The bell rang, but of course I did not go down to dinner.
As soon as Price had gone off to make the necessary arrangements I
turned the key in the lock of my door, removed my evening gown, and
began to dress for my flight.
My brain was numb, but I did my best to confront the new situation that
was before me.
Hitherto I had been occupied with the problem of whether I should or
should not leave my husband's house; now I had to settle the question of
where I was to go to.
I dared not think of home, for (Nessy MacLeod and Aunt Bridget apart)
the house of my father was the last place I could fly to at a moment
when I was making dust and ashes of his lifelong expectations.
Neither dared I think of Sunny Lodge, although I remembered, with a tug
of tenderness, Christian Ann's last message about Mary O'Neill's little
room that was always waiting for me--for I thought of how I had broken
my pledge to her.
The only place I could think of was that which Martin had mentioned when
he wished to carry me away--London. In the mighty world of London I
might hide myself from observation and wait until Martin returned from
his expedition.
"Yes, yes, London," I told myself in my breathless excitement, little
knowing what London meant.
I began to select the clothes I was to carry with me and to wear on my
journey. They must be plain, for I had to escape from a house in which
unfriendly eyes would be watching me. They must be durable, for during
my time of waiting I expected to be poor.
I hunted out some of the quaker-like costumes which had been made for me
before my marriage; and when I had put them on I saw that they made a
certain deduction from my appearance, but that did not matter to me
now--the only eyes I wished to look well in being down in the Antarctic
seas.
Then I tried to think of practical matters--how I was to live in London
and how, in particular, I was to meet the situation that was before me.
Surely never did a more helpless innocent confront such a serious
problem. I was a woman, and for more than a year I had been a wife, but
I had no more experience of the hard facts of material existence than a
child.
I thought first of the bank-book which my father had sent me with
authority to draw on his account. But it was then nine o'clock, the
banks were closed for the day, and I knew enough of the world to see
that if I attempted to cash a cheque in the morning my whereabouts would
he traced. That must never happen, I must hide myself from everybody;
therefore my bank-book was useless.
"Quite useless," I thought, throwing it aside like so much waste paper.
I thought next of my jewels. But there I encountered a similar
difficulty. The jewels which were really mine, having been bought by
myself, had been gambled away by my husband at Monte Carlo. What
remained were the family jewels which had come to me as Lady Raa; but
that was a name I was never more to bear, a person I was never more to
think about, so I could not permit myself to take anything that belonged
to her.
The only thing left to me was my money. I had always kept a good deal
of it about me, although the only use I had had for it was to put it in
the plate at church, and to scatter it with foolish prodigality to the
boys who tossed somersaults behind the carriage in the road.
Now I found it all over my room--in my purse, in various drawers, and on
the toilet-tray under my dressing-glass. Gathered together it counted up
to twenty-eight pounds. I owed four pounds to Price, and having set them
aside, I saw that I had twenty-four pounds left in notes, gold, and
silver.
Being in the literal and unconventional sense utterly ignorant of the
value of sixpence, I thought this a great sum, amply sufficient for all
my needs, or at least until I secured employment--for I had from the
first some vague idea of earning my own living.
"Martin would like that," I told myself, lifting my head with a thrill
of pride.
Then I began to gather up the treasures which were inexpressibly more
dear to me than all my other possessions.
One of them was a little miniature of my mother which Father Dan had
given me for a wedding-present when (as I know now) he would rather have
parted with his heart's blood.
Another was a pearl rosary which the Reverend Mother had dropped over my
arm the last time she kissed me on the forehead; and the last was my
Martin's misspelt love-letter, which was more precious to me than
rubies.
Not for worlds, I thought, would I leave these behind me, or ever part
with them under any circumstances.
Several times while I was busy with such preparations, growing more and
more nervous every moment, Price came on tip-toe and tapped softly at my
door.
Once it was to bring me some food and to tell me, with many winks (for
the good soul herself was trembling with excitement), that everything
was "as right as ninepence." I should get away without difficulty in a
couple of hours, and until to-morrow morning nobody would be a penny the
wiser.
Fortunately it was Thursday, when a combined passenger and cargo steamer
sailed to Liverpool. Of course the motor-car would not be available to
take me to the pier, but Tommy the Mate, who had a stiff cart in which
he took his surplus products to market, would be waiting for me at
eleven o'clock by the gate to the high road.
The people downstairs, meaning my husband and Alma and her mother, were
going off to the pavilion (where hundreds of decorators were to work
late and the orchestra and ballet were to have a rehearsal), and they
had been heard to say that they would not be back until "way round about
midnight."
"But the servants?" I asked.
"They're going too, bless them," said Price. "So eat your dinner in
peace, my lady, and don't worry about a thing until I come back to fetch
you."
Another hour passed. I was in a fever of apprehension. I felt like a
prisoner who was about to escape from a dungeon.
A shrill wind was coming up from the sea and whistling about the house.
I could hear the hammering of the workmen in the pavilion as well as the
music of the orchestra practising their scores.
A few minutes before eleven Price returned, carrying one of the smaller
of the travelling-trunks I had taken to Cairo. I noticed that it bore no
name and no initials.
"It's all right," she said. "They've gone off, every mother's son and
daughter of them--all except the housekeeper, and I've caught her out,
the cat!"
That lynx-eyed person had begun to suspect. She had seen Tommy
harnessing his horse and had not been satisfied with his
explanation--that he was taking tomatoes to Blackwater to be sent off by
the Liverpool steamer.
So to watch events, without seeming to watch them, the housekeeper (when
the other servants had gone off to the rehearsal) had stolen upstairs to
her room in the West tower overlooking the back courtyard.
But Price had been more than a match for her. Creeping up behind, she
had locked the door of the top landing, and now the "little cat" might
scream her head off through the window, and (over the noises of the wind
and the workmen) it would be only like "tom" shrieking on the tiles.
"We must be quick, though," said Price, tumbling into my
travelling-trunk as many of my clothes as it would hold.
When it was full and locked and corded she said:
"Wait," and stepped out on the landing to listen.
After a moment she returned saying:
"Not a sound! Now for it, my lady."
And then, tying her handkerchief over her head to keep down her hair in
the wind, she picked up the trunk in her arms and crept out of the room
on tiptoe.
The moment had come to go, yet, eager as I had been all evening to
escape from my husband's house, I could scarcely tear myself away, for
I was feeling a little of that regret which comes to us all when we are
doing something for the last time.
Passing through the boudoir this feeling took complete possession of me.
Only a few hours before it had been the scene of my deepest degradation,
but many a time before it had been the place of my greatest happiness.
_"You are my wife. I am your real husband. No matter where you are or
what they do with you, you are mine and always will be."_
Half-closing the door, I took a last look round--at the piano, the desk,
the table, the fireplace, all the simple things associated with my
dearest memories. So strong was the yearning of my own soul that I felt
as if the soul of Martin were in the room with me at that moment.