THE DREARY WAY
Mary's patience was fairly well tried before she had an opportunity of
seeing Mrs. Speed. She heard the latter cry out in astonishment at the
sight of Lady Dashwood; she heard the two take their way up the
uncarpeted stairs; she could hear restless footsteps overhead. It was
quite an hour before they came down. Mary could not quite hear what
was passing, but she heard enough to know that Mrs. Speed was in
tears.
The tears gave way to a sullen red as Mary came out of the
dining-room. She said nothing as the girl beckoned her into the room
and shut the door.
"We need not waste any time," Mary said, "you will guess what I came
for."
"Who told you where to find me?" was the terrified question in a
whisper. "You don't mean to say that in Keppel Terrace they know
already----"
"I am not concerned as to what Keppel Terrace knows or thinks," Mary
said coldly. "I came back to our rooms last night very late with Miss
Colam. To our great surprise and consternation we found the house
empty. Our own things had gone with the rest. You might have left
them, as they did not belong to you. Miss Colam, who has had more
experience in the seamy side of life than I have, says that this
midnight flitting is quite usual with a certain class of people. She
gave me an experience of a friend of hers, but in that case her
belongings were left behind. What did you suppose that we were going
to do?"
The woman shook her head sullenly. With her wider knowledge of the
world she seemed to think that she had an easy prey in Mary.
"_I_ don't know," she said, "and I didn't care. I've been too badly
used by the world to have much sympathy left for other people. And I
had to move. The agent told me that he was going to put an execution
in today, and I had no time to lose. I don't want to keep your traps
and things; I daresay they are here somewhere. Come again in a few
days' time, and I will see what I can do for you. I'm busy now."
The speaker advanced half threateningly towards Mary, with an
intention of bustling her out of the room. Mary's eyes flashed angrily
as she stood before the door.
"Now listen to me," she said in clear, incisive tones. "As a landlady
of experience in such matters you must know that it is almost
impossible for Miss Colam and myself to obtain other lodgings without
our boxes and things. Last night we slept out of doors because we had
nowhere to go. You think that because you live so far away from Keppel
Terrace you can do as you like. If I go from here now without our
belongings I shall at once see the agent of the Keppel Terrace
property and tell him where you are to be found. I can easily get the
address of the agent from the people next door to your last house. I
don't know much about the law, but you can be punished for this kind
of thing, I feel quite certain. Now what are you going to do?"
The battle was over almost as soon as it had begun. The woman lost her
threatening air and her face became pleading. The easy tears fell from
her cheeks. "I'm sure I don't want to do anything wrong," she said,
"only you don't know all the trouble and anxiety that I've been put
to. When I came to London first I had money in the bank and a good
house of furniture, very different from the miserable sticks I have
about me now. I was doing well. Oh, you think you know what trouble is
and misery, but wait till you see the son you have loved and slaved
for grow up to be a curse and a blight to you; I sacrificed everything
for that boy and he has ruined me. He gets money from everybody, he
has had all mine, and I go on giving him more. He never comes near me
unless he wants something. If you knew everything, you would be sorry
for me."
Mary made no reply for the moment. She was piecing the puzzle rapidly
together in her mind. She was wondering what the connection was
between the erring son and the man who called himself Sir Vincent
Dashwood. She would have asked a question or two, but it did not seem
discreet to do so at this moment.
"At present I need all my sympathy for Miss Colam and myself," Mary
said coldly. "You will be good enough to find our boxes. There is a
desk of mine that I need, a little desk in a leather case. I shall be
glad to know that it is safe."
"I think I saw it a little while ago," Mrs. Speed said eagerly. She
seemed quite anxious to make amends now. "I fancy it was in one of the
bedrooms. I hope you will believe me, miss when I tell you that I had
clean forgotten all about you two young ladies. You see, I had to get
away at a moment's notice. There was the house to find and the van to
arrange for. One way and another I was fairly worked off my feet. If
you'll come along with me now, I'll see what I can do for you. There's
a great pile of boxes upstairs."
Most of the missing boxes were identified at last, but they were more
or less buried under a great heap of things. Mary gave a sigh of
relief to find that the precious writing-case was intact and the lock
unbroken. And there was a box of hers on the top of the pile, and in
that she knew was all that she would require for a day or two. If she
could get that away she would be able to supply Connie with what was
necessary in the way of linen. And it would be as well to leave the
rest until she had procured fresh lodgings.
"Get your woman to call a cab," she said, "I'll take this box with me
and the others can remain till we are ready for them. Directly we have
somewhere to go I will send you a telegram with the address, and you
will give our belongings to one of the carriers."
"You may depend on that, miss," Mrs. Speed said eagerly, "I'm sorry
this happened, I am indeed. If I had only thought of it I would have
given you a hint before. Now I'll go and see if I can get a cab for
you."
The cab was procured at length and the precious box hoisted on the
top. Lady Dashwood was patiently waiting at the end of the road. The
cab pulled up, and Mary hailed her friend eagerly. A great weight had
fallen from her mind, she could see the way clear for the future now.
If misfortune dogged her, she had made up her mind to go back to the
dower house. But now she was spared that blow to her pride.
She wondered, with a tender smile on her lips, if Ralph Darnley would
call this the proper kind of pride. In her mind Mary decided that he
would. It would be possible now to arrange to stay for the present
under the same roof with Grace Cameron. Then Mary remembered with
dismay that her ready cash had been locked up in a box, and that the
box in question was not on the top of the cab. Not that she was afraid
of anything happening to the money; still, money was urgently needed.
The jewels were safe anyway--they reposed in the cab on the seat
opposite to Mary. And Lady Dashwood was seated by her side. The girl
was in high spirits: tired as she was, she was happier than she had
been for years. It came to her now that she had an object in life,
something definite to live for. She was doing good in the world; her
eyes had been opened to the nobility of life as lived by the brave
poor. What a poor thing the Dashwood pride seemed by comparison.
"You must know that I have been entirely successful," Mary said gaily.
Lady Dashwood had never heard her speak in this tone of voice before.
"I have bearded the lioness in her den and actually got the better of
her. I am more than pleased with the success of my scheme and the way
in which I have worked it out, Lady Dashwood. Please don't tell me
that you are going back home by an early train."
"I should like to go back at once and take you with me, child," Lady
Dashwood said. "You don't know how lonely I am without you! And yet I
am quite sure that you are learning a valuable lesson in these sordid
surroundings."
Mary's face flushed with pleasure. A few days before she would have
resented a suggestion like that from Lady Dashwood or anybody else.
Her mind had been closed to everything, had been too proud to learn.
And now Lady Dashwood's remark was a compliment.
"Yes," she said softly, "I am learning a great lesson--the lesson of
humanity. It is astonishing how my mental vision has cleared already.
I blush with shame to think of the uselessness of my past life. But
you will come with me and see the dear companions who have taught me
this lesson?"
"I think I will," Lady Dashwood said, "I need not get home till the
last train. I have half promised to dine informally with an old friend
of mine in Stratton Street. I shall have plenty of time to see your
friends. I am quite sure that they are ladies; you could not be happy
with them otherwise."
"Oh, they are," Mary cried, "and now I am going to tell you all about
them and their hopes and ambitions. Grace's story is quite a pretty
romance in its way. It will tell you all about her, so that you need
not betray your lack of knowledge."
Mary rambled on in a pleasant way until the cab reached its
destination. There was a pure, womanly ring in her voice that Lady
Dashwood noted with gladness. She had always deemed Mary too hard and
cold, too unsympathetic to the weaknesses and failings of other
people. The elder lady's eyes were moist as she descended from the
cab, and Mary guessed the reason. And then it came to her, too, that
she would have been glad if Ralph Darnley had been with them.