Melissa admitted Mrs. Arabella Dunham Shaw to the house and silently helped her remove the wide sable stole which covered her plump shoulders and arms. She took Arabella’s bonnet of blue velvet, trimmed with large purple roses, and Arabella’s gloves. During all this, Arabella chattered with hushed vivacity, expressing her regret, her shock over her friend’s desperate illness, her constant desire in the past few weeks to force her way into the Upjohn house, “there to give poor dear Amanda my best love and assistance. But all I could do was to send flowers, and the hampers that—I mean, the hampers, and an occasional message. I did not want to annoy you with any insistence, dearest Melissa, for I knew how burdened you were, and how irritating the demands of even the closest friends can be during times of affliction. But I assure you you had all my prayers, and my silent devotions, and my most passionate hopes. How many times did I sit at my bedroom windows and endeavor to strain my eyes to catch your midnight candle! How many times did I clasp my hands in fervent supplication that your period of trial might soon be ended! How many tears have I shed! But then, as Geoffrey often says, I am afflicted with too much sensibility. You should hear how he scolds me when he is at home! By the way, he has not returned since the sad passing of your poor darling Papa, but every letter to me is filled with his affection and his concern for all of you. Dear me, my child, have you a fever? Your face is so flushed and hot.”
“I have no fever,” muttered Melissa. She added, in a louder tone: “Mrs. Shaw, I sent for you against the orders of Dr. Mellon because my mother insisted upon seeing you. Dr. Mellon finally concluded it would be more dangerous to re fuse her wishes than to grant them. I trust you will not remain long.”
How utterly without manners, thought Arabella, with a glint of aversion in her eye as she looked at Melissa. She sniffed. She caught the strong, acrid odors of the neglected house, and her sharp glance noted the decay, dust and dirt in the hall, which was very cold and damp. She added to herself: It is disgraceful. Melissa is nothing more than a dreaming slut. She put her handkerchief, heavily laden with musk, to her nose. She said, in a sighing voice of compassion: “Certainly, I shall not remain a moment more than necessary, dear child.”
Her thoughts went on: I wish Geoffrey could see her nowl She is as ffeshless as a scarecrow, and her frock is dirty. And her eyesl They are quite mad. And there is a smudge on her bony cheek, which looks as though it had been there for days.
She turned about, still sighing, and tried, with the aid of the clouded mirror over the hall table, to smooth the curled rolls of her gray-streaked light hair. She peered closer to admire the fit of her plum-colored velvet bodice with its pearl buttons, its bows at the shoulder, its ruffle of fine lace at the neck. She smoothed down the folds of the velvet skirt, plumped out a huge bustle at the back, and rattled her gold bangles. Long pearl ear-rings hung at her ears, and swayed against her fat cheeks. She smiled, and her shark-like mouth opened in a lipless oval. Then she quenched the smile, and turned again to Melissa.
“I shall write tonight and tell dear Geoffrey of my visit. He will be so happy to know that Amanda has improved a little. Did I tell you, dear, that he is practically engaged to the most wonderful girl in Philadelphia? One of the Biddles, no less! So charming, so chic, so graceful and aristocratic. She can play the harp so heavenly! I was quite entranced when I last saw her. It was easy to observe that she was smitten by Geoffrey, and now I have such hopes!”
Melissa moved, with a dry rustle of her garments, to the stairway. “Shall we go up to Mama at once?” She looked at Arabella from the shadows, and her face was a whitish mask filled with eyes.
Arabella followed Melissa up the stairs; she heard the grinding of the grit under her fashionable French boots and high, tapering heels. Her skirts gave out a sweet silken rustle and swish, loud in the silence. Her scent followed her like a cloud. She panted when she reached the top of the stairway, but she moved quickly behind Melissa to Amanda’s room.
That room, observed Arabella, as she tiptoed within, was at least well-kept and clean, and had no unpleasant odors. The candlelight wavered against the musty drawn draperies, and at first Arabella could hardly see the white bed in the center of the room. She approached it on tiptoe, with a soft murmur in her throat. Melissa stood at a distance, with her back to the door.
“Dear, dear Amanda,” said Arabella, in a hushed, musical tone, bending over the bed. “How glad I am to see you so well, and able to receive visitorsl”
Amanda gazed at her from her pillows. Her mouth was sunken, her face a ghastly color. But her eyes burned indomitably upon her friend. She even smiled a little, and allowed Arabella to press her cold hand. She indicated a chair. Melissa stirred near the door.
“You are permitted only a few minutes, Mrs. Shaw,” she said, and her voice was too loud, and a trifle shrill.
Amanda said, not looking away from Arabella: “Melissa, I wish to be alone with Arabella.” Her voice was stronger today. Death stood beside her, but she held it off by the sheer force of her inexorable will. Arabella sat down with a crackle of silken petticoats, and gazed at Amanda with her head cocked compassionately to one side. Melissa hesitated, then left the room.
The dim firelight leapt up, and threw a wan light on Amanda’s stern face. Arabella touched her scented handkerchief to her dry eyelids. Amanda studied her friend. A silly, frivolous, heartless old fool, a false and crafty woman! Amanda saw the hard slate-gray eyes, the parrot-like nose with its sharp cruel tip, the fat, faintly rouged cheeks, and the rich and gaudy finery. Amanda smelled the strong, expensive but sickening perfume, and she turned her head slightly away. She thought: It is impossible to trust her. I must abandon my plan to plead with her for help for Melissa. I know now I dare not speak to her of Geoffrey’s offer, for she would circumvent his desire if she could, and would not send him the message that I must see him at once, for all the lying promises she would give me. She would tell him nothing
She asked aloud, in her faint but resolute voice: “Have you written to Geoffrey that I have been ill, Arabella?”
Arabella had written one letter to her brother to say that Amanda had had a slight seizure the day after the funeral, but that he must not worry in the least, that she, Arabella, was in constant touch with the Upjohn household, that everything was in good order and that there was no occasion for any undue concern. When Geoffrey had written demanding more details, she had added in a postscript: “Amanda is doing splendidly and will be her old self in a day or two.”
She smiled at Amanda tenderly, bent forward from her chair to pat Amanda’s icy fingers. “Indeed I have, dear friend, and he is all anxiety. He will return at Christmas, and will come to see you. Though, of course, everything will be very confused, as we shall have eight house guests for the holidays. But I do hope he can spare an hour or so for his old friends.” To herself, she thought: Amanda is obviously dying. I doubt whether she will survive until Christmas. And I shall contrive to keep dear Geoffrey so busy with his dear friends that he will hardly have time to visit these dreadful people.
She added aloud: “And when you see Geoffrey, Amanda, I know that you will express your gratification at his engagement to darling Miss Grace Biddle, of Philadelphia.” She spoke in a simpering arch voice, and contrived to look extremely coy. But her sharp and malevolent eyes fixed themselves watchfully upon Amanda.
Amanda did not start, did not turn to stare searchingly upon the other woman. She said to herself: It is a lie. She has a motive for that lie, and I know what it is. I must be very careful. She looked at Arabella now, turning her head slowly. She managed a quiet smile.
“That is good news, indeed,” she whispered. Arabella drew a relieved breath. She had been frightening herself unnecessarily, filling her life with nightmares. Geoffrey had forgotten that incredible remark of his three or four years ago. Perhaps he had only been teasing his sister.
Amanda went on, and she managed to inject a hint of secrecy into her feeble tone: “I have some news for Geoffrey. He is Charles’ executor. Some unexpected money has been found. I wish to put it into his hands, for my children.” Amanda had rarely lied in her life, but she spoke this lie with quiet assurance.
“Indeed,” murmured Arabella, conveying congratulation. “That is happy news, dear Amanda. Geoffrey will be so pleased.” She herself was pleased. She magnified the “money” into a fortune. She would tell Geoffrey that there was no need for his assisting the Upjohns. Perhaps she could tell him that Melissa had gone to Philadelphia to spend Christmas with friends, and had taken her mother with her, and her sister. It would be a precarious falsehood, but she would try it.
“So,” said Amanda, “I wish you would send Geoffrey a telegram tonight, immediately upon leaving here, that I must see him at once.”
Arabella said: “But dearest Amanda, he will be at home on Thursday, for Christmas, and this is Monday! Surely business can wait until then!”
“No,” said Amanda firmly, “it cannot wait.” She turned her head and looked unyieldingly at Arabella, and the power of her will was like a compelling hand on the other woman’s shoulder.
She watched Arabella, and when the latter hesitated, her eyes wavering cunningly from side to side, she added: “I am afraid I have burdened you. I shall send Melissa, or Hiram, to Midfield tonight, to send a telegram to Geoffrey.” She paused, went on: “One cannot rely upon telegrams. If I receive no answer by tomorrow night from the telegraph office that Geoffrey is returning immediately, I shall send another message.”
Yes, she is capable of it, thought Arabella, with enraged dismay. And then, when he returns, he will be furious with me that I have kept the truth from him and have not sent for him myself. She has me in a trap.
“Nonsense, dear Amanda!” she exclaimed. “I shall send Geoffrey the telegram immediately.” Her frightened thoughts continued: I shall telegraph him, saying that Amanda has taken a turn for the worse, and that he must come at once. There is slight chance he will ever know that she has been at the point of death for weeks. And there is always the possibility that she may die before he arrives. Oh, how dreadful and irritating fate can be, when one means only for the best!
Amanda smiled grimly, and said: “Thank you.” She indicated her medicine on the table. “Would you please, Arabella? Poor Melissa has been constantly at my side. Perhaps she has thrown herself upon her bed for a few minutes’ much-needed rest.”
Arabella rose with a flutter, administered the medicine. She began to chatter nervously: “Geoffrey will be so upset! With the house guests arriving and everything, and with his engagement to be announced. On second thought, darling Amanda, do not mention this to him. He will be annoyed that I have announced it prematurely. You know how shy gentlemen are about these things.”
Amanda nodded gravely, by a supreme effort preventing a smile. “And now, Arabella, if you will be so kind as to lift my pillows and arrange that blanket over my feet. Melissa must be resting.”
Arabella obeyed, then sat down by the bed again. Amanda closed her eyes and seemed to sleep. Arabella fixed her eyes upon the older woman’s face and willed that she might die at once, before Geoffrey arrived. She had discovered that James, Geoffrey’s man-servant, had been sending hampers to the Upjohns at her brother’s request. It had been days before she had been able to conquer her fear. And now, as she watched Amanda sleep, she was overcome with dismay and terror and hatred. All her fears returned to her, tremendously exaggerated. Fervently, over and over, she willed that Amanda might die tonight.