Brentwood

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Marjorie hadn’t been quite sure till this minute what she was going to do, but now it was all very clear in her mind.

  “But, Marge, it’s only our house. It’s almost like home, you know. It isn’t as if we were going to have a lot of strangers either. There will be just the cousins and aunts and uncles. You’ve always known them, and Mother intends to plan it all very quietly. I’m sure there won’t be anything to upset you. If you find it’s too much I’ll take you off in the car to some quiet place for a few hours and rest you up, and you really must see it will be better for you than moping around here in this lonely house.”

  “You’re very kind!” said Marjorie with a troubled gaze, but more and more certain that she wasn’t going to accept. Then suddenly she lifted frank eyes to his.

  “You see, Evan, there’s something I have to do first before I can go anywhere and begin life again.”

  “Something you have to do? What do you mean?” He turned puzzled, dominating eyes upon her.

  Marjorie hesitated, then spoke decisively. After all, he was her good friend, why not confide in him? Perhaps he could advise her.

  “You know I’m an adopted child, don’t you? You’ve always known that, haven’t you, Evan?”

  A startled, almost cautious look came into his eyes.

  “Why—yes, of course, but what has that got to do with it? You don’t mean, Marjorie, that after all these years your mother has cut you out of the property she promised you? I heard her say myself that she was leaving you everything. You don’t mean that she tied it up or anything?”

  Marjorie laughed and drew a deep breath.

  “Oh, no, nothing like that, Evan. I’m very comfortably fixed, of course.”

  A relieved look came into the young man’s handsome eyes.

  “Well, then, why worry?” he said playfully, and his hand stole across and dropped familiarly, warmly, down upon hers.

  They were sitting on the deep couch, Marjorie at one end, Evan near the other, but now he leaned across with a comforting manner and looked into her eyes.

  She was quite serious as she answered him.

  “It’s not money worries,” she said. “It’s something entirely different. It’s my family. My birth family, I mean.”

  “Your birth family?” He looked at her, startled. “Have they dared turn up and annoy you?”

  “Oh, no!” she said quickly. “Of course not!”

  “Why ‘of course not’? They likely would, if they knew you were alone and unprotected. A girl with a fortune is never quite safe alone. You ought not to stay a night alone here!”

  “Why, I’m not alone!” said Marjorie. “The servants would protect me with their lives if there were need. I’m quite safe. But it’s absurd, Evan, for you to talk that way about my birth family! Don’t, please! It hurts me!”

  “Hurts you?” he said, looking at her incredulously. “Hurts you to hear that people you never saw in your life, and about whom you know nothing, might possibly have some motives that were not of the best?”

  “They are my own people, Evan!”

  “Nonsense! Nothing of the kind!” said Evan, lifting his well-modeled chin haughtily. “You are no more connected with them than I am. They gave you up! I should think you would never want to see or hear of them! I should say you are fortunate that they are not troubling you. Let sleeping dogs lie! You have no obligation whatever toward them!”

  Something about the harshness of his tone made Marjorie give a little shiver and draw her hand quietly away from under his.

  “I don’t feel that way, Evan!” she said gently, marveling that after her hours of doubt she suddenly felt clear in her mind about the matter. “You don’t know all about it, or you wouldn’t say that either, I’m quite sure. Mother left a letter telling me about them and suggesting that I might want to hunt them up and see if there was anything I could do for them.”

  “And I still say, ‘Let sleeping dogs lie,’ ” said Evan coldly. And then he laid his hand once more on hers in a possessive way, as if he owned her.

  “Of course, if you were anxious to do a little something in a quiet way for them, it could be arranged anonymously,” he added. “I would be glad to see to that for you, and it might ease your conscience, since you seem to be distressed about the matter. But on no account let them know that you have done anything for them. They will just be after you all the time, begging and whining, and making your life a misery. They are all suckers, those people! They never cared anything for you or they wouldn’t have sold you in the first place. And now you are a being of another world than theirs, and they have no right to intrude into your life and try to get your property away from you! I insist—!”

  Marjorie drew her hand decidedly away from under his again and stood up, her own chin lifted defiantly, her eyes bright and indignant.

  “Evan! You must not talk that way! You simply don’t understand at all. I thought you were my friend and I could talk it over with you, but you don’t seem willing to listen. I’m sorry I mentioned it, but since I have started, I must finish. I tell you, Mother left me a letter in which she tells me more about my people than I ever knew, and than she ever knew until a few months before Father died. I think she meant to tell me, but found it hard to talk about, and so left this letter. She gives me all the circumstances of my adoption and how my birth mother afterward was grieved that she had given me up and begged to see me, and—”

  “Yes! Exactly! Didn’t I tell you? People like that can never honorably abide by a bargain—”

  “Please don’t interrupt me, Evan. You must hear me to the end. Mother felt I ought to know about everything, and that I was free to do what I liked about hunting up my people and doing everything I liked for them. She says in the letter that they positively refused money. Sent back a check that she sent them!”

  “Oh, probably only a fine gesture!” sneered Evan. “My dear, trust me! I know that class of people—”

  “Be careful, Evan,” said Marjorie, drawing herself up. “Please don’t say any more! It is my own mother and father you are talking about! This is something I have to work out myself. I’m sorry I said anything about it until I had made my decision.”

  “But, darling, be reasonable!” said Evan, softening his voice. Marjorie didn’t even notice he had called her “darling.” It was such a common phrase of the day and Evan was a very close friend. But his voice was less aggressive now, more gentle. He got up and stood beside her, taking her hands in his and drawing her nearer to him. “Listen, little girl! If you are really serious about this thing, of course it will have to be investigated. I still think it would be better not, but if you have set your heart on it, I beg you will let me do the investigating for you. I am a lawyer. I know how to protect your interests, and I will do whatever you want done conscientiously. I am sure you can trust me, Marjorie. I love you, don’t you know it, little girl?”

  She looked up at him, startled. It was the first time he had ever spoken of love. He had just been a good friend, somewhat as she supposed a brother might be, only more polite than some brothers. One who would protect and advise and care for her when she needed it. And even now she was not sure but it was just in this way he meant that he loved her, as a man might love a dear sister whom he wanted to guide and protect. But somehow he had created a doubt in her mind as to his full willingness to understand and do all that she needed now. She could not get away from the harshness in his voice when he had said, “Let sleeping dogs lie!” The very words by which he had hoped to turn her away from her purpose had served to clarify her decision and give her a certain loyalty to these unknown ones of her family.

  Her eyes searched his for an instant, keenly, doubtfully. There was a light in his own as he looked possessively down at her now that seemed to be different from any look she had ever noticed there before, but it did not stir her deeply. She tried to think that perhaps this was the rest she sought, Evan’s love and care, but the thought failed to bring any joy or rest. If this
was love, she wasn’t ready for it yet, not until she had found out the whole truth about her people.

  She drew back and tried gently to take her hands away from his clasp, but he held them firmly and drew her closer.

  “Dear little girl!” he said suddenly, putting his face down and laying his cheek against hers, seeking her lips with his own and pressing a kiss upon them.

  For an instant she yielded herself to that embrace, her lips to that kiss, but only an instant so brief it might scarcely have been recognized by the man as yielding. For suddenly she sprang away and put out her hands in protest.

  “No, please, not now! I can’t think of such things now!”

  He snatched at her hands again, trying to draw her back quietly to his embrace.

  “Poor child!” he said, kissing her fingers gently. “Don’t you realize that this is where you belong, in my arms? Don’t you love me?”

  “I don’t know!” said Marjorie, turning unhappy eyes away from him. “I haven’t ever thought of you in this way. And my heart is full of so many other things now.”

  “I know, poor child!” he continued. “But you do love me. I’m sure you do. I’ve seen it in your eyes a thousand times when you have looked at me. You love me, only you haven’t recognized it as love yet! But I will teach you what love means!”

  And he suddenly drew her close again and pressed hot kisses on her lips.

  But now she sprang away again, covering her face with her hands.

  “No! No!” she cried out. “I will not let you kiss me until I am sure, and I am not now! Please, won’t you go away and let me think? My mind is so tired and all mixed up!”

  “Poor child!” he said gently. “I am sorry if I have seemed to hurry you. I only wanted to show you that I am your natural protector. But I am willing to wait, to go slow, till your sorrow is not so sharp. I only ask one thing of you, and that is that you will not make any move in this matter of your family till you have talked with me again. That you will think it over, and if anything has to be done you will let me handle it for you. Will you promise?”

  Marjorie was still for several seconds, looking down at her hands clasped tightly before her. Then she said slowly, seriously, “I will promise to think over what you said. Everything that you have said.”

  She looked up at him quietly and smiled a cold little wistful smile. Then she added, “I’m sorry to seem so uncertain and so unappreciative of your love. But I just can’t seem to think tonight!”

  “Well, that’s all right, little girl!” he said, and his voice was very gentle again, as if he were talking to a child who didn’t quite understand. “I know you’ve been terribly upset, and I don’t want to rush you. But I do want you to understand that you can come to me for everything!”

  “Thank you!” she said simply, but her face looked white and tired.

  He was a wise young man, and he saw that he couldn’t get any further tonight.

  “Well, then, we’ll say good night. Are you going to let me kiss you again?”

  “Please, no,” she said, with a troubled protest in her eyes.

  “All right,” said the young man gravely. “It shall be as you wish, but I wish you would consider that we are engaged. I’d like to put a ring on your finger tomorrow and feel that you are my promised wife.”

  Marjorie turned her head away and looked troubled again.

  “I can’t think of these things now!” she said. “Please let us be just friends, as we have always been!”

  He studied her for a moment, and then his lips set in a firm line of determination.

  “Very well,” he said quite cheerfully. “I am just your friend for now, but a very special friend, you know. One whom you can call upon for anything. Will you feel that?”

  She smiled with relief.

  “Yes,” she said. “Thank you! Good night!” and she put out her hand and gave his a brief, impersonal clasp.

  Then he was gone, and she stood alone, looking down at the gardenias he had brought and wondering why she had not thrilled to his touch. Why, somehow, her feeling of his friendliness had been lost in a new something that she did not understand nor want. Not now, anyway.

  Chapter 2

  Marjorie found she was too excited to sleep when she laid her head on her pillow. But strangely enough, it was not on the eager protests of love that her mind dwelt most during that night’s vigil, but more on Evan’s insistence that she should not search out her people. And the more she thought of it, the less she thought of him.

  Still, she knew that was not fair either. If Evan really loved her as he said he did, it might be natural, if not noble, at least for her sake, to wish to protect her against anything that might annoy or embarrass her. And yet, the more she faced the possibility that her family might be embarrassing, the more she felt it her duty to search them out and know the truth.

  After all, even if she wanted to accept the love that had been offered her—and she wasn’t at all sure that she did—it was all so new and unexpected, and her reaction to it was tempered by his utter distaste for having her birth family in her background. Could she honestly marry any man without knowing the truth about her family?

  And, of course, she could not get away from the fact that they were her parents and had a right to a place in her life, whether she or her friends or anybody else wanted them there or not. What that place was to be must be decided before she went on another step in life. No other questions of life or love or future happiness could be settled until she dealt with that. And she would have to deal with it alone. No one else could settle it for her.

  She awoke in the morning with the definite purpose in her heart to get the matter over with at once. She would start right away before anything else could possibly delay her. If any more people came in and tried to turn her from her purpose she would become bewildered again.

  She dressed hastily and sat down at her desk at once, determined to burn all bridges behind her. She wrote charming little notes declining all her invitations, and then wrote to Evan Brower.

  Dear Evan:

  I have kept my promise and thought over carefully the matter of which we were speaking last evening, and have decided that I must visit my family at once. When I come back I hope to be able to talk about the question more intelligently.

  Please don’t think I do not appreciate your kind thought for me, but I feel that this is a question I must investigate and decide for myself, and I must settle it before I do anything else.

  I have written your mother, thanking her for her kind invitation and telling her how sorry I am that it doesn’t seem possible for me to visit her just now.

  I shall probably return sometime after New Year’s Day, or perhaps sooner if I get homesick. But I will let you know when I get back.

  Thank you for all your kindness, and I’m trusting that you will try to understand.

  Most gratefully,

  Marjorie

  She felt better when the notes were written. It seemed as if she were already started on her journey. But she decided not to mail them until just as she was leaving. She did not want anybody coming in to try to hinder her. Evan would not be able to get away from his office before evening, and if anyone else came she would merely say she was about to visit relatives for the holidays.

  She called up the station and made her reservations on a train that left the city a little after six that night. Then she went down to the kitchen and gave the house servants a vacation for the holidays, all except the chauffeur and his wife, who lived over the garage and would care for the house.

  After all her worry, it was very simple. The servants were delighted and did not ask her plans. She told them she would be visiting relatives. The house became a hive of industry for the next few hours, though there wasn’t much to be done toward closing up, as the chauffeur’s wife would look after all that. Marjorie went at her packing. It didn’t take long. She took some of her prettiest casual dresses—the Wetherills had never approved of wearing mourning
—and two or three plain little house dresses in case she found her relatives in poor circumstances. She must remember not to remind them that she had been brought up to plenty.

  She took her checkbook and plenty of money, carefully stowed as she had been taught to do when traveling. She left no address with anybody. She did not want anyone coming after her to try to hinder her in whatever she should decide to do.

  At the last she almost turned back, her heart failing her at what might be before her, for she was gifted with a strong imagination and had in the night envisioned a number of situations that might arise that would make her greatly regret this step she was taking. But the servants were gone now, and it was too late to turn back. The taxi was at the door to take her to the station.

  She waited long enough to telephone her lawyer that she would be out of the city for a few days, perhaps till after Christmas, and would let him know her address later. Then she locked the door and went down the walk to the taxi, winking back the tears, feeling as if she were bidding good-bye to her former lovely life and stepping off into the great unknown. What a fool she was, she told herself—she didn’t have to stay if she didn’t want to. She could come right back the day she got there if she chose.

  And so at last she was on her way, quite worn out with the tumult of her decision and her preparations.

  The next morning she arrived in the strange city and went to a hotel. After attempting a sketchy breakfast, she took a taxi and drove to the address that had been given in the letter.

  She had meant to do a great deal of thinking before she went to sleep in her berth, but the day of excitement had wearied her more than she knew and she had dropped to sleep at once and had not wakened until the porter called her in the morning. So now, as she rode along in her taxi, she suddenly felt unprepared for the ordeal that was before her. She had intended to plan just how she would open the interview, always supposing she found anybody to have an interview with, but now it seemed too absurd to plan anything for so vague a scene as she was about to stage. She found herself shrinking inexpressibly from the whole thing. If she had it to decide all over again this morning, she would certainly have turned it down as an utterly preposterous proposition. Certain words and phrases of Evan’s came to her mind, a tiny reflection of his sneer when he had told her it might be embarrassing for her to hunt up her relatives.