THE CONQUEST OF MRS. PEDDAR
Mrs. Peddar has her rooms at the top of the building--on the seventh
floor. The lift runs all night. It had been my intention, rather than
summon it and attract the attention of the porter, to have climbed the
endless flights of stairs; but, as luck had it, when I reached the
staircase the lift was setting some one down. Since it was there I
thought I might as well use it, to save time, and also my legs. I
stepped inside.
“Up or down, sir?”
“I am going up to Mrs. Peddar.”
The porter favoured me with a doubtful glance.
“Mrs. Peddar lives at the top of the building. She’s in bed long ago.”
“So I suppose. I’m afraid, however, that I shall have to wake her up
again, as I am in urgent need of her assistance.”
“Anything wrong, sir?”
“No. At least nothing in which you could be of service.”
As we mounted I could see that Turner--the night porter’s name is
Turner--was wondering what possible business I could have with Mrs.
Peddar that I should rouse her out of her warm bed at that hour of the
night. It occurred to me to ask him a question or two.
“Has a lady come up lately?”
“Up where?”
“Up to the first floor--or anywhere?” He shook his head. “You’re
sure?”
“Certain. No lady’s come into this building for a good two hours, at
any rate. The last was Mrs. Sabin; she and her husband’s on the fourth
floor. They’ve been to the Gaiety Theatre: I took ’em up in the lift.
She was the last lady as came in, and that was just after eleven.”
His words set me thinking. If my visitor had not come in through the
doorway, how then had she gained access to my balcony, which is on the
first floor, and between twenty and thirty feet above the ground.
Turner volunteered a statement on his own account.
“And the last man who went out was Mr. Lawrence’s brother.”
I pricked up my ears at this.
“Mr. Lawrence’s brother? Oh.”
“Yes--Mr. Philip, I think his name is. He came down not three minutes
before I saw you, just as I was going to take up Mr. Maynard--that was
Mr. Maynard who got out as you got in. He seemed to be in a big hurry.
I said good night as he went past, but he said nothing. He had a big
parcel in his arms, almost as much as he could carry.”
“You are sure it was Mr. Lawrence’s brother?”
“It was him right enough. My cousin’s his coachman--I ought to know
him.”
“You say he came down three minutes ago?”
“Not three minutes ago, I said.”
Then, in that case, he must have been with his brother some time after
my visitor had come to me. The knowledge occasioned me distinct
relief.
Turner continued:
“He went up about an hour ago: perhaps a little more. He’d got no
parcel then. I stared when I saw he’d got one when he came back. I
shouldn’t have thought he was the kind to carry a parcel, and
especially such a one. I’d have called him a cab if he’d given me a
chance, but I was just starting with Mr. Maynard, and he was off like
a shot. Shall I wait for you, sir? The first door round the corner is
Mrs. Peddar’s.”
I told him not to wait, feeling conscious that it might take me some
time to explain to Mrs. Peddar what I desired of her. The lady must
have been a light sleeper. Hardly had I saluted the panel of the door
with my knuckles than a voice inquired who was there. When I informed
her she made a prompt appearance in her dressing-gown.
“You, Mr. Ferguson! What do you want at this hour of the night?”
I immediately became conscious that it might be even more difficult to
explain than I had supposed.
“I have a visitor downstairs, Mrs. Peddar.”
“A visitor? Well? What has that to do with me? You can’t have anything
to eat at this time of night.”
She said that, I take it, because in the Mansions meals are provided
for residents, and she supposed that I had dragged her out of bed at
that unholy hour in search of food.
“The visitor is a lady, and I wanted to know if you could give her a
bed somewhere to-night.”
“A bed? Who is the lady?”
“Well--the fact is, Mrs. Peddar, something very remarkable has taken
place. I’ve come up to tell you all about it, and to ask your advice.”
“You had better come in.”
I went into her sitting-room, she, with an eye for the proprieties,
leaving the door discreetly open. There was that in her bearing which
made me wonder if she suspected me of having been guilty of some act
of rakish impropriety, unworthy of my age and character. I was
conscious that the course in front of me was not all smooth sailing.
“A young lady, Mrs. Peddar, has just entered my room through the
window.”
“Through the window! Mr. Ferguson! At this hour!”
“I’m afraid the poor thing is not quite right in her mind.”
“I should think not. That is the best thing you can hope of her.”
“She is quite a lady.”
“Lady!” Mrs. Peddar tightened her lips. “Mr. Ferguson, are you
laughing at me, sir?”
“I assure you I am perfectly serious; and I give you my word she is a
lady. You have only to see her for yourself to find that. Wait a
minute--let me finish! I thought at first that she was a somnambulist;
that she had been walking in her sleep; and I am still of opinion that
something strange has happened to her. She is unable to tell me her
name, who she is, whence she comes, or anything about herself; she
seemed as if she were mazed.”
“Has she been drinking?”
“Come downstairs and speak to her; you will perceive for yourself that
to connect her with such a notion would be worse than impertinence.”
“No offence, sir, but when you tell me that a strange young woman
comes through your window in the middle of the night, I can’t help
having my own thoughts.”
“And I tell you, Mrs. Peddar, that the ‘strange young woman,’ as you
call her, is a lady in every sense of the word, to whom, I am
persuaded, something very serious has recently happened.”
“Very good, Mr. Ferguson. I’m afraid that you’re too soft-hearted,
sir. Where is this young lady now?”
“She is in my dining-room.”
“Alone?”
“Certainly she is alone.”
“Then I should not be surprised if, by now, she’s gone back through
the window, taking something with her to help keep you in mind. You
must excuse my saying that I don’t think I ever did know quite so
simple-minded a gentleman as you are, sir. One thing’s sure--if we do
want to find her we’d better hurry for all we’re worth.”
Urged by Mrs. Peddar I hastened with her down the stairs. But her
forecast was not realised. My visitor had not gone. She was still in
the dining-room, fast asleep in an armchair. The first thing which
saluted our ears, as we entered the room, was the sound of her gentle
breathing; she slept softly as a child. The sight which she presented
touched the housekeeper’s womanly heart.
“She does look a picture, that’s certain! And quite the lady! And
isn’t she prettily dressed! My word, what lovely rings!”
The girl’s hands were extended on her lap. I saw that on her fingers
were what seemed to be two or three valuable rings. Now that Mrs.
Peddar had started, her enthusiasm almost equalled mine.
“How pale she is--and how beautiful! It’s plain that the poor thing’s
tired out and out. And you say that she came through the window! But
however did she get there? and who is she? and where did she come
from?”
“As I have told you, I have put those questions to her already,
without success. As you can see for yourself, she appears to be worn
out by fatigue. I think that if you could give her a bed for
to-night--I, of course, will be responsible for all expenses--in the
morning we may be able to obtain from her all the information we
require.”
“She shall have the bed all right, sir; I shouldn’t be surprised if
you’re right for once. She looks a lady; and, anyhow, I never could be
hard to any one so beautiful. But who’s to wake her? She is so sound
asleep, poor dear!”
“I will wake her.”
I did--by laying my hand gently on her shoulder. She moved, turned,
opened her eyes, and, when she saw who it was, sat upright in her
chair.
“I’ve been asleep again; it seems as if my eyes would not keep open.
Where have you been? I thought you never would come back. It was so
quiet here, and this is such an easy chair, I had to go to sleep.”
“I’ve been in search of Mrs. Peddar, of whom I told you. This is Mrs.
Peddar.”
The girl turned to her with a radiant smile; my conviction is that
that smile won Mrs. Peddar’s heart right off.
“Oh, Mrs. Peddar, I am so sleepy. I feel as if I wanted to sleep,
sleep, sleep. I can’t think what’s the matter.”
Mrs. Peddar was regarding her with inquisitive looks, in which,
however, there was sympathy as well.
“You’re tired, miss; that’s what the matter is with you. A good
night’s rest will do you good; you shall have it if you’ll come with
me, and as comfortable a bed as you ever slept in.”
“You’ll be all right with Mrs. Peddar,” I said; for the girl seemed to
hesitate. “You could not be in safer keeping, or in kinder hands.”
“Cannot I stay here?”
I looked at Mrs. Peddar; Mrs. Peddar looked at me. It was she who
answered.
“I think, miss, you will be more comfortable if you come with me. You
see, Mr. Ferguson lives alone.”
“But where shall you be?”
The anxious tone in which the girl put the question, and the appealing
gesture with which it was accompanied, afforded me an unreasonable
amount of pleasure.
“I shall be here, not so very far away from you; and, the first thing
in the morning, I will come to learn how you have slept.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Never did I promise anything more willingly.
She was still reluctant to go. To appease her I accompanied her
upstairs. When she reached Mrs. Peddar’s own apartment she was still
unwilling to suffer me to leave her, her unwillingness making me
absurdly happy.
As I descended those interminable stairs it was as if I trod on air.
It was ridiculous. Why should I be affected, one way or the other, by
the whims, and airs, and fancies of an apparently half-witted woman,
who had forced her way into my room at dead of night in a cloak all
wet with blood.