SALOME FINDS A WELCOME
THE following day was oppressively hot, and Juliet felt no inclination
to go abroad. Her room, being immediately below the roof, grew like an
oven as the heat of the day increased; her head throbbed, the odours
which rose from the kitchen sickened her, but she chose to remain in
her room rather than encounter again the curious gaze of strangers.
Adolphe waited upon her at mealtimes, and showed himself prompt
and eager in serving her; but her appetite failed in the stifling
atmosphere, and the dishes he set out with such care were left almost
untasted.
How the leaden hours passed Juliet hardly knew. She could not read, she
could hardly think connectedly. A kind of stupor possessed her as she
lay back in the crimson velvet chair; but every now and then sharp,
clear visions of the past would cross her mind, stinging her into
bitter consciousness of her sin and folly. Sometimes the face of the
lady who had looked at her so kindly and spoken so gently would come
back to her, and she would ask herself where she had seen her before,
or of whom it could be that the stranger reminded her.
Juliet was resting with her eyes closed when a loud, plaintive "mew"
made her start, and looking up she saw a cat standing at her open
window regarding her with beseeching eyes. It was a tabby, very
prettily marked, but thin and miserable-looking, which forlornly
wandering across the roofs had lighted on Juliet's open window.
"Puss, puss, puss!" she called gently, fearing to frighten it.
The cat looked at her doubtfully, mistrusting perhaps the foreign
accents.
"Mignon, mignon!" Juliet tried next, in her most ingratiating manner.
The cat uttered another imploring mew.
Juliet turned to the luncheon-tray which still stood on her table,
hastily put together on a plate the most appetising scraps she could
find, and placed the plate on the floor just below the window. The cat
hesitated only for a moment; then apparently convinced of Juliet's kind
intentions, she leaped from the window to the floor and began hungrily
to devour the feast.
When she had licked the plate quite clean, she proceeded to wash
herself daintily. Then she sat still and looked at Juliet with such
friendly eyes that the girl ventured to draw near and gently stroke
pussy's head. Madame la Chatte graciously permitted the caress, and
even condescended to purr.
Juliet, delighted to have gained such a companion, fondled her
rapturously; but when she lifted her into her lap, puss resented the
familiarity, struggled to get free, and as soon as she was at liberty,
walked to the crimson velvet couch, leapt on to it, and ensconced
herself comfortably in its most remote corner. No matter. Juliet
followed, seated herself by the cat's side, and continued to stroke her
soft head. It was wonderful how much less lonely she felt, now that
this feline wanderer had cast herself on her hospitality.
A little later madame, fresh from her toilette, with her hair crisply
curled and coiled, and her corset tightly laced, came to pay her daily
visit. She smiled as she saw the cat, and watched the interest which
Juliet displayed in her. It struck her that the girl was very young and
childlike, far too young to be staying without a guardian in Paris.
She was devoured with curiosity concerning her, and began to question
Juliet eagerly.
"Monsieur does not come, it seems," she said, "and mademoiselle has not
heard from him. Is it not so? Is it that he knows where mademoiselle
may be found? Mademoiselle will perhaps like to write to him? Shall I
bring mademoiselle the ink and the paper and the pen?"
Juliet curtly declined the offer. Madame found her curiosity baffled
at every turn. Her questions and insinuations alike failed to extract
information.
"See here," said madame at last, laying on the table a newspaper she
had brought in her hand, "mademoiselle can perhaps amuse herself with
this. You see it is an English journal of yesterday. An Englishman who
slept here last night left it behind him."
Juliet thanked her, and when madame had gone, she took up the paper,
and glanced over its columns with indifferent eyes. Suddenly she
saw words which startled her, and leaning forward eagerly read the
following paragraph:
"SERIOUS CHARGE AGAINST ALGERNON CHALCOMBE.
"Algernon Chalcombe, the well-known music hall singer, was yesterday
arrested in Paris on a charge of forgery. It appears that on Monday,
he cashed in London a cheque for £200 which purported to be signed by
Joseph Barham, manager of the Cold Harbour Music Hall. The signature
was, however, a forgery, and was discovered to be such late on the
following day. The matter being at once put in the hands of the
police, they speedily discovered that Chalcombe had left London for
the Continent. They at once telegraphed to the French police, with the
result that Chalcombe was arrested on his arrival in Paris. There is
a report that his affairs are desperately involved in consequence of
gambling transactions. It is of course possible, and we sincerely hope
it may be the case, that Mr. Chalcombe can establish his innocence
of the crime of which he is accused. When arrested in Paris, he was
accompanied by a young lady with whom he had travelled from Dover."
Juliet's head swam as she read the newspaper report. Algernon Chalcombe
a gambler and a forger! Was it to such a one that she had been ready
to entrust her future? Was it for the sake of such a man that she had
left her home and the mother who loved her so tenderly? No, not for his
sake. She could not so deceive herself. It was for her own sake, for
the sake of the future he had painted to her in such brilliant hues.
He himself had counted for little with her. Amongst the many strangely
mingled sensations Juliet experienced at this moment, came a conviction
that she had never truly loved this man, whom she had dared to think of
marrying.
Had she loved him, she would not have at once concluded that he was
guilty of the crime of which he was accused. But she felt instinctively
that the worst was true. With preternatural quickness, her mind
gathered evidence from the past that seemed to confirm its truth.
Had not Algernon often spoken to her of his being "desperately hard
up"? Had he not said jokingly, yet with an appearance of grim earnest
beneath his joke, that he was ready to do anything to obtain money?
Did she not know how cleverly he had once imitated his sister's
handwriting, and how she had spoken of his skill in this respect? Had
she not been struck with the gleam in his eyes when she had handed
him the money with which he was to purchase their marriage licence?
She doubted now if the money had been so spent. She knew the name of
Joseph Barham. He was the manager of the large music hall at which
Algernon most often sang. She remembered hearing Algernon say that Mr.
Barham was about to go to America. She believed he was to sail on the
day before they left London. Had Algernon then trusted to his absence
to prevent the discovery of the fraud, and had his artfully laid plan
somehow miscarried?
She remembered how freely she had told Algernon every particular with
respect to her own property, and a new misgiving assailed her. Had he
wooed her for the sake of her money? Would he have been faithful to the
promise he had given, when he had her in his power? Would he have been
content to play the secondary part she had assigned him in her life?
Poor Juliet! She was beginning to perceive that she had been like the
poor silly fly whom the artful spider entangles in his glistening web,
or like the foolish moth she had seen fall with singed wings on the
drawing-room table on that evening which now seemed so long, long ago.
The pressure of mental pain brought a sense of physical discomfort
that made her go to the window, and lean far out, to catch all the air
she could. As she gazed over the dreary roofs, she felt as if she had
suddenly grown quite old. The happy, careless, childish self of the
past was for ever gone. She knew now what life really was, with its
pitfalls and perils, at which she had often heard her elders darkly
hint; but she had bought her experience at a high price.
Presently she took up the newspaper, and read again that brief
paragraph. The sentence concerning herself struck her painfully,
filling her with a terrible sense of shame. How could she bear it, if
it ever became known that she was the young lady who had accompanied
Chalcombe on his flight? She would feel for ever branded with ignominy,
if she met the glance of eyes which said that they knew. Ah, she
could never risk it. She could never go home now. She had placed an
impassable barrier between herself and the old home, which she loved
now as she had never loved it before. And what was to become of her in
the future she could not tell.
With the thought came such a painful yearning for her mother's gentle
presence, and for the love which had never failed her in any trouble
yet,—though which of the slight vexations of her past could be truly
called a trouble?—That Juliet could control herself no longer, and
threw herself on the couch in a passion of weeping, which lasted till
she was too exhausted to weep more.
The next morning, Juliet felt too ill to rise. She lay in her bed with
her head throbbing wildly, and with sick, dizzy sensations overpowering
her, whenever she attempted to raise herself from her pillow. She
so seldom had a day's illness, that these symptoms were sufficient
to alarm her, and she felt more miserable and forsaken than before.
She thought that perhaps she was going to die, and tried to persuade
herself that this was the best thing that could happen to her. But life
was strong in her young frame, and she shrunk with horror from the
thought of death.
She lay there feeling utterly comfortless, and filled with a vague
wonder at the misery which had overwhelmed her. Could it be herself,
Juliet Tracy, in whose good fortune she had always so firmly believed,
to whom such sorrow and loneliness had come? Did she, who had dreamed
of such a brilliant future, lie here in the dreary, close, foreign room
beneath the baked roof? How she loathed the crimson velvet chairs, the
gilding, the glare of everything about her! Oh, to feel a breeze, or
quaff a draught of iced water!
Her only comfort was derived from the presence of the cat, who came
purring to her bedside, and seemed, Juliet fancied, to know that
she was ill. But possibly puss was moved by feelings not entirely
disinterested, since she presently jumped on to the bed and settled
herself cosily at Juliet's feet.
Madame was disturbed to find the young English lady lying in bed, so
white, and with such a sorrowful look on her young face. The adventure
was not proceeding as she had expected. There was no excitement
about it, and it puzzled her. She asked Juliet about her friends,
and suggested that she should write to them, Juliet receiving the
suggestion in stony silence. Then she proposed that Juliet should see
an English doctor, residing in Paris, who came every day to the hotel
for his dinner. This proposal Juliet decidedly negatived. She was not
ill; it was only a headache; she did not want a doctor. She had a quick
sense of the surprise an English medical man would feel at finding her
there alone, and dreaded the questions he might be expected to ask.
It was well she declined the suggestion. Madame had no idea that
the doctor she mentioned was not a type of all English medical
practitioners; but assuredly Juliet would have shrunk in horror from
the shabby, dissipated-looking, ill-favoured man, had he been presented
to her.
Madame was kind in her way. She brought Juliet some lemonade, which
was really reviving, and she shook up and arranged her pillows very
adroitly. But madame breathed heavily, and her high-heeled shoes
resounded on the polished floor. Juliet, who was in a state of nervous
suffering to which every sound is agony, was thankful when madame had
satisfied her sense of duty and retired to the regions below.
After a while, Juliet felt a little better, and wishing to prove that
there was no occasion for a doctor's services, she got up, and, with
slow and feeble movements, dressed herself. But when she had done this,
she felt so faint and giddy that she was glad to stretch herself on the
couch, taking the pillows from her bed to increase its comfort, which
was slight, in spite of its gorgeous appearance.
She was lying thus, feeling very wretched, when she heard the sound
of steps on the stairs and the voice of Adolphe. He seemed to be
conducting someone to a room. Could it be that he was bringing the
doctor to her after all?
Juliet, in dismay, started into a sitting posture, her face turned
towards the door. The next moment, it was gently opened—the face of
Salome looked in upon her.
Yes, it was indeed Salome, in her close-fitting bonnet and long plain
cloak, who advanced. For a moment, Juliet could hardly believe her
eyes; then she uttered a cry of amazement and delight, and threw
herself, sobbing wildly, into her sister's arms.