A NIGHT IN THE SLUMS
The two girls carried out their plan in all its details. They moved the
chest of drawers against the door, and then they moved the bedstead.
By this means they had practically locked the door. They were very
thankful for this later on, for as night advanced and the people came
home, and the house became full, their terrors increased. They were
now so frightened that they did not dare to speak even to each other
about their fears; and when, shortly after they had secured themselves
against intrusion, someone first tapped at the door and then turned the
handle and pushed, and then after a moment of silence steps were heard
going away, they could only clasp each other's hands and sit close
together, almost paralyzed with terror.
"They've shut themselves in," Christian heard Mrs. Carter say to
someone on the landing. "They're the 'cutest young folks I ever see'd."
Then the someone who was spoken to growled, and Mrs. Carter and this
person went into the adjoining room; and there they moved about at
intervals, and at intervals remained quiet. Christian felt positive
that they were waiting to do something, and Rose knew that they were
waiting, but neither girl expressed her terror to the other.
"They can only get in by breaking through the door," said Christian,
"and they will scarcely do that."
But Rose knew that such people as Mrs. Carter and her husband would
think very little of breaking through an old door if they wished to get
at their neighbors' attic.
How glad the children were that they had fuel! They piled up the little
grate and made the fire burn hot and strong; and by and by Rosy tried
to persuade Christian to have another cup of tea. But Christian was now
so sick with terror that she could not touch the tea.
"We won't lie down at all," said Rosy. "We'll sit close to each other
by the fire. We won't sit on the floor, for it aint too clean, but
we'll sit on a chair each, and put our arms round each other. It's only
for one night, my own darling Miss Christian--only for one night--and I
think somehow God will keep us safe."
"I haven't prayed to Him," said Christian in a broken voice, "because I
have done wrong. When you do very wrong you can't pray."
"Maybe you could repent, and then you could pray," said Rosy.
"I don't know," answered Christian.
The night went on. There were stars in the sky. The children could see
the stars from the dormer-window of their attic; and presently the
moon--a full one--rose and flooded the outside world. Christian, from
where she sat, could see the cats stealing about, making great shadows
on the neighboring roofs, and she could hear their cry as they met each
other; she could also hear, far down below, the great roar of London
itself. And in the house she could hear the cries of children and the
angry, excited words of men and women, and she felt that in all her
life she had never even imagined anything quite so awful. Her one drop
of comfort lay in the fact that Rosy--pretty Rosy--was cuddled up close
to her, and that Rosy certainly would not leave her.
The two young girls did not attempt to undress, and Christian's bag of
money was still firmly secured under her skirt.
By and by silence began to reign. Even in a house like this people
must sleep sometimes, and the drunken men and women lay down on their
respective beds, the children slept heavily, and in the adjoining attic
all was still. Then Rosy began to nod and to fall half-forward in her
chair. Christian had great work to keep her from sliding to the ground.
Perhaps it was this fact that made Christian so wide awake herself; but
certain it is she could not sleep.
She was glad that there was a moon in the sky; she was glad that the
terrible house was quiet at last. Poor Christian! she little knew what
lay before her.
The time passed on, and notwithstanding her determination not to close
an eye, the silence and the soothing effect of Rosy's presence began to
make her drowsy. She put her arm more firmly round her little companion
and let her body lean against Rosy's, and was really beginning to nod
her head, when suddenly there came a great shadow between her and the
moonlight. She looked up, and there was Mrs. Carter on the roof, trying
to get in at the window. How she had got out on the leads Christian
never knew, but she had done so, and was now feeling all along the
fastening of the dormer-window and was endeavoring to open it.
In one minute it seemed to the young girl that the blood of Joan of Arc
and Charlotte Corday, and many more of the great heroines of the past,
rushed through her veins. She gave Rosy a jerk--unintentionally, for
she did not mean to wake her. She did not care about Rosy then, nor did
she want her. She felt all-sufficient to herself. In an instant she had
sprung forward, and going to the window, opened it a little way.
"Go back this minute," she said. "You are not on any account to come
in; I will push you down if you try. I don't care whether I hurt you or
not; I will push you off the roof if you try to get in. You have no
right here; go back."
Mrs. Carter was so amazed by the mere fact of Christian's being up and
awake, when she expected her to be in bed and sound asleep, and so
startled at the girl's unlooked-for courage, that she was absolutely
mute.
"Go away," repeated Christian. "I know what you have come about: you
want to steal my money. You think I have got some. Well, if I have, it
isn't for you. You told me lies to-day about being punished for running
away, but I don't tell you any lie when I say that you can be put in
prison for this--yes, you and your husband. I will push you right down
off the roof--I don't care whether it hurts or not--if you try to get
in."
There was a very ugly look on Mrs. Carter's face. Even in the shadow,
with her back to the moonlight, Christian noticed it; but not a single
word escaped her lips. Her footing was insecure and dangerous; one
strong push from a big girl like Christian standing firmly within the
room would not only knock her down, but cause her to drop a matter of
thirty feet on to another roof at a little distance. She therefore
began cautiously and quietly, and still with that evil look on her
face, to back away from Christian, and in a few minutes the young girl
perceived by the absence of all shadow that Mrs. Carter must have
returned to her own attic.
Then Christian shut the window, fastened it firmly, and stood close to
it. Mr. Carter might come now that his wife had failed, but if he did
both Christian and Rose would fight him. Christian was certain that
between them they would be a match for anyone who tried to get in at
the window.
"Rose," said Christian.
Rose began to mutter in her sleep. She had fallen forward now, and was
half on the chair and half on the floor.
"I did not mean it, great-aunt," she began. "It was just that I were
tempted, and I never, never thought that Miss Christian----"
"Wake up, Rose," said Christian; "wake up. You have got to stay awake."
Then Rose did open her dazed eyes.
"Whatever is the matter?" she cried.
"Build up the fire and I'll tell you," said Christian.
There was a new tone in Christian's voice; it was firm and strong and
almost triumphant. It had the conquering note in it which Rosy had
noticed when they played games sometimes in the attic.
"Oh, Miss Christian," she said, "what is it?"
Christian told her what had occurred.
"I am not proud," said Christian, "not a bit. It was just given to
me to say the words, and I am sure God was helping me. I am sure God
is sorry for us, and He is going to help us both. I don't feel a bit
frightened, but we must keep them out, Rosy. If two of them come
together it will be hard work, but we must be strong and firm and push
them over if they try to come in. We will stay by the window all night,
and you shall stay near to me, and we won't leave it except to stir up
the fire."
The rest of the night was spent in that fashion, and as the hours went
by and the moon set and darkness really came on, Rosy's fears began to
return to her very badly; but Christian was not at all afraid.
"We will keep them out," she said. "If they had been coming back they
would have come by now. And even if they do come back they will find us
here."
Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Carter were not quite such valiant people as Mrs.
Carter would have given the children to understand, for certain it is
that, although Christian fancied she heard a step on the roof outside
the window towards morning, it did not come any nearer. Perhaps Carter
was only prowling round to see if the children were still up and awake.
When the morning dawned there were two very tired little faces gazing
sadly each at the other.
"This is the longest night I have ever lived through," said Christian,
"and yesterday was the longest day. There is only one thing now to be
done: I will go back to nursey and Miss Thompson and Miss Neil, and
tell them everything. I will write to father and mother. I have done
dreadfully wrong, and I ought to be punished, and I am quite, quite
willing to go to the strict-discipline school."
"That's all very well," cried Rose, "but what about me?"
The terrors of the night were over, and once again she began to feel
a certain charm in a life of independence; the little attic, with the
winter sunshine streaming in at the dormer-window, was not altogether
despicable; and surely there was a great fascination in the thought of
dancing and playing and taking a monkey round the London streets.
"You did wrong too, Rose," said Christian. "Of course, you wouldn't
have done it but for me. I will stand up for you all I can. I will tell
your mother myself. She'll be angry, of course, but she wouldn't be a
true mother if she didn't forgive."
"Oh, Miss Christian! you don't know what it means. If you only
would----"
Then she looked at Christian's face and changed her mind. It was
useless to talk any further; Christian was resolved. She had been
resolved to run away, and she had done so; she was now equally resolved
to return to the straight paths.
"I tell you what it is, Miss Christian," said Rose; "if you'd only
speak to great-aunt, and ask her to let me live with her until you
come back again, I'd be as happy as the day is long. You'll ask her,
miss, won't you?"
"Perhaps," said Christian; "but it is time we were off, and we are not
going to pretend any more."
Rosy had made tea, and Christian drank a cup and ate a morsel of bread;
and then they pulled the bedstead away from its place beside the door,
pushed the chest of drawers aside, and prepared to leave the attic. But
first Christian took half-a-crown from her pocket.
"Whatever's that for?" asked Rosy.
"It's for the chair that Judith and Mrs. Carter broke," said Christian.
She had scarcely said the words before Mrs. Carter, with a pretended
smile on her face and her hair quite tidily arranged, opened the door
of her attic and came out.
"Well, now, dearies," she said, "and how are you both? And how did you
sleep?"
Christian looked at her in some wonder. Mrs. Carter did not even blush.
"Why, now," she said, "the way poor women are misunderstood! You
fastened your door, timorous young things, supposing as the neighbors
might be breaking into your room and getting your bits of gold. You had
no cause to fear that with me a-sleeping on the same floor; you had
but to shout to me and I'd have come to you, and there aint a neighbor
in the house as would do anything to little gels when Martha Carter's
blood is up. Well, you shut your door, but I couldn't sleep. I said to
Willyum, 'Willyum,' I sez, 'I can't get any rest for thinking of those
two poor little haristocrats next door. They don't trust us, Willyum,'
sez I, 'and I'll open the winder and steal out on the leads and look in
at 'em, just to see that they're cozy and fast asleep.'
"'Do,' sez Willyum; and I gets out, and, my word! I was took back. You
turned into a young savage, miss, and you threatened to murder me, and
I as good-natured a woman as ever walked.
"Back I goes to Willyum. 'They're young sparrer-haws,' sez I, 'and
we'll leave 'em to 'emselves. I'll have no more dealing with 'em. I
never was took up with haristocrats, and these are the worst of their
species.'
"Willyum agrees with me, and we drop asleep. Well, miss, I meant no
harm; you mistook me--that was all."
Christian's clear eyes fixed themselves steadily on Mrs. Carter's bad
face; then she said in a gentle tone:
"We are going away. We don't like this house, and we are going. You can
do what you like with the crockery and the frying-pan and the coals,
and you can have that half-crown in order to get the broken chair
mended. And I paid for this room for a week, and you can use it until
the week is up. Good-by; we are going. Don't keep us. If you or your
husband follow us I shall scream for the police, and I shall tell the
whole truth about everything. You'd best not follow us. Come, Rose."
She took her little companion's hand, and they ran downstairs.
As they ran the neighbors on each floor peeped out to watch them, and
one or two made as though to follow them; but somehow they stopped
short, for there was an expression on Christian's face which seemed to
daunt them. She was walking very upright, and there was not a scrap of
fear about her. Rosy, who stepped by her side, looked altogether small
and insignificant by comparison.
"My word!" said Mrs. Carter, who came downstairs behind the children,
turning as she spoke to address a slatternly woman who had come out of
her room to see the sport, as she expressed it--"my word! that eldest
girl, she'll do what she said. She's a character, she be. Why, if
you'll believe it, last night, when I stood by the winder as kind as
kind can be, just to see if the pore little dears were sleeping sound,
she threatened to murder me, she did--no less. They're a good riddance,
they be, and I'm going to see the landlord about that bit of a room.
Pore man, I don't think he'll ever see his rent."
"See his rent!" screamed Mrs. Peters, the woman who had been spoken to.
"You know as well as I do that it was paid in full by that queer girl
what came here yesterday. If there are any spoils in that there room,
we'll share with you, Mrs. Carter."
The excitement which this remark caused was really good for the
children, for it so distracted Mrs. Carter's attention, and so fierce
was the quarreling which ensued, that they were absolutely forgotten.
They walked on silently for some little time. Rosy's heart beat hard,
but Christian felt herself more like Joan of Arc than ever.
"We must try and get home," she said. "We have plenty of money, and I
shall ask the police the best way to Russell Square."
Rose clutched her hand.
"Don't, Christian, don't!" she cried. "You mustn't. I don't care; I am
frightened. That story may be true or it mayn't. S'pose it is true;
s'pose they're angry; and--Oh, dear! oh, dear! Look, Christian--look!"
She pulled Christian forward. They were just passing a police-station,
and there, pasted to the walls of the front of the house in very large
letters, was an exact description of themselves:
"MISSING.--A tall girl of about thirteen, with long, fair hair; and a
shorter girl with dark, curly hair."
A long description followed, giving, item for item, all particulars
with regard to the children. The tall girl wore a dark-blue serge dress
and jacket, and the small girl was in red. A "substantial reward" was
offered for the recovery of these two girls.
When Christian read this very startling description she felt the
courage oozing out of her finger-tips.
"I suppose that awful woman is right. She must be right when the police
are looking for us. This notice is outside a police-station. What is to
be done?"
As Christian spoke she held Rosy's arm more firmly than ever. The two
girls stood opposite the police-station, and once again Christian read
the words of the advertisement. As she did so a stoutly built man of
the laboring type came up.
He read the advertisement, and then he glanced at the two girls. Once
again he read, and once again he looked. Christian was so absorbed in
the description of herself that she did not notice the man; but Rose
saw him.
"Is there anything I can do for you, lydies? If so I'll be pleased," he
remarked suddenly.
Christian replied eagerly, "Do you know your way to Russell Square?
It's a big square in Bloomsbury. Can you tell me how to get there?"
"Bloomsbury," said the man, scratching his forehead. "Never heard tell
of it. Is it far from Lunnon, lydy?"
"No," replied Christian; "it's a place in London, and we want to get
there as soon as possible."
"I daren't go home," whispered Rosy. "You know, Christian--you must
know what it means."
Christian took her hand. "Come on," she said firmly; "we're all right.
If we can get home without the police finding us, do you think that my
dear nursey or Miss Thompson will lock us up? The thing is to get back
to Russell Square and tell everything, and then we shall be all right."
"I'm willin' to go with you, lydies," said the man. "I know my way
all right about this part of Lunnon, which aint, so to speak, a
respectable part; and when we get to the neighborhood of the houses
where the gentry lives, it's but to ask my way and I'll be told. I'm
willin' and anxious to oblige you two lydies. Oh, I know I be a son o'
toil, but I may say I'm honest. You may trust me--that you may."
Just then two policemen came out of the station; they stood on the
steps and talked to each other. Presently one of them fixed his eyes on
Christian. Her appearance evidently interested him, and he spoke to the
other in a low voice. This decided the young girl.
"We'll go with you," she said to the man; "only you must be very quick.
We want to get to Russell Square early this morning."
"Right you are, lydy," said the man, and he stepped on in front.
The two girls followed him. They walked in this fashion for the greater
part of a mile, and all the wonderful dreams that Christian had ever
dreamt about the happy life which she and Rosy would spend together
disappeared as though they had never existed. She saw herself at last
as she was--a very naughty, discontented little runaway girl. She had
done nothing great or noble; on the contrary, she had been fearfully
disobedient, and had doubtless given intense trouble to those who loved
her. She to dare to compare herself to Joan of Arc or Charlotte Corday!
She writhed now as she saw herself in her true colors. There was only
one thing she was thankful for, and that was for the fact that her
father and mother were out of England.
"They at least do not know what I have done," she thought; "and by the
time they do know, they will have got my letter, and I'll have told
them--oh, yes, I'll have told them--how sorry I am."
Suddenly the man turned and faced the children.
"If you two lydies," he said, "aint hungry, I am. Aint you got any
money about yer?"
"Oh, indeed we have," said Christian. "We can give you quite a nice
meal if you wish for it."
"But we aint got too much," said Rosy. She nudged her companion and
gave her a warning look.
"Here's a shop where they have prime vittles," said the man; and as he
spoke he stopped before a common-looking eating-house and beckoned the
children to follow him inside.
It didn't look nice, Christian thought; but then they were very
hungry--in fact, they were half-starved. Never before in her whole life
had Christian known what real, desperate hunger meant--for they had
scarcely touched any food for the last twenty-four hours.
Within the shop was an appetizing smell of fried fish and baked
potatoes, and there were long tables with marble tops, and plates and
cups and saucers. Coffee, too, was smoking in a great urn. A woman with
two tired little children came in and ordered cocoa, and the cocoa
looked good and rich and steaming hot. Oh, yes, they did not mind how
ugly the place was outside; within there was food, and they were so
terribly hungry.