Kerry (8 page)

“No. She isn’t going with us tonight,” responded Sam with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s our wedding night, see? And she isn’t going this time. I’ve arranged to give her a little lesson. A much-needed lesson! Next time she won’t run away and hide from her dear new papa. Next time she’ll be glad to do what she is told.”

“You’re not hurting Kerry in any way?” asked Isobel anxiously. “Shannon would never forgive me if we hurt Kerry in any way.”

“Shannon! What’s Shannon got to do with it? Shannon’s out of the picture! Dead. Buried. He can’t do any squawking! But I’m not doing any harm to Kerry. Didn’t I tell you I loved Kerry? Fact! I didn’t know but I’d wait a year or so and marry Kerry instead of you, but you see I didn’t. Now, you needn’t begin to bawl again! I didn’t, did I? Come on, let’s get a hustle on. All set? Alrighty! Alrighty! Let’s go! I want another drink! I’m parched!”

More than half frightened now Isobel started to put on her hat.

“But where have you left Kerry?” she asked as they started out the door. “Will she be here when we get back?”

“Well, no, perhaps not that soon, baby. You see I want her to have a real good lesson. But she’ll be around before we sail tomorrow on our yacht. You needn’t worry. She’ll be around,
glad
to come, and no more monkey shines. See? Now, come on!”

Somewhat reassured Isobel followed her husband out of the door, and tried to give herself up to the joviality of the evening, albeit an undertone of uneasiness kept cropping up in her spoiled heart.

So while Kerry crouched in her corner of a dingy Liverpool station, and drowsed the night through, her mother in gala attire was going the rounds of night clubs, and learning what her bridegroom’s idea of fun really was, sipping, too, at his bidding—
more
than sipping as the hour grew later—at the wines her husband ordered, and simpering to him radiantly, “Oh, Sam, how funny you are! You always would have your little joke!”

Sometime along about one o’clock the next day, Sam awoke to his genial, easy-going, unprincipled old self.

Kerry? Oh, yes! He’d forgotten! Kerry! Of course,
Kerry!
He’d see about it right away. There must be a message down in the office right now. He’d left orders to that effect.

They had come home to Sam’s more luxurious apartments, and Isobel was preening herself before a mirror more worthy of her beauty than the one in the cheap hotel. Isobel was thinking how she would show Kerry all the luxuries of the new place. Kerry would come and see it all. And Kerry would be repentant for all the harsh words she had said the day before as Kerry always was, and would kiss her and pat her, and call her beautiful little mother, the only little mother she had. And then everything would be lovely.

That was probably the cause of this unwonted headache she was having now, her worry about Kerry! Kerry had made a scene! Kerry somehow was apt to make a scene when people didn’t go her way. She must speak to her about that! She must let her know—oh quite gently of course, and after she had been back an hour or so—how she had been the cause of her dear only little mother’s headache. And Kerry would be sorry. Isobel just doted on seeing Kerry repentant. She had such a sweet look in her eyes when she repented, and made Isobel feel oh so righteous and worthy!

Sam Morgan returned in a couple of hours. He said that his lawyer had inquired at all the hotels in London and could find no such person registered. They had also questioned the people of the hotel where the Kavanaughs had made their residence for the past nine months and could get no information beyond the fact that Miss Kavanaugh had left in a cab with her baggage. They had been unable so far to locate the cab, as it must have been one of the cheaper sort, perhaps run by some private individual operating on his own account. The lawyer had appealed for more definite information before further search, and Sam Morgan found himself unable to give any beyond the fact that the girl was a “humdinger” for looks, and had hair like a flame.

Isobel, when questioned by a detective, was most indefinite herself. She produced a snapshot or two of Kerry, and a list of places where Kerry enjoyed going—the art galleries, the libraries, a cathedral or two, and museums. But when they asked for a list of her young friends Isobel had to own that Kerry had no friends either young or old. She had always been her father’s close companion and had not seemed to need friends—at least she never seemed to speak of it. Of course she had acquaintances among the girls who were in school with her.

There followed days in which telegrams were sent in various directions. One to the school she had attended in Germany. One to a pension where they had stayed for a time in Paris, one to a little villa in the South of France where they had gone once for Isobel’s health. Isobel unearthed all their past almost gleefully and brought it out from her memory day by day to spread before the lawyer and the detective, and grew excited and fascinated by this new game of hide-and-seek. She was almost proud of Kerry that she had remained so long successfully hidden. Kerry was clever. She had always said Kerry was clever.

Day after day they lingered, the yacht waiting for their coming, Isobel being kept happy by much shopping, between visits of the detectives.

Kerry’s note fell into the hands of the detectives, and the lawyer mentioned in it was searched for, but proved to be taking a trip through Italy and Switzerland. Correspondence with him brought no light on the subject. Kerry had not yet found her job and settled down. Kerry had meant what she said and would not communicate with the lawyer until she was safely settled on her own. But how was Kerry getting on without money?

“You don’t think anything terrible has happened to Kerry, do you, Sam?” Isobel asked anxiously one morning. “I can’t think she would stay away from her only little mother so long unless something had happened. Of course, Kerry was always clever—”

“Kerry is a little devil!” said Sam crossly. “She doesn’t want to be found! But I swear she shall. She can’t double-cross us much longer. We’ve got the best detectives in London, and I’ll tell you what,
they know their onions!”

“Then why don’t they find Kerry?” wailed Isobel, beginning to cry. “I want Kerry! If you hadn’t made me be so pre–cip–i–tate she wouldn’t have run away! I t–t–told you she d–d–didn’t like me to m–m–marry so soon after Shannon—!”

“There! Now you can cut that out, old lady! Hear that? I’m not going to be haunted with Shannon Kavanaugh. He’s dead and you can let him stay buried. If I had thought you were so stuck on him I’d have married that woman you saw me with that day at the art gallery. She would have taken me in a minute if I’d asked her, and she didn’t have any dead husbands to bawl about or any brats to play hide-and-seek with. And I can tell you right now, if Kerry doesn’t turn up within the next twenty-four hours, you and I are going to cut loose and go on the yacht! I’ve waited long enough! There are plenty of other pretty girls I can get to go with us if Kerry is so high-hat she has to keep out of sight. Let her get left behind then! Let her eat a little humble pie!
There
—you go bawling again! What did I get married for anyway?”

“Oh, Sam! Don’t talk that way!” pleaded Isobel in new horror. “You said you l–l–l–oved me!”

“Well, so I did, baby, but I wasn’t counting on your being a sobsister. Come, mop up and we’ll go for a ride, and mebbe we’ll stop at a shop or two and buy Kerry some pretty togs for the yachting trip. How so, baby, will you like that?”

So Isobel was appeased, wiped her eyes, powdered her delicate nose, and went prettily off to enjoy a morning shopping for Kerry, with a few more trifles for herself thrown in. So easily was Kerry’s mother reassured. She was having a delightful time doing the things she had always wanted to do, spending the money she had never hoped to have, buying the things for which she had always longed. She really felt, too, as if she were being most forgiving and gracious to rebellious Kerry, buying her lovely clothes and evening gowns, and velvet wraps fit for a princess.

That night when they came back to Sam’s hotel after a noisy and exhausting round of pleasure they found a note from the lawyer saying that they had discovered Miss Kavanaugh’s name on a sailing list of a ship bound for the United States. They had cabled but could get no information about the young lady after she landed—

“That settles it!” said Sam, more than genially drunk as usual. “We’ll start for the yacht tomorrow morning. Get a hustle on, baby! We’re not waiting any longer. Our search is ended!”

“But I don’t understand,” said Isobel anxiously.

“No, you wouldn’t, baby, but I do!” wagged Sam Morgan. “I said our search is ended!”

“Oh, do you mean we will catch the ship and get Kerry?”

“There you go, baby! You haven’t the sense you were born with. Don’t you know that ship landed in New York? We got to put the whole thing in the detectives’ hands and just go off and have our honeymoon. Kerry is a little devil, I tell you, and we can’t be bothered waiting around for her any longer. See, old lady? We’re going on our honeymoon in the morning!”

“But you said we would find Kerry!” wailed Kerry’s mother with a deluge of tears.

“Yes, but you held out information on us, old lady!” said Sam Morgan solemnly. “You never mentioned Kerry’s going to America. You didn’t say she had friends in the United States.”

“But she hasn’t!” wept Isobel. “She hasn’t been there for years. Oh, my poor little Kerry! She won’t know what to do. Shannon never let her travel alone—!”

“There you go again! Shannon! Shannon! Shannon Kavanaugh is DEAD!” roared her husband mightily. “If you mention him again I’ll go off and get a divorce! I’m sick to my soul of him and his notions. Besides his dear little, poor little Kerry is a dear little, poor little devil! She can take care of herself alrighty! Oh, yes, she’s clever alrighty! She’s clever! She’s a devil—!”

And with this gallant reply Isobel had to be content and to go weeping to her bed.

The next morning Sam Morgan was his genial self again, but very determined.

“We’re going yachting!” he announced. “We aren’t wasting any time, see? How soon can you get your stuff together? Better just let the maid pack up this truck you’ve been buying. Telephone and have a trunk sent up, that’ll be the easiest way. Anything down at that other hotel you need to get or are you just going to chuck it all? We’d better close up that deal. No use hanging on any longer now we know Kerry’s gone for good.”

Isobel gasped and suddenly realized that here was a matter in which she must depend upon herself. There was no kind good Shannon to take all the burden of packing and sorting. There was no Kerry to do her bidding while she lay resting and reading her endless novels and magazines.

How sordid and dreadful the dull, shabby rooms looked when she entered alone and remembered the place where Shannon’s body had lain before they took him away to the undertaker’s. How with even this short absence the rooms seemed to be haunted and fearful. Shannon gone! Kerry gone! No one to depend upon. Sam already a broken reed, although she had not fully realized that as yet. The power of his money blinded her, the anticipation of her new position as his wife still held its glamour.

She shuddered and drew back as the shut-up air of the deserted rooms struck her like a human hand and smote all her senses harshly.

Quickly she forced herself to walk across the room and pull open the curtains, which had been drawn down that last evening she had stayed there. The bald sunshine slanted a thin shiver of light across the faded carpet and grim old furniture. The scuffed upholstery glared out in all its defects. How she hated it! If any shadow of doubt about the course she had taken with regard to her marriage had dared to hover around the door of her mind, it quickly scuttled away in the face of the sordidness of the old life.

She went into her old bedroom resolved to work rapidly and get away. She would not look toward Kerry’s door, which stood wide and showed an empty room, from which the housemaid had already stripped the bed covers and taken down soiled curtains.

Isobel attacked her clothes closet first. Those old cheap clothes that had been such a trial! How quickly she disposed of them, the rusty black satin, the old blue chiffon that had seen so many summers—and winters; the green velvet that would have made such a lovely little frock for Kerry, only she never had been quite willing to give it up herself, her one velvet! How shabby it looked now in the glare of the plain little lodging room! Her old dressing gown and the feather trimming that Shannon used to like her to wear because he said it reminded him of the ermine and velvet in which he would like to dress her if he could. Dear old Shannon! She wondered if he wasn’t glad that she was living in luxury now! He had always wanted her to have nice things, and while he hadn’t of course approved of Sam any more than her father had in her youth, still Shannon would be glad to have her taken care of.

All the old things in the closet she took down and abandoned; threw them on the bed in a heap. She would give them to the housemaid. Kerry would have objected and wanted to keep them. Kerry always liked that brown dress with the little buff daisies scattered over it. But Kerry wasn’t here, and Kerry would have far finer things now. She remembered the green suit with the ermine collar and the eggshell satin blouse that she had bought for Kerry yesterday and flung the whole armful of her formerly cherished garments onto the pile.

There was nothing left in the closet but a little orchid silk, cheap and thin and flimsy, trimmed with soiled and tattered lace, but that was a dress that Shannon used to love to see her in. He used to say sometimes when he had worked hard all day, and his head was aching and things were discouraging, “Put on your little orchid silk, Mother—pretty little Mother—and sit over there where I can look at you. It will rest me!”

And when she had dressed to please him, vain enough herself to enjoy the little byplay, he would say, “Now, turn your head and look over there and smile. Yes, that’s the way—beautiful little Mother—that’s the way I will have you painted by a great artist! Someday I’ll do it! Don’t throw away that dress, Isobel. I’ll have you painted in it yet! Someday when my book is done and I get money that’ll be the first thing I will do, while you still look young and lovely. Not that you’ll ever be anything but lovely to me, my love, but of course we must grow older someday, and I want your portrait painted while you look just as you do now!”