CHAPTER XXITHE STORM CENTER
Madame Yvonett, knitting industriously as she sat in the bow window of her small parlor, watched a smart victoria drive up to the curb and stop before her door. There was no one in the carriage, and thinking the coachman had made a mistake in the number of the house, she was about to ring for Minerva when that dusky maid-of-all-work appeared in the doorway, dressed in hat and coat.
“’Scuse me, madam,” she said respectfully. “Hab Miss Rebekah come in?”
“Not yet,” Minerva’s face fell; she had received strict orders from Marjorie never to leave Madame Yvonett alone in the house. “I am expecting her to return at any moment. Does thee wish to go out?”
“Yass’m; Miss Rebekah done tole me she’d be back by three, so’s I could go to George Henry’s funeral at fo’ o’clock.”
Madame Yvonett glanced at the clock; the hands pointed to twenty minutes past three. “Don’t wait any longer,” she directed kindly. “I will watch for Miss Rebekah and let her in when she comes.”
Minerva wavered between desire and her sense of responsibility.
“I done locked de kitchen do’, an’ all de winders in de basement,” she volunteered hopefully. “Miss Rebekah kain’t be much longer.”
“Thee must not wait,” and Madame Yvonett’s tone of decision removed Minerva’s doubts. “I have the telephone if I require aid. On thy way out, Minerva, tell the coachman he is stopping at the wrong house.”
“No, madam, he ain’t,” protested Minerva hastily. “George Henry b’longed ter my burial sassiety, an’ dey sent a kerrage ter take me ter de funeral.”
“A victoria, Minerva?” Madame Yvonett’s astonishment keyed her voice to a higher pitch.
“Yass’m.” Minerva’s smile of satisfaction showed every tooth in her head. “De burial committee axed me what I done want, an’ I tole dem I wished one ob dem ‘lay backs.’ I’se allus hoped ter ride in one like white folks; ye see, poverty ain’t no disgrace, but it’s mighty onconvenient. I’ll be hyar in time ter get supper, madam.” And she departed hastily, fearing Madame Yvonett might change her mind and insist on her staying until Miss Rebekah Graves returned.
Madame Yvonett chuckled softly to herself as she watched Minerva enter the victoria and drive off in state. The victoria, with its triumphant occupant, had hardly turned into K Street, before Madame Yvonett descried Miss Rebekah Graves trudging across Franklin Park, intent on taking the shortestcut home. The Quakeress was at the front door to meet her when she reached the steps.
“Do not trouble to go to thy room to remove thy wraps, Becky,” she said. “Take them off here, and come into the parlor, it is the warmest room in the house. Thee must be cold,” eyeing the pinched lips and red nose of the spinster with much sympathy.
Miss Rebekah sniffed as she inspected the narrow confines of the small hall, and compromised the matter by walking into the dining-room and leaving her hat and coat there. On entering the parlor she found Madame Yvonett had resumed her knitting, and she paused a moment to smooth back several gray locks in the severe style which she affected to dress her hair.
“Did thee find affairs satisfactory at the Home?” questioned Madame Yvonett.
“I did not,” seating herself near Madame Yvonett. “Two girls whom the matron rescued, have returned to their wicked ways.”
“If thee made virtue less detestable, Becky, thee would have more true converts.”
“You are entirely too lax in your views,” retorted Miss Rebekah, nettled by her cousin’s criticism. “I warned you years ago that evil would come if you indulged Marjorie too much.”
“Thee did thy best to warn me, Becky,” admitted the Quakeress, taking no pains to conceal her amusement. “I give thee credit for plain speaking.”
“I fear your reward will be less.” Miss Rebekah’s temper had been sorely tried by the long ride in thecold wind, and like many another she ached to vent her ill-humor on some one. “Marjorie has fallen from the path of rectitude and honor.”
“Rebekah!” Madame’s steel knitting needles were not as bright as the flash in her eyes as she regarded the irate spinster. “Take heed to what thee says; my patience is small this afternoon.”
“I mean exactly what I say. Did Marjorie tell you she was discharged by Admiral Lawrence?”
The Quakeress laid down her needles. “No.”
“Ah, I thought she would not dare.”
“Explain thyself, Rebekah.”
“I met Admiral Lawrence this morning; he asked me to acquaint you with the fact that he discharged Marjorie for stealing”—Madame Yvonett’s hand sought her heart as if to still its sudden throb, and her face went gray—“for stealing a codicil to his wife’s will in which Mrs. Lawrence disinherited Chichester Barnard,” finished Miss Rebekah, her small triumph blinding her to the agony she had inflicted on her aged kinswoman. Had not Marjorie’s “going wrong” fulfilled her prophecy? She had always been jealous of Madame Yvonett’s affection for her greatniece, and had treasured each careless action and thoughtless word Marjorie had been guilty of to her, the better to nurse her spite against the young girl. But Admiral Lawrence, in asking her to break the news of the codicil’s loss, his suspicions, and proposed legal action to Madame Yvonett, had placed a double-edged sword in her hand. Ever ready to believe evil of her fellowmen and women,the spinster never doubted that Madame Yvonett would instantly credit Admiral Lawrence’s charge against Marjorie.
“Thee is mad; quite mad!” gasped the Quakeress, as soon as she recovered her breath. “I am surprised thee dares to come to me with such lies!”
“Lies? Do you doubt Admiral Lawrence’s word?” Miss Rebekah’s eyes were round with wonder.
“Of course I doubt it. Does thee think for one moment I would believe ill of my Marjorie?” Her fine voice trembled with passionate intentness. “Thee is madder than I first supposed, Rebekah.” The spinster quailed before her scorn. “Answer the front door, the bell has been ringing for some moments; then thee can go to thy room and pack thy trunk.”
Confused by the way her news had been received, the spinster backed hastily out of the room, tears streaming down her face. But Madame Yvonett did not weep; the wound her cousin had inflicted was too deep to be healed so easily. With tightly compressed lips and flashing eyes she sat straight in her high back chair, listening to a spirited argument that was taking place in the hall. Suddenly the portières parted and a handsome young woman, dressed in the extreme of fashion, stepped into the room, followed by the protesting spinster.
“Are you Madame Yvonett?” she inquired of the Quakeress. “I am Miss Calhoun-Cooper. I called to see your niece, Marjorie Langdon. This person”—indicatingMiss Rebekah with a rude tilt of her head, “informs me she is not here.” The spinster’s face was a study as she glared at Pauline.
“Thee has been told the truth,” answered the Quakeress, inspecting her visitor with interest. “My niece is not here.”
“Ah, it’s as I suspected; she’s made a quick get-away!” exclaimed Pauline.
“Thy manners leave much to be desired, and thy speech more so,” replied Madame Yvonett with gentle dignity. “If thee will express thyself in correct English, I may be able to understand thee and answer thy remark.”
“Indeed?” sneered Pauline, her desire to hurt stirred by the merited rebuke. “Then, in plain English—your niece is a thief, and she has run away with my mother’s pearl necklace.”
Madame Yvonett sat immovable under the blow; not by the flicker of an eyelash did she show the agony she was enduring. Miss Rebekah, quite unaware that she had left the front door wide open, stood enthralled, watching the scene.
“Thee has made a statement which I can both understand and refute,” said Madame Yvonett slowly. “My niece would never stoop to such dishonorable actions as thee accuses her of——”
“She will have a chance to clear herself of the charge in a criminal court,ifshe can,” broke in Pauline with brutal frankness. “My mother and I are quite determined to push the matter to the end.”
“Thy determination is as nothing compared tomine,” retorted Madame Yvonett. “Marjorie’s innocence will be proved, and those who have traduced her shall suffer.”
“Threats don’t bother me,” Pauline shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. “Janet Fordyce saw Marjorie Langdon steal the necklace from mother”—Madame Yvonett swayed backward; then by a supreme effort, recovered from the deadly faintness which threatened to overcome her. “The Fordyces acknowledge her guilt, and have turned her out of their house.”
“The more shame to them.” The Quakeress rose abruptly to her feet, her eyes blazing with pent-up wrath. “I care not who accuses my niece—she is innocent of all wrong-doing; and so I will contend with my feeble strength and wit before the world”—in spite of every effort, she was trembling from head to foot. “My feet are already turned toward Eternity, but God will spare me to right so monstrous an injustice against an upright, honorable girl, whose only crime is poverty.”
Pauline’s unpleasant laugh was checked by the sudden entrance of a tall man who brushed her unceremoniously to one side.
“Madame Yvonett,” said Duncan clearly. “I share your faith in Marjorie——” A low cry burst from the Quakeress, and tears, which no jeer of Pauline’s had been able to call forth, rushed to her eyes. Blindly she caught Duncan’s strong hand and held it close in her trembling fingers. “Marjorie was not turned out of my father’s house, butleft of her own accord,” continued Duncan. “Why this young lady should maliciously distort facts”—Pauline changed color as she met his contemptuous gaze—“she alone can explain.”
“You are very unjust,” protested Pauline. “I was but quoting Janet; I did not realize your sister’s word was—unreliable.”
But the gibe passed unnoticed except by Paul Potter, who had entered a few minutes before with Duncan, and remained standing in the hall. On their arrival they had found the front door wide open, and had been unintentional listeners to Pauline’s charges against Marjorie; the girl’s penetrating voice having carried each word to them with absolute distinctness.
“I hoped, Madame Yvonett, that this misunderstanding in which your niece is involved, would not reach your ears,” said Duncan. “I am sure if Miss Calhoun-Cooper pauses to reflect, she will say nothing further on the subject to anyone.”
Pauline had indeed been thinking rapidly. It was one thing to brow-beat Madame Yvonett, quite another to antagonize so influential a family as the Fordyces. Her social ambitions might easily be nipped in the bud if Duncan pursued his quixotic course and persuaded his parents to drop the Calhoun-Coopers from their acquaintance. Quickly she decided to modify her tone.
“Of course I will not mention the matter to outsiders,” she said. “But mother and I will listen to no compromise unless the pearl necklace is given back.”
“Thee must go elsewhere for thy pearls,” declared Madame Yvonett undauntedly. Tom’s account of the loss of his coin flashed into her mind. “Why does thee not question thy brother about the pearls?”
“What need?” but Pauline’s fingers clenched in her muff as she put the contemptuous question. “Miss Fordyce’s testimony is most convincing—she saw Miss Langdon steal the necklace.”
“One moment,” interrupted Duncan. “My mother, Miss Calhoun-Cooper, will make good your loss, if necessary; but first,” his voice deepened—“I shall take steps to clear Miss Langdon of this preposterous charge, and bring the real thief to book.”
Madame Yvonett’s expressive look thanked him; then she faced Pauline.
“Thee came uninvited to my house; thee has shown me more discourtesy than I have ever met with before—considering the source I am hardly surprised.” Pauline shrank back as she met the beautiful, scornful eyes. “Thee has dared to besmirk my niece’s character; for that I will never forgive thee. Thee may go.”
“Oh, very well,” and tossing her head, Pauline left the room and house, banging the front door shut with a violence that shook windowpanes and pictures.
There was a moment’s silence; then Madame Yvonett turned back to Duncan. “How can I ever thank thee?” she murmured brokenly.
“By letting me see Miss Langdon,” taking her out-stretched hand.
“But Marjorie is not here—I have not seen her since yesterday.”
Duncan gazed incredulously at her, then a worried expression crossed his face. “Do you mean she has not been here at all today?”
“Yes.”
“But she told me when I met her she was coming straight here,” he protested. “She left me, for some unknown reason, at the Portland Drug Store and, I supposed, returned here.”
“At what hour was that?” demanded Madame Yvonett, growing a shade paler.
“About twenty minutes past one.”
“Did she have any clothes with her?”
“No, she only carried a hand-bag. Janet told me before I left the house that her things were still in her room.”
“Did Marjorie seem distraught?” Madame Yvonett moistened her dry lips, a new terror tugging at her heart-strings.
“No, only nervous.” The answer was reassuring, but Duncan’s manner was not, and with a low moan of anguish Madame Yvonett sank unconscious to the ground.
Paul Potter sprang to Duncan’s assistance, and the two men, under Miss Rebekah’s frightened guidance, carried Madame Yvonett to her room. Once there the skilled physician took entire charge, and to Duncan’s immense relief, the Quakeress soon revived under his treatment. Potter followed Duncan as he tiptoed out into the upper hall.
“Don’t wait around any longer,” he whispered. “I’ll stay here with Madame Yvonett until her regular physician arrives and the trained nurse you sent for. Do you still wish me to dine with you tonight?”
“Of course; don’t fail me,” in some alarm. “I must have a long talk with you. Janet refuses to call off her dinner tonight, and father backs her up. Mother’s not strong enough today to be dragged into the discussion, or I would soon put an end to the affair. Look here, Paul,” drawing out a well-filled wallet and thrusting a handful of bills into his friend’s hand. “See that Madame Yvonett wants for nothing.”
“I will,” promised Potter, and disappeared inside the sick-room.
Miss Rebekah was sitting disconsolately in the lower hall as Duncan made his way to the front door.
“How is Madame Yvonett?” she asked eagerly.
“She has regained consciousness and is resting quietly”—the spinster’s face lighted with relief. “You can trust absolutely to Dr. Potter,” added Duncan. “He will remain until Madame Yvonett’s family physician arrives.”
“Thank you, thank you both,” stammered Miss Rebekah incoherently. “What should I have done without you!”
“That’s all right,” replied Duncan soothingly. “Will you do me a very great kindness, Miss Graves?”
“Surely.”
“Then telephone me the instant Miss Langdon returns. My number is”—drawing out his visiting-card and writing the figures upon it. “You won’t forget?”
“No, indeed,” and Miss Rebekah sped upstairs as Duncan opened the front door.
Barely glancing at the children and nurses in the park, he strode through Franklin Square and along K Street absorbed in dismal reflections. After discovering Marjorie’s disappearance from the drug store that morning, he had returned at once to his home deeply puzzled by her behavior. On his arrival his father had called him into the library and recounted the charge made against Marjorie by the Calhoun-Coopers, Janet’s damning testimony, and Marjorie’s flight. He had listened in stony silence, refusing to make any comment, and after luncheon had retired to his room. Harassed by conflicting theories, he finally rebelled against submitting longer to discouraging idleness, and seizing the telephone, had sent an urgent message to Paul Potter to meet him at the Metropolitan Club and go with him to Madame Yvonett’s. He felt an overwhelming desire to see Marjorie, to make her face the issue squarely and refute, if she could, the damning evidence against her. Anything was better than the uncertainty he was undergoing.
Duncan stopped dead in his tracks. Should he go to the police and report Marjorie’s disappearance? Pshaw! he was a fool; the girl could have come to no harm in broad daylight in peaceful Washington.She was probably sitting in some hotel, or walking the streets trying to make up her mind to go home and tell Madame Yvonett that she had been accused of being a thief. Surely any girl might be excused for putting off breaking such a piece of news to a delicate old lady? And yet, would it not be natural for her to rush to a near and dearly-loved relative for consolation and advice? Duncan shook his head in deep bewilderment. Flight was usually tacit admission of guilt. He was so deep in thought that he never observed an older man approaching down the street who, on seeing him, quickened his footsteps.
“Well, Duncan,” and Admiral Lawrence paused in front of him. “So you received my note.”
“Note?” Duncan shook his head. “No, sir, I’ve had no note from you.”
“Oh, I thought you were on your way to see me in answer to it,” replied the Admiral thoughtfully. “I have filed suit to break the will.”
“You are very unwise, sir,” Duncan’s eyes expressed his indignation.
“That remains to be seen. Do you still propose to defend Miss Langdon?”
“I do,” with quiet finality. “Who is residuary legatee?”
“I am.”
“Then you benefit by the signing of that codicil?”
“Certainly; what then?”
“Chichester Barnard can easily retaliate by charging you with using undue influence in persuadinghis aunt to revoke her bequest to him.” The Admiral choked with wrath. “One hundred thousand dollars—um!—men have done much to gain that sum. How do I know you haven’t trumped up this codicil charge against Marjorie Langdon as a means to break the will?”
“D—mn my soul!” stormed the Admiral, getting back his breath. “D’ye think I’m a dirty blackguard? My lawyer, Alvord, who drew up the codicil on October 31, is waiting to see me; come on in and interview him now.”
“Where do you live?”
“In that house on the corner.” As Duncan’s gaze swept over the unpretentious red-brick, stone-trimmed residence, his eyes encountered those of a darky butler who was anxiously regarding them from the open doorway. The chords of memory were touched, and a mental picture rose before Duncan’s eyes. Abruptly he swung back to the Admiral.
“You say the codicil was drawn and signed on October 31; when did you first discover its loss?”
“The morning of November first....”
“Let us go in and see Alvord,” interrupted Duncan, a strange light in his eyes. Without further words the Admiral led the way to the English basement house.
“Mr. Alvord’s been awaitin’ mos’ an hour, suh,” explained the butler, assisting them off with their overcoats. “He axed me ter watch out an’ ax yo’ ter hurry, ’cause he’s awful busy.”
“Very well, Sam; where is Mr. Alvord?”
“In de lib’ry, suh.”
“This way, Duncan,” and the Admiral piloted his guest to the pleasant room where Marjorie had spent so many hours. An elderly man rose on their entrance. “Sorry to have kept you, Alvord,” apologized the Admiral. “This is Mr. Duncan Fordyce. Kindly tell him in detail of the signing of the codicil to my wife’s will.”
Alvord glanced in some astonishment at his client; then followed his request, and Duncan listened with close attention as he described having Marjorie typewrite the codicil, making two copies, and the signing of the original copy by Mrs. Lawrence.
“Admiral Lawrence requested me to leave the signed codicil here, and instructed Miss Langdon to place it in the safe,” he ended. “I gave her the paper....”
“Could you take your solemn oath that you gave her thesignedcopy?”
“I am willing to swear that to the best of my recollection I gave her the signed codicil....”
“That’s an equivocation,” challenged Duncan promptly.
“Well, what difference does it make? Only the unsigned codicil turned up next morning. I left a codicil, signed or unsigned, on this desk—she could have stolen it a deal easier from the desk.”
“Exactly where did you place the paper?” questioned Duncan.
“On this side of the desk nearest the window,” Alvord indicated the spot with his hand.
“You dare not swear that you handed Miss Langdon the signed codicil because youfearyou gave her the unsigned one,” taunted Duncan. “Wait,” as the harassed lawyer started to interrupt him. “You did hand Miss Langdon the unsigned copy, however, which was found in the safe—therefore her responsibility in the matter ends.”
“Hold hard,” broke in the Admiral heatedly. “As Alvord says, Marjorie could have stolen the signed codicil off the desk; she was the last person to leave this room that evening, and I the first to enter in the morning—and the codicil was not on the desk.”
“You were not thefirstperson to enter this room that morning,” contradicted Duncan. “Ask your butler to step here a moment.”
The Admiral hesitated, but Duncan’s earnest manner solved his doubt, and he rang for his servant.
“Come in, Sam,” he directed as the butler rapped on the door.
“Sam,” began Duncan slowly. “Why have you never told Admiral Lawrence that you knocked a valuable paper off his desk with your feather duster and out of the open window?”
“Fo’ Gawd! boss, how’d yo’ know ’bout dat?” Sam turned ashy.
“I was passing the house and saw the paper sail through the window into the gutter where the water carried it down the sewer. This was the morning of my arrival in Washington, Admiral—November first.”
The Admiral stared speechlessly at Duncan, thenwheeled on his frightened servant. “Why did you never tell me of this?”
“’Cause yo’ never axed me ’bout de paper; ef yo’ had I’d a telled yer,” protested Sam. “When yo’ didn’t say nuffin’ I thought de paper wasn’t no ’count.”
“Go downstairs, you rascal!” thundered the Admiral, and Sam, glad to escape, disappeared from the room. “Well, Alvord, what d’ye think?”
The lawyer tugged at his mustache. “What is your theory, Mr. Fordyce?” he asked, passing on the Admiral’s question.
“That you gave the unsigned codicil to Miss Langdon who, following instructions, placed it in the safe where the Admiral found it the next morning. Sam knocked the signed paper into the gutter, and it went down the sewer.”
“Could you make out any writing on the paper as it fell, Mr. Fordyce?”
“Unfortunately, no; the paper resembled an ordinary letter size typewriting sheet, folded three times. It spread open and fell writing down.”
“The codicil was written on ordinary typewriting paper such as you describe,” admitted Alvord. “It was the only kind Miss Langdon had here. Still, that’s slim proof to back your theory, Mr. Fordyce.”
“But it will hold,” Duncan’s elation could be read in his animated expression and excited manner. “I’m willing to face any court, and I’ll win my case....”
“And that scamp, Chichester Barnard, will win his hundred thousand after all,” groaned the Admiral.