but shame at the obvious weakening of his own resolution under the
peculiarly melting voice of Jane-Ellen. He glanced at the boy, he
thought of Tucker, he looked long at Jane-Ellen. Who knows what might
have happened if his eyes, which he decided he must wrench away from
hers, had not suddenly fallen upon a small object lying undisguised on
Brindlebury's dressing-table.
It was the pearl set miniature.
All three saw it almost at the same instant. The hands of all went out
toward it, but Crane's reached it first. He took it up.
"Have you any explanation to offer, Brindlebury?" he said.
"I can explain," exclaimed Jane-Ellen.
"I'm sure you can," Crane answered. "The only question is, shall I
believe your explanation."
"He took it because it reminded him of me. That's the only reason he
wanted it."
Crane looked from the miniature to the cook. He knew that this was also
the only reason why he himself wanted it.
"Jane-Ellen," he said, "go downstairs and order the motor to come to the
side door at once."
"Mr. Crane, you're not going to have Brin arrested?"
He shook his head.
"I ought to, perhaps, but I am not going to. I'm going to take him in
the motor to what I consider a safe distance, and drop him."
"Just like a stray cat," gasped Brindlebury's sister.
"Cats usually come back," said the boy, with a return of his normal
spirits.
"Cats have nine lives," replied Crane, significantly.
Something about the tone of this remark put an end to the conversation.
Jane-Ellen obediently left the room. Brindlebury struggled frantically
to strap his bulging bag, and succeeded only with the assistance of
Crane.
When they went downstairs, the motor was already ticking quietly at the
side door. No one was visible, except Jane-Ellen, who was wistfully
watching it.
Brindlebury got in, and set his bag upright between his knees; Crane got
in, and had actually released the brake, when, looking up at the cook
still standing there, he found himself saying:
"Do you want to come, too, Jane-Ellen, to see the last of your brother?"
Of course she did; she looked hastily about and then turned toward the
stairs, but Crane stopped her.
"No," he said, "don't go up. There's a coat of mine there in the coat
closet. Take that."
Immediately she reappeared in a heavy Irish frieze overcoat he had had
made that spring in New Bond Street. It was an easy fit for Crane; it
enveloped Jane-Ellen completely. The collar which she had contrived to
turn up as she put the coat on, stood level with the top of her head;
the hem trailed on the ground, and the sleeves hung limp from below the
elbows. She looked like a very small kitten wrapped up in a very large
baby's blanket. But she did not allow this superfluity of cloth to
hamper her movements; she sprang into the little back seat, and they
started.
After about half an hour, Crane stopped the car. They were now in the
outskirts of the main town of the district.
"This is where you get out," he said.
Brindlebury obeyed.
"Smithfield paid you your wages, I believe," and Burton plunged into his
own pocket. "Well, there's something extra."
At this, a trembling might have been seen in the right sleeve of the
frieze coat, and the next second, Jane-Ellen's hand emerged from the
cuff, and Crane for the first time experienced the touch of her fingers.
She pushed his hand away from her brother's.
"Don't take that money, Brin," she cried.
Brindlebury's hand dropped.
"No, of course not. What do you take me for?" he said. Then he snatched
off his cap and kissed his sister good-by, and, picking up his bag, he
disappeared into the darkness.
There was a moment's silence between the other two, before Crane said:
"Better get into the front seat. You'll be more comfortable."
Holding up her coat, as if it were a coronation robe, Jane-Ellen stepped
in, sat down, and wrapped it carefully about her knees--a process in
which Crane by the greatest effort of self-control did not join. Again
the brake squeaked and the motor moved forward.
A great deal has been said about silence as a method of spiritual
communion, but few of us, in social situations, at least, have the
courage of these convictions. Most hostesses, on looking about a silent
dinner-table, would be more apt to think that they were watching a
suspension of diplomatic relations, rather than an intercommunication of
souls. But there are moments for all of us when we value silence as
highly as Maeterlinck himself and this, in Burton's opinion, was one of
them.
The moonlight, so much more beautiful and affecting than he had found it
earlier in the evening in the garden, the smooth, quick motion, the damp
night air blowing against his face, made him acutely aware of the
presence at his side of that small, still companion. He felt no need of
speech, nor did he speculate as to her state of mind. He drove, and
enjoyed life deeply.
They were nearly at home again, before he asked:
"Why was it you did not wish your brother to take what I offered him?"
"Because," she answered, in a tone of simplicity and sincerity he had
never yet heard from her, "it would not have been good for him. He's
young, and takes things too easily. He ought not to have money he does
not work for."
"I am glad that you feel like that," he said. "I was afraid you refused
to let him have it, because you were angry at me for sending him away."
He was afraid that she would relapse into her old tone of mock servility
and assure him that she would never be guilty of the liberty of
criticizing her employer, but she did not. She said:
"But I was not angry at you. I should not have respected you if you had
done anything else."
He answered seriously:
"You knew that I was sorry not to do what you asked me to do?"
"Yes, I knew," she said.
They did not speak again.
They left the car at the garage and walked to the house. There had been
failure in coöperation, for Smithfield evidently had not known of the
expedition. The side door was locked, and so was the front door.
"I suppose I'd better ring," said Crane reluctantly. Somehow he was not
eager to face Smithfield's cold, reproving glance.
"No, follow me," whispered Jane-Ellen.
She led him to the kitchen entrance and pointed to a window.
"I don't believe that window has had a bolt for sixty years," she said.
"And to think," returned Crane, as he gently raised it, "that before I
took the house I complained of its being out of repair."
He climbed in and opened the kitchen door for her. He had a match, and
she knew the whereabouts of a candle. They still spoke in whispers.
There was, of course, no real reason why they were so eager to let the
household sleep undisturbed, yet they were obviously united in the
resolution to make no unnecessary sound.
"Wouldn't you like something to eat?" breathed Jane-Ellen.
"A good idea," he answered.
She divested herself of his coat and beckoned him to the ice-box. They
had entirely ceased to be master and servant.
"Some of that chicken salad you had for dinner," she murmured, "if any
of it came down. I dare say it didn't though. Smithfield's so fond of
it."
Crane laughed.
"You mean he eats in the pantry?"
She nodded.
"All butlers do, and Smithfield's a little bit greedy, though you'd
never guess it, would you?"
They laughed softly over Smithfield, as they spread out their simple
meal on the kitchen table. Jane-Ellen showed a faint disposition to wait
upon her employer, but it was easily vanquished by his assertion that he
would eat nothing unless she sat down, too. A few minutes later, it was
he who was doing whatever work was to be done, and she sitting with her
elbows on the table watching him. There seemed, after all, nothing
unnatural in this new relation.
Presently, Willoughby, hearing the sound of dishes, or smelling the
chicken salad, awoke and jumped on the table.
"Do you mind him?" asked his mistress in melting tones.
Crane didn't mind him at all. He offered the cat a bit of chicken.
Willoughby seemed to enjoy it, chewing it with quick little jerks of his
head. And presently, he raised a paw and deflected a fork which Crane
was carrying to his own mouth. Even this Crane appeared to find amusing.
Before they had finished, the kitchen clock behind them suddenly and
discordantly struck once. Burton started and half turned his head, but
she stopped him.
"Let's guess what time it is," she said. "Of course, it's later than
half past ten. It might be half past eleven."
"Or even half past twelve."
"It could be one."
"But certainly not half past."
They looked around. It was half past.
Jane-Ellen sprang up.
"Oh, how dreadful!" she exclaimed, without, however, any very real
conviction. "How terribly late, and I have to get up so early in the
morning."
"It makes me desperately ashamed," said Crane, "to think you have to get
up to cook for all of us and that I can sleep just as late as I want
to."
She laughed.
"If you haven't anything worse to worry about than that, you're very
lucky."
But he had something to worry about, and as soon as she was gone, he
began to worry about it, namely, the painful and complicated situation
of a man who has fallen in love with his cook.
VIII
MRS. FALKENER never came down to breakfast. At nine to the minute, her
bell tinkled, and Lily staggered up to her room bearing a tray, from
which, it subsequently appeared, many essentials had been forgotten; the
next ten minutes were spent by the unfortunate housemaid in trips to the
pantry in search of salt, powdered sugar or a tea-strainer.
Cora, however, came down and poured out coffee for the two men. She
looked handsome and vigorous in this occupation, and Crane, sitting
opposite to her, wondered if it were his destiny to sit so for the rest
of his life. He watched her thin white hands--strong as steel, they
were--moving about among the cups. He had once admired them intensely.
But now he knew that hands did not have to be so firm and muscular to
accomplish wonderful achievements in all sorts of ways.
At ten, Mrs. Falkener came swimming down the stairs, all suavity and
brightness. The evening before, while Crane had been struggling with
the problem of Brindlebury's misdeeds, she and Tucker had had another
council of war. A new attack upon the cook had been planned, which they
felt sure would bring to light delinquencies that even Crane could not
overlook.
"Come, Burton," she said as she entered the sitting-room, "aren't you
ever going to offer to show me the kitchen? You know that to an
old-fashioned housekeeper like myself, it is the most interesting part
of the whole house."
Such interest, Crane felt inclined to answer, was not confined to
old-fashioned housekeepers. Her suggestion roused conflicting desires in
him; the desire to see Jane-Ellen, and the desire to protect her from
Mrs. Falkener.
"Tuck could tell us all about it," he said slyly.
Tucker, who was reading the paper, pretended not to hear, and presently
Crane rang the bell.
"Tell the cook, Smithfield," he said, "that Mrs. Falkener and I are
coming down to inspect the kitchen in about ten minutes."
When Smithfield had gone, Mrs. Falkener shook her finger at Crane.
"That was a mistake, my dear Burton," she said, "a great mistake. Take
them unaware whenever you can; it is the only way to protect ourselves
against the unscrupulous members of their class."
"Crane," said Tucker, without looking up from his paper, "wants to give
the young woman plenty of time to smuggle out any superfluous young man
who may be visiting her at the moment."
"Well, I'm no gum-shoe man, Tuck," Burton replied, leaving all of his
hearers in doubt as to whether or not he had emphasized the word "I."
Tucker laughed sarcastically.
"No, my dear fellow," he answered, "your best friend would not accuse
you of having talents along the detective line."
"Perhaps not," replied Crane. "And by the way, did I tell you that the
miniature had turned up all right?"
Tucker's face fell. He had depended a good deal on the loss of the
miniature as a lever to oust the whole set of servants.
"No," he said. "Where was it discovered?"
"Oh, it had just been moved," answered Crane. "It was lying on another
table, when I happened to notice it." He took it out of his pocket and
looked at it. "I think now, I'll keep it in my room for safety. You
approve of that, don't you, Tuck?"
Tucker, who felt that in some way he was being deceived, would not
answer, and in the pause Mrs. Falkener rose and said chattily,
"Well, shall we be off?"
"Coming with us, Solon?"
"No, I'm not," returned Tucker crossly.
"Didn't mean to offend you," Crane answered. "I thought you liked
kitchens, too."
Downstairs, they found the kitchen empty. Jane-Ellen was standing just
outside the door watching Willoughby, who was exciting himself most
unnecessarily over preparations which he was making to catch a bird that
was hopping about in the grass near by. The great cat crouched, all
still except the end of his tail, which twitched ominously, then he
rose, and, balancing himself almost imperceptibly on his four paws,
seemed about to spring; then abandoning this method, too, he crept a
little nearer to his victim, his stomach almost touching the earth. And
then the whole exhibition was ended by the bird, who, having
accomplished its foraging expedition, lightly flew away, leaving
Willoughby looking as foolish as a cat ever does look.
Jane-Ellen stooped and patted him.
"You silly dear," she said caressingly.
It was Willoughby who first saw Crane. With a vivid recollection of the
previous evening's feast of chicken from the salad, the cat ran to him
and bumped his nose repeatedly against Crane's legs in token of fealty
and gratitude. Burton felt unduly flattered. He lifted Willoughby, who
instantly made himself very soft and heavy in his arms and showed every
disposition to settle down and go to sleep.
Mrs. Falkener looked at him sentimentally.
"How all animals take to you, Burton, at first sight!" she said.
Crane bent over and replaced Willoughby slowly on the ground, while
Jane-Ellen turned her head away for an instant. Mrs. Falkener went on:
"What a nice, bright kitchen you have, Jane-Ellen. A good range, though
old-fashioned. How bright you keep your copper. That's right." She
wandered away in her tour of inspection. "See, Burton, this blue plate.
It looks to me as if it might have value. And this oak dresser--it must
be two hundred years old." She was across the room and her back was
turned. Crane and the cook stood looking at each other. "How charming,
how interesting!" Mrs. Falkener continued. "And you would not believe me
when I said that the kitchen was the most interesting part of the
house."
"I did not disagree with that," said Crane, still looking at Jane-Ellen.
"Oh, my dear boy, you would never have come down if I had not made you."
"One doesn't always do what one wants to do," said Crane.
Mrs. Falkener turned. The kitchen had revealed none of the enormities
she had expected--not even a man hidden in the kitchen closet, the door
of which she had hopefully opened; but one chance still remained. The
ice-box! In her time she had known many incriminating ice-boxes. She
called loudly to be taken to it.
"It's this way, madame," said the cook.
Mrs. Falkener drew Crane aside.
"That," she said, "is the very best way to judge of a cook's economical
powers. See how much she saves of the dishes that come from the upstairs
table. Now, last night I happened to notice that the chicken salad went
downstairs almost untouched."
For the first time in years, Burton found himself coloring.
"Oh, really?" he stammered. "I had an idea that we had eaten quite a lot
of it."
"No," returned Mrs. Falkener firmly, "no, a good dish went down. Let us
go and see."
Crane glanced at Jane-Ellen. He thought she had overheard.
They reached the ice-box; the cook lifted the lid, and Mrs. Falkener
looked in. The first sight that greeted her eyes was the platter that
had borne the salad she had liked so much. It was almost empty.
"Why, Jane-Ellen," she said, "where is all the rest of that excellent
salad?"
At this question, Jane-Ellen, who was standing beside the chest, gave
the lid a slight downward impulsion, so that it suddenly closed with a
loud, heavy report, within half an inch of Mrs. Falkener's nose.
That lady turned to Burton.
"Burton," she said, with the majesty of which she was at times capable,
"I leave it to you to decide whether or not this impossible young woman
did that on purpose," and so saying she swept away up the stairs, like a
goddess reascending Olympus.
"Look here, Jane-Ellen," said Crane, "I don't stand for that."
"Oh, sir," replied the culprit, with a return to an earlier manner, "you
surely don't think I had anything to do with it?"
"Unhappily, I was watching your hand at the time, and I know that you
had."
Jane-Ellen completely changed her method.
"Oh, well," she said, "you did not want her going on any more about the
old salad, did you?"
"I don't want the end of my guest's nose taken off."
"It's rather a long nose," said the cook dispassionately.
"Jane-Ellen, I am seriously displeased."
At this the cook had a new idea. She extracted a very small handkerchief
from her pocket and unfolded it as she said:
"Yes, indeed, sir, I suppose I did utterly forget my place, but it's
rather hard on a poor girl--one day you treat her as if she were an
empress, and the next, just as if she were mud under your feet." She
pressed the handkerchief to her eyes.
"Jane-Ellen, you know I never treated you like mud under my feet."
"It was only last night in my brother's room," she went on tearfully,
"that you scolded me for not being candid, and now at the very first
candid thing I do, you turn on me like a lion--"
At this point Crane removed her hands and handkerchief from before her
face, and revealed the fact, which he already suspected, that she was
smiling all the time.
"Jane-Ellen, what a dreadful fraud you are!" he said quite seriously.
"No, Mr. Crane," answered Jane-Ellen, briskly tucking away her
handkerchief, now that its usefulness was over. "No, I'm not exactly a
fraud. It's just that that's my way of enjoying myself, and you know,
sometimes I think other people enjoy it, too."
"Do you think Mrs. Falkener enjoys it?"
"I wasn't thinking of Mrs. Falkener," replied Jane-Ellen, with a twinkle
in her eyes.
"Burton!" called Mrs. Falkener's voice from the head of the stairs.
Crane and his cook drew slightly closer together, as if against a common
enemy.
"Do you suppose she can have heard us?" he asked.
"I think she's perfectly capable of trying to hear."
Crane smiled.
"I took a great risk, Jane-Ellen, when I advised you to be candid."
"Burton!" said the voice again.
"Merciful powers!" exclaimed Crane. "She calls like Juliet's nurse."
The cook laughed.
"But you must be prompter than Juliet was."
"What do you know about Shakespeare, Jane-Ellen?"
"Moving pictures have been a great education to the lower classes, you
know, sir."
He moved toward the stairs, but turned back to say,
"Good-by, Jane-Ellen."
She answered:
"'Think you that we shall ever meet again?'" and then even she seemed to
feel that she had committed an imprudence and she dashed away to the
kitchen.
Crane ascended the stairs slowly, for he was trying to recall the lines
that follow Juliet's pathetic question, when he suddenly became aware of
Mrs. Falkener's feet planted firmly on the top step, and then of that
lady's whole majestic presence. He pulled himself together with an
effort.
"Do you suppose that girl could have dropped that lid on purpose?" he
asked, as if this were the question he had been so deeply pondering.
"I feel not the least doubt of it," returned Mrs. Falkener.
He shook his head.
"It seems almost incredible," he answered, moving swiftly across the
hall toward the sitting-room, where Tucker and Miss Falkener were
visible.
"On the contrary," replied the elder lady, "it seems to me perfectly in
keeping with the whole conduct of this extraordinary young person." They
had now entered the room, and she included Tucker and her daughter in an
account of the incident.
"You know, Solon, and you, too, Cora, how easy I am on servants. I must
admit, every one will confirm it, that my own servants adore me. They
adore me, don't they, Cora? No wonder. I see to their comfort. They have
their own bath, and a sitting-room far better than anything I had myself
as a young woman. But in return I do demand respect, absolute respect.
And when I am looking into an ice-box, examining it, at Burton's special
request, to have that young minx slam down the lid, almost catching my
nose, Solon, I assure you, almost touching my nose, as she did it!"
Tucker listened attentively, tapping his eye-glasses on his left palm.
Then he said:
"And what did you do about it, Burton?"
Crane had gone to the bookcases and taken down a volume of Shakespeare.
He was so profoundly immersed that Tucker had to repeat his question.
This is what he was reading:
_Juliet_: Think you that we shall ever meet again?
_Romeo_: I doubt it not, and all our woes shall serve
For pleasant converse in the days to come.
He looked up, vainly trying to suppress a smile.
"What did I do about what, Tuck?"
"About your cook's insulting Mrs. Falkener."
Crane replaced the volume and walked to the window.
"Oh," he said, "I stayed behind a moment--"
"A moment!" said Mrs. Falkener, with something that would have been a
snort in one less self-controlled.
At this instant, Crane's attention was attracted by a figure he saw
crossing the grounds, and he decided to create a diversion.
"Oh, look!" he exclaimed. "Do come and see the housemaid going out for a
walk. Did you ever see anything smarter than she looks?"
The diversion was of a more exciting nature than he had intended. Mrs.
Falkener came to the window and uttering a piercing exclamation, she
cried:
"The woman has on Cora's best hat!"
"Not really?" said Crane, but it did seem to him he remembered having
seen the hat before.
"It is, it is," Mrs. Falkener went on, in some excitement. "Call her
back at once. Solon, do something. Call the woman back."
Tucker, thus appealed to, threw open the window, and with an extremely
creditable volume of voice, he roared:
"Lily!"
The girl started and turned. He beckoned imperiously. She approached.
"Come in here at once," he said sternly.
Mrs. Falkener sank into a chair.
"This is really too much," she said, making fluttering gestures with her
hands. "Even you, Burton, will admit this is too much. Stand by me,
Solon."
"Don't say even I, Mrs. Falkener," returned Crane, "as if I had been
indifferent to your comfort."
"Don't be so excited, Mother," said Cora. "You know it probably isn't my
hat at all. Lily has probably been copying mine."
Mrs. Falkener shook her head.
"I should know a Diane Duruy model anywhere," she said.
At this moment, Lily entered, and good temper did not beam from her
countenance.
"I had permission from Smithfield to go out," she began defiantly.
"Smithfield sent me over to look up a boy to replace Brin--"
"The trouble is not over your going out," said Crane.
[Illustration: "Cora," said Crane, "is that your hat?"]
"What is the trouble, then?"
"The trouble," said Mrs. Falkener, seeing Crane hesitate for a word,
"is that you have on my daughter's hat."
"Your daughter's hat!" said Lily contemptuously. "Nothing of the kind."
Mrs. Falkener turned to Tucker.
"This is intolerable. This is insufferable," she cried. "To have that
woman standing there in Cora's hat, which I chose myself and paid
forty-five dollars for at a sale, and cheap, too, for a Diane Duruy
model; to stand there and tell me I don't know the hat when I see it--"
"Cora," said Crane, "is that your hat?"
"Why, yes, I'm afraid it is," answered Cora, rather reluctantly.
"Lily, have you any explanation to make?" he asked.
"None at all," replied the housemaid, looking like white granite.
"Cora," said Crane, "you did not by any chance say anything that could
have led Lily to believe you meant to give her the hat?"
Miss Falkener smiled.
"No," she said. "My mother would not encourage such a generous impulse
in regard to a French hat."
"Then, Lily," said Burton, "take off the hat, and give it back to Miss
Falkener, and go and pack your things and be out of the house in an
hour."
"You must have her luggage searched," said Tucker.