The Tryst (Annotated) (Grace Livingston Hill Book) (11 page)

And then, that afternoon, he packed his suitcase and went away to the tryst. 

“Hespur!” called the old man weakly as the young man's footsteps died away down the hall after his farewell. “Hespur!” 

“Here! Sir!” 

"Hespur, you've got to follow him, you have! I can't stand it not to know what he's doing." 

"Yes, sir" bowed Hespur uncertainly, not unwilling. “But what, sir, will you do?" 

The old man groaned:

“I suppose you'll have to leave me with that dog of a foreigner that came up from the kitchen the day you had to go up to Washington for me." 

“All right, sir. I’ll go, sir! When shall I go?” 

“Now! Catch that same train, do you hear? But don't let him know you're on it. Don't let him see you once. Understand? Follow him every step of the way till you get to the bottom of what sent him off in such a hurry. But don't let him lay eyes on you nor suspect ! Do you see?” 

“I see, sir. I'll try to make it.”

“Don't try! MAKE IT! You've GOT to make that train!" 

"All right, sir!" and Hespur vanished. 

Five minutes later a heavy-footed, thick-faced, stolid man-servant presented himself for orders, and Hespur, with no baggage and struggling into his overcoat as he ran, jumped into a cab and was whirled down the mountain side to the station, swinging himself on to the last car of the train as it began to move. 

Letter from Miss Sylvia Cole to her sister-in-law, Mrs. Horliss-Cole: 

“Dear Kate: -- 

You'll find two boxes done up in tissue paper in my top drawer of the bureau. They're for your Horliss twins. I don't suppose you remembered you had any nephews or that they were due a birthday this month, but I promised them some old fashioned mittens and there they are! Don't you forget to give them to them! 

I wish you'd have that Banely woman do up my black velvet dinner dress and the gray chiffon evening rag. I'm feeling better down here, and I may go down evenings sometimes. You might send my laces, too. Not that I approve of an ugly old woman in gew-gaws, but of course you're so anxious about the honor of the family that I have to humor you. 

There's a mob of people down here asking for yon. Everybody's gone wild over a handsome young nephew of old Calvin Treeves just back from France. They say he is booked for heir. Tell Marjorie she needn't think she has to run down here and angle for him. I don't want her, she's too much trouble, and besides he has a girl already. You'd better look out for your health and cut out some of those committees. You looked as thin as a shad when I left. 

As ever, Sylvia. 

P. S. The charming infant you picked up on the street to take care of me is doing very well. She knows her place better than most. You needn't bother sending anybody else, I'll manage to rub along with her.”

When Mrs. Horliss-Cole finished the reading of this epistle she handed it over to her daughter, who was lolling over a novel and a box of chocolates on the other side of the open fire: 

“I don't know but you better run down and see what Aunt Sylvia is up to now. Something queer, I'm sure, or she never would have sent for those dresses. I begged her to take them with her, and even had Banely smuggle them into her trunk, but she fished them out and said she didn't want any fool things like that. She was only an old woman and she was going to have a good time and be comfortable. There's certainly something that needs looking into, Marjorie, and I can't leave home now. You’ll just have to go. There are evidently young folks enough to make it lively, and you do nothing here but mope anyway. Your Aunt Sylvia will make the best of it when she finds you're there. Get ready and go down to-morrow night and I’ll send Banely down with you. I’ll do her good to have the trip. She can come back the next day.” 

Letter from Miss Sylvia Cole to her cousin, a prominent lawyer in the West: 

“Dear Harter:-- 

You did quite right about the mortgage, and I Will leave the settlement of the other business to your discretion. It's better than mine any day in the week. I'm down here in the old mountain house. When Kate wants to have any big doings or put across some unusual extravagance she ships me here for rheumatism or some other fancied ill. I did have a pain in my back for a day or two caused by the damp sheets the chambermaid insists in putting on the beds, but nothing that wouldn't have got well in New York just as well. So off I was sent. However, it's just as well, for when Kate gets a notion it has to go through no matter who stands in the way, and I'm getting too old to stand between Jim and his annoyances always. If Jim can stand her let him have his fill. I enjoy getting away once in a while. If it wasn't for Jim's making such a fuss I'd have taken one of those little apartments I own in your city and kept house by myself. I'd be much happier that way, and I'm not sure I shan’t do it yet sometime. 

By the way, do you know any people out your way by the name of Merrill? Pretty prominent people I should imagine. There's a daughter named Patricia, or Patsy or something like that. If you happen on them tell me who they are. One meets all sorts of people at a place like this. 

Speaking of Jim, he's well, but he has his hands full. Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward, and I guess we all get our share. But he seems to like it, so why should I worry? Remember me to Mary. I'm glad she doesn't paint her face. Somehow the world never got what it promised to be when you and I were children. I'm sick of it. 

Yours as ever, 

Sylvia.” 

When Harter Briskett read this he polished his glasses and said with a reminiscent smile, “Dear old Silver! She’s the same old girl, no matter how much money she gets. I wonder if she could possibly mean the Daniel Merrills. The .West is a big place. I must tell her that New York doesn't quite cover the globe! Has Dan got a girl named that I wonder?” 

Letter from Patricia Merrill to the postmaster in her western home city: 

“Postmaster ......... 

Dear Sir: I am sending with this a package of addressed and stamped envelopes, also extra stamps with which please forward to Miss Edith Fisher all mail belonging to me until further notice. I am uncertain about my address for a time, but ail mail sent to Miss Fisher will be promptly forwarded to me. 

Sincerely, Patricia Merrill.” 

Letter from Patricia Merrill to her father, evolved after three sleepless nights and a good cry: 

“Dear Daddy: You will be surprised to see I am not at home, and maybe you will be afraid something is the matter. But it is perfectly explainable, and I am pretty sure you will agree with me when you come home that I did right in coming with Miss Cole. You don't know her, I know, but she's a peach, and you'd like her a lot. She has a kind of grim humor that makes some people call her a grouch, but she isn't, especially when she likes you, and I'm quite sure she likes me. We are having an awfully good time together at the most beautiful spot in the South right among the pines. It is wonderful here. Mountains everywhere, and such sunsets. I don't believe they have any finer in South America, although Daddy dear, you know how much rather I would be there with you than anywhere else on earth. But as that wasn't to be I feel that I am pretty well fixed, and if you could see me you would quite approve. You see I had to decide in a great hurry. It was one of those times you used to tell me about when one has to use the best judgment one has accumulated from all the teaching of the years. I tried to, indeed I did. Daddy, and I haven't felt self-compuncted a bit about it since, so it must have been right. I would rather not explain any further until you come back, if you don't mind, for things like that are so unsatisfactory to tell, and besides letters sometimes turn traitor and tell some one else you don't want to have know, so if you will trust me, and I know you will, dear Daddy, I'll just wait for the where-fore till you get back. 

You can't tell how I am missing you, but I'm really being brave and doing just as nearly as possible what I think you would like to have me do under the circumstances. Now don't go and imagine I'm needing pity, for I'm in the most beautiful spot ever. You should see the wonderful view from my window, the plumy pines, with a hazy smoke blending them in the distance, the winding trails and the lovely smelly depths where I love to walk. Miss Cole is a peach if she is getting old. She has a grim humor that you would love, Daddy, and she likes me. She really does, I'm sure, for she sits and looks at me through her eyelashes when she thinks I'm not looking, and she has a sort of 'mother' look on her lips when I look up suddenly. You know what I mean, Daddy dear. She tries to plan things to please me too, and we're having a beautiful time together. I read aloud to her and she likes my voice she says. I play I’m reading to you sometimes, and it makes it a lot happier time, because often I can think how you would look and what you would say to some of the things I read. I've always counted so much on getting home and reading to you because you told me once you loved it. So hurry home, Daddy dear, and I'll save up lots of nice things I think you'd like to hear. We'll read aloud every night for half an hour or so after the other folks have gone to bed or gone out somewhere times when you and I don't need to go. 

So Daddy, have a beautiful time, and store up all the wonderful stories about South America for me. Remember I'm interested in every tiny thing you see and do, and hurry home to your loving daughter 

Pat. 

P. S. You better just address the letters as usual, for no telling how long we'll stay here, and of course they'll be forwarded if I should stay as long as an answer to this. Comfort yourself about me, precious father, I'm having the very best time I could have without you.” 

Letter from Mrs. Daniel P. Merrill to her husband's lawyer, Norris Mason, Esq.: 

“Dear Mr. Mason: --

I am so sorry to have to apologize for Patricia. She is such a child yet in spite of her coming of age. Last evening a friend of her school days swooped down upon her and simply carried her off for an extended trip. I hesitated very much to let her go in her father's absence, but the girls simply would not take no for an answer, and after all there was no real reason why I should interfere with her pleasure. 

It never occurred to me that she was due to come down to the office on her birthday and see you. Mr. Merrill reminded me just before he left that it was so arranged, but I suppose it slipped her mind as it did mine until the last minute. Then of course as everything was arranged it was too late to delay. I suppose, however, it will make no real difference to delay the conference until her return, which is a little indefinite at present, as her friends have not made all their plans. She asked me to let you know why she did not respond to the summons you sent her, and to ask if you would kindly send her usual allowance to me to forward to her, as her address was somewhat uncertain. 

I hope it will in no way annoy or inconvenience you that the appointment was not kept, and suppose with Patricia that it was some mere detail of her coming of age which can as well be arranged later. 

Regretting that my daughter was unable to come to the office 

I am very sincerely, 

Anna G. Merrill.” 

The lawyer handed the letter over to his partner with a troubled sigh: 

“I wonder what that woman is up to now!” he said. 

Letter from John Treeves, addressed to Patricia Merrill, in her western home, with “To be forwarded” written across the corner: 

“Dear old friend: 

Not that you are old, of course, only as a friend, I remember distinctly that you were just two years lacking two months younger than myself. I hope you haven't forgotten. 

I've been through the war, and lost my precious mother, and now I've come home and I'm lonesome and want to see some one that used to belong. I saw your double the other day, or what I suppose might be a double of what you might look like now, and it made me want to see you. I'm going back to Maple Brook to-morrow and shall be rather busy for some days, after which I expect to take a western trip -- perhaps. If you are at home and care to see an old comrade write me at Maple Brook within the next week. 

Here's hoping for both. 

Sincerely, 

John D. Treeves.”

This letter was written the day before John Treeves left his uncle. 

Letter from Tenbroek, Mason & Co., lawyers, to Daniel P. Merrill: 

“Dear Dan: --

That little girl of yours appears to have gone off on a picnic with a school friend, so I haven't been able to have the little talk with Pat I promised you on her twenty-first birthday. Your wife has written that Pat left word I should send her allowance to Mrs. Merrill and she would forward it, as the address was uncertain. I haven't done it yet. Perhaps I won't. I think I'll wait till Pat gets back. It depends on how things turn out. If I were you I'd come home as soon as you get those papers sighed. Let 'prospects' go to the dogs. You are more needed here. Don't worry, of course. I just wanted to put myself on record as having broken my promise, but I guess she'll soon be home and I can keep it. If I knew where to get her I'd take a little trip and settle up, but Mrs. Merrill seemed mighty uncertain about her whereabouts when I called her up, so I'll wait a few days. 

I hope you are taking it easy and getting the real rest you needed. Don't worry about business. Everything is turning out all right. The Mattison contracts came in O.K. right on the date, and everything is moving just as it ought. Here's hoping you come back soon. 

As ever. 

Mason.” 

Letter from Marjorie Cole to Larcia Getchel, a school friend of the past winter and spring: 

"Dear Larch: 

The fates are against me and I can't come to your house party! You can't think how furious I am, but mother has put her foot down, hard and there doesn't seem any way to make her take it up again. I'm being hounded down to the Mountains with Aunt Sylvia under the pretext of looking after her. There's a perfectly stunning nephew of an old miser down there, and mother has heard of it. She thinks of course that he will take my mind off of Al, but she'll find she's missed her guess. I'm going to mope and mope until I get back again and have my own way. Not too much though, for mother has promised me a new fur evening coat if I go without making a fuss, so I'll wait till I get it before I mope too decidedly. Tell Al I'm no end sorry not to see him, but he understands how it is, and this is just one of the things that will balk all my plans if I don't keep my maternal parent soothed. It was perfectly ducky of you to plan it all and ask us up there, and I thought for a while I could pull it off, but it didn't work right, so I concluded I better bide my time till mother gets immersed in winter affairs, and then it will be easy to slip off for a week end real often. If that old weasel of a butler hadn't poked his nose into it I would be with you now, but he thought he had to blab about my meeting Al, and of course Mother was all up in the air. But I'll be as docile as possible down in that dull old hole, and she'll soon forget, and let me do as I please again.