“Let’s go back to the beginning,” said Adam, still amused. “This visit of mine to McKeon Street was made at the request of your wife. So I presumed that anything further which might be done would have to come from her.”
Wade threw Lora a look of disapproval. “Had you consulted me, I could have made this trip to McKeon Street myself to find the girl. I don’t quite understand—”
“Then perhaps you’ll go to see Morgan about her?” Lora asked hurriedly.
Adam did not wait for Wade’s answer, but rose with an air of relief. “At least there’s nothing more I can do about the matter and I promised my sister not to be late for luncheon today. So if you’ll excuse me—”
He managed to bow himself out of what promised to develop into a family disagreement, and took his leave of them both with a flourish, in which there remained an irritating amusement.
When he had gone Wade turned to Lora in despair. “My dear, why must you be so headlong?”
She suppressed a twinge of indignation and turned to pick up copybooks and clown. The clown’s goggle eyes seemed to regard her meaningfully and she had to return his wide smile with a faint one of her own.
“What did you call this fellow?” she asked. “I suppose he had a name?”
Wade looked at the doll in blank astonishment. “Where on earth did you find that?”
“Jemmy and I have been exploring the attic. He said you used to sleep with this when you were a little boy.”
“I suppose all children sleep with their toys at some time or another. Why have you brought the thing downstairs?”
Why had she? In a way, she knew. “I thought he might tell me things about you,” she said.
Color darkened Wade’s face, but his look softened. “What a strange little person you are, Lora. I never know where to find you next. I thought we were discussing Rebecca and Adam—and here you’ve turned me to the subject of a toy I had when I was small.”
“I want to hear his name,” she repeated.
He hesitated a moment. “Well, if you must know—Jupiter. A most unsuitable name for a clown, but I thought it was just right at the time.”
“Jupiter,” said Lora softly. “Certainly a power to guard you through the night. And I’ve more treasure trove,” she went on, holding the copybooks up for him to see.
This time he moved toward her as if he would take them out her hands, but she held them away, laughed in his face and ran into the hall and up the stairs. Near the top she turned to look down at him and saw that he was watching her with an odd, puzzled look.
“The trouble is,” she said, “you try to make serious sense of me. How did your book go this morning?”
His lips tightened again. “It has gone where it belonged—into the kitchen stove. I read through what I’d written this morning and I recognized it for the trash it was.”
He went into the library then and closed the door behind him. She stood for a moment staring at the door, then went more slowly up the last few steps.
Jemmy had come down from the attic, having put things back by himself. He had heaped a pile of loot on the floor of his room and through his open door Lora could see him kneeling beside it, examining his treasure.
She went to her own room and put the copybooks in a dresser drawer. Then she carried the little clown to the window, where daylight touched him through rain-streaked panes.
“So your name is Jupiter,” she whispered. “Jupiter, the all-wise, the all-powerful. If you’re all that, then perhaps you can help me. Perhaps you can teach me what he is really like.”
XXIII
Lora waited until Monday before she made any move in Morgan’s direction. For one thing, she preferred to act on a day when Jemmy would be in school and when Wade had planned to be in another part of the island on some business of the Circle.
Then, too, she wanted to be sure she did not act on impulse. Too often she seemed to leap into events without proper forethought. But the more she considered now, the more she felt that she must be the one to talk to Morgan and find out how she felt about having Rebecca back.
After breakfast, as soon as Jemmy and Wade were gone and Mother Tyler was settled before her sitting-room window where she could see Ambrose the moment he put in an appearance, Lora started up through the woods to Morgan’s house.
Saturday’s rain had lasted only through the morning and the thirsty earth had soaked it up. By afternoon everything was turning dusty again beneath the sun. Tree branches still withheld their full treasure in nubs of green, waiting for the right combination of sun and rain to release them into a largesse of bloom. Only the bold advance guard of forsythia and dandelion were really in blossom.
She had just reached the pool when she saw John Ambrose coming down the higher path and went to meet him on the bank.
“She’s waiting for you by her window,” Lora told him.
“Then her spirits are fine this morning?”
“They’ve been fine ever since she got rid of the dog. But I don’t think she deserves to feel fine at everyone else’s expense. Would she listen to advice from you, John?”
He shook his head wryly. “Never in all that lady’s life has she listened to anyone but her father. But I’ll bring the little dog down any time you say.”
“We’d better wait,” Lora told him. “I would like my husband to give the order.”
Out in the pond something moved on the big sunny rock and fell into the water with a splash. Lora watched ripples widening across the still surface.
“Turtle,” the old man said. “They like the sun.”
“I wish spring would hurry,” Lora said. “It will be so beautiful here.”
“Aye,” he said. “It will be.”
She remembered then and turned to him contritely. “I’m sorry. About your daughter, I mean. You must hate this place—”
He shook his grizzled head. “There is no wickedness here to hate. It’s not in me to hate a pool of water, any more than I do the poison ivy when it stings me.”
This was almost what she had said to Rebecca. She was glad he felt that too. Now she took her courage in her hands and spoke her puzzled thoughts to him.
“Virginia would never have died by her own hand, would she, John? What is the truth of what happened?”
He stood for a long moment watching the now quiet water. “I’ve heard what they say,” he told her at last “I think she would not. But then—I would never have thought she would marry Mr. Wade either.” He looked at Lora—a straight, sober look. “I’m not one to understand the strange things women do. But still, I feel she would not.”
“I never knew her,” Lora said softly, “but I feel that too. If only Wade could believe it. It would be better to have it only Jemmy’s turtles than what Wade thinks happened.”
He gave her a quick touch of the cap and turned away down the hill, and she knew that sudden emotion had moved him. She went on uphill, lost in her own thoughts, and emerged at the top to find a faint haze in the air and a smell of smoke. Sometimes there were brush fires along these hills and the wind would carry the smoke for miles. But little breeze stirred today and she wondered where the haze was coming from.
Both Hamlin and his mother bounded to greet her as Lora let herself through the gate. At the sound of their barking a woman stepped to the railing of the upper gallery of the big house. It was Morgan Channing and Lora raised a hand in greeting, as though they had not last parted on anything but friendly terms.
Morgan bowed gravely, but made no returning wave. She remained at the rail waiting for Lora to come up the drive.
“Do you smell the smoke?” Lora asked as she approached the house. “There must be a brush fire burning.”
“I came out to see if I could locate it,” Morgan said. “But I can see nothing from here.” She seemed to be waiting for Lora to state the purpose of her visit.
“May I speak to you for a few minutes?” Lora asked.
Morgan nodded somewhat distantly. “The door i
s open. Won’t you come upstairs? Clothilde is busy at the moment and I’d like to search out this fire.”
Lora ran up the few steps and beneath the graceful fanlight of the front door. She had never been upstairs in this house before and she looked about with interest as she mounted the curving staircase with its mossy-green flowered carpeting. Morgan waited for her in the wide upper hall and led the way at once to an unused bedroom at the rear. Here the furniture stood shrouded against dust and the room was dark. Morgan went to French doors and flung them open.
“There’s a balcony here,” she said, “where we’ll have a good view.”
Lora stepped out upon the small balcony with its wrought-iron rail, and found that she could see out over rolling hills and into the deep cut of a valley. Few signs of habitation were visible. Brush or thick woodlands climbed hill and dale and only the villas of the wealthy encroached upon this first rim of hills overlooking the bay. Here and there a strip of road could be seen, and sometimes a clearing that marked a farm.
Beyond the servants’ quarters and stables the hill dropped steeply down from the crest. Morgan pointed to the opposite rise of hill.
“There’s the fire. If the day remains still we’re probably all right. But with the woods as dry as they are, I don’t like it. Well, there’s nothing we can do, so come in and tell me why you wanted to see me.”
Her tone was hardly cordial, but she led the way to a small upstairs sitting room that was scarcely any more cozy than the vast drawing room below. The circular mirror over a marble mantel was heavy with gilt ornament. Stuffed birds and artificial flowers set in the middle of the mantel were covered by a dome of glass, and on either side stood a tall Italian vase. The carpet was thickly flowered in yellow, its color repeated in heavy draperies and the silk of quilted chairs.
One could easily get mental indigestion from such rich fare, Lora thought as she seated herself somewhat stiffly in a chair indicated by Morgan.
Her hostess wore her favorite black today, but without jewels to relieve the somber effect. Her face seemed paler than ever, her eyes intensely dark by contrast. Lora suspected that Mrs. Channing had not been sleeping well of late.
Morgan twined her fingers in her lap and stared at Lora without welcome. As usual, she was direct and made no gesture toward superficial courtesy.
“I should not have thought you would return to see me so soon after your last unfortunate visit. You have some special purpose here today?”
“I’m not here to plead for myself,” Lora said quietly. “I’ve come about Rebecca.”
“Yes?” said Morgan, waiting.
“I have wondered if you intended to take any steps about the girl? After all, she was useful to you and—”
“I shall take steps the moment I locate her,” Morgan said. “She will return here to work or I will bring charges against her.”
“Charges?” Lora echoed, taken aback. “What has she done?”
Morgan’s wide mouth curved vindictively. “Theft, naturally. These people always steal.”
“That isn’t true!” Lora cried indignantly.
“I’m not accustomed to having my word doubted,” said Morgan, and Lora glimpsed a wayward and hoity-toity little girl behind the words. “Any number of articles have been missing since Rebecca left. Of course it will be my word against hers, and who will believe anything she says?”
Lora could only stare at her in dismay. She longed to tell this woman that she would take Rebecca’s word against hers any day, but she knew open accusations would do no good at this point. In any event, since the girl wanted to return, perhaps this simplified matters.
“You will need to bring no charges.” Lora managed by an effort to keep her voice steady. “We have been in touch with Rebecca and I believe she will return to you if you want her. But I think in the interest of decency you will need to promise her some better treatment.”
Morgan sprang to her feet and paced to the window and back. “How dare you tell me what I must do! I will promise her nothing. She will come here on her knees. Perhaps you don’t know how thoroughly I hold her in my hands.”
“Because of her mother and sister? I do indeed know. But must you humble her further? Isn’t it possible to be kind?” Morgan turned from the window. “When did anyone ever trouble about kindness with me? Don’t talk sentimental nonsense! I am beginning to think you as silly as Virginia.”
“Very well, Mrs. Channing.” Lora stood up with an air of finality. “I shall visit Rebecca myself and advise her not to return to your house. I believe there is no way in which you can harm her mother and sister at this time. When the war is over they will no longer belong to you. They do not now, in fact. As for your charges against Rebecca, I can only believe you are mistaken and they would come to nothing.”
Morgan took a step toward her and Lora had an uneasy moment of wondering if the woman was capable of doing her physical harm. Then Morgan seemed to make a visible effort to control herself. Surprisingly, she flung out her hands in a gesture of capitulation.
“Very well! Bring her back and I’ll promise what you ask.”
This sudden giving in seemed strange coming from Morgan Channing and Lora was a little puzzled.
“Why do you want her back so much?” she asked curiously.
Something flickered in Morgan’s eyes and was gone. “She is well trained, useful to me. There’s no point in being difficult about the matter if she wants to return. She should be punished for her behavior, but since you ask it, I will waive that.”
Lora rose. “Thank you,” she said gravely. “I will let her know as soon as possible.”
She put no trust in Morgan’s words, but after all, if Rebecca were mistreated again it would be easier for the girl to leave the second time. And she herself would keep in touch with affairs through John Ambrose.
She went into the hall ahead of Morgan, into a thin haze that stung her eyes and made her cough. A window stood open at the rear of the house and a breeze was blowing white mist into the hall. Only it was not mist.
“The wind has come up and the smoke is blowing this way!” Morgan cried.
She ran toward the empty rear bedroom and Lora followed her onto the balcony and stood beside her looking out over tree-studded hills. As was its custom on Staten Island, the wind had come up suddenly and now the burning on the opposite hill was no longer a smudge of smoke, but had seared its way to the valley, leaving a black path behind it. A great flaming area was now visible.
Lora choked as a gust of wind blew the white smoke their way. Morgan twisted her hands together.
“If this wind holds, my house is in the fire path! And we’ve nothing but brush around us. I’ll have to find my father. Something must be done!”
She was already running toward the stairs and Lora hurried after her. “Your father’s gone down to our house. I met him in the woods when I was coming up. I’ll hurry home and send him up here.”
“Get Wade too,” Morgan cried. “And Adam. Every man you can find. I’ll have the stable boy give the alarm.”
Morgan ran toward the rear of the house and Lora went out the front door and hurried down the drive. On the way she paused to look back at the house, her eyes searching the second-story level. Yes, there was a fire mark of copper nailed near an upper window—an oval plate with crossed torches and the insurance number. So the fire companies would not turn back from the house for lack of pay.
She plunged breathlessly down the hill, tripping now and then over a root across the path, sparing herself not at all. The smoke haze had not yet crept down the hill and John Ambrose was digging placidly in the patch of garden at the rear of the Tyler house. Mother Tyler sat watching him critically through the open window where her chair had been wheeled.
“There’s a fire coming up through the woods toward Morgan’s house!” Lora cried as she ran into the yard. “Morgan says you’d better come home at once, John. Peter can go up there too, and I’m going to fetch Adam.”
“Lora!” Mrs. Tyler called from her window, and the girl turned impatiently in mid-flight.
“I can’t stop now,” she told the old lady. “If Wade comes home you’d better send him right up there. They may need every man they can raise. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
She had seen woodland fires at home and knew what this ruthless foe could do.
When she reached the Lords’ she did not wait for the polite ringing of the bell to be heard, but pounded on the door and shouted for Adam. He came at once, with his sister behind him. He still looked sallow from his recent attack of fever, but at least he was well again.
“There’s a fire coming up the hill toward Morgan’s house,” she told them. “If the wind stays as it is now there may be real danger.”
Adam assured Serena that there was nothing she could do and came with Lora at once. Together they started toward the hill path and Lora had to trot to keep up with Adam’s longer stride.
“You’d better go home,” he advised. “And keep a watch-out. If this thing gets out of control it could burn its way down this side of the hill too. Though the Channing grounds and the upper curve of Dogwood Lane make a natural firebreak which may help.”
“I’m going with you,” Lora said. “There’ll be things I can do at Morgan’s and they’ll need every hand.”
He threw her a quick look, but offered no objection. They saved themselves for fast climbing and did no more talking until they reached the level of the pool and stopped a moment for breath. Adam did not look too fit, and Lora regarded him doubtfully.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be doing this. After all, you’ve been ill and—”
“Don’t trouble being sorry for me. I’m all right,” he said shortly. “Have you talked to Morgan yet about Rebecca?”
Lora nodded. “This morning. She’s going to take her back. Though first she was full of threats about bringing charges against her, punishing her—I don’t know why she gave in so quickly.”
“Well, let’s get on,” Adam said and they hurried upward again.
The Quicksilver Pool Page 27