MADAME CERISE, CUSTODIAN
The woman closed the hall door and locked it. Then she led the way to a
long, dim drawing-room in which a grate fire was smouldering. A stand
lamp of antique pattern but dimly illuminated the place, which seemed
well furnished in an old fashioned way.
"Will not you remove your wraps, Mees--Mees--I do not know ma'm'selle's
name."
"What is your own name?" asked Louise, coming closer to gaze earnestly
into the other's face.
"I am called Madame Cerise, if it please you."
Her voice, while softened to an extent by the French accent, was
nevertheless harsh and emotionless. She spoke as an automaton, slowly,
and pausing to choose her words. The woman was of medium size, slim and
straight in spite of many years. Her skin resembled brown parchment; her
eyes were small, black and beady; her nose somewhat fleshy and her lips
red and full as those of a young girl. The age of Madame Cerise might be
anywhere between fifty and seventy; assuredly she had long been a
stranger to youth, although her dark hair was but slightly streaked with
gray. She wore a somber-hued gown and a maid's jaunty apron and cap.
Louise inspected her closely, longing to find a friend and protector in
this curious and strange woman. Her eyes were moist and pleading--an
appeal hard to resist. But Madame Cerise returned her scrutiny with a
wholly impassive expression.
"You are a French maid?" asked Louise, softly.
"A housekeeper, ma'm'selle. For a time, a caretaker."
"Ah, I understand. Are your employers asleep?"
"I cannot say, ma'm'seile. They are not here."
"You are alone in this house?"
"Alone with you, ma'm'seile."
Louise had a sudden access of alarm.
"And why am I here?" she cried, wringing her hands pitifully.
"Ah, who can tell that?" returned the woman, composedly. "Not Cerise,
indeed. Cerise is told nothing--except what is required of her. I but
obey my orders."
Louise turned quickly, at this.
"What are your orders, then?" she asked.
"To attend ma'm'selle with my best skill, to give her every comfort and
care, to--"
"Yes--yes!"
"To keep her safely until she is called for. That is all."
The girl drew a long breath.
"Who will call for me, then?"
"I am not inform, ma'm'selle."
"And I am a prisoner in this house?"
"Ma'm'selle may call it so, if it please her. But reflect; there is no
place else to go. It is bleak weather, the winter soon comes. And here I
can make you the comforts you need."
Louise pondered this speech, which did not deceive her. While still
perplexed as to her abduction, with no comprehension why she should have
been seized in such a summary manner and spirited to this lonely,
out-of-the-way place, she realized she was in no immediate danger. Her
weariness returned tenfold, and she staggered and caught the back of a
chair for support.
The old woman observed this.
"Ma'm'selle is tired," said she. "See; it is past four by the clock, and
you must be much fatigue by the ride and the nervous strain."
"I--I'm completely exhausted," murmured Louise, drooping her head
wearily. The next moment she ran and placed her hands on Madame Cerise's
shoulders, peering into the round, beady eyes with tender pleading as
she continued: "I don't know why I have been stolen away from my home
and friends; I don't know why this dreadful thing has happened to me; I
only know that I am worn out and need rest. Will you take care of me,
Madame Cerise? Will you watch over me while I sleep and guard me from
all harm? I--I haven't any mother to lean on now, you know; I haven't
any friend at all--but _you!_"
The grim features never relaxed a muscle; but a softer look came into
the dark eyes and the woman's voice took on a faint tinge of compassion
as she answered:
"Nothing can harm ma'm'selle. Have no fear, _ma chere_. I will take care
of you; I will watch. _Allons_! it is my duty; it is also my pleasure."
"Are there no--no men in the house--none at all?" enquired the girl,
peering into the surrounding gloom nervously. "There is no person at
all in the house, but you and I."
"And you will admit no one?"
The woman hesitated.
"Not to your apartment," she said firmly. "I promise it."
Louise gave a long, fluttering sigh. Somehow, she felt that she could
rely upon this promise.
"Then, if you please, Madame Cerise, I'd like to go to bed," she said.
The woman took the lamp and led the way upstairs, entering a large, airy
chamber in which a fire burned brightly in the grate. The furniture here
was dainty and feminine. In an alcove stood a snowy bed, the covers
invitingly turned down.
Madame Cerise set the lamp upon a table and without a word turned to
assist Louise. The beautiful Kermess costume, elaborately embroidered
with roses, which the girl still wore, evidently won the Frenchwoman's
approval. She unhooked and removed it carefully and hung it in a closet.
Very dextrous were her motions as she took down the girl's pretty hair
and braided it for the night. A dainty _robe de nuit_ was provided.
"It is my own," she said simply. "Ma'm'selle is not prepared." "But
there must be young ladies in your family," remarked Louise,
thoughtfully, for in spite of the stupor she felt from want of sleep the
novelty of her position kept her alert in a way. It is true she was too
tired and bewildered to think clearly, but slight details were
impressing themselves upon her dimly. "This room, for instance--"
"Of course, _ma chere_, a young lady has lived here. She has left some
odd pieces of wardrobe behind her, at times, in going away. When you
waken we will try to find a house-dress to replace your evening-gown.
Will ma'm'selle indulge in the bath before retiring?"
"Not to-night, Madame Cerise. I'm too tired for anything but--sleep!"
Indeed, she had no sooner crawled into the enticing bed than she sank
into unconscious forgetfulness. This was to an extent fortunate. Louise
possessed one of those dispositions cheery and equable under ordinary
circumstances, but easily crushed into apathy by any sudden adversity.
She would not suffer so much as a more excitable and nervous girl might
do under similar circumstances.
Her sleep, following the severe strain of the night's adventure, did
little to refresh her. She awoke in broad daylight to hear a cold wind
whistling shrilly outside and raindrops beating against the panes.
Madame Cerise had not slept much during the night. For an hour after
Louise retired she sat in her room in deep thought. Then she went to the
telephone and notwithstanding the late hour called up Diana, who had a
branch telephone on a table at her bedside.
Miss Von Taer was not asleep. She had had an exciting night herself. She
answered the old caretaker readily and it did not surprise her to learn
that the missing girl had been taken to the East Orange house by the
orders of Charlie Mershone. She enquired how Louise had accepted the
situation forced upon her, and was shocked and rendered uncomfortable by
the too plainly worded protest of the old Frenchwoman. Madame Cerise did
not hesitate to denounce the abduction as a heartless crime, and in her
communication with Diana swore she would protect the innocent girl from
harm at the hands of Mershone or anyone else.
"I have ever to your family been loyal and true, Ma'm'selle Diana," said
she, "but I will not become the instrument of an abominable crime at
your command or that of your wicked cousin. I will keep the girl here in
safety, if it is your wish; but she will be safe, indeed, as long as
Cerise guards her."
"That's right, Madame," stammered Diana, hardly knowing at the moment
what to say. "Be discreet and silent until you hear from me again; guard
the girl carefully and see that she is not too unhappy; but for heaven's
sake keep Charlie's secret until he sees fit to restore Miss Merrick to
her friends. No crime is contemplated; I would not allow such a thing,
as you know. Yet it is none of my affair whatever. My cousin has
compromised me by taking the girl to my house, and no knowledge of the
abduction must get abroad if we can help it. Do you understand me?"
"No," was the reply. "The safest way for us all is to send Miss Merrick
away."
"That will be done as soon as possible."
With this the old Frenchwoman was forced to be content, and she did not
suspect that her report had made Miss Von Taer nearly frantic with
fear--not for Louise but for her own precious reputation. Accustomed to
obey the family she had served for so many years, Madame Cerise
hesitated to follow her natural impulse to set the poor young lady free
and assist her to return to her friends. So she compromised with her
conscience--a thing she was not credited with possessing--by resolving
to make the imprisonment of the "_pauvre fille_" as happy as possible.
Scarcely had Louise opened her eyes the following morning when the old
woman entered her chamber, unlocking the door from the outside to secure
admission.
She first rebuilt the fire, and when it was crackling cheerfully she
prepared a bath and brought an armful of clothing which she laid out for
inspection over the back of a sofa. She produced lingerie, too, and
Louise lay cuddled up in the bedclothes and watched her keeper
thoughtfully until the atmosphere of the room was sufficiently warmed.
"I'll get up, now," she said, quietly.
Madame Cerise was assuredly a skilled lady's maid. She bathed the girl,
wrapped her in an ample kimono and then seated her before the dresser
and arranged her _coiffure_ with dextrous skill.
During this time Louise talked. She had decided her only chance of
escape lay in conciliating this stern-faced woman, and she began by
relating her entire history, including her love affair with Arthur
Weldon, Diana Von Taer's attempt to rob her of her lover, and the part
that Charlie Mershone had taken in the affair.
Madame Cerise listened, but said nothing.
"And now," continued the girl, "tell me who you think could be so wicked
and cruel as to carry me away from my home and friends? I cannot decide
myself. You have more experience and more shrewdness, can't you tell me,
Madame Cerise?"
The woman muttered inaudibly.
"Mr. Mershone might be an enemy, because I laughed at his love-making,"
continued Louise, musingly. "Would a man who loved a girl try to injure
her? But perhaps his love has turned to hate. Anyhow, I can think of no
one else who would do such a thing, or of any reason why Charlie
Mershone should do it."
Madame Cerise merely grunted. She was brushing the soft hair with gentle
care.
"What could a man gain by stealing a girl? If it was Mr. Mershone, does
he imagine I could ever forget Arthur? Or cease to love him? Or that
Arthur would forget me while I am away? Perhaps it's Diana, and she
wants to get rid of me so she can coax Arthur back to her side. But
that's nonsense; isn't it, Madame Cerise? No girl--not even Diana Von
Taer--would dare to act in such a high-handed manner toward her rival.
Did you ever hear of Miss Von Taer? She's quite a society belle. Have
you ever seen her, Madame Cerise?"
The woman vouchsafed no reply to this direct enquiry, but busied herself
dressing the girl's hair. Louise casually turned over the silver-mounted
hand mirror she was holding and gave a sudden start. A monogram was
engraved upon the metal: "D.v.T." She gazed at the mark fixedly and then
picked up a brush that the Frenchwoman laid down. Yes, the same monogram
appeared upon the brush.
The sharp eyes of Cerise had noted these movements. She was a little
dismayed but not startled when Louise said, slowly: "'D.v.T.' stands for
Diana Von Taer. And it isn't likely to stand for anything else. I think
the mystery is explained, now, and my worst fears are realized. Tell me,
Madame, is this Diana Von Taer's house?"
Her eyes shone with anger and round red patches suddenly appeared upon
her pallid cheeks. Madame Cerise drew a long breath.
"It used to be," was her quiet answer. "It was left her by her
grandmother; but Mr. Von Taer did not like the place and they have not
been here lately--not for years. Miss Von Taer informed me, some time
ago, that she had transferred the property to another."
"To her cousin--Mr. Mershone?" asked Louise quickly.
"That may be the name; I cannot remember," was the evasive reply.
"But you must know him, as he is Diana's cousin," retorted Louise. "Why
will you try to deceive me? Am I not helpless enough already, and do you
wish to make me still more miserable?"
"I have seen Mr. Mershone when he was a boy, many times. He was not the
favorite with Ma'm'selle Diana, nor with Monsieur Von Taer. For myself,
I hated him."
There was decided emphasis to the last sentence. Louise believed her and
felt a little relieved.
From the _mélange_ of apparel a modest outfit was obtained to clothe the
girl with decency and comfort, if not in the prevailing style. The fit
left much to be desired, yet Louise did not complain, as weightier
matters were now occupying her mind.
The toilet completed, Madame Cerise disappeared to get a tray
containing a good breakfast. She seemed exceedingly attentive.
"If you will give me the proper directions I will start for home at
once," announced Louise, with firm resolve, while eating her egg and
toast.
"I am unable to give you directions, and I cannot let you go,
ma'm'selle," was the equally firm reply. "The day is much too
disagreeable to venture out in, unless one has proper conveyance. Here,
alas, no conveyance may be had."
Louise tried other tactics.
"I have no money, but several valuable jewels," she said, meaningly. "I
am quite sure they will obtain for me a conveyance."
"You are wrong, ma'm'selle; there is no conveyance to be had!" persisted
the old woman, more sternly.
"Then I shall walk."
"It is impossible."
"Where is this place situated? How far is it from New York? How near am
I to a street-car, or to a train?"
"I cannot tell you."
"But this is absurd!" cried Louise. "You cannot deceive me for long. I
know this is Diana Von Taer's house, and I shall hold Diana Von Taer
responsible for this enforced imprisonment."
"That," said Madame Cerise, coldly, "is a matter of indifference to me.
But ma'm'selle must understand one thing, she must not leave this
house."
"Oh, indeed!"
"At least, until the weather moderates," added the woman, more mildly.
She picked up the tray, went to the door and passed out. Louise heard
the key click in the lock.