Short Stories 1895-1926 (81 page)

She did not answer.

‘You must promise me,' I said.

‘
What
am I to promise you?' she said, her eyes burning in her still, white, furious face.

‘Need I say?'

She leaned her elbows on her knees, did not look at me again, merely talked, talked on, as if to her reflection, in that dim crimson, fronting her eyes.

‘It is just as it happens, I suppose,' she said. ‘It's just this miserable thing we call life, all the world over. You hadn't the ghost of a right to open it – not the faintest right in the world. It is all sheer inference, that is all. As for believing, there's not the faintest proof – not the faintest. Who
can
care
now
?
But, no; somehow you got to know, without the least mercy or compunction. Who would believe you? It is simply a blind, pitiless ruse, I suppose … And so … you have compelled me, forced me to confess, to explain what no one on earth dreams of, or suspects – you, a complete stranger. Isn't my life my own, then? Oh yes, I know all that. I know all that … I refuse. You will understand, please, I will
not
promise.

‘Who,' she cried, flinging scoffingly back her head, ‘who gave
you
my life? Who gave
you
the right to question, to persecute me?' And then, suddenly, she hid her face in her hands. ‘What am I saying, what am I saying?' she almost whispered. ‘I don't know what I am saying.'

‘Please, please,' I said, ‘don't think of me. It doesn't in the least matter what you think, or say, of me. Listen, only listen; you must, you
must
promise.'

‘I can't, I can't!' she cried, rising to her feet and facing me once more. The train was slowing down. Here, then, was her station. Was I, after all, to be too late? I, too, stood up.

‘Think what you will of me,' I said, ‘I am only, only your friend, now and always. I do believe that I was sent here. I don't understand why, or how: but I cannot, cannot, I mustn't leave you, until you promise.'

Something seemed to stoop, to look out of her eyes into mine. How can I possibly put the thought into words? – a fear, a haunting, terrible sorrow and despair, simply, I suppose, her soul's, her spirit's last glance of utter weariness, utter hopelessness; a challenge, a defiance. I know not what I prayed, or to whom, but pray I did, gazing blindly into her face. And then it faded, fainted, died away, that awful presence in those dark beautiful eyes.

She put out her hand with a sob, like a tired-out, beaten child.

‘I promise,' she said …

My friend stopped speaking. Night had fallen deep around us. The garden lay silent, tree and flower obscure and still, beneath the feebly shining stars. We turned towards the house. A white blind in an upper window glimmered faintly in the darkness. And we heard a tiny, impatient, angry, inarticulate voice, crying, crying.

‘Well,' I said, taking his arm, and waving my hand, with my best professional smile, towards the window, ‘she has kept her promise, hasn't she?'

Two Days in Town

Two Days in Town
1

Katie and I gazed steadfastly at Katie's aunt; and Katie's aunt blinked gently and benignly in reply.

‘Our plan is, you see,' I proceeded concisely, ‘to make as much of the time we have at our disposal as we possibly can. It's so short to do all in.'

Katie's aunt smiled again, and shook her head.

‘You mustn't speak so thickly, Jimmie,' said Katie, ‘and shouting's not a bit of good unless you speak clearly too – like this … What Jimmie is trying to say, Auntie, dear,' began Katie, with an energy that astounded me in so frail a body, ‘is, that as you only have two days in town to see everything, we must go everywhere as soon as
ever
we can.'

‘Yes, yes,' said Katie's aunt.

‘But “everywhere”, Katie!' I murmured.

‘Please don't quibble,' said Katie.

‘The only difficulty,' I continued with unabated decision, turning to Katie's aunt, ‘is where to go
first
.'

‘Yes, yes,' repeated the old lady, and we looked most intelligently at one another. ‘Well,' I said, taking out my ‘proposals', ‘I have just jotted down the most important, the essential points of interest … Points of interest.'

‘“Points of interest?”' cried Katie, generously.

‘Yes, yes,' said Katie's aunt.

‘First, then, there's St Paul's, the Bank of England (the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street, you know – practically impregnable), and the Mint.'

Katie repeated most of the list without a mistake.

‘Yes, yes,' said the old lady, ‘but tell me, Mr James, do they abut?'

“‘Abut?”' I exclaimed.

‘She means, poor dear, are they within a cab-drive?' explained Katie. ‘You must remember, Jimmie, Auntie has never stirred out of Meadowsham; how can she know anything about London? – I mean, that isn't in histories, and that kind of thing.'

‘Well, yes,' I said cheerfully, nodding my head at Katie's aunt, ‘practically, they do.'

‘Ah,' said Katie's aunt steadily, ‘I fear I am but a very indifferent walker, and …'

‘You shan't walk a step,' I shouted.

‘And,' continued the old lady imperturbably, ‘very alarmed at strange horses.'

‘A taxi,' I cried, waving my list, as if with a cheer.

‘For goodness sake, Jimmie,' said Katie, ‘have some sense! Auntie would faint dead off in a taxi. And don't wave like that, it will only intimidate her.'

‘Pray, my dear,' said Katie's aunt with unexpected lucidity, ‘let Mr James have his way. I am quite willing to entrust myself, sir, to your wonderful knowledge of London. Is a taxi an open carriage?'

‘It's a motor-cab!' I said.

‘Ah,' said Katie's aunt, and seemed to fall into a reverie.

‘Well, that will be for to-morrow,' I continued, rapidly, ‘and if time allows we could take in the Imperial Institute, the British Museum, and the National Gallery.'

‘The National … ?'

‘Gallery.'

‘Yes, yes,' said the old lady, ‘I have frequently read of the National Gallery. I greatly enjoy pictures.'

‘Lunch somewhere up west,' I turned to Katie, ‘and home to tea. How would that do?'

Katie looked at me very solemnly. ‘Have you really all that down on your list, Jimmie?'

‘Of course I have,' said I.

‘For one day?'

‘Of course,' I cried, bending double towards Katie's aunt, ‘if pressed for time we could perhaps
cut
St Paul's.'

She raised a mittened hand. ‘Do you know, I fancy, sir, you intend my visit to be
very
gay?'

‘London's a big place,' I explained magnanimously; and, why I know not, turned hot all over beneath Katie's quiet eyes.

‘And so – home to tea,' I added weakly, pretending to blow my nose.

‘Certainly, “home to tea” ,' said Katie's aunt, with extraordinary apprehension, ‘that would be very pleasant.'

‘In the evening,' I proceeded carelessly, consulting my list again, ‘we have quite an
embarras de richesses
.'

Katie's aunt smiled softly and questioningly at Katie.

‘He means,' she said, gently stroking her aunt's hand, ‘he means there are crowds of decent plays on.'

The old lady raised a mild and silvery eyebrow, and a distinct pause ensued. ‘He means,' Katie added explanatorily, with a rather red face, ‘quite nice, jolly, old-fashioned plays, Auntie.'

‘Ah,' remarked the old lady with splendid tact, ‘I so very rarely visit a place of amusement, Mr James.'

‘In that case,' I replied with decision, ‘you will enjoy
Archie's Mermaid
.'

‘
Archie's Mermaid
?' breathed Katie into space, ‘my dear Jimmie!'

‘I hope, I hope,' suggested the old lady, glancing feebly from one to the other of us, ‘there are no fire-arms in the piece. I have,' she continued, with delicious confidentiality, ‘such a horror of powder, sir.'

‘No,' I insinuated reassuringly, ‘I don't think there's any powder in
Archie's Mermaid
– at least, not gunpowder.' I looked in vain for encouragement to Katie.

‘Perhaps, Auntie dear, you were thinking the double journey would be rather a strain; there's the bazaar at St Ethelreda's?'

‘I think, do you know, my dear, and with all respect to Mr James, I should perhaps prefer the bazaar. I have never been to a religious bazaar.'

‘So much for Tuesday, then,' I concluded, again consulting my list. ‘On Wednesday' – in spite of every effort I could not raise my voice without suggesting a shopwalker – ‘on Wednesday we have the Coliseum, Madame Tussaud's, the Zoo, South Kensington (and, of course, the Albert Hall and Memorial), the National Portrait Gallery (unless, as your aunt is fond of pictures, we could squeeze that in to-morrow), Kew Gardens, Hampton court, the Crystal Palace (cat-show), the White City, and, say, a little bus jaunt through the West End –
shopping,
you know.'

Katie's aunt gazed on in happy unconsciousness. Katie was eyeing me with either chastened amazement or immeasurable reproach; it was impossible to say which. And, at one of those cold inspirations that well into the minds of the best of men at crucial moments, I compelled myself to add, ‘Moreover, with half an hour to spare there's the old site of the Royal Aquarium and the Thames Tunnel.'

‘I think,' murmured Katie's aunt with the faintest trembling, ‘I think, perhaps, sir, I had better avoid
tunnels
. Some of the other places of interest which you have kindly proposed for Wednesday I did not quite catch, but if it could be in any way arranged – without, of course, inconvenience to you and to my niece – I should so very much value a sermon from Mr Spurgeon, and – I daresay you will be amused at the notion – may I see the Woolsack? My dear father used to talk so much of the Woolsack when I was a girl; I suppose it is still in use?'

‘Poor Mr Spurgeon is dead, Auntie dear,' said Katie gently. ‘It was in all the papers. He has been dead some time.' And I – I refrained from committing myself regarding the Woolsack.

Katie's aunt sat thinking over her loss; at least, so I suppose, though, indeed, her mild, reflective eyes were fixed rather disconcertingly on me.

‘Even now, Jimmie,' said Katie, biting her lips, ‘you have forgotten Bedlam and Woking.' She glanced fierily up, and added rapidly, ‘you've simply been poking fun at the poor old thing the whole time; it's mean, mean!'

If Katie's aunt would have removed her eyes from my face only for the merest instant I could have made a complete defence in a glance. As it was, I rose with concentrated indignation and bowed deferentially over the old lady's hand. ‘Tomorrow, then, at 9.25,' I shouted soothingly, ‘a comfortable four-wheeled cab to the railway station – then taxies, taxies all the way P

‘Thank you, my dear sir, thank you,' said Katie's aunt; ‘it will prove, I foresee, a veritable orgy of diversion.'

I bowed as distantly as I could to Katie's muslin shoulder, and with a somewhat funereal dignity made for the door.

‘Jimmie dear,' called a clear and cloudless voice as I turned the handle, ‘did you say 9.25, or 9.26?'

I choked back my sorrow, and went out …

My cabman (for I had practically made him mine by a process of drastic elimination) drew up to the minute at Katie's, and with dignified promptitude I stepped out and knocked crisply at the door.

Katie herself opened it so immediately I was a little disconcerted by her morning beauty so suddenly breaking out on me.

‘Where is your aunt?' I inquired, after a rather tepid greeting. ‘It is exactly nineteen minutes past nine.'

‘She's gone,' said Katie, glancing at her watch; ‘she must have just reached home by now.'

‘Home?'

‘Yes,' said Katie, ‘she caught the 6.31.'

‘What for?' said I.

‘My dear Jimmie, “why” indeed! Look at your list!'

I looked instead at her bright lovely face under the lawn of her hat, and I tried in vain to be tart. ‘I did my best,' I said with a gesture.

‘You did so,' said Katie warmly, pushing her hand through my arm. ‘She thinks you the polishedest, attentivest, man-about-towniest, real old-English-gentlemenliest creature that ever wore sulphur-coloured gloves. And she's given me a ten-pound-note to take you to the Zoo with. Come along! I adore you both. You're just a pair.'