Norton, Andre - Novel 23 (23 page)

 
          
 
It seemed to Damaris that he took the letter
reluctantly, just as he would not look directly at either girl, but rather kept
his gaze mainly at their feet.

 
          
 
"Yes'm.
Bad on the water
today.
Maybe no
one goin'
in. But we
puts
the bag down anyhow—"

 
          
 
"Who were you writing to?" Damaris
had none of the tact demanded to make social contacts easier. And Saranna gave
her the answer she had ready. If there were listening ears, they would have a
plausible explanation.

 
          
 
"Mr. Sanders. He undertook to collect
some money for me—money from the sale back in
Sussex
. I am asking if he received it."

 
          
 
"You need some money?" Damaris
appeared surprised. "But what about that Mr. Stowell left you?"

 
          
 
It was Saranna's turn to be astonished.
"Money Jethro left me? But he didn't leave me any money. I did not even
see him again before I came here."

 
          
 
Damaris nodded. "Then she took it! I
thought so. She wants money, quite a lot. You see, she wants bride clothes. I
think she buys so much all the time that she doesn't have enough pocket money
to suit her. She doesn't get any from Tiensin. My grandfather made sure of
that. All she has is a little money my father left her, not nearly enough, or
so she says."

 
          
 
"But this money you say Jethro left
me—how did you—"

 
          
 
Damaris smiled. "She left those Lady
Books here and I had Rose get them out of her room. I wanted to see all about
the new dresses and bonnets. And this was in one of them— See?"

 
          
 
From some hiding place under her apron, she
brought out a sheet of paper which had been much creased and which now smelled
of Honora's favorite violet scent.

 
          
 
Saranna:

 
          
 
This is in haste. I am sorry that events have
moved so that we have not had a chance to become better acquainted. But that is
a matter which shall be remedied upon my return. Honora tells me that you are
deeply affected by your mother's passing and have begged her to allow you to
retire to quiet at Tiensin. This I can understand and I hope that you will
discover its air to be beneficial to both your health and your nerves.

 
          
 
In the meantime, however, I wish you to have
funds that you may prepare to take your proper place in the best circles in
Baltimore
, such a position as a Stowell may claim by
right of name. Please use the enclosed to any advantage which seems to you
necessary to accomplish that.

 
          
 
Your affectionate brother—

 
          
 
"But I never saw this!" Saranna
smoothed the paper between her fingers. What had Jethro enclosed with the
letter which she had not received? She could only believe that Damaris was
right and there had been a sum of money which was now missing.

 
          
 
"How could Honora dare?” There was wonder
as well as anger in her voice. Such an act would certainly be uncovered as soon
as Jethro returned. Did Honora have her father so bemused that he would believe
any lie she might utter to cover her own interception of his message and the
appropriation of a sum which had accompanied it?

 
          
 
"She doesn't expect you ever to see her
father again."

 
          
 
"What!" Saranna halted on the bottom
step of the stairs, stared at Damaris enough ahead of her so that the girl's
face, as she half-turned around to deliver that statement was nearly on a level
with her own.

 
          
 
"I told you—" Damaris had the ghost
of that sly look about her, "I listen. She's afraid of you, not that she
told the Poker so. The Poker guessed, and I'm sure she's right
She's
afraid that your brother is going to give you things.
And she wants it all for herself. The Poker knows that. She didn't just go back
to town to shop, though she'll do that, all right. She went to see Mr.
Sanders—"

 
          
 
Saranna caught her breath audibly. Mr.
Sanders—her own letter—

 
          
 
''She wants to make sure that Mr. Stowell
didn't leave you anything in his will. They say
Brazil
's awfully unhealthy, such a lot of fever
down there—“

 
          
 
Saranna gripped Damaris' arm hard. "You
don't know what you're saying!"

 
          
 
"Oh, don't I?" The old sly
maliciousness was to the fore now, more than Saranna had seen it for days.
"I heard the Poker and Mr. Poker talking about it. They think Rufus is
going to marry you, take you away. She wants that done before her father comes
back. Then he'll be mad at you, good and mad. Because he'd think Rufus isn't
good enough for his sister. So she's promised Rufus some money to do it, and
maybe some more
later
if it all turns out like she
plans. So she wouldn't care now if you learned about that—" Damaris
pointed to the letter Saranna still held.

 
          
 
The older girl wanted to say she did not
believe a word of what Damaris had just
said,
that the
child was spinning some fantasy. Unfortunately, her story fitted all too well.
Saranna gave a harried glance around her, feeling much like a fox who hears the
cry of the hounds behind on his trail. Then she steadied herself with the
thought that Honora might scheme all this but she, Saranna, was warned and she
could make her own plans. That she was like a gaming piece to be moved around
on some board at Honora's pleasure and to Honora's profit was not and never
would be true!

 
          
 
Swiftly, she refolded the letter and tucked it
mto the folds of her chemisette beneath the edge of her outer bodice. She
wanted nothing less than to sit quietly sewing, but she felt that such an
occupation this morning might steady her nerves and give her a chance to think
clearly about what she could do to escape the web Honora seemed to be spinning.

 
          
 
Millie awaited them in the sewing room. And
the maid hastened to lay out the unpicked lengths of dresses which Saranna had
been reducing to their basic materials in order to create something passably
wearable out of Honora's castoffs. She had discovered that the satin top of one
dress could be agreeably combined with a cashmere skirt, using lengths of the
unstained portion of the satin skirt to make two discreet flounces which would
not be too indecorous for mourning. And the poplin could be turned and
restitched to a very good advantage.

 
          
 
Both Damaris and Millie appeared fascinated by
her explanations. And Damaris agreed that even dull seaming could be an
acceptable morning's task as long as the sewing machine which Saranna operated
with authority took care of the longer lengths. They went down to lunch well
satisfied with their accomplishments. For the satin dress was near finished and
the poplin one well advanced. Damaris was excited and pleased, because several
of the suggestions she had made from knowledge gained by her dipping into the
fashion magazine had been useful. And Saranna could not help but know that her
wardrobe was soon to be in a better state than she had dared to hope for years.

 
          
 
But their satisfaction with the morning's
labors and each other was rudely broken in upon by the sudden appearance of
Mrs. Parton who advanced upon Damaris swiftly.

 
          
 
"Where are they, Miss, where are my
keys!"

 
          
 
Damaris made no pretense of not understanding
her. "I put them away," she returned.

 
          
 
"You—you wicked child! Give them to me
instantly!” For the first time Saranna saw Mrs. Parton give vent to strong
emotion. Her round face wore an expression of anger which matched the flush on
her overfull cheeks.

 
          
 
"Mrs. Parton!" Saranna had foreseen
this moment. Whether she was properly armed against it, she could not be sure
until she tried.

 
          
 
The housekeeper glanced at her. "This is
no matter of yours, Miss!"

 
          
 
"But it is," Saranna was frightened,
though she knew she dare not allow this woman to see any such break in her
defenses. The housekeeper's present naked rage was so apart from the front she
had always presented that Saranna knew the woman was moved beyond all bounds.
"Miss Damaris was alarmed over the disappearance of her grandfather's
catalogue. Rather than have anything of perhaps greater value disappear, she
has locked the rooms in which the collection is displayed, and prefers to
retain the keys until such a time as we learn exactly what did happen to the
catalogue." She was inwardly proud that she had been able to speak quietly
and with an air of assurance which she certainly did not at this moment feel.

 
          
 
Mrs. Parton had regained control. Even the
smolder of anger disappeared and the flush was gone from her face.

 
          
 
"You meddle in matters, Miss," she
spoke to Saranna, "of which you have not understanding. But it is not my
place to reason with you. However," now she spoke once more to the younger
girl, "if you know what is good for you, Miss Damaris, you will prepare to
show better manners to those in a natural state of authority over you—"
She tolled the words as unctuously as might a pastor from his pulpit.
"There will be a report of this made as soon as possible to Mrs. Whaley—"

 
          
 
Damaris tossed her head and did not even look
at the housekeeper. Perhaps she was overconfident. Saranna thought so. She
hoped she could talk the child into a better and more biddable state of manners
before the younger girl faced up to Honora. Though now she hoped she had
several days to do that.

 
          
 
“It’s clearing," Damaris announced as the
housekeeper left the room. "I'm going to see Old Jane. The Poker's done
her duty for the day and I won't have to worry about running into her down
there a second time." She spoke decisively and Saranna guessed that she
was not going to be turned from this purpose.

 
          
 
"May I go with you?" she asked
quickly. The more she kept Damaris under her eye right now, the safer she felt
somehow.

 
          
 
"Part way," Damaris answered.
"But then you stay in the garden, because I'm going to slip in the back
way. The Poker may have told Wiley to spy. I don't like Wiley. He always does
what Rufus wants—"

 
          
 
Though the rain had stopped it was still damp
outside and Saranna put on her stoutest shoes, took up her shawl. When she
joined Damaris outside, the younger girl had a bundle of thick blanket under
her arm.

 
          
 
"Jane always says her bones ache when it
rains. I'm taking her an extra blanket," she explained. "We go this
way."

 
          
 
They did not take what Saranna thought must be
the straightest path—among the buildings around the back courtyard—but rather a
garden way. When they reached a section bordering on the peach orchard, Damaris
paused.

 
          
 
"You'll have to wait here. I can squeeze
through the back fence, you can't."

 
          
 
"Don't be long—" But Damaris had not
waited for that admonition, she had already disappeared to the other side of
the hedge. There was a bench nearby, but that was too wet with rain to offer a
resting place. So Saranna paced up and down impatiently.