CHAPTER XXXI
On the Saturday afternoon following the arrival of Mrs. Moss at Enderby, Miss Pritchard and Elsie had just seated themselves in the former's cool, pleasant room for the purpose of discussing summer clothes for the latter. A maid came to the door and brought in a card.
"Mrs. Richard Moss! I'm sure I don't know any such person; do you, Elsie?" Miss Pritchard exclaimed, frowning as she attempted to recollect whether that could be the married name of any one who had formerly been at Miss Peacock's. As she looked up she saw that Elsie was almost ghastly white.
She sprang from her chair and went to her.
"Elsie, darling, are you ill?" she cried.
Elsie almost gasped.
"No, Cousin Julia, only—startled, scared," she said in a strange voice that frightened Miss Pritchard still further.
But the maid waited. About to ask her to excuse her to Mrs. Moss, she looked again at Elsie.
"You don't know her, dear?" she said gently, putting the card before her.
"Yes—I do. That's what—fazed me," gasped Elsie. "It's my—stepmother. I'm afraid something awful has happened."
Now Miss Pritchard was white, too.
"My child, are you out of your head?" she exclaimed. "What are you talking about? You never had a stepmother. You couldn't have."
Then she half smiled.
"Oh, Elsie!" she cried reproachfully, "it's some of your stage friends come to see you. How you startled me! I'll settle with you later for that and give you a good scolding, but I won't stop now. Will you have her up here or down in the parlor?"
"Please, let's have her up here," said the white-faced girl in the same strained tone. "There's nothing to do now but go through with it. It serves me just right. But——"
Without understanding, her heart beating strangely, Miss Pritchard asked that Mrs. Moss be brought up.
They waited in silence. Presently the caller was ushered in, a slender woman clad in black, with a young-looking, sad face. Seeing Elsie, she too became very white. But the girl rushed upon her, flung her arms about her, and hid her face on her shoulder. And the stranger clasped her close.
Miss Pritchard stared in amazement. She hadn't known of any warm friend of Elsie's except the young girl in Enderby; but this was unmistakably an affection of long standing. For a moment she stood stock-still. Then somehow she got them both over to the sofa, relieved Mrs. Moss of her wraps, and sat down near.
"I don't understand," she said finally. "You are evidently an old friend of my little cousin's. Perhaps you are the lady she stayed with while she was finishing her school after Mrs. Pritchard's death?"
Mrs. Moss looked hard at Elsie, reproachfully yet lovingly. It was so good to see the girl that the plans she had laid as she came on from Massachusetts escaped her. She spoke at random, and might have imparted the same impression of mental irresponsibility that she had given Mr. Middleton.
"She hasn't any grandmother. She never had one. And she isn't——"
"Oh, Moss, I have it!" exclaimed Miss Pritchard. "You're the mother of Elsie's friend at Enderby—though I believed her to be an orphan all this time."
"I am Elsie's stepmother, and she isn't your cousin at all," declared Mrs. Moss sadly. "She's only a very naughty girl playing a trick on you."
Then for the first time Miss Pritchard spoke sternly to Elsie.
"If this is a trick, a part of your stage business, won't you please bring it to a close right here!" she demanded. "It has gone too far already."
"My dear Miss Pritchard, will you allow me to explain?" said Mrs. Moss. Then she turned to the girl. "Or will you do it, Elsie? I went to Enderby to see you and found that other girl and learned the truth from her."
Elsie drew away a little.
"You tell her, please, auntie, I couldn't," she faltered. She clasped her hands tightly. Her face was whiter than before.
"Miss Pritchard, if you will have patience and bear with me for a little, I hope I can make things plain, though I can't make them right," said Mrs. Moss rather appealingly. "I have just come from Enderby, Massachusetts, where Elsie's uncle and guardian lives. I got worried and went there to see about Elsie. I came all the way from California."
Miss Pritchard stared at her in amazement.
"Oh, auntie!" cried Elsie in distress. Then she went to Miss Pritchard.
"Kiss me just once, Cousin Julia, kiss me hard," she entreated. And Miss Pritchard clasped her to her heart.
The girl resumed her place on the sofa and sat motionless, her eyes upon her clasped hands. Mrs. Moss endeavored to get the main fact out.
"I found there instead of this Elsie, instead of Mr. Middleton's own niece, a strange girl who has lived there since last June as Elsie Moss. Her first name happened to be Elsie, too, but her last name is Pritchard—Marley, I should say."
"Oh, Mrs. Moss, I must be stupid, but I cannot understand what you mean!" cried Miss Pritchard. And Elsie choked.
"I'll begin again," said Mrs. Moss with mournful patience. "A year ago this Elsie, my Elsie, Elsie Moss, started East to live with her uncle, John Middleton, in Enderby, Massachusetts. On the train she fell in with this Marley girl who was coming on to New York to live with her cousin, Miss Pritchard. Elsie was badly stage-struck and wild over New York, and the other girl didn't mind a quiet country town, and they calmly changed places—and names. Elsie Moss came to you—with no claim in the world upon your hospitality; and your relative, Elsie Marley, imposed upon the Middletons in the same fashion. And they have gone on with the imposture for practically a year."
As she continued, one detail after another fitted into the framework she made, and Miss Pritchard grasped the situation fully. Stunned and wholly at a loss, she glanced at Elsie. The girl sat like a statue, white with downcast eyes. Miss Pritchard went to the window and stood gazing out for some moments.
When she returned to her place, her expression was composed, but her face looked suddenly strangely worn and older. She looked into Mrs. Moss's eyes as who should say "How could she!" But she spoke to the girl.
"Well, Elsie?" she asked quietly.
"That was why I hedged about going to Enderby," said Elsie incoherently, "I didn't dare let Uncle John see my dimples. They would give me away, you see, Cousin Julia."
Then she suddenly bethought herself.
"Oh, but you're not my Cousin Julia any more!" she cried, and burst into a tumult of weeping.
Her stepmother gathered the girl to her, and Elsie sobbed wildly on her breast. Mrs. Moss, who had been more severe with Elsie Marley at Enderby than she had ever been with any one before, was now disposed to be very gentle—perhaps over-lenient—with the real culprit.
"Yes, Elsie, I am your Cousin Julia—to the end of things," Miss Pritchard assured her. And she spoke almost solemnly. "But tell me, dear—you didn't know what you were doing? Oh, Elsie, you didn't realize that it wasn't—that it was—wrong?"
"Not at first—not when I did it," sobbed Elsie. Then she uncovered her face. "But I knew afterward. It came to me then, and I knew it was the sort of wrong you think worst of all. And so do I, honestly, Cousin Julia."
Again Miss Pritchard walked to the window. Elsie's eyes followed her in agonized appeal.
"Cousin Julia!" she cried desperately. And Miss Pritchard was at her side in a moment. But though her face was all tenderness and sympathy, the pain that shone through it would have been severe retribution even had Elsie been altogether impenitent.
"Oh, Cousin Julia, I was sorry!" the girl cried, "I was terribly sorry. But it only came on me when everything was—sort of—fixed, you know. I couldn't bear to break up Elsie Marley's happiness at Enderby, and—I couldn't bear to have it—hurt you—though I know this is a lot worse. So I was going to disappear. I had my mind all made up. I was going to leave a letter so that you wouldn't feel troubled. And I thought that would sort of make up for everything, because I never would have been happy again. And then—oh, Cousin Julia, then came that chance that I knew led straight to the stage, and I lost my head. I chose to be wicked, and I suppose I lost my soul as well as my head, only—there's something that hurts as if I still had one."
Again the girl wept wildly. But now Miss Pritchard's arm was enfolding her.
"No, precious child, you haven't lost it. And if you were sorry—but we won't talk more about it now. I'll hold that in my heart as comfort until to-morrow and then we'll see what we can do to straighten it all out. At this moment we must consider that there's the evening performance to go through, and being the last, it will be very taxing. Somehow, we'll make things right, among us all. You go to your room now and lie down. If you think of this, only say to yourself that it's over, and be thankful for that. And we two women who love you so that we're all but jealous of one another already will plan the next—or rather, the first move. Come, child."
At the door Elsie turned. "Is the other Elsie all right, auntie?" she asked anxiously.
"Yes, dear," returned Mrs. Moss rather doubtfully. "At least—well, as a matter of fact the poor child is just—waiting. I made her promise not to say a word to the Middletons until I came on here and returned. I am afraid—dear me, I am sure I don't know what I said to the girl. I am afraid I must have been rather hard on her."
"Oh, auntie! And it wasn't her fault in the least! I just dragged her into it. It was all for me. And she's the sweetest, gentlest thing! And not the least little bit her fault! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"
The girl wrung her hands in genuine distress. Mrs. Moss shook her head mournfully.
"I might have known," she acknowledged regretfully. "But, oh, Miss Pritchard, I was nearly distracted. It all came upon me so suddenly—not a whisper of warning."
Miss Pritchard could understand what that meant. She led Elsie into her room and established her upon the bed. Elsie talked incoherently and at random, until Miss Pritchard had to declare that she must go back to Mrs. Moss. Kissing the girl again, she bade her forget everything for the time being and rest. And though she stifled the deep sigh that rose involuntarily, Miss Pritchard felt as if she was staggering as she left the room.