THE FORSYTH HEIR
Harkness' mother had once lived in an English duke's family and Harkness
had been brought up on stories of the ceremonious life there. Therefore
he considered it quite fitting that he should take upon himself the
planning for the reception of the Forsyth heir.
"I say it do be a pity Madame could not 'ave waited," he grumbled to
Mrs. Budge. "To 'ave the poor little fellow arrive here alone don't seem
right. But Madame says 'Harkness, you'll do everything--'"
"Everything!" snorted Mrs. Budge, who had just come down from dusting
the "boy's" room. The familiar "clutter," as she had always called it,
had roused poignant memories, so that her wrinkled face was streaked now
and red. "'Pears to me most you do is talk--and talk big. It's Harkness
this and Harkness that! To be sure _my_ mother was a plain New England
woman--"
"Now, Budge, now, Budge," interrupted Harkness, consolingly. "No one as
I know is going to dispute that your mother was a plain New England
woman. And we're not going to quarrel at such a rememberable moment, not
we. And we're going to give Mr. Gordon a welcome as is befitting a
Forsyth. At the appointed hour we'll gather at the door--you must stand
at the head of the long line of servants--"
"Long line of servants! And where do you expect to get them, I'd like to
know? Things have been at sixes and sevens in this house ever since the
gloom came. And that new piece from the village ain't worth her salt's
far as work goes."
Poor Harkness had to recognize the truth of what Budge said. Since the
"gloom" things _had_ been going at sixes and sevens--inexperienced help
called up from the village to fill any need. He was not to be daunted,
however; there were the gardener and the undergardener and the chauffeur
and the stableman and they had wives who might be induced to put on
their Sunday clothes and join in the ceremonial--all in all, they could
make a fair showing.
Into the plans for the dinner Mrs. Budge threw herself with her whole
heart. There must be young turkey and cranberry sauce, and a tasty salad
and a good old New England pumpkin pie, which she would make herself,
and ice cream and little cakes with colored frosting--oh, Budge knew
what a boy liked.
And Harkness would brighten the great dark hall with bitter-sweet and
deck the gloomy rooms with flowers--he knew what was proper for the
coming of the heir of the House of Forsyth.
"Like as not," Budge said, "'twill be the end to this curse."
So the two old retainers, their hearts full of hope for a new happiness
over Gray Manor, labored until the old house shone and bloomed for the
coming of Gordon Forsyth. And a few minutes before the hour of arrival,
the gardener and the undergardener and the stableman and their wives
came in, breathless with importance; Chloe, the old colored cook,
appeared in a brand new turban and 'kerchief. Mrs. Budge, her gray hair
brushed back tighter than ever, donned her black silk which she had not
worn since young Christopher's eighteenth birthday and took her place at
the head of the line just a foot or two behind Harkness who, of course,
had the honor of opening the door.
Mrs. Budge, however, watched the service door at the end of the long
hall with fretful eyes. "That piece," she confided to Harkness, the
moment not being so important as to still her grumbling, "said she
wouldn't come in. And when I told her she could just choose t'wixt this
and the door she said she wouldn't dress up, anyways. Impertinent chit!
Thinks she's too good for the place. Things _have_ gone to sixes and
sevens--"
Harkness was holding his watch in his hand. And just as he shut it with
a significant click, a tall dark-haired girl in a plain gingham dress
slipped into the room and took her place at the end of the line, at the
same moment casting a defiant glance at the knot which adorned the back
of Mrs. Budge's head.
Above the low murmur of voices came the throb of a motor.
"It's him!" cried Harkness, a catch in his voice. Mrs. Budge shut her
eyes tight from sheer nervousness. There was a visible straightening and
a rustling of the line. Then Harkness threw the door open and bent low.
On the threshold stood a small girl; her eyes, under the fringe of red
hair, wide with excitement, frightened.
Harkness had opened his lips for his little speech of welcome but the
first sound died with a cackle in his throat, leaving his mouth agape.
He stared at the little creature and beyond her at Cornelius Allendyce,
who was superintending the unloading of several bags and boxes.
Where was Gordon Forsyth?
Turning, Mr. Allendyce, at one glance, took in the situation. He bustled
up the steps, and thrust a bag in Harkness' limp hand.
"Well, we're here!" he cried cheerily, ignoring the amazement and
disappointment that fairly tingled in the air. "And a fine welcome
you're giving us!" He turned to Robin, who stood rooted to the
threshold. "My dear, these people have served the Forsyths faithfully
and for a long time. Harkness, this is Gordon Forsyth. Mrs. Budge--"
He drew aside to let Robin enter. And Robin, conscious of startled,
curious eyes upon her, limped into her new home. Harkness, because he
had to do something, closed the door slowly behind her.
"I'm sure--we were expecting--" he mumbled.
Mr. Allendyce imperiously waved off whatever Harkness was expecting.
"We hope, Mrs. Budge, you are prepared for two hungry people. We lunched
very early and the ride here is always tiresome. In Madame's absence, I
am sure you will take care of Miss Gordon and--me." There was the finest
inflection on the "miss." "I shall stay a day or two. Robin, my dear,
this is your new home."
Robin had been biting her lips to keep them steady. There was something
so terrible in the great hall, the broad stair that lost itself in a
cavern of darkness above, the brilliant lights, the staring faces. Her
eyes swept from Mrs. Budge's stony face down the line and crossed the
curious glance of the dark-haired girl in the gingham dress. Robin's
brightened, for the girl was young, but the girl flushed a dark red,
tossed her head and stalked through the narrow service door out of the
room.
Robin turned to Cornelius Allendyce and clung to his arm. He seemed the
one nice friendly thing in the whole place. And, as though he knew how
she felt, he patted her hand in a way that seemed to say, "Courage, my
dear."
Mrs. Budge recovered her tongue. "She'll not be wanting the young
_master's_ room," she said crisply. "Madame's orders--"
"I would suggest that Miss Gordon decide for herself what room she will
have." The lawyer's voice carried a rebuke that was not lost upon the
housekeeper. "Harkness, carry the bags upstairs and Miss Gordon and I
will follow."
So Harkness' reception line broke up; the gardener and the undergardener
and their wives following Mrs. Budge's stiff back out through the
service door while Harkness led Robin and her new guardian up the broad
stairway.
In the kitchen, for very want of strength, Mrs. Budge flopped into a
chair.
"Sixes and sevens!" she gasped. "I'll say that things _are_ just going
to sixes and sevens. I've always distrusted all lawyer-men and this one
ain't a bit different. Bringing a _girl_ here, and a cripple. Did you
ever hear the like?" She looked from one to the other of Harkness'
retainers and answered herself with the same breath. "You never did.
Don't know when I've been so flabbergasted. Mebbe she's a Forsyth but
she ain't a worth-while Forsyth. She ain't. As if a girl could step into
our boy's shoes." She sniffed audibly. "She don't take in Hannah Budge."
When Harkness appeared there was a fresh outburst and a reiteration that
Hannah Budge "wasn't going to be taken in by a piece no bigger'n a pint
of cider."
"Well, the girl's here--and hungry," Harkness retorted with meaning
abruptness.
A sense of duty never failed to spur poor Budge. She rose, now, quickly.
"Humph, like as not with everything else going to sixes and sevens that
old Chloe's forgot her turkey," and with a heavy sigh that fairly
rattled the stiff silk on her bosom she went off in search of the cook.
Robin found much difficulty in choosing her room for they all seemed
equally lovely in the perfection of their furnishings. She had stood for
a moment in the door of the south room that had been Christopher the
Third's. "Here's where they'd have put you if you were a boy," her new
guardian had told her. In spite of Mrs. Budge's efforts at cleaning and
dusting, a melancholy hung over the room and about all the boyish things
there was such a sense of waiting that Robin was glad to turn away.
Finally she decided upon a west room the windows of which overlooked the
valley and the hills beyond.
"Oh, wouldn't Jimmie love that?" she had cried, lingering in one of the
windows. "He loves hills, and doesn't that river look like a silver
ribbon tying the brown fields?"
The bedroom opened on one side into a sitting room with a bay window, on
the other into a tiny bathroom, shining and gleaming with nickel and
tile.
"Oh, everything's _lovely_," and Robin ecstatically clasped her hands.
"Only what'll I ever do with everything so big!"
Cornelius Allendyce laughed at her dismay. To be sure he had not spent
his life in such tiny quarters as the bird cage and he could not
understand the girl's state of mind.
"My dear, after a little everything will seem quite natural. And
remember--everything is at your command. This is your home. You are
Gordon Forsyth. You will not have time to be lonely."
Robin's serious face suddenly broke into a bright smile. She patted the
garland of roses which held back the silk hangings.
"I just had the funniest feeling, as if I were not me at all but all of
a sudden someone else. Ever since I was a very little girl I've often
played that I lived a make-believe story--I make it like all the fairy
stories jumbled together. And I fit all the people I know into the
different characters. Jimmie lets me play it because I am alone so much
and it keeps me happy. Sometimes he even plays it with me. It makes
horrid things seem nice. And Jimmie never wanted me to know the boys and
girls at school--because I'm lame, I guess--so I always pretended things
about them and gave them names. You should have seen Bluebeard." She
laughed at the recollection. "And now I'm going on playing. I'm the
little beggar-maid who awakens to find her self in the castle. Do you
suppose there's a fairy godmother somewhere? And--a prince?"
And Cornelius Allendyce who had never read a fairy story in his life,
let alone acted one, laughed with her.
"Yes, this is another chapter in your story."
"Oh, and don't you wish we could just peek to the end and see how it all
turns out? But that isn't fair. And we couldn't--anyway."
Her new guardian shook his head. "No, we couldn't--anyway."