with a look of impotent annoyance on his round, whiskered face. Where
was the use of his going out into the hall and catching Nurse on her way
to the kitchen? Maud had declared, very early in the day, that there
should be as little communication as possible between the kitchen and
the nursery; but Mr. Tapster sometimes found himself in secret sympathy
with the two women whose disagreeable duty it was to be always with his
three turbulent children.
Mr. Tapster frowned and stared gloomily into the fire; then he suddenly
pulled himself together rather sharply, for the door behind him had
slowly swung open. This was intolerable! The parlour-maid had again and
again been told that, whatever might have been the case in her former
places, no door in Mr. Tapster's house was to be opened without the
preliminary of a respectful knock.
Fortified by the memory of what had been a positive order, he turned
round and nerved himself to deliver the necessary rebuke; but instead of
the shifty-eyed, impudent-looking woman he had thought to see, there
stood close to him, so close that he could almost have touched
her--Flossy, his wife, or rather the woman who, though no longer his
wife, had still, as he had been informed to his discomfiture, the right
to bear his name.
A very strange feeling, and one so complicated that it sat uneasily upon
him, took instant possession of Mr. Tapster--anger, surprise, and relief
warred with one another in his heart.
Then he began to think that his eyes must be playing him some curious
trick, for the figure at which he was staring remained strangely still
and motionless.
Was it possible that his mind, dwelling constantly on Flossy, had evoked
her wraith? But, no; looking up in startled silence at the still figure
standing before him, he realised that not so would memory have conjured
up the pretty, bright little woman of whom he had once been proud.
Flossy still looked pretty, but she was thin and pale, and there were
dark rings round her eyes; also her dress was worn, her hat curiously
shabby.
As Mr. Tapster stared up at her, noting these things, one of her hands
began playing nervously with the fringe of the dining-table cover, and
the other sought the back of what had once been one of her dining-room
chairs.
As he watched her making these slight movements, nature so far
reasserted itself that a feeling of poignant regret, of pity for
her--as well as, of course, a much larger share of pity for
himself--came over James Tapster.
Had Flossy spoken then,--had she possessed the intuitive knowledge of
men which is the gift of so many otherwise unintelligent women,--the
whole of Mr. Tapster's future, to say nothing of her own, might have
been different, and, it may be suggested, happier.
But the moment of softening and mansuetude slipped quickly by, and was
succeeded by a burst of anger, for Mr. Tapster suddenly became aware
that Flossy's left hand, the little thin hand resting on the back of the
chair, was holding two keys which he recognised at once as his property.
The one was a replica of the latch-key which always hung on his
watch-chain, while the other and larger key, to which was attached a
brass tab bearing the name of Tapster and the address of the house, gave
access to the Enclosure Garden opposite Cumberland Crescent.
Avoiding her eager, pitiful look, Mr. Tapster set himself to realise,
with a shrewdness for which William and Maud would never have given him
credit, what Flossy's possession of those two keys had meant during the
last few months.
This woman, who both was and was not Mrs. Tapster, had retained the
power to come freely in and out of _his_ house! She had been able to
make her way, with or without the connivance of the servants, into _his_
children's nursery at any hour of the day or night convenient to
herself. With the aid of that Enclosure key she had no doubt often seen
the children during their daily walk! In a word, Flossy had been able to
enjoy all the privileges of motherhood while having forfeited all those
of happy wifehood!
His mind hastened heavily on--what a fool he must have looked before his
servants, how they must have laughed to think that he was being so
deceived and taken in! Why, even the policeman who stood at point duty
outside must have known all about it!
Small wonder that Mr. Tapster felt extremely incensed; small wonder that
his heart, hardening, solidifying, expelled any feeling of pity provoked
by Flossy's sad and downcast appearance.
"I must request you," he said, in a voice which even to himself sounded
harsh and needlessly loud, "to give up those keys which you hold in your
hand. You have no right to their possession, and I grieve to think that
you took advantage of my great distress of mind not to return them with
the things of which I sent you a list by my brother William. I cannot
believe"--and now Mr. Tapster lied as only the very truthful can lie on
occasion--"I cannot believe, I say, that you have taken advantage of my
having overlooked them, and that you have ever before to-night forced
yourself into this house! Still less can I believe that you have taught
our--_my_--children to deceive their father!"
Even when uttering his first sentence he had noticed that there had come
over Flossy's face--which was thinner, if quite as pretty and
youthful-looking as when he had last seen it--an expression of obstinacy
which he had once well known and always dreaded. It had been Flossy's
one poor weapon against her husband's superior sense and power of
getting his own way, and sometimes it had vanquished him in that fair
fight which is always being waged between the average husband and wife.
"You are right," she cried passionately; "I have not taught the children
to deceive you! I have never come into this house until I felt sure that
they were asleep and alone, though I've often wondered that they never
woke up and knew that their own mother was there! But more than once,
James, I've felt like going after that Society which looks after
badly-treated children--for the last nurse you had for them was so
cruel! If she hadn't left you soon I should have _had_ to do something.
I used to feel desperate when I saw her shake Baby in her pram; why, one
day, in the Enclosure, a lady spoke to her about it, and threatened to
tell her--her mistress----"
Flossy's voice sank to a shamed whisper. The tears were rolling down her
cheeks; she was speaking in angry gasps, and what she said actually made
James Tapster feel, what he knew full well he had no reason to feel,
ashamed of himself.
"That is why"--she went on--"that is why I have, as you say, forced
myself into your house, and why, too, I have now come here to ask you to
forgive me--to take me back--just for the sake of the children."
Mr. Tapster's mind was one that travelled surely if slowly. He saw his
chance and seized it.
"And why," he said impressively, "had that woman--the nurse, I mean--no
mistress? Tell me that, Flossy. You should have thought of all that
before you behaved as you did!"
"I didn't know--I didn't think----"
Mr. Tapster finished the sentence for her. "You didn't think," he
observed impressively, "that I should ever find you out."
Then there came over him a morbid wish to discover--to learn from her
own lips--why Flossy had done such a shameful and extraordinary thing as
to be unfaithful to her marriage vow.
"Whatever made you behave so?" he asked in a low voice. "I wasn't unkind
to you, was I? You had a nice, comfortable home, hadn't you?"
"I was mad," she answered with a touch of sharp weariness. "I don't
suppose I could ever make you understand, and yet"--she looked at him
deprecatingly--"I suppose, James, that you too were young once,
and--and--mad?"
Mr. Tapster stared at Flossy. What extraordinary things she said! Of
course he had been young once; for the matter of that he didn't feel
old--not to say old--even now. But he had always been perfectly
sane--she knew that well enough! As for her calling herself mad, that
was a mere figure of speech. Of course, in a sense she had been mad to
do what she had done, and he was glad that she now understood this, but
her saying so simply begged the whole question, and left him no wiser
than he was before.
There was a long, tense silence between them. Then Mr. Tapster slowly
rose from his armchair and faced his wife.
"I see," he said, "that William was right. I mean, I suppose I may take
it that that young fellow has gone and left you?"
"Yes," she said, with a curious indifference, "he has gone and left me.
His father made him take a job out in Brazil just after the case was
through."
"And what have you been doing since then?" asked Mr. Tapster
suspiciously. "How have you been living?"
"His father gives me a pound a week." Flossy still spoke with that
curious indifference. "I tried to get something to do"--she hesitated,
then offered the lame explanation, "just to have something to do, for
I've been awfully lonely and miserable, James. But I don't seem to be
able to get anything."
"If you had written to Mr. Greenfield or to William, they would have
told you that I had arranged for you to have an allowance," he said, and
then again he fell into silence....
Mr. Tapster was seeing a vision of himself magnanimous,
forgiving,--taking the peccant Flossy back to his heart, and becoming
once more, in a material sense, comfortable! If he acceded to her wish,
if he made up his mind to forgive her, he would have to begin life all
over again, move away from Cumberland Crescent to some distant place
where the story was not known,--perhaps to Clapham, where he had spent
his boyhood.
But how about Maud? How about William? How about the very considerable
expense to which he had been put in connection with the divorce
proceedings? Was all that money to be wasted?
Mr. Tapster suddenly saw the whole of his little world rising up in
judgment, smiling pityingly at his folly and weakness. During the whole
of a long and of what had been, till this last year, a very prosperous
life, Mr. Tapster had always steered his safe course by what may be
called the compass of public opinion, and now, when navigating an
unknown sea, he could not afford to throw that compass overboard, so----
"No," he said. "No, Flossy. It would not be right for me to take you
back. _It wouldn't do._"
"Wouldn't it?" she asked piteously. "Oh! James, don't say no like that,
all at once! People do forgive each other--sometimes. I don't ask you to
be as kind to me as you were before; only to let me come home and see
after the children!"
But Mr. Tapster shook his head. The children! Always the children! He
noticed, even now, that she didn't say a word of wanting to come back to
_him_; and yet he had been such a kind, nay, if Maud were to be
believed, such a foolishly indulgent, husband.
And then Flossy looked so different. Mr. Tapster felt as if a stranger
were standing there before him. Her appearance of poverty shocked him.
Had she looked well and prosperous, he would have felt injured, and yet
her pinched face and shabby clothes certainly repelled him. So again he
shook his head, and there came into his face a look which Flossy had
always known in the old days to spell finality; when he again spoke she
saw that her knowledge had not misled her.
"I don't want to be unkind," he said ponderously. "If you will only go
to William, or write to him if you would rather not go to the
office,"--Mr. Tapster did not like to think that anyone once closely
connected with him should "look like that" in his brother's
office,--"he will tell you what you had better do. I'm quite ready to
make you a handsome allowance--in fact, it's all arranged. You need not
have anything more to do with that fellow's father--an Army Colonel,
isn't he?--and his pound a week; but William thinks, and I must say I
agree, that you ought to go back to your maiden name, Flossy, as being
more fair to me."
"And am I never to see the children again?" she asked.
"No; it wouldn't be right for me to let you do so."
He hesitated, then added, "They don't miss you any more now,"--with no
unkindly intent he concluded, "soon they'll have forgotten you
altogether."
And then, just as Mr. Tapster was hesitating, seeking for a suitable and
not unkindly sentence of farewell, he saw a very strange, almost a
desperate, look come over Flossy's face, and, to his surprise, she
suddenly turned and left the room, closing the door very carefully
behind her.
He stared after her. How very odd of her to say nothing! And what a
queer look had come over her face! He could not help feeling hurt that
she had not thanked him for what he knew to be a very generous and
unusual provision on the part of an injured husband.... Mr. Tapster took
a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and passed it twice over his face,
then once more he sought and sank into the armchair by the fire.
Even now he still felt keenly conscious of Flossy's nearness. What could
she be doing? Then he straightened himself and listened.
Yes, it was as he feared; she had gone upstairs--upstairs to look at the
children, for now he could hear her coming down again. How obstinate she
was--how obstinate and ungrateful! Mr. Tapster wished he had the courage
to go out into the hall and face her in order to tell her how wrong her
conduct was. Why, she had actually kept the keys--those keys that were
his property!
Suddenly he heard her light footsteps hurrying down the hall; now she
was opening the front door,--it slammed, and again Mr. Tapster felt
pained to think how strangely indifferent Flossy was to his interests.
Why, what would the servants think, hearing the front door slam like
that?
But still, now that it was over, he was glad the interview had taken
place, for henceforth--or so at least Mr. Tapster believed--the Flossy
of the past, the bright, pretty, prosperous Flossy of whom he had been
so proud, would cease to haunt him.
He remembered with a feeling of relief that she was going to his brother
William; of course she would then, among greater renunciations, be
compelled to return the two keys, for they--that is, his brother and
himself--would have her in their power. They would not behave unkindly
to her--far from it; in fact, they would arrange for her to live with
some quiet, religious lady in a country town a few hours from London.
Mr. Tapster had not evolved this scheme for himself; it had been done in
a similar case--one of those cases which, in the long ago, when he was
still a single man, had aroused his pitying contempt for husbands who
allow themselves to be deceived.
Then Mr. Tapster began going over each incident of the strange little
interview, for he wanted to tell his brother William exactly what had
taken place.
His conscience was quite clear except with regard to one matter, and
that, after all, needn't be mentioned to William. He felt rather ashamed
of having asked the question which had provoked so wild an answer--so
unexpected a retort.
Mad? What had Flossy meant by asking him if he had ever been mad? No
one had ever used the word in connection with James Tapster before--save
once. Oddly enough, that occasion also had been connected with Flossy in
a way; for it had happened when he had gone to tell William and Maud of
his engagement.
It was on a fine day nine years ago come this May, and he had found
William and William's wife walking in their garden on Haverstock Hill.
His kind brother, as always, had been most sympathetic, and had even
made a suitable joke--Mr. Tapster remembered it very sadly
to-night--concerning the spring and a young man's fancy; but Maud had
been really disagreeable. She had said, "It's no use talking to you,
James, for you're mad--quite mad!" He had argued the matter out with her
good-temperedly, and William had supported him in pointing out that he
was doing an eminently sane thing in marrying Flossy Ball. But Maud
again and again had exclaimed, in her determined, aggravating voice, "I
say you are mad. They don't let lunatics marry--and just now you _are_ a
lunatic, James!"
Strange that he should remember all this to-night; for, after all, it
had nothing to do with the present state of affairs.
Mr. Tapster felt rather shaken and nervous; he pulled out his repeater
watch; but, alas! it was still very early--only ten minutes to nine. He
couldn't go to bed yet. Perhaps he would do well to join a club. He had
always thought rather poorly of men who belonged to clubs,--most of them
were idle, lazy fellows; but still, circumstances alter cases.
Suddenly he began to wish that Flossy had remained a little longer.
He thought of all sorts of things--improving, kindly remarks--he would
have liked to say to her. He blamed himself for not having offered her
any refreshment; she would probably have refused to take anything, but
still, it was wrong on his part not to have thought of it. A pound a
week for everything! No wonder she looked half starved. Why, his own
household bills, exclusive of wine or beer, had worked out, since he had
had this new expensive housekeeper, at something like fifteen shillings
a head--a fact which he had managed to conceal from Maud, who "did" her
William so well on exactly ten shillings and nine-pence all round!
* * * * *
It struck nine from the neighbouring church where Mr. Tapster had
sittings,--but where he seldom was able to go on Sunday mornings, for
he was proud of being among those old-fashioned folk who still regard
Sunday as essentially a day of rest,--and there came a sudden sound of
hoarse shouting from the road outside.
Though he was glad of anything that broke the oppressive silence with
which he felt encompassed, Mr. Tapster found time to tell himself that
it was disgraceful that vulgar street brawlers should invade so quiet a
residential thoroughfare as Cumberland Crescent. But order would soon be
restored, for the sound of a policeman's whistle cut sharply through the
air.
The noise, however, continued. He could hear the tramp of feet hurrying
past his house, and then leaving the pavement for the other side of the
road. What could be the matter? Something very exciting must be going on
just opposite his front door--that is, close to the Enclosure railings.
Mr. Tapster got up from his chair, and walked in a leisurely way to the
wide window; he drew aside the thick red rep curtains, and lifted a
corner of the blind.
Then, through the slightly foggy haze, he saw that which greatly
surprised him and made him feel actively indignant, for a string of
people, men, women, and boys, were hurrying into the Enclosure
garden--that sacred place set apart for the exclusive use of the
nobility and gentry who lived in Cumberland Crescent and the adjoining
terraces.
What an abominable thing! Why, the grass would be all trampled down; and
these dirty people, these slum folk who seem to spring out of the earth
when anything of a disagreeable or shameful nature is taking place--a
fire, for instance, or a brawl--might easily bring infectious diseases
on to those gravel paths where the little Tapsters and their like run
about playing their innocent games. Some careless person had evidently
left the gate unlocked, and the fight, or whatever it was, must be
taking place inside the Enclosure!
Had this been an ordinary night, Mr. Tapster would have gone back to the
fire, but now the need for human companionship was so strong upon him
that he stayed at the window, and went on staring at the curious
shadow-filled scene.
Soon he saw with satisfaction that something like order was to be
restored. A stalwart policeman--in fact, his friend the officer who was
always at point duty some yards from his house--now stood at the gate
of the Enclosure, forbidding any further passing through.
Mr. Tapster tried in vain to see what was going on inside the railings,
but everything beyond the brightly-lighted road was wrapped in grey
darkness. Someone suddenly held up high a flaming torch, and the watcher
at the window saw that the shadowy crowd which had managed to force its
way into the Park hung together, like bees swarming, on the further lawn
through which flowed the ornamental water. With the gleaming of the
yellow, wavering light there had fallen a sudden hush and silence, and
Mr. Tapster wondered uneasily what those people were doing there, and
what it was they were pressing forward so eagerly to see.
Then he realised that it must have been a fight after all, for now the
crowd was parting in two, and down the lane so formed Mr. Tapster saw
coming towards the gate, and so in a sense towards himself, a rather
pitiful little procession. Someone had evidently been injured, and that
seriously, for four men, bearing a sheep-hurdle on which lay a huddled
mass, were walking slowly towards the guarded gate, and he heard
distinctly the gruffly uttered words: "Stand back, please--stand back
there! We're going to cross the road."
The now large crowd suddenly swayed forward; indeed, to Mr. Tapster's
astonished eyes, they seemed to be actually making a rush for his house;
and a moment later they were pressing round his area railings.
Looking down on the upturned faces below him, Mr. Tapster was very glad
that a stout pane of glass stood between himself and the
sinister-looking men and women who seemed to be staring up at him, or
rather at his windows, with faces full of cruel, wolfish curiosity.
He let the blind fall to gently. His interest in the vulgar, sordid
scene had suddenly died down; the drama was now over; in a moment the
crowd would disperse, the human vermin--but Mr. Tapster would never have
used, even to himself, so coarse an expression--would be on their way
back to their burrows. But before he had even time to rearrange the
curtains in their right folds, there came a sudden, loud, persistent
knocking at his front door.
Mr. Tapster turned sharply round, feeling justly incensed. Of course he
knew what it was,--some good-for-nothing urchin finding a vent for his
excited feelings. While it was quite proper that the police should have
hurried on with their still burden to the nearest hospital or workhouse
infirmary, they should have left at least one constable to keep order.
His parlour-maid, who was never in any hurry to open the door--she had
once kept him waiting ten minutes when he had forgotten his
latch-key--would certainly take no notice of this unseemly noise, but
he, James Tapster, would himself hurry out and try and catch the
delinquent, take his name and address, and thoroughly frighten him.
As he reached the door of the dining-room Mr. Tapster heard the front
door open--open, too, and this was certainly very surprising, from the
outside! In the hall he saw that it was a policeman--in fact, the
officer on point duty close by--who had opened his front door, and
apparently with a latch-key.
In the moment that elapsed before the constable spoke, Mr. Tapster's
mind had had time to formulate a new theory. How strange he had never
heard that the police have means of access to every house on their beat!
The fact surprised but did not alarm him, for our hero was one of the
great army of law-abiding citizens in whose eyes a policeman is no human
being, subject to the same laws, the same temptations and passions which
afflict ordinary humanity. No, no; in Mr. Tapster's eyes a constable
could do no wrong, although he might occasionally stretch a point to
oblige such a man as was Mr. Tapster himself.
But what was the constable saying--speaking, as constables always do to
the Mr. Tapsters of this world, in respectful and subdued tones?
"Can I just come in and speak to you, sir? There's been a sad
accident--your lady fallen in the water; we found these keys in her
pocket, and then someone said she was Mrs. Tapster,"--and the policeman
held out the two keys which had played a not unimportant part in Mr.
Tapster's interview with Flossy.
"A man on the bridge saw her go in," went on the policeman, "so she
wasn't in the water long--something like a quarter of an hour--for we
soon found her. I suppose you would like her taken upstairs, sir?"
"No, no," stammered Mr. Tapster, "not upstairs. The children are
upstairs."
Mr. Tapster's round, prominent eyes were shadowed with a great horror
and an even greater surprise. He stood staring at the man before him,
his hands clasped in a wholly unconscious gesture of supplication.