IN THE MIRROR
If Elsie had thought to tease or bewilder Kate in the garden last night
by asserting that fairies actually had something to do with the orchard
house she would have been disappointed now if she could read Kate’s mind
as she lay awake in the early morning. A sense of something exciting in
the day had waked her before dawn. The excitement, of course, was the
party frock that Aunt Katherine had promised her, and “The Blue Bird.”
“I can hardly believe that I am going to have such a wonderful day,” she
thought. “Is it really happening to me? Will the morning ever come?”
She had no idea what time it was but she could see that the sky was
beginning to lighten. She felt that she could never go to sleep again
and she felt very hungry. Ah-ha! She remembered the gingerbread man
under her pillow. She had put it there simply to hide it and meaning to
get rid of it somehow without Elsie or Bertha seeing. She had not
thought she would ever want to eat it! It was too childish. But now she
pulled it out, and leaning up on her elbow ate every last crumb.
This elbow position brought the orchard into her view, or rather its
growing outlines in the approaching dawn. She recalled last night and
Elsie’s emphatic assurance that fairies somehow had a hand in the
mystery. Perhaps most other girls of fifteen would simply have laughed
at Elsie and not for an instant accepted it as a possibility, fairies
not entering into their scheme of things. But fairies did enter into
Kate’s scheme of things and always had. There she was different. But
there was a reason for her difference.
When she was a little girl of seven she had seen what she thought was a
fairy; and it had made such an impression on her mind that when she grew
older and came to the age of doubt she simply went on knowing. She had
seen what she had seen, and that was all there was to it. Moreover, her
mother had seen it, too, or something like it. It was hardly likely that
both of them could have been utterly deceived.
It happened when she and Katherine had gone for a walk on a June
Saturday. They started very early in the morning and walked very far,
for a seven-year-old. But it was Saturday and they were both free, Kate
from the lessons which her mother set her, and Katherine from teaching.
And it was June. So they did not seem to get tired a bit, but walked and
walked, and explored. Toward noon they came to a high meadow hilltop.
There they lay down, flat on their backs among the Queen Anne’s lace,
buttercups, and daisies, their arms across their eyes, their faces
turned directly up toward the sun. It was luncheon time, but they did
not care. The sunshine soaking into them and the smell of warm grass and
earth were better than food.
They lay still for a long time, not even speaking to each other. Perhaps
the little Kate slept. And they thought of getting up and starting for
home only when the sun in the sky told Katherine that it must be past
two o’clock.
Halfway down the hill pasture stood a little beach wood. They took their
way through that because it looked so cool and inviting, and because
Katherine knew there was a spring there among some rocks where they
could get long, satisfying drinks of cold water. It was there they saw
the fairy. They saw her just as they came out of the bright sunlight
into the green, cool shade of the wood and stood above the water. She
was at the other side of the spring facing them. She was looking down at
her reflection in the water, not at all aware of their approach.
Kate saw her as a lovely girl in a floating green garment. Her feet and
arms were bare and shining and it was their shining that made Kate know,
even in that first instant before the fairy had glanced up, that she was
unearthly. Kate and Katherine stood as still as the leaves on the trees
in that still wood, awed and entranced. Then the little Kate whispered
“Mother!” and pointed. At that whisper the fairy lifted her eyes. Kate
saw the surprise in her eyes and a dawning—something; was it
friendliness, or a smile? There was not time to know; for the fairy
flashed backward and up on to a stone behind her across which the
sunlight fell. And there she was lost in the sunlight. They simply could
not see her any more.
But Kate had never forgotten that instant when they stood looking at the
fairy while she was plain to view. And she had never forgotten the
expression on her mother’s face after the fairy had vanished. It was
such a delighted expression, so startlingly _satisfied_.
But that night, in talking it over, it came out that mother and daughter
had not seen exactly the same thing. Katherine was sure that the being
who had stood looking down at the spring was taller than human, grander,
with a more tranquil, noble face, And her garment, she said, was the
colour of sunlight, not green at all. Little Kate protested that. No,
she was just a slim girl and her garment was green. Why, Kate remembered
exactly how it hung almost to her bare ankles, without fluttering or
motion in that still wood. The golden gown Katherine had seen had blown
back, she said, as in a strong wind, although she herself felt no breath
of air.
The end of their discussion came to this. Katherine said it might be
that the sun in the high meadow together with their having had no
luncheon had made them see not quite true. When they came suddenly into
the cool, green shaded wood out of the glare their eyes played them
tricks. What seemed like a person standing above the spring may have
been simply an effect of sunlight striking through leaves.
“You remember, don’t you,” Katherine had ended, “how she vanished into
sunlight when you said ‘Mother’? Well——”
And Katherine had left it at that. “Well——” But she had warned little
Kate not to talk about it.
“People will think I had no business letting you go without luncheon
so,” she gave as her reason, laughingly.
But just because she had promised Katherine that she would not talk
about having seen a fairy, Kate had thought about it all the more. And
she never went into a cool wood out of hot sunlight without hoping to
surprise a fairy again. What she had seen she had seen, and that was all
there was to it!
So now to Kate the thought that fairies might somehow be connected with
the little orchard house did not seem at all an impossibility. Elsie
certainly had not acted or looked as though she were lying. And it was
perfectly true that from the minute Kate herself had first caught sight
of the orchard house she had felt that there was something very special
about it—more special than just the fact that it was the house where her
mother had been born and grown up and married. When Elsie called out
“Fairies, beware! Orchard House, beware!” Kate had been pricked with the
feeling of listening ears. She had felt somehow that the warning was
truly heard and taken.
She stretched now to her full length between her scented sheets. “I do
wish the dawn would hurry up and dawn!” she thought. “The minute it’s a
bit light enough I’ll get up, take a cold bath, dress, and get out into
the orchard. If fairies are there, dawn ought to be as easy a time to
see them as any. I’ll keep my promise about the key. But I’ve a perfect
right in the orchard.”
She fell asleep then and dreamed about the orchard house. The King of
the Fairies was there, waiting for her on the doorstep. She sat down
beside him and at once began to see things different, to see them, as
the King of the Fairies said, “whole.” There was a lot to the
dream—colour, adventure, and music, and above all, the sight of things
“whole.” But Kate, when she woke, had quite lost it. The dream had
become just tag ends of brightness left floating in her mind.
* * * * * * * *
To her surprise morning was fully established, birds were singing in
high chorus, and water was running loudly into the tub!
Bertha appeared in the bathroom door. “Miss Elsie got ahead of us,” she
informed Kate brightly. “She must have been quieter than a mouse to have
had her bath and all and not waked you. Now I suppose she’s out in the
orchard or somewhere. It’s a beautiful day.”
Oh, well, Kate did not allow herself to be downcast at having missed
dawn in the orchard. Not a bit of it. What a day it was to be! The
frock, “The Blue Bird,” the whole day in Boston with Elsie, and Aunt
Katherine so friendly!
At her place at the little breakfast table under the peach tree she
found a letter from her mother. She snatched it up and tore it open,
hoping she could get at least the heart out of it before Aunt Katherine
and Elsie should appear.
But she had hardly read the first sentence before Miss Frazier came out
through the breakfast-room and Elsie floated from the direction of the
orchard. Kate was too absorbed to be aware of the approach of either
until she heard Elsie exclaim, “Letters! Oh, is there one for me?”
Aunt Katherine’s tone was surprisingly sharp when she answered, “You
never get letters, Elsie. You have hardly had one in the last year.”
“That’s unfair,” Kate thought hotly. “Aunt thinks she’s jealous even of
my mail. And all the time she’s probably expecting an answer to that
special delivery she sent yesterday.”
But in spite of the edge in Miss Frazier’s voice Elsie apparently was
not at all dashed. To Kate’s curious eyes she looked just exactly as one
might who had been skylarking with fairies in the orchard all early
morning. She was ready to laugh, ready to talk, ready to be friendly.
Kate was profoundly glad, for this kind of an Elsie argued well for the
day they were to have in Boston together.
They went by train because Miss Frazier herself had uses for the car.
Bertha was again dressed in her correct gray tailored suit. “Looking
like an aunt herself,” Kate thought. Kate wore the blue silk dress she
had travelled in and the smart little hat that was really her mother’s.
The white linen would have done beautifully if they had not been going
to the theatre; but even though they were to sit in the balcony—seats
were sold out so far ahead that this was the best Aunt Katherine had
been able to do for them—Kate thought the white linen would hardly be
appropriate for that, and Bertha had agreed with her. Elsie, when she
appeared, quite took Kate’s breath away. She was so lovely, but so much
older looking than she had been in her house clothes. She was dressed in
a straight little three-piece silk suit of olive green. The rolling
collar was tied by a jaunty orange bow, and on the low belt of the dress
the same colour was embroidered in a conventional flower pattern. The
coat hung loosely and very full, hooked together only at the collar. The
hat was a limp dark brown straw with olive-green and orange embroidery
all around the crown. Elsie had pinned her curls up over her ears, and
her hair was a soft crushed aura under the hat. She looked very much
like a city girl but as though the city might have been New York or
Paris rather than Boston.
Kate gasped a little, and in her secret heart was very glad she herself
had decided on her silk. For a little while she was constrained with
Elsie, as though Elsie had in fact become older suddenly just because
she looked older.
As they came through the gates at their terminal in Boston Kate noticed
a young man in a slouch brown hat, a polka-dotted brown tie, and very
shining pointed brown shoes, standing about as though expecting someone
to meet him from the train on which they had come in. Perhaps Kate
noticed him so particularly because he seemed to be noticing them so
particularly, especially Elsie. For the first time that morning she
remembered Mr. O’Brien, the detective. Was this one of his men, and was
he going to “shadow” them to-day? Kate was sure of it when out of the
tail of her eye she saw him wheel and follow at a little distance as
they moved toward the taxi stand. He stood prepared to take the next cab
that should move into position as theirs moved out. Kate hardly
understood her own emotions at that moment. Her cheeks were hot and her
knees shook a little. She was resentful for Elsie. Why was she being
shadowed by a detective as though she were a criminal? Why had Aunt
Katherine let this happen?
Madame Pearl’s establishment was a narrow three-story house on Beacon
Street. “Madame Pearl” was engraved on a plate above the bell, nothing
more. A daintily capped and aproned maid answered their ring. She knew
their names before they had given them.
“It is the Misses Frazier,” she said, speaking with a distinct accent.
“You have an engagement, and Madame Pearl is expecting. Please come this
way.”
The front door opened directly into a long narrow room, panelled in
ivory, decorated with wreathed cupids and flowers. The floor was cool
gray and the hangings at the long windows at the end of the room were
gray, too, silvery. But under their feet were warm-coloured Persian rugs
of the most beautiful shades and designs. There were little tables in
the room with magazines and books scattered on them, a few easy chairs,
and two long divans. In one corner by the window there was an exquisite
little writing desk of Italian workmanship. On this stood a vase of very
red roses.
Kate glanced about with surprised eyes. But Elsie, who had been here
before with Aunt Katherine, nonchalantly followed the maid who was
guiding them. Kate had expected to find herself in a shop. But there was
no evidence of things for sale here. And they had an appointment!
Whoever heard of having an appointment in a shop?
The maid stood back at the foot of a narrow spiral staircase at the back
of the room. The girls and Bertha ascended.
Still no sign of a shop, or dresses for sale. This long upper room was
simply a boudoir with chaises-longues, mirrors, and flowers. Madame
Pearl swept to meet them. She was a regal little lady in trailing gray
chiffon. The gown had long flowing sleeves that just escaped the floor.
Miss Frazier had told Kate at breakfast that morning that Madame Pearl
was really a Russian princess who had escaped at the time of the
Revolution and in just a few years had made a fortune with this shop.
Her real name was Olga Schwankovsky. So Kate looked at her with intense
curiosity now. But where was the shop?
“Miss Frazier has telephoned,” Madame Pearl said in the sweetest of
voices and almost perfect accent. “You young ladies are to have party
dresses, your first party dresses. Very simple, very chic, youthful. We
must not hurry but give time to it and consideration. If you will be so
kind as to come this way——”
“This way” was all down the room to a wider alcove, walled on the street
by big plate-glass windows and on the two other sides by huge, perfect
mirrors.
There Madame Pearl asked them to be seated. She herself sat comfortably
among cushions on a little lounge. She inquired as to their favourite
colours. From that the conversation expanded to their other tastes, to
books, music. Elsie told about their plan for the afternoon.
“You are to see ‘The Blue Bird’!” Madame Pearl exclaimed. “That will be
an experience. I myself saw it when I was about your age—its first
production at the Moscow Art Theatre. I had never dreamed anything could
be so beautiful. You will think so, too.” Then she added, sighing a
little, “But it cannot be quite the same. Stanislavsky produced it as it
never could be produced by another. It was superb.”
“You saw it, there, when it was given in Moscow that first time?” Elsie
breathed, sitting on the very edge of her chair, her cheeks pink with
excitement. “That was wonderful. I know, for my fa——” She stopped, bit
her lip, and continued: “Someone showed me photographs of the stage sets
and costumes once. I am wondering if it will be anything like that
here.”
“I don’t know,” Madame Pearl replied. “But I tell you frankly I am not
going to see. For the memory of our Art Theatre production is too vivid
for me to want to expose it to any comparison. It was done with a
richness, a depth, a true sense of mysticism—— What shall I say? It was
so free of sentimentality. I confess I do not care to see it attempted
again. It had an effect on me, that play. An effect that is lasting,
that runs through—how shall I say?—my life.”
Elsie nodded and looked at Kate. She said, “Yes, we understand. ‘The
King of the Fairies’ is like that, too.”
Kate’s heart leapt. At last those two girls had met face to face,
comrades on common ground.
“‘The King of the Fairies,’” Madame Pearl murmured, reflectively. “Ah,
yes. I have heard of that book. Published last year. Very beautiful, I
have heard. And literary people are surprised because it is so popular.
They alone, when they discovered it, expected to appreciate it and
enjoy. They are a little annoyed that children and simple people and the
unliterary love it, too, that it is a ‘best seller.’ I have guessed,
though I have not yet read it, that that book must tap some deep wells
of truth that all humanity knows, even the simple. I have a theory about
art——”
There the beautiful voice ceased abruptly. Madame Pearl rose, smiling
enigmatically. “This is not choosing frocks, is it?” she said. “But
while we have chattered I have studied your types. I have not been idle.
Shall we begin with the one of which I am the least sure? That is Miss
Kate. We may have to try several frocks before we are suited for you.
But I think we shall begin with an orange crêpe.”
Madame Pearl touched a button in the wall and almost instantly a maid
appeared, not the one who had answered the door, but identically
dressed. She was young and pretty and very quick in all her motions.
Kate found a screen placed around her almost before she knew what was
happening. It was a light folding screen made of gray silk and bamboo
and embroidered with oriental flowers. Bertha hastened to disrobe her.
Then she came forth and stood ready to try on before one of the huge
mirrors.
Panels in the wall were slid back and the little maid brought the
dresses from their hiding places one by one. Bertha and the little maid
slipped them over her head, fastened them, turned her around lightly by
the shoulders. Then everyone looked at Madame Pearl. She was sitting on
her couch again, her eyes intent. She studied Kate as an artist studies
his picture. And to every frock, when it was on and Kate had been turned
quite around once or twice, she shook her head decidedly. None of them,
not one would do.
Kate herself could not see why. There was not one that was positively
unbecoming, and three or four had been quite lovely. She was growing
dazed and tired. The sparkle and colour of the frocks heaped about her
on chairs and thrown over the screen was almost too much for her eyes.
She thought of the Arabian Nights and imagined herself a young princess
of Arabia being decked for her wedding. But even as the corners of her
mouth lifted with this dream she was startled by an exclamation from
Madame Pearl.
“At last! It is perfect!”
Kate turned to herself in the mirror.
But was it Kate Marshall at all? She scarcely knew.
The frock was yellow, of softest satin, the color of a crocus. At the
rounded neck it was gathered softly to a narrow border of tiny
pearl-white and blue blossoms made in satin. At the low waistline the
satin was gathered again at a girdle of the same exquisitely fashioned
flowers, four wreaths of them loosely twined. The skirt swung out from
this girdle very full and straight, stopping just a little above the
ankles, quite the longest skirt Kate had ever had. The border of the
skirt was cut in deep, sharp scallops showing an underskirt below of
foaming, creamy lace.
“Do you like it?” Madame Pearl asked, interestedly. Kate was looking at
herself without speaking.
“I couldn’t help liking it,” Kate replied. “It’s beautiful. But—it
doesn’t look exactly as though we belonged—it and I together! It is
fluffy! So delicate!”
“That’s the fault of your hair, the short bob,” Madame Pearl assured
her. “There must be a cap.” She gave directions to the maid. “The silver
cap with the star points. Yes, the one from Riis’s. Deep cream
stockings. And the pumps—but I see you know which pumps that frock must
have yourself. I think they will fit, too. Fetch them.”
The maid whisked away to return in a minute with silk stockings, satin
slippers, and a silver cap.
“Your feet first,” Madame Pearl said, quite excitedly. “The cap we will
leave for the finishing touch. Then you shall see.”
Again, almost in a daze, Kate vanished behind the painted screen
accompanied by both Bertha and the maid. Each of them dressed a foot,
and it was done in a minute. The pumps were an exact fit. They were
creamy satin embroidered in deeper creamy-coloured flowers. At the side
of each a small diamond-shaped crystal buckle caught the light in many
facets. The heels were low.
Kate was troubled. “My aunt is only giving me the frock,” she said. “She
didn’t mention slippers and things. I’ve some perfectly good black
patent-leather pumps, anyway.”
“Black pumps! With that frock!”
Madame Pearl gazed at her in horror. Bertha hurriedly interposed, “Miss
Frazier impressed it on me that the costumes were to be complete.”
Then Madame Pearl arose from the couch and herself set the silver cap on
Kate’s head. It was a saucy affair fashioned in crisp silver lace with
five star points radiating from its crown. The cap was indeed the
finishing touch. It accomplished almost a transformation.
“Why, I’m _pretty_, awfully pretty!” Kate exclaimed to herself, gazing
into the mirror. But then more modestly, she added, “Any one would be in
that fascinating cap.”
So Kate was ready for the party! Let it come!
And now it was Elsie’s turn. But Madame Pearl had no trouble in fitting
Elsie to just the right frock. In fact, she had decided which it must be
in the first minutes while they sat discussing “The Blue Bird.” Elsie
was not “difficult.” Madame Pearl whispered to the maid, who scurried
away. She returned bearing over her arm a cloud of green chiffon. While
Kate was being dressed behind her screen Elsie was put into this green
creation behind another similar screen. She appeared before Kate was
done.
Her frock was simplicity itself, just straight lengths of green chiffon
falling straight away from her slim shoulders. As she moved back and
forth in front of the mirror her draperies floated about her like
filmiest clouds. When she stood still they fell straight and sheer
almost to her ankles. Madame Pearl signalled and the maid took the pins
from Elsie’s curls and they tumbled, a shower of sunlight.
The effect was perfect. Madame Pearl breathed softly: “I am satisfied.
Exquisitely.” She determined that white kid sandals, sandals in the
Greek style, were the footwear the frock required. She had them, too,
stored somewhere behind those secret panels. The maid hurried off, and
Elsie in preparation for her return slipped off the black patent-leather
sandals she was wearing, and out of her stockings.
At the same time Madame Pearl moved to the big windows. “The light is
glaring,” she murmured, “and it is unreasonably hot.” Untying a cord at
the side of the sash she let down green inner blinds. Elsie rose, and
stood in her bare feet facing herself meditatively in the mirror. At
that instant Kate came from behind her screen.
“Oh!” It was almost a shriek. Kate actually reeled against Bertha who
was following her and clutched for support. Bertha led her to the couch.
“Water, a glass of cold water quickly,” Madame Pearl commanded the
little maid. Elsie ran to Kate and knelt before her, taking her hands.
“Kate, Kate,” she called as though Kate were running away from her.
But Kate was not a girl to faint easily. She straightened up now and
took a deep breath. “It’s only the way you looked in the glass, Elsie,”
she explained, shakily. “The room just went spinning when I saw you.”
“‘The way she looked in the glass!’” Madame Pearl cast a hurried glance
toward the big mirror that now reflected only Kate’s array of discarded
dresses, a few tables and chairs.
But Kate explained further, looking at Elsie wanly: “You were the
fairy—the fairy that Mother and I saw by the pool that day. You were the
fairy exactly, even the expression on your face when you looked at me!
And the green light——”
Madame Pearl laughed. “The green light is only because I pulled the
blind. But you are right, Miss Elsie does look exactly like some fairy,
some wood fairy. Perfection.”
“No, not some fairy, _the fairy_. I have remembered perfectly.”
Madame Pearl spoke to Bertha aside, but Kate heard well enough. “It was
the heat, and she was tired from trying on. She ought to lie down.” Then
she turned her attention to Elsie’s sandals.
But Elsie kept looking back over her shoulder at Kate, resting on the
sofa—questioningly. She was speculating: “Had Kate taken her hint of
fairies in the orchard house seriously? Was it so much on her mind that
she was imagining things? Or had Kate once really seen a fairy, and
Elsie in the mirror had reminded her?”
When they left the shop and stood on the step looking about for a taxi
Elsie asked Kate eagerly, “Did you really see a fairy once? Where?
When?”
“Yes, Mother and I. But we both saw it differently. And now—now, how
could it have been a fairy? Why, it was _you_. But I promised Mother not
to talk about it.”
At the mention of Kate’s mother the cold look came back to Elsie’s face.
She turned away with feigned indifference while Bertha lifted her hand
to summon a taxi.