The Tryst (Annotated) (Grace Livingston Hill Book) (9 page)

She fell asleep in the midst of her troubled thoughts at last, but drifted into a dream of that summer long ago and a long sweet day's walk with John Treeves and his mother, through a wood where they had often gone together. It was a vivid dream, in which even the leaves on the beaches were picked out in clear relief against the sky, and the rocks were as real as life with the pretty lichens and moss. She seemed in her sleep to notice every lovely detail of the woods. Even the smell of the pines was there, though perhaps the pines outside her window might have had something to do with that. They spread their lunch on a giant rock that jutted among the pine needles and she remembered the little cakes and the tiny pies in round tin pans -blackberry and cherry- how good they tasted again! And then the day was over, and Mrs. Treeves put a loving hand on her arm and said: "Don't worry, dear. You are doing right, and your father will soon understand it all perfectly, and so will your mother. Don't be afraid. Just go straight ahead.'' Then she kissed her lovingly on the forehead and the dream melted into the wonderful morning with the warm rays of the sun shining on her face like a caress, and a wonderful piney smell blowing in at the window. There were cheerful sounds everywhere, a distant tinkle of china and silver, voices on the piazza below, the honk of a Klaxon, the plunk of a tennis ball on a taut racket, all the sounds of a well-ordered establishment of luxury and ease. Somehow the morning looked good to Patty in spite of her perplexities, and the new day held a quiver of all sorts of beautiful possibilities. The gentle face and voice of Mrs. Treeves, her kiss and her words lingered like a benediction in her heart as she arose and went about her dressing with alacrity, and a song in her heart; although she checked it on her lips lest she waken her employer. She need not have worried, however, for Miss Cole had been wideawake for some time, and full of ideas. Now she suddenly voiced one of them; in a question: 

“Have you got any evening dresses?” 

Patty stopped in the act of putting in a hairpin and whirled around to the door of Miss Cole's bedroom: 

“Oh, good morning! I didn't know you were awake! I hope I didn't disturb you.” 

“Have you got any evening dresses?” asked the alert voice once more. Patty laughed amusedly. This woman was always asking such odd questions: 

“Why, I believe so. I'll look. I hardly know what was in my suitcase. I didn't pay much attention to my packing.”

Patty emerged in a moment from her room with a billow of rose-colored chiffon over one arm, a soft shining turquoise silk and a puff of cream-colored embroidered tulle over the other. 

“There seem to be three!” she giggled. “I'm sure I don't know what use they will be to me.” 

“It is a rather odd collection for a girl to bring along when she runs away to be a lady's companion," said Miss Cole grimly, her eye kindling with interest. “And only one suitcase to carry everything, too!” 

"Well, you see, I was going to a weekend house party when I decided to leave, and my suitcase was half-packed. I didn't really stop to consider what I was bringing along." 

“H'm!” said Miss Cole eying her sharply. “That doesn't sound very hopeful for my comfort this winter. You're not very likely to stay here if you come from things like that! You'll get another impulse and run back again, I suppose, just as I begin to get used to you!” 

“No!” said Patty decidedly. “You needn't worry about that. I'm not a quitter, and I haven't got a yellow streak in me. My father always told me that. Besides, there are reasons why I couldn't possibly go back, not for some time anyway." 

“Oh!” said Miss Cole. “You've got a father, have you? What will he think of your escapade?” 

Patty suddenly sobered: 

“My father is -- in South America at present. I couldn't consult him of course because I had to act quickly, but I think he will feel I did right.”

“H'm! Well, I hope so. Now spread out those dresses. They're very pretty. I guess you may wear the blue one tonight. We're going down to dinner to-night and stay awhile in the evening.” 

“Oh -- But!” said Patty aghast. “These will be far too giddy for a -- a lady's companion to wear. I have a little dark silk -- a dinner dress, you know. I'll wear that!” 

“You'll wear the blue!” said Miss Cole decisively. 

“Didn't I tell you I wasn't to be crossed? I guess I know what will be suitable. And you're not a 'companion,' remember! Don't mention that again! We're near relatives -- through the Adamses, you know --!” 

There was a grim humor in her tone, and Patty, eying her thoughtfully, broke into smiles once more and said: 

“Oh, very well, Miss Cole, just as you say --”

“I’ve decided you're to call me Cousin Sylvia!” said the grim voice insistently. 

Patty laughed merrily: 

“All right, Cousin Sylvia. Will you have your breakfast sent up now? And what will you have?" 

“No,” said the old lady, “I'm going down. You may pull down my window and turn on that radiator. I'll be dressed as soon as you will.” 

“Oh, but!” pleaded Patty aghast. “Don't you think it would be better for you to rest this morning after the long journey?” 

“No, I don't! And I told you once I didn't want to be advised what to do. I feel like going down to breakfast and I'm going down.”

And so in spite of all the girl could do they went down to the dining-room. But Patty need not have worried for John Treeves had been summoned to breakfast in his uncle's room, and was not visible to the inhabitants of the hotel until late in the afternoon. 

Patty was relieved to find that there were but few people in the dining-room at that hour, and quite enjoyed the ceremony at breakfast. After the meal was concluded the old lady insisted on having wraps brought down and sitting in one of the many rocking chairs on the wide front piazza. Patty established her with many furtive glances, and many attempts to slip away unobservedly. But the old lady had no mind to lose sight of her pretty young companion. She watched her like a cat playing with a mouse, and she kept a sharp eye out for any guests of the house who came that way, particularly any of the younger men. She sent Patty upstairs numberless times for magazines, pen and writing case, a book she was reading, and finally her knitting bag; and eyed her keenly each time on her return to see if there were signs of an encounter with her former friend. If she had known that Patty, slipping through a window into the writing room, had searched out an obscure and circuitous route to the staircase, and avoiding the elevator had run like a ray of sunlight up the stairs and down again, she certainly would have been vexed. The morning slipped quietly and uneventfully along, with Patty established in a big chair beside her charge, reading a magazine, and Miss Cole writing letters and watching the office door. Sounds of merriment drifted back from the tennis courts, “Love fifteen.” Miss Cole watched Patty out of the side of her eye, noted the soft pink color on her round cheek, the lovely lines of lip and brow, the shining brown of her hair, the dainty grace of her lithe young figure, and wondered what slip of nature had set this child for a servant's part in the play of living. She had the look of one who had always been carefully guarded, the starry trustfulness in her eyes that belongs to those who are beloved in their circle of life. Miss Cole resolved that the child should be put back in her place if it was in her power to do so. She should not sit in a corner while others whirled by in the wild joy of life. She must get into things right away and have a good time here. Her face softened as she watched the girl, and took in her charm. Something that would have been motherhood if it had ever had a chance, stirred in her crabbed old heart, and reached out to this sweet, young thing. 

“Edith, you go get your hat and coat and take my letters down to the village post office. There's no dependence to be placed on these hotel mail boys. I've been in this place before!” She spoke suddenly, looking up from addressing an envelope, and Patty looked up with a start. 

“Oh!” she laughed. “I – I forgot!” 

“Well, it's no kind of a name for you to be using, but it’s as good as any for the present, I suppose. Here, take my purse and get a special delivery stamp put on that one. Now go, and don't hurry! I'm going to take a nap right here in the sunshine and I shan't want to be disturbed for an hour at least, so you can take your time." 

Patty thus dismissed, went off on her walk, but the old lady would have been disappointed if she could have watched her taking a bypath into the woods and keeping entirely away from the regular walk, where all the hotel guests promenaded. Patty, on the other hand, would have been astonished if she could have seen the alert old lady who rose from her chair as soon as the girl had disappeared around the turn of the walk. She steered straight for the office and consulted the hotel register, gleaning a few names for further consideration. She asked an abrupt question or two of the hotel clerk, and then giving a comprehensive glance around the circle of rocking chairs ranged about the big open fireplace, she selected one which commanded a good view of the front door, the wide staircase, the descending elevators, and had the added advantage of being next to a woman whom she recognized as an old habitué of the hotel. Not that she cared for the woman, or had ever given her even scant courtesy in the years gone by, but just now she felt she might make use of her. So she dropped down in the vacant rocker and fell upon her knitting grimly: 

"Well, I see you're back again early. Who's here now? Any of the last year's people?" 

The woman in lavendar looked up surprised at the friendly tone and prepared for a good hour's work. Here was one whom she had longed to question and had always lacked the opportunity. 

“Oh, how delightful, dear Miss Cole. Are the Horliss-Coles down this season? I thought I saw your niece with you last night.” 

“No, that wasn't my niece, that's a young cousin named Fisher, Edith Fisher.”

“A cousin?” said the lavendar one, pricking up her ears, and not a Horliss-Cole? “You didn't have other brothers or sisters, did you? Excuse me for asking, but we were discussing that matter here on the porch the other day, and I said I thought there was another brother -- or was it a sister?” 

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” declared Miss Cole with a grim, set of amusement to her thin lips. “There were only two of us, Jim and I. This girl's related farther back. We both had the same great-grandfather several times removed. Adams, the name. You wouldn't probably know.” 

“Now you speak of it, I do remember hearing of the Adams-Fishers. There was a Fisher-Adams down here last week. Probably he was related.”

“Probably,” said Miss Cole, dryly. 

“What a pity he isn't here now! It is so interesting to trace relationships, don't you think. Miss Cole?” 

“I presume there are plenty of young men left, aren't there? Who is here anyway?” 

“Oh, there's the most interesting man, just back from France, Dunham Treeves! You ought to see him. He's handsome as a picture, and absolutely indifferent, they say. He's a nephew of old Calvin Treeves, you know, the multi-millionaire, son of his only brother, who died a number of years ago. They say it's quite romantic, his being here. It seems there's been an estrangement in the family or something, and Calvin wouldn't recognize his brother's wife. But she's dead now and this young man has appeared on the scene. Mrs. Burleson says that he is to be Calvin Treeves's heir. She ought to know, for Burleson has been old Treeves's lawyer for the last twenty years --”

“H'm!  Calvin Treeves's nephew! How old is he?”

“Well, I should say twenty-five or maybe twenty-six -- nobody seems to know exactly. But he’s stunningly handsome and has no end of honors on his head. Though the queer thing about it is he won’t wear any of his medals nor his uniform nor anything. They say his uncle's peeved about that, and of course it is trying, but then I understand the best young fellows are pursuing that indifferent method, and it really gives a kind of éclat, you know. But it makes it hard for the relatives. I really don't see why they won't wear their uniforms, though, they do look so fascinating in them, especially if a man has legs! Legs, you know, are really a thing to be proud of, there are so few. I should have adored to live in the time when gentlemen wore short breeches and knee buckles; they must have given such an air of refinement, and thread lace ruffles --!” 

“I think we have fools enough how without putting ruffles on them!” snorted Miss Cole, forgetting her affable role for the moment. 

“Oh, well, this Dunham Treeves is no fool, I can tell you. They say he was head of his class in college!” 

“They say! They say!” grumbled Miss Cole. “Who are they, I'd like to know? Or is that what Calvin Treeves wishes to have believed about his beloved nephew?” 

“Oh, now dear Miss Cole, you are so funny!” chirped the lavendar lady. “But really this young man is a very superior fellow, indeed. And independent! Why he doesn't look twice at a girl! And the girls are just crazy about him!” 

“Poor fools! Well, how does he look?” 

In the course of half an hour Miss Sylvia Cole gathered sufficient data to be sure of the identity of the young man, and excusing herself with scant ceremony she took another look at the registry book. Yes, there it was “J. D. Treeves, Maple Brook, N. Y.” She shut the book and her lips together with a snap of satisfaction and went back to her sheltered corner of the piazza in time to settle herself into the semblance of a profound nap before the return of the girl. 

Late that afternoon they were sitting, Patty, and her employer, in a sheltered nook of pines down one of the winding paths that led from the hotel into the resinous grove. There were comfortable rustic seats in plenty scattered here and there in quiet corners, and paths of pine-needle paving threaded the whole hillside, in such cunningly devised pattern that no one intruded upon another, though often they were close enough for a voice to carry from one to another. Miss Cole had settled herself with a book and promptly gone to sleep among a multitude of cushions. It was quite obvious that she was asleep. Patty, with a book in her lap lay back on other cushions and let her eyes follow dreamily the hazy mountain line in the distance, just visible through a carefully trimmed opening in the plumy green curtains about their harbor. Down the mountainside she could hear gay voices calling, and childish laughter, and up above in other paths subdued chatter floated now and again in fragments, and it all made the world seem very far away, and herself a lonely little soul stranded here with a queer old stranger. Almost her heart began to fail her again, and a tear stole out beneath her lashes. She flashed it away with a furtive glance at Miss Cole, and straightened up with a firm little upper lip, setting herself to study the beauty about her. It really was a wonderful place for a girl without a home to have dropped down into, and she ought to be very glad. She was. She even managed a watery little smile at the gentle snores that issued from Miss Cole’s direction.