Part 10 (1/2)
”What do they imagine he has done that is wrong?”
”I do not know,” said Mrs. Conant. ”Peter never tells me anything about the private affairs of his clients, and I never ask him. But of one thing I am sure, my dear, and that is that Peter Conant would not act as Colonel Weatherby's lawyer, and try to s.h.i.+eld him, unless he believed him innocent of any crime. Peter is a little odd, in some ways, but he's honest to the backbone.”
”I know it,” declared Mary Louise. ”Also I know that Gran'pa Jim is a good man. Cannot the law make a mistake, Aunt Hannah?”
”It surely can, or there would be no use for lawyers. But do not worry over your grandfather, my child, for he seems quite able to take care of himself. It is nine or ten years since he became a fugitive--also making a fugitive of your poor mother, who would not desert him--and to this day the officers of the law have been unable to apprehend him. Be patient, dear girl, and accept the situation as you find it. You shall live with us until your people again send for you. We have excellent schools in Dorfield, where you will not be taunted with your grandfather's misfortunes because no one here knows anything about them.”
”Doesn't Irene know?” asked Mary Louise.
”She only knows that your people are great travelers and frequently leave you behind them as they flit from place to place. She knows that you lived with us for three years and that we love you.”
The girl became thoughtful for a time. ”I can't understand,” she finally said, ”why Gran'pa Jim acts the way he does. Often he has told me, when I deserved censure, to 'face the music' and have it over with.
Once he said that those who sin must suffer the penalty, because it is the law of both G.o.d and man, and he who seeks to escape a just penalty is a coward. Gran'pa knows he is innocent, but the government thinks he is guilty; so why doesn't he face the music and prove his innocence, instead of running away as a coward might do and so allow his good name to suffer reproach?”
Mrs. Conant shook her head as if perplexed.
”That very question has often puzzled me, as it has you,” she confessed. ”Once I asked Peter about it and he scowled and said it might be just as well to allow Colonel Weatherby to mind his own business. The Colonel seems to have a good deal of money, and perhaps he fears that if he surrendered to the law it would be taken away from him, leaving you and your mother dest.i.tute.”
”We wouldn't mind that,” said the girl, ”if Gran'pa's name could be cleared.”
”After all,” continued Mrs. Conant reflectively, ”I don't believe the Colonel is accused of stealing money, for Peter says his family is one of the oldest and richest in New York. Your grandfather inherited a vast fortune and added largely to it. Peter says he was an important man of affairs before this misfortune--whatever it was--overtook him.”
”I can just remember our home in New York,” said Mary Louise, also musingly, ”for I was very young at the time. It was a beautiful big place, with a good many servants. I wonder what drove us from it?”
”Do you remember your father?” asked Mrs. Conant.
”Not at all.”
”Peter once told me he was a foreigner who fell desperately in love with your mother and married her without your grandfather's full approval. I believe Mr. Burrows was a man of much political influence, for he served in the Department of State and had a good many admirers.
Peter never knew why your grandfather opposed the marriage, for afterward he took Mr. and Mrs. Burrows to live with him and they were all good friends up to the day of your father's death. But this is ancient history and speculation on subjects we do not understand is sure to prove unsatisfactory. I wouldn't worry over your grandfather's troubles, my dear. Try to forget them.”
”Grandfather's real name isn't Weatherby,” said the girl. ”It is Hathaway.”
Mrs. Conant gave a start of surprise.
”How did you learn that?” she asked sharply.
The girl took out her watch, pried open the back ease with a penknife and allowed Mrs. Conant to read the inscription. Also she curiously watched the woman's face and noted its quick flush and its uneasy expression. Did the lawyer's wife know more than she had admitted?
If so, why was everyone trying to keep her in the dark?
”I cannot see that this helps to solve the mystery,” said Mrs. Conant in a brisk tone as she recovered from her surprise. ”Let us put the whole thing out of mind, Mary Louise, or it will keep us all stirred up and in a muddle of doubt. I shall tell Peter you are to live with us, and your old little room at the back of the hall is all ready for you.
Irene has the next room, so you will be quite neighborly. Go and put away your things and then we'll whistle for Irene.”
Mary Louise went to the well-remembered room and slowly and thoughtfully unpacked her suit case. She was glad to find a home again among congenial people, but she was growing more and more perplexed over the astonis.h.i.+ng case of Gran'pa Jim. It worried her to find that an occasional doubt would cross her mind in spite of her intense loyalty to her dearly loved grandparent. She would promptly drive out the doubt, but it would insist on intruding again.
”Something is wrong somewhere,” she sighed. ”There must be some snarl that even Gran'pa Jim can't untangle; and, if he can't, I'm sure no one else can. I wish I could find him and that he would tell me all about it. I suppose he thinks I'm too young to confide in, but I'm almost sixteen now and surely that's old enough to understand things. There were girls at school twenty years old that I'm sure couldn't reason as well as I can.”