But although there were three letters from home, none of them carried the news of what was going on there. None of them breathed a syllable that Cousin Eunice Chatterton was ill with a low fever, aggravated by nervous prostration; and that Mrs. Pepper and Polly were having a pretty hard time of it. On the contrary, every bit of news was of the cheeriest nature; Jasper tucked on a postscript to his father"s letter, in which he gave the latest bulletin of his school life. And Polly did the same thing to Ben"s letter. Even Phronsie went into a long detail concerning the new developments of a wonderful kitten she had left at home, to take her visit to Badgertown, so the two recipients never missed the lack of information in regard to the household life, from which they were shut out.
Only once Mrs. Whitney said thoughtfully, as she folded her letter and slipped it back into its envelope, "They don"t speak of Mrs.
Chatterton. I presume she has changed her plans, and is going to remain longer at her nephew"s."
"I hope she"ll live there always," declared d.i.c.k, looking up savagely from Ben"s letter. "What an old guy she is, mamma!"
"d.i.c.k, d.i.c.k," said his mother reprovingly, "she is our guest, you know."
"Not if she is at her nephew"s," said d.i.c.k triumphantly, turning back to his letter.
Polly at this identical minute was slowly ascending the stairs, a tray in one hand, the contents of which she was anxiously regarding on the way.
"I do hope it is right now," she said, and presently knocked at Mrs.
Chatterton"s door.
"Come in," said that lady"s voice fretfully. And "Do close the door,"
before Polly and her tray were well within.
Polly shut the door gently, and approached the bedside.
"I am so faint I do not know that I can take any," said Mrs.
Chatterton. Whether it was her white cashmere dressing-robe, and her delicate lace cap that made her face against the pillows seem wan and white, Polly did not know. But it struck her that she looked more ill than usual, and she said earnestly, "I am so sorry I wasn"t quicker."
"There is no call for an apology from you," said Mrs. Chatterton coldly. "Set the tray down on the table, and get a basin of water; I need to be bathed."
Polly stood quite still, even forgetting to deposit the tray.
"Set the tray down, I told you," repeated Mrs. Chatterton sharply, "and then get the basin of water."
"I will call Hortense," said Polly quietly, placing the tray as desired.
"Hortense has gone to the apothecary"s," said Mrs. Chatterton, "and I will not have one of the other maids; they are too insufferable."
And indeed Polly knew that it would be small use to summon one of them, as Martha, the most obliging, had airily tossed her head when asked to do some little service for the sick woman that very morning, declaring, "I will never lift another finger for that Madame Chatterton."
"My neck aches, and my side, and my head," said Mrs. Chatterton irritably; "why do you not do as I bid you?"
For one long instant, Polly hesitated; then she turned to rush from the room, a flood of angry, bitter feelings surging through her heart, more at the insufferable tone and manner, than at what she was bidden to do.
Only turned; and she was back by the side of the bed, and looking down into the fretful, dictatorial old face.
"I will bathe you, Mrs. Chatterton," she said gently; "I"ll bring the water in a minute."
XI
POOR POLLY!
"You are very awkward, child," observed Mrs. Chatterton to Polly on her knees, "and abrupt. Move the sponge more slowly; there, that is better."
Polly shifted her position from one aching knee to another, set her lips closer together, and bent all her young energies to gentler effects. But Mrs. Chatterton cried out irritably:
"Have you never taken care of a sick person, pray tell, or is it all your back-country training that makes you so heavy-handed?"
"I helped mother take care of Phronsie when she had the measles, and Ben and Joel," said Polly, "five years ago; we haven"t been sick lately."
"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Chatterton, not very elegantly. But what was the use of a fine manner when there was n.o.body but a little back-country maiden to see it?
"I shall have to endure it till Hortense returns," she said with a sigh; "besides, it is my duty to give you something useful to do in this house. You should be thankful that I allow you to bathe me."
Polly"s eyes flashed, and the hand holding the sponge trembled. Nothing but the fear of troubling Mamsie, and dear old Mr. King whose forbearance was worn to the finest of threads, kept her at her post.
"Now get the violet water," said Mrs. Chatterton, with an air she would never have dared employ towards Hortense; "it is the bottle in the lower left-hand corner of the case."
Polly got up from her knees, and stiffly stumbled across the room to the case of silver-mounted toilet articles: in her tumult bringing away the upper right-hand corner vial.
"Stupide!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton among her pillows. "Go back, and do as I bid you, girl; the lower left-hand corner bottle!"
Without a word Polly returned, and bringing the right vial set about its use as directed, in a rapidly growing dismay at the evil feelings surging through her, warning her it would not be safe to stay in the room much longer.
"Do you understand," presently began Mrs. Chatterton, fastening her cold blue eyes upon her, "what your position is in this house?
Everybody else appears to be blind and idiotic to the last degree; you seem to have a little quickness to catch an idea."
As Polly did not answer, the question was repeated very sharply: "Do you understand what your position is in this house?"
"Yes," said Polly, in a low voice, and dashing out the violet water with a reckless hand, "I do."
"Take care," impatiently cried Mrs. Chatterton. Then she pushed her pillow into a better position, and returned to the charge.
"What is it, pray, since you understand it so well?"
"I understand that I am here in this house," said Polly, quite cold and white, "because dear Mr. King wants me to be here."
"DEAR Mr. King!" echoed Mrs. Chatterton, in shrill disdain. "Stuff and nonsense," and she put her head back for an unpleasant cackle; it could hardly be called a laugh. "What an idiot the man is to have the wool pulled over his eyes in this fashion. I"ll tell you, Polly"--and she raised herself up on her elbow, the soft lace falling away from the white, and yet shapely arm. This member had been one of her strongest claims to beauty, and even in her rage, Mrs. Chatterton paused a second to glance complacently at it in its new position--"you are, when all is said about your dear Mr. King, and your absurd a.s.sumption of equality with refined people who frequent this house, exactly the same underbred country girl as you were in your old brown house, goodness knows wherever that is."
"I"m glad I am," declared Polly. And she actually laughed merrily, while she squared her st.u.r.dy shoulders. Nothing could be sweeter than to hear it said she was worthy of the dear little old brown house, and didn"t disgrace Mamsie"s bringing up.
The laugh was the last feather that overthrew Mrs. Chatterton"s restraint. She was actually furious now that she, widow of Algernon Chatterton, who was own cousin to Jasper Horatio King, should be faced by such presumption, and her words put aside with girlish amus.e.m.e.nt.
"And I"ll tell you more," she went on, sitting quite erect now on the bed, "your mother thinks she is doing a fine thing to get all her family wormed in here in this style, but she"ll"--
Polly Pepper, the girlish gladness gone from heart and face, waited for no more. "OUR MOTHER!" she cried stormily, unable to utter another word--"oh--oh!" Her breath came in quick, short gasps, the hot indignant blood mounting to the brown waves of hair on her brow, while she clasped her hands so tightly together, the pain at any other time would have made her scream.
Mrs. Chatterton, aghast at the effect of her words, leaned back once more against her pillows. "Don"t try to work up a scene," she endeavored to say carelessly. But she might as well have remonstrated with the north wind. The little country maiden had a temper as well as her own, and all the more for its long restraint, now on breaking bounds, it rushed at the one who had provoked it, utterly regardless that it was the great Mrs. Algernon Chatterton.
For two minutes, so breathlessly did Polly hurl the stinging sentences at the figure on the bed, Cousin Eunice was obliged to let her have her own way. Then as suddenly, the torrent ceased. Polly grew quite white.