THE WOMAN ON THE PAVEMENT
Mr Stacey was a tall, portly gentleman, quite an accepted type of
family lawyer. He was white-headed and inclined to be red-faced. He
carried a pair of nose glasses, which were as often between his fingers
as on his nose. His manner was urbane, with a tendency towards
pomposity; and when he smiled, which was often, he showed a set of
teeth which were as white and regular as the dentist could make them.
He was followed into the room by Mr Gardner; and when the apartment
contained three persons it was filled to overflowing.
"Miss Arnott, my excellent friend, Mr Gardner here, has brought me
most important news--most important. He actually tells me that you
are--eh--the Miss Arnott for whom we have been so long in search."
"I am Miss Arnott. I am not aware, however, that anyone has searched
for me. I don't know why they should."
Mr Gardner, who had been showing a vivid consciousness of scanty space,
proffered a suggestion.
"If I might make so bold, sir, as to ask Miss Arnott to honour me by
stepping down to my poor parlour, we should, at least, have a little
more room to move."
"Mrs Sayers has already made me a similar proposal. I declined it, as I
decline yours. What you wish to say to me you will be so good as to say
to me here. This room, such as it is, is at anyrate my own--for the
present."
"For the present; quite so!--quite so! A fine spirit of independence--a
fine spirit. I think, Miss Arnott, that before long you will have other
rooms of your own, where you will be able to be independent in another
sense. I understand that you claim to be the only surviving relative of
Septimus Arnott, of Exham Park, Hampshire."
"You understand quite wrongly; I claim nothing. I merely say that I am
the only child of Sextus Arnott, and that I had an uncle whose name was
Septimus. When they were young men my father and his brother were both
artists. But, after a time, Uncle Septimus came to the conclusion that
there was not much money to be made out of painting. He wanted my
father to give it up. My father, who loved painting better than
anything else in the world"--the words were uttered with more than a
shade of bitterness--"wouldn't. They quarrelled and parted. My father
never saw his brother again, and I have never seen him at all."
"You don't know, then, that he is dead?"
"I know nothing except what my father has told me. He remained what he
called 'true to his art' to the end of his life, and never forgave his
brother for turning his back on it."
"Pardon my putting to you a somewhat delicate question. Did your father
make much money by his painting?"
"Much money!" The girl's lip curled. "When he died there was just
enough left to keep my mother till she died."
"And then?"
"I came to London in search of fortune."
"And found it?"
"Do I look as if I had--in this attic, which contains all that I have
in the world? No; fortune does not come to such as I am. I should be
tolerably content if I were sure of daily bread. But why do you ask
such questions? Why do you pry into my private affairs? I am not
conscious of a desire to thrust them on your notice--or on anyone's."
"Miss Arnott, I beg that you will not suppose that I am actuated by
common curiosity. Let me explain the situation in half-a-dozen words.
Your Uncle Septimus, after he left your father, went to South America.
There, after divers adventures, he went in for cattle breeding. In that
pursuit he amassed one of those large fortunes which are characteristic
of modern times. Eventually he came to England, bought a property,
settled himself on it, and there died. We acted as his legal advisers.
He left his whole property to his brother Sextus; or, in the event of
his brother predeceasing him, to his brother's children. You must
understand that he himself lived and died a bachelor. His own death
occurred three years ago."
"My father also died three years ago--on the 18th of March."
"This is very remarkable, Miss Arnott; they must have died on the same
day!"
"My father died at five minutes to six in the evening. His last words
were, 'Well, Septimus.' My mother and I, who were at his bedside,
wondered why he had said it--which he did so plainly that we both
turned round to see if anyone had come into the room. Until then he had
not mentioned his brother's name for a long time."
"Miss Arnott, this is more and more remarkable; quite apart from any
legal proof there can be no sort of doubt that you are the person
we are seeking. It happened that I was present at your uncle's
deathbed--partly as a friend and partly as his professional adviser. For
I should tell you that he was a very lonely man. He seemed to have no
friends, and was chary of making acquaintances; in that great house he
lived the life of a lonely recluse. He died just as the clock was
striking six; and just before he died he sat up in bed, held out his
hand, and exclaimed in quite his old, hearty voice, 'Hullo, Sextus.'
No one there knew to what the reference was made; but from what you say
it would almost appear as if their spirits were already meeting." Mr
Stacey blew his nose as if all at once conscious that they were touching
a subject which was not strictly professional. "Before entering further
into matters, I presume that--merely for form's sake--you are in a
position to prove, Miss Arnott, that you are you."
"Certainly, I can do that, to some extent, at once." She took an
envelope from a shabby old handbag; from the envelope some papers.
"This is my mother's marriage certificate; this is the certificate of
my own birth; this--" the paper of which she had taken hold chanced to
be a copy of the document which certified that a marriage had taken
place between Robert Champion, bachelor, and Violet Arnott, spinster.
For the moment she had forgotten its existence. When she recognised
what it was her heart seemed to sink in her bosom; her voice trembled;
it was only with an effort that she was able to keep herself from
handing it to the man of law in front of her. "No," she stammered,
"that's the wrong paper." Just in time she drew it back. If he had only
had one glance at it the whole course of her life would have been
different. She went on, with as complete a show of calmness as she was
capable of, "This is the paper I meant to give you--it is a copy of the
certificate of my father's death; and this is a copy of my mother's.
They are both buried in the same grave in the cemetery at Scarsdale."
He took the papers she passed to him, seemingly unconscious that there
was anything curious in her manner. That other paper, crumpling it up,
she slipped between the buttons of her bodice. He looked through the
documents she had given him.
"They appear to be perfectly in order--perfectly in order, and I have
no doubt that on investigation they will be ascertained to be. By the
way, Miss Arnott, I notice that you were born just one-and-twenty years
ago."
"Yes; my twenty-first birthday was on the 9th of last month--five weeks
ago."
She did not think it necessary to mention that the memory of it would
be with her for ever, since it had been celebrated by the arrest of her
husband.
"Five weeks ago? A pity that it couldn't have been next month instead
of last; then the date of your coming of age might have been made a
great occasion. However, it shall still be to you a memorable year. You
will, of course, understand that there are certain forms which must be
gone through; but I don't think I am premature in expressing to you my
personal conviction that you are the person who is intended to benefit
under the will of the late Mr Septimus Arnott. Your uncle was one of
our multi-millionaires. I cannot, at this moment, state the exact value
of his estate; but this I can inform you--that your income will be
considerably over one hundred thousand pounds a year."
"One hundred thousand pounds a year!" She gripped, with her right hand,
the back of the room's one chair. "Do you mean it?"
"Beyond the shadow of a doubt. I am free to admit that I am fond of a
jest; but a fortune of that magnitude is not a fit subject for a joke.
Believe me, you will find it a serious matter when you come to be
directly responsible for its administration."
"It seems a large sum of money."
He observed her a little curiously; she showed so few signs of emotion,
none of elation. In her position, at her age, on receipt of such news,
one would have looked for her cheeks to flush, for her lips to be
parted by a smile, for a new brightness to come into her eyes--for
these things at least. So far as he was able to perceive, not the
slightest change took place in her bearing, her manner, her appearance;
except that perhaps she became a little paler. The communication he had
just made might have been of interest to a third party, but of none to
her, so striking was the suggestion of indifference which her demeanour
conveyed.
He decided that the explanation was that as yet she was incapable of
realising her own good fortune.
"Seems a large sum? It is a large sum! How large I lack words to enable
you to clearly comprehend. When we talk of millions we speak of figures
anything like the full meaning of which the ordinary imagination is
altogether incapable to grasp. I think, Miss Arnott, that some time
will probably elapse vast is the responsibility which is about to be
placed upon you. In the meantime I would make two remarks--first, that
until matters are placed in regular order I shall be happy to place at
your disposition any amount of ready cash you may require; and second,
that until everything is arranged, Mrs Stacey and myself will be only
too glad to extend to you our hospitality at Pembridge Gardens."
"I think, if you don't mind, I should like to remain here at anyrate
to-night. I shall have a great many things to consider; I should prefer
to do so alone. If you wish it I will call on you in the morning at
your offices, and then we will go into everything more fully."
"Very good. As you choose, Miss Arnott. It is for you to command, for
me to obey. You are your own mistress in a sense, and to a degree which
I fancy you don't at present understand. I took the precaution to
provide myself, before leaving home, with a certain amount of ready
money. Permit me to place at your service this hundred pounds; you will
find that there are twenty five-pound notes. I need scarcely add that
the money is your own property. Now as to to-morrow. We have had so
much difficulty in finding you, and it is by such a seeming miracle
that we have lighted on you at last, that I am reluctant to lose sight
of you even for a single night--until, that is, everything is in due
order, and you have happily released us from the great weight of
responsibility which has lain so long upon us. May I take it that we
shall certainly see you to-morrow at our offices at noon?"
"Yes; I will be with you to-morrow at noon." It was on that
understanding they parted. Before he left the house Mr Stacey said to
his clerk,--
"Gardner, that's a singular young woman. So young, so beautiful, and
yet so cold, so frigid, so--stolid. She didn't even thank me for
bringing her the good news, neither by a word nor look did she so much
as hint that the news had gratified her; indeed, I am not at all sure
that she thinks it is good news. In one so young, so charming--because,
so far as looks are concerned, she is charming, and she will be
particularly so when she is well dressed--it isn't natural, Gardner, it
isn't natural."
In the top floor back the girl was contemplating the twenty five-pound
notes. She had never before been the owner of so much money, or
anything like so much. Had she been the possessor of such a fortune
when she came to town she might never have become a "model" in the
costume department of the world-famed Messrs Glover & Silk, she might
never have made the acquaintance of Robert Champion, she would
certainly never have become his wife. The glamour which had seemed to
surround him had been the result of the circumstances in which she had
first encountered him. Had her own position not been such a pitiable
one she would never have been duped by him, by his impudent assurance,
his brazen lies, his reckless promises. She had seen that clearly, long
ago.
A hundred pounds! Why, the fraud for which, at that moment, he was in
gaol had had for its objective a sum of less than twenty pounds. She
writhed as she thought of it. Was he already in prisoner's clothes,
marked with the broad arrow? Was he thinking of her in his felon's
cell? She tried to put the vision from her, as one too horrible for
contemplation. Would it persistently recur to her, in season and out,
her whole life long? God forbid! Rather than that, better death,
despite her uncle's fortune.
In any case she could at least afford to treat herself to a sufficient
meal. She went to a quiet restaurant in Oxford Street, and there fared
sumptuously--that is, sumptuously in comparison to the fashion in which
she had fared this many and many a day. Afterwards, she strolled along
the now lamp-lit street. As she went she met a girl of about her own
age who was decked out in tawdry splendours. They had nearly passed
before they knew each other. Then recognition came. The other girl
stopped and turned.
"Why, Vi!" she exclaimed. "Who'd have dreamt of seeing you?"
The girl addressed did not attempt to return the greeting. She did not
even acknowledge it. Instead she rushed off the pavement into a
"crawling" hansom, saying to the driver as she entered his vehicle,--
"Drive me to the city--anywhere; only be quick and get away from here!"
When she concluded that she was well out of that other girl's sight she
instructed the man to drive her to Percy Street. At the corner of the
street she alighted. Once more in her attic she did as she had done on
her previous return to it--she sank down on to the side of the bed,
trembling from head to foot.
The woman who had spoken to her in Oxford Street was Sarah Stevens, who
had been a fellow employee at Messrs Glover & Silk's. It was she who
had introduced her to Robert Champion. It was largely owing to the
tales she had told of him, and to her eager advocacy of his suit, that
she had been jockeyed into becoming his wife. It was only afterwards,
when it was too late, that she had learnt that the girl was as bad
as--if not worse than--the man to whom she had betrayed her. From the
beginning the pair had been co-conspirators; Violet Arnott had been
their victim.
Was she to be haunted always by the fear of such encounters? Rather
than run that risk she would never again set foot in London. Certainly,
the sooner she was out of it the better.