An Unwilling Guest
Read An Unwilling Guest Online
Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
An Unwilling Guest
Grace Livingston Hill
Table of
Contents
New Reading for Miss Rutherford
Rebecca Bascomb on Evening Dress
Outside Quarantine
T
he gray horse stopped by a post on the other side of the road from the little wooden station as if he knew what was expected of him, and a young girl got out of the carriage and fastened him with a strap. The horse bowed his head two or three times as if to let her know the hitching was unnecessary but he would overlook it this time seeing it was she who had done it
The girl's fingers did their work with accustomed skill, but the horse saw that she was preoccupied and she turned from him toward the station a trifle reluctantly. There was
a grave pucker between her eye
brows that showed that her present duty was not one of choice.
She walked deliberately into the little waiting room occupied by some women and noisy children, and compared her watch with the grim-faced clock behind the agent's grating. She asked in a clear voice if the five-fifty-five New York train was on time, and being assured that it was she went out to the platform to look up the long stretch of track gleaming in the late afternoon sun, and wait.
Five miles away, speeding toward the same station, another girl of about the same age sat in a chair car, impatiently watching the houses, trees, and telegraph poles as they fl
ew by. She had gathered her pos
sessions about her preparatory to leaving the train, had been duly brushed by the obsequious porter who seemed to have her in charge, and she now wore an air of impatient submission to the inevitable.
She was unmistakably city bred and wealthy, from the crown of her elaborate black chiffon hat to the tip of her elegant boot. She looked with scorn on the rich farming country, with its plain, useful buildings and occasional pretty homes, through which she was being carried. It
was evide
nt, even to the casual onlooker,
that this journey she was taking was hardly to her taste. She felt a wave of rebellion toward her father, now well on his way to another continent, for having insisted upon immuring her in a small back-country village with his maiden sister during his enforced absence. He might well enough have left her in New York with a suitable chaperon if he had only thought so, or taken her along—though that would have been a bore, as he was too hurried with business to be able to give time and thought to making it pleasant for her.
She drew her pretty forehead into a frown as she thought the vexed question over again and contemplated with dread the six stupid weeks before she could hope for his return and her release from exile. She pouted her lips in annoyance as she thought of a certain young man who was to be in New York during the winter. She was to have met him at a dinner this very night. She
wondered for the hundredth time
if it could possibly be that papa had heard of her friendship with this young fellow and because of it had hus
tled her off to
Hillcroft
so un
ceremoniously. Her cheeks burned at the thought and she bit her lips angrily. Papa was so particular! Men did not know how to bring up a girl, anyway. If only her mother had lived she felt sure she would not have had such old-fashioned notions, for her mother had been quite a woman of fashion, from what people in society said of her. There was nothing the matter with this Mr. Worthington either—a little fast, but it had not hurt him. He was delightful company. Fathers ought to know that their daughters enjoyed men with some spirit and not namby-pamby milk-and-water creatures. Probably papa had been a bit wild in his youth also; she had heard it said that all men were, in which case he ought to be lenient toward other young men and not expect them to be grave and solemn before their ti
me. Mr. Worthington dressed per
fectly, and that was a good deal. She liked to see a man well dressed. Papa was certainly very foolish about her. With this filial reflection the young woman arose as the train came to a halt and followed the porter from the car.
Several passengers alighted, but the girl on the
platform knew in
stinctively that the young woman in the elegant gray broadcloth skirt
and dainty shirt waist, carrying on her arm her gray coat, which showed more than a gleam of the tur
quoise blue silk lining, and un
concernedly trailing her long skirt on the dirty platform, was the one with whom she had to do.
Allison Grey waited just the least perceptible second before she stepped forward. She told herself afterward that it made it so much worse to have that porter standing smiling and bowing to listen. She felt that her duty was fully as disagreeable as she had feared, yet she was one who usually faced duty cheer
fully. She could not help glanc
ing down at her own blue serge skirt and plain white shirt waist, and remembering that her hands were guiltless of gloves, as she walked forward to where the other girl stood.
"Is this Miss Rutherford?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling, and hoping her mental perturbation was not visible.
The traveler wheeled with a graceful turn of her tall figure that left the tailor-made skirt in lovely curved l
ines which Allison with her artist's eye noted at once,
and stared. Evelyn Rutherford's eyes were black and had an expression which in a less refined type of girl would have been called saucy. In her it was modified into haughtiness. She looked Allison Grey over and it see
med to Allison that she took ac
count of every discrepancy in her pl
ain little outfit before she an
swered.
"It is." There was that in the tone of the answer that said: "And what business of yours may that be, pray?"
Allison's cheek flushed and there came a sparkle in her eye that spoke of other feelings than her quiet answer betokened:
"Then will you come this way, please? The carriage is on the other side of the station. Your aunt, Miss Rutherford, was unable to meet you and I have come in her place. If you will give me your check I will see that your baggage is attended to at once."
"Indeed!" said the bewildered traveler, and she followed the other
girl with an air of injured dignity. Was this some kind of a superior
servant her aunt had sent to take her place? Her maid, perhaps? She
certainly did not speak nor act like
a servant, and yet
Then her in
dignation waxed great. To think that her father's sister should treat her
in this way, not even come to the station to meet her when she was an entire stranger, and had never even seen her since she was three years old! In New York, of course, she would not have expected it. Things were different. But she had always understood that country people made a great deal of meeting their friends at the station. Her aunt had spoken of this in her letters. A fine welcome, to be sure! She could not be ill or this person would have mentioned it at once.
She entirely forgot that a few moments before one of the greatest grievances had been that she feared her aunt would bore her with a show of affection, for she remembere
d the many caresses of her baby
hood indistinctly, and her nature was not one that cared for feminine affection overmuch.
Allison showed the porter where to deposit the bags and umbrellas on the station platform, and taking the checks given her she left the elegant stranger standing amid her belongings, looking with disdain at the pony phaeton across the road and wondering where the carriage could be. She was growing angry at being left standing so long when she became aware that the girl across the road untying the pony was the same one who had gone away with her checks, and it began to dawn upon her that she was expected to get into that small conveyance with this other girl.
She submitted with what grace she could, as there seemed to be nothing else to be done, but the expression on her face was anything but pleasant, and she demanded an explanation of the state of things in no sweet manner.
"What is the meaning of all this? Is this my aunt's carriage? Where is her driver?" she asked imperiously. Having made up her mind that this girl was a servant she concluded to treat her accordingly.
It was characteristic of Allison that she
waited until she had care
fully spread the clean linen robe over
the gray broadcloth skirt, gath
ered her reins deliberately, and given the pony word to go before she answered. Even then she did not speak until the phaeton was turned about and they were fairly started spinning over the smooth road under the arching trees. By that time her voice was sweet and steady, and her temper was well under her control.
"I am very sorry, Miss Rutherford
, that you should suffer any in
convenience," she said. "It certainly is not so pleasant for you as if your aunt had been able to meet you as she planned. No,
this is not her carriage. It belongs to us, and we are her neighbors and dear friends." She forced herself to say this with a pleasant smile, although she felt somehow as if the girl beside her would resent it.
"Really!" interpolated Miss Rutherford, as one who awaits a much-needed explanation.
"Yes, your aunt was expecting you, looking forward with great pleasure to your coming,' she
bade
me say," went on Allison, reciting her lesson a trifle stiffly, "and only tw
o hours ago she discovered seri
ous illness among her household whi
ch they are afraid may be conta
gious. They cannot tell for some hours yet. She does not wish you to come to the house until they are sure. She hopes that it will be all r
ight for you to come home by to
morrow, or the next day at most, and in the meantime we will try to make you as comfortable as possible. Your aunt sent us word by the doctor this morning asking me to meet you and explain why it would not be safe for her to meet you. I am Allison Grey. We live quite at the other end of town from Miss Rutherford, so you will be entirely safe from any infec
tion should it prove to be seri
ous. Miss Rutherford was kind enough to think my mother could make you a l
ittle more comfortable than any
one else."
Allison was almost in her usual spirits as she finished speaking. It would not be so bad after the stranger understood, surely. She did not add what Miss Rutherford had said
about having her niece with her
self, Allison, as she hoped another girl's company would make her feel less lonely and strange, for Allison saw at once that this was not a girl who cared for other girls' company a straw, at least not such as she.
Evelyn Rutherford's face was a study. Chagrin and astonishment struggled for the mastery.
"I do not understand," she said. "Who is ill in the family that could prevent my aunt meeting me? I thought she lived alone."
"She does," said Allison quickly, "except for her two servants. It is one of them, the cook. She has been with Miss Rutherford for fifteen years, you know, and is almost like her own flesh and blood to her.
Besides, she has taken care of her all night herself, before she knew there was any need for caution, and if it is smallpox, as they fear, she has been fully exposed to it already, so it would not be safe for her to come to you until they are sure."
"Horrors!" exclaimed the stranger, and Allison saw that her face turned a deadly white. "Stop! Turn around! I will go right back to New York!"
"You need not feel afraid," said Allison gently. 'There is none of it in town and this case is entirely isolated. The woman has been away on a visit to her brother and probably took the disease there. She came home only yesterday. She came b
ack sooner than she intended be
cause you were coming and Miss Rutherford sent for her. There is really no cause for alarm, for the utmost care will be taken if it should prove to be smallpox, and by morning we may hear that it is
all right and she is getting well, and it is not that at all. Besides, there is
no New York train going out to
night. The last one passed yours about ten miles back. You will have to
stay until to
morrow, anyway."
"Mercy!" said the stranger, seeming not to be able to find words to express her feelings. She was certainly taking the news very badly, but her hostess hoped she would behav
e better when she was fully pos
sessed of the facts.
Miss Rutherford asked a few mor
e questions about her aunt, com
menting scornfully upon her devotion to a servant, which brought an angry flush into the other girl's cheek—and then settled down to the inevitable. Upon reflection she decided it would be better to wait and write or telegraph to her friends in New York before returning to them. Indeed, there was no one in town just then—for it was early for people to return to the city—with whom she felt sufficiently intimate to drop down upon them unannounced for a prolonged visit, and she knew that her father would utterly disapprove of her being with any of them, anyway.
"Do your people keep a boarding
house?" she asked, turning curi
ous eyes on Allison, who flushed again under the tone, which sounded to her insolent, but waited until she had disentangled the reins from the pony's tail before she replied gently:
