Maris (27 page)

But what could she do? She could never rush forth in a white satin dress and a wedding veil. Was there anything about the room that she could wear?

Beneath her lashes once more she explored the side wall next to her. There were hooks and a gray tweed coat with a fur collar hanging on one. Whose coat was that? Would the woman take it with her? So she lay and thought out what she would do if she got the opportunity.

And then, all at once, she became aware of a throbbing in the heart of the ship. Was that the engine? There was a ship's bell ringing, a clear, sharp sound of warning. Were they weighing anchor already? Was it too late? Oh, her precious mother, and father, and the little sick sister! What would they all think?

But the bell gave another warning, resonant ring, and it seemed to mean something to the other occupant of the room. She looked at her watch and picked up her bag, glancing uneasily out the door.

Then she closed the door again and came back, as if waiting for something, some signal. Oh, would she think she had to wait till someone came to take her place? Wouldn't there be even a chance to try to get away?

And then there came a voice, clear and ringing: "All ashore that's going ashore! All ashore that's going ashore!"

The woman turned and fairly ran toward the door, glancing casually at Maris there on the bed, so resolutely limp and silent, her eyes not even quivering. As quiet as if she were laid out for burial.

The woman flung open the door and went out, shutting it hastily behind her. She had not locked it! The key was still on the inside! Hadn't she meant to lock it? She had not taken the coat with her. Had she forgotten it? Maris dared not stir for a second till she heard the woman's little high heels clicking down the metal edges of the safety treads on the stairs. Even then she opened her eyes most cautiously, with a sinister feeling that somehow Tilford or the other awful man had been spirited in as the woman left. If he was there, if either of them was there, she had planned she would lie utterly limp and still. She would not respond to any effort to bring her to life. It was the only mode of warfare that she could think of for one under a tyrant.

But the next instant she sprang into action. There might be only a moment more, and she must do her best.

She flung the costly wedding veil from her head, wiping it from her forehead with its coronet of orange blossoms as if it were abhorrent. She sat up and clutched at the fastening of her dress. She must get it off even if she had to tear it seam from seam. Could it be the dress that Tilford's mother had ordered? How all the chapters of the story were dropping into place!

She struggled out of the dress frantically then stooped and wrenched at the jeweled buttons of the silver shoes and kicked them from her. She could never walk in them; they were too tight! She bent and groped on the floor for her own little comfortable everyday shoes. Had that woman put them away? She had no time to search. Would she have to go in just silver stockings? Ah! Here they were! She stepped into them gratefully, and then the glitter of the ring caught her eye. Tilford's ring! She tore it from her finger and flung it on the pile of wedding finery on the bed. Just then a man rushed by the door crying out again, "All ashore that's going ashore! Last call!" And her heart stood still with fear. Now she
had
to go, and she had no dress on, only a little white silken slip!

Wildly she seized the tweed coat from the hook on the wall and caught a whiff of horrid perfume! It was that woman's coat, and she would perhaps return for it! But this was no time to be squeamish. Maris flung it about her, thrust her arms into the sleeves, and drew the fur collar up about her face. Then she cautiously opened the door and looked out.

There was not a soul in sight. The clatter and noise of many tongues rose from a region below somewhere, people saying last things.

There were stairs close at hand, the stairs that woman must have used, but she dared not risk them. She might meet her coming back to get her coat. Wildly she fled along the gallery to another flight and dashed down. Endless stairs, they seemed, wide and low and turning on incessant landings. Would she never get to a place that would lead her off the boat? Then suddenly as she rounded a turn she saw Tilford Thorpe just below her, standing on a lower step talking earnestly with the woman who had just left her; beyond was a glimpse of the outer world and a gangplank not far away.

Her heart contracted, and her breath came in stifled gasps. She grasped the handrail and reeled back, turning and flying up to the deck above and back along that to another flight of steps.

Her heart was beating so wildly now that it seemed as if she could not go on, but she took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. At least she knew where they were. But could she ever hope to escape them? Was that gangplank the only path to safety? Would she have to pass under their very gaze? Was there any hope she could do so without being recognized?

"All ashore that's going ashore!" called a voice quite near, and she almost slid down the next stair she came to. A great siren set up a clamor to add to the din, and she found she was trembling in every part of her body. Even her lips were shaking.

These steps she was going down seemed endless. Perhaps she had gone too far, for they landed her amid a lot of bales and boxes and baggage; coils of rope lay in her way; the heat of a furnace came from somewhere on her right. She rushed about trying to find out where she was and felt like a rat in a trap. A sailor came by.

"You don't belong here, lady. Look alive there! You'll get hurt. Can't you see you're in the way?"

"But isn't this the way to get ashore?" She pointed to a tilting floor that spanned a space over the black, sullen water.

"No! This is freight. You wantta go up the other end. Better hurry; we're just weighing anchor."

Then suddenly he grabbed her and drew her out of the way of a large packing case that was being brought on board by several men.

"Lady, you'll get killed if you don't look out!" He glared at her.

"Oh, I've got to get ashore, and I'm afraid I can't get there on time. Couldn't you put me out here?" she pleaded.

The man looked at her in disgust then called to one of the men who had just helped with the packing case.

"Here, take this fool woman ashore. She's lost her way, and they are just hauling in the gangplank."

The burly shore man grinned and swung her up the incline. She had one awful glimpse of the dark water on either side, and then she felt the wharf beneath her feet. She was so relieved that she almost sank down right there.

But suddenly amid the noise and confusion the siren sounded again. She realized that people were all about her, calling farewells to their friends. She looked and the ship was already moving, putting stately distance between it and the dock. There were people crowding all the decks looking down, some smiling, some weeping, confetti hurtling through the air, snarls of paper ribbons like crazy rainbows littering the railings, girls snatching for them and gathering them in like trophies. The ship was gone, and she had escaped! She stared for an instant with dazed eyes, unable to take it in, incapable for the moment of further action.

It was just then she saw Tilford, standing on the upper deck by the railing, staring out over the motley company onshore. In a moment more he might see her! Perhaps he could do nothing now. Yet there was no telling. He was still capable of issuing orders. She might find herself under custody! And the woman! She might be somewhere in this crowd perhaps!

Her fear redoubled, Maris turned and stole through the crowd that even in the short time since she had stood there had milled around her, filling up the way.

Keeping her face away from the ship, she edged between the jostling people. She pushed the fur collar up about her chin, daring not to look up lest she would be looking into the eyes of her onetime keeper.

At last she reached the edge of the crowd and darted away down the long, shadowy reach of wharf, her frightened feet fairly flying. There were bales and boxes about in the way. She had to go between them, to weave her way in and out, but she was glad of even so much covering for her flight.

The din on the other end of the wharf seemed farther away now. There were not many people about here; everybody was up at the other end watching the ship's departure. Sudden tears of relief blinded her vision. She was almost at the end of this long wharf now. A dark street loomed ahead, a city street with unknown perils at midnight but that seemed small beside the perils already past. There were lights from an office at the right. She must avoid those; she must keep out of sight as much as possible.

Then when she was almost tempted to rest for an instant she heard footsteps behind her, quick, heavy steps, like the woman who had been in her cabin, and fear leaped up in her breast again. The woman had seen the coat perhaps and was coming after it. She would call the police. There would be another awful time. Oh, she could bear no more. She felt as if she must sink down and rest, she was so tired.

But she started to run with all her might, breathlessly, lightly in her little old shoes, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, not heeding where she went, and then all at once she stumbled on a great coil of rope and went sprawling face downward, her hands outstretched. This was the end. She could go no farther. She would just lie here and let them do what they would. She could not rise and go on!

But those footsteps were coming on now! It was a woman! She peered back fearfully, and just then the woman passed under an arc of light and she thought she recognized her. It was, it must be that woman. She was hurrying. She must have seen the coat!

The place where Maris was lying was in the shadow. Yet she dared not risk staying there. Fear stimulated her waning strength, put fight into her soul once more. Her mother and Lexie at home needed her. She must not get into the clutches of kidnappers again, even though Tilford whom she dreaded most was out on that ship sailing away from her. By this time he had likely gone to his cabin and discovered her flight. There were radios on shipboard, and Tilford's long arm was capable of reaching even to the land. Tilford never gave up a thing he had once started until he had his way.

She struggled to her feet, bruised and sore, with a long scratch on her arm and splinters in her hands, but fear was behind her, driving her again. Her feet seemed gifted with wings, and she flew on noiselessly toward that spot of light from the windows of the office, toward the darkness of the street ahead. Which should she take? Should she go into that office and claim protection of the people there, summon the police, or should she trust the darkness of the unknown street? Oh, the street would be safer. She could not trust that woman. She was wearing respectable clothes; she could probably summon friends. And Maris was in a strange array. Nobody would believe her, and she might be hauled to jail, charged with stealing a coat!

The thought gave new momentum to her flight. She darted ahead with every ounce of strength that was in her, and not six feet from the street she came into violent collision with a man who was also sprinting, just rounding the corner from the street to the wharf. And suddenly she collapsed in his arms, the breath knocked from her body. This surely was the end!

 

 

Back in the Mayberry home, the mother was restless. Perhaps she felt the tenseness in the atmosphere, although Merrick had been very careful. He had called Nurse Bonner from her room just as she was preparing for a good night's rest, and downstairs out of sound from above, he had told her the situation with regard to Maris.

Nurse Bonner was wise. She did not exclaim. She took it calmly with a quick sanity that helped to steady Merrick, who was full of despair over his responsibility.

"Yes," said Nurse Bonner, "it's pretty serious of course, and we'll have to be wise about the invalids. Your father, too. Don't waken him unless you have to. Wait at least until you hear from Mr. Maitland. If your father can get a full night's sleep, he will be better able to bear whatever comes tomorrow, and really, he can't do any more than is being done tonight. It is imperative, of course, that not a breath of excitement reaches your mother. She is exceedingly sensitive to noises, even to feelings, in the household. If your father finds out tonight, he will be nervous when he sees her in the morning. That must not be. She must think he's gone to his office happily and that all is well. And we won't say anything to the night nurse yet."

Merrick looked at her gratefully. Her very tones made him feel more like a man, dependable, able to handle this situation in the way it ought to be managed.

"All right," he said. "Sorry to have disturbed you, but I thought somebody ought to understand things."

"Yes," said the nurse, "and don't hesitate to call me in the night the minute you get any news. I'm used to waking at the slightest sound. It doesn't spoil my rest in the least."

"All right!" said Merrick. "I'll call you."

"I'll leave the door open, and you can just step in and speak to me. I don't want to disturb any of the others."

"I'll do that," said Merrick and went back to the telephone with a sense of comfort that somebody else knew what was going on and he wasn't entirely alone.

But in spite of all their caution, the situation somehow reached out its invisible fingers and penetrated the sickroom. The night nurse came tapping at Nurse Bonner's door a little later.

"I wish you'd come here a minute," she whispered. "My patient is restless, and I don't like the way her pulse acts. She keeps calling for Maris. I haven't heard her do that before. I went to Miss Maris's door and tapped, but she didn't answer. I didn't know whether I ought to waken her or not, she's looked so tired the last few days."

"Maris is out," said Nurse Bonner briskly. "I'll come!"

She threw her robe around her and was at the bedside almost at once.

"Now see here," she said quietly, as if it were a joke, "what's the matter with this little mother?"