October had come. Nora was no longer in the comfortable little hotel to
which the doctor's wife had sent her. Early in July she had thought it
wiser to seek cheaper quarters where breakfast was not 'included.' Every
penny must be counted now, and by combining breakfast and lunch late in
the morning she found she could do quite well until night, besides
saving an appreciable sum for the end of the week, when her room must be
paid for.
The summer had been one long nightmare of heat. It had been years
according to all accounts since the unhappy Londoners had so sweltered
beneath the scorching rays of an almost tropic sun. Often, when tossing
on her little bed or when seated by her small window which gave on a
sort of court, with the forlorn hope of finding some air stirring, had
she thought with longing of the pleasant garden at Tunbridge Wells and
is perfumed breezes.
So far her search for any position had been fruitless. She had gone to
other agencies; to some whose greatly reduced fees were a sure
indication that she could hope for nothing so "high class," to use
their hateful phrase, as she had been accustomed to. But one must do
what one could.
At one establishment, she shuddered to remember, she found that she
would be expected to sit in the office, as at the servants' agencies, to
be inspected by prospective employers. This, Nora had flatly refused to
do and had been coolly informed by the manager, an insufferable young
man with a loud voice and a vulgar manner, that in that case he could do
nothing for her.
He had at the same time refused to return her fee, which he had
providently collected before explaining these conditions, on the ground
that they never returned fees. Nora had been glad enough to make her
escape from his hateful presence without arguing the matter with him,
although she considered that, to all intents and purposes, her pocket
had been picked.
Apparently everyone in the world was already supplied with a companion.
She had thought of filing an application for the position of nursery
governess, only to find that, for a really good post, two modern
languages would be required. That, coupled with the fact that she was
obliged to confess to absolutely no previous experience in teaching,
closed the door to even second-class appointments.
And the desolating loneliness of it all! Only once in all this time had
she seen anyone she knew, and that was shortly after her arrival while
still in the first flush of her newly regained freedom. She had gone
with a young woman who was staying at the hotel for a few days to the
gallery of a theater. From her lofty perch she had seen Reggie Hornby
with a gay party of young men in the stalls below. Evidently he was
making the most of his last hours at home before going into exile.
Since leaving the hotel she had exchanged but few words with anyone
beyond her landlady, the little slavey and the people at the various
agencies. Once, it chanced that for several days in succession she had
lunched at the same table in a dingy little restaurant with a fresh,
pleasant-looking young girl, who had said 'Good morning' in such a
friendly manner on their second encounter that Nora felt encouraged to
begin conversation.
Her new acquaintance had the gift of a sympathetic manner and before
Nora realized it she found herself relating the story of her failures
and disappointments. Miss Hodson--so Nora discovered she was called from
the very business-like card she had handed her at the beginning of the
repast, with an air which for the moment relapsed from the sympathetic
to the professional--had suggested when they had finished their lunch
that, as she still had a quarter of an hour to spare, they might go and
finish their chat in one of the little green oases abutting on the
Embankment. Seated on one of the benches she proceeded to advise her
companion to take up stenography and typewriting while she was still in
funds.
"There are plenty of chances for a girl who knows her business and
you're your own mistress and not at the beck and call of any old cat,
who thinks she has bought you outright just because she's paying you
starvation wages," she said with a finely independent air. Then in a
thoroughly business-like way she went on to give the address of the
school at which she had studied herself and had offered to take Nora
there any evening the coming week.
In the end, to Nora's great pleasure, she had suggested joining forces
for an outing on the coming Sunday. With a gesture that seemed to refer
one to her card, she had explained that after typing all week in a
stuffy office she always tried to have a Sunday out of doors to get her
mind off her work. It was arranged that they should go somewhere
together, leaving their destination to be decided when they met. They
were to meet in front of the National Gallery at a quarter before ten.
But, although poor Nora waited for over an hour, her friend did not
turn up, and she had returned sadly to her dreary room. Neither of the
girls had thought to exchange addresses. Beyond her name and occupation
Miss Hodson's card vouchsafed nothing.
Nor had Nora ever seen her again, although she had returned several
times to the restaurant where they had met. She had spent many of the
long sleepless hours of the night in speculation as to what had become
of her. She was sure that some accident had befallen her or she would
have met her again. No one could be so cruel intentionally.
Once again in a tea room she had timidly ventured, prompted by sheer
loneliness, to speak to an elderly woman with gray hair. It was a
harmless little remark about some flowers in a vase on the counter. The
woman had stared at her coldly for a moment before she said:
"I do not seem to recall where I have had the pleasure of seeing you
before."
A flash of the old temper had crimsoned Nora's cheek, but she made no
reply. Since then, aching as she was for a little human companionship,
she had spoken to no one.
She had had two long letters from Miss Pringle, whose star seemed
momentarily to be in the ascendant. Mrs. Hubbard had been ordered to
the seaside; they were later to take a continental trip. There was even
talk of consulting a famous and expensive specialist before returning to
the calm of Tunbridge Wells. But prosperity had not made Miss Pringle
selfish. In the face of the gift of a costume, which Mrs. Hubbard had
actually never worn, having conceived a strong distaste for it on its
arrival from the dressmaker, she had time to think of her less fortunate
friend.
While waiting for the situation which was sure to come eventually, why
didn't Nora run down to Brighton for a week after the terrible London
heat? One could get really very comfortable lodgings remarkably cheap at
this season. It would do her no end of good and, on the theory that a
watched pot never boils, she would be certain to find that there was
something for her on her return.
Miss Pringle's brother, it seemed, had had a turn of luck. Just what,
she discreetly forbore to mention. Certainly, it could not have been at
cards. Nora smiled at the recollection of the horror that Mr. Hornby's
remarks as to his earnings from that source had provoked. However, he
had most generously sent his sister a ten-pound note as a present. Miss
Pringle had, of course, no possible use for it at the time. Also it
appeared that the thought of carrying it about with her, particularly
as she was going among foreigners, filled her with positive terror.
Therefore, she was enclosing it to Nora to take care of. She hoped she
would use any part of it or all of it. She could return it after they
returned to Tunbridge Wells, provided that Miss Pringle survived the
natural perils that beset one who ventured out of England. They would
have started on their journey before the receipt of the letter. As to
their destination, Miss Pringle said never a word.
A small envelope had fallen into her lap when she opened the letter.
With dimmed eyes Nora opened it. It contained the ten-pound note.
It was a week later that it occurred to Nora to answer two
advertisements that appeared in one of the morning papers. In each case
it was a companion that was wanted. One of the ladies lived at Whitby
and pending the answer to her letter she decided to call personally on
the other, who lived at Hampstead.
The morning being fine, she decided to make an early start and walk
about on Hampstead Heath until a suitable hour for making her call. When
she finally arrived before the house, a rather pretentious looking
structure in South Hampstead, she was met at the gate by a middle-aged
woman of unprepossessing appearance, who inquired rather sharply as to
her errand.
"Mrs. Blake's card distinctly said that all applications were to be made
in writing," she said disagreeably, in reply to Nora's explanation.
"The one I read did not, at least I don't think it did," said Nora.
"Well, if it didn't, it should have," said the woman tartly.
"May I ask if _you_ are Mrs. Blake?"
"Write and you may find out; although I might as well tell you, you
won't answer. Mrs. Blake will be wanting someone of a very different
appearance," said the woman rudely.
"I am indeed unfortunate," said Nora with a bow.
The woman closed the gate with a bang and turned toward the house as
Nora walked rapidly away. She decided to answer no more advertisements.
One morning, at the end of the week, the post brought her three letters.
One from its postmark was clearly from her brother in Canada. She put
that aside for the moment to be read at her leisure.
[Illustration: NORA OVERHEARS FRANK SAY WIVES ARE MADE FOR WORK ONLY.]
The Yorkshire lady, it appeared, was blind and required a companion to
read to her and to assist in preparing some memoirs which her dead
brother had left uncompleted. She offered Nora a refined home with every
comfort that a lady could desire, but--there was no salary attached to
the position. The third was from one of the agencies. A client was
prepared to offer a lady companion the magnificent sum of ten shillings
a week and her lunch. Out of her salary Nora would be expected,
therefore, to find herself a room, clothes, breakfast and supper!
Her brother's letter was, as always, kind and affectionate. He rather
vaguely apologized for his delay in replying to hers, written at the
time of Miss Wickham's death. He had been frightfully busy, up at dawn
and so tired at night that he was glad to tumble into bed right after
supper. His wife, too, had had a sharp spell of sickness. However, she
was all right again, he was glad to say. Why did not Nora come out to
them? They would be glad to offer her a comfortable home, although she
must make up her mind to dispense with the luxuries she was accustomed
to. But there was always plenty to eat and a good bed, at any rate. He
knew she would grow to love the life as he had done. There was a fine
freedom about it. For his part, nothing would ever tempt him back to
England, except for a visit when he had put by a little more. She would
find his wife a good sort. She, too, would welcome her sister-in-law.
They would be no end of company for each other during the long days
while the men were away. And she would be glad to have someone to lend a
hand about the house.
He hoped she had been able to save enough money to pay her passage out.
If she hadn't, he would somehow manage to send whatever was necessary.
But while he was fairly prosperous, ready money was a little more scarce
than usual, for the moment. His wife's illness had been pretty
expensive, what with hiring a woman to do all the work, etc., etc.
The letter settled it. On the one hand was this heart-breaking waiting
while watching one's little hoard diminish from day to day and always
the terrifying and unanswerable question: What is to be done when it is
exhausted? On the other, a home and the prospect that she might be able
in a measure to pay her way by helping her brother's wife. Nora's
housewifely accomplishments were but few, yet she could learn, and while
learning she could at least take away the sting of those lonely hours,
as her brother had said. On one thing she was resolved: she would let
bygones be bygones. She would do everything in her power to win her
sister-in-law, forgetting everything but that she was the wife of her
only brother.
The next few days were the happiest she had known for a long time.
There was a pleasurable excitement in getting ready for so momentous a
step. After having paid her passage she found that she had eight pounds
in the world, the result of ten years' work as lady's companion. She
wrote to let Mr. Wynne know of her decision and enclosed Miss Pringle's
banknote to the doctor's wife with an explanatory note asking her to see
that it reached her hands safely. Miss Pringle herself should have a
long letter from the New World waiting her on her return.
Her last day at home, having satisfied herself that nothing was
forgotten, she spent a long hour in the Turner room in the Tate Gallery,
drinking it all in for the last time. When she left the building it was
with a feeling that the last farewell to the old life was said.
To her great pleasure and a little to her surprise, Nora discovered
herself to be a thoroughly good sailor. As a consequence, the voyage to
Montreal was quite the most delightful thing she had ever experienced.
The boat was a slow one but the time never once seemed long. Indeed, as
they approached their destination, she found herself wishing that the
Western Continent might, by some convulsion of nature, be removed, quite
safely, an indefinite number of leagues farther, or that they might
make a détour by way of the antipodes, anything rather than bring the
voyage to an end.
There were but few passengers at this season so that beyond the daily
exchange of ordinary courtesies, she was able to pass much of the time
by herself. The weather was unusually fine for the time of year. It was
possible to spend almost all the daylight hours on deck, and with night
came long hours of dreamless sleep such as she never remembered to have
enjoyed since childhood. As a consequence, it was a thoroughly
rejuvenated Nora that landed in Montreal. The stress and strain of the
past summer was forgotten or only to be looked back upon as a sort of
horrid nightmare from which she had happily awakened.
It was too late in the day after they had landed to think of continuing
her journey. Besides, as is often the case with people who have stood a
sea voyage without experiencing any disagreeable sensations, Nora found
that she still felt the motion of the boat after landing.
It seemed a pity, too, not to see something of this new-world city while
she was on the ground. Her brother's farm was still an incredible
distance farther west. People thought nothing of distance in this
amazing New World. Still, it might easily be long before she would be
here again. The future was a blank page. There was a delightful
irresponsibility about the thought. She had come over the sea at her
brother's bidding. The future was his care, not hers.
The journey west had the same charm of novelty that the sea voyage had
had. The nearest station to Eddie's farm was a place called Dyer in the
Province of Manitoba, not far from Winnipeg. Once inured to the new and
strange mode of traveling in Canada, so different from what she had been
accustomed to, Nora prepared to enjoy it. Never before had she realized
the possibilities of beauty in a winter landscape. The flying prospect
without the window fascinated her. The magazines and papers with which
she had provided herself lay unopened in her lap. She realized that
these vast snow-covered stretches might easily drive one mad with their
loneliness and desolation if one had to live among them. But to rush
through them as they were doing was exhilarating. It was all so strange,
so contrary to any previous experience, that Nora had an uncanny feeling
that they might easily have left the earth she knew and be flying
through space. She whimsically thought that if at the next stop she were
to be told that she was on the planet Mars, she would not be greatly
astonished. It was like traveling with Alice in Wonderland.
One thing, however, recalled her to earth and prosaic mundane affairs:
her supply of money was rapidly getting dangerously low. Barring
accident, she would have enough to get her to Dyer, where Eddie was to
meet her. But suppose they should be snowed up for a day or two? Only an
hour before she had been thrilled with an account of just such an
experience which a man in the seat in front of her was recounting to his
companion. Well, if that happened, she would either have to go hungry or
beg food from the more affluent of her fellow-passengers! Fortunately
she was not obliged to put their generosity to the test. The train
arrived at Dyer without accident only a few minutes behind the scheduled
time.
There were a number of people at the station as Nora alighted. For a
moment she had a horrid fear that either she had been put off at the
wrong place or that her brother had failed to meet her. Certainly none
of the fur-coated figures were in the least familiar. But almost at once
one of the men detached himself from the waiting group on the platform
and after one hesitating second came toward her.
"Nora, my child, I hardly knew you! I was forgetting that you would be a
grown woman," and Nora was half smothered in a furry embrace and kissed
on both cheeks before she was quite sure that the advancing stranger
was her brother.
"Oh, Eddie, dear, I didn't know you at all. But how can one be expected
to with that great cap covering the upper part of your face and a coat
collar hiding nearly all the rest. But you really haven't changed, now
that I get a look at you. I daresay I have altered more than you. But I
was little more than a child when you went away."
"Well, we have quite a little drive ahead of us," said Eddie as, having
himself helped to carry Nora's trunks to a nondescript-looking vehicle
to which were attached two horses, he motioned to Nora to get in. "I
expect you won't be sorry to have a little air after being so long in a
stuffy car."
Nora noticed that he gave the man who had helped him with the trunks no
tip and that they called each other "Joe" and "Ed." This was democracy
with a vengeance. She made a little face of disapproval.
Nora never forgot that drive. In the light of after-events it seemed to
have cut her off more sharply from all the old life than either the
crossing of the pathless sea or the long overland journey. It was taken
for the most part in silence, Eddie's attention being largely taken up
with his team. Also Nora noted that he seemed to feel the cold more
than she did, as he kept his coat collar turned up all the way. She
herself was so occupied with her thoughts that she had no sense of
either time or distance.
At last they came in sight of a house such as she had never seen. It was
built entirely of logs. At the sound of their approach, the one visible
door opened on the crack as if to avoid letting in the cold, and Nora
saw a thin dark little woman with rather a hard look and a curiously
dried-up skin, whom she rightly guessed to be her sister-in-law,
standing in the doorway, while lounging nonchalantly against the
doorpost was a tall, strong, well-set-up young man whose age might have
been anything between thirty and thirty-five. He had remarkably
clean-cut features and was clean-shaven. His frankly humorous gaze
rested unabashed on the stranger's face.
Forgetting all her good resolutions to adapt herself to the habits and
customs of this new country, Nora felt that she could have struck him in
his impudent face. The fact that she reddened under his scrutiny,
naturally only made her the more furious.
"Come on out here, some of you," called Eddie jovially. "Heavens! The
way you all hug the stove would make anyone believe you'd never seen a
Canadian winter before in your lives. Here, Frank, lend a hand with
these trunks and call Ben to take the horses. Gertie, this is Nora. Now
you need never be lonely again."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," said Gertie primly.
The man called Frank, the one who had been honoring Nora with his
regard, came forward with a hand outstretched to help her alight, while
another man, the ordinary type of English laborer placed himself at the
horses' heads.
"Come, hop out, Nora."
There was nothing else to do, Nora put the very tips of her fingers into
the outstretched hand. To her unspeakable indignation, she felt herself
lifted bodily out and actually carried inside the door. At her smothered
exclamation, Gertie gave a shrill laugh.