THE COMRADE DOES NOT APPEAR
Although Kate kept her book “The King of the Fairies” on her lap in bus
and trains, she did not look into its pages at all. Still it had its
meaning and its use on the journey. It was something well known and
dearly loved going with her into strangeness and uncertainty. Its purple
cloth binding spoke to her through the tail of her eye even when she was
most busy taking in the fleeting landscape. One would have thought her a
seasoned traveller and a very well-poised person if he had seen her
sitting so still, her hands lightly touching the closed book, her gaze
missing little of interest in country and town as the train rushed
along. But in reality her mind was as busy as the spinning wheels, and
her thoughts ranged everywhere from the commonplace to the inspired; and
as for her emotions, they were in a whir.
But the thought that recurred over and over and from which she never
entirely escaped during the whole five hours of travel was this: was any
one else in the world so happy and elated as she? People she saw looking
from windows, people working in factories, people working in meadows,
people walking on streets—how dull and uneventful their present hour was
compared to her present hour! And the Hart boys back at home! How could
they bear the commonplaceness of going on in the same spot all summer,
doing the same things, and seeing the same people! And only one week ago
she herself had been more than contented, happily expectant even, when
she was facing just such a summer!
Of course, she wondered about Elsie a lot. In fact, she scarcely thought
of Great Aunt Katherine at all. Would Elsie meet her at the South
Station in Boston? Great Aunt Katherine’s letter had said Elsie’s maid
would meet her. But surely Elsie herself would be there, too. Kate, for
a minute, imagined herself in Elsie’s place, eagerly waiting among the
crowds at the great terminal for the appearance of the new friend,
wondering and speculating about her, just as Kate herself was wondering
and speculating about Elsie.
The journey seemed very short. Kate could not believe they were actually
in Boston until the conductor coming through assured her that in less
than two minutes they would be in. But for Kate the next two minutes
seemed longer than all the rest of the journey put together. She sat on
the edge of the seat, one hand grasping the handle of her suitcase, the
other clutching “The King of the Fairies.” And even in her tense
excitement the long-drawn-outness of those two minutes made her think
about the King of the Fairies and what he had taught, or rather shown,
the girl and boy in the book about _time_—what a mysterious thing it
was, quite man-made and not real. She could well believe it now.
However, even that two minutes came to an end, as such eternities will.
At the train steps there were “red caps” galore clamouring for baggage
to carry, and a pushing crowd of passengers who had poured down from the
long line of coaches. Kate shook her head as a matter of course to the
porters, and marched along, her rather heavy leather bag, marked with
the initials K. M. in white chalk, in one hand, the book and her
purse—not a very good balance—in the other. No one could come out into
the train shed to meet you, Kate remembered now from the two or three
times she had been in that station with her mother. Well, Elsie would be
up at the entrance, standing on tiptoes, looking off over heads until
their eyes met. How should they know each other? No special arrangement
had been made to insure Kate’s being recognized. But Katherine had said,
“Don’t worry. Aunt Katherine’s not one to bungle anything. She or Elsie
or the maid, probably all three, will spot you at once. And if they
don’t, all you have to do is to find a telephone booth and call up the
Oakdale house.” And now, coming up through the shed, straining her eyes
toward the gate, Kate had not the slightest doubt that the minute her
eyes met Elsie’s eyes they would know each other. She had lived in
anticipation of this minute now so steadily for so long that she would
feel confident of picking Elsie out in a crowd of a thousand girls all
of the same age.
But she was getting near the gate and still she had seen no one that
might be Elsie. Then, walking on tiptoes for a second, a difficult feat
when you are as loaded down as she was, she did see a girl standing a
little way back from the gate and watching the passengers with impatient
eagerness as they came through. For an instant the eyes of the two girls
met. Kate went suddenly, unexpectedly shy at that encounter. But
instantly an inner Kate squared her shoulders, in a way the inner Kate
had, and forbade the outer Kate to tremble. And when Kate, in a flash,
had restored herself to herself, she knew that the girl waiting there
was certainly not Elsie; she was too utterly different from anything she
had imagined about her. There! She was right. The girl had greeted the
woman just ahead of Kate and they hurried off together talking volubly.
Kate drew a relieved sigh. She never could have liked that overdressed
girl as well as she knew she was going to like Elsie. They would never
have become chums and comrades.
But now she herself was outside the gate. She suddenly realized that her
suitcase was very heavy and put it down. Simultaneously she looked
around confidently for a friendly, welcoming face, for the eyes of the
new comrade. There was no such face, no such eyes. But she did become
aware of a youngish woman, in a very smart gray tailored suit and
Parisian looking black hat with a gray wing, bearing directly down upon
her. She was certainly too young to be Great Aunt Katherine; but it was
hard to believe that such smartness and apparent distinction could
belong to a maid.
“Miss Marshall?”
“Yes, I’m Kate Marshall. And you?”
“Bertha, Miss Elsie’s maid.” She turned toward a middle-aged round
little Irishman in brown livery. “Timothy,” she said, “it’s her.” Alas,
for the distinction of the black toque!
Timothy stepped briskly forward and picked up Kate’s suitcase, touching
his cap, but giving her a quick, keenly interested glance at the same
time. “Your trunk checks, if you please, Miss?” he said, holding out his
free hand for them.
“Why, there isn’t a trunk. The suitcase is all.”
“Didn’t the trunk catch this train?” Bertha asked, and added in a
commiserating tone, “Service is wretched—Miss Frazier says so.”
“I didn’t have any trunk at all. The suitcase holds everything.”
Bertha’s ejaculation of surprise was suddenly turned into a flow of
tactful words. “All the better, all the better. That makes things very
simple, very simple. We’ve only to go out to the automobile then, and
we’ll be in Oakdale in no time.”
Little round Timothy led the way with the bag and book, Kate followed
him, and Bertha came behind her. She was not used to walking in
processions like this, and she felt distinctly strange and lonely. But
the thought that Elsie might be waiting in the car braced her up. Even
so she couldn’t imagine why Elsie hadn’t come in and been the first to
greet her at the gate. If she were Elsie she would never sit calmly
waiting out in the car.
But the car was empty. It was a very handsome, big, luxurious affair,
painted a light glossy brown, the very shade of Timothy’s uniform. It
had a long, low body, much shining nickel plate, windshields before the
back seat as well as the front, and Great Aunt Katherine Frazier’s
monogram in silver on the door.
Timothy held back the monogrammed door while Kate stepped in. Then he
slid into the driver’s seat, leaving Bertha to follow him. So there was
Kate bobbing around on the wide back seat that was richly though
slipperily upholstered in smooth leather. Her baggage was in front with
the servants. She had not even the cherished book to sustain her. She
wondered, a little whimsically, that they had let her carry her purse.
Where was Elsie? Kate gave herself up to speculation as they crawled
through the crowded city streets. They crawled, but it was smooth and
beautiful crawling, for Timothy was an artist among chauffeurs. Kate
looked all around her interestedly and happily in spite of the sharpness
of her disappointment at Elsie’s absence. But although it was exciting
and stimulating to her to be moving through the streets of the big city
she realized the heat uncomfortably and, used to her high hill air, was
over-conscious of the unsavoury odours that met her on every side. She
unbuttoned and threw back her cape and resisted just in time an impulse
to lift her hat from her head by the crown, the way a boy does, and toss
it into a corner of the seat so that her head might be a little cooler.
But another inclination she did not resist in time. She leaned forward
and spoke to Bertha over the windshield: “Elsie, Miss Elsie, couldn’t
she come? Is she well?” she asked.
What an idiotic question! Why was she always saying things so abruptly,
things she hardly meant to say! Bertha turned her smooth,
distinguished-looking profile. “She is very well. She will be at
dinner.”
Now they were out of the city and they gained speed; but they gained
almost without Kate’s noticing, for the car was so luxurious and Timothy
was such an artist. But when she observed how the trees and fences and
houses were beginning to rush by she braced her feet against the nickel
footrail and laid her arm along the padded armrest. She leaned back,
relaxed. She began to feel that she quite belonged in the car, as though
such conveniences had always been at her service, almost as though
private chauffeurs and ladies’ maids were an everyday matter. Or was she
dramatizing herself? Anyway, it was fun and very, very new. She hoped
there would be time to write her mother all about it to-night. She
profoundly wished the Hart boys could see her!
But Bertha had turned her smooth profile again. “We are just entering
Oakdale,” she informed her, speaking impersonally, so decorously that it
might have been to the air. And instantly Kate’s composure and assurance
were shivered, her relaxed muscles tensed themselves, her mind became
just one big question mark.
Oakdale was a charming suburb. Most of the houses seemed to have lawns
and gardens that justified the name of “grounds,” and wealth spoke on
every side, but in a tone of good taste and often even beauty. Elms and
maples lined the street down which the adventurer’s chariot was bowling.
Oh, which house, which house was Great Aunt Katherine’s? Would Elsie be
standing in the doorway? Would Kate know the house by that? Or would she
be at a window, or keeping a watch for them on some garden wall?
They suddenly swerved from the main residential street and rolled down a
delightful lane bordered by older, more mellowed houses. At the very end
of the lane, before a large white house with green blinds, the car came
to a stop. What a gracious, dignified house it was, and every bit as
imposing and mansionlike as Kate’s mother had described it. There were
balconies gay with plants and hanging vines, tall windows, and an
absence of anything ambiguous or superfluous. The wide front door, with
its shining brass knocker and rows of potted plants at either side, was
approached by a dozen or so wide, shallow stone stairs bordered by tall
blue larkspur and a golden bell-shaped flower for which Kate did not
know the name. The steps were almost upon the lane, but Kate knew that
there were extensive “grounds” at the back, and somewhere there the
little orchard house.
No Elsie stood at the top of those stone steps or came running around
the house from the gardens at the sound of the stopping car. Not even
Aunt Katherine made an appearance. Timothy held open the automobile
door, Bertha took the suitcase and book, and Kate, with a “Thank you,”
to Timothy, started off on the last stage of her journey, that of the
climb of the stone steps to her aunt’s front door. Bertha followed close
behind. Kate wondered whether she should ring the bell, or wait and let
Bertha ring it for her. Or would Bertha open the door and they go in
without ringing? Oh, dear! Why hadn’t she asked her mother more
explicitly about correct usage when there is a lady’s maid at your
heels? But then, perhaps Mother couldn’t have helped her much, for
certainly Mother had never been so attended. And then the inner Kate
asserted herself. “Don’t be a silly,” it said. “How can it matter which
of you rings the doorbell?—and certainly you’re not going to go in
without ringing. Bertha’s hands are too full either to ring the bell or
open the door. Ring.”
But before her finger had time to reach the button, the door swung open
before her as though by magic and Kate stepped in. A maid had opened the
door and now stood half-concealed behind it with her face properly
vacant. Kate, when she discovered her, gave her a nod and a faint “Thank
you.” Then she stood still in the hall, looking about for her aunt. She
had almost given up Elsie for the present; but surely her aunt would
come now from some part of the house hurrying to greet her with
hospitality and show her her room.
But Bertha had no such idea. _She_ did not look about as though
expecting any one. “I will lead the way,” she offered, “if you please.
There are a good many turns.” And still carrying Kate’s suitcase she
walked off up the narrow strip of thick gray velvety material that
carpeted the polished stairs. Kate followed. It was a very complicated
house, she decided, as they went through doors, down unexpected
passages, up steps, and finally around a sharp turn, around two turns,
up two steps, and Bertha threw open a door. There Bertha stood back for
Kate to pass in ahead of her.
The bedroom that had been assigned to her was exquisitely lovely. It was
a little room of beautiful proportions facing the “grounds.” So much
care had been spent on its decorations and furnishings that one never
thought of all the money that had been spent _with_ the care. Its three
long windows, their sills almost on the floor, opened out on to a
flowery balcony hung above the garden. The windows were wide open now
because of the heat and stood back against the walls like doors. The
finest of spiderweb lace was gathered against the panes, and at their
sides hung opal-coloured curtains of very soft silk. The same colour, in
heavier silk, was used in the spread for the narrow ivory bed, with its
painted crimson ramblers at footboard and top. There was a low reading
table by the bed and in the centre of it a little crystal lamp with an
opal shade. Across from the bed and table stood an ivory dressing table
reflecting the balcony’s brilliant plants in its three hinged mirrors.
An ivory-coloured chair with a low back and three legs was placed before
the dressing table. On one creamy wall hung LePage’s “Joan of Arc,” and
on the opposite wall a painting of a little girl with streaming hair
leaping across a bright flower bed. Through a door with long crystal
mirrors panelled into either side Kate glimpsed a white bathroom with a
huge porcelain tub with shining taps and a rack hung thick with wide,
creamy towels.
“What a heavenly room!” she exclaimed, enraptured. “Is it mine?”
“Yes, this is your bedroom.” Bertha spoke almost deprecatingly of it.
“But there is a sitting-room just across the hall. It is Miss Elsie’s,
but while you are here Miss Frazier says you are to share it. That is
much more comfortable.”
Kate went directly to a window, hoping to find the orchard house in its
view. She was not disappointed. Beyond lawns and flower gardens there
was the old orchard with its gnarled, twisted trees, and back among the
trees the outlines of a little gray house. Kate was quite moved by this
her first glimpse of her mother’s home.
Bertha came up behind, and now was engaged in unbuttoning her cape for
her and taking off her hat. But Kate was almost unconscious of these
ministrations. She was unconscious, too, when Bertha turned to unpacking
her bag.
“There won’t be time for you to change to-night, Miss Frazier said,”
Bertha was informing her. “So we’ll just wash you up a bit and brush
your hair. Miss Frazier said you were to go down directly, and there’s
the first gong anyway.”
A musical note was sounding through the house.
Reluctantly, Kate turned from the window. Bertha followed her into the
bathroom, filled the bowl for her with water, and then stood at hand
with soap and a towel. For one wild instant Kate wondered whether Bertha
meant to wash her face for her! She had a definite feeling of relief
when she put the soap and the towel down at the side of the bowl and
left her alone. Quickly and efficiently Kate removed the grime of
travel. When she went back into her room Bertha was standing by the
dressing table, brush in hand.
Kate sat down on the three-legged chair. She thought she had never
looked into clearer mirrors than the three hinged ones before her.
“Please, I can brush my own hair, it’s so short. I would rather.” Just a
few quick strokes, a poke or two, and the bobbed hair with the wing
brushed across the forehead was perfectly tidy and crisp.
“I’ll take you to the top of the stairs,” Bertha offered. “You mayn’t
have noticed the way very carefully as we came along.”
“No, I am not sure I could find it. But tell me first, where does that
door, the other door, in the bathroom go?”
“Oh, that’s Miss Elsie’s door.”
“Miss Elsie’s room! So near! Oh, do you suppose she’s in there?”
“Why, I don’t know. I dressed her for dinner before starting to town for
you. She’s more probably downstairs. Dinner is served three minutes
after that first gong.”
Kate gave one more glance toward the door that now had become of so much
interest to her, before following Bertha. She was glad that she and
Elsie were to sleep so near each other. Why, it was a suite of rooms
they had. There was something splendid about occupying a suite of rooms.
And there was even a sitting-room for them across the hall. How jolly it
was and how independent! But where was Elsie?
Kate thanked Bertha when she had been guided to the top of the
staircase. “Am I just to go down?” she asked, a little timidly.
“Why, yes. Miss Frazier will be in the drawing-room. It’s at the left.
You can’t miss it.”
Bertha faded discreetly back as she spoke, into the shadows of the upper
hall, leaving Kate suddenly to her own resources. But after an instant’s
hesitation, during which the inner indomitable Kate was summoned up, she
passed quietly and with dignity down the gray velvet stair carpet.