Now and then, when I ventured out into the streets, a panic would seize
me, a dread unutterably great, that I might meet my husband amid the
crowd. I did not even know that he was in London; he had always spoken
of it as a place he detested. His habits made the free, unconventional
life upon the Continent more agreeable to him. How he was living now,
what he was doing, where he was, were so many enigmas to me; and I did
not care to run any risk in finding out the answers to them. Twice I
passed the Bank of Australia, where very probably. I could have learned
if he was in the same city as myself; but I dared not do it, and as soon
as I knew how to avoid that street, I never passed along it.
I had been allowed to leave my address with the clerk of a large general
agency in the city, when I had not been permitted to enter my name in
the books for want of a reference. Toward the close of October I
received a note from him, desiring me to call at the office at two
o'clock the following afternoon, without fail.
No danger of my failing to keep such an appointment! I felt in better
spirits that night than I had done since I had been driven from Sark.
There was an opening for me, a chance of finding employment, and I
resolved beforehand to take it, whatever it might be.
It was an agency for almost every branch of employment not actually
menial, from curates to lady's-maids, and the place of business was a
large one. There were two entrances, and two distinct compartments, at
the opposite ends of the building; but a broad, long counter ran the
whole length of it, and a person at one end could see the applicants at
the other as they stood by the counter. The compartment into which I
entered was filled with a crowd of women, waiting their turn to transact
their business. Behind the counter were two or three private boxes, in
which employers might see the candidates, and question them on the spot.
A lady was at that moment examining a governess, in a loud, imperious
voice which we could all hear distinctly. My heart sank at the idea of
passing through such a cross-examination as to my age, my personal
history, my friends, and a number of particulars foreign to the question
of whether I was fit for the work I offered myself for.
At last I heard the imperious voice say, "You may go. I do not think you
will suit me," and a girl of about my own age came away from the
interview, pale and trembling, and with tears stealing down her cheeks.
A second girl was summoned to go through the same ordeal.
What was I to do if this person, unseen in her chamber of torture, was
the lady I had been summoned to meet?
It was a miserable sight, this crowd of poor women seeking work, and my
spirits sank like lead. A set of mournful, depressed, broken-down women!
There was not one I would have chosen to be a governess for my girls.
Those who were not dispirited were vulgar and self-asserting; a class
that wished to rise above the position they were fitted for by becoming
teachers. These were laughing loudly among themselves at the
cross-questioning going on so calmly within their hearing. I shrank away
into a corner, until my turn to speak to the busy clerk should come.
I had a long time to wart. The office clock pointed to half-past three
before I caught the clerk's eye, and saw him beckon me up to the
counter. I had thrown back my veil, for here I was perfectly safe from
recognition. At the other end of the counter, in the compartment devoted
to curates, doctors' assistants, and others, there stood a young man in
earnest consultation with another clerk. He looked earnestly at me, but
I was sure he could not know me.
"Miss Ellen Martineau?" said the clerk. That was my mother's name, and I
had adopted it for my own, feeling as if I had some right to it.
"Yes," I answered.
"Would you object to go into a French school as governess?" he inquired.
"Not in the least," I said, eagerly.
"And pay a small premium?" he added. "How much?" I asked, my spirits
falling again.
"A mere trifle," he said; "about ten pounds or so for twelve months. You
would perfect yourself in French, you know; and you would gain a referee
for the future."
"I must think about it," I replied.
"Well, there is the address of a lady who can give you all the
particulars," he said, handing me a written paper.
I left the office heavy-hearted. Ten pounds would be more than the half
of the little store left to me. Yet, would it not be wiser to secure a
refuge and shelter for twelve months than run the risk of hearing of
some other situation? I walked slowly along the street toward the busier
thoroughfares, with my head bent down and my mind busy, when suddenly a
heavy hand was laid upon my arm, grasping it with crushing force, and a
harsh, thick voice shouted triumphantly in my ear:
"The devil! I've caught you at last!"
It was like the bitterness of death, that chill and terror sweeping over
me. My husband's hot breath was upon my cheek, and his eyes were looking
closely into mine. But before I could speak his grasp was torn away from
me, and he was sent whirling into the middle of the road. I turned,
almost in equal terror, to see who had thrust himself between us. It was
the stranger whom I had seen in the agency-office. But his face was now
dark with passion, and as my husband staggered back again toward us, his
hand was ready to thrust him away a second time.
"She's my wife," he stammered, trying to get past the stranger to me. By
this time a knot of spectators had formed about us, and a policeman had
come up. The stranger drew my arm through his, and faced them defiantly.
"He's a drunken vagabond!" he said; "he has just come out of those
spirit-vaults. This young lady is no more his wife than she is mine, and
I know no more of her than that she has just come away from Ridley's
office, where she has been looking after a situation. Good Heavens!
cannot a lady walk through the streets of London without being insulted
by a drunken scoundrel like that"?"
"Will you give him in charge, sir?" asked the policeman, while Richard
Foster was making vain efforts to speak coherently, and explain his
claim upon me. I clung to the friendly arm that had come to my aid, sick
and almost speechless with fear.
"Shall I give him in charge?" he asked me.
"I have only just heard of a situation," I whispered, unable to speak
aloud.
"And you are afraid of losing it?" he said; "I understand.--Take the
fellow away, policeman, and lock him up if you can for being drunk and
disorderly in the streets; but the lady won't give him in charge. I've a
good mind to make him go down on his knees and beg her pardon."
"Do, do!" said two or three voices in the crowd.
"Don't," I whispered again, "oh! take me away quickly."
He cleared a passage for us both with a vigor and decision that there
was no resisting. I glanced back for an instant, and saw my husband
struggling with the policeman, the centre of the knot of bystanders from
which I was escaping. He looked utterly unlike a gay, prosperous,
wealthy man, with a well-filled purse, such as he had used to appear. He
was shabby and poor enough now for the policeman to be very hard upon
him, and to prevent him from following me. The stranger kept my hand
firmly on his arm, and almost carried me into Fleet Street, where, in a
minute or two we were quite lost in the throng, and I was safe from all
pursuit.
"You are not fit to go on," he said, kindly; "come out of the noise a
little."
He led me down a covered passage between two shops, into a quiet cluster
of squares and gardens, where only a subdued murmur of the uproar of the
streets reached us. There were a sufficient number of passers-by to
prevent it seeming lonely, but we could hear our own voices, and those
of others, even in whispers.
"This is the Temple," he said, smiling, "a fit place for a sanctuary."
"I do not know how to thank you," I answered falteringly.
"You are trembling still!" he replied; "how lucky it was that I
followed you directly out of Ridley's! If I ever come across that
scoundrel again, I shall know him, you may be sure. I wish we were a
little nearer home, you should go in to rest; but our house is in Brook
Street, and we have no women-kind belonging to us. My name is John
Senior. Perhaps you have heard of my father, Dr. Senior, of Brook
Street?"
"No." I replied, "I know nobody in London."
"That's bad," he said. "I wish I was Jane Senior instead of John Senior;
I do indeed. Do you feel better now, Miss Martineau?"
"How do you know my name?" I asked.
"The clerk at Ridley's called you Miss Ellen Martineau," he answered.
"My hearing is very good, and I was not deeply engrossed in my business.
I heard and saw a good deal while I was there, and I am very glad I
heard and saw you. Do you feel well enough now for me to see you home?"
"Oh! I cannot let you see me home," I said, hurriedly.
"I will do just what you like best." he replied. "I have no more right
to annoy you than that drunken vagabond had. If I did, I should be more
blamable than he was. Tell me what I shall do for you then. Shall I call
a cab?"
I hesitated, for my funds were low, and would be almost spent by the
time I had paid the premium of ten pounds, and my travelling expenses;
yet I dared not trust myself either in the streets or in an omnibus. I
saw my new friend regard me keenly; my dress, so worn and faded, and my
old-fashioned bonnet. A smile flickered across his face. He led me back
into Fleet Street, and called an empty cab that was passing by. We shook
hands warmly. There was no time for loitering; and I told him the name
of the suburb where I was living, and he repeated it to the cabman.
"All right," he said, speaking through the window, "the fare is paid,
and I've taken cabby's number. If he tries to cheat you, let me know;
Dr. John Senior, Brook Street. I hope that situation will be a good one,
and very pleasant. Good-by."
"Good-by," I cried, leaning forward and looking at his face till the
crowd came between us, and I lost sight of it. It was a handsomer face
than Dr. Martin Dobrée's, and had something of the same genial,
vivacious light about it. I knew it well afterward, but I had not
leisure to think much of it then.