CHAPTER IX.
Soon afterwards, Ann Maples went to the place which she had obtained inLady Cranberry's household; and I determined to begin my search.
"Mrs. Shelfer, do you know London well?"
My landlady was feeding her birds, and I had made up for herdisappointment about Lady Cranberry, by fitting the lame blackbird witha wooden leg, cut from a skewer, and tipped with a button: it was prettyto see how kindly and cleverly he took to it, and how proudly hecontemplated it, when he thought there was no one watching. Hismistress now stopped her work, and made ready for a long speech, withthe usual snap of her lips.
"Know London, Miss Vaughan! I was born in Red Cross Street, and I'venever been further out of town than Chalk Farm fair, or HampsteadWaterworks, and, please God, I never will. Bless me, what an awfulplace the country is, awful! What with the trees, and the ditches, andthe sting-nettles, and the black wainscot with skewers on the top--"
"Too bad of you, Mrs. Shelfer, to be frightened at palings--and yourhusband a gardener, too! But tell me whereabouts is Grove Street?"
"What Grove Street, my good friend?"
"Grove Street, London, to be sure."
"Why, dear me, Miss, I thought you knew everything; you can doctor Jack,and the Bully, and tell me all about Sandy the squirrel's tail and thehair coming off and when it's going to rain! Don't you know there's adozen Grove Streets in London, for all I know. Leastways I knows four."
"And where are those four, Mrs. Shelfer?"
"Now please, my good friend, give me just a minute to think. It isdreadful work to be hurried, ever since I fell downstairs, when I weresix year old. Let me see now. Charley knows. Can't you wait, Miss,till Charley comes home, and he's coming quite early this evening, andtwo friends of his to supper."
"No, Mrs. Shelfer, I cannot wait. If you can't tell me, I must go andget a book."
"Oh them books is no good. Why they ain't got Charley in, and he withthe lease one time of the garden in Hollyhock Square, and a dahlia namedafter him at the Royal Heretical Society! And they did say the Queenwould have handed him the spade she liked his looks so much, only hisnails wasn't clean. Very likely you heard, Miss--And how he was cheatedout of it."
"Do you expect me to wait all day?"
"No no, my good friend, to be sure not. You never will wait a minute,partikler when I spill the coals, and when I wants to baste the meat.And how can the gravy run, and a pinch of salt in the dripping-pan--"
"Yesterday, Mrs. Shelfer, you basted my pound and a half of mutton withthree pounds of coals. Now don't go off into a treatise. Answer me,where is Grove Street?"
"Bless my heart, Miss Vaughan. You never gives one a chance. And wethought a young lady from the country as had been brought up with tags,and lace, and bobbin, and pigs, and hay--"
"Could be cheated anyhow. No, I don't mean that: I beg your pardon,dear Patty. I often speak very hastily. What I mean is that youthought I should know nothing at all. And I don't know much, but onething I do know, that you would never cheat me much."
To my surprise she was not at all sensitive on this subject. In factshe had dealt with so many lodgers, that she expected to be suspected.But I believe she never cheated me more than she could help. Sheanswered me quite calmly, after some meditation:
"To be sure, Miss, to be sure, I only does my dooty. A little drippingmay be, or a drop of milk for old Tom, and a piece of soap you left inthe water, Miss, I kept it for Charley to shave with."
"Now, Mrs. Shelfer, no more of that. Come back to Grove Street; surely,I have given you time enough now."
"Well, Miss, there is one I know close by here. You keep down the WillaRoad, and by the fishmonger's shop, and then you turn on the right overagainst the licensed pursuant to Act of George the Fourth. I knowsGeorge the Fourth acted badly, but I never thought it was that way. Samthe Sweep lives with him, and the young man with a hook for his handthat lets out the 'Times' for a penny, and keeps all his brothers andsisters."
"And where are the other three that you know?"
"There's one in Hackney, and one in Bethnal Green, and there's one inMile-end Road. Bless me, to be sure! I've been there with dear MissMinto after a cat she lost, a tabby with a silver collar on, and a notchin his left ear. It would make you cry, Miss--"
"Thank you, Mrs. Shelfer; that will do for the present. I'll go up tothe 'drawing-room' now."
In a few minutes I went forth with my dark plaid shawl around me, whichhad saved my mother's life, and was thenceforth sacred. It was thefirst time I walked all alone in London, and though we lived quite inthe suburbs it seemed very odd to me. For a while I felt rathernervous, but no one molested me then or at any other time; although Ihave heard some plain young ladies declare that they could not walk inLondon without attracting unpleasant attention. Perhaps because theyknew not the way either to walk or to dress.
Without any trouble, I found No. 19, Grove Street, then rang the belland looked round me. It was a clean unpretentious street, not to beknown by its architecture from a thousand others in London. The bellwas answered by a neat little girl, and I asked for the Master of thehouse. Clever tactics truly for commencing a task like mine.
Being told that the Master was from home, I begged to see the Mistress.The little maid hesitated awhile, with the chain of the door in herhand, and then invited me into the parlour, a small room, but neat andpretty.
"Please, Miss, what name shall I say?"
"Miss Vaughan, if you please." Then I said to myself, "What good am I?Is this my detective adroitness?"
Presently a nice old lady, with snow-white hair, came in.
"Miss Vaughan," she asked with a pleasant smile, "do you wish to seeme?"
"Yes, if you please. Just to ask a few questions as to the inmates ofthis house."
Despite her kindness and good breeding, the lady stared a little.
"May I inquire your motives? Do you know me at all? I have not thepleasure of knowing you."
"My motives I must not tell you. But, as a lady, I assure you, thatcuriosity is not one. Neither are they improper."
She looked at me in great surprise, examined me closely, and thenreplied:
"Young lady, I believe what you say. It is impossible not to do so.But my answering you must depend on the nature of your inquiries. Youhave done, excuse my saying it, you have done a very odd thing."
"I will not ask many questions. How many people live here?"
"I will answer you curtly as you ask, unless you ask what I do notchoose to answer. Four people live here, namely, my husband, myself,our only daughter--but for whom I might have been ruder to you--and thechild who let you in. Also a woman comes every day to work."
"Are there no more? Forgive my impertinence. No strangers to thefamily?"
"No lodgers whatever. My son is employed in the City, and sleeps there.My only daughter is in very weak health, and though we do not want allthe house, we are not obliged to take lodgers. A thing I never woulddo, because they always expect to be cheated."
"And is your husband an Englishman?"
"Yes, and an English writer, not altogether unknown."
She mentioned a name of good repute in the world of letters, as even Iwas aware.
"You have quite satisfied me. I thank you most heartily. Very fewwould have been so polite and kind. I fear you must think me a verysingular being. But I have powerful motive, and am quite a stranger inLondon."
"My dear, I knew that at once. No Londoner would have learned from methe family history I have told you. I should have shown them out at thevery first question. Thank you, oh thank you, my child. But I am sureyou have hurt yourself. Oh, the shell has run into your forehead."
As she looked so intently at me, on her way to the door of the room, herfoot had been caught by the claw of the what-not, and I barely saved herfrom falling.
"No, Mrs. Elton, I am not hurt at all. How stupid of me, to be sure.And all my
fault that you fell. I hope the shell is not broken. Ah, Ibring very bad luck to all who treat me kindly."
"The shell is not worth sixpence. The fault was all my own. If you hadnot been wonderfully quick, I must have fallen heavily. Pray sit down,and recover yourself, Miss Vaughan. Look, you have dropped a letter.Dear me, I know that writing! Excuse me; it is I that am nowimpertinent."
"If you know that writing, pray tell me how and where."
The letter she had seen was the anonymous one which brought me fromDevonshire to London. I had put it into my pocket, thinking that itmight be wanted. It fell out as I leaped forward, and it lay on thefloor wide open.
"May I look at the writing more closely? Perhaps I am deceived."
For a while I hesitated. But it seemed so great a point to know who thewriter was, that I hushed my hesitation. However, I showed the letterso that she could not gather its import.
"Yes," said Mrs. Elton, "I am quite certain now. That is the writing ofa Polish lady, whom at one time I knew well. My husband has written awork upon Poland, which brought him into contact with some of therefugees. Among them was a gentleman of some scientific attainments,who had a pretty lively warm-hearted wife, very fond of dancing, andvery fond of dogs. She and I have had many a laugh at one another andourselves; for, though my hair is grey, I am fond of lively people."
"And where is that lady now?"
"My child, I cannot tell you. Her name I will tell you, if you like,when I have consulted my husband. But it will help you very littletowards finding her; for they change their names almost every time theymove. Even in London they forget that they are not heard every time theysneeze. The furtive habits born of oppression cling about them still."
"And where did they live at the time you knew them?"
Wrung by suspense and anxiety, I had forgotten good manners. But Mrs.Elton had good feeling which knows when to dispense with them.Nevertheless I blushed with shame at my own effrontery.
"Not very far from here, in a part that is called 'Agar Town.' But theyhave now left London, and England too, I believe. I must tell you nomore, because they had reasons for wishing to be unknown."
"Only tell me one thing. Were they cruel or violent people?"
"The very opposite. Most humane and warm-hearted They would injure noone, and hated all kinds of cruelty. How pale you are, my child! Youmust have a glass of wine. It is useless to say no."
As this clue, which seemed so promising, led to nothing at all, I may aswell wind it up at once, and not tangle my story with it. Mr. Eltonpermitted his wife to tell me all she knew about the Polish exiles, forthey were gone to America, and nothing done here could harm them. Butat the same time he made me promise not to mention to the police, if mycase should ever come before them, the particulars which he gave me; andI am sure he would not wish me to make free with the gentleman's name.A gentleman he was, as both my kind friends assured me, and not likelyto conceal any atrocious secret, unless he had learned it in a way whichlaid it upon his honour. Mr. Elton had never been intimate with him,and knew not who his friends were, but Mrs. Elton had liked the lady whowas very kind and passionate. Also she was very apt to make mistakes inEnglish names, and to become confused at moments of excitement.Therefore Mrs. Elton thought that she had confounded the Eltons' addresswith that of some other person; for it seemed a most unlikely thing thatshe should know the residents at two Nos. 19 Grove Street. However soit proved--but of that in its place. It was now six months since theyhad quitted London, perhaps on account of the climate, for the gentlemanhad been ill some time, and quite confined to the house. It would bealtogether vain to think of tracing them in America. While living inLondon they owned a most magnificent dog, a truly noble fellow butafflicted with a tumour. This dog suddenly disappeared, and they wouldnot tell what had become of him, but the lady cried most violently oneday when he was spoken of. Directly after this they left the country,with a very brief farewell.
All this I learned from Mr. and Mrs. Elton during my second visit, forMrs. Elton was too good a wife to dispense with her husband's judgment.Also I saw their daughter, a pleasing delicate girl; they learned ofcourse some parts of my story, and were most kind and affectionate tome; and I am proud to have preserved their friendship to the presenttime. But as they take no prominent share in the drama of my life,henceforth they will not be presented upon its stage.
As I returned up the Villa Road, thinking of all I had heard, andfeeling down at heart, something cold was gently placed in my unglovedhand. Turning in surprise and fright I saw an enormous dog, wagging histail, and looking at me with magnificent brown eyes. Those great browneyes were begging clearly for the honour of my acquaintance, and thathuge muzzle was deposited as a gage of love. As I stooped to ascertainhis sentiments, he gravely raised one mighty paw and offered it to medelicately, with a little sigh of self-approval. Upon my accepting itfrankly and begging to congratulate him upon his noble appearance andevident moral excellence, he put out his tongue, a brilliant red one,and gave me a serious kiss. Then he shrugged his shoulders and lookedwith patient contempt at a nicely-dressed young lady, who was exertingher lungs at a silver whistle some fifty yards down the road. "Go, gooddog," I said with a smile, "run, that's a good dog, your Mistress wantsyou immediately." "Let her wait," he said with his eyes, "I am not in ahurry this morning, and she doesn't know what to do with her time.However, if you think it would be rude of me--" And with that heresumed a long bone, laid aside while he chatted to me, tucked itlengthwise in his mouth, like a tobacco-pipe, and after shaking handsagain, and saying "Now don't forget me," the great dog trotted awaysedately, flourishing his tail on high, like a plume of Pampas grass.At the corner of the railings he overtook his young Mistress, whosefeatures I could not descry; though from her air and walk I knew thatshe must be a pretty girl. A good-tempered one too she seemed to be,for she only shook her little whip lightly at the dog, who made anexcursion across the road and sniffed at a heap of dust.
Clara Vaughan, Volume 1 (of 3) Page 27
