Up The Hill And Over Part 54

"But why the sigh?"

"I don't like weddings. Once there was a young girl going to be married.

She was very happy. She was so happy that she was afraid to look at her own face in the gla.s.s. And it was eleven o'clock on Tuesday. I mean she was waiting for eleven o'clock on Tuesday. She was to be married then.

But just one minute before the time, something happened--the clock stopped, I think. Anyway eleven o'clock on Tuesday never came. So she could not get married. And she grew old and her flowers fell to pieces.

It was very sad."

"Poor Auntie!"

Aunt Amy moved uneasily. "Do you know who the girl was, Esther?"

"Don't you know, Auntie?"

"No, that is, I am never sure. Sometimes I think I used to know her. But she's gone. I never see her now. I'd like to find her if I could."

"You will find her some day, Auntie. Try not to fret about it."

It was seldom indeed that Aunt Amy spoke even thus vaguely of that other self of hers which she had lost in the tragedy of her youth. Esther's heart was full of pity as she listened. What was her own trouble compared to this? She at least would have her memories.

"There is just one chance," went on Aunt Amy, now gently excited. She had never spoken of this chance before but she felt that Esther might like to hear of it. "Just one chance! You see, the world being round--the world is round, isn't it, Esther?"

"Yes."

"Well, the world being round there is a chance that, if she waits long enough, eleven o'clock on Tuesday may come around again. Then if she is ready and if she has the ring he gave her, the red ring, and if they are both very quick they may be married after all."

"Oh, Aunt Amy, _dear_! That is why you love the ruby ring?"

But the old lady's memory was clouding again. She looked bewildered and would say no more. Esther kissed her with new tenderness. "I am so glad you have it safely back," she whispered. "You need never be afraid of losing it again."

Aunt Amy found it hard to make the pies that morning. She was enveloped in a deep sadness, a sadness which in some misunderstood way seemed inseparable from the idea of that lost friend of hers, the girl-bride whose marriage hour had never struck. It seemed to Aunt Amy that the girl had been waiting a very long time and was tired. Even if the world were round, it was a very big world and eleven o'clock on Tuesday took a wearisome time to travel around it. She could not understand why she should feel so terribly sorry for the waiting girl, but she did. A hot tear fell into the pie-crust. That would never do! The pie-maker furtively dried her eyes and came back to the consideration of more immediate problems.

It may seem strange that no one noticed the morbid state of Aunt Amy at this time. But it would have been more strange if any one had noticed it. Of outward signs there were practically none. Even the silent hand-wringing had ceased. She ceased to rebuke Jane for stepping upon the third stair; she ceased to talk of the peculiarities inherent in sprigged china. She was more and more careful not to mention "Them,"

and, as always, her housekeeping was a wonder and a delight.

She even offered to make Mary's wedding-cake. An offer which Mary received graciously. No one could make fruit cake like Aunt Amy and if it proved too big for the house oven the baker could bake it in his.

Jane was delighted. She told Bubble that it was to be a "hugeous" cake, the like of which was never seen in Coombe and she defied Ann to produce any relative or ancestor whatever whose wedding-cake had even faintly approached such dimensions. Ann retorted that big wedding-cakes were vulgar and that her Aunt Sykes did not think it proper for a widow woman to have a wedding-cake at all.

The making of the cake was a great mental help to Aunt Amy. It seemed to ease her mind and aid her to think clearly. She thought of many things as she prepared the materials, made most clever plans. That all the plans had to do with the preventing of the marriage and the final circ.u.mventing of "Them" goes without saying. There was one especially good plan which came to her while she stoned the raisins. Still another, while the currants were being looked over, and a third, more brilliant than either, while she chopped the candied peel. The trouble was that when she came to mix all her ingredients into the batter, her plans began to mix up too, until all was hopeless confusion. It was most disheartening! And the wedding, now, only a few days off. She wanted to go away into a corner and wring her hands, but if she did, some one might notice--and then "They" would have the chance they were looking for. Aunt Amy was too clever for that!

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

The day before the wedding, the wedding dress came home. No one had seen it. Mary's superst.i.tion in regard to this point was indulgently smiled at by everybody.

"But hadn't I better see it on you just once," suggested Esther. "Some trifle may have been forgotten and a missing hook and eye might spoil the effect of the whole thing."

"Oh, I have thought of that. Miss Milligan is going to run in after supper to see that everything is right. Then if anything is needed she can attend to it at once. Of course, it doesn't matter about Miss Milligan seeing it--for bad luck I mean."

"How about me?" asked Callandar, smiling.

"You!" with a playful shriek, "you would be worse than anybody. You would hoodoo it entirely!"

"How about little girls?" asked Jane coaxingly.

Mary turned suddenly peevish. "Don't bother me, Jane. I shall not let any one see it and that's enough." But their combined suggestions had disturbed her, and it was only upon their serious a.s.surance that of course her wishes would be respected that her amiability returned.

Yet it was apparent that she felt rather worried about the dress herself for she had worked herself into a small fever of nervous anxiety before the promised appearance of Miss Milligan for the last fitting. When at last that lady arrived, a trifle late, and very much out of breath, Mary would hardly let her say good evening to the others, before hurrying her upstairs.

"And I think," said she hesitatingly, "that I shan't come down again to-night. I am tired. If the doctor calls in, tell him that I am trying to get a good rest for to-morrow. Good night, Miss Philps. Good night, Esther!"

To the girl's astonishment she kissed her. A light, hot kiss which fell on her cheek like a fleck of glowing ash. Yet it was a real kiss and may have meant that the giver was not ungrateful. Jane, too, had a good night kiss that night; but Aunt Amy had already gone upstairs.

"Well?" They were safely in the upstairs room now and the door was closed.

"I've got it. It came on the afternoon mail. I went down to the post office specially. I knew you kind of counted on it for to-morrow."

With the glee of a child playing conspirator Miss Milligan dived into the recesses of the reticule she carried. "Here it is. No, that's peppermints. But it's here somewhere--"

"Oh, hurry!" Mary almost s.n.a.t.c.hed the packet from the friendly hand. At sight of it she turned deathly white and began to shake as she had shaken that day in the fitting-room. But this time she recovered quickly, almost before Miss Milligan had noticed it.

"Thank you so much," she said. With the last effort of her self-control she forced herself to place the packet upon the dresser. She wanted to s.n.a.t.c.h at it to tear it open, to scream with the relief of the tablets in her hand, but she did none of these things. Instead she thanked Miss Milligan again and proceeded to talk of other things, anything that would do to fill up the short time necessary to conceal the real purpose of the visit so that Esther and Miss Philps would not suspect--never for a moment suspect!

"Do you think we really need try on the dress?" asked the conscientious Miss Milligan.

Mrs. Coombe thought not. It was quite all right, she felt sure of that.

And really she was a little tired. It had been a trying day. She moistened her lips and tried to smile, keeping her eyes well away from the tempting heaven in the little pasteboard box. Would the woman never go!

Fortunately Miss Milligan was a lady who prided herself upon her good sense and also upon her proper pride. She always knew, she declared, when she was not wanted, and, strange as it may seem, it began to dawn upon her that this was one of those rare occasions. Mrs. Coombe was very pleasant, of course, but Miss Milligan missed something, a certain cordiality which might have tempted her to prolong her stay. She was not offended, for if she considered that her self-denying journeys to the post office were meeting with less than their just deserts, she was not a woman to insist upon grat.i.tude where grat.i.tude was not freely given.

She stayed therefore no longer than the fiction of dress-fitting required and then with a somewhat strained "good night" pa.s.sed down the stairs and out of the house.

Mary waited, rigid as a statue, until she heard the front gate close, then, the last defence down, she sprang to the dressing table--tearing off the paper from the package as a puppy dog might tear the covering from a bone. A gla.s.s of water stood ready. Her shaking hands reached for it, counted the number of tablets and slipped them in. Then, with a long breath of relief, the tension relaxed. She raised her eyes, triumphing eyes, to the mirror and saw--Aunt Amy watching her from the doorway.

She had forgotten to lock the door!

But it was only Aunt Amy.

Fear and relief came in almost the same breath. She steadied herself against the dresser.

"Shut the door!"

Aunt Amy obeyed. But she shut herself inside the door. "What do you want?" Mary never wasted words on Amy--"Ah!"

With a motion so swift that it seemed like a conjuror's miracle, Aunt Amy had slipped from her stand by the door, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the open box, and was back again before the choking cry on the other's lips had formed itself.

"Esther says you musn't take these," said Aunt Amy in her colourless voice.