BOUND IN RED TAPE
"Whar yo' goin', Honey, at dis time o' night?" Mandy's voice was raised
in shocked expostulation and Kitty could not refrain from a smile. She
had interrupted the old servant in the act of arranging her bedroom
for the night when she had entered a moment before and taken her heavy
overcoat and hat out of the closet.
"Mr. Rodgers is going to run me over to see my godfather, Mr. Craige,"
she explained as she arranged her veil. "Don't wait up for me, Mandy; I
have the key of the side door and can let myself in. You are not afraid
to stay here alone, are you?"
"No'm." But Mandy spoke with no enthusiasm. "I ain't skeered, kexactly,
but yo' won't be very late, will yo'?"
"Oh, no." Kitty glanced at the clock on her dressing table. "It is
only a quarter of nine, Mandy; I'll be back within the hour. Sit down
before the fire," pointing to the grate where Mandy, with solicitous
forethought had built a coal fire for her young mistress to enjoy
when undressing, "and make yourself comfortable. Don't stay in a cold
kitchen."
"Thank yo', Miss Kitty. I 'spects I'd ruther stay up hyar, it's mo'
cheerful." Mandy walked into the hall with her. "Mind yo' keep that
collar buttoned up."
"All right, Mandy." Kitty, touched by the old woman's care for her,
laid her hand for a minute on her rounded shoulder. "Don't worry and
keep warm."
Mandy waited in the hall, her woolly head, covered with a bright
bandanna handkerchief, cocked in a listening attitude until she heard
Kitty and Ted Rodgers depart and the side door closed. Taking a general
survey of the empty hall, Mandy limped back into Kitty's bedroom and
drew a tufted armchair up to the grate, selecting a "comfortable" from
those stored in the hall closet and wrapping herself in it, she settled
down in the chair. For a time she was wakeful, but as the hands of the
clock approached the hour, her head drooped sideways and a subdued
snore gave proof that she had fallen asleep. So sound was her slumber
that the incessant clatter of the bell on the branch telephone, which
Kitty had had installed the day before, made no impression upon her.
From her corner near the fire the angora cat, Mouchette, slumbered
also. A shower of sparks, as a piece of burning cannel-coal dropped
through the grate, singed her fur and woke her just as a figure crept
through the partly open bedroom door and into the room. Its objective
seemed to be an old-fashioned secretary in the southeast corner of the
room. At sight of Mandy, asleep in the chair, the intruder paused,
listened attentively to her regular breathing, then, reassured, moved
onward across the room, followed by Mouchette's large yellow eyes.
The cat licked her singed fur, then, with a faint "mew," started in the
direction of the secretary. A second later a graceful leap had landed
her on the chair beside it, and she purred contentedly as the intruder
turned and gently stroked her head. In her chair by the fire old Mandy
snored peacefully, oblivious alike of the rustle of papers being
removed from the secretary and the antics of the cat.
Kitty was relieved to find Ted Rodgers a silent companion as they
drove out to Chevy Chase, for she was in no mood for small talk. The
rush of the cold air against her hot cheeks and the steady throb of
the motor as the car raced up one hill and down another brought a
sense of relaxation and rest to her tired nerves. A restless longing
to get out of the house, away from her thoughts, had pursued her all
day. The big, silent man by her side and his air of protection were
a tonic in themselves, and she forgot her sorrows and perplexities
in the enjoyment of the unexpected trip to Chevy Chase, Washington's
fashionable suburb.
Nearly a year before, Charles Craige had purchased from one of his
clients a cottage in Chevy Chase and had moved his Lares and Penates
from his bachelor apartment in the Hadleigh. His English butler,
Lambert, and the latter's wife, Mildred, ran his house for him, as
they had his apartment. Invitations to his hospitable entertainments
were eagerly sought, for he was a born host and nothing gave him more
delight than to have his friends about him. Mothers with marriageable
daughters and widows never lost hope of catching so worthwhile a
_parti_ and Craige had been reported engaged upon numerous occasions.
Kitty had always entertained a genuine affection for her godfather,
to whose kind offices she had owed many attentions upon her d�but in
Washington society. It was he who had introduced her to Mrs. Parsons,
and through his suggestion the gay widow had secured Kitty as her
social secretary.
In what seemed an incredibly short time to Kitty, Ted Rodgers drove
his roadster under the _porte-coch�re_ of "Hideaway." Lambert came
immediately in answer to Kitty's ring, and his usually solemn manner
thawed at the sight of her.
"The master will be 'ere in a moment," he explained, helping them off
with their wraps. "Just step into the living room, Miss Kitty. I 'ave a
fresh fire laid there. Mr. Craige told me you were h'expected."
The living room always aroused Ted Rodgers' admiration, for it
represented his idea of comfort combined with good taste. Craige had
a love of art and an appreciation of the beautiful and ample means to
gratify both. In furnishing his house, he had spared no expense.
"Aunt Susan was very fond of this room," Kitty said as she wandered
about examining the paintings on the walls. "She and Mr. Craige were
great cronies. In fact," and Kitty's smile showed each pretty dimple,
"he was about the only man she approved of."
"So she told me," Rodgers' smile was fleeting. "I wasn't in her
good graces--" he stooped to pick up the fire-tongs which Lambert
had inadvertently left lying on the floor before the brass fender
when hurrying to answer the front door bell. "Your aunt gave me to
understand at our last interview that I was _persona non grata_. Had
she lived," Rodgers paused and looked at Kitty, "I imagine she would
have tried to turn you against me."
Kitty blushed. "It wasn't you in particular," she began impulsively.
"Aunt Susan was frequently discourteous to my friends. There were none
she liked when she found they--they--that is, that they liked me." She
laughed to cover her confusion.
"They wished to marry you--as I do--" the words caught her unawares.
"Kitty, my darling," he pleaded. "Don't turn from me; give me a chance.
I've loved you so silently, so deeply--" his voice shook with feeling.
"You have grown to be my life--my religion--"
"Hush!"
"No; you must hear me, Kitty." He was pale with the intensity of his
emotion. "I thought that I could be content just to see you--to be with
you; but it has gone beyond that. I must _know_ if there is a chance
for me. Is there, my dearest? I know that I am unworthy--"
Kitty's heart was beating to suffocation as she turned bravely and
faced him. She had flirted many a time before and had turned aside a
proposal with light-hearted banter, but her coquetry had deserted her
utterly.
"Ted!" she whispered.
"Kitty!" In an instant his arms were about her. "Kitty!" His voice
deepened. "My best beloved--" and as she raised her head to look into
his eyes their lips met in the first kiss of love.
Forgetful of all else save each other, the lovers were brought back
to the everyday world and their surroundings by a determined cough.
Looking hastily around, Kitty spied Charles Craige regarding them from
the doorway.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said dryly; then as Kitty ran to him, her eyes
like twin stars and the rich color mantling her cheeks, his manner
altered and his tone grew tender. "Dear child, in so far as I may, I
give you a father's blessing. Rodgers, you are to be congratulated,"
and his hearty handshake emphasized his words. His eyes strayed to a
large portrait photograph of Mrs. Amos Parsons which was the chief
ornament on the mantel-piece. "I can understand and appreciate your
happiness," he added. "I hope some day soon to tell you I have won the
dearest woman in the world--"
"Except one--" broke in Rodgers, glancing proudly at Kitty.
"Perhaps so," agreed Craige cheerily. "And when is the engagement to be
announced?"
"Oh, don't say a word about it, please," Kitty begged; then, with a
quick shy glance at Rodgers, "We must keep the secret until the mystery
surrounding Aunt Susan's death is solved."
"It makes a double incentive to clear up the case," declared Rodgers.
"Come, Kitty, sit by the fire and I'll explain to Craige the errand
which brought us to see him to-night."
Obediently, Kitty curled herself up on the big sofa which stood facing
the huge open fireplace. Her unhappy restlessness had deserted her.
In its stead a feeling of peace, of renewed courage and unutterable
happiness encompassed her, and she was content to sit idly by and watch
the two men. As they stood with their backs to the fire, she was struck
by their distinguished appearance. Craige, with his iron-grey hair and
dark moustache, was the handsomer of the two, but Kitty decided that
Rodgers' more rugged features, offset by the deep dimple, almost a
cleft in his chin, indicated the more determined character. His dark
hair was inclined to curl, in spite of every effort on his part to keep
it straight, and Kitty liked its wavy appearance better than the severe
style which Craige preferred. As Craige held a match to Rodgers' cigar
she was surprised by their similarity in height. Had any one asked her
she would have said that Rodgers was the heavier and the taller by a
quarter of an inch.
"This afternoon," Rodgers had waited to commence his explanation of
their call until his cigar was drawing nicely. "Kitty overheard an
unknown woman bribe Oscar to steal some papers which had belonged to
her aunt, Miss Susan Baird."
"That is interesting," Craige pulled his mustache thoughtfully. "You
say the woman was unknown. Describe her appearance, Kitty."
"I can't, for I did not see her," she explained. "The woman had gone
when I looked into the garden, and Oscar with her."
"Then you haven't questioned Oscar?"
"Oscar," Kitty spoke more slowly, "according to Mandy, Oscar was on the
train to Front Royal this afternoon, but I can swear that it was Oscar
I heard; also the woman called him by name."
"Then it must have been Oscar," Craige commented dryly. "And Mandy lied
to you."
"What could have been her object?" asked Kitty. "She must realize that
we can trace Oscar's whereabouts."
"That is already being done by the police," Rodgers put in quickly. "I
called up Inspector Mitchell from your house, Kitty, while you were
upstairs getting your wraps, and told him that Oscar had disappeared.
He promised to try and locate the old man at once."
"Good!" Craige's tone spoke his satisfaction. "Now, as to the woman,
did her voice give you no clue to her identity, Kitty?"
"No, I could not place it--" Kitty hesitated. "But I am convinced that
I have heard her voice before."
"Very likely," agreed Craige. "It must have been some one who knew
your aunt, and therefore is probably acquainted with you, also. Now,
what papers could she have wanted?"
"That is the question which has brought us to see you," Kitty
explained. "Yesterday I gave you the contents of Aunt Susan's desk--"
"Her papers are here--" As he spoke, Craige went over to a table and
pulling out one of the drawers, carried it back to the sofa and put
it down by Kitty. "Hereafter I will keep all Susan's papers in my
office vault, now that I know some one is vitally interested in gaining
possession of them."
"Have you looked them over?" questioned Rodgers.
Craige nodded assent. "They are receipted bills for taxes, marketing,
and so forth. See, Kitty," holding up a bundle neatly tied with red
tape. "Your aunt was very methodical."
"She was indeed," Kitty sighed as she untied one of the bundles.
"Suppose we each take a package and run through it."
Silence prevailed while the packages were being opened and gone over
with a thoroughness which omitted nothing. Kitty's nimble fingers made
quicker work of the knotted red tape and therefore to her fell the last
bundle in the drawer. As she turned over the commonplace receipted
bills, most of them for groceries and coal, she thought bitterly of
the frugality which she and her aunt had needlessly practiced, and of
the years she had spent in denying herself pleasures which the average
American girl accepts, not as luxuries, but as necessities. Expert
bank officials had estimated the negotiable securities and money left
by her aunt as totalling over eight hundred thousand dollars--nearly a
million--and her aunt had lived a life of genteel poverty during all
the years that Kitty could remember.
As Kitty sorted the bills in her lap, a small envelope, yellow and worn
with age, tumbled out. She opened it and, unfolding the old-fashioned
note paper, read the cramped penmanship with some difficulty.
"This is evidently a love letter addressed to Aunt Susan," she
exclaimed. "Listen," and she read aloud:
RICHMOND, VA., April 1, 1867.
MY DARLING SUSAN:
I have called upon your mother and disclosed my affection for you, and
she has graciously given me permission to marry you.
I hope that I may never meet with your disapprobation.
Transported with joy and expectation, I am
Your fond lover,
JAMES LEIGH WALLACE.
Kitty looked at her companions in wide-eyed astonishment. "James Leigh
Wallace," she repeated. "Who could that be?"
"Leigh Wallace's father," Rodgers replied. "I knew the old man. But--"
he paused, "that James Leigh Wallace married Colonel Holt's sister,
Anne Holt."
Craige completed his examination of old receipts and retied the bundle.
"Do you suppose, Kitty, that your aunt could have been secretly
married?" he asked.
For answer Kitty held up a small object and a newspaper clipping which
she had taken a second before from the envelope containing the love
letter.
"It is a withered rose," she said softly, holding it out in the palm
of her hand. "And this--" she opened the clipping--"the notice of the
marriage in San Francisco of Anne Holt to James Leigh Wallace, on April
1, 1869." She looked up in wonder. "See, here at the bottom of the
clipping is written one word in Aunt Susan's handwriting--'jilted!'"
Craige was the first to speak.
"It is not surprising that Miss Susan Baird hated young Leigh Wallace,"
he remarked quietly. "She was not the type of woman to forgive an
injury or forget an insult."