Part 14 (1/2)
”You are so fixed in the habit of sending your orders to the tradespeople that your mind cannot conceive of any other procedure.
You are to go out in person, at night, if you like, to shops where you are not known, pay cash for whatever you want, and carry your purchases home with you. It is really extremely simple.”
”Why, of course, ma'am,” meekly agreed Matilda.
With the specter of famine thus banished, confidence, good humor, and the luxurious expectancy of a reposeful summer returned to Mrs. De Peyster. Soon she was being further diverted by the mild excitement of being dressed in one of Matilda's sober housekeeper gowns, the twin of the dress Matilda now wore, for her evening ride with William. They were fortunately of nearly the same figure, though, of course, there was a universe of difference in how those two figures were carried.
Matilda, the competent, skilled Matilda, was inexplicably incompetent at this function. So clumsy, so nervous was she, that Mrs. De Peyster was moved to ask with a little irritation what was the matter. Matilda hastily a.s.sured her mistress that there was nothing--nothing at all;--and b.u.t.toned a few more b.u.t.tonholes over the wrong b.u.t.tons. As she followed the fully garbed and thickly veiled Mrs. De Peyster, now looking the most stately of stately housekeepers, down the stairway, her nervousness increased.
”I wish--I wish--” she began at the door. ”What _is_ the matter with you, Matilda?” demanded Mrs. De Peyster severely.
”I--I rather wish you--you wouldn't go out, ma'am.”
”You are afraid I may be recognized?”
”No, I wasn't thinking of that, ma'am. I--I--”
”What else is there to be afraid of?”
”Nothing, ma'am, nothing. But I wish--”
”I am going, Matilda; we will not discuss it,” said Mrs. De Peyster, in a peremptory tone intended to silence Matilda. ”You may first clear away the dishes,” she ordered. ”But I believe I left a squab and some asparagus. You might put them, and any other little thing you have, on the dining-room table; I shall probably be hungry on my return from my drive. And then put my rooms in order. I believe the tea-tray is still in my sitting-room; don't forget to bring it down.”
”Certainly, ma'am. But--but--” ”Matilda”--very severely--”are you going to do as I bid you?”
”Yes, ma'am,”--very humbly. ”But excuse me for presuming to advise you, ma'am, but if you want to pa.s.s for me you must remember to be very humble and--”
”I believe I know how to play my part,” Mrs. De Peyster interrupted with dignity. Then she softened; it was her instinct to be thoughtful of those who served her. ”We shall both try to get to bed early, my dear. You especially need sleep after last night's strain in getting Olivetta away. We shall have a long, restful night.”
Mrs. De Peyster opened the door, unlocked the door in the boarding and locked it behind her, and stepped into her brougham, which had been ordered and was waiting at the curb. ”Up Fifth Avenue and into the Park, William,” she said. She settled back into the courtly embrace of the cus.h.i.+ons; she breathed deep of the freedom of the soft May night.
The carriage turned northward into the Avenue. Rolling along in such soothing ease--a crowd streaming on either side of her--yet such solitude--so entirely unknown.
Restful, yes. And spiced with just the right pinch of mild adventure.
It really could not possibly have been better.
CHAPTER VII
NOT IN THE PLAN
As she rolled northward behind the miraculously erect and rigid William, the emotion which had been so mildly exciting when she had left her door grew in potency like a swiftly fermenting liquor. It was both fearful and delightful. She was all a-flutter. This was a daring thing that she was doing--the nearest to a real adventure that she had engaged in since her girlhood. Suppose, just suppose, that some one should recognize her from the sidewalk!
The thought sent a series of p.r.i.c.king s.h.i.+vers up and down her usually tranquil spine.
Just as that fear thrummed through her, she saw, a few doors ahead, a man come out of a residence hotel. He sighted the De Peyster carriage, and paused. Mrs. De Peyster's heart stood still, for the man was Judge Harvey. If he should try to stop her and speak to her--!
But Judge Harvey merely bowed, and the carriage rolled on past him.
Mrs. De Peyster's heart palpitated wildly for a block. Then she began to regain her courage. Judge Harvey had, of course, thought her Matilda. A few blocks, and she had completely rea.s.sured herself. There was no danger of her discovery. None. Almost every one she knew was out of town; she herself was known to be upon the high seas bound for Europe; Matilda's gown and veil were a most unsuspicious disguise; and William, her paragon of a William, so rigidly upright on the seat before her--William's statuesque, unapproachable figure diffused about her a sense of absolute security. She relaxed, sank back into the upholstery of the carriage, and began fully to enjoy the rare May night.