CHAPTER XV
NIGHT AND MORNING
The picture of the night was in three panels,--that of the morning inone.
According to Nora, Mr. Esterbrook had suffered a shock, that indefinitesomething that may mean so many things. He had been in the library andhad evidently fallen in crossing the room. Miss Felton had found him andhad sent for two or three doctors, who were now with him; she wasterribly upset, and so the woman babbled on until the house was reached.
Three coupes were lined up before the door, and the house was lightedfrom top to bottom. Poppea judged that the physicians were still inconsultation.
The cook opened the door, explaining that Caleb was wanted upstairs, andthat Nora was to go at once to Miss Felton.
On her way to her room Poppea passed through the sitting room and tappedat Miss Emmy's door, which stood ajar, but there was no answer; the roomwas empty, so she continued on her way.
Turning up the light, she looked about the pretty bedroom, her eyeslingering on each article it contained. Was it possible that only fourhours had elapsed since she had left it? Yes, the little Dresden clockwas tinkling twelve.
Flowers from a concert of two days before filled the jars on themantel-shelf, then she remembered that all the tributes of that eveninghad been forgotten and left behind. Philip had brought her a wickerbasket of daffodils such as later in the season starred the bank gardenbelow the parapet at home. She hoped that he would not know and be hurt;as for the rest, what did it matter?
The night was warm, yet she closed the window, and crouching before thehearth, lit the symmetrical pile of small logs put there chiefly forornament. Stripping off her gay attire and dropping it in a heap on thefloor of the dressing closet, she threw a wrapper about her and againkneeled before the fire, as though its upward motion was a spell againstthe loneliness of the room. As she looked at the curling flames, hereyes dilated, and a terror that was an absolute pain swept over her: astrain of music had penetrated the fog that enveloped her brain; it wasthe song of the Knight--the Knight of the Grail.
"Oh, God, what have I done?" she whispered to the fire, "promised tomarry Bradish Winslow, when I have vowed that I would never marry until_that_ is no longer a mystery. Promised to marry him, not for love, butto trample on those who were trampling on me. It is true that when I amwith him there is something that makes me wish to stay, but when I amalone, I want to keep away. There is no one to speak to, no one to ask;if only I could feel Daddy's hand upon my hair to-night. Ah, littlemother, won't you ask God to help me in some way that I can feel andunderstand? To-morrow it will be too late!"
Clasping the locket to her breast, she crouched lower and lower untilher face almost touched the fire guard. The wood snapped and a live coalfell upon the carpet. Crushing it out with her slipper, her eye fellupon something white beside the hearthstone. Picking it up she saw thatit was Hugh's weekly letter that she had read and laid by the clock andthat a draught had wafted to her feet. Holding it between her palms, shegradually grew calm, and as she looked at it the only recourse openedbefore her: she must write to Winslow so that he would receive theletter when he awoke.
Going to the secretary with its litter of invitations and complimentarysocial notes, she swept them to the floor with a gesture half contemptand half full of the regret of renunciation. Then having cleared theshelf, she began to write, slowly as a child pens its copy, giving eachletter a separate stroke and weighing its value. She had need of thiscare, for before she had finished, the sheet was wet with tears.
Quarter of one, tittered the silly little clock. Poppea knew that nomail would be taken from the pillar at the street corner before six, butit might be her only chance to get out unobserved. The lights in theextension, where Mr. Esterbrook's rooms were located, were burningbrightly; now was her chance. Slipping on a long ulster, she went downwithout meeting any one, threw off the night latch on the door, andclosed it behind her. Two of the cabs had gone, and the driver of theone remaining slept upon the box.
It was but a step to the corner and back, the only live thing that sheencountered being a long-bodied cat which seemed to separate itself fromthe shadow of one pair of steps only to be swallowed by another shadowfarther on. Gaining her room once more, she put out the light and threwherself upon the bed without undressing.
In the room beyond, which was Miss Felton's, Miss Emmy was pacing to andfro. The consulting physicians had gone and their own family stand-by,Dr. Markam, was now coming from Mr. Esterbrook's quarters ushered byCaleb, Miss Felton remaining behind.
"Tell me the best and worst," said Miss Emmy, following the doctor downto the sitting room.
Dr. Markam looked at her keenly as if to gauge the quality of heremotion, then said tersely, "The best is that he may be quickly releasedby another stroke, the worst that he may live for years partly or whollyhelpless and with clouded mental faculties. Go up and try to persuadeMiss Elizabeth that it is unnecessary for her to remain. She is not usedto illness or misery. Caleb will stay to-night, and the nurse that Ishall send will be here by daylight," and after drinking the glass ofwine that Caleb offered him instinctively, he went out, thinking tohimself how little his old friend Esterbrook had, at the end of life, toshow for the elaborate trouble of his living.
Thus bidden, Miss Emmy crept softly into the outer room of Mr.Esterbrook's suite, then, not finding Elizabeth, she went through thedressing closet to the inner room where a night lamp burned with thepale rays of moonlight.
On the bed in the corner she could see the outline of Mr. Esterbrook'sform, still as though he no longer breathed. A second look revealed astranger object. Kneeling by the bed in the attitude of passionatedespair, her face buried in the quilt, her hands clasping the rigid one,was Miss Elizabeth.
Miss Emmy could not at once take in the details; her natural suppositionwas that her sister was ill or had fainted and slipped from the near-byarm-chair. Going to her she touched her on the shoulder, and in a lowtone gave the doctor's message about the nurse and the sufficiency ofCaleb for the night.
Suddenly Miss Felton turned, but without moving from her kneelingposture, and her sister started back, amazed at the entire change in herface. Haggard and worn, furrowed under the eyes and pinched at thenostrils, it was a woman of seventy-five, not sixty-four, that lookedup, while the carefully braided hair, always so exact a coronal to theunbending head, was loosened in a gray, dishevelled mass. Again MissEmmy tried to explain the doctor's words. Pulling herself to her feetwith difficulty, Miss Felton clutched her sister by one shoulder, almostscreaming in her ear.
"I will not go! I will not have a nurse! Caleb will stay with us; Calebwill be sufficient." Then as Miss Emmy did not move or seem tounderstand, she shook her arm.
"I am going to care for him now, because I love him, have always lovedhim, and you, or else your shadow, have always stood between. If hecould have stepped out of it for a month, a week, he would have known. Ithought once that you too loved him and you were my frail little sister,my charge, and so I repulsed him, suppressed my nature, and kept back.But you, you called him 'Willy' and played kitten and knitting ball withhim until you tired, until it was too late. Now he will never know; butif he lives, and I can make him comfortable, he may perhaps realize thecomfort, and through it that I love him. Now go--and leave us togetherat last! And if the people talk, tell them that Miss Felton does notcare!"
Shaken, nay, almost shattered, Miss Emmy dragged herself from the room,clinging from chair to table like a child who creeps. Of all thepossibilities of life, this that had happened seemed the mostimpossible. Elizabeth, the emotionless woman of perfect balance andjudgment! Like a condemned criminal but half conscious of what he isaccused, she groped her way along the hall. She must speak to some one,it seemed, or lose her mind.
Poppea had sent a message by Nora that she must be called if needed.Surely her need was great, so she opened the girl's door and listenedbefore entering.
"I am not asleep," said Poppea from the white draped bed, and rais
ingherself on her elbow, she lit the night lamp on the bed stand.
"Is he--is Mr. Esterbrook any worse? Is he very sick?"
"Yes, but being sick is not the worst," and Miss Emmy told Poppeabriefly what her sister now seemed to glory in, willing that the wholeworld should know.
Clasping her arms about the fragile creature, scarcely more than abundle of ribbon and lace, Poppea held her close, crying, "Poor Aunty,dear Aunt Emmy, you are not blamable, neither did _you_ know."
After a few minutes the girl's human sympathy relaxed the tension, andfreeing herself, Miss Emmy sat down by the bed.
"What is it, child? You are not yourself to-night, any more than I am.Were you not well received? Something has happened. What is it?"
Poppea shivered as she tried to frame a sentence that should be truthfuland yet not reveal, then she said:--
"One day you said that I could not keep on for long singing as I hadthis winter 'because they will not let you.' Every one was very kind,but afterward--it chanced to come to me that the women on whom I counted'will not let me' continue, as you said, so I am going home,again--to-morrow."
"That is not all, Poppea."
"That is all that I shall ever say," she answered with the fixed intentthat always astonished those who for the first time realized hercapacity for firmness.
"You do not need; I understand. I, too, am going home to the Hill,Poppea, because they will not let me stay."
"Oh, Aunty! Aunty!" she cried, "lie down beside me. I'm afraid, afraidof I don't know what, as I used to be when I slept in the little hoodedcradle and Daddy came and put Mack in beside me and sat and held myhand."
Then peace fell gently on Miss Emmy because this young creature neededher.
* * * * *
Bradish Winslow left the Hooper's as soon after Poppea as he mightwithout having the two departures coupled. Not for the first time in hislife had he been repelled and enraged by the absolute lack of socialsincerity on the part of the group of women who, in their day, were thecohesive element of society. Yet he never realized the responsibility inthe matter of men of his stamp who condone nearly everything in a womanso long as she is modish and amusing. Lighting a cigar and leaving histop-coat open that he might feel the vigor of the night air, Winslowstrolled slowly from Gramercy Park westward to the Loiterers' Club.Contrary to his usual gregarious habits, he made his way to one of theleast brilliantly lighted retiring-rooms, and ordering some club sodaand Scotch, a kind of whiskey that was considered a marked eccentricityin the era of Rye and Bourbon, stretched himself on a sofa, hands behindhead, and gave himself up wholly to steadying his nerves.
An hour later he entered his own bachelor home, a substantial andconservative house in one of the wide streets that cross lower FifthAvenue, a little north of Washington Square. The house was neither hisbirthplace nor the home of his childhood, but a legacy from agreat-aunt, the last of the Bradish name. It was twelve years since awoman other than a caretaker or housemaid had lived in it; the first sixit had remained virtually closed, while during the second half of theperiod, Winslow had developed the two first floors as suited the fancyof a man who entertained elegantly and conservatively, not choosing toestablish a carousing Bohemia at too close range. If he had some or anyof the vices of his class and position, he chose to pursue them awayfrom his normal surroundings and at his own pace, where at any moment hemight either outdistance them or drop behind without clamor.
Hence the house, as he entered it with his latch-key, had the subduedand grave air of any family residence in the same quarter. Turning outthe lights in the lower rooms, he went to his personal suite on thesecond floor, lighted some gas-jets in the three rooms, rang for hisman, and gave directions that he was to be wakened at half-past nine,breakfast in his room, and would under no consideration see any onebefore eleven o'clock. Then as the valet, but half awake, stumbled out,steadying himself by the portieres as he drew them to, Winslow gave asigh of relief, and flinging himself into a chair before the hearth, asPoppea had done, he stirred the embers and kindled a fire that was notfor warmth but like summoning a sympathetic yet reticent friend.
Winslow's feeling during the two hours since he had, as he considered,rushed to Poppea's rescue was dual; he congratulated himself not alittle that for once in his life he had let himself be swayed by agenerous impulse and his own emotion. Also his curiosity was veryexpectant as to the stir that would be made by the announcement of hisengagement to Poppea on the morrow and the consternation it would forvarious reasons cause. He could see the pallor come to the unprotectedportion of his cousin Hortense's cheeks as she wondered if "Brad" wouldever tell that baby-faced girl how desperately she had worked to enmeshhim, and how deliberately and cleverly he had forced her to show atrumpless hand. Then there were others, and the thoughts of them werehere and there tinged with regret. He had never been unscrupulous in hispleasures; he had simply lived life to the full as he saw it. As he wasin a somewhat exalted and generous mood, why do things by halves?
Going to a large mahogany secretary in the corner, he unlocked a deepdrawer that was hidden by a panel and took therefrom several bundles ofletters and some photographs; to these he added a picture from a silverframe on the mantle, of a very charming dark woman, well-groomed andpoised, but with an air of not belonging exactly to his world. He heldthe bundle to his chest a moment as he stood looking into the fire;opening a pit in the middle of the molten coals, he cast the lettersinto it, not even glancing at the superscriptions, and only separatingthem sufficiently to be sure that they would ignite, sat and watchedthem until they were consumed.
From their ashes came a more natural mood. The house was at best rathergloomy; how Poppea's coming would brighten it, and her voice echo up anddown those great rooms when she laughed; for he meant that she shouldlaugh and have no time for tears. The idea was very soothing; hewondered why he had never seriously contemplated marrying before.
Jove! but she was beautiful and unusual; he would have a miniaturepainted of her in the green muslin with the poppies in her hair. Then hewould take her everywhere that people might envy him her loveliness.
No, he would not! Formulating the thought brought a sharp revulsion. Hewould take her abroad, away from the carpers and fawners alike, wherethey two should be alone; for, after all contributing motives, what hehad said was true, he had loved Poppea at first sight, and as far as thebetter side of his nature was concerned, he loved her finally.
What a splendid ring he would buy her to-morrow, no to-day! a ruby heldin a setting of poppy leaves to form the flower. Ah! but she alreadyheld the spell of oblivion over him. He liked to feel this. Of coursethey would be married in a month; there was no reason for delay. The oldman Gilbert? That was easily fixed: an annuity as a parting gift fromPoppea and some tears, of course. It would be strange if she did notshow some feeling, and besides, ingratitude was one of the traits hemost detested in a woman.
So when Winslow at last settled himself in his bed, severe almost as ahospital cot, that stood in an alcove curtained from the luxurious roomto which it formed a sharp contrast, there was a smile on his lips, andclosing his eyes, he brought his finger-tips together, touched themfervently, and flung a message into the dark. He well knew how to playthe lover, but it was only this night that he realized what it was to beentirely in love with some one other than himself.
* * * * *
The morning, like the night, was mild, but with the chilly undercurrentsuggestive of sudden rain that divides April from May. The city, alwaysearly to awake in some quarter, now wore its widespread springalertness, and the venders of plants in a cheerful burst of bloom addedtheir cries to the street sounds.
Looking toward the square for a sign of color in the tree-tops, Poppeasaw a jet of water rising from the fountain that filled the air withspray through which some birds were flitting. That the fountain wasbeing set in order showed that the same spring impulse was moving thecity wheels that sent all the lit
tle hillside springs rushing madly toswell the tide of Moosatuck. How she hungered and thirsted for a sightof it!
* * * * *
At half-past nine, precisely to the moment, the time that he had beendirected, Winslow's valet came in, closed the windows, drew the curtainsacross the alcove, and after arranging the toilet articles in the amplebathroom, which was also used as a dressing-closet, went out until thebell should say that his master wished his breakfast. For accustomed toluxury as Winslow was in externals, his primitive tastes were direct andsimple and he detested the fuss and servility of bodily service.
When in half an hour's time, clad in a comfortable bath-gown, he loungedinto the library and rang for his coffee, picking up the letters thatwere neatly piled on the desk, so quickly does the mind of man travel todirect issues, that he was already considering the coming change ofbreakfasting in one of the smaller rooms below stairs, and picturingPoppea, gowned in some filmy draperies, flitting in like one of thestreaks of morning sunshine. As he glanced carelessly at the writingupon the various envelopes that he might receive a clew as to which, ifany, were worth the trouble of opening on this particular morning,Poppea's characters fixed his eye. It is true that he had previouslyreceived but two or three brief notes from her, acknowledging flowers oran invitation, but the writing, full of decision and so opposite fromthe girl's almost poetic appearance, was of the type that is calledcharacteristic and became fixed in the memory.
So she was moved to write immediately upon getting home, was his firstthought; but instead of hastily tearing the note open, he turned itslowly and reflectively in one hand as he poured himself a cup ofcoffee, then drank it deliberately, and seated himself, before releasingthe letter with a careful stroke of the paper-knife.
He had vainly tried the whimsical experiment of judging of the contentsby the sense of touch. Everything about his connection with Poppea hadbeen unusual, hence its added piquancy. Why should he not expect thatits completion should be on the same plane? He almost dreaded thefinding of a gushing and honeyed first love-letter of the newly engagedgirl in her early twenties.
He read the letter through, then rubbed his eyes, turned the paper tothe light, and read anew. In it was expressed gratitude to him coupledwith self-reproach for allowing a bitter hurt to be revenged even inthought by the idea of marriage. There was a request for forgiveness,not for the retracting of a promise so much as for the sense of injurythat had made the promise possible, and then the final statement thatshe would never take another's name until she had one of her own toyield. Piteous as was her agony of mind expressed, not so much in thewords used as in their haste and almost incoherence, Winslow feltforcibly that the nature that lay beneath had its depths and measures ofpride that his world could not fathom, because it was based upon afrankness, a fundamental _noblesse oblige_, that could neither be deniedor argued away. A princess Poppea was, though wandering from herkingdom.
One thing was evident through it all. She had been doubtless attractedto him in a way, but she did not love him; her suffering, therefore, wascomplicated, but not keenly direct, as more and more every moment hefelt his disappointment to be. Also the wind was taken out of anyfanciful balloon of his self-sacrifice, and it fell collapsed.
No, she did not love him,--"By God, but she shall!" he cried, bringinghis clenched hand down on the stand with a fervor that dashed thedelicate porcelain cup and saucer to the floor in shivering fragments."Life's been getting a sleepy nuisance these two years. What better towake me up than to track her origin and find her name? Time, money, andgrip I've got, if luck will only come in and take the fourth hand!
"What a conquest to remove her fantastic fortress and make her desire mylove at one bound!"
This was the second time that a man had made this wish; a different manpitched in a different key.
This man, like the other, having made a resolution, went on hisaccustomed way, which in Winslow's case was to dress with unusual care,a dark red carnation, the prevailing flower for morning wear, in hisbuttonhole. His business affairs calling him down town but three days aweek, he took a leisurely morning walk to the club, where he read thepapers and listened to other news that would never appear in print. Onsome one's remarking upon the success that Miss Gilbert had achieved theprevious night, that she had left early on account of Mr. Esterbrook'ssudden illness before all the deserved congratulations had reached her,and that those who knew her best said that not less than two men ofwealth were ready to back her for the study necessary to an operaticcareer, Winslow merely looked up, apparently only mildly interested, andobserved in neutral tones:--
"Her voice has operatic capacity doubtless, but I should judge shelacked the physique. By the way, what is the news of poor oldEsterbrook? A nice outlook ahead of us who grow old as bachelordandies, I must say."
But what he _thought_ was, "The cats have begun to weave their cradlefor Poppea's undoing, and when they find she has gone, they will lay itto their strategy. Damn them!"
Poppea of the Post-Office Page 15