Priceless Pearl — Chapter IV Part 1
CHAPTER FOUR
Human nature being as it is, it is probable that the loss of the pearls was nothing to Edna Conway in comparison with the satisfaction of being able to telegraph her brother that his priceless Pearl was suspected of having stolen them.
She was a kind-hearted woman and would not normally have wished to put even the most degraded criminal in prison; but there seemed an ironic justice in the fact that a woman sent to reform the manners of her children should turn out to be a thief.
She valued her pearls too.
They were not only beautiful and becoming but they had a sentimental association.
Her husband had given them to her when they were first married, after a tremendous success at Monte Carlo.
They had cost a great deal of money in the days when pearls were cheap, and yet, as he had got them from a ruined Polish nobleman, they had not cost their full value.
He had said to her as he gave them to her, "There, my dear, if I never give you anything else----" As a matter of fact, he never had given her anything else; in fact, he had often tried to take them away from her when things had first begun to go wrong.
But Edna had managed to cling to them, feeling that they would always keep away that wolf which idle well-to-do middle-aged women appear to dread more than any other group in the community.
Edna was not only kind-hearted but she was normally utterly lacking in persistence; she would not have been able to conceal suspicions from anyone over a protracted period.
But malice is a powerful motive, and she managed in the days that followed the loss to play her part admirably.
The idea that Anthony was already hurrying home to meet the imposter who had slipped into the real Miss Exeter's place gave her a determination she usually lacked.
It was perhaps stupid of Pearl not to guess that her fraud had been detected as soon as the detectives set to work.
But Pearl was so much interested in the recovery of the jewels that it never crossed her mind she herself was suspected.
She did notice a slight change for the better in Mrs. Conway's manner--a certain sugary sweetness--a willingness to be in the same room with her, especially if the detectives were for any reason busy--a new interest in all her plans.
The thought that occupied her mind was the idea that Wood was on his way home; that at last she and the man she had been writing to every day for weeks were to meet face to face.
How could he fail to be pleased with her--she who had made Antonia neat, Durland studious, and had at least suggested to Dolly's egotism that there were other women in the world at least as attractive as she?
Pearl thought a great deal about their first meeting; there would be a certain awkwardness about it, especially if it took place in the presence of the family, as it probably would.
Still, she could manage it.
She would say in a few simple words that she was Augusta Exeter's best friend, and had taken her place.
He was sure to be amused and smile that nice smile which Augusta had described.
The interview went on and on in her imagination, a different way each time she imagined it; but always agreeable, always exciting, always ending in Mr. Wood expressing his gratitude and admiration.
Yet this man about whom she was thinking so constantly was actually speeding toward her, feeling as bitter about her as it is possible to feel about a person you have never seen.
We forgive anything better than being made ridiculous.
It was not mere vanity, though, that made Anthony so angry.
He knew that much of his power over his sister had been destroyed.
Everything that he suggested in the future would be met by Edna's amused "Another priceless pearl, Anthony."
Yes, he said to himself as he sat with folded arms and stared out of the train window, he had made a fool of himself.
What did he know of the real Miss Exeter?
He had no one but himself to blame.
He had been on the point of starting home when he received Edna's second telegram announcing her loss.
Everyone, as the author of Cranford has observed, has a pet economy, and Edna's economy was telegrams.
She never cabled or telegraphed if she could help it, and then she usually obscured her meaning by compressing it into as few words as possible.
When Anthony opened this one and saw its great length and her name at the bottom of it he knew that something was terribly wrong.
It said: Pearls stolen from safe.
Only governess had combination.
Detectives discover she is imposter.
Real Miss Exeter married and went to Canada two days after you saw her in New York.
This woman has no idea she is suspected.
Is closely watched and has had no opportunity of disposing of jewels.
Pearls thought to be still on place or hidden on beach.
Please return immediately.
Be careful about telegrams.
She might get them first.
As soon as Anthony read that message he felt a conviction that it was all true.
Whether or not she had stolen the pearls, he knew she was an imposter, for he realized now that he had known from the beginning that he had been in correspondence with a beautiful woman.
He had tried to tell himself that the quality he felt in her letters was the vanity of a plain one, but all along he had known in his heart that in some strange and subtle way beauty had exuded from every line she wrote.
He had been made a fool of by a beautiful and criminal woman.
Well, he would hurry home and settle that score in short order.
He was not a cruel man, he said to himself, but this did not seem a situation that called for mercy.
It was, of course, necessary that someone should meet Anthony on his arrival in New York and acquaint him with all the details.
As Edna was unwilling to leave her household, the duty fell to Miss Wellington, who complained a great deal and leaped at the chance.
So when Anthony got off the train in the Pennsylvania Station there was not only his secretary but his old friend, Cora Wellington, waiting to greet him.
The secretary remained to see about the bags, while he and Miss Wellington drove to his apartment.
The robbery was still a secret--not to be told to the papers--even the secretary did not know of it.
As they drove up the long incline to the level of Seventh Avenue Cora said the thing that Anthony wanted to hear and yet would not say even to himself: "Really, Anthony, I think Edna might have guessed that it was not the governess you had sent.
You couldn't have selected such a person--dyed yellow hair and a sort of exuberant, almost coarse good looks that you wouldn't admire in any woman and would not tolerate in a governess, I'm sure."
It was agreeable to hear, but he would not admit it.
"Poor old Edna," he said.
"I don't feel exactly in a position to criticize.
This woman must be clever."
"Clever!"
exclaimed Miss Wellington.
"It's uncanny!
Instantly she obtained an almost hypnotic influence over Durland and Antonia.
Even Dolly was on the point of succumbing--if it had not been that the woman overreached herself in her affair with young Williams.
Between ourselves, Anthony, though I haven't said this to Edna, I don't feel at all sure that that affair did not go a great deal further than the kiss."
Anthony frowned in silence.
This was almost more than he could bear.
He said to himself that it was the idea of Antonia being brought into contact with such a situation that disgusted him.
Cora was kind enough to sit in his drawing-room and wait while he had a bath and dressed.
It was a nice room and she thought as she waited how she would rearrange the furniture if ever she should come to live there.
There were photographs of the children about--Antonia as a baby, Durland in his first sailor suit, a picture of Edna with the three children grouped about her like English royalties.
She was wearing the pearls.
Then Anthony came out of his room, looking handsome and sleek and brown and very well dressed in blue serge; and they went out and had luncheon together, and then started at once for their drive of a hundred miles in Anthony's car.
She answered all his questions--and one he did not ask.
She volunteered: "I must confess, Anthony, when I first saw this girl--saw how unsuitable she was--I felt your wonderful judgment must have been clouded by your having fallen in love with her."
"Recollect, please," he returned, "that even if it had been the girl I saw, I had only seen her once."
"Don't people fall in love at first sight?"
Anthony smiled.
"I don't," he said; and he went on to describe the slow process by which a love which can be depended on to last must necessarily grow.
To Miss Wellington, who had known Anthony for fifteen years, the description was perfectly satisfactory.
They reached Edna's house a little after five.
Dolly had gone away the day before to soothe her wounded feelings at a house party in the Adirondacks.
Durland was playing golf and Antonia having supper with her friend Olive.
Edna alone received the traveler.
She did not reproach him; she gave him the greeting of a woman simply crushed by anxiety.
He said, "I'm awfully sorry about this, Edna.
You've had a disagreeable time--aside from the pearls, I mean."
She raised her large sullen eyes.
"If only you had not made me promise, Tony--so that I was not free to turn a thief out of my house until she had actually stolen my valuables.
A woman has an intuition when she's allowed to follow it."
He had not a word to say in answer.
He had an interview with the detective--the head man, Mr. Albertson; the other one was engaged in watching Miss Exeter--the false Miss Exeter, who was sitting, as her custom was of an afternoon, on the beach.
It was this habit of sitting for hours alone on the beach that had led to the theory that the pearls were hidden there, waiting the right opportunity to be dug up and dispatched to a confederate.
Mr. Albertson was a tall, gray-haired man of the utmost dignity.
His figure would have been improved by a faithful addiction to the daily dozen, and his feet were extraordinarily large.
He had a calm, grand manner and was extremely chivalrous in his attitude toward all women--even those he was engaged in sending to jail.
He reminded Anthony of the walrus--or was it the carpenter?
--who wept so bitterly for the oysters while he sorted out those of the largest size.
Mr. Albertson melted with pity for that sweet young creature as he detailed the growing mass of evidence against her: The burglaries in Southampton since her coming; the fact that she had insisted on having the combination of the safe; the fact that Mrs. Conway had locked the pearls in the safe and that only Miss Exeter had gone to the safe afterward; the mysterious appearance of Miss Exeter in Mrs. Conway's room during the night before the robbery, and, of course, her alias.
It had been largely a matter of form, Mr. Albertson said--the sending of his men to look up her record.
It had been a shock to them all to find that the agency which had originally sent Wood the names of governesses could offer proof that their Miss Exeter had married and gone to Canada.
So far they had not been able to get any information as to this woman who had slipped into her place.
Some of her things had a P on them.
Mr. Albertson mentioned that there was a notorious English thief--Golden Polly or Golden Moll.
"She's called by both names," said Mr. Albertson.
"This girl answers her description very good."
Wood nodded.
Had he in fact been getting a daily letter all these weeks from Golden Moll?
The idea intrigued him not a little.
"I think I'll go and have a talk with her," he said.
"By all means, by all means," said Mr. Albertson.
"We've just been waiting for you, you know--just to see how she'll act when confronted with you.
She hasn't a notion, you know, that you've left Mexico.
But," he went on in his deep rich voice, "I'd speak her fair if I was you.
Kindness, Mr. Wood, never does any harm.
What are we put in this world for except to help each other--women especially?
If I was you I'd say, 'Look, girlie, we want to help you.
We have you dead to rights, and you'd better come across.
Come across, girlie,' I'd say, 'and make it easy for everyone.'
" Mr. Albertson had already recommended this speech to Mrs. Conway without success, and now it seemed to him that Mr. Wood was not really going to make it.
"Ay, yes," Anthony said rather noncommittally.
He turned from Mr. Albertson quietly, as is some people's manner when they are doing something important and, crossing the piazza, stood a moment at the top of the steps.
The sun had just set behind his right shoulder, and to those who love the sea the bare flat scene had at this moment an extraordinary beauty.
All round the circle of the horizon there was a grayish lilac color.
The sea was blue and gray, the beach was pink, with gray shadows under the dunes--strange blending colors that come with no other light.
The storm was over, and the sea, though not smooth, was heaving with a slow, regular swell.
The beach, even to the dunes, was strewn still with seaweed and lumber and all the flotsam and jetsam of a high tide.
Immediately in front of Anthony was a large rose-colored parasol, the owner of which had evidently forgotten to put it down, although for an hour now it could have been of not the slightest use.
Nothing appeared beneath it but the tip of a white suède slipper.
Anthony stood and looked, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth.
There she was--possibly the Golden Moll of Albertson's suspicions, certainly the writer of interesting letters, the reformer of his niece's manners, the stealer of the pearls.
Then he heard Antonia's voice behind him, calling his name.
Ordinarily she would have stolen up behind him and clung round his neck with her feet off the ground; but now she evidently wanted him to get the full effect of her changed appearance, for she stood ten feet off and spoke to him.
Oddly enough, she was wearing the very clothes which Pearl had described--the pink linen, the hat with the pink rose, the gray silk stockings and gray suède pumps.
Nothing, Anthony thought, could have been more accurate.
The child was very beautiful, just as he had hoped--hardly dared to hope--to see her.
She gave him just that second to take her all in, and then sprang at his neck.
"Oh, don't you think I look nice?"
she said passionately.
"It's all Miss Exeter--your priceless pearl--and she is priceless.
Don't you think I look nice?
I like her better almost than anyone I ever knew, because she's so straight.
Don't you think I look nice?"
"Indeed I do," said her uncle.
He managed to free his neck from the yoke of Antonia's arms and held her off and turned her round.
"Yes," he said, "you look exactly as I like to see you."
Antonia smiled and then sighed.
"I feel every stitch I have on," she said, "particularly the shoes and stockings."
She raised first one leg and then the other and shook it, with a gesture not at all graceful.
"I've never worn them except in winter before.
But still, it does make a difference in one's popularity--clothes--particularly with boys.
Boys are funny, Uncle Anthony."
Nothing interested Anthony more than to discuss the problems of life with his niece, but at the moment his mind was not sufficiently disengaged.
He was sorry to interrupt her, but he was obliged to go and have a few words with her governess.
"That's all right," said Antonia.
"I'll go too."
And she slipped her arm through his and, leaning her head against the point of his shoulder prepared to descend the steps.
But Anthony explained to her that he wished to talk to Miss Exeter by himself.
Antonia was disappointed.
She had looked forward to being present when her uncle and the governess met again, but she adjusted herself as usual.
"There's Mr. Albertson," she said.
"I'll get him to come and sit with me while I have supper, and tell me stories of crime.
He says there aren't any people like Sherlock Holmes, and that stories like that make it hard for real detectives.
I suppose that's true, and yet it's horrid to face facts sometimes, isn't it, Uncle Anthony?
It makes real life seem pretty dull sometimes."
"Real life is not dull, Antonia," said her uncle, "take it from me."
He watched her safely into a conversation with Mr. Albertson, and then, with his hands in his pockets, he sauntered down the steps, across the sand toward that rose-colored parasol.
"Good afternoon, Miss Exeter," he said pleasantly.
It had been kept a profound secret that Anthony was on his way home.
The detectives had pointed out to Mrs. Conway that this was important--that if the woman knew she was about to be unmasked she might be goaded into sudden action--perhaps even into destroying the pearls.
Hearing a strange voice calling her by name, Pearl came out of a trance into which the sunset and the sea had thrown her; glancing up from under her parasol, she saw at once that the speaker was Anthony Wood, and that he was exactly as she had imagined him.
Seeing this, her heart gave a peculiar leap, and she beamed at him, more freely and wonderfully than she had ever beamed at anyone in the world.
The look affected him--it would have affected any man; not just her beauty, for he had seen a good deal of beauty in his day, but this warm, generous honesty combined with beauty was something he had never seen.
For a second or two they just looked at each other, Pearl beaming and beaming, and Wood looking at her, his face like a dark mask, but his turquoise eyes piercing her heart.
She spoke first.
She said in her queer deep voice, "Oh, I'm so glad you've come, Mr. Wood."
"Are you?"
he said.
Of all the sentences with which she might have greeted him--sentences of excuse, of explanation, of appeal--he had never thought of her saying this, and saying it with all the manner of joy and relief.
"Indeed I am," she went on, still on that same note.
"Have you seen Antonia?"
"Yes, I have."
"And isn't she----" "We'll leave that for a moment," he said, for her effrontery began to annoy him, and his tone was curt.
But instead of being alarmed or apologetic, she gave a little chuckle.
"Oh, yes, I know," she said; "of course you want an explanation; only I wanted to be sure you'd seen my great achievement first, for it is an achievement, isn't it?"
His eyebrows went up.
"Do you really expect to be praised for anything you may have done," he said, "before you offer some explanation as to why you are here masquerading as Miss Exeter?"
Pearl's face fell.
He was really quite cross.
It seemed hard to her that the meaningless sort of beam with which she accompanied a casual good morning had been enough to reduce the third vice president to weeping on his desk, while a particularly concentrated beam--a beam designed to say in a ladylike, yet unmistakable manner that the one man of all men was now standing before her--seemed to have no effect whatsoever on said man.
She tried it nevertheless.
Anthony, seeing it, suddenly became angry.
Did this woman, he thought, who was perhaps a thief and was certainly an impostor, really suppose she was going to charm him, Anthony Wood, by her mere beauty--he who was well known to be indifferent to women?
She would learn---- But what she would learn was not formulated, for she now surprised him by jumping to her feet and running like a gazelle toward the sea, crying out something to him which he did not catch.
He started, however, in full pursuit--his first thought being that she intended to drown herself; the second that she meant to fling the pearls into the sea--the well-known trick of destroying the evidence in a tight place.
She ran on.
The sea was up to her knees--up to her waist, fully dressed as she was; she was now swimming.
They had the sea entirely to themselves.
Even the detectives, trusting to Mr. Wood, had withdrawn for a bite to eat; and at five o'clock all those fortunate people who come to the seaside for the summer are engaged in golfing or playing bridge, and seem to ignore the existence of the Atlantic Ocean.
Anthony had hesitated at the brink of the sea long enough to take off first his shoes, second his watch and third the light coat which he had worn driving the car, so that he was some little distance behind her.
Swimming hard and for the most part under water, he did not see for some time the object which had attracted Pearl's attention.
Neither suicide nor the pearls were the object of her plunge, but a small white dog which appeared to be drowning.
Some children up the beach had been throwing sticks for it, and now at the end of a long afternoon it had got caught in some current and was obviously in trouble, every third or fourth wave washing over its little pointed nose.
Pearl, never doubting that Wood was actuated by the same motives as herself, panted out, "Can we get there in time?"
He came alongside her now.
"You're not going to drown too!"
he said.
She shook her wet head.
Together they towed the exhausted little creature back.
As soon as she could walk Pearl picked it up in her arms and strode ashore.
"Don't you think it was a crime for those children to go away and leave him like that?"
Her gray eyes, instead of beaming, glowed angrily.
"Are you so against crime?"
said Anthony, trying to smooth the water out of his hair.
She did not even take the trouble to answer but became absorbed in tending the dog.
It was a white dog, at least its hair was white; but now, soaked and plastered to its body, the general effect was of a cloudy pink with gray spots.
It was the offspring probably of a spotted carriage dog and a poodle.
Between it and Pearl a perfect understanding seemed to have been at once established.
She knelt beside it, and suddenly looking up at Anthony with one of her spreading smiles, she said, "I'm afraid it's awfully ugly."
"It has personality," he answered.
He could not but be aware that Pearl's thin dress was clinging to her almost as closely as the dog's soft coat.
"Let me have your coat," she said.
He held it out, expecting that she meant to put it on, for every line of her figure was visible, and every line was lovely.
But Pearl was utterly unconscious of herself.
She took the coat and wrapped the dog in it, so that only its head stuck out, with its adoring eyes turned to her.
As he watched her he found he knew positively that she had not taken the pearls.
It was no logical process; he did not say, "This girl is too kind or too generous or too without selfconsciousness or too much at peace."
Perhaps it was a combination of all these ideas, or perhaps it was just the miracle of personality; but somehow or other he knew positively and for all time that she was not a thief; that she, on the contrary, was just what in his opinion a woman ought to be.
He looked down at the bent golden head, dripping pure drops of crystal.
Dyed!
What a spiteful goose Cora Wellington was!
Then Durland came down the steps.
"What's happened?"
he asked.
"We've been rescuing a dog," said Anthony.
"Miss--Exeter and I." So far he knew no other name for her.
Durland smiled at him above her head, as much as to say, "Could anything be more ridiculously attaching than women are--this woman in particular?"
And Anthony smiled back in a similar manner.
Then there was a shout, and Antonia, having finished her supper and exhausted at least for the moment Mr. Albertson's narrative powers, came flying down the steps, eager to know why it was that Miss Exeter and her uncle had been in swimming with their clothes on.
When explained, it appeared to her the most natural thing in the world.
"Isn't he sweet?"
she said, when she had heard the story.
"I think Horatius would be a good name for him--on account of 'Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case, struggle through such a raging flood'--you know.
Do you think mother will let us keep him?
Or do you want to keep him, Miss Exeter?
Oh, dear, I suppose you do!"
"No, I can't," said Pearl, with regret.
"I'd like to, but Alfred hates dogs."
Anthony was surprised to hear his own voice saying sharply, "And who is Alfred?"
"He's my cat," said Pearl, turning her whole face up to him.
"Everyone says he's very ugly, but I love him."
