CHAPTER VIII

KATE MEETS A DETECTIVE

When Kate came to luncheon that day she was surprised to see a letter lying at her place. So soon? Why, she had not been here a day yet!

“It’s not your mother’s handwriting,” Aunt Katherine said, a little curiously.

“No, it’s from the boys. Oh, I’m so glad!”

“The boys?”

“Yes, I told you about them last night, you know. The twins. The Harts. How jolly of them to write me so soon!”

“But what can they have to tell you since yesterday?”

“It will be all about Mother, and much better than a letter from her herself because she doesn’t know how to tell about herself, you know. She’s always so silent on that subject. Do you mind, Aunt, if I just open it and peek?”

“Of course, my dear, read it. Elsie and I will excuse you.”

But there was almost no letter inside. There was one paragraph in the exact centre of a big square sheet of yellow notepaper, written in a script so small and round and legible that it was almost print like. But the very wide margins were bordered with a series of pen sketches that told a story in its progressive action something in the way a moving picture does. It was the story of a picnic the Harts had arranged for yesterday afternoon with Katherine the guest of honour. Professor Hart, in an endeavour to rescue the lunch basket which had fallen into a brook, had evidently fallen in after it. That perhaps was the high mark in the artist’s work. But the picnic had been chock full of adventure one could see at a glance; and Lee’s quick humour and real art had turned even the worst mishaps into fun.

The paragraph was in Sam’s hand, and began: “Dear Kate, if you are well it is well. We also are well.” Apparently he had nothing whatsoever to say, but he said it cheerfully.

Kate crinkled up her eyes and laughed so wholeheartedly over the nonsense that she felt herself rude. She passed the paper to Aunt Katherine. “You will see that I can’t help it,” she explained.

And Aunt Katherine, after she had studied the pictures a few seconds and skimmed the paragraph, laughed, too, a light, genuinely amused laugh. “It’s not only funny, though,” she insisted, “it’s artistic. Which boy drew these pictures?”

“Lee. He’s always sketching. He means to be a real artist.”

“I think he is that already. All he needs now is study. I would say he has a future if he has the will to stick to it.”

Aunt Katherine now handed the letter to Elsie and turned back to Kate to remark: “Your mother, on accepting my invitation for you, mentioned the fact that you were lonely, in need of friends as much as Elsie. But I don’t see how any one could be more companionable or amusing than these boys, from your descriptions and this letter.”

Kate glowed at Aunt Katherine’s appreciation of Sam and Lee. “Oh, Mother meant _girl_ friends. There just doesn’t happen to be any one near my age in Ashland. And while boys are all right, they aren’t exactly the same.”

Elsie had lost some of her indifference and coldness over the letter. She was almost smiling, in fact. Now she was actually smiling. Kate beamed. This was certainly the most natural minute and the happiest since her arrival. She blessed the Hart boys for having created it.

But Aunt Katherine was surprised when it developed that the girls had not been exploring the countryside in the car that morning.

“Didn’t you use Timothy at all?” she asked.

“Just for errands in the town. Kate wrote letters and I picked and arranged flowers, and read ‘The King of the Fairies.’”

“One would think, Elsie, you possessed only one book. When are you going to finish with ‘The King of the Fairies’?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Elsie’s tone had fallen suddenly into sulkiness.

But though Aunt Katherine did not seem to notice the sudden chilling of the atmosphere, Kate did and spoke quickly, a trifle nervously.

“Haven’t you read ‘The King of the Fairies,’ Aunt Katherine?”

“Why, no. It’s a fairy story, a child’s book. It surprises me that Elsie, a big girl of fifteen, finds it so fascinating.”

“Mother finds it fascinating, too,” Kate hurried to assure her. “And I know it just about by heart. Mother keeps saying it’s the most beautiful love story she ever read. And even the boys like it. They felt just the way you do about its title. But once they got into it they couldn’t stop. If you read it yourself you’d see why.”

Kate was fairly radiant with her enthusiasm about this book. Her aunt smiled into her eager eyes. “I shall certainly look it over, then,” she promised. “It must be an unusual book to inspire such loyalty.”

“I’ll bring my copy down and put it on your reading table right after luncheon.”

“You have a copy with you! It _must_ be a favourite! Thank you, Kate.”

But Elsie did not offer a word to this topic. She sat, colder than ever, looking at the wall to the right of Kate’s shoulder.

“As Timothy hasn’t been working this morning, I think I shall have him take me in to Boston this afternoon,” Aunt Katherine said, as she helped the girls to lemon ice which had just been set before her in a frosted bowl. “Driving is about the coolest thing one can do to-day. Will either or both of you come with me?”

“Oh, yes. _I_ should love to.” Kate was secretly relieved that with this promise she would not be thrown alone with Elsie again that afternoon. And she was even more relieved when Elsie said, “I don’t believe I’ll go, thank you, Aunt Katherine. I shall read or do something here.”

As Kate was on her way up to get her hat for the drive she was stopped at the stair-turning by a woman who had come through a door connecting with a different staircase. She was a middle-aged, plump person with graying curly hair, in a starched black and white print dress, almost entirely concealed by a crisp white apron. It was the cook, Julia.

“How do you do, Miss Kate,” she said, hurriedly, and almost in a whisper. “Excuse me, but I just had to ask how is your blessed mother? Miss Frazier never tells us anything at all. She ain’t sick or anything, is she, and that’s why you’re here?”

Kate reassured her. “But did you know Mother?” she asked.

“Of course. We all did, ’cept Isadora. She’s new since. Your mother was for ever in and out of the house and we all loved her. Didn’t she ever tell you the time she broke her arm falling on the kitchen stairs? And she never cried, if you’ll believe me. Only moaned just a bit, even when the doctor come and fixed it. Miss Frazier was away and old Mr. Frazier, too. So I had to manage. Didn’t she ever tell you?”

Kate had to admit that she had never heard the story.

“Well, she wan’t one to talk about herself, she wan’t. Always interested in _you_ and sort of forgot herself like.”

Kate nodded at that. Evidently Julia did know her mother.

“And you say she’s perfectly well? We’ll all be grateful for that.”

Aunt Katherine’s voice came up to them from the hall at this point. She was talking to Elsie. As quickly as she had appeared, Julia whisked about and was out of the door through which she had come. But quick as a wink, and almost as if by magic, before she vanished she had produced from somewhere a gingerbread man and pushed it into Kate’s hand.

Kate looked at the gift, amused, when Julia was gone. “She couldn’t have realized how old I am,” she thought, smiling. “She thinks I’m just Mother’s ‘child.’” Up in her room she hid it under her pillow.

* * * * * * * *

It was pleasant speeding along with her aunt toward Boston, creating their own breeze as they went through the hot July afternoon.

“Now tell me, Kate,” Aunt Katherine questioned her abruptly as soon as they were on their way. “Are you and Elsie getting on well? Are you becoming friends?”

This was difficult for Kate. She hesitated. “I don’t think Elsie likes me,” she said finally. “She tries to be—polite, I think.”

“Not like you? Nonsense! How could she help liking you?”

Kate laughed. “I suppose you _can’t_ like everybody,” she said modestly. “But Elsie doesn’t seem to like very many people. That boy and girl next door—she doesn’t play with them.”

“Oh, Rose and Jack Denton. You know the reason for the coldness there, of course. But you are quite different.”

“No, I don’t know the reason. Why hasn’t she friends here? I don’t know anything. She hasn’t explained at all.”

Aunt Katherine showed real surprise. “Do you mean your mother hasn’t told you why things are difficult for Elsie? Is she as ashamed as that? Well, she feels even more strongly than I had suspected then.”

Bitterness and sorrow had settled on Aunt Katherine’s features.

“I don’t think Mother knew anything to tell me,” Kate protested. “Why are things difficult for Elsie?”

“If your mother hasn’t told you, she wouldn’t want _me_ to. That is certain. But I am surprised she let you come, feeling so. However, since she did let you come, and you have no prejudice, Elsie has no business to include you in her rages. You are the one person in the world she should be friendly with and grateful to. And, you know, I am sure she exaggerates other people’s attitude, anyway. The young people would be friendly enough if she would only go halfway.”

Aunt Katherine put her hand on Kate’s arm and continued earnestly: “That is one reason why I wanted you to come so much, to help us break the ice. Friday I am giving a party in your honour, Kate, an informal little dance.”

Kate clasped her hands. For a minute she forgot all the mystery that had gone before in her aunt’s speech.

“A dance! Oh, Aunt Katherine, how beautiful of you!” To herself she added, “Glory, glory! Already things are beginning to happen just as Mother said they would.”

“I have asked fifteen boys and thirteen girls. _They have all, every one, accepted!_ If that doesn’t prove how mistaken Elsie is, I am a very foolish woman.”

“Elsie hasn’t mentioned the party to me,” Kate wondered aloud.

“No. I haven’t told her anything about it yet. I wanted you here and established first. I hoped that once you and she were having a happy, gay time together, she would soften, feel more in the mood. Most of the young people I have asked she had met when visiting me during school vacations. She was very popular with them before—well, before. But there are a few new families who have come to Oakdale since—well, since.”

“Before what? Since what?” If it was rude of Kate, she could not help it. It was all too mystifying.

“But that’s just what I can’t tell you, since Katherine hasn’t. Only, your not knowing makes it a bit complicated. No, I’m not sure of that. It may make everything more simple, more natural. But tell me, can’t you be friends with Elsie? She needs your friendship and companionship more than you can guess, my dear.”

“I’m sorry. Perhaps we shall be friends yet. But she does act awfully _queer_. Oh, it’s mean of me to talk about her so. Perhaps I’ve done something. Perhaps there’s a reason.”

“Well, she’s a strange child. Strange! But she used to be different. I always thought she seemed a little lost and lonely, you know. That was mostly because of her mother—no mother at all, in reality. Just a butterfly. In spite of that Elsie was agreeable and tender once. Quite a dear. But since she has come to live with me she has been entirely a changed person. You must believe, though, Kate, that there is no more reason for her to be unfriendly toward you than there is for her to be unfriendly toward me. And I am speaking truly when I say there has hardly been a friendly moment between us since she came into my home. She is polite, beautifully polite. I suppose that absurd fashionable boarding school she was sent to taught her manners. But it goes no deeper. How do _you_ feel about it? Is there anything unkind or wrong in the way I treat Elsie? Have you noticed anything in the brief time you have been here?”

Kate was amazed to have Aunt Katherine so appealing to her. All barriers were down between them. They were talking as two girls might, or two women.

“Nothing unkind, of course! I don’t know how you could be kinder. But, Aunt Katherine, do you truly like Elsie? It may be that she _feels_, in spite of your kindness, that you just don’t like her.”

“Does it seem that way to you?”

“No—perhaps not. But there is something in your voice when you speak to her—a difference. I don’t know how to express it. If you truly don’t like her, perhaps you can’t help showing it a little.”

Aunt Katherine said no more for a while. But she was thinking. “It’s queer,” she said finally, “very queer, the way I am talking to you. I am treating you as though you were your mother almost. And you are like your mother, in deep ways. Only you are franker, more open. You say right out the things that she might think but wouldn’t say. Well, and since I am saying things right out, too—I _don’t_ like Elsie. You are right there. I tried to. But I simply couldn’t. She is too unnatural, too cold and heartless, and perhaps self-seeking. The irony of it is that she is all I have left to love, the only person in the world who needs me now—or, rather, the only person who will let herself use me. But I can’t like her.”

Kate was embarrassed at this revelation, and at the same time deeply sorry for her aunt. For the present the subject dropped between them.

* * * * * * * *

In Boston Kate looked about her with the greatest interest as the car crept through the crowded business section. She had been in Boston before on brief holiday visits with her mother, stopping at little boarding houses, and spending most of the time in art galleries or the Museum or on trolley rides to places of historical interest. But now she was seeing it from a new angle, leisurely and in comfort. There was no jostling, no hurrying, no aching feet.

They drew up to a curb in Boylston Street. Timothy got out and came around for orders. “Go up and ask Mr. O’Brien to come down to the car, Timothy. Tell him I have only a minute.”

Almost at once a spruce, energetic-looking young man stood at the car door, his straw hat in his hand.

“Wouldn’t it be better to have our interview, no matter how brief, in my office, Miss Frazier?” he suggested deferentially.

Miss Frazier shook her head with decision. “No. I just want to ask you one question. Is there any news?”

Mr. O’Brien glanced toward Kate significantly.

“This is my niece,” Miss Frazier informed him but not at all in the way of an introduction. “Tell me, have you the slightest news?”

“Nothing that is very certain. We have a new clue, perhaps. But I cannot go into that before your niece, Miss Frazier.”

“Oh, this is not Elsie. It’s another niece, a blood relation. And I do not intend to climb those stairs to your office. You can surely give me some hint.”

“There is an elevator. You forget.”

“No matter. I am not going up. Be quick, please. Naturally, I am impatient.”

Kate was certainly catching a glimpse now of the bossy Aunt Katherine of tradition.

“Well, we just have an idea. We should like to know whether your other niece, Miss Elsie, ever comes into Boston alone. Has she been in this week, say?”

“Why, no. Certainly not. Bertha, her maid, is with her when I am not. She is a chaperon as well as a maid. I trust her. She happens to be a very remarkable woman for a servant.”

“Miss Elsie does come in, then, without you sometimes? Is she planning to come soon again?”

“Why, yes. But what this has to do with the business I can’t see. I’m sending her in to-morrow with her maid and Miss Kate to buy party frocks and see ‘The Blue Bird.’”

“Excellent!” Mr. O’Brien seemed much pleased. “Will they go directly to the store?”

“Yes, Pearl’s. A modiste on Beacon Street.”

“Very good. May I have one word in your ear?”

“I see no reason.” But Miss Frazier leaned a little toward the insistent young man while he lowered his voice so that Kate did not catch one word of what he said.

Her aunt laughed, amused apparently. “Much good that will do you. I have told you, Mr. O’Brien, there is not a chance in the world that Miss Elsie knows any more than we do.”

“However, you do not object?”

“No. Except that it is a foolish waste of time.”

“We shall not lose time through it, I assure you. Other members of my staff are working on other clues. Precious few there are, though.”

“If that is all I will say ‘good afternoon,’ then.” Miss Frazier settled back in her seat. “You will call me up, of course, the minute there is anything definite.”

“Of course. But does Miss Elsie often answer the telephone?”

“Sometimes. Very seldom. I tell you, Mr. O’Brien, there is no rhyme or reason to your suspicions in that direction.”

“Even so, Miss Frazier, I beg you to adjure Miss Kate here to secrecy. She should, on no condition, tell Miss Elsie one word she has heard.”

Miss Frazier nodded, glancing at Kate. Kate’s return look carried her promise. “I shall hope for something more definite when next I hear from you, Mr. O’Brien. Good afternoon. Home, Timothy.”

Mr. O’Brien stood on the curb while the big car pulled out. There was a troubled, displeased expression on his face, Kate thought. She knew that he resented very much the interview not having been more private.

“Is he a detective?” she asked her aunt curiously.

“Yes, a private detective, and a very good one. But perhaps he is right, Kate, and you had better forget all about him. If he is doing the job I suppose he has a right to do it in his own way.”

A private detective! And what had a detective to suspect of Elsie! But Kate took her aunt’s hint and asked no more questions.

Their way home took them by the Green Shutter Tea Room, a quaint little place built by a stream in a grove of maples. The tables were set out under the trees. Aunt Katherine suggested that they stop. And when they were seated opposite each other at a little round green table, their order given, they smiled at each other contentedly, like friends of long standing.