Read Online The Early Stories of Truman Capote by Truman Capote - Free Book Online Page A

of Miss Burke’s quarters where Ethel stood nervously waiting. The lights were dim, and the corners of the room were in darkness—the whole atmosphere was cold and Victorian. Ethel waited at the window—watching the first snowfall of the year, the white mantling of the naked trees and the dusty, silver cloaking of the earth. “I must write a poem about this sometime—‘The First Snowfall’ by Ethel Pendleton.” She smiled wanly and sat down on a dark tapestried chair.
    The door at the other end of the room opened and Mildred Barnett emerged from Miss Burke’s private sitting room.
    “Goodnight, Miss Burke, and thank you ever so much for your help.”
    Ethel moved away from the shadows and crossed the salon quickly. She paused at the door of Miss Burke’s sitting room and took a deep breath; she knew just what she was going to say—after all, Miss Burke should know what she suspected; it was all for the good of the school, nothing else. But Ethel knew she was lying even to herself. She knocked softly and waited until she heard Miss Burke’s high voice.
    “Come in, please.”
    Miss Burke was seated in front of her fireplace, drinking a small China demi-tasse of coffee. There was no other light in the room and Ethel thought, as she sat down on the soft cushion at Miss Burke’s feet, that it was strangely like a scene of peace and contentment on a holiday card.
    “How nice of you to drop in on me, Ethel, my dear. Is there something that I may do for you?”
    Ethel almost wanted to laugh—it was so funny, so ironic. In fifteen minutes this elderly, composed woman would be quite shaken.
    “Miss Burke, something has come to my notice, which, I believe, warrants your immediate attention.” She had chosen her language carefully and accented the words precisely in the manner that Miss Burke so heartily felt was correct and genteel. “It is in connection with Louise Semon. You see, a friend of my family’s, a physician, called on me recently here at school and—”
    Miss Burke put down her demi-tasse and listened to Ethel’s story in shocked amazement. Her stately face flushed. Once during the recitation she exclaimed, “But, Ethel, this can not be true—I made all the arrangements through a person of obvious integrity—a Mr. Nicoll—surely he would know we could never allow such a thing—such a dreadful thing!”
    “I know it is true,” Ethel exclaimed, petulant at this disbelief; “I swear it! Call this Mr. Nicoll tomorrow, ask him—tell him the situation is intolerable and jeopardizing the standing of your school—if I am right. I know that I am. No—do not rely on Mr. Nicoll alone. Surely there are authorities—?”
    And Miss Burke nodded. She was becoming more convinced and more shocked every minute. There was only the sound of Ethel’s voice and the soft purr of the fire—and the gentle presence of falling snow, whispering at the window pane.
    III
    There was one pale light burning in the corridor when Ethel reached her room. The signal for lights out had been given a good hour before. She would have to undress in the dark. The instant she entered her room she knew something was wrong. She knew she was not alone.
    In a frightened whisper, she said, “Who’s here?” In sudden terror she thought, “It’s Louise. Somehow she’s found out—she knows—and she’s come here.”
    Then, above the beating of her own heart, she heard the soft rustle of silk and a hand clutched her arm tightly.
    “It is I—Mildred.”
    “Mildred Barnett?”
    “Yes, I came here to stop what you’re doing!”
    Ethel attempted to laugh, but it stopped somewhere and she coughed instead. “I haven’t the slightest—not even the foggiest notion what you’re talking about. Stop what?” But she felt the falseness in her voice and she was frightened.
    Mildred shook her. “You know what I mean! You saw Miss Burke tonight—I listened. Perhaps it’s not the most honorable thing, but I’m glad I did if I can help