DR. PETERSSEN REAPPEARS ON THE SCENE.
For the unexpected good fortune of this discovery Emilia was very
grateful, and her mind was now occupied in considering how to make the
best use of it. She did not linger in Gerard Street lest she should be
seen by Gerald's brother, but before she left it she ascertained that
he was known not as Mr., but as Monsieur Felix. For what reason had he
concealed his right name? For what reason had he assumed that of a
foreigner? It was perhaps because she had but one subject to think of,
but one supreme end to attain, that she mentally decided that she
herself was not unconnected with his motive for concealing his
identity. If that were the case it would be difficult indeed to obtain
an interview with him. If she presented herself in person, or sent up
her name, he would refuse to receive her; if she forced herself upon
him he would not listen to her, and the next time she went to him she
would find that he had flown. Thus her mission would be a failure and
the unhappiness of her daughter insured. It behooved her to be very
careful in her movements; the least slip would be fatal.
The whole of that day and the whole of the next she bent her mind to
the consideration of the peculiar position in which she was placed.
She did not remain at home; she spent many hours in the vicinity of
Soho, making inquiries of M. Felix's habits and character, in such a
manner as to draw no suspicion upon herself. Small tradesmen of whom
she made purchases were the medium of these inquiries, and they were
able to give her much information because of the gossiping disposition
of Mrs. Middlemore, the housekeeper. It was at this time that she
developed a talent for intrigue. To insure that she should not be
recognized by M. Felix in a chance meeting in the streets, she took a
room that was to let midway between Soho and the apartments occupied
by herself, stating that she was an actress; and at one shop in the
Strand, and at another in a street running out of that thoroughfare,
she purchased a box of "make-up" and a wig of a different color from
her own hair. It was a short wig, and when her own locks were
concealed beneath it, and she had used certain pigments on her face,
no one who knew her as Emilia Braham could possibly recognize her.
These changes were made in the room she had taken unknown to
Constance, and she gave no person in the house an opportunity of
observing her. Independent, however, of these changes she was no
further advanced at the end of the second day than when she met M.
Felix in Regent Street, and she could think of no means of obtaining
the interview she desired.
On the third day she went out again in the direction of Gerard Street,
drawn thither, as it were, by a magnetic current. But indeed all her
hopes, and the future of herself and child, were centred in the house
in which Gerald's brother lived under the name of M. Felix. Snow was
still falling heavily, but she did not shrink from the chill blasts
which swept through the narrow spaces of Soho. She had struck up an
acquaintance with the mistress of a shop in which foreign provisions
were sold, and she was now standing before the counter conversing with
the woman, and picking up further information of the domestic habits
which reigned in M. Felix's house. She learnt that it was Mrs.
Middlemore's custom to go out every night for her supper-beer at
half-past eleven, and that she was generally absent for not less than
half an hour. A wild plan instantly suggested itself; she felt that
something must be done, and that she must be bold. At eleven o'clock
this very night she would be on the watch outside the house in
Gerard Street, waiting for the housekeeper to go upon her usual
nightly errand. Then she would go up to her, before she closed the
street-door, and say she came by appointment to see M. Felix. She had
already ascertained that he occupied apartments on the first floor;
she had seen on the previous night the lights shining through his
windows, and she would know in the same way on this night whether he
was at home. If she played her part well, and controlled her voice so
that it did not betray her, the housekeeper would doubtless take her
word, and thus she would obtain entrance to the house without M. Felix
being aware of it. As to what she should do when she confronted him
she was as yet undecided, but certain unformed ideas loomed in her
mind which seemed to give her hope that this nocturnal visit would not
be fruitless. It would be necessary, however, that she should not
present herself to the housekeeper dressed as a woman, for that would
almost certainly bring suspicion upon her. In the disguise of a man
her story would be more credible. Well, she would buy a suit of male
clothing, and so disguise herself. The moral energy by which she was
supported caused her to accept any suggestion, however daring and
bold, by means of which she could attain success.
She went out of the provision shop full of the scheme, but had not
gone ten yards before she made a discovery which occasioned her as
much surprise as her meeting with Gerald's brother a couple of days
ago. A man brushed quite closely to her, and this man was none other
than Dr. Peterssen. Another fateful thread in her sad story. What did
his presence in that locality portend?
He took no notice of her as he passed, but lingered before the window
of the provision shop, looking through the panes, not at the goods
displayed, but into the shop to see who was there. Throughout this
series of adventures Emilia's senses were preternaturally sharpened,
and nothing escaped her which seemed to bear upon her sad story.
Presently Dr. Peterssen entered the shop, and without a moment's
hesitation Emilia followed him.
He had already commenced a conversation with the mistress of the
establishment, who, saying to him, "I beg your pardon," went to
Emilia.
"I have forgotten something I wanted to buy," said Emilia, in a low
tone, "but I can wait till you have attended to that gentleman."
She took care that her voice should not reach his ears, and as the
woman stepped toward him she turned her back, with the air of a person
who was not in the least interested in his business. The first words
she spoke caused Emilia's heart to beat violently; but she still kept
her face from him.
"Yes, sir, M. Felix lives very near here, in the next street."
"Thank you," said Dr. Peterssen. "It was very careless of me to lose
the letter he sent me containing his address. Would you mind writing
it down on paper for me?"
"Not at all, sir."
The woman wrote the address, and Dr. Peterssen, thanking her, left the
shop. Then she asked Emilia what she wished; it was common enough for
people to come and ask the address of persons living in the
neighborhood, and she attached no importance to it. Emilia made
another small purchase, and again took her departure.
Instead of leaving Soho, as was her original intention, to buy the
suit of man's clothing necessary for the carrying out of her scheme,
she walked slowly through Gerard Street. Dr. Peterssen was on the
opposite side of the road to that on which M. Felix's house was
situated, and he was gazing up at the windows with an expression of
triumph on his face. There had been a note of triumph also in his
voice when he had thanked the shopkeeper for the information she gave
him, and Emilia judged from those signs that he, as well as herself,
had been hunting for M. Felix. For what reason, and why, had M. Felix
hidden himself from a man he knew so well? Here again Emilia did not
stop to reason. In the selfishness of the task upon which she was
engaged she jumped at conclusions, and the conclusion she formed now
was that Dr. Peterssen's search for M. Felix was in some way connected
with herself and the husband she had lost.
No detective could have acted more warily than she. With extreme
caution she watched Dr. Peterssen's movements. He stood for a few
moments looking up at the windows, then he crossed the road, and noted
the number of the house, and then, with an exulting smile, he slowly
walked away. Emilia was now more than ever resolved to carry out her
scheme on this night.
She had observed that there were large clothing establishments in
Tottenham Court Road, and at one of these she purchased a suit of
clothes for a small-made man. Hastening to the room she had taken she
tried them on and found them too large. She went back to the shop and
exchanged the suit for a smaller one, which fitted her fairly well.
Then leaving the clothes behind her, she joined Constance, and
remained with her till eight o'clock.
"Must you go out to night, mamma?" asked the girl.
"Yes, Constance," replied Emilia, "and I may not be home till late.
You had better go to bed soon."
"No, mamma," said Constance, "I will wait up for you." She went to the
window. "Mamma, you cannot possibly go out. The snow will blind you.
There is not a person in the streets."
"I must go, dear child," said Emilia, firmly.
"But, mamma, dear--look!"
It was the night of January 16th, and a terrible snowstorm was raging.
For over two weeks now the snow had been falling in London, and many
of the thoroughfares were blocked with drift, which the efforts of
great numbers of laborers could not remove; and on this night the
tempest had reached its height. So engrossed had Emilia been in the
task which had brought her from her happy home in Geneva that she
thought little of the storms of nature which she had encountered as
she trudged through the white-carpeted thoroughfares of the city. What
physical sufferings was she not prepared to bear, and to bear
cheerfully, for the sake of her beloved child? Only when her strength
gave way would she yield, and she was sustained now by an abnormal
strength which enabled her to endure that from which on ordinary
occasions she would have shrunk. During this trying period of her life
her powers of endurance were astonishing.
"You will not go out in such a storm, mamma!"
"Do not try to dissuade me, darling, I must go. Do not fear for me;
God is watching over me. I shall be quite safe."
"Let me go with you," pleaded Constance.
"Impossible. You know, dear child, I always do what I believe to be
right; I am doing it now, and you must not thwart me, nor make things
more difficult for me than they are."
"Are they difficult, mamma!" asked Constance, in a tone of tender
solicitude. This was the first time her mother had hinted at
difficulties, and the admission had slipped from Emilia unawares.
"Yes, dear, but I cannot tell you what they are. Perhaps the time may
come when I shall tell you all, but for the present trust in me, have
faith in me."
The solemnity of her voice had its effect, and Constance no longer
attempted to prevail upon her.
"Are you warm enough, mamma?"
"Yes, dear child, and my boots are dry and thick. God bless my
darling, and shield her from harm."
Constance tied a red silk scarf round her mother's neck, who left her
with bright smiles and cheering words. Then Emilia made her way to her
other lodging of one room, and effected the change in her garments.
There was no other lodger in the house but herself, and she had a
latchkey to let herself in; she experienced little difficulty in
preserving the secrecy necessary for her operations, and she entered
and left the house always without being observed.
She surveyed herself in the little bit of broken looking-glass which
rested on the deal chest of drawers against the wall. "It is not
possible for anyone to recognize me," she thought, and was about to
leave the room, when her eyes fell upon the red scarf which Constance
had tied round her throat. With a tender smile she took it up and put
it on. She looked at her watch; it was a quarter to ten. "I have still
a few minutes," she said, and she knelt by the side of the bed she had
not yet occupied, and prayed for strength and for a successful issue
of her dangerous errand. Then she went out into the streets.
They were almost deserted; all the better for her task. On such a
night who would notice her? As she turned into Gerard Street the
church clocks chimed a quarter to eleven. She had three-quarters
of an hour to wait. But the hot blood rushed over her face and neck as
she saw, three or four paces ahead of her, the form of a man
proceeding in the direction she was taking--and that man no other
than Dr. Peterssen. He knocked--a peculiar knock seemingly by
pre-arrangement--and Emilia timed her steps so that she reached and
passed the door as it was opened by someone from within. She stooped
just beyond the street-door, and while she was pretending to tie her
shoestring heard what passed, which may fitly be given here in
dramatic form:
Dr. Peterssen: "Ah, my dear friend, at last we meet!"
M. Felix (starting back): "You!"
(His voice, although it had spoken but one word, was to Emilia a
confirmation. It was the voice of Gerald's brother, Leonard.)
Dr. Peterssen (airily): "I, sweet comrade in the shady paths, I, Dr.
Peterssen--nu ghost, flesh and blood. You received my note."
M. Felix: "Written in a woman's hand, signed in a woman's name!"
Dr. Peterssen: "I knew that was the best bait to hook my fish. And the
knock, too, that you yourself and no one else--no prying housekeepers
or servants--must answer. Still the same Don Juan as ever. But it is
biting cold here. Let us get into your cosy room and talk."
M. Felix: "Not to-night."
Dr. Peterssen: "I am not to be put off, friend of my soul. We will
have our little say to-night."
M. Felix: "I have friends with me. I cannot receive you now."
Dr. Peterssen: "A lie. You have no friends with you." (His tone
changing to one of undisguised brutality.) "If you keep me waiting
here one minute longer I will ruin you. Do you forget our pleasant
partnership in Switzerland nineteen years ago? Do you forget your
brother Gerald?"
M. Felix: "Hush! Come in. Step softly."
That was all. The door was closed, and all was still.
Emilia stood upright, with a face as white as the falling snow. The
words with their hidden meanings, the voices with their varying tones,
the trick by which Dr. Peterssen had found it necessary to obtain
admission to the presence of M. Felix, the veiled threats, the
allusions to the partnership in Switzerland and to her dear
Gerald--what did all these portend? What but a secret plot, unknown to
her, unknown to all but its accomplices, a plot in which Gerald had
been involved, and therefore she? Oh, for some beneficent gift to
pierce those walls, to hear what those villains were saying! But it
was idle and might be hurtful to indulge in vain, impracticable
wishes. She summoned all her fortitude. Scarcely now could she hope to
obtain speech to-night with the man whom she believed had ruined her
life, and who could ruin it still further. But she would not desert
her post; she would wait and hope. She heeded not the bitter, piercing
cold; she seemed to be divinely armed against physical suffering. So
she tramped slowly up and down the street through the deep snow,
keeping her eyes fixed ever on the windows of the room in which the
conspirators were conversing, walking backward with her face to them
when she went from the house. Visions of the past rose before her; the
white snow falling even in this narrow street brought back the snow
mountains of Switzerland, where last she had seen the two enemies
within hail of her. "Strengthen me, oh, God of the universe!" she
murmured. "Endow me with power to fulfil my task, so that I may keep
shame and sorrow from my beloved child."