BREAKING THE ICE
As for Floss, Helen had already got a hold upon that young lady.
"Come on, Helen!" the younger cousin would whisper after dinner. "Come up
to my room and give me a start on these lessons; will you? That's a good
chap."
And often when the rest of the family thought the unwelcome visitor had
retired to her room at the top of the house, she was shut in with Flossie,
trying to guide the stumbling feet of that rather dull girl over the hard
places in her various studies.
For Floss had soon discovered that the girl from Sunset Ranch somehow had
a wonderful insight into every problem she put up to her. Nor were they
all in algebra.
"I don't see how you managed to do it, 'way out there in that wild place
you lived in; but you must have gone through 'most all the text-books I
have," declared Flossie, once.
"Oh, I had to grab every chance there was for schooling," Helen responded,
and changed the subject instantly.
Flossie thought she had a secret from her sisters, however, and she hugged
it to her with much glee. She realized that Helen was by no means the
ignoramus Belle and Hortense said.
"And let 'em keep on thinking it," Flossie said, to herself, with a
chuckle. "I don't know what Helen has got up her sleeve; but I believe she
is fooling all of us."
A long, dreary fortnight of inclement weather finally got on the nerves of
Hortense. Belle could go out tramping in it, or cab-riding, or what-not.
She was athletic, and loved exercise in the open air, no matter what the
weather might be. But the second sister was just like a pussy-cat; she
loved comfort and the warm corners. However, being left alone by Belle,
and nobody coming in to call for several days, Hortense was completely
overpowered by loneliness.
She had nothing within herself to fight off nervousness and depression.
So, having caught a little, sniffly cold, she decided that she was sick
and went to bed.
The Starkweather girls did not each have a maid. Mr. Starkweather could
not afford that luxury. But Hortense at once requisitioned one of the
housemaids to wait upon her and of course Mrs. Olstrom's very
carefully-thought-out system was immediately turned topsy-turvy.
"I cannot allow you, Miss, to have the services of Maggie all day long,"
Helen heard the housekeeper announce at the door of the invalid's room.
"We are not prepared to do double work in this house. You must either
speak to your father and have a nurse brought in, or wait upon yourself."
"Oh, you heartless, wicked thing!" cried Hortense. "How can you be so
cruel? I couldn't wait upon myself. I want my broth. And I want my hair
done. And you can see yourself how the room is all in a mess. And----"
"Maggie must do her parlor work to-day. You know that. If you want to be
waited upon, Miss, get your sister to do it," concluded the housekeeper,
and marched away.
"And she very well knows that Belle has gone out somewhere and Flossie is
at school. I could _die_ here, and nobody would care," wailed Hortense.
Helen walked into the richly furnished room. Hortense was crying into her
pillow. Her hair was still in two unkempt braids and she _did_ need a
fresh boudoir cap and gown.
"Can I do anything to help you, 'Tense?" asked Helen, cheerfully.
"Oh, dear me--no!" exclaimed her cousin. "You're so loud and noisy. And
do, _do_ call me by my proper name."
"I forgot. Sure, I'll call you anything you say," returned the Western
girl, smiling at her. Meanwhile she was moving about the room, deftly
putting things to rights.
"I'm going to tell father the minute he comes home!" wailed Hortense,
ignoring her cousin for the time and going back to her immediate troubles.
"I am left all alone--and I'm sick--and nobody cares--and--and----"
"Where do you keep your caps, Hortense?" interrupted Helen. "And if you'll
let me, I'll brush your hair and make it look pretty. And then you get
into a fresh nightgown----"
"Oh, I couldn't sit up," moaned Hortense. "I really couldn't. I'm too
weak."
"I'll show you how. Let me fix the pillows--_so!_ And _so!_ There--nothing
like trying; is there? You're comfortable; aren't you?"
"We-ell----"
Helen was already manipulating the hairbrush. She did it so well, and
managed to arrange Hortense's really beautiful hair so simply yet easily
on her head that the latter quite approved of it--and said so--when she
looked into her hand-mirror.
Then Helen got her into a chair, in a fresh robe and a pretty kimono,
while she made the bed--putting on new sheets and cases for the pillows so
that all should be sweet and clean. Of course, Hortense wasn't really
sick--only lazy. But she thought she was sick and Helen's attentions
pleased the spoiled girl.
"Why, you're not such a bad little thing, Helen," she said, dipping into a
box of chocolates on the stand by her bedside. Chocolates were about all
the medicine Hortense took during this "bad attack." And she was really
grateful--in her way--to her cousin.
It was later on this day that Helen plucked up courage to go to her uncle
and give him back the letter he had written to Fenwick Grimes.
"I did not use it, sir," she said.
"Ahem!" he said, and with evident relief. "You have thought better of it,
I hope? You mean to let the matter rest where it is?"
"I have not abandoned my attempt to get at the truth--no, Uncle
Starkweather."
"How foolish of you, child!" he cried.
"I do not think it is foolish. But I will try not to mix you up in my
inquiries. That is why I did not use the letter."
"And you have seen Grimes?" he asked, hastily.
"Oh, yes."
"Does he know who you are?"
"Oh, yes."
"And you reached him without an introduction? I understand he is hard to
approach. He is a money-lender, in a way, and he has an odd manner of
never appearing to come into personal contact with his clients."
"Yes, sir. I think him odd."
"Did--did he think he could help you?"
"He thinks just as you do, sir," stated Helen, honestly. "And, then, he
accused you of sending me to him at first; so I would not use your letter
and so compromise you."
"Ahem!" said the gentleman, surprised that this young girl should be so
circumspect. It rather startled him to discover that she was thoughtful
far beyond her years. Was it possible that--somehow--she _might_ bring to
light the truth regarding the unhappy difficulty that had made Prince
Morrell an exile from his old home for so many years?
Once May Van Ramsden ran in to see Belle and caught Helen going through
the hall on her way to her own room. It was just after luncheon, which she
and Belle had eaten in a silence that could be felt. Belle would not speak
to her cousin unless she was obliged to, and Helen did not see that
forcing her attentions upon the other girl would do any good.
"Why, here you are, Helen Morrell! Why don't I ever see you when I come
here?" cried the caller, shaking Helen by both hands and smiling upon her
heartily from her superior height. "When are your cousins going to bring
you to call upon me?"
Helen might have replied, truthfully, "Never;" but she only shook her head
and smilingly declared: "I hope to see you again soon, Miss Van Ramsden."
"Well, I guess you must!" cried the caller. "I want to hear some more of
your experiences," and she went on to meet the scowling Belle at the door
of the reception parlor.
Later her eldest cousin said to the Western girl:
"In going up and down to your room, Miss, I want you to remember that
there is a back stairway. Use the servants' stairs, if you please!"
Helen made no reply. She wasn't breaking much of the ice between her and
Belle Starkweather, that was sure. And to add to Belle's dislike for her
cousin, there was another happening in which Miss Van Ramsden was
concerned, soon after this.
Hortense was still abed, for the weather remained unpleasant--and there
really was nothing else for the languid cousin to do. Miss Van Ramsden
found Belle out, and she went upstairs to say "how-do" to the invalid.
Helen was in the room making the spoiled girl more comfortable, and Miss
Van Ramsden drew the younger girl out into the hall when she left.
"I really have come to see _you_, child," she said to Helen, frankly. "I
was telling papa about you and he said he would dearly love to meet Prince
Morrell's daughter. Papa went to college with your father, my dear."
Helen was glad of this, and yet she flushed a little. She was quite frank,
however: "Does--does your father know about poor dad's trouble?" she
whispered.
"He does. And he always believed Mr. Morrell not guilty. Father was one of
the firm's creditors, and he has always wished your father had come to him
instead of leaving the city so long ago."
"Then he's been paid?" cried Helen, eagerly.
"Certainly. It is a secret, I believe--father warned me not to speak of it
unless you did; but everybody was paid by your father after a time. _That_
did not look as though he were dishonest. His partner took advantage of
the bankruptcy courts."
"Of--of course your father has no idea who _was_ guilty?" whispered Helen,
anxiously.
"None at all," replied Miss Van Ramsden. "It was a mystery then and
remains so to this day. That bookkeeper was a peculiar man, but had a good
record; and it seems that he left the city before the checks were cashed.
Or, so the evidence seemed to prove.
"Now, don't cry, my dear! Come! I wish we could help you clear up that old
trouble. But many of your father's old friends--like papa--never believed
Prince Morrell guilty."
Helen was crying by this time. The kindness of this older girl broke down
her self-possession. They heard somebody coming up the stairs, and Miss
Van Ramsden said, quickly:
"Take me to your room, dear. We can talk there."
Helen never thought that she might be giving the Starkweather family
deadly offence by doing this. She led Miss Van Ramsden immediately to the
rear of the house and up the back stairway to the attic floor. The caller
looked somewhat amazed when Helen ushered her into the room.
"Well, they could not have put you much nearer the sky; could they?" she
said, laughing, yet eyeing Helen askance.
"Oh, I don't mind it up here," returned Helen, truthfully enough. "And I
have some company on this floor."
"Ahem! The maids, I suppose?" said May Van Ramsden.
"No, no," Helen assured her, eagerly. "The dearest little old lady you
ever saw."
Then she stopped and looked at her caller in some distress. For the moment
she had forgotten that she was probably on the way to reveal the
Starkweather family skeleton!
"A little old lady? Who can _that_ be?" cried the caller. "You interest
me."
"I--I--Well, it is an old lady who was once nurse in the family and I
believe Uncle Starkweather cares for her----"
"It's never Nurse Boyle?" cried Miss Van Ramsden, suddenly starting up.
"Why! I remember about her. But somehow, I thought she had died years ago.
Why, as a child I used to visit her at the house, and she used to like to
have me come to see her. That was before your cousins lived here, Helen.
Then I went to Europe for several years and when we returned the house had
all been done over, your uncle's family was here, and I think--I am not
sure--somebody told me dear old Mary Boyle was dead."
"No," observed Helen, thoughtfully. "She is not dead. She is only
forgotten."
Miss Van Ramsden looked at the Western girl for some moments in silence.
She seemed to understand the whole matter without a word of further
explanation.
"Would you mind letting me see Mary Boyle while I am here?" she asked,
gravely. "She was a very lovely old soul, and all the families
hereabout--I have heard my mother often say--quite envied the
Starkweathers their possession of such a treasure."
"Certainly we can go in and see her," declared Helen, throwing all
discretion to the winds. "I was going to read to her this afternoon,
anyway. Come along!"
She led the caller through the hall to Mary Boyle's little suite of rooms.
To herself Helen said:
"Let the wild winds of disaster blow! Whew! If the family hears of this I
don't know but they will want to have me arrested--or worse! But what can
I do? And then--Mary Boyle deserves better treatment at their hands."