THE REALITY OF THINGS
Towards the morning Isla fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep, from which
she did not awake till half-past ten o'clock.
A sense of confusion and dismay swept over her when she realized how
late it was, until she remembered that, in her scheme of things, time
just then was of no consequence.
Certainly she had things to do, but the hour of their doing mattered to
no man or woman. She was alone, she was free, this day and other days
were in front of her to do with what she willed.
She sprang up, rang for hot water, and, pulling up the blind a little
way, looked out upon streets bathed in a flood of glorious autumn
sunshine. Somehow, it comforted her that London did not weep at her
coming. It seemed an augury of good will. She had not known how
physically tired she was until she had stretched herself on her bed.
And now, her strength fully restored by sleep, her spirit became less
craven.
She was still joyous over her escape. Things might happen in the Glen
and she would never know. She, whose interest in the smallest event
there had ever been of the warm and proprietary kind, had by one drastic
step cut herself off from her old life. And for the moment she had room
for little else in her mind but a sense of lively relief that she had
gotten clean away.
As she dressed leisurely she reviewed the events of yesterday, among
which the meeting and conversation with Joe Bisley's widow stood out in
odd relief.
Isla was not without a latent sense of humour. In happier circumstances
she could have extracted a great deal of amusement from the passing show
of life, and she was able to smile at the situation of yesterday. It
had been Gilbertian to the last degree, and might have been culled from
the pages of the latest comic opera.
What surprised her most was that she had no feeling of indignation or
resentment against this woman who had stepped from the unknown into the
Mackinnon scheme of things. Nay, she felt kindly towards her--she felt
that somewhere, deep down in that undisciplined nature, there was gold.
It was not the woman's fault that she had been born in another sphere,
that she was so far from comprehending Isla's own points of view.
She had other qualities which are common to the whole of humanity--good
feeling, honesty, kind-heartedness, and sympathy. Isla was womanly
enough and just enough to concede the possession of all these to
Winifred Bisley. Her own innate goodness convinced her that this woman
was not, and could not be, wholly bad. And no doubt--and here her
thoughts again became tinged with bitterness--in this case also Malcolm
had been to blame.
She preferred to leave the unfinished story, however, to try to banish
from her mind the problem of the loose threads which wanted weaving
together. As for the day of unravelling, that was hid in the womb of
time, but from past experience Isla had no doubt that that day would
surely come.
In her mind's eye this morning Glenogle was shadowy, and even her
passionate championship of Vivien Rosmead seemed to suffer some chill.
She was concerned altogether with herself. And perhaps just then that
was no bad thing for Isla Mackinnon, seeing that she had arrogated to
herself so long the role of general burden-bearer to the community.
She felt fit and strong and hopeful as she belted her trim waist and
fastened the Mackinnon badge into her black tie and set her hat firmly
on her pretty hair. The memory of the nodding plumes and the moonstone
hat-pins evoked a smile as she turned away from the mirror.
With that smile still lingering on her lips she went forth to conquer
London!
She was the very last arrival in the breakfast-room, and she apologized
for her lateness.
"I was very tired after my long journey," she said to the head waiter.
"If it is too late for breakfast I must take something else.
"Too late, madam! It is never too late here for anything," he said
magnificently as he directed her gallantly to a small table set
comfortably near to the cheerful fire, and placed the menu card before
her.
When Isla had made her choice one of the satellites was instructed to
fulfil her order with dispatch, and the head waiter stood near in case
that the charming lady should desire further speech with him.
"No, I don't think I shall require my room another night," she answered,
when he ventured on a polite inquiry. "I have had to come up rather
unexpectedly, and, immediately after breakfast, I shall go out and see
the friend with whom I expect to stay while I am in London. I may leave
my things here, I suppose?"
"Certainly, madam. The room's yours until the evening."
"Thank you. Have you been having good weather in London? It is lovely
this morning. And please, can you tell me the best way to get from here
to the Edgeware Road?"
"Underground, madam, from King's Cross. It will take you in about ten
minutes."
Isla thanked him again, and when he laid the morning paper before her
she felt that a hotel could be a very comfortable place. She was glad
to hear about the Underground, because her riches were not great, and
she must be careful about small expenses.
About noon she sallied forth on foot to find the Metropolitan station at
King's Cross. She was an absolute stranger to that part of London.
True, she had frequently arrived at the great termini, but on these
occasions she had simply got into a cab or carriage and been quickly
conveyed westward.
She enjoyed the new experience--she was in the mood at the moment to
enjoy everything and to put the best face even on her difficulties.
At the Edgeware Road station she felt confused by the frightful
congestion in the streets until, in answer to an inquiry, a friendly
policeman told her that the street she wished to find was near the Park
end of the wide thoroughfare.
"About ten minutes' walk, Miss," he assured her.
And, though a policeman's ten minutes is an elastic measure, Isla was
not unduly tired by the time she reached Agnes Fraser's door.
Before she rang the bell she looked critically up and down Cromer
Street, contemplating the fact that for some time to come it would limit
her horizon. It was eminently respectable but dull, and some of the
houses had a dingy look. Even Mrs. Fraser's, Isla thought, was less
bright and cheerful than usual. The brass furnishings on the doors
looked as if they had not been polished for several days, and the
raindrops had dried upon the "Apartments" plate which, the last time
Isla had seen it, had shone like gold.
An exceedingly untidy slip of a girl about sixteen, in response to her
ring, opened the door just a few inches. She had a squint in one eye,
which perhaps accounted for her cap being set awry on her unkempt hair.
"Is Mrs. Fraser at home?" asked Isla imperiously.
"Yus, Miss, but she ain't well, she's in bed. You can't see her."
This dashed Isla's fine spirits for a moment.
"In bed is she? What is the matter--anything serious?"
"She's 'ad newmonier, been mortial bad, Miss, but she's gettin' better.
Only if it's apartments yer after, there ain't any."
She delivered herself of this statement wholly on her own initiative,
and in order to get rid as quickly as possible of her questioner.
"Is Mrs. Fraser very ill? Has she been able to see anyone just lately?"
"Yus, Miss, she's bin up at midday since Monday. She's settin' up now in
'er room."
"I'll come inside," said Isla decidedly. "Go upstairs and tell her that
Miss Mackinnon from Achree has called and would like very much to see
her."
"Yus, Miss," said the girl stolidly, and, opening the door a little more
widely, permitted Isla to step into the hall.
"There ain't anywheer but Mr. Carswell's room. The drorin'-room lidy
ain't out this mornin'. Yus--yer can sit 'ere if yer likes. But Missis
Fraser, she don't like me leavin' folks in the hall since a werry
decent-looking man took away three umbrellas and Mister Carswell's best
greatcoat."
Isla sat down on one of the rush-bottomed chairs and asked the girl to
make haste to convey her message. Very soon she heard the quick shutting
of various doors, the rushing about of feet upstairs, and, after about
five minutes, the damsel appeared out of breath and with her cap more
awry than ever.
"Yer can come up," she said laconically.
Isla proceeded to ascend the somewhat dark staircase, which received all
the light it possessed from a dome in the roof three floors up. All
these stairs had Isla to ascend, for Mrs. Fraser was fully let, and she
had had to retire to one of the attics when she was laid aside.
It was a very bare room, but a bright fire made it fairly cheerful, and
Agnes herself in a red flannelette dressing-gown, blushing all over her
face, was in the middle of the room to welcome Isla when she reached the
door.
"I'm very sorry, dear Miss Isla, to bring you up all this way. But
could I help it? Oh, what I have suffered bein' shut up here, an' the
hoose at the mercy o' thae rubbitch in the kitchen! Hoo mony times had
ye to ring?--three or fewer, I'll be bound."
"No, only once--and don't worry yourself, dear soul," said Isla, whose
joy at sight of Mrs. Fraser's homely and welcoming face could not be
dimmed by the recital of sordid details. "I hope you are really getting
better."
"Oh ay. I'm to get doon the morn. I'm very sorry I'm no doon the day
for ye. If ye had written I wad hae been doon. Noo I canna offer ye
onything--no even a cup o' tea. I wad never be sure hoo it wad come
up."
"I don't need anything," said Isla, as she closed the door and put Agnes
back in her chair. "I've only just come out from my breakfast at the
Euston Hotel."
"You're not stoppin' wi' Lady Mackinnon, then?"
"No. They are still abroad. They will not come back, I think, for
about two months yet."
Agnes looked a trifle puzzled, but sat waiting respectfully for further
enlightenment.
"Your little maid told me downstairs that you are full up when she
supposed I was looking for accommodation," said Isla presently. "I hope
she only said that to get rid of me. I want a room here, Agnes."
Mrs. Fraser's face flushed again with the quick nervous flush of the
invalid who is not yet quite able to cope with everyday affairs.
"Oh, Miss Isla, this is not the place for you--and very well ye ken it.
I can gie ye another address. Ye mind Lady Eden's own maid Martin?
She's in Seymour Street, and doin' well. Ye should go and see her. She
wad be very prood to get ye, I am sure."
Isla shook her head, drew her chair a little nearer that of Agnes, and
looked at her very straightly.
"I can't afford to go to Martin, even if I liked her--which I never did.
Things have not been going very well with me lately, Agnes, and--and it
became imperative that I should get away. I can't explain it to you
this morning, and I know you will never ask questions."
"I hope I ken my place a little better than that, Miss Isla," said Mrs.
Fraser.
But her tone was sad.
"I'm not at all well off, and, in fact, I must look about immediately
for something to do."
At this strange announcement Mrs. Fraser fell back in her chair, as if
overcome.
"Oh, Miss Isla, ye don't say so! It's awful, my dear! You to be seekin'
something to do! It's no richt--it canna be richt. Oh, my dear, what
is the meanin' o' it?"
Isla dashed away a sudden moisture from her eyes.
"It's difficult to explain. You must have known that things were not
going well at Achree for a long time, not even in my father's lifetime.
Since he died and my brother has become the Laird affairs have got all
muddled, and the outlook is hopeless. Further, we don't get on, Agnes.
You knew Malcolm as a boy of seven years. So perhaps I needn't say much
more."
"No. But to let you go out into the world like this--it's a cryin'
shame! You--a Mackinnon o' Achree! It shouldna be," said Agnes
desperately.
"Oh, he did not actually send me out, you know, Agnes. In fact, he
thinks I am on my way to France--to my aunt and uncle."
"And surely he is richt. That is where ye should be, Miss Isla. Oh,
tak' my advice and go now. London's a cauld, cruel place for them that
has to get their livin'. It's me and Fraser that kens that. And for you
to be oot in it! It minds me on naething but a lamb that has wandered
frae its mither amang the little hills and wi' the snaw comin' doon like
to blind it. Ye canna do it, Miss Isla. Tak' it frae me that kens--ye
canna do it!"
"I must, Agnes, and if you can't encourage me you must hold your tongue,
dear soul," said Isla bravely. "Let us get back to the point. Can you
let me have a room? In fact, you must let me have a room--quite cheap,
though at its market-value and not a penny less. All I want to make sure
of is that I am under your roof. Nothing else matters."
Agnes, still flushed and nervous, gave the matter rapid consideration.
"The drawing-room floor is what ye ocht to hae, Miss Isla."
"But I couldn't pay for it. So, what comes next?"
"There's the floor below this--the back room. It's big and very quiet,
but it doesna get much sun. There has been a French artist in it, and
he painted things on the doors and on the mantelpiece. Some thinks them
very bonnie. He gaed oot only last week awa' back to his ain country,
and he was apparently very sorry to leave. He was a very decent man for
a Frenchman."
"That sounds more like it," said Isla cheerfully. "How much, Agnes?
Honest Indian, now--how much did the Frenchman pay?"
"Twelve shillings a week, and he had his breakfast for that. But it was
a French breakfast--naething but coffee and rolls. I would never charge
you that, though. Miss Isla; if ye would just tak' the room it's a prood
woman I'd be, and as for Fraser, he would be neither to haud nor bind
aboot it."
"That I can't do, Agnes, even to see the expansion of Fraser. If you
like to give me the room and a French breakfast, with a very occasional
egg when they are good and cheap, for twelve shillings a week--why,
then, I'll take it gladly and pay a week in advance if I can come in
to-day."
"Oh, but, Miss Isla, I am not able yet to see properly to things, and,
as I say, I've naething but rubbitch in the kitchen. Even at the very
best, my hoose is not what you hae been accustomed to, and I should
never hae an easy or a happy mind aboot ye."
"That's sad, for I am going to be very easy and happy about myself, dear
soul. So, do say I may come in this very afternoon. My things are all
at the Euston Hotel, and, of course, staying there is beyond my means
altogether."
Mrs. Fraser sat back in her chair, and her face was troubled.
"Come, of course, and welcome, my dear. But I am wae for ye. And what
is it ye think of tryin' to do? Is it to go as a companion to an old
leddy--or what? There is so very little a leddy like you can do."
"I read an advertisement in the 'Morning Post' this morning for a young
person to take pet dogs for an airing in the Park. My physical powers
would be equal to that, I believe, and it would not need much brain
power at least."
Agnes hardly even laughed at the suggestion.
"I ken what I'm speakin' aboot, Miss Isla. I have not kept an apartment
hoose in London for seven years for naething. The things I hae seen,
they would fill a book."
"I have no doubt of it, but I'm not going to add to your tragic
reminiscences, Agnes. Fortune is now going to begin to smile on me.
Don't let us meet trouble half-way, anyhow. We'll change the subject.
Haven't you anything to ask about your old friends and neighbours in the
Glen?"
"I dinna hear frae ony o' them noo, Miss Isla. Oot o' sicht oot o'
mind. Hoo's Elspeth Maclure, and has she ony mair bairns?"
"None since the last," laughed Isla.
"And is her tongue ony quater? Eh, that lassie! When we were neibours
at Achree I tell ye she fair deaved a body. You'll no mind--ye were
young at the time--that I had to ask the hoosekeeper to let me sleep in
anither room. Naebody could sleep wi' Elspeth. She wud speak even in
her sleep. We were a' sorry for Maclure. But, of course, he was a
quate man, or there wad hae been ructions."
Isla retailed a few items of Glenogle and Lochearn gossip for Mrs.
Fraser's benefit, and finally returned to the subject of the room.
"I can tak' ye doon to see it, Miss Isla. I was as far as the
dining-room yesterday."
Isla thanked her, and together they went down one flight of stairs and
entered a large, wide room with two long windows looking out upon a
microscopic back-yard, in which was a solitary tree. Though it was
little more than noon the room was rather gloomy, and Agnes pointed out
that it was the projecting portions of the neighbouring houses that
darkened the windows.
"If I get employment I shall be out most of the day, and in the evenings
I shall have a fire, and then it will be quite cosy. So these are the
Frenchman's pictures! Why, some of them are very pretty."
He had done some sketches in water colour on the panels of the door and
also on the sides of the mantel-piece; and, though the furniture was a
little hopeless and rather suggestive of the cheaper end of the
Tottenham Court Road, Isla was thankful to get it.
But Agnes Fraser felt a little despondent about it all the afternoon,
and when Fraser, who was steward at a West-End club, came home at
tea-time to see how she was, he found that she had been crying.
He also took a gloomy view of Miss Mackinnon's venture into the unknown.
"It's only her fad, Nance. And afore she has had time to get tired o't
or even to get a grup o' the rael thing she'll rue it, or some o' them
will come and tak' her away. So let her come, and dinna you fash your
heid aboot her. Eh, woman, I'm gled to see ye in a frock at last!"
About six o'clock that evening a four-wheeler trundled up to Mrs.
Fraser's house in Cromer Street, and Isla with all her belongings was
admitted to her new quarters.
She slept soundly that night, secure in the haven found under the roof
of an old friend.
But Agnes herself, who knew the hardships of London life and had very
special knowledge of the extreme difficulty the indigent gentlewoman
experienced in finding employment, never closed an eye.