The Girl Next Door (Crimson Romance) Page 6

  “I hope you will, my boy, as often as you can endure the company of an old man! You will be more than welcome.”

  As he followed Betsy to the car and felt his way to the seat, Peter said, “You’ve got some nice friends, chick. The professor’s tops.”

  “He’s a darling,” said Betsy simply. “I adore him.”

  “And he loves you,” said Peter.

  There were little flags of color in her cheeks, but she managed to say in a casual voice, “Sure. Love begets love. Didn’t you know that? He’d have to love me, because I love him. It always works out like that — or didn’t you know?”

  She all but held her breath for his answer. She fixed her eyes on his face, causing the car to wobble a little as she failed to give it proper attention. But Peter was thinking, and for the moment unconscious of the car’s swerve.

  “‘Love begets love’ eh?” he repeated. “Where’d you read that, Betsy?”

  Betsy caught the note of tension in his voice, and her heart did a crazy little upward surge. “Oh, I don’t know. Somewhere. Anyway, it’s a universal fact, recognized by — oh, by people like Freud, and such,” she answered him with unconvincing airiness.

  Peter was sitting with his sightless eyes turned straight ahead, his hands clenched on the top of his cane.

  “So?” he said at last. “You mean if you love someone very deeply, with all your heart, that someone will, given time, learn to love you?”

  Betsy’s eyes were shining. But above the tumult in her heart she said with forced gaiety:

  “But of course. Any dope knows that!”

  Peter turned his head, as though looking down at her, and suddenly he grinned. “You’re very convincing, pet,” he told her. “But it seems to me I’ve heard differently.”

  Betsy laughed, shakily. “Oh, well, you believe what you believe, and I’ll believe what I believe, and we can still be friends — being the broad-minded type!” she answered.

  Peter laughed, and when Betsy let him out at his house a little later, she could tell by the way he smiled that he was happier than he had been when they set out.

  Chapter Eight

  That evening after dinner, when George had left for his weekly lodge meeting, Edith and Betsy were alone in the living room. There was a far-away look in Betsy’s eyes, and Edith waited for some clue to her daughter’s secret thoughts. But when Betsy was ready to confide, she would — and not a moment before.

  “Mum,” she said presently, and Edith’s heart warmed at the old childhood term, “do you think it’s true that if you love somebody — well, pretty terribly — that somebody sort of has to love you in return?”

  Edith’s eyes widened and then she dropped them to her sewing.

  “Well, in a way, I suppose it’s true,” she admitted. “It’s natural enough. If you love a person, you naturally show him your best and most attractive self. You work at the job of winning his love. And I suppose if you work at anything long enough and hard enough, you get what you’re after.”

  Betsy was watching her, listening intently, and there was something in her golden-brown eyes that stabbed at her mother’s heart

  “It’s Peter, I suppose?” Edith asked, impulsively.

  Betsy’s eyebrows went up a little and she seemed to retreat But she answered promptly, “Of course. Who else? It’s always been Pete and it always will be!”

  “But darling, Pete’s blind. Surely, you must realize — ” Edith stopped, halted by the look on her daughter’s face.

  “And that only makes me love him all the more. Because I can help him and take care of him — and do things for him,” Betsy said quietly.

  “I know, darling — but Pete’s not in love with you.” Edith’s voice shook a little.

  “I know that, Mother.” Betsy’s face seemed drained of all color. “He’s not in love with me now. But if I work very hard, and do everything I can to make him realize I’m all grown up and everything — ”

  Edith waited, not daring to speak, lest she say the wrong thing. This business of being a parent was complicated, she told herself. It was hard to stand aside and watch the daughter you adored rush headlong into a furnace. But if the child wouldn’t let you help …

  “Do you suppose if I let somebody give me a terrific rush and get myself engaged, that would make Pete realize I’m grown up?” suggested Betsy. “I mean, if I were engaged to somebody else, then he’d know I’m old enough to be married.”

  “Betsy Drummond! Are you out of your mind?” raged Edith. “Of all the shameless — ”

  “Bo Norris wouldn’t mind being engaged to me,” Betsy said coolly.

  “Any man would mind being used in such a shameless, cruel way.” Edith was appalled at the revelation of Betsy’s deviousness. “Why, poor Bo has been mad about you for years. He’d all but lose his mind if he thought you’d give him a kind word, let alone promise to marry him.”

  “Then why shouldn’t I let him have a little fun? At least, if Pete thought I was going to marry Bo, he might decide he didn’t want to lose me himself.’’

  Edith was aghast. “Betsy, I honestly believe you mean that,” she whispered.

  Betsy’s head went up. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do to get Pete,” she acknowledged.

  Edith drew a deep breath and pricked herself with her forgotten needle, and realized that she was shaking. “Well, this is one thing you’re not going to do, Betsy. I won’t permit it!”

  Betsy said nothing, but with eyes cool and almost inimical, she gave her mother a look that said more plainly than words, “Oh. And how are you going to stop me?”

  “You just make one play for poor Bo and, so help me, I’ll tell him the truth.”

  Betsy regarded her for a moment, and then she said coolly, “Okay, then. I guess that’s out. I’ll have to think of something else.”

  She went back to her book as calmly as though nothing had happened. Edith, trying to go back to her sewing, found her eyes blurred by tears and her hands shaking so that she dared not continue.

  She was appalled at the revelation Betsy had made — Betsy, her beloved child, on whose kindliness and generosity she had always banked. Here was Betsy callously proposing to get herself engaged to one man simply to convince another man that she was old enough for marriage! Suddenly Edith had the unhappy conviction that this girl who sat across from her was a stranger — and a stranger of whom she was a little frightened. She was secretly glad when, a little later, Betsy yawned and said good night.

  Edith sat on alone, until she heard the door close at the top of the stairs. Then she put her face in her hands and burst into tears.

  She was startled when she heard George’s footsteps and looked up at the clock to see that it was eleven-thirty. George came in, looking pleased and relaxed.

  Chapter Nine

  Several days after Betsy’s suggestion that she become engaged to Bo Norris, Edith, Molly Prior and Anne Hutchens were sitting in Edith’s garden. It was a pleasant place, with the shade of the friendly old trees, and with the white-painted garden furniture.

  “How about calling Marcia and having a game?” suggested Molly.

  “Maybe she’s getting too young in her ideas to want to play about with us,” said Anne, her eyes malicious.

  “I’m not so sure I like that,” Molly said frankly.

  “Just what part of my innocent remark upsets you most, darling?” cooed Anne.

  “None of it, pet,” answered Molly. “I meant that I’m not too crazy about our kids gathering at the feet of Marcia Eldon. Bobbie’s been going around mooning lately, and I’ve got my fingers crossed. For a while I was sure he was going to marry Anne Gray, and I was glad. She’s exactly the sort of girl I’d select for a daughter-in-law. But all of a sudden, Bobbie stopped seeing her, and he hangs around Marcia Eldon until I could scream.”

  “I’d say she is pretty potent stuff for unsophisticated kids like yours,” announced Anne. “But the thing that throws me is that Peter Marshall seems t
o be practically living there these days.”

  “Anne!” Edith cried sharply.

  “What have I said now?” asked Anne.

  Molly answered. “Since you’ve become a lady-in-waiting darling, your tongue has grown much too sharp, don’t you think?”

  Anne pulled herself almost erect in the long garden chair, and her blue eyes were wide, her expression much too innocent to be convincing.

  “Don’t be absurd, Molly! All I said was that Peter is at Marcia Eldon’s from dawn until midnight. It’s quite true, and I don’t see why anybody should get excited about it! After all, Peter’s free and twenty-one; and Marcia is free — supposedly — and more than twenty-one. So what if they do see a lot of each other?”

  Molly eyed her sternly. “What do you mean — Marcia’s supposedly free?” she demanded.

  Anne shrugged. “Oh, all I know is that we were playing bridge at Stacy Allen’s house last week — Marcia and I were partners. And while Jennie Stewart was dealing, she asked, with that poison sweetness of hers, ‘Will Mr. Eldon be joining you here this summer, Mrs. Eldon?’ Of course there was a silence in which you could have heard a pin-feather drop. But Marcia only smiled and said, ‘I sincerely hope not. I’m afraid his wife wouldn’t approve. She’s rather narrow-minded about such things as ex-wives, you see.’”

  “Divorced!” breathed Molly.

  “Obviously,” answered Anne.

  Edith made no comment, and after a moment Anne stirred a little and said pettishly, “Oh, well, I thought it was rather exciting news, after all. We’ve been wondering about her, and why she is a Mrs. without a Mr. around, and now we know.”

  “Yes,” said Molly. “And now I’m really worried about Bobbie!”

  “You needn’t be,” said Anne. “Bobbie’s got a head on his shoulders, and he’s been around. He’ll see through her, in time.”

  “But suppose there’s nothing to see,” said Edith quietly. “After all, we’re a bunch of spiteful, malicious cats. Just because Marcia is a stranger here, and people are beginning to make a fuss over her, could it be that we are jealous?”

  “If by ‘people’ you mean all the unattached young men about town — and a few of the older unattached men, like Mr. Pirkle, whose wife died three years ago, and old Mr. Hewett who has never had a wife — then I’m willing to admit ‘people’ are making a fuss over her,” said Molly flatly. “But I haven’t heard the girls or our own friends raving about her.”

  “Betsy is devoted to her,” announced Edith.

  There was a moment of tension, but almost before they had time to be conscious of it, it was gone.

  “Oh, well, Betsy’s a sweetheart, and she’s as friendly as a puppy,” said Molly. “And anyway, Marcia’s not making a play for Betsy’s young man — ”

  “But I always thought Betsy was mad about Peter Marshall,” Anne broke in.

  Molly gave her a warning glance, but her voice was elaborately casual as she said, ‘‘Now you’re talking nonsense, Anne. You know very well that Betsy and Pete have been pals for years. Betsy’s not in love with anybody.”

  “No?” asked Anne, sweetly.

  “No!” returned Molly. “Betsy’s not even grown up.”

  “Betsy’s nineteen,” Anne pointed out.

  “How did my child get mixed up in this?” Edith put a determinedly good-natured end to the argument. “As I remember it, we suggested that we ask Marcia to come over and make up a table of bridge. How we got tangled up in all this gossip, I’m sure I don’t know. Hold everything while I telephone her.”

  She went across the grass, and Molly turned to Annie and said in a savage undertone, “Anne Hutchens, if you want that baby of yours to be born before I murder you with my bare hands, you’ll keep that little trap of yours shut about Peter Marshall and Betsy.”

  Anne regarded her coolly. “I think Betsy ought to know that Pete is at Marcia Eldon’s place every day, and practically all day,” she said. “You and I both know Betsy worships Pete. And I can’t imagine what Marcia means. After all, she is almost twice as old as he is.”

  “Whoa there!” ordered Molly. “Peter’s about twenty-four, and Marcia Eldon can’t be more than twenty-eight.”

  “Ever see her in the good strong sunlight? She’ll never see thirty-five again.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. She’s only two or three years older than Peter, and marriage between people their ages is by no means unusual,” Molly pointed out, without realizing what she was saying. The next moment, her eyes widened and she looked startled.

  Anne, watching her, chuckled. “See what I mean?” she drawled.

  “But — oh, for Heaven’s sake, Anne — ”

  “Molly, you’re so blind,” observed Anne. “We all know Marcia Eldon hasn’t a cent. She deposits fifty dollars in the bank on the first of every month, and before the end of the month she’s having to dip into that reserve fund she opened her account with. Never mind how I know — I know! The five hundred is almost gone, and the fifty dollars goes nowhere at all.”

  “So what?” demanded Molly.

  “So the Marshalls are wealthy. Old Mr. Marshall, Pete’s father, left a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar trust fund for Peter, and Mrs. Marshall is adequately provided for. I’d say that Marcia Eldon would be mighty glad to get her hands on the Marshall money — wouldn’t you? And Pete, even if he is blind, is not unattractive. He’s really sweet Gilded with two hundred and fifty thousand, I’d say he would be pretty easy to take.”

  For the moment Molly couldn’t think of anything to say. Secretly she was relieved at the thought that Marcia couldn’t possibly have any designs on Bobbie, because the Priors were not wealthy and Bobbie was dependent on his modest salary for a living. It would be two or three years before he could think of getting married… .

  Meanwhile, Edith had picked up the telephone and given the number of the house next door, across the lawn and through the unclipped hedge. She waited, and then a man’s voice said, “Hello?”

  It was Peter’s voice, and Edith recognized it instantly. She felt a vague sinking of her heart, but she answered him promptly.

  “Hello, Peter. Is Mrs. Eldon there? This is Edith Drummond.”

  “Oh, how are you, Mrs. Drummond? Just a minute and I’ll call Marcia.”

  She heard Peter go away from the telephone, and, after a moment, footsteps coming closer, then a burst of smothered laughter.

  “Hello, Mrs. Drummond.” Marcia’s voice was light with laughter — laughter accompanied by Peter’s over some trivial incident, perhaps, that had been amusing only because they had shared it.

  “I didn’t know you had company, Mrs. Eldon,” said Edith, and could not keep her voice from sounding formal. “Mrs. Prior and Mrs. Hutchens are here, and we thought you might like to take a hand at bridge.”

  “That was sweet of you to think of me, Mrs. Drummond,” said Marcia politely. “But I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to give me a rain-check. There are some people here.”

  “Yes, of course — some other time, then.”

  After she had put the telephone down, Edith stood for a moment, just staring at it, thinking. Peter had seemed so completely at home. He had answered the telephone; he had shared laughter with Marcia, and the telephone had given no indication of other voices. Yet Marcia had said, “Some people are here.” Edith knew instinctively that there was no one there but Peter, and tried to deny the little stab of pain at her heart. Pain for Betsy, who might be terribly hurt. Betsy was so completely in love with Peter.

  She tried to laugh at herself, to scold herself. She had not been happy about Betsy’s love for Peter; from the first, knowing Peter, she had not believed that he returned her love, and Betsy would inevitably be hurt. But now that Peter was obviously in love with Marcia …

  She made herself go back to the two women who were waiting in the garden, carrying three bottles of Coca-cola and three glasses and a plate of cookies on a tray, as an excuse for her long absence.

  �
�Is she coming over?” asked Anne, reaching for a cookie.

  “No, she’s got guests,” answered Edith.

  “Oh,” said Anne, regarding the depths of her glass with elaborate interest “So she has guests? Am I surprised! And of course, Peter Marshall is one of them.”

  “I believe so,” said Edith curtly.

  Molly glanced at Anne, but refrained from making any comment

  The rest of the afternoon moved with a jerkiness that was completely foreign to the three friends, and Edith was secretly relieved when Anne decided it was time to leave. She walked with them to the gate, and stood there in the warm sunlight, watching them until Molly’s car turned from sight.

  She didn’t know quite how long she stood there, but at last she heard footsteps coming toward her, and looked up. A tall young man in slacks and a shirt with an open collar, the sleeves turned back to his elbows, came toward her. Beside him paced a beautiful dog. It was, of course, Peter Marshall and the dog, Gus.

  “Hello, Peter.” Edith made her voice sound warm and friendly, and was ashamed that she did not feel like that toward Peter at the moment.

  “Oh, hello, Mrs. Drummond,” said Peter, and paused.

  “Your dog’s a beauty, Peter,” said Edith, embarrassed because she could think of nothing less inane to say.

  “Oh, Gus is quite a pooch,” answered Peter. “Betsy was a sweetheart to get him for me. I’m afraid she’s a little annoyed with me, though, that I don’t let him drag me about at the end of a wooden harness!”

  “I suppose Betsy feels that Gus would be happier if you made use of his training.” Edith was uncomfortably aware that there was a faint edge to her voice.

  She saw the taut line about Peter’s mouth, as he said curtly, “It’s not much of a life for a pup, hauling a guy around. I like it better this way, and I’m sure Gus does, too.”

  “Well, of course that’s something for you to decide.”

  A car slithered to the curb with a screaming of tortured brakes, and Betsy called out eagerly, “Hello, Pete? Want a lift? I’m going your way.”

  “Hi, scrap. Sure it won’t take you out of your way?” said Peter. He turned his face toward Betsy, and Edith could have wept at the radiant look in the girl’s eyes. It was a look that laid Betsy’s young heart bare for anyone to see its small secret, which was, in reality, a secret to no one but Peter.