Maris

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Her heart contracted, and her breath came in stifled gasps. She grasped the handrail and reeled back, turning and flying up to the deck above and back along that to another flight of steps.

  Her heart was beating so wildly now that it seemed as if she could not go on, but she took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. At least she knew where they were. But could she ever hope to escape them? Was that gangplank the only path to safety? Would she have to pass under their very gaze? Was there any hope she could do so without being recognized?

  "All ashore that's going ashore!" called a voice quite near, and she almost slid down the next stair she came to. A great siren set up a clamor to add to the din, and she found she was trembling in every part of her body. Even her lips were shaking.

  These steps she was going down seemed endless. Perhaps she had gone too far, for they landed her amid a lot of bales and boxes and baggage; coils of rope lay in her way; the heat of a furnace came from somewhere on her right. She rushed about trying to find out where she was and felt like a rat in a trap. A sailor came by.

  "You don't belong here, lady. Look alive there! You'll get hurt. Can't you see you're in the way?"

  "But isn't this the way to get ashore?" She pointed to a tilting floor that spanned a space over the black, sullen water.

  "No! This is freight. You wantta go up the other end. Better hurry; we're just weighing anchor."

  Then suddenly he grabbed her and drew her out of the way of a large packing case that was being brought on board by several men.

  "Lady, you'll get killed if you don't look out!" He glared at her.

  "Oh, I've got to get ashore, and I'm afraid I can't get there on time. Couldn't you put me out here?" she pleaded.

  The man looked at her in disgust then called to one of the men who had just helped with the packing case.

  "Here, take this fool woman ashore. She's lost her way, and they are just hauling in the gangplank."

  The burly shore man grinned and swung her up the incline. She had one awful glimpse of the dark water on either side, and then she felt the wharf beneath her feet. She was so relieved that she almost sank down right there.

  But suddenly amid the noise and confusion the siren sounded again. She realized that people were all about her, calling farewells to their friends. She looked and the ship was already moving, putting stately distance between it and the dock. There were people crowding all the decks looking down, some smiling, some weeping, confetti hurtling through the air, snarls of paper ribbons like crazy rainbows littering the railings, girls snatching for them and gathering them in like trophies. The ship was gone, and she had escaped! She stared for an instant with dazed eyes, unable to take it in, incapable for the moment of further action.

  It was just then she saw Tilford, standing on the upper deck by the railing, staring out over the motley company onshore. In a moment more he might see her! Perhaps he could do nothing now. Yet there was no telling. He was still capable of issuing orders. She might find herself under custody! And the woman! She might be somewhere in this crowd perhaps!

  Her fear redoubled, Maris turned and stole through the crowd that even in the short time since she had stood there had milled around her, filling up the way.

  Keeping her face away from the ship, she edged between the jostling people. She pushed the fur collar up about her chin, daring not to look up lest she would be looking into the eyes of her onetime keeper.

  At last she reached the edge of the crowd and darted away down the long, shadowy reach of wharf, her frightened feet fairly flying. There were bales and boxes about in the way. She had to go between them, to weave her way in and out, but she was glad of even so much covering for her flight.

  The din on the other end of the wharf seemed farther away now. There were not many people about here; everybody was up at the other end watching the ship's departure. Sudden tears of relief blinded her vision. She was almost at the end of this long wharf now. A dark street loomed ahead, a city street with unknown perils at midnight but that seemed small beside the perils already past. There were lights from an office at the right. She must avoid those; she must keep out of sight as much as possible.

  Then when she was almost tempted to rest for an instant she heard footsteps behind her, quick, heavy steps, like the woman who had been in her cabin, and fear leaped up in her breast again. The woman had seen the coat perhaps and was coming after it. She would call the police. There would be another awful time. Oh, she could bear no more. She felt as if she must sink down and rest, she was so tired.

  But she started to run with all her might, breathlessly, lightly in her little old shoes, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, not heeding where she went, and then all at once she stumbled on a great coil of rope and went sprawling face downward, her hands outstretched. This was the end. She could go no farther. She would just lie here and let them do what they would. She could not rise and go on!

  But those footsteps were coming on now! It was a woman! She peered back fearfully, and just then the woman passed under an arc of light and she thought she recognized her. It was, it must be that woman. She was hurrying. She must have seen the coat!

  The place where Maris was lying was in the shadow. Yet she dared not risk staying there. Fear stimulated her waning strength, put fight into her soul once more. Her mother and Lexie at home needed her. She must not get into the clutches of kidnappers again, even though Tilford whom she dreaded most was out on that ship sailing away from her. By this time he had likely gone to his cabin and discovered her flight. There were radios on shipboard, and Tilford's long arm was capable of reaching even to the land. Tilford never gave up a thing he had once started until he had his way.

  She struggled to her feet, bruised and sore, with a long scratch on her arm and splinters in her hands, but fear was behind her, driving her again. Her feet seemed gifted with wings, and she flew on noiselessly toward that spot of light from the windows of the office, toward the darkness of the street ahead. Which should she take? Should she go into that office and claim protection of the people there, summon the police, or should she trust the darkness of the unknown street? Oh, the street would be safer. She could not trust that woman. She was wearing respectable clothes; she could probably summon friends. And Maris was in a strange array. Nobody would believe her, and she might be hauled to jail, charged with stealing a coat!

  The thought gave new momentum to her flight. She darted ahead with every ounce of strength that was in her, and not six feet from the street she came into violent collision with a man who was also sprinting, just rounding the corner from the street to the wharf. And suddenly she collapsed in his arms, the breath knocked from her body. This surely was the end!

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Back in the Mayberry home, the mother was restless. Perhaps she felt the tenseness in the atmosphere, although Merrick had been very careful. He had called Nurse Bonner from her room just as she was preparing for a good night's rest, and downstairs out of sound from above, he had told her the situation with regard to Maris.

  Nurse Bonner was wise. She did not exclaim. She took it calmly with a quick sanity that helped to steady Merrick, who was full of despair over his responsibility.

  "Yes," said Nurse Bonner, "it's pretty serious of course, and we'll have to be wise about the invalids. Your father, too. Don't waken him unless you have to. Wait at least until you hear from Mr. Maitland. If your father can get a full night's sleep, he will be better able to bear whatever comes tomorrow, and really, he can't do any more than is being done tonight. It is imperative, of course, that not a breath of excitement reaches your mother. She is exceedingly sensitive to noises, even to feelings, in the household. If your father finds out tonight, he will be nervous when he sees her in the morning. That must not be. She must think he's gone to his office happily and that all is well. And we won't say anything to the night nurse yet."

  Merrick looked at her gratefully. Her very tones made him feel more like a man, dependa
ble, able to handle this situation in the way it ought to be managed.

  "All right," he said. "Sorry to have disturbed you, but I thought somebody ought to understand things."

  "Yes," said the nurse, "and don't hesitate to call me in the night the minute you get any news. I'm used to waking at the slightest sound. It doesn't spoil my rest in the least."

  "All right!" said Merrick. "I'll call you."

  "I'll leave the door open, and you can just step in and speak to me. I don't want to disturb any of the others."

  "I'll do that," said Merrick and went back to the telephone with a sense of comfort that somebody else knew what was going on and he wasn't entirely alone.

  But in spite of all their caution, the situation somehow reached out its invisible fingers and penetrated the sickroom. The night nurse came tapping at Nurse Bonner's door a little later.

  "I wish you'd come here a minute," she whispered. "My patient is restless, and I don't like the way her pulse acts. She keeps calling for Maris. I haven't heard her do that before. I went to Miss Maris's door and tapped, but she didn't answer. I didn't know whether I ought to waken her or not, she's looked so tired the last few days."

  "Maris is out," said Nurse Bonner briskly. "I'll come!"

  She threw her robe around her and was at the bedside almost at once.

  "Now see here," she said quietly, as if it were a joke, "what's the matter with this little mother?"

  Mrs. Mayberry lifted troubled eyes.

  "Maris!" she said piteously. "Maris!"

  "Maris has gone out," said Nurse Bonner. "She went for a little ride."

  The troubled eyes searched her face.

  "Getting--married?" The slow lips formed the words earnestly.

  "Oh, no. Nothing like that!" said the nurse.

  But the eyes were still troubled, puzzled.

  "Her--wedding--day--!" murmured the sick woman.

  "Oh, no. Not at all. You've gotten mixed in your dates. Maris isn't getting married today at all. She wouldn't be married till you were able to be at the wedding. Now be a good little mother and shut your eyes and go to sleep. I'll take care of Maris when she comes and tell her you sent her your love."

  She got the sick woman quieted at last and then stole in to see about Lexie, for she had left her door ajar, and now there seemed to be a lot of restless turning over and sighing.

  She found the little girl crying.

  "I called and called my sister, and she didn't come!" said Lexie with whispered sobs. "I vanted a dwink of vater."

  "Well, that's too bad!" said Nurse Bonner. "Your sister had to go out for a little while, but she'll be back pretty soon, I guess. I'll get you the drink of water, and then you will go to sleep like a good little girl, won't you?"

  "Wes."

  Downstairs Merrick was having troubles of his own. A call had come from the Maitland house. The housekeeper said the little boys had woken up and were demanding Mr. Maitland. So Merrick had to call them to the telephone and give them Lane's message. They responded loyally as Lane had known they would, but their voices sounded most dejected as they said good night. It touched their older brother, and he promised to be over first thing in the morning and let them know how soon Lane would return, and perhaps they could get ready some kind of a celebration to welcome him home. They'd talk it over in the morning.

  So at last the little boys went back to their beds, cheered by the thought of a festivity to come. They planned to pick enough strawberries for strawberry shortcake for lunch and then wondered if Lane would object to their decorating with a lot of little flags they had found in the attic.

  And Merrick reflected on what a lot of different kinds of troubles there were in the world, all at once, when life had until then been such a jolly affair. He decided it was all because of Tilford Thorpe and that blamed wedding.

  ***

  The ship sailed out on a silver sea, and the New York harbor became a speck in the distance.

  Tilford Thorpe turned from watching the shore and, with lips set with determination, went to his stateroom. He was expecting to have a bad time for a few minutes with Maris. She would probably be stubborn for a while. But when she found that they were off on their honeymoon actually, and there was no turning back, she would easily come around. Maris had always been so sweet and yielding!

  He hoped she would be fully recovered from the sleeping tablet that had been given to her and see the immediate necessity of submitting to the marriage service that he had arranged with the captain to take place soon after the starting of the ship.

  He ascended the steps to his suite with pleasant anticipation. He had Maris now where she couldn't oppose him. He meant to be very kind and loving to her--after she once came to herself and realized that he had been right--just to make up for taking her away forcibly. Of course, she might be a bit upset at that at first, but he would show her such a good time that she would soon forget it. He was glad he had had his mother buy those two evening dresses. They would have a grand time on board, and when they got to Paris they would stock up on some really smart clothes for her. Of course, she would likely be disappointed not to have her own things that she had prepared for her trousseau, but they wouldn't be much loss. Anything she would have brought would have been far below the standard of what his wife should wear, anyway.

  Then he reached his stateroom and opened the door.

  There on the bed lay a heap of satin and lace, tossed aside, ripped and torn, as if it had been jerked off in great haste. Half crushed at one side lay the priceless wedding veil, an heirloom in the Thorpe family and yellow with age. It drooped from the coronet of orange blossoms dejectedly, and sparkling out of its ethereal folds there lay the great diamond ring, its prisms flashing brightly with a startled air, as if surprised that it had been rejected.

  Tilford stared down on it, scarcely believing his senses. She had torn off the wedding dress and gone! She had flung his ring back at him again! But how was this possible? Mrs. Trilby, the woman he had hired to attend her and dress her, had told him just now that she wasn't awake yet. That it would likely be another hour before she was fully free from the sleeping tablet. Had the woman double-crossed him? Sometimes these low-down hirelings did that. Only he had been so sure of this woman. She was to receive another hundred dollars at her home if he found everything all right when he went to his stateroom! And it wasn't conceivable that Maris had bribed her, because Maris would have nothing to bribe with. Maris was penniless.

  He stepped forward, incredulous, to lift the ring from the folds of lace, half believing he would yet find Maris beneath the heap of finery, but he stumbled over a little silver shoe and plunged his arms deep into the lace and satin, the ring evading him and slithering out of sight, as if it enjoyed tantalizing him.

  By the time he had found the ring, he was thoroughly himself and very angry, trying to plan out how he could get revenge on Maris for thus evading him. He could not understand how she managed to get away. He was sure Mrs. Trilby could not have been down on the deck more than three minutes before the ship sailed. He had himself been standing close at hand when the gangplank was hauled in. Maris had not passed him, he was positive. Besides, how could she get away without any clothes? He had told Mrs. Trilby to take with her the garments Maris was wearing when they took her. She had left the wedding dress behind! She could not have gone without clothes!

  He strode to the pile of baggage heaped in the corner. Not one suitcase had been disturbed. The expensive outfit that he had made his mother buy was still locked up in those suitcases, and he had the keys in his pocket. He counted everything over. Nothing disturbed. She could not have gone in such a state as that.

  He tossed the things on the bed aside. Not even a sheet or blanket was gone! It was unexplainable.

  She must be somewhere about, perhaps playing a practical joke on him! Well, in that case he would forgive her, of course, but it was careless of her to fling around expensive clothes and diamonds that way. He would have to teac
h her to be more careful. Of course, she had never been accustomed to such prices as he paid for things and perhaps had not realized.

  He strode to the bathroom and looked in; he pulled aside the shower curtain then peered into a wardrobe. But no Maris appeared. She was not anywhere.

  He threw open the door of his stateroom and looked outside, but the galleries were alive now with people coming back to their staterooms. There was lively chatter everywhere. People laughing and talking. And he was alone! He had never been so frustrated in his life as he had by Maris Mayberry! Little puritanical hypocrite! Pretending to be so awfully good and then standing him up on his wedding at the very last minute. He would know better than to be fooled by a demure face again. She wasn't his kind, of course, but he could have raised her into his class, and she was beautiful; there was no denying that.

  He stormed back and forth from bed to portholes, trying to think what he should do. Somehow he meant to get back at this little girl who had turned him down and scorned his wealth that he had intended to lavish upon her. He would think up a splendid way and take her by surprise. She hadn't heard the last of him yet by any means.

  Meantime, he was out on the ocean alone, and what was he going to do with himself? Well, there was a famous actress on board; he might amuse himself with her and manage it that news of his flirtation should get back to some social column in the paper. Maris would be likely to see. That would be a good beginning.

  He kicked at the rich wedding gown that was trailing off on the floor. The wedding gown that his mother had paid for! It occurred to him that his mother had really made all this trouble insisting upon that wedding gown. He would tell her so when he wrote. It did his wrathful soul good to blame it on somebody.

  It also occurred to him that the captain would be expecting a summons pretty soon for the wedding he was to perform. He had better do something about it at once. So he rang for the steward and sent a note to the captain that the wedding had been called off on account of illness in the family, which detained the bride at home.