Part 17 (1/2)
Lindsay's face cleared. This was satisfactory and proper; there was no more to be said about it. She looked up with a smile to where the old butler beamed upon her for her youth and beauty and her accent and her name.
A handful of busy men left the Capitol in some annoyance that morning because the Governor had telephoned that he could not be there before half past eleven. They would have been more annoyed, perhaps, if they had seen him das.h.i.+ng about the station light-heartedly just before the eleven-o'clock train for Bristol left. They said to each other: ”It must be a matter of importance that keeps him. Governor Rudd almost never throws over an appointment. He has been working like the devil over that street-railway franchise case; probably it's that.”
And the Governor stood by a chair in a parlor-car, his world cleared of street railways and indictments and their cla.s.s as if they had never been, and in his hand was a small white oblong box tied with a tinsel cord.
”Good-by,” he said, ”but remember I'm to be asked down for the garden party next week, and I'm coming.”
”I certainly won't forget. And I reckon I'd better not try to thank you for--Oh, thank you! I thought that looked like candy. And bring Mrs.
Rudd with you next week. I want to see her. And--Oh, get off, please; it's moving. Good-by, good-by.”
And to the mighty music of a slow-clanging bell and the treble of escaping steam and the deep-rolling accompaniment of powerful wheels the Governor escaped to the platform, and the capital city of that sovereign State was empty--practically empty. He noticed it the moment he turned his eyes from the disappearing train and moved toward Harper and the brougham. He also noticed that he had never noticed it before.
A solid citizen, catching a glimpse of the well-known, thoughtful face through the window of the Executive carriage as it bowled across toward the Capitol, shook his head. ”He works too hard,” he said to himself. ”A fine fellow, and young and strong, but the pace is telling. He looks anxious to-day. I wonder what scheme is revolving in his brain at this moment.”
And at that moment the Governor growled softly to himself. ”I've overdone it,” he said. ”She's sure to be offended. No one likes to be taken in. I ought not to have showed her Mrs. Rudd's conservatory; that was a mistake. She won't let them ask me down; I shan't see her. Hanged if I won't telephone Mrs. McNaughton to keep the secret till I've been down.” And he did, before Lindsay could get there, amid much laughter at both ends of the wire, and no small embarra.s.sment at his own.
And he was asked down, and having enjoyed himself, was asked again. And again. So that during the three weeks of Lindsay's visit Bristol saw more of the Chief Executive officer of the State than Bristol had seen before, and everybody but Lindsay had an inkling of the reason. But the time never came to tell her of the shadowy personality of Mrs. Rudd, and between the McNaughton girls and the Governor, whom they forced into unexpected statements, to their great though secret glee, Lindsay was informed of many details in regard to the missing first lady of the commonwealth. Such a dialogue as the following would occur at the lunch table:
_Alice McNaughton_ (speaking with ceremonious politeness from one end of the table to the Governor at the other end). ”When is Mrs. Rudd coming, Governor?”
_The Governor_ (with a certain restraint). ”Before very long, I hope, Miss Alice. Mrs. McNaughton, may I have more lobster? I've never in my life had as much lobster as I wanted.”
_Alice_ (refusing to be side-tracked). ”And when did you last hear from her, Governor?”
_Chuck McNaughton_ (ornament of the Soph.o.m.ore cla.s.s at Harvard. In love with Lindsay, but more so with the joke. Gifted with a sledgehammer style of wit). ”I've been hoping for a letter from her myself, Governor, but it doesn't come.”
_The Governor_ (with slight hauteur). ”Ah, indeed!”
_Lindsay_ (at whose first small peep the Governor's eyes turn to hers and rest there shamelessly). ”Why haven't you any pictures of Mrs. Rudd in the house, Mrs. McNaughton? The Governor's is everywhere and you all tell me how fascinating she is, and yet don't have her about. It looks like you don't love her as much as the Governor.” (At the mention of being loved, in that voice, cold s.h.i.+vers seize the Executive nerves.)
_Mrs. McNaughton_ (entranced with the airy persiflage, but knowing her own to be no light hand at repartee). ”Ask the others, my dear.”
_Alice_ (jumping at the chance). ”Oh, the reason of that is very interesting! Mrs. Rudd has never given even the Governor her picture.
She--she has principles against it. She belongs, you see, to an ancient Hebrew family--in fact, she is a Jewess” (”A wandering Jewess,” the Governor interjected, _sotto voce_, his glance veering again to Lindsay's face), ”and you know that Jewish families have religious scruples about portraits of any sort” (pauses, exhausted).
_Chuck_ (with heavy artillery). ”Alice, _taisez-vous_. You're doing poorly. You can't converse. Your best parlor trick is your red hair.
Miss Lee, I'll show you a picture of Mrs. Rudd some day, and I'll tell you now what she looks like. She has exquisite melancholy gray eyes, a mouth like a ripe tomato” (shouts from the table _en ma.s.se_, but Chuck ploughs along cheerily), ”hair like the braided midnight” (cries of ”What's that?” and ”Hear! Hear!”), ”a figure slim and willowy as a vaulting-pole” (a protest of ”No track athletics at meals; that's forbidden!”), ”and a voice--well, if you ever tasted New Orleans mola.s.ses on maple sugar, with 'that tired feeling' thrown in, perhaps you'll have a glimpse, a mile off, of what that voice is like.” (Eager exclamations of ”That's near enough,” ”Don't do it any more, Chuck,” and ”For Heaven's sake, Charlie, stop.” Lindsay looks hard with the gray eyes at the Governor.)
_Lindsay_, ”Why don't you pull your bowie-knife out of your boot, Governor? It looks like he's making fun of your wife, to me. Isn't anybody going to fight anybody?”
And then Mr. McNaughton would reprove her as a bloodthirsty Kentuckian, and the whole laughing tableful would empty out on the broad porch. At such a time the Governor, laughing too, amused, yet uncomfortable, and feeling himself in a false and undignified position, would vow solemnly that a stop must be put to all this. It would get about, into the papers even, by horrid possibility; even now a few intimates of the McNaughton family had been warned ”not to kill the Governor's wife.” He would surely tell the girl the next time he could find her alone, and then the absurdity would collapse. But the words would not come, or if he carefully framed them beforehand, this bold, aggressive leader of men, whose nickname was ”Jack the Giant-killer,” made a giant of Lindsay's displeasure, and was afraid of it. He had never been afraid of anything before. He would screw his courage up to the notch, and then, one look at the childlike face, and down it would go, and he would ask her to go rowing with him. They were such good friends; it was so dangerous to change at a blow existing relations, to tell her that he had been deceiving her all these weeks. These exquisite June weeks that had flown past to music such us no June had made before; days snowed under with roses, nights that seemed, as he remembered them, moonlit for a solid month. The Governor sighed a lingering sigh, and quoted,
”Oh what a tangled web we weave When first we practise to deceive!”
Yes, he must really wait--say two days longer. Then he might be sure enough of her--regard--to tell her the truth. And then, a little later, if he could control himself so long, another truth. Beyond that he did not allow himself to think.
”Governor Rudd,” asked Lindsay suddenly as they walked their horses the last mile home from a ride on which they had gotten separated--the Governor knew how--from the rest of the party, ”why do they bother you so about your wife, and why do you let them?”
”Can't help it, Miss Lindsay. They have no respect for me. I'm that sort of man. Hard luck, isn't it?”
Lindsay turned her sad, infantile gray eyes on him searchingly. ”I reckon you're not,” she said. ”I reckon you're the sort of man people don't say things to unless they're right sure you will stand it. They don't trifle with you.” She nodded her head with conviction. ”Oh, I've heard them talk about you! I like that; that's like our men down South.