Dummy again. She seemed to be dummy often, this afternoon. They were
playing for quarter cents, but even that low stake, Nancy thought
irritably, ran up into a considerable sum, when one's partner bid as
madly as young Mrs. Billings bid. She was doubled, and redoubled, and
she lost and lost; Nancy saw Elsie's white hand, with its gold pencil,
daintily scoring four hundred--two hundred--three hundred.
"I thought I might as well try it," said Mrs. Billings blithely, "but
you didn't give me much help, partner!"
"I didn't bid, you know," Nancy reminded her.
"Oh, I know you didn't--it was entirely my own fault! Well, now, let's
try again. ..."
Suddenly it seemed to Nancy all wrong--her sitting here in the tempered
summer light, playing cards throughout the afternoon. Inherited from
some conscientious ancestor, shame stirred for a few minutes in her
blood and she hated herself, and the club, and the women she played
with. This was not a woman's work in the world. Her children scattered
about their own affairs, her household in the hands of strange women,
her husband playing another game, with other idle men, and she, the
wife and mother and manager, sitting idle, with bits of pasteboard in
her hands. She was not even at home, she was in a public club--
She laughed out, as the primitive wave of feeling brought her to the
crude analysis. It was funny--life was funny. For a few strange minutes
she felt as curiously alien to the Marlborough Gardens Yacht Club as if
she had been dropped from another world on to its porch. She had been a
tired, busy woman, a few years ago; by what witchcraft had she been
brought to this? Mrs. Billings was playing four hearts, doubled. Nancy
was too deep in uneasy thought to care much what befell the hand. She
began to plan changes, always her panacea in a dark mood. She would
give up daytime playing, like Mary Ingram. And she would never play
except at home, or in some other woman's home. Nancy was no prude, but
she was suddenly ashamed. She was ashamed to have new-comers at the
club pass by, and see that she had nothing else to do, this afternoon,
but watch a card game.
Sam Biggerstaff came to the door, and nodded to his wife. Nancy smiled
at him; "Will I do?" No, he wanted Ruth.
So his wife put her cards in Nancy's hand, and went out to talk to him.
Nancy laughed, when she came back.
"You score two tricks doubled, Ruth. I think that's too hard, after I
played them!"
"Shameful!" said Mrs. Biggerstaff, in her breathless way, slipping into
her seat. Two or three more hands were played, then Mrs. Fielding said
suddenly:
"Is the tennis finished? Who won? Aren't they all quiet--all of a
sudden?"
The other two women glanced up idly, but Mrs. Biggerstaff said quietly:
"I dealt. No trumps."
"Right off, like that!" Nancy laughed. But Mrs. Billings said:
"No--but AREN'T they quiet? And they were making such a noise! You know
they were clapping and laughing so, a few minutes ago!"
"They must have finished," Mrs. Fielding said, looking at her hand
quizzically. "You said no trump. Partner, let's try two spades!"
"Billy was going to come in to tell me," persisted Mrs. Billings, "Just
wait a minute--!" And leaning back in her chair, she called toward the
tea-room. "Steward; will you send one of the boys down to ask how the
tennis went? Tell Mr. Billings I want to know how it went!"
The steward came deferentially forward.
"I believe they didn't finish their game, Mrs. Billings. The fire--you
know. I think all the gentlemen went to the fire--"
"Where is there a fire!" demanded two or three voices. Nancy's
surprised eyes went from the steward's face to Mrs. Biggerstaff's, and
some instinct acted long before her fear could act, and she felt her
soul grow sick within her.
"Where is it?" she asked, with a thickening throat, and then
suspiciously and fearfully. "Ruth, WHERE WAS IT?" And even while she
asked, she said to herself, with a wild hurry and flutter of mind and
heart, "It's our house--that's what Sam stopped to tell Ruth--it's
Holly Court--but I don't care--I don't care, as long as Agnes was
there, to get the children out--"
It was all instantaneous, the steward's stammering explanation, Ruth
Biggerstaff's terrified eyes, the little whimper of fear and sympathy
from the other women. Nancy felt that there was more--more--
"What'd Sam tell you, Ruth? For God's sake--"
"Now, Nancy--now, Nancy--" said the Mrs. Biggerstaff, panting like a
frightened child, "Sam said you weren't to be frightened--we don't know
a thing--listen, dear, we'll telephone! That's what we'll do--it was
silly of me, but I thought perhaps we could keep you from being
scared--from just this--"
"But--but what did you hear, Ruth? Who sent in the alarm?" Nancy asked,
with dry lips. She was at the club, and Holly Court seemed a thousand
impassable miles away. To get home--to get home--
"Your Pauline telephoned! Nancy, wait! And she distinctly said--Sam
told this of his own accord--" Mrs. Biggerstaff had her arms tight
about Nancy, who was trembling very much. Nancy's agonized look was
fixed with pathetic childish faith upon the other woman's eyes. "Sam
told me that she distinctly said that the children were all out with
Agnes! She asked to speak to Bert, but Bert was watching a side-line,
so Sam came--"
Nancy's gaze flashed to the clock that ticked placidly over the wide
doorway. Three o'clock. And three o'clock said, as clearly as words
"Priscilla's nap." Agnes had tucked her in her crib, with a
"cacker"--and had taken the other children for their promised walk with
the new puppy. Pauline had rushed out of the house at the first alarm--
And Priscilla's mother was here at the club. Nancy felt that she was
going to get dizzy, she turned an ashen face to Mrs. Biggerstaff.
"The baby--Priscilla!" she said, in a sharp whisper. "Oh, Ruth--did
they remember her! Oh, God, did they remember her! Oh, baby--baby!"