CHAPTER X
MISTRESS AND MAID
A CAREWORN, anxious expression had come to be so much at home onPriscilla's countenance, that it did not surprise Peggy to look fromher window one Saturday morning and see Priscilla approaching, her faceso lined by worry as to suggest that the heaviest responsibilitiesrested on her shoulders. As she was quite unconscious of Peggy'sobservation, she did not make her usual effort to smile and appearnatural.
"I wish I knew what ailed that girl," thought Peggy, studyingPriscilla's changed countenance with a heart-sick concern. "She looksyears older than she did six months ago, and I can't make out whethershe's sick or just unhappy. And the worst of it is that one can't get athing out of her."
But in this particular instance Peggy was to have no reason to complainof Priscilla's reticence. As Priscilla raised her heavy eyes andsaw her friend's face at the window, her own face brightened and shequickened her steps. Peggy hurried to the door, and flung it open withan unreasonable hope that this interview would end the mystery whichhad baffled her for so long. But the perplexity Priscilla had come toconfide was too recent to explain her worried air through the monthspast. She was hardly in the house before she burst out, "Peggy, I'm inan awful pickle."
"What's the matter? Can I help!"
"I wondered if you would lend me Sally."
"Sally?" repeated Peggy in accents of astonishment. For themaid-of-all-work in the Raymond household was a possession of whichfew people were envious. Whether Sally was really weak minded was aquestion on which a difference of opinion was possible, but there wasno possible doubt of her talent for doing the wrong thing at the righttime or else, vice versa, the right thing at the wrong time. Her oneredeeming feature was her amiability, but as this frequently took aconversational turn, it was not without its drawbacks. That any ofher friends could want to borrow Sally, or that any household buttheir own would put up with the blundering, good-natured apology for adomestic servant, had never entered Peggy's head.
"Sally," she repeated, still in a tone of mystification. "Of course youcan have her if you want her, but whatever it is, she'll do it wrong."
"I suppose she could open the door for a caller, couldn't she?"
"Why, she can open a door, as a rule, but just now she's got atooth-ache, and her head is tied up in a red flannel, so unless thecallers are people of strong nerves, they may be startled."
"O dear!" Priscilla's acceptance of this bit of information was sosuggestive of tragedy that Peggy was more puzzled than ever. "Who isthe caller?" she demanded. "And why in the world do you want Sally?"
"Well, it's quite a story, Peggy. You know Mother's away this week andMartha's having her vacation, and Father and I are taking our meals atthe Lindsays. And last evening Horace Hitchcock called, and it seemsthat an aunt of his is in town."
"Oh!" said Peggy. She always made desperate efforts to act just asusual when Horace's name was mentioned, but under such circumstancesshe invariably felt as if a thick curtain had dropped between herfriend and herself. "Horace Hitchcock's aunt," she repeated, tryingvaliantly to speak naturally. "Is she his mother's sister or hisfather's?"
"Neither one. She's his father's aunt, and of course she is quite oldand very rich, and it seems she's coming out to call on me."
"To call on you," Peggy exclaimed. "How interesting!"
But that adjective registered an exception to Peggy's usual frankness.Had she spoken her real feelings she would have said, "How dreadful!"For a call from the young man's great-aunt seemed to imply that theyoung man's intentions were serious, and recognized by the family.Horace and Priscilla! Peggy stifled a groan.
"And you see the fix I'm in," Priscilla was explaining disconsolately."Of course she's used to butlers and everything, and here I've got togo to open the door myself."
Peggy listened wonderingly. For even if Horace Hitchcock had been anentirely different young man, the necessity for opening the door tohis great-aunt would not have impressed her as a tragedy. Priscilla'sintuition told her what was passing through the other girl's mind, andshe spoke a little fretfully.
"Of course it's silly to mind, Peggy, but I _do_ mind, just the same.Mrs. Duncan has a houseful of servants, and she thinks of women whoanswer their own door-bell as we think of women who take in washing."Priscilla's feeling of resentment at Peggy was enhanced by her ownwonder at herself. The glamor which had surrounded Horace in the firstrenewal of their childish acquaintance had quite disappeared, and yetshe could not bear the thought that Horace's great-aunt might look downupon her.
"Sally wouldn't be the least bit of good," Peggy declared, "even if itwasn't for the red flannel. Just when I want Sally to be on her goodbehavior, she does some perfectly unheard-of thing. When do you expectMrs. Duncan?"
"Oh, sometime this forenoon. Horace thought about eleven. And that'sanother thing that puzzles me," exclaimed Priscilla unhappily. "Ought Ito dress up, do you think, as long as I'm expecting a call?"
"I'd wear my blue serge, if I were you. Blue serge is always safe and,besides, you look awfully well in that dress. And you need not worryabout the maid. I'm it."
"Why, Peggy, what do you mean?"
"Don't insult me by asking for Sally, and then pretending that I won'tdo. I've got a black dress and a cute little ruffled apron, and I'mjust aching to try my hand at one of those fetching caps the maids wearin the movies."
"But, Peggy, suppose Horace should come with his aunt!"
"You don't expect him, do you?"
"No. I'm sure he didn't plan to come last evening. But he might changehis mind."
"We'll keep on the look-out. If we see a lady arriving with a young manin tow, I'll roll my cap and apron into a bundle and put them under myarm. Then I'll be your friend, Peggy Raymond, making a morning call.But if the lady is alone, I'm Margaret, the maid."
Priscilla was hardly arrayed in her blue serge when Peggy arrived, andthe two girls inspected each other admiringly. The Plainness of theblue serge set off the long lines of Priscilla's slender, gracefulfigure, while the little frilled, nonsensical cap gave a charm toPeggy's mischievous face. "You look like a queen," Peggy declared.
"And you're darling in that cap. I'm afraid she'll suspect somethingthe minute she sees you."
Mistress and maid were sitting comfortably side by side in thedining-room when the door-bell rang. Peggy started to her feet, butPriscilla clutched her arm. "Don't go far, will you, Peggy."
"I don't want to appear to be eavesdropping, ma'am."
"Nonsense: you can pretend to be dusting something out here. I don'twant you to go away." Priscilla was experiencing a panic at the thoughtof being left to the tender mercies of Horace Hitchcock's great-aunt.She needed the close proximity of Peggy to give her confidence.
Horace had not accompanied Mrs. Duncan. She stood upon the steps, alittle withered woman, rather elaborately dressed, and she inspectedPeggy through her lorgnette. "Is Miss Combs in?" she inquired, afterfinishing her leisurely scrutiny.
"I think so, Madame. Please walk in." Peggy ushered the caller intothe front room and brought a tray for her card. Her cheeks had flushedunder Mrs. Duncan's inspection. The small, beady eyes in the wrinkledface had a curiously piercing quality, and she wondered uneasilywhether this remarkable old woman could possibly have recognized thatshe was only masquerading.
She carried the card upstairs to Priscilla who had retreated to herroom, the prey of nerves, and brought back word that Miss Combs wouldbe down in a few minutes. Then she retired to the adjoining room andbegan on her dusting. She was not sorry Priscilla had insisted that shebe near, for she was extremely curious to hear what the visitor wasgoing to say.
Priscilla followed Peggy in something like half a minute, and greetedher caller sweetly, though with some constraint. Mrs. Duncan lookedher over approvingly. "You're not as pretty as I expected," was herdisconcerting beginning.
In the next room Peggy gasped. Priscilla drew herself up and blushedcrimson.
"What I meant to say," explained t
he terrible old woman, "is thatyou're not as pretty as I expected, but much handsomer. I took it forgranted Horace would admire some namby-pamby with a doll's face. Isuppose you know you're a very striking type, don't you?"
"I can't say I've thought much about it," prevaricated Priscilla.
"And you're going to college," continued Mrs. Duncan. "What's your ideain that? I suppose you know that if you marry Horace, you ought not toknow too much."
"Really, Mrs. Duncan--"
But Priscilla's caller was off at a tangent. "You've got a nice-lookingmaid? Have you any brothers?"
"No," replied Priscilla mechanically. "I'm an only child."
"When you're married, Miss Combs, take an old woman's advice and neverhave an attractive maid about the house. My married life of twentyyears was reasonably successful," explained Mrs. Duncan complacently,"and I lay it all to my habit of selecting maids who were eithercross-eyed or else pock-marked."
Priscilla felt that she hated her, but as she struggled to conceal herinhospitable emotion, her visitor inquired blandly, "What do you andHorace talk about?"
"About--Oh, about all sorts of things." Priscilla wondered if ever inher life she had appeared as inane and stupid as on this momentousoccasion.
"I can't understand him, you know," explained Mrs. Duncan, rubbing hernose. "Sometimes I think it's because I'm a fool, and sometimes I thinkit's because he's a fool. I dare say you've felt the same uncertainty.But we'd better talk of something else, so you won't look to consciouswhen he arrives."
"Arrives?" repeated Priscilla blankly.
"Yes, he's to lunch with me down town. He suggested that I would enjoytaking him to--what's the name of the place? Oh, well, he'll know.Perhaps you'll join us."
Priscilla declined fervently. Without saying it in so many words, shegave the impression that she had a most imperative engagement forthe afternoon. As she voiced her stammering refusal, she felt likea criminal on the verge of exposure. For when the bell rang Peggywould answer it, and Horace would at once recognize that Priscilla'sattractive maid was no other than Priscilla's bosom friend.
But Peggy, dusting industriously in the adjoining room, had overheardthe news that had carried consternation to Priscilla's soul, and actedupon the hint with characteristic promptness. A moment later sheappeared in the doorway, waiting unobtrusively till Priscilla looked inher direction. And then she said respectfully, "Miss Priscilla."
Priscilla struggled to play her part. "Yes--Margaret?"
"I haven't done the marketing yet. If you can spare me for a littlewhile, I'll attend to it."
"Certainly, Margaret," replied Priscilla with boundless relief.
As Peggy disappeared, Mrs. Duncan leaned forward and tapped Priscilla'sknee. "I tell you she's too good to be true," she insisted. "She's toopretty, too well-mannered. There's something wrong somewhere. Don'ttrust her." And Priscilla had to conquer the impression that it washer friend Peggy who was being slandered, before she could assume thenonchalant manner suited to the statement that they had always foundMargaret a most trustworthy girl.
Horace arrived some fifteen minutes after Peggy's departure, and hisapologies to his great-aunt were more profuse than his slight tardinesscalled for. Indeed, as Priscilla watched his manner toward thedomineering old lady, she was unpleasantly reminded that Mrs. Duncanwas a rich widow, and that Horace might cherish the hope of inheritingat least a portion of her wealth. Priscilla had all the contempt ofa normal American girl for a fortune-hunter, and her lover had neverappeared to less advantage in her eyes than in his obvious efforts toplease his eccentric relative. In her revolt from Horace's methods shewent a little too far in the other direction, and her manner as sheparted from her guest was frigid rather than friendly. Mrs. Duncan'scall was the first indication that Horace's people were aware of hisintentions, and Priscilla had a not unreasonable feeling of resentmentat being inspected to see if she would do. Although the door had beenopened for Mrs. Duncan by a correctly appointed maid, Priscilla wasmiserably conscious that the call had not been a success, and that herunfavorable impression of Horace's great-aunt was probably returned bythat terrible old person with something to spare.
Peggy Raymond's Way; Or, Blossom Time at Friendly Terrace Page 10