Jane walked slowly to prolong the pleasure. It was a cold day in late autumn. It had been miserly of its light from the beginning, with a dim ghost of sun peering through the dull grey clouds, and now it was getting dark and spitting snow. The lights gleamed out: even the grim windows of Victorian Gay were abloom. Jane did not mind the bitter wind but something else did. Jane heard the most pitiful, despairing little cry and looked down to see the kitten, huddled miserably against an iron fence. She bent and picked it up and held it against her face. The little creature, a handful of tiny bones in its fluffed-out Maltese fur, licked her cheek with an eager tongue. It was cold, starving, forsaken. Jane knew it did not belong to Gay Street. She could not leave it there to perish in the oncoming stormy night.
"Goodness sake, Miss Victoria, wherever did you get that?" exclaimed Mary, when Jane entered the kitchen. "You shouldn't have brought it in. You know your grandmother doesn't like cats. Your Aunt Gertrude got one once but it clawed all the tassels off the furniture and it had to go. Better put that kitten right out, Miss Victoria."
Jane hated to be called "Miss Victoria," but grandmother insisted on the servants addressing her so.
"I CAN'T put it out in the cold, Mary. Let me give it some supper and leave it here till after dinner. I'll ask grandmother to let me keep it. Perhaps she will if I promise to keep it out here and in the yard. You wouldn't mind it round, would you, Mary?"
"I'd like it," said Mary. "I've often thought a cat would be great company ... or a dog. Your mother had a dog once but it got poisoned and she would never have another."
Mary did not tell Jane that she firmly believed the old lady had poisoned the dog. You didn't tell children things like that and anyway she couldn't be dead sure of it. All she was sure of was that old Mrs Kennedy had been bitterly jealous of her daughter's love for the dog.
"How she used to look at it when she didn't know I saw her," thought Mary.
Grandmother and Aunt Gertrude and mother were taking in a couple of teas that day so Jane knew she could count on at least an hour yet. It was a pleasant hour. The kitten was happy and frolicsome, having drunk milk until its little sides tubbed out almost to the bursting point. The kitchen was warm and cosy. Mary let Jane chop the nuts that were to be sprinkled over the cake and cut the pears into slim segments for the salad.
"Oh, Mary, blueberry pie! Why don't we have it oftener? You can make such delicious blueberry pie."
"There's some who can make pies and some who can't," said Mary complacently. "As for having it oftener, you know your grandmother doesn't care much for any kind of pie. She says they're indigestible ... and my father lived to be ninety and had pie for breakfast every morning of his life! I just make it occasional for your mother."
"After dinner I'll tell grandmother about the kitten and ask her if I may keep it," said Jane.
"I think you'll have your trouble for your pains, you poor child," said Mary as the door closed behind Jane. "Miss Robin ought to stand up for you more than she does ... but there, she's always been under the thumb of her mother. Any way, I hope the dinner will go well and keep the old dame in good humour. I wisht I hadn't made the blueberry pie after all. It's lucky she won't know Miss Victoria fixed the salad ... what folks don't know never hurts them."
The dinner did not go well. There was a tension in the air. Grandmother did not talk ... evidently some occurrence of the afternoon had put her out. Aunt Gertrude never talked at any time. And mother seemed uneasy and never once tried to pass Jane any of the little signals they had ... the touched lip ... the lifted eyebrow ... the crooked finger ... that all meant "honey darling" or "I love you" or "consider yourself kissed."
Jane, burdened by her secret, was even more awkward than usual, and when she was eating her blueberry pie she dropped a forkful of it on the table.
"This," said grandmother, "might have been excused in a child of five. It is absolutely inexcusable in a girl of your age. Blueberry stain is almost impossible to get out and this is one of my best table-cloths. But of course that is a matter of small importance."
Jane gazed at the table in dismay. How such a little bit of pie could have spread itself over so much territory she could not understand. And of course it had to be at this inauspicious moment that a little purry furry creature escaped the pursuing Mary, skittered across the dining-room and bounded into Jane's lap. Jane's heart descended to her boots.
"Where did that cat come from?" demanded grandmother.
"I mustn't be a coward," thought Jane desperately.
"I found it on the street and brought it in," she said bravely ... defiantly, grandmother thought. "It was so cold and hungry ... look how thin it is, grandmother. Please may I keep it? It's such a darling. I won't let it trouble you ... I'll ..."
"My dear Victoria, don't be ridiculous. I really supposed you knew we do not keep cats here. Be good enough to put that creature out at once."
"Oh, not out on the street, grandmother, PLEASE. Listen to the sleet ... it would die."
"I expect you to obey me without argument, Victoria. You cannot have your own way all the time. Other people's wishes must be considered occasionally. Please oblige me by making no further fuss over a trifle."
"Grandmother," began Jane passionately. But grandmother lifted a little wrinkled, sparkling hand.
"Now, now, don't work yourself into a state, Victoria. Take that thing out at once."
Jane took the kitten to the kitchen.
"Don't worry, Miss Victoria. I'll get Frank to put it in the garage with a rug to lie on. It will be quite comfy. And to- morrow I'll find a good home for it at my sister's. She's fond of cats."
Jane never cried, so she was not crying when mother slipped rather stealthily into her room for a good-night kiss. She was only tense with rebellion.
"Mummy, I wish we could get away ... just you and I. I hate this place, mummy, I hate it."
Mother said a strange thing and said it bitterly: "There is no escape for either of us now."
Chapter 7
Jane could never understand the affair of the picture. After her hurt and anger passed away she was just hopelessly puzzled. Why ... WHY ... should the picture of a perfect stranger matter to anybody at 60 Gay ... and to mother, least of all?
She had come across it one day when she was visiting Phyllis. Every once in so long Jane had to spend an afternoon with Phyllis. This one was no more of a success than the former ones had been. Phyllis was a conscientious hostess. She had shown Jane all her new dolls, her new dresses, her new slippers, her new pearl necklace, her new china pig. Phyllis was collecting china pigs and apparently thought any one "dumb" who was not interested in china pigs. She had patronized and condescended even more than usual. Consequently Jane was stiffer than usual and both of them were in agonies of boredom. It was a relief to all concerned when Jane picked up a Saturday Evening and buried herself in it, though she was not in the least interested in the society pages, the photographs of brides and debutantes, the stock market or even in the article, "Peaceful Adjustment of International Difficulties," by Kenneth Howard, which was given a place of honour on the front page. Jane had a vague idea that she ought not to be reading Saturday Evening. For some unknown reason grandmother did not approve of it. She would not have a copy of it in her house.
But what Jane did like was the picture of Kenneth Howard on the front page. The moment she looked at it she was conscious of its fascination. She had never seen Kenneth Howard ... she had no idea who he was or where he lived ... but she felt as if it were the picture of someone she knew very well and liked very much. She liked everything about it ... his odd peaked eyebrows ... the way his thick rather unruly hair sprang back from his forehead ... the way his firm mouth tucked in at the corners ... the slightly stern look in the eyes which yet had such jolly wrinkles at the corners ... and the square, cleft chin which reminded Jane so strongly of something, she couldn't remember just what. That chin seemed like an old friend. Jane looked at the face and drew a long breath. She knew, right off, that if she had loved her father instead of hating him she would have wanted him to look like Kenneth Howard.