CHAPTER II
Mr. Bunting jumped nervously to her feet. She stood for a momentlistening in the darkness, a darkness made the blacker by the lineof light under the door behind which sat Bunting reading his paper.
And then it came again, that loud, tremulous, uncertain doubleknock; not a knock, so the listener told herself, that boded anygood. Would-be lodgers gave sharp, quick, bold, confident raps.No; this must be some kind of beggar. The queerest people came atall hours, and asked--whining or threatening--for money.
Mrs. Bunting had had some sinister experiences with men and women--especially women--drawn from that nameless, mysterious classmade up of the human flotsam and jetsam which drifts about everygreat city. But since she had taken to leaving the gas in thepassage unlit at night she had been very little troubled with thatkind of visitors, those human bats which are attracted by any kindof light but leave alone those who live in darkness.
She opened the door of the sitting-room. It was Bunting's placeto go to the front door, but she knew far better than he did howto deal with difficult or obtrusive callers. Still, somehow, shewould have liked him to go to-night. But Bunting sat on, absorbedin his newspaper; all he did at the sound of the bedroom dooropening was to look up and say, "Didn't you hear a knock?"
Without answering his question she went out into the hall.
Slowly she opened the front door.
On the top of the three steps which led up to the door, there stoodthe long, lanky figure of a man, clad in an Inverness cape and anold-fashioned top hat. He waited for a few seconds blinking at her,perhaps dazzled by the light of the gas in the passage. Mrs.Bunting's trained perception told her at once that this man, odd ashe looked, was a gentleman, belonging by birth to the class withwhom her former employment had brought her in contact.
"Is it not a fact that you let lodgings?" he asked, and there wassomething shrill, unbalanced, hesitating, in his voice.
"Yes, sir," she said uncertainly--it was a long, long time sinceanyone had come after their lodgings, anyone, that is, that theycould think of taking into their respectable house.
Instinctively she stepped a little to one side, and the strangerwalked past her, and so into the hall.
And then, for the first time, Mrs. Bunting noticed that he held anarrow bag in his left hand. It was quite a new bag, made of strongbrown leather.
"I am looking for some quiet rooms," he said; then he repeated thewords, "quiet rooms," in a dreamy, absent way, and as he utteredthem he looked nervously round him.
Then his sallow face brightened, for the hall had been carefullyfurnished, and was very clean.
There was a neat hat-and-umbrella stand, and the stranger's wearyfeet fell soft on a good, serviceable dark-red drugget, whichmatched in colour the flock-paper on the walls.
A very superior lodging-house this, and evidently a superiorlodging-house keeper.
"You'd find my rooms quite quiet, sir," she said gently. "And justnow I have four to let. The house is empty, save for my husbandand me, sir."
Mrs. Bunting spoke in a civil, passionless voice. It seemed toogood to be true, this sudden coming of a possible lodger, and of alodger who spoke in the pleasant, courteous way and voice whichrecalled to the poor woman her happy, far-off days of youth andof security.
"That sounds very suitable," he said. "Four rooms? Well, perhapsI ought only to take two rooms, but, still, I should like to seeall four before I make my choice."
How fortunate, how very fortunate it was that Bunting had lit thegas! But for that circumstance this gentleman would have passedthem by.
She turned towards the staircase, quite forgetting in her agitationthat the front door was still open; and it was the stranger whomshe already in her mind described as "the lodger," who turned andrather quickly walked down the passage and shut it.
"Oh, thank you, sir!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry you should havehad the trouble."
For a moment their eyes met. "It's not safe to leave a front dooropen in London," he said, rather sharply. "I hope you do not oftendo that. It would be so easy for anyone to slip in."
Mrs. Bunting felt rather upset. The stranger had still spokencourteously, but he was evidently very much put out.
"I assure you, sir, I never leave my front door open," she answeredhastily. "You needn't be at all afraid of that!"
And then, through the closed door of the sitting-room, came thesound of Bunting coughing--it was just a little, hard cough, butMrs. Bunting's future lodger started violently.
"Who's that?" he said, putting out a hand and clutching her arm."Whatever was that?"
"Only my husband, sir. He went out to buy a paper a few minutesago, and the cold just caught him, I suppose."
"Your husband--?" he looked at her intently, suspiciously. "What--what, may I ask, is your husband's occupation?"
Mrs. Bunting drew herself up. The question as to Bunting'soccupation was no one's business but theirs. Still, it wouldn't dofor her to show offence. "He goes out waiting," she said stiffly."He was a gentleman's servant, sir. He could, of course, valet youshould you require him to do so."
And then she turned and led the way up the steep, narrow staircase.
At the top of the first flight of stairs was what Mrs. Bunting, toherself, called the drawing-room floor. It consisted of asitting-room in front, and a bedroom behind. She opened the doorof the sitting-room and quickly lit the chandelier.
This front room was pleasant enough, though perhaps a littleover-encumbered with furniture. Covering the floor was a greencarpet simulating moss; four chairs were placed round the tablewhich occupied the exact middle of the apartment, and in thecorner, opposite the door giving on to the landing, was a roomy,old-fashioned chiffonnier.
On the dark-green walls hung a series of eight engravings, portraitsof early Victorian belles, clad in lace and tarletan ball dresses,clipped from an old Book of Beauty. Mrs. Bunting was very fond ofthese pictures; she thought they gave the drawing-room a note ofelegance and refinement.
As she hurriedly turned up the gas she was glad, glad indeed, thatshe had summoned up sufficient energy, two days ago, to give theroom a thorough turn-out.
It had remained for a long time in the state in which it had beenleft by its last dishonest, dirty occupants when they had beenscared into going away by Bunting's rough threats of the police.But now it was in apple-pie order, with one paramount exception,of which Mrs. Bunting was painfully aware. There were no whitecurtains to the windows, but that omission could soon be remediedif this gentleman really took the lodgings.
But what was this--? The stranger was looking round him ratherdubiously. "This is rather--rather too grand for me," he said atlast "I should like to see your other rooms, Mrs. er--"
"--Bunting," she said softly. "Bunting, sir."
And as she spoke the dark, heavy load of care again came down andsettled on her sad, burdened heart. Perhaps she had been mistaken,after all--or rather, she had not been mistaken in one sense, butperhaps this gentleman was a poor gentleman--too poor, that is, toafford the rent of more than one room, say eight or ten shillingsa week; eight or ten shillings a week would be very little use toher and Bunting, though better than nothing at all.
"Will you just look at the bedroom, sir?"
"No," he said, "no. I think I should like to see what you havefarther up the house, Mrs.--," and then, as if making a prodigiousmental effort, he brought out her name, "Bunting," with a kind ofgasp.
The two top rooms were, of course, immediately above thedrawing-room floor. But they looked poor and mean, owing to the factthat they were bare of any kind of ornament. Very little trouble hadbeen taken over their arrangement; in fact, they had been left in muchthe same condition as that in which the Buntings had found them.
For the matter of that, it is difficult to make a nice, genteelsitting-room out of an apartment of which the principal featuresare a sink and a big gas stove. The gas stove, of an obsoletepattern, was fed by a tiresome, shilling-in-the-slot arrangement.It had bee
n the property of the people from whom the Buntings hadtaken over the lease of the house, who, knowing it to be of nomonetary value, had thrown it in among the humble fittings theyhad left behind.
What furniture there was in the room was substantial and clean, aseverything belonging to Mrs. Bunting was bound to be, but it was abare, uncomfortable-looking place, and the landlady now felt sorrythat she had done nothing to make it appear more attractive.
To her surprise, however, her companion's dark, sensitive,hatchet-shaped face became irradiated with satisfaction. "Capital!Capital!" he exclaimed, for the first time putting down the bag heheld at his feet, and rubbing his long, thin hands together with aquick, nervous movement.
"This is just what I have been looking for." He walked with long,eager strides towards the gas stove. "First-rate--quite first-rate!Exactly what I wanted to find! You must understand, Mrs.--er--Bunting, that I am a man of science. I make, that is, all sorts ofexperiments, and I often require the--ah, well, the presence ofgreat heat."
He shot out a hand, which she noticed shook a little, towards thestove. "This, too, will be useful--exceedingly useful, to me," andhe touched the edge of the stone sink with a lingering, caressingtouch.
He threw his head back and passed his hand over his high, bareforehead; then, moving towards a chair, he sat down--wearily."I'm tired," he muttered in a low voice, "tired--tired! I've beenwalking about all day, Mrs. Bunting, and I could find nothing to sitdown upon. They do not put benches for tired men in the Londonstreets. They do so on the Continent. In some ways they are farmore humane on the Continent than they are in England, Mrs. Bunting."
"Indeed, sir," she said civilly; and then, after a nervous glance,she asked the question of which the answer would mean so much to her,"Then you mean to take my rooms, sir?"
"This room, certainly," he said, looking round. "This room isexactly what I have been looking for, and longing for, the lastfew days;" and then hastily he added, "I mean this kind of placeis what I have always wanted to possess, Mrs. Bunting. You wouldbe surprised if you knew how difficult it is to get anything ofthe sort. But now my weary search has ended, and that is a relief--a very, very great relief to me!"
He stood up and looked round him with a dreamy, abstracted air. Andthen, "Where's my bag?" he asked suddenly, and there came a note ofsharp, angry fear in his voice. He glared at the quiet womanstanding before him, and for a moment Mrs. Bunting felt a tremor offright shoot through her. It seemed a pity that Bunting was so faraway, right down the house.
But Mrs. Bunting was aware that eccentricity has always been aperquisite, as it were the special luxury, of the well-born and ofthe well-educated. Scholars, as she well knew, are never quite likeother people, and her new lodger was undoubtedly a scholar. "SurelyI had a bag when I came in?" he said in a scared, troubled voice.
"Here it is, sir," she said soothingly, and, stooping, picked itup and handed it to him. And as she did so she noticed that thebag was not at all heavy; it was evidently by no means full.
He took it eagerly from her. "I beg your pardon," he muttered."But there is something in that bag which is very precious to me--something I procured with infinite difficulty, and which I couldnever get again without running into great danger, Mrs. Bunting.That must be the excuse for my late agitation."
"About terms, sir?" she said a little timidly, returning to thesubject which meant so much, so very much to her.
"About terms?" he echoed. And then there came a pause. "My nameis Sleuth," he said suddenly,--"S-l-e-u-t-h. Think of a hound,Mrs. Bunting, and you'll never forget my name. I could provide youwith a reference--" (he gave her what she described to herself asa funny, sideways look), "but I should prefer you to dispense withthat, if you don't mind. I am quite willing to pay you--well, shallwe say a month in advance?"
A spot of red shot into Mrs. Bunting's cheeks. She felt sick withrelief--nay, with a joy which was almost pain. She had not knowntill that moment how hungry she was--how eager for--a good meal."That would be all right, sir," she murmured.
"And what are you going to charge me?" There had come a kindly,almost a friendly note into his voice. "With attendance, mind! Ishall expect you to give me attendance, and I need hardly ask ifyou can cook, Mrs. Bunting?"
"Oh, yes, sir," she said. "I am a plain cook. What would you sayto twenty-five shillings a week, sir?" She looked at himdeprecatingly, and as he did not answer she went on falteringly,"You see, sir, it may seem a good deal, but you would have the bestof attendance and careful cooking--and my husband, sir--he wouldbe pleased to valet you."
"I shouldn't want anything of that sort done for me," said Mr.Sleuth hastily. "I prefer looking after my own clothes. I am usedto waiting on myself. But, Mrs. Bunting, I have a great dislike tosharing lodgings--"
She interrupted eagerly, "I could let you have the use of the twofloors for the same price--that is, until we get another lodger.I shouldn't like you to sleep in the back room up here, sir. It'ssuch a poor little room. You could do as you say, sir--do your workand your experiments up here, and then have your meals in thedrawing-room."
"Yes," he said hesitatingly, "that sounds a good plan. And if Ioffered you two pounds, or two guineas? Might I then rely on yournot taking another lodger?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "I'd be very glad only to have you towait on, sir."
"I suppose you have a key to the door of this room, Mrs. Bunting?I don't like to be disturbed while I'm working."
He waited a moment, and then said again, rather urgently, "I supposeyou have a key to this door, Mrs. Bunting?"
"Oh, yes, sir, there's a key--a very nice little key. The peoplewho lived here before had a new kind of lock put on to the door."She went over, and throwing the door open, showed him that a rounddisk had been fitted above the old keyhole.
He nodded his head, and then, after standing silent a little, as ifabsorbed in thought, "Forty-two shillings a week? Yes, that willsuit me perfectly. And I'll begin now by paying my first month'srent in advance. Now, four times forty-two shillings is"--hejerked his head back and stared at his new landlady; for the firsttime he smiled, a queer, wry smile--"why, just eight pounds eightshillings, Mrs. Bunting!"
He thrust his hand through into an inner pocket of his longcape-like coat and took out a handful of sovereigns. Then he beganputting these down in a row on the bare wooden table which stood inthe centre of the room. "Here's five--six--seven--eight--nine--ten pounds. You'd better keep the odd change, Mrs. Bunting,for I shall want you to do some shopping for me to-morrow morning.I met with a misfortune to-day." But the new lodger did not speakas if his misfortune, whatever it was, weighed on his spirits.
"Indeed, sir. I'm sorry to hear that." Mrs. Bunting's heart wasgoing thump--thump--thump. She felt extraordinarily moved, dizzywith relief and joy.
"Yes, a very great misfortune! I lost my luggage, the few thingsI managed to bring away with me." His voice dropped suddenly. "Ishouldn't have said that," he muttered. "I was a fool to say that!"Then, more loudly, "Someone said to me, 'You can't go into alodging-house without any luggage. They wouldn't take you in.' Butyou have taken me in, Mrs. Bunting, and I'm grateful for--for thekind way you have met me--" He looked at her feelingly, appealingly,and Mrs. Bunting was touched. She was beginning to feel very kindlytowards her new lodger.
"I hope I know a gentleman when I see one," she said, with a breakin her staid voice.
"I shall have to see about getting some clothes to-morrow, Mrs. Bunting."Again he looked at her appealingly.
"I expect you'd like to wash your hands now, sir. And would you tellme what you'd like for supper? We haven't much in the house."
"Oh, anything'll do," he said hastily. "I don't want you to go outfor me. It's a cold, foggy, wet night, Mrs. Bunting. If you have alittle bread-and-butter and a cup of milk I shall be quite satisfied."
"I have a nice sausage," she said hesitatingly.
It was a very nice sausage, and she had bought it that same morningfor Bunting's supper; as to herself, she had be
en going to contentherself with a little bread and cheese. But now--wonderful, almost,intoxicating thought--she could send Bunting out to get anythingthey both liked. The ten sovereigns lay in her hand full of comfortand good cheer.
"A sausage? No, I fear that will hardly do. I never touch fleshmeat," he said; "it is a long, long time since I tasted a sausage,Mrs. Bunting."
"Is it indeed, sir?" She hesitated a moment, then asked stiffly,"And will you be requiring any beer, or wine, sir?"
A strange, wild look of lowering wrath suddenly filled Mr. Sleuth'spale face.
"Certainly not. I thought I had made that quite clear, Mrs. Bunting.I had hoped to hear that you were an abstainer--"
"So I am, sir, lifelong. And so's Bunting been since we married."She might have said, had she been a woman given to make suchconfidences, that she had made Bunting abstain very early in theiracquaintance. That he had given in about that had been the thingthat first made her believe, that he was sincere in all the nonsensethat he talked to her, in those far-away days of his courting. Gladshe was now that he had taken the pledge as a younger man; but forthat nothing would have kept him from the drink during the bad timesthey had gone through.
And then, going downstairs, she showed Mr. Sleuth the nice bedroomwhich opened out of the drawing-room. It was a replica of Mrs.Bunting's own room just underneath, excepting that everything uphere had cost just a little more, and was therefore rather betterin quality.
The new lodger looked round him with such a strange expression ofcontent and peace stealing over his worn face. "A haven of rest,"he muttered; and then, "'He bringeth them to their desired haven.'Beautiful words, Mrs. Bunting."
"Yes, sir."
Mrs. Bunting felt a little startled. It was the first time anyonehad quoted the Bible to her for many a long day. But it seemed toset the seal, as it were, on Mr. Sleuth's respectability.
What a comfort it was, too, that she had to deal with only onelodger, and that a gentleman, instead of with a married couple!Very peculiar married couples had drifted in and out of Mr. andMrs. Bunting's lodgings, not only here, in London, but at theseaside.
How unlucky they had been, to be sure! Since they had come toLondon not a single pair of lodgers had been even moderatelyrespectable and kindly. The last lot had belonged to that horribleunderworld of men and women who, having, as the phrase goes, seenbetter days, now only keep their heads above water with the help ofpetty fraud.
"I'll bring you up some hot water in a minute, sir, and some cleantowels," she said, going to the door.
And then Mr. Sleuth turned quickly round. "Mrs. Bunting"--and ashe spoke he stammered a little--"I--I don't want you to interpretthe word attendance too liberally. You need not run yourself offyour feet for me. I'm accustomed to look after myself."
And, queerly, uncomfortably, she felt herself dismissed--even alittle snubbed. "All right, sir," she said. "I'll only just letyou know when I've your supper ready."
The Lodger Page 2
