Book 1 - Chapter 5

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_ BOOK I CHAPTER V

We crossed the road from the police-station, and found ourselves in one of the narrow streets fringing Covent Garden. The air was fragrant here with the perfume of white and purple lilac, great baskets full of which were piled up in the gutter. The girl half closed her eyes.

"Delicious!" she murmured. "This reminds me of St. Argueil! You have flowers too, then, in London?"

I bought her a handful, which she sniffed and held to her face with delight.

"Ah!" she said a little sadly. "I had forgotten that there were any beautiful things left in the world. Thank you so much, Mr. Arnold."

"At your age," I said cheerfully, "you will soon find out that the world--even London--is a treasure-house of beautiful things."

She looked down the narrow, untidy street, strewn with the refuse from the market waggons and trucks which blocked the way, making all but pedestrian traffic an impossibility--at the piles of empty baskets in the gutter, and the slatternly crowd of loiterers. Then she looked up at me with a faint smile.

"London--is not all like this, then?" she remarked.

I shook my head.

"This is a back street, almost a slum," I said. "I daresay you have lived in the country always, and just at first it does not seem possible that there should be anything beautiful about a great city. When you get a little older I think that you will see things differently. The beauty of a great city thronged with men and women is a more subtle thing than the mere joy of meadows and hills and country lanes--but it exists all the same. And now," I continued, stopping short upon the pavement, "I must take you to your friends. Tell me where they live. You have the address, perhaps."

"What friends?" she asked me, with wide-open eyes.

"You told the superintendent of police that you had friends in London," I reminded her.

Then she smiled at me--a very dazzling smile, which showed all her white teeth, and which seemed somehow to become reflected in her dark blue eyes.

"But I meant you!" she exclaimed. "I thought that you knew that! There is no one else. You are my friend, I know very well, for you came and spoke kindly to me when I was terrified--terrified to death."

The shadow of gravity rested only for a moment upon her face. She laughed gaily at my consternation.

"Then where am I to take you?" I asked.

"Stupid," she murmured; "I am going with you, of course. Why--why--you don't mind, do you?" she asked, with a sudden catch in her throat.

I felt like a brute, and I hastened to make what amends I could. I smiled at her reassuringly.

"Mind! Of course I don't mind," I declared. "Only, you see, there are three of us--all men--and we live together. I was afraid----"

"I shall not mind that at all," she interrupted cheerfully. "If they are nice like you, I think that it will be delightful. There were only girls at the convent, you know, and the sisters, and a few masters who came to teach us things, but they were not allowed to speak to us except to give out the lessons, and they were very stupid. I do not think that I shall be any trouble to you at all. I will try not to be."

I looked at her--a little helplessly. After all, though she was tall for her years, she was only a child. Her dress was of an awkward length, her long straight fringe and plaited hair the coiffure of the schoolroom. The most surprising thing of all in connection with her was that she showed no signs of the tragedy which had so recently been played out around her. Her eyes had lost their nameless fear; there was even colour in her cheeks.

"Come along, then!" I said. "We will turn into the Strand and take a hansom."

She walked buoyantly along by my side, as tall within an inch or so as myself, and with a certain elegance in her gait a little hard to reconcile with her years. All the while she looked eagerly about her, her eyes shining with curiosity.

"We passed through Paris at night," she said, with a little reminiscent shudder, as though every thought connected with that journey were a torture, "and I have never really been in a great city before. I hope you meant what you said," she added, looking up at me with a quick smile, "and that there are parts of London more beautiful than this."

"Many," I assured her. "You shall see the parks. The rhododendrons will be out soon, and I think that you will find them beautiful, though, of course, the town can never be like the country. Here's a hansom with a good horse. Jump in!"

* * * * *

I think that our arrival at Number 4, Earl's Crescent, created quite as much sensation as I had anticipated. When I opened the door of the large, barely-furnished room, which we called our workshop, Arthur sprang from the table on which he had been lounging, and Mabane, who was still working, dropped his brush in sheer amazement. I turned towards the girl.

"These are my friends, Isobel, of whom I have been telling you," I said. "This is Mr. Arthur Fielding, who is the ornamental member of the establishment, and that is Mr. Allan Mabane, who paints very bad pictures, but who contrives to make other people think that they are worth buying. Allan, this young lady, Miss Isobel de Sorrens, and I have had a little adventure together. I will explain all about it later on."

They both advanced with extended hands. The girl, as though suddenly conscious of her position, gave a hand to each, and looked at them almost piteously.

"You will not mind my coming," she begged, with a tremulous little note of appeal in her tone. "I do not seem to have any friends, and Mr. Arnold has been so kind to me. If I may stay here for a little while I will try--oh, I am sure, that I will not be in anyone's way!"

The pathos of her breathless little speech was almost irresistible. The child, as she stood there in the centre of the room, looking eagerly from one to the other, conquered easily. I do not know if either of the other two were conscious of the new note of life which she seemed to bring with her into our shabby, smoke-smelling room, but to me it came home, even in those first few moments, with wonderful poignancy. An alien note it was, but a wonderfully sweet one. We three men had drifted away from the whole world of our womenkind. She seemed to bring us back instantly into touch with some of the few better and rarer memories round which the selfishness of life is always building a thicker crust. For one thing, at that moment I was deeply grateful--that I knew my friends. My task was made a sinecure.

"My dear young lady," Mabane exclaimed, with unmistakeable earnestness, "you are heartily welcome. We are delighted to see you here!"

"More than welcome," Arthur declared. "We are all one here, you know, Miss de Sorrens; and if you are Arnold's friend, you must be ours."

For the first time tears stood in her eyes. She brushed them proudly away.

"You are very, very kind," she said. "I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you both."

Arthur rushed for our one easy-chair, and insisted upon installing her in it. Mabane lit a stove and left the room swinging a kettle. I drew a little sigh of relief, and threw my hat into a corner. Apparently she had conquered my friends as easily as she had conquered me.

"Arthur," I said, "please entertain Miss de Sorrens for a few moments, will you. I must go and interview Mrs. Burdett."

"I'll do my best, Arnold," he assured me. "Mrs. Burdett's in the kitchen, I think. She came in just before you."

Mrs. Burdett was our housekeeper and sole domestic. She was a hard-featured but kindly old woman, with a caustic tongue and a soft heart. She heard my story unmoved, betraying neither enthusiasm or disapproval. When I had finished, she simply set her cap straight and rubbed her hands upon her apron.

"I'd like to see the child, as you call her, Mr. Arnold," she said. "You young gentlemen are so easy deceived, and it's an unusual thing that you're proposing, not to say inconvenient."

So I took Mrs. Burdett back with me to the studio. As we opened the door the music of the girl's strange little foreign laugh was ringing through the room. Arthur was mounted upon his hobby, talking of the delights of motoring, and she was listening with sparkling eyes. They stopped at once as we entered.

"This is Mrs. Burdett, Isobel," I said, "who looks after us here, and who is going to take charge of you. She will show you your room. I'm sorry that you will find it so tiny, but you can see that we are a little cramped here!"

Isobel rose at once.

"You should have seen our cells at St. Argueil," she exclaimed, smiling. "Some of us who were tall could scarcely stand upright. May I come with you, Mrs. Burdett?"

Mrs. Burdett's tone and answer relieved me of one more anxiety. The door closed upon them. We three men were alone.

"Is this," Mabane asked curiously, "a practical joke, or a part of your plot? What does it all mean? Where on earth did you come across the child? Who is she?"

I took a cigarette from my case and lit it.

"The responsibility for the whole affair," I declared, "remains with Arthur."

The boy whistled softly. He looked at me with wide-open eyes.

"Come," he declared, "I like that. Why, I have never seen the girl before in my life, or anyone like her. Where do I come in, I should like to know?"

"It was you," I said, "who started me off to Charing Cross."

"You mean to say that you picked her up there?" Mabane exclaimed.

"I will tell you the whole story," I answered. "She comes with the halo of tragedy about her. Listen!"

Then I told them of the things which had happened to me during the last few hours. _

Read next: Book 1: Chapter 6

Read previous: Book 1: Chapter 4

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