Miss Billy — Married
Copyright© 2025 by Eleanor H. Porter
Chapter 3: Billy Speaks Her Mind
Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were expected home the first of September. By the thirty-first of August the old Beacon Street homestead facing the Public Garden was in spick-and-span order, with Dong Ling in the basement hovering over a well-stocked larder, and Pete searching the rest of the house for a chair awry, or a bit of dust undiscovered.
Twice before had the Strata—as Bertram long ago dubbed the home of his boyhood—been prepared for the coming of Billy, William’s namesake: once, when it had been decorated with guns and fishing-rods to welcome the “boy” who turned out to be a girl; and again when with pink roses and sewing-baskets the three brothers got joyously ready for a feminine Billy who did not even come at all.
The house had been very different then. It had been, indeed, a “strata,” with its distinctive layers of fads and pursuits as represented by Bertram and his painting on one floor, William and his curios on another, and Cyril with his music on a third. Cyril was gone now. Only Pete and his humble belongings occupied the top floor. The floor below, too, was silent now, and almost empty save for a rug or two, and a few pieces of heavy furniture that William had not cared to take with him to his new quarters on top of Beacon Hill. Below this, however, came Billy’s old rooms, and on these Pete had lavished all his skill and devotion.
Freshly laundered curtains were at the windows, dustless rugs were on the floor. The old work-basket had been brought down from the top-floor storeroom, and the long-closed piano stood invitingly open. In a conspicuous place, also, sat the little green god, upon whose exquisitely carved shoulders was supposed to rest the “heap plenty velly good luckee” of Dong Ling’s prophecy.
On the first floor Bertram’s old rooms and the drawing-room came in for their share of the general overhauling. Even Spunkie did not escape, but had to submit to the ignominy of a bath. And then dawned fair and clear the first day of September, bringing at five o’clock the bride and groom.
Respectfully lined up in the hall to meet them were Pete and Dong Ling: Pete with his wrinkled old face alight with joy and excitement; Dong Ling grinning and kotowing, and chanting in a high-pitched treble:
“Miss Billee, Miss Billee—plenty much welcome, Miss Billee!”
“Yes, welcome home, Mrs. Henshaw!” bowed Bertram, turning at the door, with an elaborate flourish that did not in the least hide his tender pride in his new wife.
Billy laughed and colored a pretty pink.
“Thank you—all of you,” she cried a little unsteadily. “And how good, good everything does look to me! Why, where’s Uncle William?” she broke off, casting hurriedly anxious eyes about her.
“Well, I should say so,” echoed Bertram. “Where is he, Pete? He isn’t sick, is he?”
A quick change crossed the old servant’s face. He shook his head dumbly.
Billy gave a gleeful laugh.
“I know—he’s asleep!” she caroled, skipping to the bottom of the stairway and looking up.
“Ho, Uncle William! Better wake up, sir. The folks have come!”
Pete cleared his throat.
“Mr. William isn’t here, Miss—ma’am,” he corrected miserably.
Billy smiled, but she frowned, too.
“Not here! Well, I like that,” she pouted; “—and when I’ve brought him the most beautiful pair of mirror knobs he ever saw, and all the way in my bag, too, so I could give them to him the very first thing,” she added, darting over to the small bag she had brought in with her. “I’m glad I did, too, for our trunks didn’t come,” she continued laughingly. “Still, if he isn’t here to receive them—There, Pete, aren’t they beautiful?” she cried, carefully taking from their wrappings two exquisitely decorated porcelain discs mounted on two long spikes. “They’re Batterseas—the real article. I know enough for that; and they’re finer than anything he’s got. Won’t he be pleased?”
“Yes, Miss—ma’am, I mean,” stammered the old man.
“These new titles come hard, don’t they, Pete?” laughed Bertram.
Pete smiled faintly.
“Never mind, Pete,” soothed his new mistress. “You shall call me ‘Miss Billy’ all your life if you want to. Bertram,” she added, turning to her husband, “I’m going to just run up-stairs and put these in Uncle William’s rooms so they’ll be there when he comes in. We’ll see how soon he discovers them!”
Before Pete could stop her she was half-way up the first flight of stairs. Even then he tried to speak to his young master, to explain that Mr. William was not living there; but the words refused to come. He could only stand dumbly waiting.
In a minute it came—Billy’s sharp, startled cry.
“Bertram! Bertram!”
Bertram sprang for the stairway, but he had not reached the top when he met his wife coming down. She was white-faced and trembling.
“Bertram—those rooms—there’s not so much as a teapot there! Uncle William’s—gone!”
“Gone!” Bertram wheeled sharply. “Pete, what is the meaning of this? Where is my brother?” To hear him, one would think he suspected the old servant of having hidden his master.
Pete lifted a shaking hand and fumbled with his collar.
“He’s moved, sir.”
“Moved! Oh, you mean to other rooms—to Cyril’s.” Bertram relaxed visibly. “He’s upstairs, maybe.”
Pete shook his head.
“No, sir. He’s moved away—out of the house, sir.”
For a brief moment Bertram stared as if he could not believe what his ears had heard. Then, step by step, he began to descend the stairs.
“Do you mean—to say—that my brother—has moved-gone away—left—his home?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir.”
Billy gave a low cry.
“But why—why?” she choked, almost stumbling headlong down the stairway in her effort to reach the two men at the bottom. “Pete, why did he go?”
There was no answer.
“Pete,”—Bertram’s voice was very sharp—”what is the meaning of this? Do you know why my brother left his home?”
The old man wet his lips and swallowed chokingly, but he did not speak.
“I’m waiting, Pete.”
Billy laid one hand on the old servant’s arm—in the other hand she still tightly clutched the mirror knobs.
“Pete, if you do know, won’t you tell us, please?” she begged.
Pete looked down at the hand, then up at the troubled young face with the beseeching eyes. His own features worked convulsively. With a visible effort he cleared his throat.
“I know—what he said,” he stammered, his eyes averted.
“What was it?”
There was no answer.
“Look here, Pete, you’ll have to tell us, you know,” cut in Bertram, decisively, “so you might as well do it now as ever.”
Once more Pete cleared his throat. This time the words came in a burst of desperation.
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir. It was only that he said—he said as how young folks didn’t need any one else around. So he was goin’.”
“Didn’t need any one else!” exclaimed Bertram, plainly not comprehending.
“Yes, sir. You two bein’ married so, now.” Pete’s eyes were still averted.
Billy gave a low cry.
“You mean—because I came?” she demanded.
“Why, yes, Miss—no—that is—” Pete stopped with an appealing glance at Bertram.
“Then it was—it was—on account of me,” choked Billy.
Pete looked still more distressed
“No, no!” he faltered. “It was only that he thought you wouldn’t want him here now.”
“Want him here!” ejaculated Bertram.
“Want him here!” echoed Billy, with a sob.
“Pete, where is he?” As she asked the question she dropped the mirror knobs into her open bag, and reached for her coat and gloves—she had not removed her hat.
Pete gave the address.
“It’s just down the street a bit and up the hill,” he added excitedly, divining her purpose. “It’s a sort of a boarding-house, I reckon.”
“A boarding-house—for Uncle William!” scorned Billy, her eyes ablaze. “Come, Bertram, we’ll see about that.”
Bertram reached out a detaining hand.
“But, dearest, you’re so tired,” he demurred. “Hadn’t we better wait till after dinner, or till to-morrow?”
“After dinner! To-morrow!” Billy’s eyes blazed anew. “Why, Bertram Henshaw, do you think I’d leave that dear man even one minute longer, if I could help it, with a notion in his blessed old head that we didn’t want him?”
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