Not until the end of November did anything important occur to make a
break in Fan's happy, and on the whole peaceful, life in Dawson Place;
then came an eventful day, which rudely reminded her that she was
living, if not on, at any rate in the neighbourhood of a volcano. One
morning that was not wet nor foggy Miss Starbrow made up her mind to
visit the West End to do a little shopping, and, to the maid's unbounded
disgust, she took Fan with her. An hour after breakfast they started in
a hansom and drove to the Marble Arch, where they dismissed the cab.
“Now,” said Miss Starbrow, who was in high spirits, “we'll walk to
Peter Robinson's and afterwards to Piccadilly Circus, looking at all the
shops, and then have lunch at the St. James's Restaurant; and walk home
along the parks. It is so beautifully dry underfoot to-day.”
Fan was delighted with the prospect, and they proceeded along Oxford
Street. The thoroughfares about the Marble Arch had been familiar to her
in the old days, and yet they seemed now to have a novel and infinitely
more attractive appearance--she did not know why. But the reason was
very simple. She was no longer a beggar, hungry, in rags, ashamed, and
feeling that she had no right to be there, but was herself a part of
that pleasant world of men and women and children. An old Moon Street
neighbour, seeing her now in her beautiful dress and with her sweet
peaceful face, would not have recognised her.
At Peter Robinson's they spent about half an hour, Miss Starbrow making
some purchases for herself, and, being in a generous mood, she also
ordered a few things for Fan. As they came out at the door they met a
Mr. Mortimer, an old friend of Miss Starbrow's, elderly, but dandified
in his dress, and got up to look as youthful as possible. After warmly
shaking hands with Miss Starbrow, and bowing to Fan, he accompanied
them for some distance up Regent Street. Fan walked a little ahead. Mr.
Mortimer seemed very much taken with her, and was most anxious to find
out all about her, and to know how she came to be in Miss Starbrow's
company. The answers he got were short and not explicit; and whether
he resented this, or merely took a malicious pleasure in irritating his
companion, whose character he well knew, he continued speaking of Fan,
protesting that he had not seen a lovelier girl for a long time, and
begging Miss Starbrow to note how everyone--or every _man_, rather,
since man only has eyes to see so exquisite a face--looked keenly at the
girl in passing.
“My dear Miss Starbrow,” he said, “I must congratulate you on
your--ahem--late repentance. You know you were always a great
woman-hater--a kind of she-misogynist, if such a form of expression
is allowable. You must have changed indeed before bringing that fresh
charming young girl out with you.” He angered her and she did not
conceal it, because she could not, though knowing that he was studying
to annoy her from motives of revenge. For this man, who was old enough
to be her father, and had spent the last decade trying to pick up a
woman with money to mend his broken fortunes--this watery-eyed, smirking
old beau, who wrote himself down young, going about Regent Street on a
cold November day without overcoat or spectacles--this man had had the
audacity to propose marriage to her! She had sent him about his business
with a burst of scorn, which shook his old, battered moral constitution
like a tempest of wind and thunder, and he had not forgotten it. He
chuckled at the successful result of his attack, not caring to conceal
his glee; but this meeting proved very unfortunate for poor Fan. After
dismissing her old lover with scant courtesy, Miss Starbrow caught up
with the girl, and they walked on in silence, looking at no shop-windows
now. One glance at the dark angry face was enough to spoil Fan's
pleasure for the day and to make her shrink within herself, wondering
much as to what had caused so great and sudden a change.
Arrived at Piccadilly Circus, Miss Starbrow called a cab.
“Get in, Fan,” she said, speaking rather sharply. “I have a headache and
am going home.”
The headache seemed so like a fit of anger that Fan did not venture to
speak one word of sympathy.
After reaching home, Miss Starbrow, without saying a word, went to her
room. Fan ventured to follow her there.
“I wish to be left alone for the rest of the day,” said her mistress.
“Tell Rosie that I don't wish to be disturbed. After you have had your
dinner go down to the drawing-room and sit there by the fire with your
book. And--stay, if anyone calls to see me, say that I have a headache
and do not wish to be disturbed.”
Fan went sorrowfully away and had her dinner, and was mocked by Rosie
when she delivered the message, and then taking her book she went to the
drawing-room on the ground-floor. After she had been there half an hour
she heard a knock, and presently the door was opened and Captain Horton
walked in.
“What, alone, Miss Affleck! Tell me about Miss Starbrow,” he said,
advancing and taking her hand.
Fan explained that Miss Starbrow was lying down, suffering from a
headache, and did not wish to be disturbed.
“I am sorry to hear it,” he said. “But I can sit here and have a little
conversation with you, Fan--your name is Fan, is it not?”
He sat down near the fire still keeping her hand in his, and when she
tried gently to withdraw it, his grasp became firmer. His hand was very
soft, as is usual with men who play cards much--and well; and it held
tenaciously--again a characteristic of the card-playing hand.
“Oh, please, sir, let me go!” she said.
“Why, my dear child, don't you know it's the custom for a gentleman
to hold a girl's hand in his when he talks to her? But you have always
lived among the very poor--have you not?--where they have different
customs. Never mind, Fan, you will soon learn. Now look up, Fan, and
let me see those wonderful eyes of yours; yes, they are very pretty. You
don't mind my teaching you a little, do you, Fan, so that you will know
how to behave when you are with well-bred people?”
“No, sir; but please, sir, will you let me go?”
“Why, you foolish child, I am not going to hurt you. You don't take me
for a dentist, do you?” he continued, trying to make her laugh. But his
smile and the look in his eyes only frightened her. “Look here, Fan,
I will teach you something else. Don't you know that it is the custom
among ladies and gentlemen for a young girl to kiss a gentleman when he
speaks kindly to her?”
“No,” said Fan, reddening and trying again to free herself.
“Don't be so foolish, child, or you will never learn how to behave. Do
you know that if you make a noise or fuss you'll disturb your mistress
and she will be very angry with you. Come now, be a good dear little
girl.”
And with gentle force he drew her between his knees and put his arm
round her. Fan, afraid to cry out, struggled vainly to get free; he held
her firmly and closely, and had just put his lips to her face when the
door swung open, and Miss Starbrow sailed like a tragedy-queen into
the room, her head thrown back, her face white as marble and her eyes
gleaming.
The visitor instantly rose, while Fan, released from his grip, her face
crimson with shame, slunk away, trembling with apprehension.
“Captain Horton, what is the meaning of this?” demanded the lady.
“Why nothing--a mere trifle--a joke, Pollie. Your little girl doesn't
mind being kissed by a friend of the family--that's all.”
“Come here, Fan,” she said, in a tone of concentrated rage; and the
girl, frightened and hesitating, approached her. “This is the way you
behave the moment my back is turned. You corrupt-minded little wretch!
Take that!” and with her open hand she struck the girl's face a cruel
blow, with force enough to leave the red print of her fingers on the
pale cheek.
Fan, covering her face with her hands, shrunk back against the wall,
sobbing convulsively.
“Oh, come, Pollie!” exclaimed Horton, “don't be so hard on the poor
monkey--she's a mere child, you know, and didn't think any harm.”
Miss Starbrow made no reply, but standing motionless looked at
him--watched his face with a fierce, dangerous gleam in her half-closed
eyes.
“Don't stand snivelling here,” she spoke, turning to Fan. “Go up
instantly to the back room, and stay there. I shall know how to trust a
girl out of the slums another time.”
Crying bitterly she left the room, and her mistress shut the door after
her, remaining there with her lover.
Fan found the window of the back room open, but she did not feel cold;
and kneeling on the sofa, with her face resting on her hands, and still
crying, she remained there for a long time. A little wintry sunshine
rested on the garden, brightening the brown naked branches of the trees
and the dark green leaves of ivy and shrub, and gladdening the sparrows.
By-and-by the shortlived sunshine died away, and the sparrows left. It
was strangely quiet in the house; distinctly she heard Miss Starbrow
come out of the drawing-room and up the stairs; she trembled a little
then and felt a little rebellious stirring in her heart, thinking that
her mistress was coming up to her. But no, she went to her own room, and
closed the door. Then Rosie came in, stealing up to her on tiptoe, and
curiously peering into her face.
“Oh I say--something's happened!” she exclaimed, and tripped joyfully
away. Half an hour later she came up with some tea.
“I've brought your la'ship a cup of tea. I'm sure it will do your head
good,” she said, advancing with mincing steps and affecting profound
sympathy in her tone.
“Take it away--I shan't touch it!” returned Fan, becoming angry in her
misery.
“Oh, but your la'ship's health is so important! Society will be so
distressed when it hears that your la'ship is unwell! I'll leave the cup
in the window in case your la'ship--”
Fan pushed cup and saucer angrily away, and over they went, falling
outside down to the area, where they struck with a loud crash and were
shivered to pieces.
Rosie laughed and clapped her hands in glee. “Oh, I'm so glad you've
smashed it!” she exclaimed. “I'll tell Miss Starbrow, and then you'll
see! That cup was the thing she valued most in the house. She bought it
at a sale at Christie and Manson's and gave twenty-five guineas for it.
Oh, how mad she'll be!”
Fan paid no heed to her words, knowing that there was no truth in them.
While pushing it away she had noticed that it was an old kitchen cup,
chipped and cracked and without a handle; the valuable curio had as a
fact been fished out of a heap of rubbish that morning by the maid, who
thought that it would serve very well for “her la'ship's tea.”
Rosie got tired of tormenting her, and took herself off at last; then
another hour went slowly by while it gradually grew dark; and as the
lights faded her rebellious feelings left her, and she began to hope
that Miss Starbrow would soon call her or come to her. And at length,
unable to bear the loneliness and suspense, she went to the bedroom door
and softly knocked. There was no answer, and trying the door she found
that it was locked. She waited outside the door for about half an hour,
and then hearing her mistress moving in the room she tapped again, with
the same result as before. Then she went back despairingly to the back
room and her place beside the window. The night was starry and not very
cold, and to protect herself from the night air she put on her fur cape.
Hour after hour she listened to the bells of St. Matthew's chiming the
quarters, feeling a strange loneliness each time the chimes ceased; and
then, after a few minutes' time, beginning again to listen for the next
quarter. It was getting very late, and still no one came to her, not
even Rosie with her supper, which she had made up her mind not to touch.
Then she dropped her head on her hands, and cried quietly to herself.
She had so many thoughts, and each one seemed sadder than the last. For
the great tumult in her soul was over now, and she could think about it
all, and of all the individuals who had treated her cruelly. She felt
very differently towards them. Captain Horton she feared and hated, and
wished him dead with all her heart; and Rosie she also hated, but not so
intensely, for the maid's enmity had not injured her. Against Mary she
only felt a great anger, but no hatred; for Mary had been so kind, so
loving, and she could not forget that, and all the sweetness it had
given her life. Then she began to compare this new luxurious life in
Dawson Place to the old wretched life in Moon Street, which now seemed
so far back in time; and it seemed strange to her that, in spite of the
great difference, yet to-night she felt more unhappy than she had ever
felt in the old days. She remembered her poor degraded mother, who had
never turned against her, and cried quietly again, leaning her face on
the window-sill. Then she had a thought which greatly perplexed her,
and she asked herself why it was in those old days, when hard words
and unjust blows came to her, she only felt a fearful shrinking of the
flesh, and wished like some poor hunted animal to fly away and hide
herself from her tormentors, while now a spirit of resentment and
rebellion was kindled in her and burnt in her heart with a strange fire.
Was it wrong to feel like that, to wish that those who made her suffer
were dead? That was a hard question which Fan put to herself, and she
could not answer it.
Her long fast and the excitement she had experienced, with so many
lonely hours of suspense after it, began to tell on her and make her
sleepy. It was eleven o'clock; she heard the servants going round to
fasten doors and turn off the gas, and finally they passed her landing
on their way to bed. It was getting very cold, and giving up all hope
of being called by her mistress, she closed the window and, with an
old table-cover for covering, coiled herself up on the sofa and went to
sleep.
When she woke it was with a start; her face had grown very cold, and she
felt a warm hand touching her cheek. The hand was quickly withdrawn when
she woke, and looking round Fan saw someone seated by her, and although
there was only the starlight from the window in the dim room, she knew
that it was her mistress. She raised herself to a sitting position on
the sofa, but without speaking. All her bitter, resentful feelings had
suddenly rushed back to her heart.
“Well, you have condescended to wake at last,” said Miss Starbrow. “Do
you know that it is nearly one o'clock in the morning?”
“No,” returned Fan.
“No! well then, I say yes. It is nearly one o'clock. Do you intend to
keep me here waiting your pleasure all night, I wonder!”
“I don't want you to come here. I had no place to sleep because you
locked me out of your room.”
“And for an excellent reason,” said the other sharply. “How could
I admit you into my room after the outrageous scene I witnessed
downstairs! You seem to think that you can behave just how you like in
my house, and that it will make no difference.”
Fan was silent.
“Oh, very well, Miss Fan, if you have nothing to say for yourself!”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Say! I wonder at the question. I want you to tell me the truth, of
course. That is, if you can. How did it all happen--you must tell me
everything just as it occurred, without concealment or prevarication.”
Fan related the facts simply and clearly; she remembered every word the
Captain had spoken only too well.
“I wish I knew whether you have told me the simple truth or not,” said
Miss Starbrow.
“May God strike me dead if I'm not telling the truth!” said Fan.
“There, that will do. A young lady is supposed to be able to answer
a question with a simple yes or no, without swearing about it like a
bargee on the Regent's Canal.”
“Then why don't you believe me when I say yes and no, and--and why
didn't you ask me before you struck me?”
“I shouldn't have struck you if I had not thought you were a little to
blame. It is not likely. You ought to know that after all my kindness to
you--but I dare say that is all forgotten. I declare I have been treated
most shamefully!” And here she dropped her face into her hands and began
crying.
But the girl felt no softening of the heart; that strange fire was still
burning in her, and she could only think of the cruel words, the unjust
blow.
Miss Starbrow suddenly ceased her crying. “I thought that you, at any
rate, had a little gratitude and affection for me,” she said. “But of
course I was mistaken about that as I have been about everything else.
If you had the faintest spark of sympathy in you, you would show a
little feeling, and--and ask me why I cry, or say something.”
For some moments Fan continued silent, then she moved and touched the
other's hand, and said very softly, for now all her anger was melting
away, “Why do you cry, Mary?”
“You know, Fan, because I love you, and am so sorry I struck you. What
a brute I was to hurt you--a poor outcast and orphan, with no friend
but me in the world. Forgive me, dear Fan, for treating you so cruelly!”
Then she put her arms about the girl and kissed her, holding her close
to her breast.
“Oh, Mary, dear,” said Fan, now also crying; “you didn't hurt me very
much. I only felt it because--because it was you.”
“I know, Fan, and that's why I can't forgive myself. But I shall never,
never hurt you again, for I know that you are truth itself, and that
I can trust you. And now let us go down and have some supper together
before going to bed. I know you've had nothing since lunch, and I
couldn't touch a morsel, I was so troubled about that wretch of a man. I
think I have been sitting here quite two hours waiting for you to wake.”
Together they went down to the dining-room, where a delicate little
supper, such as Miss Starbrow loved to find on coming home from the
play, was laid out for them. For the first time Fan sat at table with
her mistress; another new experience was the taste of wine. She had a
glass of Sauterne, and thought it very nice.