THE ATTIC ROOM
Mrs. De Peyster gave thanks when at last, toward one o'clock Jack and
Mary and Judge Harvey went back to bed, leaving Matilda, Mr. Pyecroft,
and herself. It had previously been settled that Mr. Pyecroft was
to have Jack's old room, Matilda was, of course, to have her
usual quarters, and Mrs. De Peyster was to have the room adjoining
Matilda's, that formerly was occupied by Mrs. De Peyster's second
maid.
"Say, that was certainly one close shave," Mr. Pyecroft whispered at
the door of her room. "Perhaps we'd better beat it from here. If that
Judge ever places me! And you, if those people ever get a fair look
at your face, they'll see your likeness to Mrs. De Peyster and they'll
guess what our game is--sure! You'll promise to be careful?"
Mrs. De Peyster promised.
Fifteen minutes later, having been undressed by Matilda, she was
lying in the dark on a narrow bed, hard, very hard, as hard as Mrs.
Gilbert's folding contrivance--and once more, after this her second
move, she was studying the items of her situation.
She had daily to mix with, strive to avoid, Jack and Mary. And Jack
had casually remarked that Judge Harvey would be frequently dropping
in.
And there was that bland, incorrigible Pyecroft, whom she seemed to
have become hopelessly tied to; Pyecroft, irresistibly insisting that
she should swindle herself, and whom she saw no way of denying.
Suppose Pyecroft should find out? He might.
Suppose Jack and Mary should find out? They might.
Suppose Judge Harvey should find out? He might.
And suppose all this business of her not going to Europe, but
staying in her shuttered house--her flight from home--her humiliating
experiences in an ordinary boarding-house where she passed as a
housekeeper--her being forced into a plan to rob herself--suppose Mrs.
Allistair should find out? And Mrs. Allistair, she well knew, might
somehow stumble upon all this; for she remembered how Mrs. Allistair
had tried, and perhaps was still trying, to get some piquant bit
of evidence against her in that Duke de Crécy affair. And if Mrs.
Allistair did find out--
What a scandal!
And since her fate had become so inextricably tied up with the fates
of others, and since the exposure of others might involve the exposure
of her, there were yet further sources of danger. For--
There was that awful reporter watching the house, after Jack!
There were the police, after Pyecroft!
She shuddered. This was only the seventh day since her inspired idea
had been born within her. And it was only that very day that she had
landed at Cherbourg. Three months must pass before Olivetta, in
the role of Mrs. De Peyster, would return, and she could be herself
again--if they could ever, ever manage their expected re-exchange of
personalities in this awful mess.
Only seven days thus far. Three more months of this!
Three ... more ... months!...
But at length she slept; slept deeply, for she had the gift of sleep
in its perfection; slept a complete and flawless oblivion. So that
when she awoke Saturday, refreshed, and glanced blinking about from
her thin pillow she did not at first remember where she was. This
low room, four by seven feet, with a narrow bed penitentially hard, a
stationary wash-basin, a row of iron clothes-hooks, a foot-high oblong
window above her head--what was it? How had she come here? And had any
one ever before lived in such a cell?
Then memory came flooding back. This was her second maid's room.
She was Angelica Simpson Jones, sister of Matilda, a poor, diffident
creature with defective hearing and pitifully disfigured face. And in
the house were Mr. Pyecroft, and Jack and Mary, and Judge Harvey was a
frequent visitor. And besides these, there were all the other sources
of danger!
She was now poignantly awake.
While she was still in this process of realization, there was a soft
knock at her door and a whispered, "It's Matilda, ma'am," at her
keyhole. She unlocked the door, admitted Matilda, and crept back
into her second maid's bed. They gazed at each other a moment without
speaking. Matilda's face was gray with awe and helpless woe.
They whispered about their predicament. What should they do? Should
they flee again?--and how?--and where?--and what good would flight do
them, especially since Mr. Pyecroft might once more follow? Twice they
had leaped from the frying-pan, and each time had landed in a fire
hotter than the one preceding. A third flight might drop them into a
fire worse even than this in which they now sizzled.
And as for the specific plan which had brought them back--for Mrs. De
Peyster to steal unnoticed into her suite and hide there--that seemed
impossible of achievement with all these people circulating about the
house, especially that all-observing Mr. Pyecroft. If Mr. Pyecroft
should catch her in one suspicious move, then his quick mind would
deduce the rest, and everything would be up--everything!
There was, of course, yet another way--to give up and disclose her
identity herself. But she was now far, far too deeply involved:
to confess and thus by her own act bring limitless and appalling
humiliation on herself, this was unthinkable! She must go on, on,
blindly on--with the desperate hope that in some manner now unseen
she might in the end disentangle herself and come out of the affair
undiscovered and with dignity untarnished. The two were still
whispering over their predicament, when at the door sounded another
knock, loud and confident. They caught at each other. The knocking was
repeated.
"Who's that?" Matilda asked, at Mrs. De Peyster's prompting.
"It's Archibald," answered a bland voice.
"Ma'am, shall I let him in?" breathed Matilda.
"We don't dare keep him out," breathed Mrs. De Peyster.
Matilda admitted him. Even in the semi-darkness of the room, due to
the green shutters being closed, Mrs. De Peyster could see that he was
admirably transformed from the raven Mr. Pyecroft of the night before.
He had on a gray modish suit, with lavender tie and socks to match;
and looked natty and young and spirited and quite prepared for
anything.
"Good morning, sisters," he greeted them pleasantly. "I see you are
admiring my new spring outfit. Not at all bad, is it?" He turned
slowly about, for their better observation; then grinned and lowered
his voice: "It's young De Peyster's; found it in his room, and helped
myself. Burned my clergyman's outfit in the kitchen range before any
one was up; best to leave no clues lying around."
He, too, had come to talk plans, and quickly Mr. Pyecroft settled
them. This was a dangerous place for him, with Judge Harvey coming and
going; but to stay here was a safer risk than to venture forth until
the hue and cry of the police had quieted. It was a dangerous place
also for his dear sister Angelica, but if on the plea of indisposition
she would stay in this dusky room and would keep her disfigured face
hidden when any member of the household chanced to come in (they would
all understand, and sympathize with, her painful diffidence),
why, there was an excellent chance of her pulling through without
discovery. It was obvious that they dared not keep out Jack and Mary,
and perhaps Judge Harvey, should these be inspired to make friendly
calls. To forbid their visits would arouse suspicion. And if it were
said Angelica was too ill to see any one, then they would demand that
a doctor be called in--and a doctor would mean exposure. Their visits
must be permitted; no doubt of that; but if dear Angelica were only
careful, extremely careful, and kept her head, all would go well.
Yes, summarized Mr. Pyecroft, the best plan for them was to remain
here for the present. Then when the safe and appropriate moment
arrived, they could make their get-away.
From quite other reasons, Mrs. De Peyster accepted this plan. After
the strain of the past week, particularly after the wild emotional
oscillations of the preceding night, she wished just to lie there in
the dusk, and breathe--and breathe--and breathe some more--and recover
life.
Matilda suggested that she bring up breakfast for Mrs. De Peyster, and
Mr. Pyecroft begged her to discover and set out something below
for him, for his stomach was a torturing vacuum. Matilda went down,
leaving Mr. Pyecroft behind in the room, discussing further details of
their immediate campaign; and presently she returned, trembling, with
a tray, Jack and Mary just behind her. Mrs. De Peyster did not need
to be prompted to turn her face toward the wall, and into the deeper
shadow that there prevailed. Mr. Pyecroft casually sat down upon the
bed near its head, making an excellent further screen.
Mr. Pyecroft noted that Jack was observing his raiment. "I trust,
Mr. De Peyster, you will pardon the liberty I have taken with your
clothes. My own were still wet from last night."
"That's all right," said Jack. "But, say, Matilda, have your sister
eat her breakfast. What we've come to talk about can wait."
But Matilda's sister, after all, wished no breakfast. And solicitation
could not rouse in her an appetite.
"Very well," said Jack. "Then to the point. I thought we'd better all
get together on the matter at once. It's about food."
"Food?" queried Mr. Pyecroft, a bit blankly.
"Yes, and it's some problem, you bet. Here's a house that is supposed
to be empty. And within this empty house are five adults. Do you get
me?"
"Isn't it terrible!" cried Mary.
"Five adults," repeated Jack. "How are we going to get food in here
for them without exciting suspicion?"
"As you say," mused Mr. Pyecroft with a wry face, "that is certainly
some problem. My own appetite is already one magnitudinous toothache."
Jack enlarged upon their situation.
"Since Judge Harvey tipped me off to the fact that the newspapers
smelled a story, and since that reporter Mayfair and other reporters
began to watch this house, I've had to give up going out. We two would
have starved but for what Judge Harvey and William managed to slip
in to us. Even with that, we've almost starved. In fact, we've
been driven by hunger about to the point of giving in, going out,
acknowledging our marriage and taking the consequences."
Mrs. De Peyster, face buried in the shadow, thrilled with a sudden
rush of hope. If Jack and Mary should leave the house, then half her
danger would be ended!
"But, you see, since that news yesterday about mother being so sick
in Europe," Jack continued solicitously, "I feel that, in her weakened
condition, the news of our marriage might be a very severe shock for
her. So for her sake we're going to keep the thing secret for a while
yet, and stick it out here."
Mrs. De Peyster could hardly keep back a groan.
"So, now," Jack again propounded, "what the dickens are the five of us
going to do?"
Mr. Pyecroft rubbed his wide mouth for a meditative moment. Then he
smiled upon Matilda.
"It seems to me, sister dear, that we'll have to put it up to you."
"Up to me?" cried Matilda.
"Yes, Matilda. You belong here; you can come and go as a matter of
course. You have a sister visiting you; also a brother, but as I have
requested, the less said about his being here the better. But you can
go out and openly order provisions for yourself and our sister. And
you can give a good large order for nourishing canned goods, casually
mentioning that you are laying in a supply so that you will not have
to bother again soon with staples. That, with what Judge Harvey and
William can smuggle in, should keep us provided for."
Mr. Pyecroft's suggestion was approved by the majority. As an addendum
to his proposal Matilda was ordered to answer the bell whenever rung;
if she did not, with the knowledge abroad that she was in the house,
a dangerous suspicion might be aroused. But she should be careful when
she went to the door, very careful.
Matilda was driven forth to make the purchases; Mr. Pyecroft, under
Jack's guidance, went below to forage for the anæsthetic of immediate
crumbs; and Mary, tender-heartedly, remained behind to relieve the
tedium of and give comfort to the invalid. She straightened up the
room a bit; urged the patient to eat, to no avail; then went out of
the room for a minute, and reappeared with a book.
"I'm going to read to you, Angelica," she announced, in a loud yet
nursey voice. "I suppose your taste in books is about the same as
your sister's. Here's a story I found in Matilda's room. It's called
'Wormwood.' I'm sure you'll like it."
So placed that she could get all of the dim light that slanted through
the tiny shuttered window, Mary began, her voice raised to meet the
need of Mrs. De Peyster's aural handicap. Now Marie Corelli may have
been the favorite novelist of a certain amiable queen, who somehow
managed to continue to the age of eighty-two despite her preference.
But Mrs. De Peyster liked no fiction; and the noble platitudes, the
resounding moralizings, the prodigious melodrama, the vast caverns
of words of the queen's favorite made Mrs. De Peyster writhe upon her
second maid's undentable bed. If only she actually did possess the
divine gift of defective hearing with which Mr. Pyecroft had afflicted
her! But in the same loud voice, trying to conceal her own boredom,
Mary read on, on, on--patiently on.
At length Matilda returned. Mary closed the book with a sigh of
relief, which on the instant she repressed.
"I'll read to you for a while two or three times a day," she promised.
"I know what a comfort it is to a sick person to hear a story she
likes."
Mrs. De Peyster did not even thank her.