[Illustration: 9037]
EVER since I had been built had any visit quite as unceremonious as this
occurred. Who was the strange lady? What was she doing wandering the
streets at this hour unescorted? She was beautiful and richly gowned;
her face was young, but very sad. I was anxious to learn more, so I
listened intently.
At first on entering, they halted just across the threshold, huddled
together, the little lady with an arm flung about each of the children.
She seemed to think that someone might be hidden in the darkness
watching--someone to whom I belonged--for presently she addressed that
supposed someone tremblingly: “We hope you don't mind, but the car
forgot to come for us. Grandfather had been giving us a party. When we
heard the warning, we tried to run home before the raid started; but
we got lost. The Tube Stations were all so crowded that... And we found
your door open, so we hope you don't mind us entering.”
She paused nervously, waiting for someone to answer. A board creaked;
apart from that the silence was unbroken.
Speaking to herself more than to the children, “It's quite empty,” she
said at last.
“Shall I close the door, Mumsie?” the little boy questioned.
“No, Robbie darling,” she whispered; “they might be angry, when they
come back. I mean the people who live here.”
“But it's dreadfully cold.”
“Then let's go farther in and find somewhere to sit down till the raid
is over.” They stumbled their way in the darkness through the hall and
up the narrow staircase, where only one can walk abreast. Robbie went
first on this voyage of discovery; he felt that if anything were hiding
from them, his body would form a protection. His mother didn't want to
lose sight of the street by climbing higher, but he coaxed her on
from stair to stair. As pioneer of the expedition, he reached the tiny
landing with the single door, which gives entrance to the drawing-room
which occupies the whole of the second storey. Turning the handle he
peeped in warily. Then, “Cheer up, Mummy,” he cried, “there's been a
fire and there's a wee bit of it still burning.”
The room was carpetless and bare of furniture, save for an old sofa with
sagging springs that had been pulled up across the hearth. Perched on
the bars of the grate sat a tin kettle, gasping feebly, with nearly all
its water boiled away. Under the kettle a few coals glowed faintly and
a weak flame jumped and sank, like a ghost trying to make up its mind to
vanish. Through the tall French windows that opened on to the verandah
one could see the sky lit up with the tumultuous display of monstrous
fireworks. From high overhead, above the clatter of destruction and the
banging of guns, came the long-drawn, contented humming of the planes.
“They're right over us,” the little boy whispered.
As if afraid that any movement on their part would draw the enemy's
attention, they stood silent, clinging together, and listened. Oblongs
of light, falling through the windows, danced and shifted. Once the
beam of a searchlight groping through the shadows, gazed straight in
and dwelt on them astounded, as if to say, “Well, I never! Who'd have
thought to find you here?”
They tiptoed over to the couch and sat down, making as little noise
as possible, for they still weren't sure that they were welcome. They
didn't speak or move for some time; with the excitement and running and
losing their way they were very tired. Presently the little boy got up,
and went and stood by the window looking out, with his legs astraddle
and his hands behind his back like a man. He wore a sailor-suit and had
bare, sturdy knees. He was very small to try to be so manly.
[Illustration: 0041]
“I'm not frightened, Mummy,” he said.
“If father were here, he wouldn't be frightened.”
She shifted her position so that she could glance proudly back at him.
“Father was never frightened.”
For the first time the little girl spoke. “If father were here, they
wouldn't dare to come to London. I expect they knew...”
“Yes, Joan,” her mother interrupted quickly, “I expect they knew.”
“And when I'm a man they won't dare to come to London, either,” said
Robbie. “How many of them did father...?”
But at that moment, before he could finish his question, his mother
pressed her finger against his lips warningly. Above the roar of what
was going on in the clouds, she had heard another and more alarming
sound; the front-door closed quietly, a match struck and then the slow
deliberate tread of someone groping up the stairs.