The Tryst. Grace Livingston Hill
but he was very severe, as usual, said it wasn't possible, of course, talked a lot about her being young and needing the protection of being here, reminded me of the conditions on which we occupy this house - it really was most unfortunate that I mentioned it, for it put him in such a mood that I didn't dare say anything about your trousseau - and the time was so short, you know - only a few minutes really in all!”
Then Evelyn raged in:
“It's simply unendurable, and I can't see why you couldn't have done something about it before it was too late!”
“If I had known he was going to sail so soon ——”
The mother's voice was almost pleading.
“It doesn't make any difference. You should have done something long ago. It's simply not to be thought of that I shall sit quietly and be cut out by that little pink-cheeked, baby-eyed kid. You can at least see that she doesn't get all that money to dress with, anyway. It ought to be mine. It takes a lot to dress me right, and you know it. I simply have to have the things that become me. I can't put on anything the way she can and look perfectly stunning. I wonder where she got the knack, anyway. They don't teach that at college. The sly little cat, she just intends to show me that she can get any man she wants, but she shan't take away the only one I ever really loved, not if I have to kill her! Oh, you needn't look so shocked. It won't be necessary. I'll find a way to get rid of her! – Mother – Did she never suspect that she wasn't ——!”
“Hush!” hissed the mother. "Shut that door, Quick! Mercy! I didn't know it was open! If a servant should happen to hear! How many times have I warned you ——!”
The slamming door shut off further words and left Patricia standing stricken in the pool of skylight on the stairs. Her delicate face white as carven marble seemed to have suddenly turned to stone. Her small gloved hands were pressed against her breast and her breath was suspended in the horror of the moment. The power of motion seemed to be gone, and her impulse was to sink down right there on the stairs and give way to the numbness that was creeping over her. Her strength had left her like water falling through sudden apertures. Her eyes were fixed in a blank stare of unbelief on the closed door just below her, and she seemed to have lost the power to think, to analyze, to take in what she had heard. It was as if unexpectedly a great rock had struck her in the face and stunned her.
Then below on the first floor a door opened and steps came up the first flight, steps and a broom trailing over the hard wood. The blood returned violently to its function, and Patty's feet were given wings. She turned and sped up the few stairs and into her own room as softly as a bird might have one, locked the door and dropped limply to the edge of her bed, staring around her room with its familiar objects as if to assure herself that she was really alive and the world was going on as usual.
She tried to rehearse to herself the dialogue she had heard on the stairs and to make out what it could possibly mean. Always had she known there was a barrier between herself and her mother, and of late she had suspected it extended to her sister also, but never had she thought it anything serious like this. Once when she was a little girl she remembered asking her father why her mother was not more “mothery,'' and he had smiled – smiled with a sigh she remembered now – and said that it was just her undemonstrative nature, that she must not think because the mother did not kiss and fondle her that she was not loved; and she had always treasured that and tried to be satisfied with the cold formalities that had passed between them. But now – this – and Evelyn, too! It was beyond grasping! The only thing that seemed clear to her bewildered, hurt soul was that she must get away. Evelyn hated her and thought her trying to get away her lover. The only way to prove to her sister that this was not true was to go away and show them that she did not want any such thing. And she must go at once, quickly, before any one saw her.
Afterwards she could think what to do. Perhaps she could write to them and explain. She would have to think it out. But now she must get away.
She arose cautiously and gave a wild glance around the room. Her pretty patent leather suitcase lay open on the window-seat half packed for a weekend house-party to which she and Evelyn had been invited. They were to have gone that afternoon. Now with a pang she realized that all the pleasant anticipations were impossible. She could never go and meet the friendly faces and know all the time that her own life was broken, degraded, unloved.
She caught up a few things that lay scattered about the room, tiptoeing about with no lighter tread than a butterfly would have made, and giving about as little heed to her packing. Anything that came in her way went in, and without much ceremony of folding. When it was full she shut it and hurried to the door. Her handsome silk umbrella lolled across a chair and she snatched that and went softly down the hall toward the back stairs, cautiously working her way to the second, and then to the first floor, pausing to listen when she heard a servant coming, lest anyone should see her. She let herself out of the servants' side entrance and walked swiftly down the side street, turned the corner for a block and then took another side street, putting herself as quickly as possible out of her own familiar neighborhood, and reflecting that it was fortunate that she had been home so short a time that she would not be recognized by many, nor her absence seem noticeably startling. She could just slip away and leave the home and the whole field to Evelyn and they could say she was away and nobody would think anything about it. There would be no shame or disgrace for her father to face when he returned. She felt like a little mouse that had suddenly been dropped from a great height, so hurt and stunned that all she could do was to scuttle away and hide under a dark wall. That was what she wanted now, a dark place to hide, where she might close her eyes and sob out the hurt and perhaps by and by think out the meaning of this terrible thing that had come to her.
Her own frank nature would have prompted her to go straight to her mother and sister and have a thorough explanation, perhaps be able to convince them that she had no such sinister designs as they were attributing to her, and that all she wanted was their love and a closer understanding. But there had been something so final, so irrevocable in the shock she had received that it seemed that there could be no mending, no possible explanation. There was nothing to do but get away as quietly and quickly as possible.
The crisp, clear air brought back a faint color into Patricia's cheeks, and took away a little of the bewilderment. She was able to summon a passing taxi and give directions to the station but during the short drive she sat as one stunned, and could not seem to think her way ahead of her.
At the station she paid her fare and allowed a porter to carry her suitcase.
"N’York train, Miss?” he asked quite casually in the manner of his knowing kind.
"Why – yes,” said Patricia with a sudden decision, New York, of course. The idea was good. That was far enough away, and no one would ever think of looking for her there. She had never been to New York, but what did that matter? She could think all the better in a strange place.
"Got your tickets, Miss?” asked the porter as they neared the train gate.
"Oh! No!” gasped Patricia still looking bewildered. She was just wondering why Evelyn had thought she wanted Hal Barron for her own exclusive property, and the matter of tickets seemed so trivial.
"Better step to the window and get them, Miss. There ain't so much time. Right this way.”
"Oh!” gasped Patricia, following him blindly through the crowd and bringing up at the window where three were already in line ahead of her.
“Got your ’commodations, Miss?” asked the porter eying her paternally, and deciding she needed protection.
“Why – no –not yet!” She drew her breath in a little quick flutter. There were so many things to be thought of, and she was going away into strange scenes with no one who cared - oh, her father! He had always protected her so carefully! What would he think? But her father! “What – how could it all be reconciled anyway?”
“Pretty late, Miss! 'Fraid you won't fare very well. Like me to see if there's anything left?”
“Oh, yes, please!” she answered gratefully, and moved up to the window as the last of the line moved