“Do you know how ridiculous you look? See for yourself.” Mrs. Dubois opened a beautiful pigskin vanity box and held up a mirror. Some of the girls gave nervous titters.
Rita said nothing.
“Does your principal permit lipstick?”
“Yes, madam.”
“I’m going to call and ask her.”
“Oh, don’t do that, madam.” Rita was now really agitated. Cathy thought she knew why.
It was no use trying to put Fayette off. She scornfully brushed aside the housemother’s invitation to see the dormitories and went into the office.
“What is Rita’s school? It doesn’t matter. I’ve found it in the file.” They heard her dialing the number.
Presently she came out.
“So Rita has not been to class this afternoon. So she skipped yesterday afternoon as well and a morning last week. What have you to say, Rita?”
“I don’t like typing.”
“I see. I can sympathize with you if you are in the wrong environment, and I believe clerical work would be a little beyond your intelligence. A domestic post would be more in order. I need a girl myself. I shall put it to the board at the next meeting.”
There was silence. Rita stood as one stricken. Then without a word she turned and ran upstairs.
The tour went on. Mrs. Ferguson was reduced to crushing her immaculately starched apron to a wrinkled ball in her nervousness. Elvira’s black boot buttons obviously pricked with angry tears, the children huddled nearer each other and answered any questions in monosyllables. Cathy waited fearfully for her turn.
It almost seemed she would escape. Fayette turned to go. As housemother, Cathy conducted her to the car.
In relief at being spared, she impulsively plucked old Jeffreys prize pink rosebud and handed it to Mrs. Dubois.
“Thank you, Miss Trent—or should it be Nurse Trent, my dear?”
“I have not qualified yet.”
“But soon, eh?”
“I hope so.”
“Yes...” The tone of her voice was speculative. The sharp green eyes were looking into Cathy’s. “You are studying at Dr. Malcolm’s office, aren’t you?”
Cathy murmured “Yes.”
Fayette became playful. “I trust it is all study, my dear. I hope so for your sake—and his.”
“I don’t understand you, Mrs. Dubois.”
“Then understand this.” The playfulness had gone. The same hardness she had brought out for Rita showed in the flawless face.
“Jeremy is mine,” she said distinctly and without shame. “I am accustomed to getting what I want, and I want and I intend to have Dr. Malcolm. He is not at all averse to the idea. Why should he be? I am rich and I am also far from unattractive. More important still, I am in the enviable position of being able to pull strings. You might have noticed that Jerry is oddly attached to Redgates. Ridiculous, really, but we all have our little whims. The important thing is that without me Redgates cannot function. You see the trend.”
“No,” said Cathy bravely.
“Then I fear you are almost as stupid as Rita. Those few words were just a warning, dear. You, too, appear keen on this orphanage.”
“I love Little Families.”
“Then the conclusion is obvious. Unless you want to see the home broken up through lack of funds and the children dispersed to different charities you will watch your step.”
“How ... how do you mean?”
“Oh, come, Miss Trent, don’t act the little innocent. You’re not, you know. I’ve never forgotten that really delightful, if too-daring, black dress. Spice before honey, eh?” She laughed amusedly.
Cathy stiffened. “What do you want me to do? Stop having lessons?”
“Oh, no, just remember they are lessons.” She looked at her searchingly. “Have they been only that?”
Had they been only that? The fire in the hearth that was empty ... the waiting, familiar chairs ... the clock ticking ... the quality of that first kiss...
“Have they been?” said Fayette a little thickly.
Dear Miss Trent, This is an apology for my behavior last night; a regret for any misconception it may have brought...
“You are wrong,” said Cathy proudly. “You are very wrong, Mrs. Dubois.”
“Really?” The eyes were still suspicious.
“It is altogether different. I mean ... I mean, it’s Mr. Kennedy, it’s David. I thought you might have guessed.”
A moment’s silence, then again Fayette’s soft laugh. “So that’s the way the wind blows.”
“You won’t tell anyone ... It’s not official. There have been no words between us.” Why was she babbling like this? What was she saying? Why did it have to be said?
Fayette was becoming the gracious lady. “I shall be shod in silence,” she promised, but Cathy knew she would be silent no longer than it suited her, and she stood on the bottom step, biting her lip.
What had made her speak out like that? Had it been the urgency to be rid and rid quickly of Fayette Dubois? Or had it been the old, old weapon of retaliation used against Jerry Malcolm? No woman cares to be spurned, even though she had found in herself no real emotion, only a deep dislike.
Her head was aching. She dreaded returning to the house for postmortems with Fergie and Elvie. She dreaded finding Rita. Most of all she dreaded seeing David, dear dependable David, she dreaded the ordeal of admitting how she had compromised him. For she would have to tell him. She realized that. If she did not confess it, he would learn it elsewhere—and very soon.
That “shod in silence” meant nothing to Fayette Dubois. Already, suspected Cathy bitterly, she would be taking off those silent shoes.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was lesson night for Cathy the following evening, but she had no intention of attending.
When she did not hurry over the meal, Elvira said in surprise, “It’s your class day. Have you forgotten?”
“If you mean am I going to the office, the answer is no.”
“But why, Aunty Cathy?”
Cathy said lamely, “I’ve gone through the manual. The only thing needed now is review. I can do that just as well here.”
Elvira looked dubious. “Does Dr. Jerry know?” she asked, to which Cathy made no reply, pretending she had not heard. She went up to her room, put on her thick gray dressing gown over her dress, curled up on the bed and opened her books.
Her mind was not on her work. There were too many diversions. Besides all the disturbing things that had happened to crowd her brain, the nearness of the children kept her attention wandering. She saw now that Dr. Malcolm had been right when he had insisted that she study away from Redgates. Twice she got up to take in drinks of water that ordinarily the girls would have fetched themselves. Avery, hearing her despite her efforts to be silent, began to cough and complain of another sore throat.
“... Blood coagulation time,” Cathy repeated aloud to herself. Downstairs the phone pealed. “Oh, no,” she pleaded, it can’t be, it mustn’t be him.”
It was.
She knew that by the bright lift in Elvira’s voice. Elvie loved her Dr. Jerry. Presently the woman called to her up the stairs.
Still hugged in the dressing gown, Cathy came down.
“It’s teacher,” giggled Elvira. “You’re in trouble for playing hooky.”
Cathy did not reply. She went and took up the receiver.
“Miss Trent here.”
He did not acknowledge her.
“Why are you not at your lesson?” was his unadorned greeting.
“I am reviewing at home.”
“Oh, so you now consider yourself up to the stage when only review is necessary?”
“I’ve been through the manual.”
“And failed badly more times than you have passed.”
“Naturally I am concentrating on my weaker chapters.”
“Some were not even that, they were nonexistent. Your ‘Law Regarding Poisons’ paper I received last week wo
uld not rate one mark.”
“What is this all about?” demanded Cathy frigidly.
“My good woman, the exam is in exactly ten days. If you feel confident, it’s something I don’t feel with you. What on earth has got into you, you little fool? You know you can’t study there. Pack your books and come straight over.”
“I’m not coming.”
“Why?”
“I don’t consider that is necessary any longer.”
“Oh, so it’s Nurse Trent now, is it?”
Cathy did not reply.
“Are you sulking because of my letter?” he persisted brutally. This time she did not reply for sheer rage.
“Perhaps you did not want an apology. Perhaps you would have preferred a repetition...”
She knew if she did not speak he would continue in the same ruthless vein.
“It is not that at all,” she protested.
“What else then? Surely Fayette was not correct when she informed me that sweet romance had claimed you.”
The sarcasm in his voice nettled her. Sharply she answered, “Why not?”
“Several reasons. One, your impending examination. Wouldn’t it be wiser to get that off your chest before you start anything else? There is another reason again.”
“Give it to me.”
“Don’t be so greedy. You want everything at once, don’t you? This time you’re not getting it. I’ll keep the other reason for a future occasion. You have not answered my question, Miss Trent. Are you staying away because of David Kennedy?”
“I told you before I am up to the stage of review.”
“And I told you before you are not even up to the stage of having properly studied the book. Be over here within twenty minutes or I’ll come myself and drag you. That’s a promise, not a threat.” He laughed as he added this, replacing the receiver.
She stared at her own receiver rather bleakly. She knew Malcolm well enough now to realize he only spoke as he would act. If she did not go over he would come, as he had said, and get her. With a shrug of resignation she went up the stairs.
Elvira was watching her gleefully.
“Dr. Jerry always gets what he wants, doesn’t he?” she grinned.
For once Cathy felt irritable with Elvira. She took off the dressing gown, pulled on her coat, took up her satchel, and once more descended the stairs.
For a long moment she stood in the cold wintry moonlight pondering over Jerry’s “Surely Fayette was not correct when she informed me that sweet romance had claimed you.” So Mrs. Dubois’s feet, “shod with silence,” had soon lost those shoes. Cathy had expected that.
Another disquieting thought took possession of her. If Fayette had told Dr. Malcolm, it was quite possible that other people knew, too—among them David himself.
Resolutely but distastefully she turned in the direction of the boys’ block. This was the moment she had dreaded and delayed—the ordeal of confession to David, who did not deserve to be dragged into all this. It was too bad that she had ever spoken as She had, too bad that Fayette had spread the news.
David and the bigger boys were in the gymnasium. A crude ring had been made, and he was teaching ten-year-old Leonard the art of self-defense.
He saw her coming, took off his gloves, and laced them on young Neil. He appointed Andrew referee, then turned to the girl.
“Want to see me, housemother?”
“Please.”
They went out to the hall together.
“David, I have to go across for a lesson.”
“I thought you weren’t going.”
“I wasn’t, only Dr. Malcolm rang up and said I wasn’t nearly advanced enough and that there were too many diversions trying to study here at home.”
“Are there?”
She glanced away. “Avery has a cough,” she admitted lamely.
“So Dr. Malcolm is right. It is not the best place to study?”
In a gust of resentment Cathy flung, “Whether he is right or not, I’m ordered to go across. David, will you take me?”
He hesitated a moment. That was not the eager good-natured David she knew and liked. She looked at him questioningly.
He did not enlighten her. After the barest of pauses he said, “Right you are, Aunty Cathy. The boys are occupied for an hour, so we’ll push off. Car or walk?”
“Walk.”
The moon was obliterated now with gray cloud. A slight drizzle of feathery rain had made a veil over the world.
“It should be the car,” advised David, looking at the sky.
“It’s nothing,” urged Cathy, snuggling into her coat, and they started off.
They talked shop for a few moments—the problem of Rita, the problem of Andrew, who had been started in plumbing and was not settling down as he should, the future problem of Denise. Then Cathy stumbled, “David, I—I, well ...”
He looked at her squarely and rather sternly, then suddenly his face softened and he said roughly, “Don’t upset yourself, Cathy. I know what you’re trying to say.”
“Do you?”
“The usual grapevine that thrives in all such places as Redgates has been busy entwining our two names. Is that it?”
“Yes, David. Only the fault is mine. I started it.”
He raised his brows at that.
Quickly she told him about the scene with Mrs. Dubois.
“I don’t know why I brought you into it, David. I seemed at sea, and you were the right mooring.”
“Right mooring—or temporary shelter?” he flung bitterly. Then instantly, “Forget that, Cathy. I shouldn’t have said it. Pay no attention to me. So Fayette is giving orders out of the house as well as in now, is she? You are ordered to drop Malcolm like a hot brick.”
Cathy said angrily, “I never held him.”
“No?” His grave eyes were on her again in silent question. All at once, to her annoyance, she was turning her own glance away.
“I see,” he said quietly, and Cathy protested.
“You don’t see at all. It was all a mistake. I’m sorry it happened, but I’m more sorry again that I brought you into it.”
“You mean that was a rnistake, too...”
She hesitated, meeting his eyes now. They were bramble-colored eyes, clear and frank as any of his young boys’. There was honesty there, sincerity, kindness. There was a harbor, not a temporary shelter.
“Oh, David,” she said with a half sob, “you wouldn’t want me.”
“Not want you, Cathy?” He had stopped abruptly on the deserted road, and Cathy, perforce, stopped, too.
“Not want you?” he repeated a little hoarsely. “Listen, my dear, if every man in the world had turned you down and you came to me, all I could do would be kneel down and count my blessings.”
He paused, then said, “But Malcolm didn’t turn you down, did he?”
“No,” answered Cathy, then she said. “Yes. Oh, I don’t know. You see, there wasn’t anything. I just told you.”
They began walking again.
Presently, David said in his old cheerful strain, “Well, the apology is accepted, Cathy, also the explanation. I’ll let you off with a caution.”
“A caution?”
“Not to let it happen again, or I might take you up on it. How would you like that?”
She looked at him soberly. “I would be deeply honored.”
“But not enchanted...”
Enchanted ... a voice within her echoed the word. The cold hearth with the leaping flames, the chairs that were not there at all, the toast keeping hot—they were enchantment.
With a suffocating feeling she struggled out of the spell. She took a deep breath, then asked of David, “What Mrs. Dubois said of Redgates—could it be true?”
“What exactly did she say?”
“That without her the home could not function.”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Yes, I’m afraid that is so.”
“But there are other donors...”
“None with
as many assets as Mrs. Dubois. When old Arnold Dubois had his daughter marry her cousin the idea was to keep the Dubois money tight in the family. It did that all right. Fayette now has cash in her own right, her late husband’s, and her father’s. She is a rich woman.”
“Is that the reason she can boast of ‘influence’ and ‘contacts’?”
“Probably. Money speaks all languages.”
“It’s all rather hateful.”
David nodded. “Yet necessary,” he said. “Perhaps not the string pulling, but the cold cash. Look at it this way, Cathy. Little Families is entirely supported by charity. Apart from child endowment, there is no government aid. People are kind, but there are many charities. Besides, it is not an Australian charity, and ours are not Australian children. You will always meet the certain person who will say, ‘Oh, yes, but I believe in helping our own first.’ You must have encountered that yourself.”
“Mrs. Meldrum,” murmured Cathy. “She said exactly that, though I believe it was really the episode with Leila that clinched things. But England, David. These are English kiddies. What of English support?”
“Grand—but still insufficient without a Mrs. Dubois. You must remember that in England, like Australia, there are many charities. You must remember, too, charity begins at home.” Cathy looked at him questioningly.
“We’re a long way from home,” was all he said.
They were approaching the doctor’s office now.
“Thank you, David ... and I’m sorry.”
“I told you you were let off with a caution. Don’t worry about the other, either, the grand Fayette, I mean. There are as big fish in the ocean.”
Cathy giggled at that. “Mrs. Dubois would not be impressed.”
“I’m afraid I don’t care. She was never very impressed with me. Too homespun, I guess.” He waved his arm and was gone.
The door opened before Cathy could put her finger on the bell. The doctor stepped back to let her come in.
“I have a job for you. A single eye bandage.”
“Mrs. Williams?”
“No, a genuine case. He was last in during evening office hours.” As he spoke Dr. Malcolm was edging Cathy forward into his casualty room.
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