Book: Patty and Azalea

C >> Carolyn Wells >> Patty and Azalea




"Well, I'm glad you both feel that way about it," said Elise; "of course
you know the girl better than I do,--as I've never even seen her! but if
she's such a strong-arm, I think I'm rather afraid of her!"

"Oh, I imagine you can hold your own against her!" laughed Patty, happy
now, since Bill's reassurance of her darling's safety. "All the same, I
wish Zaly would come home! It's after six! Come on, Elise, let's dress
for dinner, and then that will be done."

They went to their rooms, and soon Patty was all dressed and had
returned to her post of vantage on the wistaria porch, to look for the
return of the lost ones. And at last, through the gathering dusk, she
saw a baby carriage being propelled along the roadway.

"Here we are!" cried a voice, which Azalea tried hard to make casual,
but which showed in its quality a trace of apprehension.

"Oh!" Patty cried, and without another word flew down the steps, and
fairly grabbed her baby.

The child was asleep, but Patty lifted her from the pillows and gazed
into the little face. Apparently there was nothing wrong, but the
golden head cuddled down on Patty's shoulder and the baby slept on.

"She's tired," vouchsafed Azalea, "but she's all right."

"Where have you been?" asked Farnsworth sternly, as he came out of the
front door.

"Just for a walk," said Azalea, trying to speak pertly, but quailing
before the accusing blue eyes fixed upon her.

Patty said no word to the girl, but holding Fleurette close, went at
once to the nursery with her.

"She's all right, Winnie, isn't she?" the mother asked, anxiously.

"Yes, ma'am,--I think so,--but she's a little too droopy for mere
sleepiness."

"Droopy! what do you mean?"

"It may be nothing,--Mrs. Farnsworth,--it may be only that she's tired
out and very sleepy,--but she acts a mite as if she'd been--"

"Been what? Speak out, Winnie! What do you mean?"

"Well,--she acts to me like a baby that's had something soothing--some
drops, you know."

"Something to make her sleep?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, nonsense! Miss Thorpe couldn't give her anything like that! And why
would she? Don't you make any mistake, Winnie, Miss Thorpe adores this
baby!"

"I know it, she does, Mrs. Farnsworth, but all the same,--look at those
eyes, now."

Patty looked, but it seemed to her that the blue eyes drooped from
natural weariness, and assuring herself that no bones were broken or
out of place, she drew a long sigh of relief and told Winnie to put
Fleurette to bed as usual.

The nurse shook her head sagely, but said no more of her fears.

Patty returned to the porch where Farnsworth was still talking to
Azalea. Apparently he had scolded her sharply, for she was crying, and
that with Azalea Thorpe was a most unusual performance. She usually
resented reproof and talked back in no mild-mannered way. But now she
was subdued and even frightened of demeanour, and Patty knew that Bill
had done all that was necessary and further reproaches from her were not
needed.

"And another thing," Farnsworth was saying, "I want to know why you have
had no letters from your father since I asked to see one,--that was two
or three weeks ago!"

"I have had one," Azalea answered, sullenly, "I had one this morning."

"Let me see it," demanded Bill, and Azalea went up to her own room and
returned with the letter.

There was no envelope on it, and Farnsworth opened the folded sheet and
read:


MY DEAR CHILD:

I received your last letter and I am very glad you are having such a
nice time. It must be very pleasant at the grand house where you are
staying,--and I suppose you are getting grand too. I am very lonesome
without you, but I am willing, for I want you to have a good time and
get improvement and all that. Remember me kindly to Cousin William and
his wife. I like to hear you tell about the baby. She must be a fine
child. I am well, and I hope you are, too. With much affection, from
your loving

FATHER.


"Where's the envelope?" asked Farnsworth, as he raised an unsmiling face
to Azalea.

"I tore it up."

"Why?"

"I always do,--I never save envelopes. It was just a plain one."

"Address typewritten?"

"Yes."

"All right, Zaly. Here's your letter," and he handed it back to her.




CHAPTER IX

VANITY FAIR


The Farnsworths made no difference in their treatment of Azalea, after
her escapade. Bill had scolded her severely for taking the baby away
without leave, and sternly forbidden her ever to do so again, and the
girl had promised she would not.

Patty had said nothing to her on the subject, feeling that she could
best keep Azalea's friendliness by ignoring the matter, and she was
trying very hard to teach the girl the amenities of social life.

And Azalea was improving. She behaved much better at table and in the
presence of guests. Patty rejoiced at the improvement and, as she took
strict care that Azalea should have no opportunity to see Fleurette
alone, she feared no repetition of those anxious hours when the baby was
missing.

Elise rather liked the Western girl. They became good friends and went
for long strolls together. Elise was a good walker, and Azalea was
tireless.

One day they had gone a long distance from home, when suddenly Azalea
said, "I wish you'd stay here a few minutes, Elise, and wait for me."

"Why, where are you going?" asked the other, in astonishment.

"Never mind, it's a little secret,--for the present. You just sit here
on the grass and wait,--there's a duck. Here's a book you can read."

Azalea offered Elise a small volume--it was a new humorous publication,
and one Elise had expressed a desire to read. She took it, saying, "All
right, Zaly, go ahead, but don't be too long."

Azalea left her, and Elise soon became absorbed in the book.

It was a full half hour before Azalea returned.

"Where _have_ you been?" asked Elise, looking up, and then glancing at
her watch. "It's half-past four!"

"I know it. That's not late. Come on, let's go home."

Azalea was smiling and in an excited mood, but she looked
tired,--almost exhausted, as well. She was flushed, and her hair was
rumpled, and her breath came quickly, as if she had been through some
violent exercise.

"What _have_ you been up to, Zaly?" Elise asked, curiously. "You look
all done up!"

"I went for a walk by myself. Sometimes I have moods--"

"Fiddlesticks! Don't try to make me think you had a longing for
self-communion or any foolishness of that sort! I know you, Azalea
Thorpe! You went off to meet somebody--"

"I did not! How you talk, Elise Farrington!"

"Yes, you did! Somebody that you don't want Patty and Bill to know
about. Oh, you don't fool me! I'm not a blind bat!"

"Well, you're way off! How could I possibly know anybody they don't
know?"

"You do, though. You had some people come to see you, and the
Farnsworths didn't meet them at all."

"How do you know?"

"Patty told me."

"Tattle-tale! It's none of her business if I did!"

"Now, look here! I won't stand for such talk about Patty! You stop it!
She's not only your hostess but she's the best friend you ever had or
ever will have! She's making you over,--and goodness knows you needed
it!"

"And that's none of _your_ business! I'm as good as you are,--this
minute!"

"I didn't say you weren't! It isn't a question of goodness. You may
be a saint on earth compared to me, but you don't know how to behave
in decent society,--or didn't, till Patty took you in hand."

"She invited me to visit her! I didn't ask her to have me!"

"Yes, because she wanted to be kind to her husband's people, and you
seemed to be the only one available."

"Well, I was. And as I'm Cousin William's only relative, I have a right
to visit him as long as I please."

"I don't deny that, Azalea," and Elise couldn't help laughing at the
defiant air of the speaker. "I'm not disputing your right to be here.
But I do deny your right to say anything whatever against Patty, who is
trying her best to do all she can for your pleasure and for your good."

"That's so," and Azalea's manner suddenly changed. "Patty is a dear,
and I love her. And that baby! Oh!"

"How crazy you are over that child," Elise exclaimed. "She _is_ a dear
baby, but I don't see why you idolise her so."

"Oh, I love babies, and Fleurette is so sweet and soft and cuddly! I
love to have her all to myself,--but Patty won't let me."

"I don't wonder! Where did you go with her that day, Azalea?"

"Nowhere in particular. Just for a walk in the country. I mean I walked.
Baby rode in her coach."

"But you went somewhere. Nurse Winnie insists you gave the child some
soothing syrup,--or whatever they call it."

"What! I did nothing of the sort! Why, Elise, I wouldn't do such a
thing! I love that kiddy! I wouldn't give her a morsel to eat or drink.
I know how careful Nurse and Patty are about that! You must be crazy to
think I'd give Baby anything!"

Azalea's honesty was unmistakable, Elise couldn't doubt she was speaking
the truth. She began to think Nurse Winnie had imagined the soothing
syrup.

The two girls went home, and Elise said no word to any one of Azalea's
strange disappearance for a time.

They found Patty in a state of great excitement and interest over a new
project.

Betty Gale was there and the two heads were together over a list they
were making and they were chattering like a couple of magpies.

"Oh, Elise," Patty cried out, "we're getting up the grandest thing! It's
going to be here,--for the benefit of the Summer Fund, and it's going to
be Vanity Fair!"

"What? What does that mean?"

"Just what it says! It's a big bazaar,--of course,--and we're going
to call it Vanity Fair and sell only gay, dainty, dinky little
contraptions, and have all sorts of pretty booths and fancy dances and
flower stands, and--oh, everything that Vanity Fair suggests."

"Fine!" approved Elise. "Great name! Who thought of it? You, Betty? I'm
for it,--heart and soul! How about you, Azalea?"

The Western girl stood silent. This was the sort of thing that was
outside her ken. Though she had been at Wistaria Porch for some weeks
now, and had become fairly conversant with the ways of Patty and her
friends, this kind of a gay project was to her an unknown field.

"It must be beautiful,--to know about things like that,"--she said, at
last, so wistfully, that Patty put out a hand and drew Azalea to her
side.

It was this sort of a speech that made Patty feel that she was making
headway in her efforts to improve the girl, and she rejoiced to have her
show a desire to join in the new project.

"You can help us lots, I'm sure, Zaly," she said, kindly, "and you'll
have a chance to learn about it all. There's heaps of fun in a Fair,
especially when it's all novel to you. It's an old story to us, but _I_
always love anything of the sort. We'll have it here, you see, and it
will be a lawn _fete_ and a house party and a general hullabaloo!"

"We're making out the committees," said Betty, "and, you'll be here,
won't you, Elise?"

"Well, I just guess! You can't lose _me_! I shall be back and forth,
of course, but I'll do my share of the work, and exact my share of the
fun."

"Fine!" said Betty, a bit absently, as she was deeply absorbed in her
list of names.

"Of course," Patty went on, partly to the others and partly as if merely
thinking aloud for her own benefit, "there will be all the regulation
things,--lemonade well, fortune-telling, society circus and everything,
but the idea is to have every one of them just a little bit different
from what it has always been before, and have it in harmony with the
idea of Vanity Fair."

"The book?" asked Elise.

"No, not Thackeray. I mean, just the idea of the gay atmosphere,--the
light, giddy side of life. For instance, let's have a Vanity booth and
sell all sorts of aids to beauty--"

"Powder and paint!" exclaimed Azalea, in surprise.

"Well, I meant more like lacy caps and stunning negligees. And yes, of
course, vanity cases and powder-puff bags and mirrors and perfumes,--oh,
all sorts of foolishnesses that are pretty."

"I know," said Elise, nodding her head. "And we'll have an artificial
flower booth,--that's right in line. And people love to buy 'em,--I do."

"And laces," said Patty; "and embroidered boudoir pillows, and oh,--and
baby things! Why Fleurette's nursery wardrobe looks like a Vanity Fair
itself!"

"Hold on," cried Betty, laughing, "don't go too far. Not everybody is
interested in baby togs!"

"I s'pose not," said Patty, smiling. "All right, cut out the Baby
booth."

"No," spoke up Azalea, "let's have it. Everybody knows a baby to give
presents to. And the little caps and things are so pretty."

"Good for you, Zaly," cried Patty; "we'll have it, and you and I will
run it, and Fleurette shall be the presiding genius, and sit enthroned
among the fairy wares! Oh, it will be lovely!"

"Yes, do have it," agreed Betty. "It will be a screaming success with
Fleurette in it!"

"And if you want such things," Azalea went on, losing her diffidence,
"I can get a lot of Indian things from home,--baskets,--you know,--and
leather, and beaded things."

"Fine, Zaly!" and Elise smiled at her. "We do want those,--real
ones,--they always sell."

They went on planning, all working in harmony, and each full of
suggestions, which the others approved or criticised, in frank, friendly
fashion.

Then Janet appeared to call Azalea to the telephone, and the girl looked
up, surprised. She blushed scarlet, and hurried from the room.

"Who could have called her?" said Elise; "she doesn't know any one you
don't know,--does she, Patty?"

"No; but she knows lots of our friends. Somebody is probably asking her
to go somewhere."

None of them tried to listen, but the telephone was in the next room and
Azalea's voice had a peculiar carrying quality that made it difficult
not to overhear snatches of her conversation.

"No," she exclaimed, positively, "I can't do it! I really can't! I'm
sorry it didn't go right, but I _can't_ do it again! It's impossible!"

A pause, and then, again, "No, I simply can't! Don't ask me--yes, of
course,--I know,--but, you see, they said,--oh, I can't tell you
now,--I'll write,--well, yes, I'll do _that_!--Oh, of course, _I'll_ be
there--but the--the other one--no, no, no!"

These remarks were at long intervals and disconnected, but they were
clearly heard by the three in the next room, and though no one mentioned
it, each thought it a strange conversation for Azalea to take part in.

Patty listened thoughtfully, feeling no hesitation in doing so, for she
had only Azalea's good at heart and wanted to know anything that might
help her understand the mystery that was certainly attached to the girl.

In the first place to whom could Azalea possibly be talking in that
fashion? Moreover, her voice was troubled, and her tone was one of
nervous apprehension and anxiety.

At last she returned to the group, and Patty said, pleasantly, "Who's
your friend, Zaly?"

"Nobody in particular," and Azalea looked as if that were a question she
had been dreading.

"You mean not a particular friend; but who was it?" Patty was
persistent, even at risk of rousing Azalea's wrath, for she felt
she must know.

"I won't tell you!" Azalea cried, stormily. "It's nobody's business if
I answer a telephone call. I don't ask you who it is, every time _you_
telephone!"

"All right, Zaly, forgive me,--I _was_ a bit inquisitive."

And so the matter was dropped, but that night after Azalea had gone to
her room, Patty came tapping at the door.

It was only after repeated knocking that Azalea opened the door a little
way, and quite evidently resented the intrusion.

"I'm just going to bed," she said, ungraciously.

"I won't stay but a minute," and Patty insistently pushed her way in.
"Now, don't fly into a rage, dear, but you _must_ tell me who called you
up on the telephone to-day."

"You've no right to ask!"

"Yes, I have, and, too, there must be some reason why you are so
unwilling to tell me. Why is it?"

Azalea hesitated. Then she said, "Oh, I've no reason to make a secret of
it. But I think you're very curious. It was somebody I met on the train
when I came East."

"A man or a woman?"

"A--a woman."

"Are you telling the truth, Azalea?" and Patty's clear, compelling gaze
was direct and accusing.

"Well--well--Patty, it's both."

"Those people who called here one day, and you saw them on the porch?"

"Yes."

"What are their names?"

"Oh,--oh, I forget."

"Rubbish! You _don't_ forget. Be sensible, Azalea. You're making a
mystery of something. Now if it's anything wrong, I'm going to know
about it,--if it's merely a little secret of your own,--a justifiable
one,--tell me so, in a convincing way, and I'll stop questioning."

"It _is_ a secret of my own,--and it's nobody's business but mine."

"Is it a harmless, innocent matter?"

"Of course it is! What do you think I am? A thief?"

"Gracious, no! I never thought you were that!" Patty laughed. "But I do
suspect you're up to some flirtation or affair of that sort, and I have
a perfect right to inquire into the matter. Why didn't you let us meet
your friends that day they called?"

"I didn't suppose you would care to know them. They're not your sort."

"Are they _your_ sort? Oh, Zaly, I thought you _wanted_ to be our
'sort,'--as you call it. You don't want to have friends Bill and I
wouldn't approve of, do you?"

"Oh,--I don't know _what_ I want! I wish you'd go 'way, and leave me
alone!"

"I will in a minute. Tell me your friends' names."

"I won't."

"Then I shall ask Ray Gale. He knows them,--he recognised them the day
they were here, and you forbade him to tell me who they were."

"Then if he knows them, isn't that enough to assure you of their
respectability?"

"It isn't a question of respectability,--I want to know why they are
telephoning you,--not casually,--but apparently on some important
matter."

"That's _my_ business. Oh, Patty, let me alone!"

Azalea was clearly overwrought, and in another moment would fly into an
hysterical tantrum. But Patty made one more effort.

"Just tell me the name," she said, gently.

"Well--Smith. There, _now_ are you satisfied?"

"I am not," said Patty, truthfully. "Good night, Azalea."

She went thoughtfully away, and communicated to Bill the whole
conversation.

"She's a queer girl," Farnsworth remarked, after he had heard all about
the afternoon telephoning. "Do you know, Patty, that letter which she
pretended came from her father,--she wrote herself."

"What?"

"She did; and on my own typewriter,--here in our library."

"What _do_ you mean?"

"Just what I say. I knew it, the moment I saw it, for the writing on my
machine is so familiar to me, I can recognise it instantly. The tail of
the y doesn't print, and there are lots of little details that make it
recognisable."

"Are you sure, dear? I thought all typewriting was just alike."

"Oh, no; it is as greatly differentiated, almost, as penwriting,--some
experts think more so. I mean, it can't be forged successfully, and
penwriting can. Well, anyhow, that letter Azalea showed me, as being
from her father, was written on my machine. She had no envelope, for of
course she couldn't reproduce the proper postmark on an envelope she had
herself addressed."

"But why,--what for? I don't understand."

"I haven't got it all straightened out yet, myself,--but I shall.
Another thing, Azalea is a poor speller, and she herself spells _very_
with two r's. She did in a dinner acceptance she wrote and referred to
me for approval. So, when I saw that word misspelled twice in the
letter we're talking of, I _knew_ she wrote it,--I mean, it corroborated
my belief. Now, Patty, we've a peculiar case to deal with, and we must
feel our way. This telephoning business is serious. Of course, Smith is
_not_ those people's name! She told you a falsehood. We know she is
capable of that! Now to find out what their name is. It isn't too late
to call up Gale."

Farnsworth took up the telephone and soon had Raymond Gale on the wire.
He asked him frankly for the name of the two people who were calling on
Azalea when he recognised them.

"Miss Thorpe asked me not to tell," said Gale, "I'm sorry, old chap, but
I promised her I wouldn't."

"But it's an important matter, Ray, and a case in which I'm sure you're
justified in breaking your promise--"

"Can't do it! Can't break my word given to a lady."

"But Azalea is a mere girl, and a headstrong, ignorant one, at that. She
is in our care, and it is our duty to know with whom she associates. Who
were those people?"

"Seriously, Farnsworth, I can't tell you. Miss Thorpe asked me
definitely not to do so, and I gave her my promise. You must see,--as
man to man,--I _can't_ tell you."

"I see your point, and I quite agree, in a general way. But, Gale, this
is a--well, a crisis. I'm investigating a mystery and I must _know_ who
those people are."

"Ask Miss Thorpe."

"I have, and she won't tell."

"Then you surely can't expect me to! After I promised to keep her
secret!"

"Why should it be a secret?"

"Ask her."

"Well, tell me one thing; is the name Smith?"

"It is not."

"What sort of people are they?"

"Oh, people of--why, hang it, man,--I don't know what to say to you! I
refuse to betray Miss Thorpe's confidence, and so I don't know how much
I ought to tell you."

"Are they people I would receive in my home?"

"Scarcely! If you mean, are they your social equals, they are not!"

"Then, I ought to know about them, and forbid Azalea their
acquaintance."

"Oh, Miss Thorpe doesn't know them socially!" said Gale, and then he
said a quick "good-bye" and hung up his receiver.




CHAPTER X

INQUIRIES


The next day Farnsworth made an occasion to see Azalea alone.

"Come for a stroll in the rose garden," he said to her as they left the
breakfast table.

"But aren't you in a hurry to go to town?" she objected.

"No, I'm not. Come along, Zaly, I want to talk to you."

Azalea looked embarrassed. She had on a trim linen street suit, and had
an air of alertness as if about to start on a trip of some sort.

"I was--I was just going for a walk," she said, hesitatingly.

"All right, I'll walk with you. Let's make it a long hike."

"Oh,--I'd love to, Cousin William,--really,--but I--I've a lot to do in
my room, this morning."

"A lot to do! What do you mean? Does Patty make you take care of your
room?"

"Oh, not that sort of work. I've got to--to--write letters."

"To your father?" Bill's look was significant.

"Yes--no,--oh, a lot of letters."

"Look here, Azalea, you come out with me for a few minutes,--I won't
keep you long." Farnsworth took her arm, and led her gently down the
verandah steps and along a garden path.

"Now, my child," he said most kindly, "tell me why you pretended that
letter was from your father, when it was not?"

"Oh, yes, it was--"

"Stop, Azalea! Don't add to your list of falsehoods! You wrote that
letter yourself on my typewriter, in my library. _Why_ did you do it?"

"How do you know?" Azalea turned an astonished face to her inquisitor.

"I recognised the typing. How do you know how to use the machine so
well? Were you ever a stenographer?"

"No; I don't know shorthand at all. And I didn't--"

"Stop, I say, Azalea! I _know_ you wrote that! Now, tell me why! I
can't imagine any reason for it."

The girl was stubbornly silent

"Unless you tell me why you did it, I shall be compelled to think there
is some wrong reason--"

"Oh, no, there isn't!"

"Then,--come now, Zaly,--'fess up. Was it for a joke on me?"

"Yes, yes, that was it!"

"No, that _wasn't_ it, and you only grasped at my suggestion to evade
the real truth! Now, you must tell me. Out with it!"

"Well--you see, Cousin William, you are always asking me why I don't get
letters from my father, and--as I didn't get any, I manufactured one
to--to satisfy you. That's all."

"No, no, my girl, we haven't got the truth yet. You had more of a motive
than that. And, too, why _don't_ you get letters from your father? Is he
angry with you? Are you two at odds?"

"Yes,--we are. He and I had a quarrel."

"Azalea, you have a very readable face. I know when you are telling me
the truth and when you are not. Now, you are ready to grasp at anything
I suggest rather than let me know the real facts of the case. So I am
justified in thinking it's something pretty bad. What is it, child?
Don't be afraid of me. Did you run away from home?"

"Oh, no!" Azalea looked frightened. Then she burst into tears. "Wh-what
makes you think I'm doing wrong?" she sobbed; "I'm not,--I'm oh,--I'm
all right!" Her air of bravado suddenly returned and she looked up
defiantly, brushing her tears aside.

Farnsworth could, as he said, read her face, and he was quite ready to
meet her explanations when she was in a docile mood, but this quick
return to her pose of injured innocence roused him to fresh indignation.

"I daresay you _are_ all right, Azalea, and therefore it will be easy
for you to answer a few questions which I must insist on having
answered. Who was it that telephoned you yesterday?"

"Oh, that was Mr. Smith."

"His name is _not_ Smith!" Farnsworth spoke so sharply that Azalea
fairly jumped.

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