Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
The White Lady
© 2015 by Grace Livingston Hill
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All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
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Chapter 1
Winter, 1930
T
hen you mean that there is only about five thousand dollars left?”
Constance drew the rich furs about her throat and stood up to try to still the tumult of her heart.
“Yes—about that. Understand, it may be a trifle more, perhaps a thousand; but that is doubtful. There may be some other small accounts that have not been settled.”
He looked at her keenly and drew a sigh of relief. He had expected a scene, and she had made none. Some girls might have fainted at hearing such news so unexpectedly, but Constance Wetherill had not fainted. Had she fully understood what a change this meant in her income? The old lawyer drew his shaggy brows together fiercely and tried again. He must do his duty fully.
“You understand, Miss Constance, that this means five thousand dollars capital, not income. It does not mean you will have five thousand a year, but only the interest on five thousand. If well invested it ought to bring you about—”
But the girl cut him short with her clear, comprehending voice that made further calculations unnecessary.
“I quite understand,” she said with a quick little catch in her breath. “We shall have but five thousand dollars in all. And now, if that is all, I think I must go, as I have an engagement in a few minutes.”
She was gone, and the lawyer looked after her half bewildered, half sad. Surely she could not comprehend the relative value or figures, or she never would have taken his news so calmly. Why, it would mean an utter change in her way of living. It meant absolute poverty after a life of luxury from her birth.
He had intended to ask some questions about her prospects and offer some aid, but she had left him no opportunity. The keen lawyer, who led juries about at his will and was apt to tell clients exactly what he pleased, had been held at a distance by this mere child with the patrician face and the costly garments.
“She’s of the old stock. Her father over again!” soliloquized the lawyer, as he sat for an idle moment reflecting after the office door closed behind her and her footsteps echoed down the corridor to the elevator. “If she’s like him through and through, nothing can down her. But there are very few women like that, and she’s a mere slip of a girl. She doesn’t understand, or else she knows where she can find plenty of money, that’s certain. I suppose perhaps she’s engaged to Morris Thayer, or as good as engaged, and that will make everything all right. He has plenty.”
He turned with relief to a knotty case that was awaiting his attention.
Constance, in her car below, felt as if everything were slowly swimming away from her and someone had her by the throat.
She started her car and threaded her way through traffic, a strange dull horror in the back of her mind. She was not Constance Wetherill anymore, she was just a poor girl with almost nothing left in the world, and her grandmother to care for, and what was she going to do about it?
She was not as calm as she had appeared to the old family lawyer, neither was she uncomprehending. She had a clear knowledge of figures, and she knew just how much money seemed an absolute necessity to keep life running comfortably, and she felt that the lawyer might as well have told her there was not a penny left as to speak of the paltry sum of five thousand dollars. She knew that it was as nothing beside the annual income that had been hers since her father died, a trifle less than ten years ago. She did not trouble her mind with raging at the poor, incompetent uncle whose ill-advised care had allowed this state of things to come about. He was in his grave, and it did not matter whether he had been simply incompetent, or whether he had been a rascal, the result was the same. The fact remained that her fortune was gone.
She looked out through the car window and tried to realize what it would be to live without a car.
Suddenly she caught sight of a familiar face coming down the avenue. Morris Thayer, her lifelong friend, and he was stopping at the curb and signaling her to stop. She drew a breath of relief. Life could not have suddenly gone blank, for here was Morris, smiling and friendly, and the sun was shining. There must be some mistake. The lawyer would discover it and telephone her tonight—or tomorrow.
Constance drew herself up smartly and resolutely shut back the thoughts that had been surging over her. At least, she was not utterly penniless yet. There was still the five thousand between her and poverty. She need not let anyone know just yet—not at least till she herself fully understood what it all meant, and knew what she was going to do. The paltry five thousand seemed suddenly a wall, a shield between herself and an unpleasant future. She would be herself for this one afternoon and forget that there were such things in the world as stocks and bonds and failures.
She leaned forward with her own charming smile and welcomed the young man. Here at least was a friend, one who had been devoted to her for years. After all, what matter did a few dollars more or less make in life?
Perhaps there was a tinge of more warmth than usual in her smile, for Constance was an independent young woman, and not given to broadcasting her misfortunes.
“Are you going to Mrs. Graham’s tea, Morrie?” she asked. “Get in then, for that’s where I’m bound.”
The young man sprang in eagerly, and they had not gone a block before the meager fortune of five thousand dollars was forgotten for the moment in eager discussion of the interests of the young group to which they both belonged.
The afternoon was lovely. Just enough snow on the ground to make the world glisten with beauty. The brown branches that arched over the avenue were touched with a feathery penciling of white that made exquisite lacework against the blue winter sky. Everything was bright and comfortable and familiar, just as it had been for years along the avenue since Constance had taken her airing as a child under the care of a smart nursemaid in the open park, or aimlessly rolled her doll carriage from day to day. There was the old church where the elite worshipped God. There were the houses of her father’s friends, their richly draped windows speaking eloquently of the luxurious life lived within, a life that had belonged to Constance ever since she could remember. It was easy to forget that there was such a thing as poverty. In the back of her mind was that strange sinking feeling that something dreadful had happened, but it gradually faded in the comfort of the moment.
Morris insisted on stopping at a florist’s shop and purchasing an enormous bunch of violets. Their fragrance fastened among her rich furs dispelled the last memory of looming trouble. Then suddenly it was recalled to her in that sharp, quick way that trouble has when it is new, and there is a sensitive victim upon which to play.
“Well, I suppose you’ve heard about the Van Orden failure,” said Morris in a comfortable tone as he related the latest delicious bit of social gossip.
Constance felt a heavy load drift down upon her heart, and a sudden tie between herself and the Van Ordens, whom she had never quite liked.
“They said the old man has gone all to pieces, had a stroke or something. Hard lines for Alice, I’ll say, she’s worked so hard to get a social footing. But it came just in time to save Harry Bishop. He thought he was marrying a great heiress.”
“What do you mean, save him?” asked Constance sharply, turning a face suddenly white toward him. “Aren’t they engaged?”
“Oh yes, engaged, I guess, but that’s not married. Harry will find an easy way out of it now, you may be sure. He’s not the kind to let anyone put anything over on him.”
If Morris Thayer had not been so altogether satisfied with himself and his surroundings, he might have noticed the sudden look of astonishment and pain that dawned in the eyes of the girl beside him, and the involuntary scorn that settled upon her lips as she turned her head away from him. That look might have given him the key to some things that happened afterward. But he did not see and talked on.
Something seemed to have gripped Constance’s soul. There came a great sinking of heart and a whirling of her head again, as when the lawyer had first told her the astonishing news of their great loss.
Morris talked on, but she did not hear a word he said, and when he finally paused, she said suddenly, “You think then, that a man has a right to desert his friends because they have lost their money?”
“Oh, not desert, of course,” said Morris lightly, “but he could scarcely be expected to marry her. The utopian days are past when such deeds were done.”
Constance turned her gaze upon him suddenly, critically, with a new understanding of the smallness of his soul. Somehow his mouth seemed to have taken new lines of weakness since last she had looked at him, and there was something about his eyes that suggested lack of principle.
“I think,” she said gravely, “that Alice Van Orden should surely be congratulated—”
“Congratulated?
Alice
congratulated? Why? I don’t quite understand,” said the young man in puzzled tones. “Why should she be congratulated?”
“That she has been saved,” said Constance freezingly.
“Oh, has she indeed?” said Morris, quite misunderstanding. “Nice thing for her. Had a private fortune of her own, did she? Good thing to have. Glad you told me. I might have said something about his escape to Harry, and it would have been awkward, you know. Well, I always thought Alice Van Orden was a nice sort of girl, though I didn’t know she was a great friend of yours.”
“You don’t understand me, Morris,” said Constance. “I mean that Alice is to be congratulated that she has escaped marrying a man who simply cared for her money. She is not an intimate friend of mine and I know nothing of her affairs, but if I were in her place, I’d be glad I’d escaped.”