A Pasteboard Crown Part 13

She shook her head. "An indecorous and undignified proceeding that, but what else can I do? Poor papa never sees an inch beyond his handsome old nose! If it concerned anyone but mamma, Dorothy would tell me everything herself, for we have confided in each other ever since we had to 'make up' the secrets we shared. But she and papa always make a sort of fetish of mamma. It's strange, too," said Sybil to herself, "for mamma was very little to either of us, indeed, in the old days of luxury. As that English housemaid once said of us, 'we were little better nor horphans for all our finery and our sweets!' Mamma was always out, or going out, or just getting ready to go out. Or there were people staying with her, and we had to keep close to the nursery. We should just have been servant-bred but for papa. Shall I ever forget his face the day he asked Dorrie some question, which she answered with a hearty, 'Bedad! I have then!' After he had read us a lecture on the subject of English as it should be used by intelligent and obedient little girls, Dorothy lifted her repentant, small countenance to be kissed, saying, 'Please forgive me, papa!' and he caught her up in his arms and said, 'Oh, baby girl, it is for you to forgive us--forgive us!' And when he was gone we talked and talked, and finally concluded that 'us' meant papa and Delia, because she was all the time saying 'bedad' and 'bad-cess,' and such words. That same night I heard mamma's voice, high and excited, from her dressing-room. She was saying, 'I really do _not_ see why I am to be held responsible for the aimless chatter of children of _that_ age. Of course, when they are older, and it's worth while, I shall impress myself upon them--shall take complete charge of--what? my mother? Never mind my mother! Times are changed, and really it's more than a trifle presumptuous for any Lawton to attempt to teach a Ba.s.sett how to--' and the voice became inaudible, because mamma had entered her sleeping-room and closed the door. But next day we took our drive with her, instead of the nurse or maid, and in our big feathered hats--I in pink and Dorrie in blue--we sat one on each side of her and swung our slim, black-silk legs against her skirts and wished papa was there. And that very day she cut Mr. Bulkley dead as he saluted her in pa.s.sing, and said, under her breath, 'Horrid wretch!' Horrid wretch then! And now? She can't be too cordial to him, actually pressing him to come again. Has she no eyes?

Can't she see how he stares poor Dorrie out of countenance, and how--how--" Suddenly the girl started. "Why," she said, "it can't be!

Oh, it can't be that she _does_ see and understand and--and--still welcomes him--that she is tormenting my little sister about _him_?"

A certain ominous tremble of the ceiling told of the energetic Lena's presence in the room above. Sybil flew up the stairs, went first to her trunk, and a moment later came to Lena, holding in her hand a spray of artificial flowers, and saying: "If you will bring me your hat I'll freshen it up with these velvet roses. I can do it right here while you are finishing mamma's room." With a cry of rapture the little, square-rigged German girl dropped the pillow she was holding between her teeth, while trying to introduce its further end into a fresh cover, and rushed from the room, to return in the twinkling of an eye with one of those forlornly tawdry hats, peculiar to the foreign servant. They always seemed to be trimmed with samples, boasting a pale spring blossom twisted with a dahlia or a few hips and haws of autumnal tinting, a bit of feather, always straight; a bit of lace, always cotton; a sc.r.a.p of velvet, always dusty--the whole incongruity invariably suggesting the police station, no matter how respectable the wearer of the "mussy"

confection may be. For a moment Lena looked frightened as Sybil's long fingers swiftly tore the rubbish apart; but a glance at the deep rich glow of color in the crushed velvet rose with the trail of bronzy-green leaves rea.s.sured her, and she smiled the whole breadth of her honest moon-face as she exclaimed:

"Mein Gott! my Miss Lady! Dot mash-man will sure make me of der name of Miss Klippert, ven I make der Sunday valk, mit der roses on, youst like I com' by America! Ja! dot is too fine youst for Lena--all short! Dot make of me Miss Klippert--sure! you see now!" And full of excitement and happy antic.i.p.ations, Lena rose like a hungry trout to Sybil's first cast, which was the remark: "I don't think Miss Dorothy is looking quite well?"

In her broken English the maid poured out the story of the trials and persecutions to which Dorothy had been subjected; of how her mother's selfishness in her imaginary illness had taxed the girl's strength; of how Leslie Galt had tried unsuccessfully to take Miss Dorrie for a drive, to bring the color back to her cheeks; of how Mrs. Lawton had changed her mind about the proprieties when Mr. Bulkley had driven up to the house with a similar object; and of a disgraceful scene at a near-by resort in which Mr. Bulkley and several "painted ladies" figured--a scene of which she and her "mash-man" were the witnesses.

The pitiful story finished, Sybil, controlling her feelings, went to the troubled Lena, set the newly trimmed hat on her head, gave her a little push toward the gla.s.s, and then fled to her own room, where, with blazing eyes and flushed cheeks, she paced the floor, repeating, over and over: "How dare he? How dare he force his attentions upon an innocent young girl? He is as vulgar as he is wicked! His conduct is unpardonable--disgraceful! Oh, what can I do? How can I shield Dorrie, and where is Leslie Galt? I know he loves her, devotedly, but he can't have spoken yet, for she would have shared the secret with me within an hour of my coming! He's not a man to change, nor yet to hesitate without grave cause. Oh, I suppose it's poverty that commands his silence--poverty, fruitful mother of many miseries, of shame and humiliation! And yet--and yet," frowned Sybil, as she called up a mental picture of Leslie Galt, "he never looks like a poor man; and surely I ought to recognize any or all of the symptoms of indigence, know all the dear little earmarks made by straitened circ.u.mstances. And now that I think of it, his dress is perfect in its way, quiet, oh, yes, quiet enough, but such perfect cut and fit can scarcely belong to ready-made 'marked-downs.'"

And when had she ever seen spot or soil or sagging pocket, loose b.u.t.ton, frayed binding, or faded tie? Her mother had called him "a salaried boy," but she recalled Lena's statement that he wished to take her sister to drive. She knew he often rode a horse, hired in Yonkers. He lavished gifts of fruit upon Mrs. Lawton and music and books and flowers on Dorrie. Surely, she thought, a young lawyer must receive a good salary to do all that and dress so well. She wondered if she ought to make him understand Dorothy's position. Even if they were only engaged, that engagement would protect the young fiancee from the detested approaches of another man. Papa? Ah! poor dear papa had no authority where mamma was concerned! What should she do? Then suddenly she began to dress for the street. She decided that she would go to her G.o.d-mother with her trouble. She had always been fond of Dorothy, and if Mrs.

Lawton feared any adverse opinion it was that of Mrs. Van Camp.

As she hurried down-stairs, hoping, by fast walking to the station, to catch the next train cityward, Mrs. Lawton came into the hall, to express shocked disapproval of her daughter's action and her sorrow at not having more fully impressed herself upon that daughter's mind and character, in which case she could have seen for herself the horrible impropriety of going to the city unaccompanied; in fact, to be perfectly explicit and exact, 'er _alone_! And Sybil, as she rapidly b.u.t.toned her gloves, replied with the humble deference of tone, which usually cloaked her worst impertinences: "Yes, mamma dear, undoubtedly the girl who can buy tickets for two and pay the salary of a chaperon who watches her, is guilty of a criminal impropriety in travelling alone. You see the point, don't you, dear mamma? Without wealth there is no impropriety. Of course that's unfair, but the fact remains that a poor girl may ride for an hour in a public car in broad daylight, and not only retain her self-respect, but fail to hear a single charge of impropriety. Of course it's hard, but since we have fallen upon poverty, we must not lay claim to the attributes of the wealthy. Good-by, dear mamma! Tell Dorrie and papa I shall probably have to see the costumer to-morrow, if Mr. Thrall can spare the time to accompany me, and decide upon correct designs; but I shall be home in time for tea--D. V.--I mean of course."

As she flew down the steep driveway leading to the street, Mrs. Lawton, looking after her, said, aloud: "Dear me! With Sybil a.s.suming this freedom of action and Dorothy developing a streak of real obstinacy, I have to ask myself why I ever a.s.sumed the responsibility of bringing daughters into the worlds. Sons would doubtless have been far more satisfactory, particularly under the present unfortunate circ.u.mstances."

And she returned to her rocker, her smelling-bottle, and her French novel, shaking her head and sighing portentously.

CHAPTER XVI

A STRANGE BETROTHAL

Nothing of Dorothy's doing in all her young life had so exasperated Mrs.

Lawton as her refusal to drive out with William Henry Bulkley. How, she asked herself, could a child of hers be so stupidly content in poverty and obscurity, when, by a little self-sacrifice, she could acquire wealth; then with beauty and wealth combined with the Ba.s.sett-Lawton finesse she could attain position and exist socially. With the slightest sense of her own value and an adroit touch of coquetry now and then, she could simply twist Mr. Bulkley about her little finger.

"Of course he is a bit old for her, indeed," admitted Mrs. Lawton to herself. "He is a trifle older than her father, but--but--love for me, a tender desire for my welfare, should outweigh that objection; and I have tried hard to make her understand that my worldly salvation depends wholly upon her conduct. And yet the stupid creature receives the rich man who has cast her his handkerchief with frightened silence or with prim monosyllables! I--I could shake her! In my days of affluence and power, I always raised my voice against corporal punishment for children; but live and learn, live and learn! I know now I was in error, for the other day when she hid herself to avoid going to drive with William Henry Bulkley nothing would have given me more unalloyed pleasure than to have soundly trounced Miss Dorothy Lawton, my own youngest born daughter! If he only had an opportunity, no doubt Mr.

Bulkley would flatter her vanity, arouse her ambition; but if he has no chance even to make splendid promises to her--well, he _shall_ have a chance! She _shall_ go out for a drive with him! Simpleton! She might herself have been driving a pair of dear little ponies this month past but for John Lawton's stiff-necked refusal to permit her to accept them.

He's always ready to join hands with the girls in any sentimental folly.

But I have a plan in my mind. The bird that can sing, but won't sing, my dear, must be made to sing! So next time Mr. Bulkley drives out here you will accept the seat beside him for at least a short drive, or I am not Let.i.tia Lawton and your mother, Miss!"

While she was brooding over her plans in the sitting-room, Dorothy and Lena were busy in the kitchen, which was filled with the pleasant odor of baking bread. A large bottle of Lena's providing had been carefully covered with white flannel, and around and around it Dorothy was smoothly winding and basting down a bit of good old lace that was soiled beyond all using, and, as there was no money to spare for its renovation, she was taking this slow and tiresome way of cleaning it herself.

Lena, always delighted to do something for her favorite Miss Lady, was shaving some white soap up, ready for melting in a kettle of boiling water, and was earnestly a.s.suring Miss Dorothy that she would "get uf der hands scalded, uf she attempted to do dose jobs! Youst tell me, my Miss," she begged, "und I vill boil de bottle, or younce him up und down, or twist him round or vat you vant every hows, only don' you get of der hands scalted."

And just then, around at the front of the house, William Henry Bulkley drove to the door. Mrs. Lawton heard the approaching horse dashing through the sea of fallen leaves, and, springing from her chair, she hurried to the hall, opened the door a crack, and, with finger on lip, whispering: "Don't ring! wait a moment!" she closed it again upon the wondering visitor, who, nevertheless, obeyed, and stood there waiting.

Mrs. Lawton, with astonishing speed, ascended the stairs, entered her room, and taking a bottle from her dressing-table containing a mixture known to the whole family as "Mamma's drops," she swiftly poured the contents from the window, corked the bottle, and returned it empty to its place. She then seized a handkerchief, shook a few drops of camphor upon it, and, tying it about her head as she moved, hurried lightly on tiptoe down-stairs, and, opening the door again, whispering to Mr.

Bulkley "Ring now!" she slipped into the sitting-room, and became instantly a stricken sufferer from violent sick headache.

As the bell jangled loudly in the kitchen it startled both occupants.

Lena made an exclamation, and Dorothy, starting out with: "Why, surely, it's too early for----," stopped and flushed consciously, for she had that morning received a wee bit of a note from Leslie Galt, saying that he would be returning from the office earlier than usual that day and asking her permission to call, that he might speak to her on a very important subject--"a subject the enclosed might faintly hint at." And the enclosed being a violet, had "hinted" so sweetly that a sort of blissful misery of antic.i.p.ation had been thrilling her nerves and flushing and paling her cheeks all the day. Now, as Lena left the kitchen, she glanced into the bit of broken looking-gla.s.s the little German maid had tacked on the wall for guidance in her own Sunday prinking, and, with tremulous fingers, was training the fluffy curls on her brow in the way they should go, when Lena returned with the heavy dragoon's men stride that anger always engendered in her, announcing, sullenly: "It's dot Herr Bergamots man, miss"--a name she had given Mr.

Bulkley on account of the perfumes he used so lavishly--"und smellin'

like a whole drug-store turned outside der door!"

"Oh!" gasped poor Dorothy in dismay, for she instantly realized that if his ponderous loitering was as long as usual poor Leslie Galt would find no opportunity to discuss that important subject with her that day. With a fallen countenance she was turning toward the door, when Lena added: "Und miss, der Mistress Mudder, she say you shall first com' quick right away by her, in der sittin'-rooms, where she make almost to die by der sick stomach head!"

"What!" exclaimed Dorothy, "mamma sick--why, since when?" Then anxiously: "Had she not her lunch and tea as usual, Lena?"

"Ja! she had, und she eat like a soldier!" scornfully a.s.serted that handmaiden. "Und den sit mit der feet on der cushions und der plate full of der Herr Galt's grapes on der knee, und eat und tell me, vile I clear der tray avay, how hard is der life by her now! Und how hard for her to have der children mit ungrateful teeth not so sharp as der serpents! Und now she com' all tied up by der head und all crazy like by der pains, und vant you quick pefore even you go to der parlor to see der Herr Bulkley!"

"Oh!" cried Dorothy, "get a gla.s.s and spoon quick, for mamma will want her 'drops' the very first thing!"

As she hurried to the sitting-room she wondered why on earth her mother had not called or rang the bell, as was her custom when she was not feeling well. Entering the room she asked: "What can I do for you, mamma, and what has made you ill so suddenly?"

"Anxiety for the future of my family and the unhappiness of being a disobeyed, unloved mother has made me ill!" answered the sufferer. "I am of a very sensitive and delicate temperament; I have borne the neglect of the world in patience; I have suffered for the ordinary comforts of life without a murmur."

"Oh, mamma!" deprecatingly interjected Dorothy.

"Hold your tongue, miss!" snapped Mrs. Lawton. "You know, as well as I do, I have not had a silk stocking to my leg for years, and I have borne it all, and lived on, some way! But when my own flesh and blood flout me, and coldly deny me a little comfort for my last days, my courage breaks, and sickness supervenes--'er--'er, perhaps I mean intervenes.

I--'er--'er, well, anyway--oh, dear heaven! help me, someone! My drops!

my drops!" She rolled her head frantically about and called louder and louder for "drops."

Dorothy ran out, but, Mr. Bulkley stopping her in the hall, she took gla.s.s and spoon from Lena, and told her to run upstairs for mamma's drops-bottle (Mrs. Lawton smiled as she heard), and then explained that a sudden headache had attacked her mother, but her drops would relieve her and produce sleep.

"Hum! Opium, I should think!" remarked Mr. Bulkley.

"Oh, I hope not!" said Dorothy, and held out her hand for the bottle Lena had brought, and lo! it was empty.

"Did you spill it?" she asked, in a frightened voice.

"Nein! I huf not spilled nottings, my Miss Lady!" said Lena, shortly.

"And my bread com' burn uf I don't go back by der kitchen!"

"O--o--h! o--o--h!" groaned Mrs. Lawton. "Where are my drops? What's that? _All_ gone? Not even _one_ dose? Well, I shall die without it! I simply can't bear this pain!"

She shot a meaning glance at Mr. Bulkley, who caught the cue, and exclaimed: "My poor dear friend! If this remedy can be had at Yonkers, and Miss Dorothy will direct me, I will go at once and procure these precious drops!"

A distressed, a harried look came into the girl's face. "Mamma," she said, "Sybil will go and I'll stay by you."

"Sybil's in New York by this time!" answered Mrs. Lawton. "I have been too ill to be able to tell you before! So, hurry your hat on and start at once!"

"Dear mamma, Lena can get the drops--she knows where the store is--and then we need not trouble Mr. Bulkley."

"No trouble!--no trouble at all!" pompously declared that gentleman.

"Lena has an oven full of bread to watch!" snapped the suffering one, whose head seemed surprisingly clear, by spells, at least.

"Then," despairingly cried Dorothy, "I will run for it myself! I can go very quickly, mamma, and perhaps Mr. Bulkley will be so good as to keep you company till I return!"

"Dorothy," cried Mrs. Lawton, "are you so utterly heartless that you can deliberately lengthen out this period of suffering, simply to gratify some whim of your own? O--o--o--h!" she groaned, dismally.

While Mr. Bulkley remonstrated: "Really, now, my dear little girl, while we have no right to--er--er, to expect logic from a lovely creature like yourself--you'll pardon me, Miss Dorrie, but you really don't show your usual good sense in this instance! It is quite absurd, your idea of walking when you can reach the village and return in less than a third of the time by driving, and--and you know the poor lady's comfort should be our first thought, so toss on your hat and let us start at once!"