CHAPTER VIII.
The Orchid Lady.
"I shall return in time for lunch." Mrs. Atterbury paused in the doorway. "You have quite enough work to keep you occupied, I imagine. Don't leave the house until I return, Betty, for you may be called to the other telephone. Welch is so stupid I dare not trust him with messages and I am expecting a rather important one from Doctor Bayard."
"I doubt if I shall be able to finish before lunch, but I'll try." Betty glanced rather ruefully at the loose assortment of letters scattered about the desk top.
"Do, please, for this afternoon I shall want you to go on an errand for me which may keep you until late. Don't tire yourself, though, my dear."
She nodded a careless farewell, and a few moments later her car whirled off down the drive.
Betty waited until its rather bizarre stripes had disappeared and then resolutely applied herself to her task. Seated there at the desk in her severely simple morning frock, with every hair in place and a serene, intent expression masking all emotion, she made a vastly different picture from that of a few hours earlier when she had crept into that very room in the darkness just before the dawn, trembling with fear of discovery yet urged on as if hypnotized by a stronger will than her own.
If her thoughts reverted to that hour and what she had accomplished therein, she gave no outward sign, but worked systematically until order resolved itself from the chaos before her, and two neatly arranged piles of envelopes marked the result of her labors.
A light knock interrupted her and before she could speak the door opened and Jack Wolvert entered, smiling in bland assumption of his welcome.
"I felt sure I should find somebody about!" he remarked. "Welch left me to cool my heels in the drawing-room, but I am not over fond of my own society. Do be charitable and give me permission to bore you a little, Miss Shaw!"
He lounged with easy grace over to her desk and rested his elbows upon its top staring boldly down into her eyes. She averted them and leaned back in her chair, an unpleasant sensation, almost of repulsion, tingling to her fingertips.
"Mrs. Atterbury will not be back until lunch time, Mr. Wolvert." Her voice was coolly impersonal. "If you care to wait until then, however, there are books here and Welch will bring you the morning papers or anything else you may require."
"But I much prefer to talk to you." The smile deepened and an impish, mocking light danced in his pale eyes. "It really is time that we became better acquainted, now that we are to see so much more of each other."
Betty gasped. She did not understand the final observation but the man's audacity disconcerted her. Instinctively disliking him from the moment of their first meeting, his appearance on the occasion of Mrs. Atterbury's dinner party had not tended to raise him in the girl's estimation. His immoderate drinking, the strange toast he had proposed like a challenge flung into the spirit world, and his reckless abandonment to whatever mood swayed him lingered disquietingly in Betty's mind, and she longed to be rid of his presence.
"I am very busy, as you see." She took up her pen suggestively. "Mrs. Atterbury will expect me to have finished with her letters——"
"Busy? By Jove, I should think you were! What an industrious little person! Our charming hostess certainly believes in Satan's influence over idle hands, and has guarded you well against him." He reached down deliberately and picked up one of the letters. "Quite distinctive, your handwriting; like your personality, it baffles by its lucidity."
Betty's quick eye had followed the action and noted the purpose beneath his studied carelessness.
"Give me that letter, please." She spoke courteously, but there was a hint of underlying firmness in her tone.
"But there is no harm." He smiled. "Surely you know that Mrs. Atterbury consults me about all her affairs. Whatever you may write for her, I may read."
"That is for Mrs. Atterbury to say," retorted Betty, flushing with resentment at the man's insolence. "I will ask her on her return. Meanwhile, her correspondence is in my charge."
Wolvert shrugged and the smile changed to a snarl which showed his long, white teeth like suddenly bared fangs, but the letter fluttered from his fingers to the desk.
"Mrs. Atterbury is to be congratulated on her choice of a secretary. Your honesty exceeds your tact, my dear young lady. You are inexperienced and in a strange position; do not handicap yourself by making enemies. A friend at court might be very useful to you, more useful than you can realize."
He had bent still lower, until his dark saturnine face was within a few inches of her own, and he spoke with calculated significance. For the first time a little shudder of fear swept over her, but she met his eyes calmly.
"I have need of no one's friendship, Mr. Wolvert, on the score of usefulness, for I ask no favors and grant none. Mrs. Atterbury is my employer and I serve her interests."
He straightened and, thrusting his hands in his pockets, strolled to the window, where he stood with his back turned to the room, whistling softly between his teeth.
Betty pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her and when he wheeled about, she was apparently absorbed once more in her work.
"I, too, am wholly at Mrs. Atterbury's service." He strode back to her side. "You must not doubt that, Miss Shaw. I like you for your loyalty, even if you are ungracious to me. Will you not give me your hand, and say that we shall be friends?"
"If you insist." Betty forced a smile. "I am sorry if I appeared ungracious, but I am really very busy. Rudeness to any friend of Mrs. Atterbury is furthest from my thoughts."
She placed her hand shrinkingly in his, and he raised it to his lips in exaggerated gallantry.
"'The friends of my friends are my friends,'" he quoted. "You will find me at your service also, Miss Shaw. I will leave you now to your labors, and see if I am sufficiently in Welch's good graces to coax a cocktail from him."
When the door had closed behind him Betty rubbed her hand resentfully as if a stain remained from contact with his lips. Her thoughts were disquieting. What if she had indeed made an enemy of him? Was the extent of his influence in the household great enough to sow seeds of suspicion against her, and render her already difficult position all but intolerable? Was a new obstacle to be added to those which even now crowded everywhere about her path?
At luncheon she learned from Mrs. Atterbury's own lips what the visitor had meant about their seeing more of each other. Both Jack Wolvert and Madame Cimmino were to be house guests for a time, the latter having temporarily closed her apartment, and Wolvert coming on the plea of quiet and seclusion in which to finish a new composition.
Betty glanced at him with fresh interest. She had frequently heard snatches of brilliantly executed melody from the music room during the evening and knew that a master hand was touching the keys, but she had never entertained the idea that it might be Wolvert.
All idle thoughts were driven from her mind, however, when at the conclusion of the meal, Mrs. Atterbury summoned her to her room. As on the occasion of her appearance at the opera, a new costume was spread out before her, this time a gown and cloak of daintiest gray, with soft silvery furs.
"My dear, I am sending you to execute another errand for me, since you were so successful with the last. This should be no more difficult than the other, and it will give you a glimpse of a new side of city life. Here are some furs and a suit of which you have been in need."
"But, Mrs. Atterbury, I really cannot accept these costly things from you," Betty stammered. "The salary you are paying me——"
"Nonsense, child! Consider them as commission for the extra work which is apart from our original understanding, and for your rare discretion. The last errand must have seemed strange to you and this one will doubtless be more of an enigma, but I can assure you that when I am free to explain it to you fully you will appreciate the reason for my reticence, as well as the necessity for putting to use all your finesse and diplomacy."
"I had no thought of prying or curiosity, Mrs. Atterbury." The girl's face flushed. "I am ready to do whatever you require, as I told you when you engaged me. Where am I to go this afternoon?"
"To the Carnival Room at the Café de Luxe. A table for two has been reserved in your name, but you will go alone, as before. You will find a tea dance in progress and presently a lady will join you at the table."
"A lady?" Betty murmured.
"Yes." Mrs. Atterbury paused, and then went on carefully. "A young lady with golden hair and very richly gowned. She has a letter to deliver to you. You will be able to identify her absolutely by the enormous bunch of purple orchids which she will wear. Please remember this carefully, Betty, for it is imperative. Should any persons approach you except the lady I describe, cut them, absolutely. If they persist, conduct yourself just as you would if accosted by any stranger and return home immediately. Do you understand quite clearly?"
"Quite, Mrs. Atterbury. When shall I be ready?"
"The car will be brought around for you at four and will wait to bring you home."
When, at the hour named, Betty descended the stairs, demure but radiant in the dovelike costume, Mrs. Atterbury intercepted her at the drawing-room door.
"Charming, my dear! But why do you wear a veil? It really spoils the whole effect and you do not need it."
"My face!" Betty seemed to shrink within herself. "The birthmark, you know. I—I find the people here look at me so strangely."
Her employer shot a keen glance at her.
"You must not permit yourself to grow self-conscious. The mark is not an absolute disfigurement, as I have told you, and even if it were, it is irremediable. You can only make yourself needlessly wretched by thinking morbidly of it." Her level tones sharpened with the note of stern authority which the girl remembered. "Remove the veil at once and do not wear it when you go on an assignment for me."
Betty's fingers trembled as she obeyed. Could Mrs. Atterbury have divined her subterfuge? When she raised her eyes, however, the other woman was smiling graciously.
"Ah! that is better. The fur brings out your color, my dear. Remember to hold no communication with anyone except the lady you are going to meet."
The Café de Luxe was the most cosmopolitan of the newer establishments which had sprung up mushroomlike throughout the theatre district of the city to meet the latest demands of an amusement-crazed public. Garishly appointed, it was as blatant in character as the clientele to whom for the most part it catered. The many mirrors and dazzling-colored lights, combined with the blare of the orchestra and the heated, heavily perfumed air, confused Betty for a moment and a sensation of faintness stole over her.
Through the parted lobby curtains she beheld a vista of crowded tables each with its mutually engrossed couple, and behind them in a roped-off square the dancers, jerking and swaying like marionettes. As she hesitated, a small, white-gloved hand was laid upon her arm and a merry voice, glad with surprise, sounded in her ears.
"Ruth! Where have you been all this while? Everyone is asking about you! Fancy meeting you here! Isn't this simply fascinating?"
Betty turned slowly. A plump, fair-haired girl with a pretty, doll-like face stood beside her. She was dressed in the extreme of fashion but valley lilies instead of orchids were clustered at her belt. Betty bestowed upon her a slow, deliberate stare of non-recognition, which the other returned in wide-eyed bewilderment which swiftly changed to confusion and dismay when her eyes encountered the birthmark. With a crimson face, she murmured a halting apology and turning, fled precipitately. Betty watched the stranger until she vanished in the congested group at the entrance door, then made her way into the restaurant.
The headwaiter bowed profoundly and with elaborate circumstance led her to a retired spot behind a cluster of palms, where covers had been laid for two. A low bowl of purple orchids graced the center of her table, but she noted that all those nearby were decorated only with daffodils in tall vases. Were the flowers meant for a sign by which her own identity was to have been disclosed to the mysterious other woman?
The waiter hovered obsequiously about and Betty ordered tea to be rid, for the moment at least, of his unwelcome attention. Her eyes mechanically swept the moving kaleidoscope of faces about her, but all seemed too preoccupied to give a passing glance to the solitary figure half-hidden behind the towering palms.
The tea, long since placed before her, grew cold untasted; the tintinabulation of the orchestra ceased, then after an interval recommenced, and still Betty sat alone. The hands she clenched beneath the tablecloth were icy, but her cheeks burned and her heart pounded suffocatingly.
How long must she wait? She had not been told the hour of this strange appointment, but Mrs. Atterbury had remarked that morning that the errand might keep her out until late. The incident of the girl with the valley lilies kept recurring to her thoughts, and as the minutes lengthened into a half-hour she felt an all but overmastering impulse to spring up and run from the chattering, inconsequent throng to the seclusion of the waiting car, even if it meant facing the unleashed fury of her employer.
All at once she became conscious that a young man had appeared beside her; a strange young man, with a clean-cut face and square shoulders beneath an irreproachably fitting coat. Betty's swift glance encompassed his general appearance, but her eyes fixed themselves upon his lapel where nodded a single orchid of a livid purple hue.
The young man bowed stiffly and without waiting for an invitation, pulled out the opposite chair and seated himself.
"So sorry to have been late, but I was unavoidably detained," he began in a loud, forced voice. Then bending swiftly across to her he added in a rapid undertone: "The lady could not come, but I am here in her place. Put your muff on the table and I will slip the packet into it."
Betty eyed him steadily.
"You have made some mistake." She spoke in a low voice with quiet distinctness. "I do not know you."
"Good heavens, don't make a scene! It is all right, I tell you! Can't you understand? The lady was unable to come in person but she sent me to deliver it to you. Look! Don't you recognize this?" He spoke with half-savage insistence and the girl noticed that beads of perspiration had started upon his brow. He touched the flower in his buttonhole, then pointed to the others in the bowl between them, but she gave no sign of comprehension.
"I do not know who you are, or what you are talking about," Betty said coldly. "I must ask you to leave my table at once."
"What sort of a game are you trying to play?" he demanded. "You are the woman I came here to find. I recognized you at once from the description—"
Betty rose.
"Wait!" The young man put out a detaining hand. "What is the good of all this bluff? I give you my word of honor that I am acting in good faith with you—"
"You must be mad!" Her eyes flashed with unfeigned resentment and indignation. "If you attempt to follow or annoy me further, sir, I shall complain to the management."
Turning, she swept from the restaurant and out to where the car awaited her at the curb, but as it rolled swiftly away, she sank back and buried her burning face among the cushions.
When the strangely pertinacious young man had declared his recognition of her, his eyes had been upon the birthmark on her cheek. This, then, was the reason for Mrs. Atterbury's peremptory command to her to remove her veil. Her very infirmity was being made to serve her employer's ends!
Betty laughed softly, bitterly, and struck her small, clenched fist against the window frame, in impotent anger. Then her head drooped upon her arm and for the first time since she had entered Mrs. Atterbury's service, she broke down utterly. Sobbing the weary, heartbreaking sobs of a forsaken child, she cowered in her corner, while street after street flitted by in the ghostly gray dusk.
At length, spent with the storm of her emotion she lay back, exhausted but calm once more. The dusk was deepening to darkness and as she watched the chain of lights twinkling past, Betty suddenly came to a realization of the flight of time. Surely she should have reached the house on the North Drive long before this! Had an hour gone by while she sat huddled there, weakly giving way to tears?—
Tears! Betty's very heart stood still for a moment in deathly fear. Then she switched on the light and seized the mirror from the leather case before her. The face which stared back at her was pale, the eyes puffed and reddened, but a dab of cosmetic and powder would conceal the ravages of her emotion from even Mrs. Atterbury's keen eyes until she could reach the haven of her own room.
The necessary articles were in her wristbag and she applied them quickly, then turned off the light once more and peered again from the window. The streets were narrow and unfamiliar, even squalid; where was she being taken?
Pressing a button, she caught up the speaking tube.
"I wished to go directly home and I cannot understand why we have not reached there. Did Mrs. Atterbury give any different instructions?"
"No, miss, only to drive back along the Western Parkway, but I find the streets are closed for repairs, and I have to go around. I'm sorry; I'll hurry, miss."
The car zig-zagged for several blocks further, then turned a corner sharply and swung into the North Drive, shooting forward with lightning speed. Betty held her breath as the car skidded between the towering entrance gates and she drew a deep sigh of relief when it swooped under theporte-cochèreand came to a jarring halt before the lighted doorway.
Mrs. Atterbury was awaiting her and drew her into the library.
"What has happened?" Her tone was low but vibrating as if she spoke with bated breath. "The lady did not appear?"
Betty shook her head.
"A man came instead. He wore an orchid boutonniere, and he tried to make me listen to him. He had your letter with him, and wanted to put it in my muff but I pretended not to understand, but to be insulted at his daring to address me. He would not go, so I left him."
She described her experience of the afternoon in detail, omitting only to mention the girl who had accosted her in the lobby, and Mrs. Atterbury heard her without interruption to the end, then placing her hand beneath the girl's chin, she lifted her face to the light.
"You have been crying, my child. Is there something which you have not told me?"
Betty was thankful for the burning blush which swept to her brow.
"I did cry a little, in the car coming home," she admitted. "It was silly of me, I know, but the man frightened me, he was so persistent, and rather fierce. I'm very sorry I failed, Mrs. Atterbury."
"'Failed!' My dear, you have succeeded! You carried out my instructions to the letter, and no one could ask more. I regret that you were annoyed, but the gentleman who came to meet you did not himself understand the situation. I can promise you that you will not have that sort of thing to contend with another time." Mrs. Atterbury's black eyes flashed ominously, but they softened when they rested again upon the girl's face. "Now run and dress, Betty, for we dine very shortly. And remember, child, that I am very well pleased with what you have done, and I shall not forget it."
Betty's heart was heavy, nevertheless, as she obeyed. The adventure at the opera had brought a thrill of excitement and she had given little thought to its possible consequences, but the afternoon through which she had just passed brought a swift revulsion of feeling and she tore off the costly furs as if they stifled her. She was filled with loathing of her task and its instigators and a growing dread of the future. Why was she singled out to be the bearer of these mysterious missives? She had been prepared to carry out the agreement under which she had been engaged, but she shrank from the role of confidential messenger and hoped fervently that she would not soon again be called upon to play it.
The hope was vain, however, for on the following afternoon she found herself again in the car and speeding toward the lower part of town. Her destination on this occasion was not the garish Café de Luxe, but the old Hotel Rochefoucauld on Jefferson Square, whose conservative roof sheltered now only the elect of an older regime, which still clung to the aristocratic purlieus of a bygone generation.
"But if the lady with the orchids does not come this time," Betty had faltered to her employer, when she received her parting instructions, "if the man who met me yesterday appears again, what shall I say to him?"
"He will not, never fear." Mrs. Atterbury had smiled, but the cold light glinted in her eyes once more. "The lady will be there herself, and you need exchange no words with her; just take my letter from her hands and bring it to me."
Betty made her way down the wide, dim corridor of the ancient hostelry to the writing-room to which she had been directed. The heavy velvet curtains at the windows almost wholly obscured the light and she fancied at first that the room was deserted, but as her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she descried a small figure half-hidden in a huge leather chair.
As she approached it, she was conscious only of a heap of soft, brown fur with a deep purple blur of orchids nestling in it, but she halted abruptly a few feet away. The other rose slowly and for a moment the two young women stared at each other.
It was the girl of the art shop! The blonde, fairy-like creature who had regarded her with such evident repulsion and fear! Betty stood rigid with amazement and then the truth came to her in a flash of understanding.
The purchase of the mirror was a mere subterfuge to get her to the shop at a certain hour, where this other woman had doubtless been directed to note her appearance for future recognition. She remembered how the stranger's eyes had lingered on her birthmark, which she evidently described to the man who had attempted to take her place on the previous day. Every action, no matter how trivial, which was suggested by Mrs. Atterbury must be a part of some deep-laid, far-reaching plan.
The same look of fear was intensified now in the eyes fastened upon her and a tiny gloved hand was extended as if to ward off a blow.
"I couldn't come yesterday, for I was really ill." The stranger spoke in a low, fluttering voice. "I sent him, I played fair, why would you not deal with him? Here is what you have come for; take it, and let me go!"
She drew from her breast a long, sealed, blank envelope and held it out, but Betty's fingers had not closed upon it before the other's touch was withdrawn as though contaminated. She glided quickly to the door, but paused upon its threshold and turned, her golden head erect.
"Remember!" she cried, her flute-like tones suddenly shrill. "Tell those who sent you that I shall have nothing more to do with this affair. If a further attempt is made to drag me into it I shall kill myself. I will accept no more commands, expose myself to no future danger. I am almost mad now, but I shall have enough sanity left to take myself beyond your reach. I have kept my wretched compact; see to it that you keep yours."
The doorway was empty, but a faint elusive perfume lingered in the air, and upon the floor at Betty's feet lay a crushed and trampled orchid, its livid petals outspread like the wings of some wounded tropic bird.
Betty stood staring down at it for a moment, then abruptly thrusting the envelope into her muff, she turned and made her way to the street.