eleanor thornton turned in bed and stretched herself luxuriously. it was good to be young and to be sleepy. for a few seconds she dozed off again; then gradually awoke, and, too comfortable to move, let her thoughts wander where they would. in her mind’s eye she reviewed the events of the past months, and, despite herself, her lips parted in a happy smile. she had come to washington in november to visit her friend, cynthia carew, and, delighted with the reception accorded her, had invited her cousin, mrs. gilbert truxton, to chaperon her, and, on her acceptance, had rented a small furnished residence near dupont circle for the winter.
mrs. winthrop and cynthia carew, whom she had known at boarding school, took her everywhere with them, and her cousin, mrs. truxton, belonging as she did to an old aristocratic family of the district, procured her entrée to the exclusive homes of the “cave-dwellers,” as the residential circle was sometimes called.
born also with the gifts of charm and tact, eleanor’s wild rose beauty had made an instant impression, and she was invited everywhere. the butler’s tray was filled with visiting cards, which many newcomers, anxious for social honors, longed to have left at their doors.
eleanor was one of the older girls at dobbs ferry during cynthia’s first year at that boarding school. they had taken an immense liking to each other, which later blossomed into an intimate friendship. after her graduation she and cynthia had kept up their correspondence without a break, and, true to her promise, given years before, she had left berlin and journeyed to washington to be present at cynthia’s début.
after the death of her mother, eleanor had been adopted by an indulgent uncle, mr. william fitzgerald, of new york, and on his death had inherited a comfortable fortune.
in many ways the winter had brought numerous triumphs in its train, enough to spoil most natures. but eleanor was too well poised to lose her head over adulation. she had sounded the depths of social pleasantries, and found them shallow. in every country she had visited all men had been only too ready to be at her beck and call—except one. the dreamy eyes hardened at the thought, and the soft lips closed firmly. she had made the advances, and he had not responded. a situation so unique in her experience had made an indelible impression. angry with herself for even recalling so unpleasant an episode, she touched the bell beside the bed; then, placing her pillow in a more comfortable position, she leaned back and contemplated her surroundings with speculative eyes.
her individuality had stamped itself upon the whole room. a picture or two, far above the average, a few choice books, whose dainty binding indicated a taste and refinement quite unusual; one or two chinese vases, old when the revolutionary war began; an ivory carving of the renaissance; a mirror in whose lustrous depths venetian beauties had seen their own reflections hundreds of years ago. all these things gave sure indication of study and travel, and a maturity of thought and taste which, oddly enough, seemed rather to enhance eleanor’s natural charm.
a discreet knock sounded on her door. “bon jour, mademoiselle,” exclaimed the maid, entering with the breakfast tray.
“bon jour, annette,” responded eleanor, rousing herself, then lapsing into english, which her maid spoke with but a slight accent. “put the tray here beside me. must i eat that egg?” she made a slight grimace.
“but yes, mademoiselle.” the frenchwoman stepped to the window and raised the shade. “madame truxton gave orders to fugi to tell the cook that he must send you a more substantial breakfast. she does not approve of rolls and coffee. i think she wishes you to eat as she does.”
eleanor shuddered slightly. “did—did she have beefsteak and fried onions this morning?” she inquired.
“but yes, mademoiselle,” annette’s pretty features dimpled into a smile, “and she ate most heartily.”
“not another word, annette, you take away my appetite. is mrs. truxton waiting to see me?”
“no, mademoiselle; she was up at six o’clock and had her breakfast at half-past seven.” annette paused in the act of laying out a supply of fresh lingerie. “what have the americans on their conscience that they cannot sleep in the morning?”
“you cannot complain of my early rising,” laughed eleanor, glancing at the clock, whose hands pointed to a quarter to twelve.
“ah, mademoiselle, you have lived so long away from america that you have acquired our habits.”
“you may take the tray, annette; i have even less appetite than usual to-day.” eleanor waited until it had been removed, then sprang out of bed. “come back in fifteen minutes,” she called.
it did not take her long to complete her toilette, and when the maid returned she was seated before her dressing table.
“what news to-day, annette?” she asked, as the frenchwoman, with skilful fingers, arranged her wavy hair, which fell far below her waist.
“madame and fugi——” began the maid.
“i don’t want household details,” broke in eleanor impatiently. “tell me of some outside news, if there is any.”
“oh, indeed, yes; news the most startling. senator carew——” she paused to contemplate her handiwork.
“well, what about him?” inquired eleanor listlessly.
“he is dead.”
“dead!” the handglass slipped from eleanor’s grasp and fell crashing to the hearth. annette pounced upon it.
“oh, mademoiselle, the glass is broken. quelle horreur!”
“bother the glass.” eleanor’s foot came down with an unmistakable stamp. “tell me at once of senator carew’s death. i cannot believe it!”
“it is only too true,” annette was a privileged character and deeply resented being hurried, also her volatile french nature enjoyed creating a sensation. she had eagerly read the morning paper, and had refrained from telling eleanor the news until she could get her undivided attention. “senator carew was found dead in his carriage early this morning on his return from the dance at mrs. owen’s”—annette had no reason to complain, eleanor was giving her full attention to the story—“he had been stabbed.”
the maid’s hand accidentally touched eleanor’s bare neck, and she felt the taut muscles quiver. covertly she glanced into the mirror and studied the lovely face. but eleanor’s expression told her nothing. her cheeks were colorless and her eyes downcast.
after a barely perceptible pause annette continued her story. “the coachman has been arrested——” a knock interrupted her and she hastened to open the door, returning in an instant with a note.
“fugi says the messenger boy is waiting for an answer, mademoiselle.”
eleanor tore it open and read the hastily scrawled lines.
dear eleanor:
i suppose you have been told of last night’s terrible tragedy. cynthia is prostrated. she begs pitifully to see you. can you come to us for a few days? your presence will help us both.
affectionately,
charlotte winthrop.
eleanor read the note several times, then walked thoughtfully over to her desk.
dearest mrs. winthrop: [she wrote] it is awful. i will come as soon as possible.
devotedly,
eleanor.
“give this to fugi, annette, then come back and pack my small steamer trunk,” as the maid hastened out of the room; she picked up a silk waist preparatory to putting it on, but her toilette was doomed to another interruption.
“well, my dear, may i come in?” asked a pleasant voice from the doorway.
“indeed you may, cousin kate,” eleanor stepped across the room and kissed the older woman affectionately. mrs. truxton’s ruddy face lighted with an affectionate smile as she returned her greeting. she did not altogether approve of her young cousin, many of her “foreign ways” as she termed it, offended her, but eleanor’s lovable disposition had won a warm place in her regard.
mrs. truxton seated herself in one of the comfortable lounging chairs and contemplated the disheveled room and eleanor’s oriental silk dressing gown with disapproval.
“do you know the time?” she inquired pointedly.
“nearly one,” answered eleanor, as she discarded her dressing gown for a silk waist. “lunch will soon be ready. i hope you have a good appetite.”
“yes, thank you; i’ve been out all the morning,” reproachfully. “mrs. douglas has asked me to dine with her this evening, and, i think, eleanor, if it will not interfere with your arrangements, that i will accept the invitation.”
“do so by all means,” exclaimed eleanor heartily. “i hope she won’t talk you deaf, dumb, and blind.”
“she is rather long-winded,” admitted mrs. truxton, tranquilly. “on the telephone this morning she took up twenty minutes telling me of the arrival here of her nephew, douglas hunter—good gracious, child——” as eleanor’s silver powder box rolled on the floor with a loud bang—“how you startle one.”
“i beg your pardon,” eleanor was some seconds picking it up, for her fingers fumbled clumsily. “what were you saying, cousin kate?” replacing the silver on the dressing table.
“mercy, child, how inattentive you are! i was only remarking that douglas hunter is no stranger to washington. he was raised here, as he belongs to one of the first families of georgetown.”
“i never heard of a ‘second’ family in georgetown,” smiled eleanor; then, seeing her cousin’s offended expression, she hastily changed the subject. “have you heard the shocking news of senator carew’s—” she hesitated for a moment—“tragic death?”
“indeed i have. washington is talking of nothing else. why are you packing, annette?” as the servant entered.
“mrs. winthrop has just written and asked me to spend a few days with them,” explained eleanor hurriedly, “so suppose you invite miss crane to stay with you in my absence.”
“of course you cannot very well decline to go,” said mrs. truxton thoughtfully. “still, i hate to have you mixed up in such an affair, eleanor.”
“nonsense, cousin kate, you must not look at it in that light,” eleanor patted the fat shoulder nearest her affectionately. “cynthia told me yesterday that senator carew had said he was going to discharge the coachman, hamilton (a surly brute, i always thought him), for drunkenness. i have no doubt he committed the murder from revenge, and while under the influence of liquor.”
“i sincerely trust that is the correct solution of the mystery,” mrs. truxton looked dubious, “but there has been one fearful scandal in that family already, eleanor, and i very much doubt if senator carew was killed by a servant.”
“why, what do you mean?” eleanor wheeled around in her chair and faced her abruptly.
“time will show.” mrs. truxton shook her head mysteriously.
“oh, nonsense!” exclaimed eleanor impatiently.
as mrs. truxton opened her lips to reply, annette reëntered the room.
“pardon, madame, you are wanted at the telephone,” and as mrs. truxton lifted herself carefully out of her chair and walked out of the room, she handed a package to eleanor. “this has just come for you, mademoiselle; the boy who left it said there was no answer.”
“annette! annette!” came mrs. truxton’s shrill voice from the lower hall.
“coming, madame, coming,” and the maid hastened out of the room shutting the door behind her.
left alone, eleanor turned the sealed package over curiously. the address was written in an unknown hand. quickly breaking the red sealing wax and tearing off the paper, she removed the pasteboard cover and a layer of cotton. a startled exclamation escaped her as she drew out the contents of the box—a necklace of large rubies and smaller diamonds in an antique setting.
eleanor, who knew the value of jewels, realized from their color and size that the rubies were almost priceless, and in the pure joy of beholding their beauty laid the necklace in the palm of her left hand and along her bare arm. after contemplating the effect for a moment, a thought occurred to her, and she pulled out the remaining cotton in the box and found at the bottom a small card. she picked it out and read the message written on the card.
“the appointment was not kept. well done.”
the card fluttered to the floor unheeded. the pigeon blood rubies made a crimson stain on eleanor’s white arm, strong wrist, and supple fingers.
