Gerard was puzzled; he had long since ceased to be capable of horror at
anything he saw done in connection with Rachel Davison.
He did not even feel sure that she had been arrested; for he knew by
this time that she was, as she had said, quite capable of taking care
of herself, and that, although it looked as if she were in charge of
the policeman and a detective, she might yet succeed in escaping from
their clutches.
But the amazement he felt on seeing her taken into the police-station,
after she had been able to get out of the stores in safety, was so
intense that he could do nothing but stare at the three figures as they
disappeared into the police-station, and at the cab which had brought
them as it stood waiting outside.
One very striking circumstance he noted as she disappeared from his
sight. Her appearance had completely changed since he had seen her
last, less than two hours ago.
When he had put her into the hansom outside the tea-shop and directed
the driver to take her to Lady Jennings’ house, she had been dressed
in pale blue, with a big hat of the deep color of a sapphire. He had
noted this particularly, as he was struck with the taste of her dress
and had vaguely wondered why other girls could not manage to look as
well-dressed as she always did.
She had had no cloak with her, as she had left behind her, in the
tea-shop, the handsome dark-blue mantle, lined with the paler color,
which he had himself taken to Lady Jennings’ for her.
Now, however, Miss Davison was wearing, not the big blue hat, but
a small dark toque swathed round with one of those large gauze
motor-veils which can be used as an effectual mask for the features.
And her figure was disguised as effectually as her face; for she wore a
large black garment with voluminous sleeves, and as one side of it flew
back when she ascended the steps to the police-station he noted that
there was, fastened to the hem, a square white price-ticket, indicating
plainly that the mantle was new from some shop.
This incident seemed to him conclusive and stupefying.
After her narrow escape--if it was altogether an escape, which he did
not yet know--of that afternoon, and after directing him to tell the
cabman to take her home, Miss Davison would appear to have changed her
mind, and to have immediately seized the opportunity of being alone to
do a little more shop-lifting!
Reluctant as he was to come to this conclusion, there seemed to be no
other to come to. For he knew she had not been home, on the one hand,
and yet she was wearing a different hat and mantle since he had last
seen her!
As for any possibility that he could have been mistaken as to the
identity of the lady in the brand-new cloak and the motor-veil, he knew
there was none. Closely as she was wrapped up, Rachel had made far
too deep an impression upon Gerard for him to fail to recognize not
merely the figure, but the carriage and the walk, of the woman who had
attracted him more than any other in the world.
He waited at a distance of a few yards to see what would happen.
There was a long pause, and then a policeman came out and spoke to the
cabman and went into the police-station again.
Another pause, and then there came out from the police-station a group
of people, among whom Gerard recognized two of the assistants from the
stores, together with a man who looked like a manager, by his dress,
his air of importance, and the deference paid him by the other two.
There were also two women, one old and one young, whom he supposed to
be two more assistants, and the bearded man whom Gerard had supposed to
be a doctor.
One of the women was carrying the very toque and cloak which he had
just seen Miss Davison wearing. This one was put by the rest into the
cab which was waiting, and driven away, while the rest of the party
broke up into twos, and walked in the opposite direction from where
Gerard was standing.
There was another pause, and then a policeman came out from the station
and whistled for a cab, and a four-wheeler drove up.
Gerard began to grow sick with anxiety, for he guessed that the next
person he should see would be Miss Davison, and he wondered whether she
would be alone again, or whether she would be in custody.
But he was disappointed, for the next person to come out was the
well-dressed, broad-shouldered young man whose back he had seen twice
already, but whose face he had never yet contrived to see.
This man, still turning his back to Gerard, opened the door of the cab,
and looked towards the police-station, out of which, a moment later,
Rachel herself came, dressed once more in her own hat, and wearing her
pale blue dress without any cloak. She ran quickly out and got into the
cab, and the young man shut the door and remained for some minutes in
earnest conversation with her, as he stood on the pavement.
Even then Gerard was unable to see his face; for the horse’s head
was turned towards Gerard, so that the young man had to turn in the
opposite direction to talk to Miss Davison, who was sitting alone in
the cab.
Gerard wondered what had happened. She had been made to give up
the new hat and cloak which she had worn when she came to the
police-station. Yet now she was allowed to go away, without escort, so
that apparently she had not been made prisoner.
Suddenly and most illogically he was seized with frantic jealousy of
the man beside the cab, whom he had at first taken for a detective, but
whom he now began to think must be a friend who had interceded for her,
and who had succeeded in getting her freedom.
Had he only become bail for her appearance? But in that case she would
have been taken before a magistrate in the first place, he was aware;
and he doubted whether there had been time for that, even if it had
been possible to take her away by some back door, and bring her back to
the police-station in the same way, which would surely not have been
necessary if she had been allowed to go out on bail.
It was only one more of the many mysteries which surrounded Miss
Davison like a network, and Gerard stared helplessly at her in the
darkness which was now complete but for the light of the gas-lamps,
which were not near enough to cast a light upon her face, the cab
having stopped not exactly opposite to the police-station, but a few
steps farther down the street.
When the man stepped back from the cab, raising his hat in farewell,
Miss Davison’s face advanced a little into the light, and Gerard
was at last able to see her plainly. She looked haggard, fatigued,
and excited, and it was plain that she had just been through another
harrowing experience.
Suddenly her expression changed to one of alarm, and he saw that she
had recognized him.
Putting her head out of the window, she called to the driver, who had
just started his horse, to stop, and beckoning imperiously to Gerard,
waited at the cab-window for him to come up.
As he did so, he looked round for the other man, anxious to get a good
look at him; but, in the moment when Gerard had been occupied with Miss
Davison, the well-dressed man who never showed his face had disappeared.
Gerard came slowly to the cab-window, raised his hat in sullen silence,
and waited for her to speak.
For a moment she appeared not to know what to say to him. Then, in a
ferocious undertone, she said--
“You’ve been playing the spy!”
“Well, what if I have?”
She looked at him for a few moments, panting and angry, before she
answered--
“You have no right to do it, no right at all. Do you think I haven’t
troubles and cares enough, without your adding to them by this
insulting persecution?”
He drew himself up.
“I can scarcely argue the point here,” he said coldly.
“Of course not. Let me see.” She paused, and looked as it were
stealthily out of both windows. He wondered whether she was looking for
the man who had been speaking to her a moment before, the man who had
beckoned her out of the tea-shop; and his absurd jealousy was roused
again. “You had better come with me as far as Lady Jennings’,” she said
coldly; “then you will perhaps be satisfied that, for the present, at
least, you have no further need to play the spy.”
For a moment he hesitated, and then he accepted the invitation. At
any rate, he could warn her of Lilian’s visit, and of the message
she had brought. Inconsistent and even unwarrantable as he felt his
partisanship of this girl to be, he was glad of the opportunity of
putting her on her guard against further dangers.
He got inside the cab, and seated himself opposite to her.
They drove in silence for some minutes; then she turned to him
fiercely--
“What made you come here? Did you follow me all the way from the
tea-shop?”
“No. The girl brought out your cloak, which you had left on a chair,
and I took it to Lady Jennings’. There, of course, I found that you had
not come home, as you had said you were going to do.”
“I see. And what did you do next?”
She spoke with great irritation, not unmixed with fear.
“I--I came this way.”
“But why? I know it can’t have been accidental, your coming to such a
place as this.”
“It was not, of course. I came because I was interested in the
shop-lifting affair that occurred at the stores this afternoon, and
thought that the nearest police-station would be the place where I was
most likely to get further information about it.”
“And did you?”
He hesitated.
“I saw you come,” he said presently, in a low voice; “and I saw the
others. I saw--oh, why should I tell you? You know all about it.
It’s horrible. Of course I know you are justified in saying it is no
business of mine; but still I hate the thought of it all. And, besides,
you may put it, if you like, that it is merely because I’m puzzled and
curious, and want to understand it all. Why did you pretend you were
going home, when you were coming here? Who was the man who beckoned you
out of the tea-shop, and who spoke to you just now? I want to know all
these things, and you may say it is merely curiosity, if you choose.”
Miss Davison was sitting back, closing her eyes wearily, as if she
scarcely heard and did not at all care what he was saying. When he had
finished speaking she made no attempt to answer him, did not even open
her eyes. There was a long pause. Then he said--
“Why don’t you answer my questions? Is it because you can’t, or because
you don’t care what people think?”
Then she opened her eyes, with an expression of helpless boredom.
“Why should I answer you? What right have you to question me? If I
choose to say I am going home, you should be satisfied. And if you
follow me, as you suppose, and find I have not gone home, you should
shrug you shoulders, and tell yourself that it is no affair of yours.
As for what you saw to-night, what did it amount to? You saw me go
into the police-station--and you saw me go out of it. Is it absolutely
necessary for me to report the fact to you, if I get my pocket picked?”
“Of course not. But--the change in your dress was singular!”
“I don’t think I’m called upon to explain that; but you can know if you
like. I did not wish to be recognized, as I went in, and so I borrowed
some clothes that, as I supposed, effectually disguised me.” She turned
to him fiercely again. “Surely your ill-natured suspicions ought to be
set at rest, since you saw that I came out as freely as I went in!”
“I said nothing about suspicions; but I have something to tell you.
I found your sister at Lady Jennings’ house, and she had come with a
strange message.”
Foreseeing bad news of some kind, Miss Davison changed her languid,
listless attitude, and sitting up, looked at him apprehensively.
“Well, well, go on. Do you know what brought her?”
“Yes. I’m very sorry, very sorry indeed to have to worry you with more
anxieties when you are tired. But you had better be prepared to find
both your sister and Lady Jennings rather puzzled.”
“Oh, go on, go on,” said Miss Davison impatiently.
“It seems that a gentleman called at Richmond--at the school--yesterday,
I think--”
He had got no further when he saw by the sudden change which came over
her face that Miss Davison’s listlessness was entirely gone. She was
alert, keen, desperately interested at once. He went on--
“This gentleman said he was an old friend of your father’s, and that he
had been in the army himself. But the singular part of the visit was
that he did not give his name.”
“Very singular, indeed,” said Miss Davison.
But though her outward tranquillity was perfect, it did not deceive
Gerard.
“Miss Graham thought you and Lady Jennings ought to know about the
visit, because he asked a good many questions about you. He was,
I understand, a man past middle age, with an upright figure and a
perfectly white mustache.”
He saw at once that Miss Davison recognized the description, although
she raised her eyebrows and said--
“Indeed! I suppose he was an old friend of my father’s, and that it was
only a whim to hide his name. It’s absurd of Miss Graham to make so
much fuss about the matter. If it had been anyone without any knowledge
of us, who wanted to scrape acquaintance with Lilian, you may be sure
he would have given some name, even if it had not been his own. People
who have anything to be ashamed of don’t do eccentric things.”
The reasoning was admirable, and Gerard bowed his head in assent. But
for all of that he knew that the information had thrown Rachel into a
state of deadly fear, and that she was worrying herself with a new and
unexpected anxiety.
For a long time neither spoke, and it was not until the cab had turned
into Sloane Street, and they were quite near to Lady Jennings’ house
that Miss Davison turned suddenly to him again.
“You pretend to admire me, don’t you?” she asked sharply.
“No. I don’t pretend, Miss Davison.”
“Well, you admire me, and you take an interest in me, if only because
you look upon me as a thorough, if rather clumsy appropriator of other
people’s property.”
“You have no right to say that. You know it’s not true.”
“Well, whatever your motive may be, I want you, in consideration of
this admiration, this interest, to make me a promise. Will you give
me your word that you will cease this persecution of me, that you
will take it for granted I have my own reasons for behaving as I do,
and that, if I am a criminal, I shall be punished in due course, and
justice will be satisfied? And will you, in addition to all this,
promise me that you will say nothing to anybody about me or my doings,
that you will try to consider me as unknown to you, that you will, in
short, not only give up my acquaintance, but behave exactly as if I
had never existed? Listen, Mr. Buckland. I know you to be an honorable
man, and I believe you to be a chivalrous one. Won’t you, at my
earnest request, leave justice to take its course upon me without your
interference, and without your knowledge, and leave me to be dealt with
in the natural course of things as I deserve?”
“Why don’t you explain? I’m sure you could if you wished. I won’t
believe you are guilty of a course of despicable crimes--”
“It’s absolutely immaterial to me whether you believe that or not,”
retorted Miss Davison, cutting him short with superb disdain. “I
don’t ask you to believe I’m innocent: it’s not the adjective most
applicable to me. All I ask is that you should leave me alone, and
that, as you have seen that the police have their eye upon me, you
should take it for granted that they know what I’m about, and that,
when they have proof enough, they will arrest me, bring me to justice,
and punish me as I deserve.”
“But I can’t believe this--I can’t believe the evidence of my own eyes!”
She laughed lightly, having quite recovered her self-possession, though
she still looked pitifully pale and drawn.
“Why not? I don’t wish you to believe anything else. Only--be quite
sure that your eyes see aright, Mr. Buckland, and that you don’t
sometimes see more than there is to be seen. Now we are at Lady
Jennings’. Are you coming in?”
There was no invitation in her look or tone.
“No,” said Gerard shortly. “It is too late. Besides, I’ve been there
already this evening.”
“And your promise?”
“I shall not give you any promise.”
He spoke with quiet resolution, but without menace of any sort.
Miss Davison looked grave.
“You mean to go on with this persecution? You mean to follow me about,
to insult me by your suspicions--”
“You told me you did not care what I thought. How then can any
suspicions I may have be insulting?”
“Oh, don’t let us quibble,” said she impatiently. “I ask you to leave
me alone. I wish to drop your acquaintance, but to do it amicably and
without any ill-will. Or, if you won’t do that, I ask you to bring
specific charges against me, or even to give information about me to
the police.”
“Miss Davison!”
“Oh, I’m quite prepared for you to do that. Then I should have
something definite to meet, I should understand your position. But that
you, without any right to follow me about and persecute me, without
any proof that I have ever done anything disgraceful or unlawful,
should keep watch over my movements and spy upon my actions, should pay
unexpected calls upon my friends and relations, and appear to be always
at hand when anything unusual takes place in my family, I say it is
infamous, intolerable. I won’t put up with it, and I insist that you
shall put an end to this persecution. Now--promise.”
“I refuse to promise,” said Gerard stubbornly.
The answer, though she might have expected it, seemed to disconcert
her. She appeared to have thought that her determination, her cold,
proud manner, her lofty indignation, would have had the effect of
reducing him to submission to her will. To find him stubborn still
surprised and perplexed her. They had reached Lady Jennings’ house,
and the cab stopped. Gerard got out. Then Miss Davison, instead of
getting out immediately and sweeping past him haughtily into the
house, as he was prepared for her to do, sat still a moment, and
suddenly threw at him a glance in which he read a thousand things that
in a moment altered the opinion of her which her words would have
formed. Instead of looking fierce, indignant, cold, hard, angry, and
disdainful, she involuntarily let him see in her beautiful dark eyes,
just for one short moment, the look which belied all the rest, the look
of womanly gratitude and satisfaction which told that, mysterious as
was her conduct, persistently unreasonable as was her attitude, and
incensed as she had appeared to be by his obstinacy, she was at heart
touched and melted by his pertinacious loyalty.
Gerard started forward, but before he could speak, Miss Davison,
recollecting herself, sprang out of the cab, and ran up the steps to
the house without a word or a look of farewell.
Gerard watched her without daring to follow her, with his heart and
brain on fire.
The door opened quickly, and she disappeared into the house, and the
footman came out to pay the cabman. But Gerard had already done that,
and begun to walk away.
He threw one glance up at the window of the dining-room as he went. The
lights were lowered, and the blind was drawn up to let the cool night
air in through the open window. And between the curtains, standing
immovable, he saw the figure of Miss Davison, and knew that she was
watching him, and wondered what she was thinking.
Remembering that last look of hers, in which the soul of the woman,
grateful for admiration, grateful for love, had seemed to shine out
upon him, he could not help the belief that she was thinking--and
thinking kindly--of him.