There were two reasons why Billie and Nancy went out alone to take a
walk one afternoon some ten days after their arrival in London.
The others, worn out from sight-seeing, preferred to stay at home and
rest. Miss Campbell had a blister on her heel which made her groan aloud
every time she took a step. Mary, who was not as strong as her friends,
was quite willing to remain at home and write a letter to her mother.
Elinor, also, had reasons of her own for remaining indoors. She had
purchased two books on genealogy and an Almanach de Gotha in which she
wished to study Irish families of the nobility; and later she was to
drink tea with Maria Cortinas and hear some music.
Therefore, those two redoubtable adventurers, Billie and Nancy, went
forth alone on the streets of London. Each carried a bundle and each
wore an expression of mysterious importance.
"London Bridge!" exclaimed Billie exultantly, as they strolled down the
old street, for there was plenty of time before their errand, whatever
it was.
"What a lark!" cried Nancy. "Oh, Billie, I adore London."
"I love it, too," said Billie. "It's so old and gray and smoky and full
of history----"
"And quaint little shops----"
"And buses and hansoms and carriages of state," laughed Billie.
"And lords and ladies," continued Nancy as a carriage load of very
fine-looking people dashed past.
Presently they turned into a narrow little street, which Billie,
excellent guide always, knew led toward the river and was a short cut to
London Bridge.
"Perhaps we should have taken a hansom," she said.
"No, no," Nancy objected. "It's lots more fun to walk and see the
sights. Besides, we have plenty of time before the meeting," she added
in a lower voice.
"Isn't this a funny little print shop, Nancy-Bell? It's just a sort of
hole-in-the-wall." The two girls paused to look into a diminutive shop
window filled with engravings and prints mellowed with age. "There's
Lady Penelope Boothby, I declare," continued Billie, "and the older she
grows, the younger she looks. It's like the conundrum of the candle. The
longer it stands, the shorter it grows."
The girls pressed their faces against the glass to get a better view of
the picture.
"Youth is always beautiful whether it's two hundred years old or
seventeen years old," said a voice near them.
A very old man was standing in the doorway regarding them with a benign
expression.
"Step inside, young ladies, and take a look at some of the prints. I
have still older pictures of still younger faces that might please you."
The girls consulted a moment.
"Come on in," urged Billie. "We can give up ten minutes surely, and I
love to go rummaging about an old shop like this."
Into the little hole-in-the-wall, then, they went, and were greeted by a
musty odor of old things laid upon shelves for ages past,--old pictures,
old books; curios of all kinds,--Japanese devil fish, vases and
cabinets. The girls poked about the place curiously, peering into glass
cases filled with faded relics: tarnished epaulettes from an old
uniform; brocaded reticules; antique jewelry; little figures in ivory,
mellowed with age.
"Here is something I would like," said Nancy at last, "because it's the
quaintest, cutest, most adorable little thing I ever saw."
"Will you name it, ma'am?" said the shop keeper smiling gently, but with
a spark of triumph in his eye, as if he had been waiting for that
moment.
"It's that little box shaped like a Swiss chalet with all the carving
and the little front door with ivory knobs,--how much is that?"
The old man took it out with a trembling hand and placed it on the show
case.
"That's a little sandalwood jewel box," he said. "It smells good and is
dainty to look at and is as pretty inside as out."
He snapped a spring and the roof of the chalet lifted, disclosing its
interior of wadded pale blue satin.
Nancy clasped her hands in admiration.
"I haven't any jewels except a gold bead necklace and a ring and a
bracelet and two brooches," she said timidly, "but I hope to collect
more. How much did you say it was?"
The aged collector pricked up his ears like a war horse when he hears
the martial call of the trumpet.
"It's worth a great deal of money, young lady, but I'll let you have it
for a song."
"And how much do you call 'a song'?"
"Two pounds, ma'am."
Nancy was the most extravagant of all the Motor Maids. She often said to
her friends when they scolded her for her lavishness:
"Well, after all, what would five dollars mean to me when I am dead and
gone? If I save this money now, would it do me any good, when I am laid
away?"
"Laid away, you goose," Billie would say; "you're not to be laid away
for another seventy years, yet!"
"Well, then, why save five dollars for seventy years?" the incorrigible
girl would answer.
Moreover, Nancy had the collecting habit inherited from her forefathers,
sea captains all of them, and the old home in West Haven was filled with
curios brought back on homeward voyages. But two pounds was too steep
even for extravagant Nancy.
"Why," she exclaimed innocently, "I haven't very much more than that to
spend on gifts to take home. I certainly wouldn't put all my money into
a present for myself. And this box is to be my very own, if I get it. My
jewel case," she added with much unction.
"One pound, ten, then, ma'am."
"No, no. That's entirely too much. Why, it's nothing but a little wooden
box lined with faded satin. It's not even very antique. I like it
because I like little things."
Billie opened her eyes in great admiration over Nancy's trading talent,
and it ended by her getting the box for less than a pound. She produced
the money triumphantly from her little purse, while the old man,
smiling, did the chalet up in tissue paper. It was plain that he was
well pleased with the sale. The girls suspected that he did not make
many.
"We must hurry, now, Nancy," said Billie. "Your extravagance might make
us late to our appointment."
It was something to be going to London Bridge, but it was something more
to have a reason for going, a mysterious reason. When the girls became
part of the surging mass of people which flows over the historic bridge
morning and afternoon, they felt a thrill of excitement. Streams of
human beings and vehicles poured onto the bridge from every direction.
"I don't feel like a person, Nancy," observed Billie. "I feel like a
drop of water in a rushing river. It will be hard to stop going, now we
have started; hard to leap out. I never saw so many people in all my
life, all intent on getting across, and just think, there used to be
houses on the bridge before it was rebuilt. John Bunyan, who wrote
'Pilgrim's Progress,' had lodgings here. Can you imagine it when it had
shops on each side like a real street?"
But Nancy was not listening to her friend. She was watching the great
human tide, flowing along so steadily and quietly.
"This is the place," she said suddenly, pointing to a sort of bow at one
side of the granite structure where there were seats. "This must be it
because it's the first one of these places, and that's what the note
said, wasn't it?"
"There she is," cried Billie; "either we're late or she's ahead of
time."
Marie-Jeanne, who had been waiting with a book on one of the seats, rose
and came toward them. The girls shook hands with her, and Billie slipped
an arm around her waist and smiled into her eyes. She had always felt a
deep sympathy for poor Marie-Jeanne.
"We have brought you the capes and the money we owe you, Marie-Jeanne. I
am sorry you couldn't come to see us and spend the day. We wanted to
have you to luncheon."
"It would have been very nice, but I was afraid. I am afraid now. No one
must know that I have been talking with you and Nancy."
"But why?" cried Nancy. "My dear Marie-Jeanne, we haven't any secrets."
Marie-Jeanne drew them mysteriously into the curve of the bridge.
"No," she said. "You're lucky not to have to keep things. I hate
secrets. I should like to live in a house with lots of windows and keep
the blinds drawn up all the time so that any one who wanted to could
look in. But I have to creep about and go out back doors and around dark
streets. I am always frightened and uneasy; and as for mother, she keeps
the blinds down all day and never sticks her nose outside."
"But what is it, Marie-Jeanne?" cried Billie. "Is it really something
too dreadful to tell?"
"That's just it," exclaimed the poor girl miserably, "I don't know what
it is. I only know we are hiding and there is a secret. If ever I find
out what it is," she cried fiercely, "I shall tell it and have it over
with."
"Is Miss Felicia Rivers in the secret?" asked Nancy.
"I don't know. But she allows her house to be used for the meetings."
"Meetings?"
"Yes. They meet there. Queer-looking men who speak foreign languages."
"And what has your mother to do with it?"
"I can't tell. She's in it, though. But we're going away next month. We
are going to France. Mother has promised to do something for them--and
after that, we'll go----"
Suddenly a memory came tapping at Billie's mind.
"Is some one connected with it called 'Tweedledum'?" she asked.
"Hush!" whispered Marie-Jeanne. "Look the other way. I knew it was
dangerous."
The two other girls turned their heads quickly to see what the matter
was, but they only saw pedestrians hurrying over the bridge.
"Why,--what----" they began. But Marie-Jeanne was gone.
"Taking an afternoon walk?" asked a voice so close to them that they
started guiltily.
But to their great relief, it was their old steamer friend, Telemac
Kalisch.
"We came down to see London Bridge," Billie answered, shaking hands with
him. "And how are you and where are you going?"
"I am taking a little stroll. May I not walk with you to your lodgings?"
Piloting the two young girls through the mass of people, Telemac finally
steered them into a quiet street and they made for home.
"Miss Campbell is not a strict chaperone," he said, "or she would not
allow her young ladies to wander on London Bridge late in the
afternoon."
The girls were silent for a moment. They did not wish to be drawn into
Marie-Jeanne's strange secrets and they were of half a mind to confide
in Telemac. But Billie remembered her promise and Nancy would say
nothing without her friend's initiative.
"She did not know we were going to London Bridge," Billie answered
evasively. "We shopped for a while. Nancy bought herself a souvenir at
an antique shop and then we went to see the bridge. We see many girls
walking out alone. Why shouldn't we?"
Telemac made no reply.
"Have you seen Marie-Jeanne lately?" he asked presently.
Billie looked into his strange eyes. It suddenly occurred to her that he
was trying to find out something, and with a certain stubbornness she
had always shown when it came to keeping a secret, she replied:
"Marie-Jeanne's mother does not allow her to come to see us."
Then Nancy, who had an unconscious instinct for helping her friend,
broke in:
"Wouldn't you like to see my little chalet? It is made of sandalwood
lined with blue satin, and it smells deliciously."
But Telemac was not interested in Nancy's purchase. Indeed, he seemed
strangely different from his usual genial self, and lifting his hat
quite formally, he left them at the door of their lodgings and walked
hurriedly away.