_The Orchid Lady._
"I shall return in time for lunch." Mrs. Atterbury paused in the
doorway. "You have quite enough work to keep you occupied, I imagine.
Don't leave the house until I return, Betty, for you may be called
to the other telephone. Welch is so stupid I dare not trust him with
messages and I am expecting a rather important one from Doctor Bayard."
"I doubt if I shall be able to finish before lunch, but I'll try."
Betty glanced rather ruefully at the loose assortment of letters
scattered about the desk top.
"Do, please, for this afternoon I shall want you to go on an errand for
me which may keep you until late. Don't tire yourself, though, my dear."
She nodded a careless farewell, and a few moments later her car whirled
off down the drive.
Betty waited until its rather bizarre stripes had disappeared and then
resolutely applied herself to her task. Seated there at the desk in her
severely simple morning frock, with every hair in place and a serene,
intent expression masking all emotion, she made a vastly different
picture from that of a few hours earlier when she had crept into that
very room in the darkness just before the dawn, trembling with fear of
discovery yet urged on as if hypnotized by a stronger will than her own.
If her thoughts reverted to that hour and what she had accomplished
therein, she gave no outward sign, but worked systematically until
order resolved itself from the chaos before her, and two neatly
arranged piles of envelopes marked the result of her labors.
A light knock interrupted her and before she could speak the door
opened and Jack Wolvert entered, smiling in bland assumption of his
welcome.
"I felt sure I should find somebody about!" he remarked. "Welch left me
to cool my heels in the drawing-room, but I am not over fond of my own
society. Do be charitable and give me permission to bore you a little,
Miss Shaw!"
He lounged with easy grace over to her desk and rested his elbows
upon its top staring boldly down into her eyes. She averted them and
leaned back in her chair, an unpleasant sensation, almost of repulsion,
tingling to her fingertips.
"Mrs. Atterbury will not be back until lunch time, Mr. Wolvert." Her
voice was coolly impersonal. "If you care to wait until then, however,
there are books here and Welch will bring you the morning papers or
anything else you may require."
"But I much prefer to talk to you." The smile deepened and an impish,
mocking light danced in his pale eyes. "It really is time that we
became better acquainted, now that we are to see so much more of each
other."
Betty gasped. She did not understand the final observation but the
man's audacity disconcerted her. Instinctively disliking him from
the moment of their first meeting, his appearance on the occasion
of Mrs. Atterbury's dinner party had not tended to raise him in the
girl's estimation. His immoderate drinking, the strange toast he had
proposed like a challenge flung into the spirit world, and his reckless
abandonment to whatever mood swayed him lingered disquietingly in
Betty's mind, and she longed to be rid of his presence.
"I am very busy, as you see." She took up her pen suggestively. "Mrs.
Atterbury will expect me to have finished with her letters----"
"Busy? By Jove, I should think you were! What an industrious little
person! Our charming hostess certainly believes in Satan's influence
over idle hands, and has guarded you well against him." He reached down
deliberately and picked up one of the letters. "Quite distinctive, your
handwriting; like your personality, it baffles by its lucidity."
Betty's quick eye had followed the action and noted the purpose beneath
his studied carelessness.
"Give me that letter, please." She spoke courteously, but there was a
hint of underlying firmness in her tone.
"But there is no harm." He smiled. "Surely you know that Mrs. Atterbury
consults me about all her affairs. Whatever you may write for her, I
may read."
"That is for Mrs. Atterbury to say," retorted Betty, flushing with
resentment at the man's insolence. "I will ask her on her return.
Meanwhile, her correspondence is in my charge."
Wolvert shrugged and the smile changed to a snarl which showed his
long, white teeth like suddenly bared fangs, but the letter fluttered
from his fingers to the desk.
"Mrs. Atterbury is to be congratulated on her choice of a secretary.
Your honesty exceeds your tact, my dear young lady. You are
inexperienced and in a strange position; do not handicap yourself by
making enemies. A friend at court might be very useful to you, more
useful than you can realize."
He had bent still lower, until his dark saturnine face was within a few
inches of her own, and he spoke with calculated significance. For the
first time a little shudder of fear swept over her, but she met his
eyes calmly.
"I have need of no one's friendship, Mr. Wolvert, on the score of
usefulness, for I ask no favors and grant none. Mrs. Atterbury is my
employer and I serve her interests."
He straightened and, thrusting his hands in his pockets, strolled to
the window, where he stood with his back turned to the room, whistling
softly between his teeth.
Betty pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her and when he wheeled
about, she was apparently absorbed once more in her work.
"I, too, am wholly at Mrs. Atterbury's service." He strode back to her
side. "You must not doubt that, Miss Shaw. I like you for your loyalty,
even if you are ungracious to me. Will you not give me your hand, and
say that we shall be friends?"
"If you insist." Betty forced a smile. "I am sorry if I appeared
ungracious, but I am really very busy. Rudeness to any friend of Mrs.
Atterbury is furthest from my thoughts."
She placed her hand shrinkingly in his, and he raised it to his lips in
exaggerated gallantry.
"'The friends of my friends are my friends,'" he quoted. "You will
find me at your service also, Miss Shaw. I will leave you now to your
labors, and see if I am sufficiently in Welch's good graces to coax a
cocktail from him."
When the door had closed behind him Betty rubbed her hand resentfully
as if a stain remained from contact with his lips. Her thoughts were
disquieting. What if she had indeed made an enemy of him? Was the
extent of his influence in the household great enough to sow seeds of
suspicion against her, and render her already difficult position all
but intolerable? Was a new obstacle to be added to those which even now
crowded everywhere about her path?
At luncheon she learned from Mrs. Atterbury's own lips what the visitor
had meant about their seeing more of each other. Both Jack Wolvert and
Madame Cimmino were to be house guests for a time, the latter having
temporarily closed her apartment, and Wolvert coming on the plea of
quiet and seclusion in which to finish a new composition.
Betty glanced at him with fresh interest. She had frequently heard
snatches of brilliantly executed melody from the music room during the
evening and knew that a master hand was touching the keys, but she had
never entertained the idea that it might be Wolvert.
All idle thoughts were driven from her mind, however, when at the
conclusion of the meal, Mrs. Atterbury summoned her to her room. As on
the occasion of her appearance at the opera, a new costume was spread
out before her, this time a gown and cloak of daintiest gray, with soft
silvery furs.
"My dear, I am sending you to execute another errand for me, since you
were so successful with the last. This should be no more difficult than
the other, and it will give you a glimpse of a new side of city life.
Here are some furs and a suit of which you have been in need."
"But, Mrs. Atterbury, I really cannot accept these costly things from
you," Betty stammered. "The salary you are paying me----"
"Nonsense, child! Consider them as commission for the extra work which
is apart from our original understanding, and for your rare discretion.
The last errand must have seemed strange to you and this one will
doubtless be more of an enigma, but I can assure you that when I am
free to explain it to you fully you will appreciate the reason for my
reticence, as well as the necessity for putting to use all your finesse
and diplomacy."
"I had no thought of prying or curiosity, Mrs. Atterbury." The girl's
face flushed. "I am ready to do whatever you require, as I told you
when you engaged me. Where am I to go this afternoon?"
"To the Carnival Room at the Café de Luxe. A table for two has been
reserved in your name, but you will go alone, as before. You will find
a tea dance in progress and presently a lady will join you at the
table."
"A lady?" Betty murmured.
"Yes." Mrs. Atterbury paused, and then went on carefully. "A young lady
with golden hair and very richly gowned. She has a letter to deliver to
you. You will be able to identify her absolutely by the enormous bunch
of purple orchids which she will wear. Please remember this carefully,
Betty, for it is imperative. Should any persons approach you except
the lady I describe, cut them, absolutely. If they persist, conduct
yourself just as you would if accosted by any stranger and return home
immediately. Do you understand quite clearly?"
"Quite, Mrs. Atterbury. When shall I be ready?"
"The car will be brought around for you at four and will wait to bring
you home."
When, at the hour named, Betty descended the stairs, demure but
radiant in the dovelike costume, Mrs. Atterbury intercepted her at the
drawing-room door.
"Charming, my dear! But why do you wear a veil? It really spoils the
whole effect and you do not need it."
"My face!" Betty seemed to shrink within herself. "The birthmark, you
know. I--I find the people here look at me so strangely."
Her employer shot a keen glance at her.
"You must not permit yourself to grow self-conscious. The mark is not
an absolute disfigurement, as I have told you, and even if it were,
it is irremediable. You can only make yourself needlessly wretched by
thinking morbidly of it." Her level tones sharpened with the note of
stern authority which the girl remembered. "Remove the veil at once
and do not wear it when you go on an assignment for me."
Betty's fingers trembled as she obeyed. Could Mrs. Atterbury have
divined her subterfuge? When she raised her eyes, however, the other
woman was smiling graciously.
"Ah! that is better. The fur brings out your color, my dear. Remember
to hold no communication with anyone except the lady you are going to
meet."
The Café de Luxe was the most cosmopolitan of the newer establishments
which had sprung up mushroomlike throughout the theatre district of the
city to meet the latest demands of an amusement-crazed public. Garishly
appointed, it was as blatant in character as the clientele to whom for
the most part it catered. The many mirrors and dazzling-colored lights,
combined with the blare of the orchestra and the heated, heavily
perfumed air, confused Betty for a moment and a sensation of faintness
stole over her.
Through the parted lobby curtains she beheld a vista of crowded tables
each with its mutually engrossed couple, and behind them in a roped-off
square the dancers, jerking and swaying like marionettes. As she
hesitated, a small, white-gloved hand was laid upon her arm and a merry
voice, glad with surprise, sounded in her ears.
"Ruth! Where have you been all this while? Everyone is asking about
you! Fancy meeting you here! Isn't this simply fascinating?"
Betty turned slowly. A plump, fair-haired girl with a pretty, doll-like
face stood beside her. She was dressed in the extreme of fashion but
valley lilies instead of orchids were clustered at her belt. Betty
bestowed upon her a slow, deliberate stare of non-recognition, which
the other returned in wide-eyed bewilderment which swiftly changed
to confusion and dismay when her eyes encountered the birthmark.
With a crimson face, she murmured a halting apology and turning,
fled precipitately. Betty watched the stranger until she vanished in
the congested group at the entrance door, then made her way into the
restaurant.
The headwaiter bowed profoundly and with elaborate circumstance led her
to a retired spot behind a cluster of palms, where covers had been laid
for two. A low bowl of purple orchids graced the center of her table,
but she noted that all those nearby were decorated only with daffodils
in tall vases. Were the flowers meant for a sign by which her own
identity was to have been disclosed to the mysterious other woman?
The waiter hovered obsequiously about and Betty ordered tea to be
rid, for the moment at least, of his unwelcome attention. Her eyes
mechanically swept the moving kaleidoscope of faces about her, but all
seemed too preoccupied to give a passing glance to the solitary figure
half-hidden behind the towering palms.
The tea, long since placed before her, grew cold untasted; the
tintinabulation of the orchestra ceased, then after an interval
recommenced, and still Betty sat alone. The hands she clenched beneath
the tablecloth were icy, but her cheeks burned and her heart pounded
suffocatingly.
How long must she wait? She had not been told the hour of this strange
appointment, but Mrs. Atterbury had remarked that morning that the
errand might keep her out until late. The incident of the girl with
the valley lilies kept recurring to her thoughts, and as the minutes
lengthened into a half-hour she felt an all but overmastering impulse
to spring up and run from the chattering, inconsequent throng to the
seclusion of the waiting car, even if it meant facing the unleashed
fury of her employer.
All at once she became conscious that a young man had appeared
beside her; a strange young man, with a clean-cut face and square
shoulders beneath an irreproachably fitting coat. Betty's swift glance
encompassed his general appearance, but her eyes fixed themselves upon
his lapel where nodded a single orchid of a livid purple hue.
The young man bowed stiffly and without waiting for an invitation,
pulled out the opposite chair and seated himself.
"So sorry to have been late, but I was unavoidably detained," he began
in a loud, forced voice. Then bending swiftly across to her he added
in a rapid undertone: "The lady could not come, but I am here in her
place. Put your muff on the table and I will slip the packet into it."
Betty eyed him steadily.
"You have made some mistake." She spoke in a low voice with quiet
distinctness. "I do not know you."
"Good heavens, don't make a scene! It is all right, I tell you! Can't
you understand? The lady was unable to come in person but she sent me
to deliver it to you. Look! Don't you recognize this?" He spoke with
half-savage insistence and the girl noticed that beads of perspiration
had started upon his brow. He touched the flower in his buttonhole,
then pointed to the others in the bowl between them, but she gave no
sign of comprehension.
"I do not know who you are, or what you are talking about," Betty said
coldly. "I must ask you to leave my table at once."
"What sort of a game are you trying to play?" he demanded. "You are
the woman I came here to find. I recognized you at once from the
description--"
Betty rose.
"Wait!" The young man put out a detaining hand. "What is the good of
all this bluff? I give you my word of honor that I am acting in good
faith with you--"
"You must be mad!" Her eyes flashed with unfeigned resentment and
indignation. "If you attempt to follow or annoy me further, sir, I
shall complain to the management."
Turning, she swept from the restaurant and out to where the car awaited
her at the curb, but as it rolled swiftly away, she sank back and
buried her burning face among the cushions.
When the strangely pertinacious young man had declared his recognition
of her, his eyes had been upon the birthmark on her cheek. This, then,
was the reason for Mrs. Atterbury's peremptory command to her to remove
her veil. Her very infirmity was being made to serve her employer's
ends!
Betty laughed softly, bitterly, and struck her small, clenched fist
against the window frame, in impotent anger. Then her head drooped upon
her arm and for the first time since she had entered Mrs. Atterbury's
service, she broke down utterly. Sobbing the weary, heartbreaking sobs
of a forsaken child, she cowered in her corner, while street after
street flitted by in the ghostly gray dusk.
At length, spent with the storm of her emotion she lay back, exhausted
but calm once more. The dusk was deepening to darkness and as she
watched the chain of lights twinkling past, Betty suddenly came to a
realization of the flight of time. Surely she should have reached the
house on the North Drive long before this! Had an hour gone by while
she sat huddled there, weakly giving way to tears?--
Tears! Betty's very heart stood still for a moment in deathly fear.
Then she switched on the light and seized the mirror from the leather
case before her. The face which stared back at her was pale, the eyes
puffed and reddened, but a dab of cosmetic and powder would conceal the
ravages of her emotion from even Mrs. Atterbury's keen eyes until she
could reach the haven of her own room.
The necessary articles were in her wristbag and she applied them
quickly, then turned off the light once more and peered again from the
window. The streets were narrow and unfamiliar, even squalid; where was
she being taken?
Pressing a button, she caught up the speaking tube.
"I wished to go directly home and I cannot understand why we have not
reached there. Did Mrs. Atterbury give any different instructions?"
"No, miss, only to drive back along the Western Parkway, but I find the
streets are closed for repairs, and I have to go around. I'm sorry;
I'll hurry, miss."
The car zig-zagged for several blocks further, then turned a corner
sharply and swung into the North Drive, shooting forward with
lightning speed. Betty held her breath as the car skidded between the
towering entrance gates and she drew a deep sigh of relief when it
swooped under the _porte-cochère_ and came to a jarring halt before the
lighted doorway.
Mrs. Atterbury was awaiting her and drew her into the library.
"What has happened?" Her tone was low but vibrating as if she spoke
with bated breath. "The lady did not appear?"
Betty shook her head.
"A man came instead. He wore an orchid boutonniere, and he tried to
make me listen to him. He had your letter with him, and wanted to put
it in my muff but I pretended not to understand, but to be insulted at
his daring to address me. He would not go, so I left him."
She described her experience of the afternoon in detail, omitting
only to mention the girl who had accosted her in the lobby, and Mrs.
Atterbury heard her without interruption to the end, then placing her
hand beneath the girl's chin, she lifted her face to the light.
"You have been crying, my child. Is there something which you have not
told me?"
Betty was thankful for the burning blush which swept to her brow.
"I did cry a little, in the car coming home," she admitted. "It was
silly of me, I know, but the man frightened me, he was so persistent,
and rather fierce. I'm very sorry I failed, Mrs. Atterbury."
"'Failed!' My dear, you have succeeded! You carried out my instructions
to the letter, and no one could ask more. I regret that you were
annoyed, but the gentleman who came to meet you did not himself
understand the situation. I can promise you that you will not have that
sort of thing to contend with another time." Mrs. Atterbury's black
eyes flashed ominously, but they softened when they rested again upon
the girl's face. "Now run and dress, Betty, for we dine very shortly.
And remember, child, that I am very well pleased with what you have
done, and I shall not forget it."
Betty's heart was heavy, nevertheless, as she obeyed. The adventure
at the opera had brought a thrill of excitement and she had given
little thought to its possible consequences, but the afternoon through
which she had just passed brought a swift revulsion of feeling and she
tore off the costly furs as if they stifled her. She was filled with
loathing of her task and its instigators and a growing dread of the
future. Why was she singled out to be the bearer of these mysterious
missives? She had been prepared to carry out the agreement under which
she had been engaged, but she shrank from the role of confidential
messenger and hoped fervently that she would not soon again be called
upon to play it.
The hope was vain, however, for on the following afternoon she found
herself again in the car and speeding toward the lower part of town.
Her destination on this occasion was not the garish Café de Luxe, but
the old Hotel Rochefoucauld on Jefferson Square, whose conservative
roof sheltered now only the elect of an older regime, which still clung
to the aristocratic purlieus of a bygone generation.
"But if the lady with the orchids does not come this time," Betty had
faltered to her employer, when she received her parting instructions,
"if the man who met me yesterday appears again, what shall I say to
him?"
"He will not, never fear." Mrs. Atterbury had smiled, but the cold
light glinted in her eyes once more. "The lady will be there herself,
and you need exchange no words with her; just take my letter from her
hands and bring it to me."
Betty made her way down the wide, dim corridor of the ancient hostelry
to the writing-room to which she had been directed. The heavy velvet
curtains at the windows almost wholly obscured the light and she
fancied at first that the room was deserted, but as her eyes became
accustomed to the gloom she descried a small figure half-hidden in a
huge leather chair.
As she approached it, she was conscious only of a heap of soft, brown
fur with a deep purple blur of orchids nestling in it, but she halted
abruptly a few feet away. The other rose slowly and for a moment the
two young women stared at each other.
It was the girl of the art shop! The blonde, fairy-like creature who
had regarded her with such evident repulsion and fear! Betty stood
rigid with amazement and then the truth came to her in a flash of
understanding.
The purchase of the mirror was a mere subterfuge to get her to the shop
at a certain hour, where this other woman had doubtless been directed
to note her appearance for future recognition. She remembered how the
stranger's eyes had lingered on her birthmark, which she evidently
described to the man who had attempted to take her place on the
previous day. Every action, no matter how trivial, which was suggested
by Mrs. Atterbury must be a part of some deep-laid, far-reaching plan.
The same look of fear was intensified now in the eyes fastened upon her
and a tiny gloved hand was extended as if to ward off a blow.
"I couldn't come yesterday, for I was really ill." The stranger spoke
in a low, fluttering voice. "I sent him, I played fair, why would you
not deal with him? Here is what you have come for; take it, and let me
go!"
She drew from her breast a long, sealed, blank envelope and held it
out, but Betty's fingers had not closed upon it before the other's
touch was withdrawn as though contaminated. She glided quickly to the
door, but paused upon its threshold and turned, her golden head erect.
"Remember!" she cried, her flute-like tones suddenly shrill. "Tell
those who sent you that I shall have nothing more to do with this
affair. If a further attempt is made to drag me into it I shall kill
myself. I will accept no more commands, expose myself to no future
danger. I am almost mad now, but I shall have enough sanity left to
take myself beyond your reach. I have kept my wretched compact; see to
it that you keep yours."
The doorway was empty, but a faint elusive perfume lingered in the air,
and upon the floor at Betty's feet lay a crushed and trampled orchid,
its livid petals outspread like the wings of some wounded tropic bird.
Betty stood staring down at it for a moment, then abruptly thrusting
the envelope into her muff, she turned and made her way to the street.