared to leave Harmony toher fate.

  "Give me your mother's address," she demanded.

  "Certainly not."

  "You absolutely refuse to save yourself?"

  "From what? From Peter? There are many worse people than Peter to savemyself from, Mrs. Boyer--uncharitable people, and--and cruel people."

  Mrs. Boyer shrugged her plump shoulders.

  "Meaning me!" she retorted. "My dear child, people are always cruel whotry to save us from ourselves."

  Unluckily for Harmony, one of Anna's specious arguments must pop intoher head at that instant and demand expression.

  "People are living their own lives these days, Mrs. Boyer; old standardshave gone. It is what one's conscience condemns that is wrong, isn'tit? Not merely breaking laws that were made to fit the average, not theexception."

  Anna! Anna!

  Mrs. Boyer flung up her hands.

  "You are impossible!" she snapped. "After all, I believe it is Peter whoneeds protection! I shall speak to him."

  She started down the staircase, but turned for a parting volley.

  "And just a word of advice: Perhaps the old standards have gone. But ifyou really expect to find a respectable woman to chaperon YOU, keep yourviews to yourself."

  Harmony, a bruised and wounded thing, crept into Jimmy's room and sankon her knees beside the bed. One small hand lay on the coverlet; shedared not touch it for fear of waking him--but she laid her cheek closeto it for comfort. When Peter came in, much later, he found the boy wideawake and Harmony asleep, a crumpled heap beside the bed.

  "I think she's been crying," J
immy whispered. "She's been sobbing in hersleep. And strike a match, Peter; there may be more mice."