A PERIPATETIC PROVIDENCE
"Do you still pin your faith to the man in the street?"
It was Mr. Steel who stood at Rachel's elbow, repeating his question
word for word; but he did not repeat it in the same tone. There was an
earnest note in the lowered voice, an unspoken appeal to her to admit
the truth and be done with proud pretence. And indeed the pride had gone
out of Rachel at sight of him; a delicious sense of safety filled her
heart instead. She was as one drowning, and here was a strong swimmer
come to her rescue in the nick of time. What did it matter who or what
he was? She felt that he was strong to save. Yet, as the nearly drowned
do struggle with their saviours, so Rachel must fence instinctively with
hers.
"I never did pin my faith to him," said she.
"Yet see the risk that you are running! If he turns round--if any one of
them turns round and recognizes you--listen to that!"
It was only the second window, but a third and a fourth followed like
shots from the same revolver. Rachel winced.
"For God's sake, come away!" he whispered, sternly.
And Rachel did come a few yards before a flicker of her spirit called a
halt.
"Why should I run away?" she demanded, in sudden tears of mortification
and of weakness combined. "I am innocent--so why should I?"
"Because they don't like innocent people; and there appear to be no
police in these parts; and if you fall into their hands--well, it would
be better for you if you had been found guilty and were safe and sound
in Newgate now!"
That was exactly what Rachel had felt herself; she took a few steps
more, but still with reluctance and irresolution; and once round the
nearest corner, and out of that hateful street for ever, she turned to
her companion in unconcealed despair.
"But what am I to do?" she cried. "But where am I to turn?"
"Mrs. Minchin," said Steel, "can you not really trust me yet?"
He stood before her under a street lamp, handsome still, upright for all
his years, strong as fate itself, and surely kinder than any fate which
Rachel Minchin had yet met with in the course of her short but
checkered life. And yet--and yet--she trusted and distrusted him too!
"I can and I cannot," she sighed; and even with the words one reason
occurred to her. "You have followed me, you see, after all!"
"I admit it," he replied, "and without a particle of shame. My dear
lady, I was not going to lose sight of you to-night!"
"And why not?"
"Because I foresaw what might happen, and may happen still! Nay, madam,
it will, if you continue to let your pride sit upon your common sense.
Do you hear them now? That means the police, and when they're dispersed
they'll come this way to King's Road. Any moment they may be upon us.
And there's a hansom dropped from heaven!"
He raised his umbrella, the bell tinkled, the two red eyes dilated and
widened in the night, then with a clatter the horse was pulled up beside
the curb, and Steel spread his hand before the muddy wheel.
"Be sensible," he whispered, "and jump in! In a hansom you can see where
you are going; in a hansom you can speak to the driver or attract the
attention of any decent person on the sidewalk. Ah! you will trust me
so far at last--I thank you from my heart!"
"Where to, sir?" asked the cabman through the roof.
And Rachel listened with languid curiosity; but that was all. She had
put herself in this man's hands; resistance was at an end, and a
reckless indifference to her fate the new attitude of a soul as utterly
overtaxed and exhausted as its tired tenement of clay.
"Brook Street," said Steel, after a moment's pause--"and double-quick
for a double fare. We shall be there in a quarter of an hour," he added
reassuringly as the trap-door slammed, "and you will find everything
ready for you, beginning with something to eat. I, at all events,
anticipated the verdict; if you don't believe me, you will when we get
there, for they have been ready for you all day. Do you know Claridge's
Hotel, by the way?"
"Only by name," said Rachel, wearily.
"I'm glad to hear it," pursued Mr. Steel, "for I think you will be
pleased. It is not like the ordinary run of hotels. Your rooms are your
castle--regular self-contained flat--and you needn't see another soul if
you don't like. I am staying in the hotel myself, for example, but you
shall not set eyes on me for a week unless you wish to."
"But I don't understand," began Rachel, roused a little from her apathy.
She was not suffered to proceed.
"Nor are you to attempt to do so," said her companion, "until to-morrow
morning. If you feel equal to it then, I shall crave an audience, and
you shall hear what I have got to say. But first, let me beg of you, an
adequate supper and a good night's rest!"
"One thing is certain," said Rachel, half to herself: "they can't know
who I am, or they never would have taken me in. And no luggage!"
"That they are prepared for," returned Steel; "and in your rooms you
will find a maid who is also prepared and equipped for your emergency.
As to their not knowing who you are at the hotel, there you are right;
they do not know; it would have been inexpedient to tell them."
"Then at least," said Rachel, "I ought to know who I am supposed to be."
And she smiled, for interest and curiosity were awakened within her,
with the momentary effect of stimulants; but Mr. Steel sat silent at her
side. The cab was tinkling up Park Lane. The great park on the left, the
great houses on the right, the darkness on the one hand, the lights on
the other, had all the fascination of sharp contrasts--that very
fascination which was Mr. Steel's. Rachel already discovered it in his
face, and divined it in his character, without admitting to herself that
there was any fascination at all. Yet otherwise she would have dropped
rather than have done what she was doing now. The man had cast a spell
upon her; and for the present she did feel safe in his hands. But with
that unmistakable sense of immediate security there mingled a subtler
premonition of ultimate danger, to which Rachel had felt alive from the
first. And this was the keenest stimulus of all.
What was his intention, and what his object? To draw back was to find
out neither; and to say the truth, even if she had not been friendless
and forlorn, Rachel would have been very sorry to draw back now.
The raw air in her face had greatly revived her; the sights and lights
of the town were still new and dear to her; she had come back to the
world with a vengeance, to a world of incident and interest, with an
adventure ready waiting to take her out of her past self!
But it was only her companion's silence which enabled Rachel to realize
her strange fortune at this stage, and she had to put her question
point-blank before she obtained any answer at all.
"If you insist upon hearing all the little details to-night," said
Steele, with a good-humored shrug, "well, I suppose you must hear them;
but I hope you will not insist. I have had to make provisions which you
may very possibly resent, but I thought it would be time enough for us
to quarrel about them in the morning. To-night you need rest and
sustenance, but no excitement; of that God knows you have had enough! No
one will come near you but the maid of whom I spoke; no questions will
be put to you; everything is arranged. But to-morrow, if you feel equal
to it, you shall hear all about me, and form your own cool judgment of
my behavior towards you. Meanwhile won't you trust me--implicitly--until
then?"
"I do," said Rachel, "and I will--until to-morrow."
"Then there are one or two things that I can promise you," said Steel,
with the heartiness of a man who has gained his point. "You will not be
compromised in any sort or kind of way; your self-respect shall not
suffer; nothing shall vex or trouble you, if I can help it, while you
remain at this hotel. And this I guarantee--whether you like it or
not--unless you tell them, not a single soul in the place shall have the
faintest inkling as to who you are. Now, only keep your why and
wherefore till to-morrow," he concluded cheerily, "and I can promise you
almost every satisfaction. But here we are at the hotel."
He thrust his umbrella outside, pointing to a portico and courtyard on
the right; and in another moment Rachel was receiving the bows of
powdered footmen in crimson plush, while Steel, hat in hand, his white
hair gleaming in the electric light, led the way to the lift.
Rachel's recollection of that night was ever afterwards disjointed and
involved as that of any dream; but there were certain features that she
never forgot. There was the beautiful suite of rooms, filled with
flowers that must have cost a small fortune at that time of year, and in
one of them a table tastefully laid. Rachel remembered the dazzle of
silver and the glare of napery, the hot plates, the sparkling wine, the
hot-house fruit, and the deep embarrassment of sitting down to all this
in solitary state. Mr. Steel had but peeped in to see that all was in
accordance with his orders; thereafter not even a waiter was allowed to
enter, but only Rachel's attendant, to whose charge she had been
committed; a gentle and assiduous creature, quiet of foot and quick of
hand, who spoke seldom but in a soothing voice, and with the delicate
and pretty accent of the French-Swiss.
Rachel used to wonder whether she had shocked this mannerly young woman
by eating very ravenously; she remembered a nervous desire to be done
with that solitary repast, and to get to bed. Yet when she was there, in
the sweetest and whitest of fine linen, with a hot bottle at her feet,
and a fire burning so brightly in the room that the brass bedstead
seemed here and there red-hot, then the sound sleep that she sorely
needed seemed further off than ever, for always she dreamt she was in
prison and condemned to die, till at length she feared to close her
eyes. But nothing had been forgotten; and Rachel's last memory of that
eventful day, and not less eventful night, was of a mild, foreign face
bending over her with a medicine-glass and a gentle word.
And the same good face and the same soft voice were waiting for her when
she awoke after many hours; the fire still burned brightly, also the
electric-light, though the blind was up and the window filled with a
dull November sky. It was a delicious awakening, recollection was so
slow to come. Rachel might have been ill for days. She experienced the
peace that is left by illness of sufficient gravity. But all she ailed
was a slight headache, quickly removed by an inimitable cup of tea, that
fortified her against the perplexing memories which now came swarming to
her mind. This morning, however, enlightenment was due, and meanwhile
Rachel received a hint, though a puzzling one, from the Swiss maid, as
to the new identity which had been thrust upon her for the time being in
lieu of her own.
"It was very sad for madame to lose all her things," cooed the girl, as
she busied herself about the room.
"It was irritating," Rachel owned, beginning to wonder how much the
other knew.
"But it was better than losing your life, madame!" the girl added with a
smile.
And now Rachel lay silent. Could this amiable young woman know all? In
one way Rachel rather hoped it was the case; it would be something to
have received so much kindness and attention, even though bought and
paid for, from one of her own sex who knew all there was to know, and
yet did not shrink from her. But the young woman's next words dismissed
this idea.
"When so many poor people were drowned!" said she. And the mystification
increased.
Presently there was a knock at the outer door, which the maid answered,
returning with Mr. Steele's card.
"Is he there?" asked Rachel, hastily.
"No, madame, but one of the servants is waiting for an answer. I think
there is something written on the back, madame."
Rachel read the harmless request on the back of the card; nothing could
have been better calculated to turn away suspicion of one sort or
another, and there was obvious design in the absence of an envelope. But
Rachel was not yet in the secret, and she was determined not to wait an
hour longer than she need.
"What is the time, please?"
"I will see, madame."
The girl glided out and in.
"Well?"
"A quarter to ten, madame."
"Then order my breakfast for a quarter past, and let Mr. Steele be told
that I shall be delighted to see him at eleven o'clock."