Читать книгу: «Talbot's Angles», страница 10

"The records will have to be searched, of course, and we can find out who has been paying taxes and all that, you understand. I don't know that I shall have time to attend to it myself; I am pretty busy just now."

"That is too bad; I depended on you, Matthews."

"I know you did, but – "

Wyatt Jeffreys leaned forward. "Is it only because you are busy? Is that the only reason?"

Berkley did not answer at once; then he parried the question.

"What other reason could there be?"

"Your interest in Miss Talbot. I realize, Matthews, that I have come down here a perfect stranger to deprive a very lovely young woman of her property, and that you should in all reason feel antagonistic is not to be wondered at. I think you have known for some time that it was her property that I claimed."

"I have known it only since I made a closer examination of these papers."

"Very well; that does not alter the fact that you have been uniformly kind and considerate so far as I was concerned, and therefore I feel that I can speak as man to man." He paused. "Unless you have a prior claim, there is no need of Miss Talbot's losing her property if – "

"She will take you with it," Berkley filled the pause. "I understand." The crucial moment had come. Berkley suddenly swung his chair around, his face, turned from the other, was white and set, but he said steadily, "That would certainly be the best way out of the difficulty. I have no prior claim, Jeffreys, and I wish you success." He swung himself back again and held out his hand.

The other took it in a firm grip. "That is good of you, Matthews. I appreciate your kindness more than I can say." There was silence, broken by Mr. Jeffreys, who went on: "If it is only the matter of delay then, Matthews, I can wait your good pleasure, if you will take up my case."

Berkley gave himself time before he answered. Why shouldn't he take the case? What odds, now, what Linda thought? He had relinquished all rights to her consideration. If he did not hunt up the evidence, someone else would, and she be no better off. If he must disregard her, he could at least be true to Jeffreys. "I'll not go back on my word. I'll take it," he said shortly.

"I've kept a busy man too long," said Jeffreys rising, "but I hope some day I can show my appreciation of what you are doing for me, in more ways than one," he added with a smile. He held out his hand. Berkley took it mechanically, saying, "Good-night."

"Good-evening," returned Mr. Jeffreys, and he went out.

It was not late, though growing dark, but to Berkley it had become darkest night. Never, till that moment, had he realized how strong a hold upon him his affection for Linda had taken. She was so sweet, so gentle, one whose presence always brought calm and peace, yet she could be very droll and merry, very bright and entertaining, with a blessed grace of humor. With all her poetic fancy there was the domestic side, too, which had made her the successful housekeeper when yet but a school girl. And how dainty she always was, how womanly her little frills and simple ornaments. Even the way her dark hair grew around her pretty low forehead, and was worn parted above it, made her distinctive from other girls, whose monstrous puffs and braids gave them a top-heavy look. What a woman for a man to come home to after a day of stress. She, who had striven for her daily bread, how well she would understand what a man's battle of life meant. His first impulse was to throw everything to the winds, to snatch up his hat and rush off to her, beg her to listen to him, tell her he would work for her, live for her, die for her. He stood for a moment, trembling with intensity of feeling, then he sat heavily down again. "I can't do it," he whispered. "I must think of her, of what is best for her."

Moments passed. The street lamps shone out, footsteps echoed and reëchoed. Some boys went by singing. In the darkness Berkley sat very quietly, only once in a while he whispered, "Oh, God! oh, God!" as one who has found his Gethsemane. The hours wore on, the street grew very quiet, the rumbling of wagons, the tread of passers-by ceased. Lights in the lower stories of the houses began to be extinguished, while those above showed in first one room and then another. Berkley finally arose, stumbled uncertainly across the street and up to his room, where he threw himself across his bed, face down, and lay there all night wrestling with himself.

CHAPTER XVI
"BEGONE, DULL CARE"

The days slipped by till the Christmas holidays were at hand. Linda was busy with her school. Miss Ri occupied herself with the hundred things which kept her interests alive. Her clubs, church meetings, visits to sick neighbors, public and private charities, all filled her days to overflowing. Mr. Jeffreys called regularly, so it came to be an understood thing that he would appear either afternoon or evening. Berkley visited the house seldom, and rarely when Linda was at home. He would run in once in a while, asserting that he was too busy to stay and had only dropped in to say "Howdy." He would question Miss Ri about her affairs, but before she could turn her queries upon him, he would be off. After that one bitter fight, he had himself well in hand, and the fact that he worked far into the night and was fast gaining a reputation for industry and exactness, not only bore out his statements, but caused him to stand well with the older lawyers.

"That's a young man who will make his mark," said Judge Baker to Miss Ri one morning when he met her on the street – Berkley had just passed them with a swift bow – "though I am afraid he is working too hard."

"I'll have to haul him over the coals," returned Miss Ri. "You know he is a great favorite of mine, Judge."

"So I have observed. Give him a little motherly advice, Miss Ri. He needs it. He mustn't be burning the candle at both ends; but I prophecy, that if he continues to exhibit the keenness and skill he is developing, he will be judge some day."

The words returned to Miss Ri as she walked down street, and her thoughts went back to the trunk and then to the papers. There had been no news from Judge Goldsborough, and there appeared to be an absolute lull. Mr. Jeffreys had announced that Berkley was going to take up the case as soon as he had time, and so it stood.

If Linda missed Berkley, she did not say so, and never commented upon his sins of omission. She accepted Mr. Jeffreys' constant attention as a matter of course, was chagrined only when he refused to tell her about his claim, for he always set aside the question with, "We cannot tell definitely as yet."

"He is such a cautious, deliberate person," complained the girl one day to Miss Ri. "I wish he would show a little more spontaneity."

"I thought you admired his beautiful dignity and reserve."

"Oh, I do; except when I want my curiosity satisfied," laughed Linda. "I don't doubt but that he says what he really means, which is more than can be believed of some persons I know."

Miss Ri gave her a sharp, quick look, but made no comment. Her crochet needle moved swiftly in and out the meshes of white wool she held. "Verlinda," she said presently, "how would you like to go up to the city for your holiday? I invite you as my guest. We can get someone to stay here in the house to keep Phebe satisfied, and we'll have a real rollicking time going to the theatre, shopping, seeing our friends, and giddy-gadding generally. What do you say to it?"

"Oh, Aunt Ri, it would be perfectly delightful, but – "

"But what?"

"Won't it be very expensive?"

"It won't be too expensive. I've just had a dividend I didn't expect, and I can't think of a pleasanter way of spending it. I hate to go poking around by myself, and I don't know anyone whom it would be more real joy to have with me."

"Not Miss Parthy?"

"Oh, Parthy's an old stick when it comes to the city. She isn't young enough," Miss Ri laughed comfortably.

Linda sat bending over an embroidered piece she was doing for Grace's Christmas. There was a reminiscent look on her face. This would be her first Christmas since Martin died. It would be hard not to spend the day as usual in the old home, and harder still not to hear the voice of him who had always made Christmas a happy day for her. Yet, after all, it would be less lonely with Miss Ri, for had not the dear woman made this a true home for her? It was like her to plan this outing, that the girl might not yearn too deeply for past joys. There would not be the old church to decorate, as in the years gone by, but on Christmas Eve she could take wreaths to the churchyard. Her thoughts were far away when Miss Ri's voice roused her.

"Well, shall we go?"

"If you really think you would enjoy having me," answered Linda, coming back to the present. "I think you are a darling to ask me."

"Of course I'd enjoy having you. We can have our Christmas here – Phebe would be broken-hearted if we didn't allow her to cook our Christmas dinner – and then we'll pack up our duds and go. I don't know that I can take you to any big functions, but we can have a mighty good time, I truly believe. We ought to have someone to dine with us on Christmas Day to make it more festive. I'd ask Berk, but he wouldn't miss spending the day with his mother for worlds. We might have Parthy and Mr. Jeffreys. Parthy hasn't any too good a woman in the kitchen, and it would suit all around; give her a rest and please the cook."

So it was arranged, and Linda looked forward quite joyously to the ten days in the city. Never before had such a treat been hers; a few days at a time had been the utmost of her stay. She had gone to her brother's wedding, a showy affair in which she had little heart, and had several times remained with a friend over Sunday, but this was a very different affair.

Phebe, on being consulted as to whom she would prefer to look after while the two were absent, gave an unqualified vote for Mr. Berk. "He so jokey, Miss Ri," she said, "an' he do look at my wittles lak he can't wait. Den he a gem'man. I laks to wait on a rale gem'man, one o' de ole fambly kin'. Mr. Jeffs he a gem'man, too, I specs, but he don' know nuffin how to talk to us niggers. He so solemn, lak ole owl, or fo' all de worl' lak a preacher. He tas'es dis an' he tas'es dat lak he dunno whe'r he gwine lak it or no. Mr. Berk he shake he haid an' say, 'Um-um, dat sholy look good.' Mr. Jeffs ack lak he feard somebody think he enjyin' hisse'f, but Mr. Berk thes pitch in an enjy hisse'f 'thout carin' what anybody think."

Miss Ri laughed and, upon the occasion of her next walk down town, stopped at Berk's office to ask if he would take possession and sleep nights at her house during the holidays. He responded with alacrity, promising to behave himself, but begging that he might be allowed to take his meals at the hotel.

"And disappoint Phebe? Never!" cried Miss Ri. "She is counting upon feeding you up. I told her you were getting thin and pale because they didn't give you enough to eat at the Jackson House, and she is fairly aching to provide for you. She will have to cook for herself, and why not for you? Besides, you are her choice of the whole townful, so you should feel flattered."

"I do," returned Berkley, "and very grateful to both you and her. I'll come, Miss Ri. When do you start?"

"The day after Christmas. You'll be back by then?"

"Oh, yes, I'll be back. I shall go to town only for the day, and must be here for various reasons as soon as practicable."

"Then that is settled. Merry Christmas, Berk. I wish you could dine with us, but I know your mother's mind, and I wouldn't even suggest such a thing."

Miss Ri's box of books provided several gifts for outsiders, but for Linda was a special gift obtained, a fine soft evening cloak, something she did not possess, and which she would need during her holiday visit. From the new cousin came a handsome set of books and a box of flowers, the latter for both ladies. A very ornate, wholly impossible scarf of coarse texture arrived from Grace for her sister-in-law.

"It just looks like her," commented Miss Ri. "You can always tell underbred people by the presents they give. No lady would look twice at a thing like that. Why didn't she send you one plain fine handkerchief, if she didn't want to spend her money for something handsome? It would at least have shown some refined taste."

"I don't believe she knows any better," returned Linda, by way of excuse.

"Exactly," replied Miss Ri.

From Berk came merely an unostentatious little card for Linda, though for Miss Ri arrived a fine potted plant. "I'll allow you to look at it," remarked the recipient with a little laugh.

Not even a card found its way from Linda to Berkley, though in her upper drawer lay a half-finished blue silk tie. She had stopped working on it long before.

Mr. Jeffreys saw them off on a cold twenty-sixth of December. That same evening Berkley arrived to take possession of the room Miss Ri had told Phebe to make ready for him. Phebe, with her head tied up in a new kerchief, and with an immaculate expanse of white apron, was ready to receive him, to show him upstairs and to wait upon him hand and foot. She adored Linda, had great respect for Miss Ri, but "a rale young gem'man" awakened all the love of service within her, and if he had done the justice she expected to the meal she served, he would probably have died of indigestion that very night, and the close of this chapter would mark the end of this tale. However, whether from lack of appetite or for other reasons, he ate with discretion, and then retired to the sitting-room, where he worked over a budget of papers till near midnight. With candle in hand, he then went upstairs. As he passed through the upper hall he perceived the door of a room open. He tip-toed up to it, stood for a moment on the sill, then entered softly and with the expression of one approaching a sanctuary. Phebe had removed all suggestion of disorder, but she could not remove the subtle reminders of a girlish presence, which were suggested by the pictures on the wall, the books on the table, by the little slippers peeping from under the foot of the lounge. An end of ribbon fluttered out from behind the door of the small wash-closet, which stood partly open. Berkley gently lifted the satiny end and laid it against his cheek, then to his lips. After this, he tip-toed out again, closing the door softly behind him. He had this once entered a holy of holies, but he must not be tempted again.

Meanwhile Miss Ri and Linda were settled at their hotel and were making plans for the next day.

"I suppose I must go to see Grace," remarked Linda.

"Oh, not right away," was Miss Ri's reply. "Wait till the memory of that scarf becomes a little more vague, then you will be able to thank her for it with some similitude of warmth. In the case of that gift, it is one of the instances when 'absence makes the heart grow fonder.' No, I have planned what we are to do to-morrow. In the morning we will go shopping; in the afternoon we will stay at home and receive calls; in the evening we will go to the theatre."

"Oh, but, Aunt Ri, I haven't been going anywhere."

"High time you did. I don't want you to do anything that might distress you, Verlinda, but I think a good play or two will do you a world of good. We will look at the paper and see what is going on. We must hear some good music. Perhaps there are to be some good concerts at the Peabody; we will find out. I don't believe in persons making a selfish indulgence of a sorrow. I am sure no one more than Martin would like you to have a pleasant, cheerful time. You need it, and we ought to do what is best for us."

"Very well," Linda acquiesced. "I am in your hands, Aunt Ri. I will do as you say."

Miss Ri looked pleased. "That is what I do like about you, Verlinda; you are always so sweetly reasonable. Come, let's go down to supper."

It was rather a pleasant sensation to be one of the company which occupied the dining-room, and Linda enjoyed looking about her quite as much as she did the partaking of the excellent meal. They had just finished, when suddenly she caught sight of a party at one of the tables across the room. "Aunt Ri, Aunt Ri," she said, turning toward her companion. "Who do you think is over there, just across from us, a little to your rear? You'll have to turn your head – the Goldsboroughs. Mrs. Goldsborough, the governess, the two little girls, and an older one. She must be the débutante."

Miss Ri turned her head, but by this time the little girls had caught sight of them and were smiling and nodding. "They've evidently come up for the holidays," said Miss Ri. "That Miss Carroll is quite a pretty girl, isn't she?"

"Yes, I thought so when we met her the other day at 'Mary's Delight,' It was nice of them to bring her, wasn't it? She told me that she was very happy with the Goldsboroughs, that the children were dears, and that she was quite like a daughter in the house."

"Julia would make her feel so. She is one of the kindest-hearted women in the world, and not the least of a snob. They are coming over to speak to us."

The two groups met half way, and walked to the reception room together. Freddy, the eldest daughter, was bound for a theatre party and must hurry away. "She was named Fredericka, for her grandfather," Mrs. Goldsborough explained. The other little girls, Julia and Mary, sat one each side of Linda, on the sofa; Miss Carroll drew up a stool opposite, while Mrs. Goldsborough and Miss Ri settled themselves further away for a good talk.

There were ever so many things going on in the city, the girls told Linda. One of their cousins was to have a tea, another had asked them to a box party, a third to a small dance. "We won't be out for two or three years yet," said Mary; "but we shall have just as good a time as Fred, if she is a débutante." Then there was much talk of this and that one who had come out that season; of Fred's engagements and the attention she was having, the twittering chat which young girls like. Miss Carroll smiled indulgently at the little chatterers, but once or twice gave Linda a look, as much as to say, "We know what it is worth." However, Linda enjoyed this glimpse into a frivolous world and went upstairs with Miss Ri without a thought to sadden her.

There was a morning's shopping, luncheon at a quaint little place on Charles Street, a return to the hotel, an afternoon with the friends who had been notified of their arrival and who called promptly, then the theatre, and Linda's first day in the city was so full that she dropped to sleep with never a thought of Sandbridge and the friends there who might be missing her.

The next day Miss Ri reluctantly consented to a call on Grace. The house where the Johnsons lived was in a new, rather than a fashionable part of the city. The room into which the maid showed them was pretentiously furnished, crowded with ornaments, ugly though expensive, the walls lined with poor pictures in gaudy frames. Money value, rather than good taste, was the keynote of the establishment, it was easily seen.

After keeping them waiting for some time, Grace swept in wearing a new gown tinkling with jets and redolent with sachet. She made many apologies for having kept them waiting. "Such a surprise. So sorry I couldn't have known." She had been up so late the night before, and the rest of it. Were they up for a shopping expedition? There were so many good bargains after the holidays.

She lifted her eyebrows and viewed Linda with surprise when told why they had come, where they were staying, and how long they intended to remain. She could not quite understand why Miss Ri should have invited anyone so uninteresting as she conceived her sister-in-law to be. Yet she did not voice her opinion, but only said gushingly, "Oh, then you'll be able to meet the dear Major. I do so want you to know him, Miss Hill, and you, too, Linda. Of course, the engagement cannot be announced except to the family, but he has given me the dearest ring, which I do not wear in public, naturally." She stretched out her plump hand and displayed the solitaire with much satisfaction.

There was some talk upon trifling matters, then Grace, turning to Linda, said, "Oh, by the way, what about that Mr. Jeffreys? I had a note from Mr. Matthews a few days ago, and he tells me there is a claimant for Talbot's Angles, and that he is going to law about it. Mr. Matthews asked me if I knew of any old papers which might be in the house down there. I told him Mr. Phillips had the key and he would go with him to see what could be found. It would be sad, would it not, Miss Hill, if, after my effort to do what would seem best for Linda, the property should pass into other hands?"

"Talbot's Angles? Are you sure it is Talbot's Angles?" asked Linda. "We have always thought it must be Addition, or even Timber Neck."

"No, I am quite sure it is the Angles. Of course, that is the most valuable of the three places now, though the Major says none of them are worth so very much; but then he has such large ideas. The amount at which we value the place would be a mere bagatelle to him."

The call was short. Miss Ri could not stand much of Grace, but they were urged to come soon again and to come in the evening, when the dear Major would be there. Grace was invited to have tea with the two at their hotel, an invitation which she accepted eagerly, and then the callers left.

"Aunt Ri," began Linda as soon as they had turned from the house, "did you dream it was Talbot's Angles?"

"Why, yes, dear; I half suspected it all the time."

"Why?"

"From the way those two, Berk and Mr. Jeffreys, acted."

"And that is why you wanted to consult Judge Goldsborough?"

"Yes, that was why."

"But he says there is not a shred of proof."

"He said so at first. Later, he was not so sure but there might be complications."

"I understand." Linda was silent for some time; then she spoke again, following out her thoughts: "Aunt Ri, do you think that is why Berk has avoided me? Do you think he has known all this time?"

Miss Ri hesitated before she made answer. "It may be that, Verlinda."

Linda gave a little sigh. "I am sorry he had to feel that way about it. I wouldn't have blamed him, for he was not to blame, was he? He couldn't help it."

"Not unless he chose to be disloyal to Mr. Jeffreys and dishonorable altogether."

"And that he could never be. We know that, don't we, Aunt Ri? Shall we see his sister and mother, do you think?"

"I am sure we shall. I wrote to Mrs. Matthews that we were coming."

No more was said on the subject just then; but, in thinking it over in the seclusion of her room, it dawned upon Miss Ri that Linda was much more concerned for Berkley's part in the transaction than in her own loss of the property. "Well," she exclaimed, sitting down to face the situation, "this is a revelation. How on earth is it going to end now, I'd like to know."