MISTRESS AND MAID
A CAREWORN, anxious expression had come to be so much at home on
Priscilla's countenance, that it did not surprise Peggy to look from
her window one Saturday morning and see Priscilla approaching, her face
so lined by worry as to suggest that the heaviest responsibilities
rested on her shoulders. As she was quite unconscious of Peggy's
observation, she did not make her usual effort to smile and appear
natural.
"I wish I knew what ailed that girl," thought Peggy, studying
Priscilla's changed countenance with a heart-sick concern. "She looks
years older than she did six months ago, and I can't make out whether
she's sick or just unhappy. And the worst of it is that one can't get a
thing out of her."
But in this particular instance Peggy was to have no reason to complain
of Priscilla's reticence. As Priscilla raised her heavy eyes and
saw her friend's face at the window, her own face brightened and she
quickened her steps. Peggy hurried to the door, and flung it open with
an unreasonable hope that this interview would end the mystery which
had baffled her for so long. But the perplexity Priscilla had come to
confide was too recent to explain her worried air through the months
past. She was hardly in the house before she burst out, "Peggy, I'm in
an 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 the
maid-of-all-work in the Raymond household was a possession of which
few people were envious. Whether Sally was really weak minded was a
question on which a difference of opinion was possible, but there was
no possible doubt of her talent for doing the wrong thing at the right
time or else, vice versa, the right thing at the wrong time. Her one
redeeming feature was her amiability, but as this frequently took a
conversational turn, it was not without its drawbacks. That any of
her friends could want to borrow Sally, or that any household but
their own would put up with the blundering, good-natured apology for a
domestic servant, had never entered Peggy's head.
"Sally," she repeated, still in a tone of mystification. "Of course you
can 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 a
tooth-ache, and her head is tied up in a red flannel, so unless the
callers are people of strong nerves, they may be startled."
"O dear!" Priscilla's acceptance of this bit of information was so
suggestive of tragedy that Peggy was more puzzled than ever. "Who is
the 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 and
Martha's having her vacation, and Father and I are taking our meals at
the Lindsays. And last evening Horace Hitchcock called, and it seems
that an aunt of his is in town."
"Oh!" said Peggy. She always made desperate efforts to act just as
usual when Horace's name was mentioned, but under such circumstances
she invariably felt as if a thick curtain had dropped between her
friend and herself. "Horace Hitchcock's aunt," she repeated, trying
valiantly to speak naturally. "Is she his mother's sister or his
father's?"
"Neither one. She's his father's aunt, and of course she is quite old
and 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 the
young 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 to
go to open the door myself."
Peggy listened wonderingly. For even if Horace Hitchcock had been an
entirely different young man, the necessity for opening the door to
his great-aunt would not have impressed her as a tragedy. Priscilla's
intuition told her what was passing through the other girl's mind, and
she 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 who
answer their own door-bell as we think of women who take in washing."
Priscilla's feeling of resentment at Peggy was enhanced by her own
wonder at herself. The glamor which had surrounded Horace in the first
renewal of their childish acquaintance had quite disappeared, and yet
she could not bear the thought that Horace's great-aunt might look down
upon her.
"Sally wouldn't be the least bit of good," Peggy declared, "even if it
wasn't for the red flannel. Just when I want Sally to be on her good
behavior, she does some perfectly unheard-of thing. When do you expect
Mrs. Duncan?"
"Oh, sometime this forenoon. Horace thought about eleven. And that's
another thing that puzzles me," exclaimed Priscilla unhappily. "Ought I
to 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 worry
about 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't
do. I've got a black dress and a cute little ruffled apron, and I'm
just aching to try my hand at one of those fetching caps the maids wear
in 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 change
his mind."
"We'll keep on the look-out. If we see a lady arriving with a young man
in tow, I'll roll my cap and apron into a bundle and put them under my
arm. 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, and
the two girls inspected each other admiringly. The Plainness of the
blue serge set off the long lines of Priscilla's slender, graceful
figure, while the little frilled, nonsensical cap gave a charm to
Peggy's mischievous face. "You look like a queen," Peggy declared.
"And you're darling in that cap. I'm afraid she'll suspect something
the minute she sees you."
Mistress and maid were sitting comfortably side by side in the
dining-room when the door-bell rang. Peggy started to her feet, but
Priscilla 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't
want you to go away." Priscilla was experiencing a panic at the thought
of 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, a
little withered woman, rather elaborately dressed, and she inspected
Peggy through her lorgnette. "Is Miss Combs in?" she inquired, after
finishing her leisurely scrutiny.
"I think so, Madame. Please walk in." Peggy ushered the caller into
the front room and brought a tray for her card. Her cheeks had flushed
under Mrs. Duncan's inspection. The small, beady eyes in the wrinkled
face had a curiously piercing quality, and she wondered uneasily
whether this remarkable old woman could possibly have recognized that
she was only masquerading.
She carried the card upstairs to Priscilla who had retreated to her
room, the prey of nerves, and brought back word that Miss Combs would
be down in a few minutes. Then she retired to the adjoining room and
began on her dusting. She was not sorry Priscilla had insisted that she
be near, for she was extremely curious to hear what the visitor was
going to say.
Priscilla followed Peggy in something like half a minute, and greeted
her caller sweetly, though with some constraint. Mrs. Duncan looked
her over approvingly. "You're not as pretty as I expected," was her
disconcerting beginning.
In the next room Peggy gasped. Priscilla drew herself up and blushed
crimson.
"What I meant to say," explained the terrible old woman, "is that
you're not as pretty as I expected, but much handsomer. I took it for
granted Horace would admire some namby-pamby with a doll's face. I
suppose 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 idea
in that? I suppose you know that if you marry Horace, you ought not to
know too much."
"Really, Mrs. Duncan--"
But Priscilla's caller was off at a tangent. "You've got a nice-looking
maid? 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 never
have an attractive maid about the house. My married life of twenty
years was reasonably successful," explained Mrs. Duncan complacently,
"and I lay it all to my habit of selecting maids who were either
cross-eyed or else pock-marked."
Priscilla felt that she hated her, but as she struggled to conceal her
inhospitable emotion, her visitor inquired blandly, "What do you and
Horace talk about?"
"About--Oh, about all sorts of things." Priscilla wondered if ever in
her life she had appeared as inane and stupid as on this momentous
occasion.
"I can't understand him, you know," explained Mrs. Duncan, rubbing her
nose. "Sometimes I think it's because I'm a fool, and sometimes I think
it'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 conscious
when he arrives."
"Arrives?" repeated Priscilla blankly.
"Yes, he's to lunch with me down town. He suggested that I would enjoy
taking 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, she
gave the impression that she had a most imperative engagement for
the afternoon. As she voiced her stammering refusal, she felt like
a criminal on the verge of exposure. For when the bell rang Peggy
would answer it, and Horace would at once recognize that Priscilla's
attractive maid was no other than Priscilla's bosom friend.
But Peggy, dusting industriously in the adjoining room, had overheard
the news that had carried consternation to Priscilla's soul, and acted
upon the hint with characteristic promptness. A moment later she
appeared in the doorway, waiting unobtrusively till Priscilla looked in
her 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 little
while, I'll attend to it."
"Certainly, Margaret," replied Priscilla with boundless relief.
As Peggy disappeared, Mrs. Duncan leaned forward and tapped Priscilla's
knee. "I tell you she's too good to be true," she insisted. "She's too
pretty, too well-mannered. There's something wrong somewhere. Don't
trust her." And Priscilla had to conquer the impression that it was
her friend Peggy who was being slandered, before she could assume the
nonchalant manner suited to the statement that they had always found
Margaret a most trustworthy girl.
Horace arrived some fifteen minutes after Peggy's departure, and his
apologies to his great-aunt were more profuse than his slight tardiness
called for. Indeed, as Priscilla watched his manner toward the
domineering old lady, she was unpleasantly reminded that Mrs. Duncan
was a rich widow, and that Horace might cherish the hope of inheriting
at least a portion of her wealth. Priscilla had all the contempt of
a normal American girl for a fortune-hunter, and her lover had never
appeared to less advantage in her eyes than in his obvious efforts to
please his eccentric relative. In her revolt from Horace's methods she
went a little too far in the other direction, and her manner as she
parted from her guest was frigid rather than friendly. Mrs. Duncan's
call was the first indication that Horace's people were aware of his
intentions, and Priscilla had a not unreasonable feeling of resentment
at being inspected to see if she would do. Although the door had been
opened for Mrs. Duncan by a correctly appointed maid, Priscilla was
miserably conscious that the call had not been a success, and that her
unfavorable impression of Horace's great-aunt was probably returned by
that terrible old person with something to spare.