A HOUSE OF REFUGE
Peggy Ryle was alone in lodgings in Harriet Street, near Covent Garden.
Elfreda Flood had gone on tour, having obtained a part rich in
possibilities, at a salary sufficient for necessities. Under conditions
which lacked both these attractions Horace Harnack had joined the same
company; so that, according to Miles Childwick, the worst was expected.
Considering the paucity of amusement and the multitude of churches in
provincial cities, what else could be looked for from artistic and
impressionable minds? At this time Miles was affecting a tone about
marriage which gave Mrs. John Maturin valuable hints for her new
pessimistic novel.
The lodgings wavered between being downright honest lodgings and setting
up to be a flat--this latter on the strength of being shut off from the
rest of the mansion (the word found authority in the 'To let' notices
outside) by a red-baize door with a bolt that did not act. This frail
barrier passed, you came to Elfreda's room first, then, across the
passage, to the sitting-room, then to Peggy's on the right again. There
were cupboards where cooking was done and the charwoman abode by day,
and where you could throw away what you did not want or thought your
partner could not; mistakes sometimes occurred and had to be atoned for
by the surrender of articles vitally indispensable to the erring party.
Needless to say, the lodgings were just now the scene of boundless
hospitality; it would have been sumptuous also but for the charwoman's
immutable and not altogether unfounded belief that Peggy was ruining
herself. The charwoman always forgot the luxuries; as the guests never
believed in them, no harm was done. Peggy flitted in and out to change
her frock, seldom settling down in her home till twelve or one o'clock
at night. She was in a state of rare contentment, an accretion to the
gaiety that was hers by nature. Somehow perplexities had disappeared;
they used to be rather rife, for she had a vivid imagination, apt to
pick out the attractions of any prospect or any individual, capable of
presenting its owner as enjoying exceeding happiness with any person and
in any station of life, and thus of producing impulses which had
occasionally resulted in the perplexities which were now--somehow--a
matter of the past. The change of mood dated from the day when Peggy had
made her discovery about Airey Newton and given her word of honour to
Tommy Trent; it was nursed in the deepest secrecy, its sole overt effect
being to enable Peggy to receive any amount of attention with frank and
entirely unperturbed gratitude. If she were misunderstood---- But there
must really be an end of the idea that we are bound to regulate our
conduct by the brains of the stupidest man in the room. 'And they have
the fun of it,' Peggy used to reflect, in much charity with herself and
all men.
That night, in Lady Blixworth's conservatory, she had refused the hand
of Mr. Stapleton-Staines (son of that Sir Stapleton who had an estate
bordering on Barslett, and had agreed with Lord Barmouth that you could
not touch pitch without being defiled), and she drove home with hardly a
regret at having thrown away the prospect of being a county gentlewoman.
She was no more than wondering gently if there were any attractions at
all about the life. She had also the feeling of a good evening's work,
not disturbed in the least degree by the expression of Lady Blixworth's
face when she and Mr. Staines parted at the door of the conservatory,
and Mr. Staines took scowling leave of his hostess. She lay back in her
cab, smiling at the world.
On her doorstep sat two gentlemen in opera hats and long brown coats.
They were yawning enormously, and had long ceased any effort at
conversation. They had the street to themselves save for a
draggled-looking woman who wandered aimlessly about on the other side of
the road, a policeman who seemed to have his eye on the woman and on
them alternately, and a wagon laden with vegetables that ground its way
along to the market. Peggy's hansom drove up. The two men jumped
joyfully to their feet and assumed expressions of intense disgust; the
policeman found something new to watch; the draggled woman turned her
head towards the house and stood looking on.
'Punctual as usual!' said Miles Childwick encouragingly. 'Eleven to the
moment!'
The clock of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, struck 12.30.
'Here's the key,' said Peggy helpfully. 'Have you half a crown, Tommy?'
'I have a florin, and it's three-quarters of a mile.'
Peggy looked defiant for a minute; then she gave a funny little laugh.
'All right,' said she.
They went in. The policeman yawned and resumed his stroll; the woman,
after a moment's hesitation, walked slowly round the corner and down
towards the Strand.
Arrived upstairs, Peggy darted at the table; a telegram lay there. She
tore it open.
'They've done it!' she cried exultantly.
'What church?' asked Childwick resignedly.
'I mean they're engaged.'
'When?' inquired Tommy, who was busy with soda-water.
'6.45,' answered Peggy, consulting the stamp on the telegram.
'They might have waited till the hour struck,' remarked Childwick in a
disgusted tone.
'Isn't it splendid?' insisted Peggy.
'You say something proper, Tommy, old boy,' Childwick was ostentatiously
overcome.
'Is it a--an enthusiastic telegram?' asked Tommy, after a drink.
'No. She only says they're the happiest people in the world.'
'If it's no worse than that, we can sit down to supper.' Mr. Childwick
proceeded to do so immediately.
'I ordered lobsters,' said Peggy, as she threw her cloak away and
appeared resplendent in her best white frock.
'The mutton's here all right,' Childwick assured her. 'And there's a
good bit left.'
'What that pair propose to live on----' began Tommy, as he cut the loaf.
'The diet is entirely within the discretion of the Relieving Officer,'
interrupted Childwick.
'I'm so glad she's done it while I've got some money left. Shall I give
her a bracelet or a necklace, or--could I give her a tiara, Tommy?'
'A tiara or two, I should say,' smiled Tommy.
'It's awfully hot!' Peggy rose, pulled up the blind, and flung the
window open. 'Let's drink their health. Hurrah!'
Their shouts made the policeman smile, and caused the woman, who, having
gone down round the west corner, had come up again and turned into the
street from the east, to look up to the lights in the window; then she
leant against the railings opposite and watched the lights. The
policeman, after a moment's consideration, began to walk towards her
very slowly, obviously desiring it to be understood that he was not
thereby committed to any definite action; he would approach a crowd on
the pavement, having some invisible centre of disturbance or interest,
with the same strictly provisional air.
'And how was our friend Lady Blixworth?' asked Tommy.
'She looked tired, and said she'd been taking Audrey Pollington about.
She's the most treacherous accomplice I know.'
'She's like Miles here. Nothing's sacred if a good gibe's possible.'
'Nothing ought to be sacred at which a good gibe--a good one--is
possible,' Childwick maintained.
'Oh, I only meant something smart,' explained Tommy contemptuously.
'Then don't deviate into careless compliment. It causes unnecessary
conversation, and the mutton is far from bad, though not far from being
finished.'
'If only the lobsters----' began Peggy plaintively.
'I do not believe in the lobsters,' said Childwick firmly.
'Then she asked me after Trix Trevalla---- Why, there's a knock!'
It was true. The policeman had at last approached the woman with a step
that spoke of a formed decision. To his surprise she suddenly exclaimed
in an impatient voice, 'Oh, well, if they're going to stay all night, I
can't wait,' and crossed the road. He followed her to the doorstep.
'This isn't where you live,' he said, as though kindness suggested the
information.
'No, it isn't,' she agreed.
'Come now, where do you live?'
'I don't know,' she answered, seeming puzzled and tired. 'My flat's let,
you see.'
'Oh, is it?' Sarcasm became predominant in the policeman's voice. 'Taken
it for the Maharajeer of Kopang, have they?' A prince bearing that title
was a visitor to London at this time, and was creating considerable
interest.
'Nonsense!' said she with asperity, and she knocked, adding, 'I know the
lady who lives up there.'
'There's a woman on the doorstep--and a policeman!' cried Peggy to her
companions; she had run to the window and put her head out.
'Now, Tommy, which has come for you and which for me?' asked Childwick.
'Stay where you are,' said Peggy. 'I'll go down and see.'
In spite of Tommy's protests--Childwick made none--she insisted on going
alone. The fact is that she had two or three friends who were
habitually in very low water; it was just possible that this might be
one who was stranded altogether.
The men waited; they heard voices below, they heard the hall-door shut,
there were steps on the stairs, the red-baize door swung on its hinges.
'She's brought her up,' said Childwick. 'Where are our hats, Tommy?'
'Wait a bit, we may be wanted,' suggested Tommy.
'That's why I proposed to go,' murmured Childwick.
'Rot, old fellow,' was Tommy's reception of this affected discretion. He
went to the window and craned his neck out. 'The policeman's gone,' he
announced with some relief. 'That's all right anyhow!'
'All right? Our only protection gone! Mark you, Tommy, we're in luck if
we don't have our pictures in a philanthropic publication over this.'
'Where have they gone? Into one of the bedrooms, I suppose.'
The door opened and Peggy ran in. Her eyes were wide with astonishment;
excitement was evident in her manner; there was a stain of mud on the
skirt of her best white frock.
'The whisky!' she gasped, clutched it, and fled out again.
'Now we know the worst,' said Miles, turning his empty glass upside
down.
'Don't be a fool, Miles,' suggested Tommy, a little impatiently.
'I'll stop as soon as there's anything else to do,' retorted Miles
tranquilly.
Peggy reappeared with the whisky. She set it down on the table and spoke
to them.
'I want you both to go now and to say nothing.'
They glanced at one another and turned to their coats. In unbroken
silence they put them on, took their hats, and held out their hands to
Peggy. She began to laugh; there were tears in her eyes.
'You may say good-night,' she told them.
'Good-night, Peggy.'
'Good-night, Peggy.'
'Good-night--and I should like to kiss you both,' said Peggy Ryle.
'You're not to say anybody came, you know.'
They nodded, and went into the passage.
'I shall come and see you soon,' Peggy told Tommy Trent, as she shut the
baize door behind them. Then she turned into Elfreda's room. 'Come and
have some supper now,' she said.
Trix Trevalla caught her by the hands and kissed her. 'You look so
pretty and so happy, dear,' she sighed; 'and I'm such a guy!'
The term hardly described her pale strained face, feverishly bright
eyes, and the tangle of brown hair which hung in disorderly masses round
her brow. She had thrown off her wet jacket and skirt, and put on a
tea-gown of Elfreda Flood's; her feet were in the same lady's
second-best slippers. Peggy led her into the sitting-room and made her
eat.
'I didn't tell them who you were. And anyhow they wouldn't say
anything,' she assured the wanderer.
'Well, who am I?' asked Trix. 'I hardly know. I know who I was before
dinner, but who am I now?'
'Tell me about it.'
'I can't. I ran away. I think I knocked Lord Barmouth down. Then I ran
to the station--I knew there was a train. Just by chance I put on the
skirt that had my purse in it, or---- No, I'd never have gone back. And
I got to London. I went to my flat. At the door I remembered it was let.
Then--then, Peggy, I went to Danes Inn.' She looked up at Peggy with a
puzzled glance, as though asking why she had gone to Danes Inn. 'But he
was out--at least there was no answer--and the porter had followed me
and was waiting at the foot of the stairs. So I came down. I told him I
was Airey Newton's sister, but he didn't believe me.' She broke into a
weak laugh. 'So I came here, and waited till you came. But those men
were here, so I waited till--till I couldn't wait any longer.' She lay
back exhausted in her chair. 'May I stay to-night?' she asked.
'It's so lucky Elfreda's away. There's a whole room for you!' said
Peggy. She got a low chair and sat down by Trix. But Trix sprang
suddenly to her feet in a new spasm of nervous excitement that made her
weariness forgotten. Peggy watched her, a little afraid, half-sorry that
she had not bidden Tommy Trent to wait outside the baize door.
'Oh, that time at Barslett!' cried Trix Trevalla, flinging out her
hands. 'The torture of it! And I told them all lies, nothing but lies!
They were turning me into one great lie. I told lies to the man I was
going to marry--this very night I told him a lie. And I didn't dare to
confess. So I ran away. I ran for my life--literally for my life, I
think.'
This sort of thing was quite new to Peggy, as new to her as to the
Barmouths, though in a different way.
'Weren't they kind to you?' she asked wonderingly. It was strange that
this was the woman who had made the great triumph, whom all the other
women were envying.
Trix took no notice of her simple question.
'I'm beaten,' she said. 'It's all too hard for me. I thought I could do
it--I can't!' She turned on Peggy almost fiercely. 'I've myself to thank
for it. There's hardly anybody I haven't treated badly; there's been
nobody I really cared about. Beaufort Chance, Mrs. Bonfill, the
Frickers--yes, Mortimer too--they were all to do something for me. Look
what they've done! Look where I am now!'
She threw herself into a chair, and sat there silent for a minute. Peggy
rose quietly, shut the window, and drew the curtains.
'They all believed in me in their way,' Trix went on, more quietly, more
drearily. 'They thought I should do my part of the bargain, that I
should play fair. The bargains weren't a good sort, and I didn't even
play fair. So here I am!'
Her desolation struck Peggy to the heart, but it seemed too vast for
any demonstration of affection or efforts at consolation; Trix would not
want to be kissed while she was dissecting her own soul.
'That's what Fricker meant by the letter he wrote me. He's a swindler.
So was I. He didn't swindle me till I swindled him. I lied to him just
as I lied to Mortimer--just in the same way.'
'Do go to bed, dear. You'll be able to tell me better to-morrow.'
'I know now,' Trix went on, holding her head between her hands, 'I know
now why I went to Danes Inn. I remember now. It came into my head in the
train--as I stared at an old man who thought I was mad. It was because
he made me think I could do all that, and treat people and the world
like that.'
'Airey did?'
'Perhaps he didn't mean to, but it sounded like that to me. I had had
such a life of it; nobody had ever given me a chance. He seemed to tell
me to have my chance, to take my turn. So I did. I didn't care about any
of them. I was having my turn, that's all. It's very horrible, very
horrible. And after it all here I am! But that's why I went to Danes
Inn.' She broke off and burst into a feeble laugh. 'You should have seen
Lord Barmouth, with his shawl and his lantern and his spud! I believe I
knocked him down.' She sprang up again and listened to the clock that
struck two. 'I wonder what Mortimer is doing!' She stood stock-still, a
terror on her face. 'Will they come after me?'
'They won't think of coming here,' Peggy assured her soothingly.
'It's all over now, you know, absolutely,' said Trix. 'But I daren't
face them. I daren't see any of them. I should like never to see
anything of them again. They're things to forget. Oh, my life seems to
have been nothing but things to forget! And to-night I remember them
all, so clearly, every bit of them. I wanted something different, and
it's turned out just the same.' She came quickly up to Peggy and
implored her, 'Will you hide me here for a little while?'
'As long as you like. Nobody will come here.' The contrast between the
gay, confident, high-couraged Trix Trevalla she had known and this
broken creature seemed terrible to Peggy.
'I came here because----' A sort of puzzle fell upon her again.
'Of course you did. We're friends,' said Peggy, and now she kissed her.
All that Trix was saying might be dark and strange, but her coming was
natural enough in Peggy's eyes.
'Yes, that's why I came,' cried Trix, eagerly snatching at the word.
'Because we're friends! You're friends, you and all of you. You're not
trying to get anything, you'd give anything--you, and Mr. Trent, and
Airey Newton.'
Airey's name gave Peggy a little pang. She said nothing, but her smile
was sad.
'And at Barslett I thought of you all--most of you yourself. Somehow you
seemed to me the only pleasant thing there was in the world; and I was
so far--so far away from you.' She lowered her voice suddenly to a
cautious whisper. 'I must tell you something, but promise me to repeat
it to nobody. Promise me!'
'Of course I promise,' said Peggy readily.
'I think I'm ruined,' whispered Trix. 'I think Fricker has ruined me.
That's what I didn't dare tell Mortimer. I had a letter from Fricker,
but I've lost it, I think, or left it somewhere. Or did I tear it up? As
far as I could understand it, it looked as if he'd ruined me. When I've
paid all I have to pay I think I shall have hardly any money at all,
Peggy. You promise not to tell?'
Peggy was more in her element now; her smile grew much brighter.
'Yes, I promise, and you needn't bother about that. It doesn't matter a
bit. And, besides, I've got lots of money. Airey's got a heap of money
of mine.'
'Airey Newton?' She stood silent a moment, frowning, as though she were
thinking of him or of what his name brought into her mind. But in the
end she only said again, 'Yes, I think I must be ruined too.'
It was evident that Peggy could comfort her on that score hardly more
than with regard to the troubles that were strange and mysterious.
Indeed Peggy was almost at her limit of endurance.
'If you're miserable any longer, and don't go quietly to bed, I think I
shall begin to cry and never stop,' she declared in serious warning.
'Have I said a great deal?' asked Trix wearily. 'I'm sorry; I had to say
it to someone. It was burning me up inside, you know.'
'You will come to bed?' Peggy entreated.
'Yes, I'll come to bed. I've got nothing, you know. I must have left
everything there.'
This problem again was familiar; Peggy assured her that there would be
no trouble. A rather hysterical smile came on Trix's lips.
'They'll find all my things in the morning,' she said. 'And Lord
Barmouth will tell them how I knocked him down! And Mrs. Bonfill! And
Lady Barmouth!'
'It would be rather fun to be there,' suggested Peggy, readily advancing
to the brink of mirth.
'And Mortimer!'
Peggy looked at her curiously and risked the question:--
'Did you care at all for him?'
'I can't care for anybody--anybody,' moaned Trix despairingly. She
stretched out her arms. 'Can you teach me, Peggy?'
'You poor old dear, come to bed,' said Peggy.
Peggy herself was not much for bed that night. After she had seen Trix
between the sheets, and dropping off to sleep in exhaustion, she put on
a dressing-gown and came back to her favourite chair. Here she sat
herself Turk-wise, and abandoned the remaining hour of darkness to
reflection and cigarettes. She was to become, it seemed, a spectator of
odd things, a repository of secrets; she was to behold strange scenes in
the world's comedy. It was by no seeking of hers; she had but gone about
enjoying herself, and all this came to her; she did but give of her
abundance of happiness, and they brought to her trouble in exchange. Was
that too the way of the world? Peggy did not complain. No consciousness
marred her beneficence; she never supposed that she was doing or could
do good. And it was all interesting. She pictured Barslett in its
consternation, and a delighted triumph rose in her; she would fight
Barslett, if need be, for Trix Trevalla. For the present it was enough
to laugh at abandoned Barslett, and she paid it that tribute heartily.
Yes, there were her secrets, both guarded by pledges of honour! Trix was
ruined, and Airey Newton was--what he must be declared to be. The
thought of the two made connection in her mind. Trix had given her the
link that held them together; if what Trix had told were true, Airey
Newton had much to say to this night's episode, to all that had happened
at Barslett and before, to the ruin and despair.
'All that sounds rather absurd,' murmured Peggy critically, 'but I'm
beginning to think that that's no reason against things being true.'
Because things all round were rather absurd--Elfreda and Horace Harnack
there at Norwich, Airey Newton hugging gold, Barslett aghast, Mortimer
Mervyn forsaken, brilliant Trix beaten, battered, ruined, a fugitive
seeking a house of refuge--and seeking it with her. Was there no thread
to this labyrinth? Peggy might have the clue in her heart; she had it
not in her head.
Dawn peeped through the curtains, and she tore the hanging folds away
that she might greet its coming and welcome the beauty of it. As she
stood looking, her old confident faith that joy cometh in the morning
rose in her. Presently she turned away with a merry laugh, and,
shrugging her shoulders at Nature's grandmotherly ways, at last drove
herself to bed at hard on five o'clock. There was no sound from Trix
Trevalla's room when she listened on the way.
Her night was short; eight o'clock found her in the market, buying
flowers, flowers, flowers; the room was to be a garden for Trix to-day,
and money flew thousand-winged from Peggy's purse. She had just dealt
forth her last half-sovereign when she turned to find Tommy Trent at her
elbow; he too was laden with roses.
'Oh!' exclaimed Peggy, rather startled, and blushing a little, looking
down, too, at her unceremonious morning attire.
'Ah!' said Tommy, pointing at her flowers and shaking his head.
'Well, you've got some too.'
'I was going to leave them for you--just in acknowledgment of the
lobsters. What have you bought those for?'
'They're for her,' said Peggy. 'I shall like to have yours for myself.'
'Nobody ever needed them less, but I'll bring them round,' said he.
They walked together to her door. Then Tommy said:--
'Well, you can tell me?'
'I can tell you part of it--not all,' said Peggy.
'Who is she, then?'
'Nobody else is to know.' She whispered to him: 'Trix Trevalla!'
Tommy considered a moment. Then he remarked:--
'You'll probably find that you've got to send for me.'
Peggy raised her brows and looked at him derisively. He returned her
gaze placidly, with a pleasant smile. Peggy laughed gently.
'If Mrs. Trevalla is so foolish, I don't mind,' she said.
Tommy strolled off very happy. 'The thing moves, I think,' he mused as
he went his way. For the more love she had for others, the more and the
better might she some day give to him. It is a treasure that grows by
spending: such was his reflection, and it seems but fair to record it,
since so many instances of a different trend of thought have been
exhibited.