CANDACE CAMERON paced her little gabled room restively, with face
growing redder and more excited at every step. For several weeks now she
had been virtually a prisoner--albeit a willing enough one--in the house
of Stanhope. But the time had come when she felt that she must do
something.
She had gone quietly enough about a proscribed part of the house, doing
little helpful things, making herself most useful to the madam, slipping
here and there with incredible catlike tread for so plump a body,
managing to overhear important conversations, and melting away like a
wraith before her presence was discovered. She had made herself so
unobtrusive as to be almost forgotten by all save the maid Marie, who
had been set to watch her; and she had learned that if she went to bed
quite early in the evening, Marie relaxed her watch and went down to the
servants' quarters, or even sometimes went out with a lover for a while,
that is, if the madam herself happened to be out also. On several such
occasions she had made valuable tours of investigation through the
madam's desk and private papers.
That she was overstepping her privileges as a servant in the house went
without saying, but she silenced her Scotch conscience, which until this
period of her existence had always kept her strictly from meddling with
other people's affairs, by declaring over and over again to herself that
she was doing perfectly right because she was doing it for the sake of
"that poor wee thing that was being cheated of her rights."
Several weeks had passed since her sudden re-establishment in the
family, and the reports of Betty, so hastily readjusted and refurbished
to harmonize with the newspaper reports, had not been any more
satisfying. Mrs. Stanhope had explained to the servants the day after
the excitement that Miss Betty had become temporarily deranged, and
later that she had escaped from the private hospital where she had been
taken, and they were doing all in their power to find her. In reply to
Candace's gimlet-like questions she had given the name of a hospital
where she said Betty had been taken at first, and everything seemed
altogether plausible. But as the days went by and the horror of her
absence grew into the soul of the lonely woman whose care Betty had been
for years, Candace became more and more restive and suspicious. It was
these suspicions which sent her on her investigations, and made her
uncannily wise to pry open secret locks and cover all trace of her
absence after she had gleaned what knowledge she sought.
On this particular evening her excitement was due to having come across
some correspondence bearing the signature of a man to whom a certain
letter had been addressed, which had been entrusted to her charge by
Betty's dying father and taken from her by his wife. For years she had
been worried about that, and yet she had no absolute reason to doubt
that the madam had not sent it to its destination, except as she knew
its contents and read Mrs. Stanhope's character beneath the excellent
camouflage. But to-night, even the briefest glance through the bundle of
letters showed plainly that those men in Boston never knew the master's
wishes, or at least, if they knew them, they were utterly disregarding
them.
Aroused on one point, her suspicions began to extend further. Where was
Betty? Did her stepmother know, and was she somewhere suffering, alone,
perhaps being neglected because she had not done as they wanted her to
do? If the stepmother was capable of destroying a letter, was she
perhaps not also capable of putting Betty out of the way? There were
points of detail which of course did not harmonize with any such theory
as this. Candace was no logician, but she was keen enough to feel that
something was wrong. As for that theory of Betty's insanity she scouted
it with a harsh laugh whenever it was mentioned in her hearing.
Betty--keen, sweet, trusting little Betty _insane_! Nonsense! It was
unthinkable. If she was in an asylum anywhere she was there without
warrant, and it behoved her faithful old nurse to find a way out for
her. This she meant to do against all odds, for she was thoroughly
aroused now.
She went to the window and looked down into the lighted street. Over
there not four blocks away rose the steeple of the church where Betty
had gone to be married! Around the corner was the great brick pile of
the hospital where her stepmother said she had been taken from the
church, and from which she was believed by the other servants to have
escaped.
Standing thus looking out into the light-starred city, Candace began to
form a plan, her plump tightly garmented chest rising and falling
excitedly as she thought it all out. It was up to her to find out what
had become of Betty. But how was she to get away without being
suspected? Somehow she must do it. She knew perfectly the address that
had been on that letter. She had written it down carefully from memory
as soon as it had been taken away from her. She must go to Boston and
find that man to whom it had been written, and discover whether he had
ever received it. But she could not go until she found out certainly
whether or not Betty had ever really escaped from the hospital. Who knew
but that she was shut up there yet, and the madam telling this tale all
about and advertising with a five thousand dollar reward! In the movies,
too! Such a disgrace on the family! How the master would have writhed at
the publicity of his beloved daughter--"poor wee thing!"
Candace turned from the window with her lips set, and tiptoeing to the
door, listened. Yes, it was Aileen who was coming lightly up the stairs,
singing in a low tone. It was Aileen's evening out. That meant that
Marie would be more than usually active on the upper floor. She must
manage it before Aileen left and Marie was called upstairs, or there
would be no opportunity to get away without Marie seeing her.
Hastily she gathered her silk dress, her cloak and her apoplectic hat
into a bundle with her purse and her gloves, and tied them into an old
apron, with the strings hanging free. Then stealthily opening the
window, she dropped them out into the kitchen area below, close to the
region of the ash cans. It was a risk, of course, but one must take some
chances, and the servants would all be in the kitchen just now, laughing
and talking. They would scarcely have heard it fall.
She listened a tense instant, then closed the window, and possessing
herself of a few little things, gathered hastily about the room, which
she could stuff in her pockets, she opened her door softly, closed it
behind her, and trotted off down the stairs just as if she were going
about her ordinary duty. Listening a minute outside the kitchen door she
slipped stealthily down the cellar stairs, and tiptoed over to the area
door where the ashman took out the ashes. Softly slipping the bolt she
opened the door and drew in her bundle. Then standing within, she
quickly slipped the black silk over her housemaid's gown, donned her
coat and hat and gloves, and sallied forth. A moment more and she was in
the next street with the consciousness that she "might have done the
like any time sooner, if she'd wanted, in spite of that little spy-cat
Marie."
"If I want to go back I'll just say I went after my insurance book," she
chuckled to herself as she sped down the street in the direction of the
hospital.
Arrived at the big building she asked to see the list of patients taken
in on the day of Betty's wedding, and succeeded in getting a pretty
accurate description of each one, sufficient at least to satisfy her
that Betty was not among them. Then she asked a few more bold questions,
and came away fully convinced that Betty had never been in that
hospital.
By this time it was nine o'clock, and she meant to take the evening
train for Boston, which left, she was sure, somewhere near midnight. She
took a trolley to her old lodgings where she had been since Mrs.
Stanhope had sent her away the first time, and hastily packed a small
hand bag with a few necessities, made a few changes in her garments,
then went to see a fellow lodger whom she knew well, and where she felt
sure she could easily get a check cashed, for she had a tidy little bank
account of her own, and was well known to be reliable.
Having procured the necessary funds, she made her way to the station and
found that she had still an hour to spare before the Boston train left.
Settled down at last in the back seat of a common car, she made herself
as comfortable as her surroundings would allow, and gave herself up to
planning the campaign that was before her.
Canny Candace did not go at once to the office of the brothers, James
and George McIntyre, though she looked them up in the telephone book the
very first thing when the train arrived in Boston even before she had
had a bite to eat, and her cup of tea which meant more to her than the
"bite." She reasoned that they would be busy in the early hours and not
be able to give her their undivided attention. She had not lived out all
her life for nothing. She knew the ways of the world, and she had very
strict ideas about the best ways of doing everything. So it happened
that when she was at last shown into the office of the McIntyres, Warren
Reyburn who had traveled to Boston on the sleeper of the same train that
she had taken the night before, was just arising from an earnest
conference with the two men. With her first glance, as the three emerged
from the inner office, Candace saw that the two elder gentlemen were
much disturbed and it flitted through her mind that she had come at an
inopportune moment. Then her quick eye took in the younger man and her
little alert head cocked to one side with a questioning attitude. Where
had she seen him before? Candace had the kind of a mind that kept people
and events card-indexed even to the minutest detail, and it didn't take
many seconds for her to place Warren Reyburn back in the church at the
wedding, standing against the wall with his arms folded. She had noticed
him particularly because he was so courteous to a little old lady who
came in too late to get a seat. She had studied him as he stood there,
waiting for the wedding march, and she had thought how handsome he
looked and how fine it would have been if her wee Betty had been getting
a man like that in place of the weak-faced Bessemer Hutton. She had
watched to see who he was with, and felt deep satisfaction when she
noticed him lean over and speak to Mrs. Bryce Cochrane as if he belonged
to her. He wasn't her husband, because she knew Mr. Cochrane, who had
been a favorite with Mr. Stanhope and much at the house. This man might
be Mrs. Cochrane's brother "or the likes," and she had pleased herself
watching him till Betty arrived and took all her thoughts. So now she
stood with her little round head in its hectic hat tilted interestedly
to one side, watching, ears on the keen to catch any word, for all the
world like a "bit brown sparrow" saucily perched on another man's
window, where it really had no right to be.
At last one of the McIntyre's shook hands gravely with the younger man,
and the other one attended him to the door, talking in low tones. The
McIntyre thus set at liberty, turned questioningly toward the stranger,
who was not slow in getting to her feet and coming forward.
"You will maybe be Mr. James McIntyre?" she asked, lifting her sea-blue
eyes set in her apple-red face, and fixing her firm little lips in
dignity. Candace was a servant and knew her place, but she felt the
importance of her mission, and meant to have no disrespect done to it.
"I am Mr. George McIntyre," the gentleman replied, and, indicating the
man at the door, "Mr. James McIntyre will be at liberty in a moment, but
perhaps I will do as well?"
Candace cocked a glance toward the elderly back at the door; and then
returned her look to Mr. George:
"You'll maybe be knowing Mr. Charles Stanhope?" she propounded, as if
she were giving him a riddle, and her blue eyes looked him through and
through:
"Oh, surely, surely! He was a very close friend! You--knew him?"
"I was Miss Betty's nurse who cooked the griddle cakes for you the
morning after the funeral----" she said, and waited with breathless
dignity to see how he would take it.
"Oh! Is that so!" He beamed on her kindly. "Yes, yes, I remember those
cakes. They were delicious! And what can I do for you? Just sit down.
Why, bless me, I don't know but that your coming may be very opportune!
Can you tell me anything of Miss Betty?"
Candace pressed her lips together with a knowing smile as much as to say
she might tell volumes if it were wise, and she cast a glance at the
other brother who was shaking hands now with his visitor and promising
to meet him a little later:
"Yon man'll be knowing a bit, too, I'll be thinking," she hazarded
nodding toward Reyburn as he left. "He was at the wedding, I'm most
sure----!"
The elder McIntyre gave her a quick glance and signalled to his brother
to come near:
"This is Miss Stanhope's nurse, the one who cooked breakfast for us at
the time of the funeral," he said, and to Candace, "This is Mr. James
McIntyre."
Candace fixed him with another of her inquisitive little glances:
"I've some bit papers put by that I thought ye might like to see," she
said with a cautious air. "I've kept them fer long because I thought
they might be wanted sometime, yet I've never dared bring them to your
notice before lest I would be considered meddlin', and indeed I wasn't
sure but you had them already. Will you please to look over them papers
and see if you've ever seen them before?" She drew forth an envelope
from her bag and handed it to them. "It's a bit letter that Mr. Stanhope
wrote the day he was dyin' an' then copied and give to me to mail, and
his lady took it away, sayin' she would attend to it. What I want to
know is, did ye ever get the letter? If ye did it's all right and none
of my business further, an' I'll go on my way back home again and think
no more about it; but if ye didn't then there it is, an' you ought to
see it, that's sure!"
The two men drew eagerly together and studied the trembling lines:
"It's his writing all right," murmured one, under his breath, and the
brother nodded gravely:
"You say that this was the original of a letter that was given to you to
mail to us?"
Candace nodded.
"It's what he wrote first, and got ink on it, an' then wrote it over. I
can't say what changes he made, as I didn't read it, but this he gave to
me to burn, and before I gets it burned my lady comes in and takes the
letter from me while he was sleepin'; and so I hid the bit papers,
thinkin' they might be a help to wee Betty sometime. And oh, can ye
tell me anything of my little Lady Betty? Is she safe? Did she come to
you for refuge? You needn't be afraid to tell me. I'll never breathe a
word----!"
The two brothers exchanged quick glances of warning and the elder man
spoke:
"My good woman, we appreciate your coming, and these papers may prove
very useful to us. We hope to be able to clear up this matter of Miss
Stanhope's disappearance very soon. She did not come to us, however, and
she is not here. But if you will step into the room just beyond and wait
for a little while we may be able to talk this matter over with you."
Very courteously he ushered the plump, apprehensive little woman into
the next room and established her in an easy leather chair with a
quantity of magazines and newspapers about her, but she kept her little
head cocked anxiously on one side, and watched the door like a dog whose
master has gone in and shut the way behind him; and she never sat back
in her chair nor relaxed one iota during the whole of the two hours that
she had to wait before she was called at last to the inner office where
she found the handsome young man whom she remembered seeing at the
wedding.
She presently found that Reyburn was as keen as he was handsome, but if
she hadn't remembered him at the wedding as a friend of that nice Mrs.
Cochrane, she never would have made it as easy as she did for him to
find out things from her, for she could be canny herself on occasion if
she tried, and she did not trust everybody.