If I can render you any assistance I will do so with pleasure, I said, addressing her, adding, I noticed a moment ago that you appeared to be in distress.
You are extremely kind, she answered, raising her eyes to mine for an instant. Her glance was steady and searching, and I saw that she was undecided whether to trust me. You were quite correct in thinking I am in distress, and if you really could help me I should be so much obliged.
Then what troubles you? I inquired, well satisfied with her answer, and anxious that she should make me her confidant.
I have been separated from my friends, and am a stranger to London, she replied. You will laugh, she added, but I am really lost, for I dont know my way back to my friends house.
You know the address, I suppose? I laughed, for to me the idea of one being thus lost in London was amusing.
Yes: Ellerdale Street.
Where?
I dont know, she answered, except that its a long way from here; somewhere on the other side of London. We came by train.
Ellerdale Street, I repeated reflectively. Ive never heard of it. There are, of course, thousands of streets in the suburbs of which nobody ever hears, save when somebody commits a crime of more than ordinary violence, and papers give the unknown thoroughfare undue prominence.
But the strange thing is that my friends, two ladies, should have disappeared so quickly, she went on, pausing on the pavement before the theatre as we went out and gazing blankly about her. They must surely have missed me, and if so, one would think they would remain till everybody had gone, and then search for me.
Yes, I said, it is certainly rather remarkable, and together we walked to the corner of Leicester Street, where there is another exit of the theatre, but my pretty companion could discover neither of the ladies who had accompanied her.
Her voice was low and refined, her well-gloved hands small; yet her severe style of dress seemed to speak of poverty which she would fain conceal. She wore no jewellery, not even a brooch; and I fell to wondering whether she might be a governess, or perhaps a shop-assistant who had come from a provincial town to better herself in London.
For fully a quarter of an hour we strolled together, backwards and forwards before the railings of the Empire, which soon became dark and deserted, until we were practically the only loiterers. It certainly struck me as more than strange that her companions, knowing her to be a stranger to London, should thus leave her to her own devices in Leicester Square at midnight. Again, it was curious that she herself should only know the name of the road, and not the district.
You said your friends live in Ellerdale Street, I exclaimed at last, after we had been chatting about the performance, and she had criticised the singers with an artlessness which betrayed that she was entirely unaccustomed to the music-hall. The best course will be to ask a cabman.
A hansom was standing at the kerb.
Do you know of any street named Ellerdale Street? I asked the driver.
No, sir, I dont, he answered, after a pause, during which time he thought deeply. Theres Ellerslie Road up in Sheperds Bush, and Ellesmere Road out at Bow, but I dont know of any others. Then, turning to another man on a cab behind him, he asked:
I say, Sandy, do you know Ellerdale Street?
No, dont know it at all. Ask a policeman, was the others gruff response.
Im giving you a lot of trouble, my companion said apologetically. It is really too bad, and you must think me very foolish to get separated from my friends like this. How it occurred I really dont know. They went out in front of me, and the crowd kept me from coming out of my seat. Then, when I got into the promenade I found they had vanished, as if by magic.
Its evident that the street is not well-known, I said, for hansom-cab drivers are really encyclopaedias of London geography, having to pass an examination in it before being granted a drivers licence by the police. It must be somewhere far out in the suburbs.
Then a thought suddenly occurred to me.
The only thing I can suggest, I continued, is that you should walk round to my chambers in Charing Cross Road, for I have there a Directory which will no doubt give us some clue to the whereabouts of your friends.
She paused, and looked at me rather strangely I thought. I had expected her to be eager to act as I suggested, but found her somewhat loth to accompany me. Yet, was this not natural? I was an utter stranger. Perhaps, too, she had seen some drama in the provinces where the villain invariably wears a starched shirt-front and smokes cigarettes, for it seemed as though she held me in fear.
You are very kind, she answered, but I really think
No, I said, divining her thoughts. It is impossible for you to wander the streets until morning. You must allow me to help you. Come.
Ive been thinking it would be best, perhaps, for me to go to an hotel, she said.
As you wish, I replied. But you must find out this unknown street either now or to-morrow morning, and if you take my advice you will lose no time in ascertaining where your friends really live, for they will be anxious about you.
For a few moments she reflected, then exclaimed
Yes, youre right after all. Im sure you are extremely kind.
And together we crossed the Square and continued along Cranbourne Street to the colossal block of redbrick flats wherein my chambers were situated.
Chapter Two
This Crucifix
On ascending to the third floor, Simes, my man, opened the door and she advanced timidly down the tiny passage to my sitting-room. It was not a very large apartment, but I had furnished it comfortably a couple of years before, and it presented a rather cosy appearance with the table-cover and velvet portières of sage green to match, a couple of big roomy saddlebag chairs of club dimensions, a high, carved-oak buffet, with its strip of white cloth spread as daintily as in the dining-room of any well-appointed house, for Simes was an excellent man, as natty as a chamber-maid. He took a pride in keeping my rooms spick and span. An ex-trooper of Hussars, he had seen service with me in Egypt before I left the Service, and was a model servant, obeying with military precision, and was eminently trustworthy, save where whiskey was concerned. He could not be expected to resist the temptation of taking a drop from my tantalus on odd occasions.
Upon the walls of my room were a few choice pictures which I had purchased from time to time, together with a pencil caricature of myself drawn by one of the Punch artists who was an old friend, and a couple of plaques which had been given me by the lady who painted them. In the middle of the room stood the square table with a bowl of flowers in the centre, on one side of the fireplace a revolving bookstand, and on the other nearest the window, which looked down upon Charing Cross Road, a small triangular table of rosewood, whereon stood some curios which I had picked up during my pleasure trip round the world.
I give this detailed description of my own quarters because it will be found necessary in order to properly understand the story.
What a pretty room! was my fair unknowns first exclamation.
Do you think so? Im glad you like it, I laughed, for most of my visitors were in the habit of making similar observations. Do sit down, and I drew forward one of the big armchairs.
Do you think so? Im glad you like it, I laughed, for most of my visitors were in the habit of making similar observations. Do sit down, and I drew forward one of the big armchairs.
With a word of thanks she seated herself, and when I placed a hassock at her feet she stretched out one tiny foot upon it coquettishly, although with such natural grace that there was nothing fast about her.
I stood upon the hearthrug looking at her, and when our eyes met she laughed a bright, merry laugh, all the misgivings she had previously entertained having now vanished.
First, you must be faint, for it is so late, and touching the bell Simes instantly answered, and I ordered port wine and glasses.
She protested instantly, but on being pressed sipped half a glass and left the remainder.
We chatted on as Simes, who had been waiting on us, with a glance of wonder, left and closed the door.
Then, rising, I took down the Directory from the bookcase and opened it at the Streets. She rose from her chair, and gazed eagerly upon the great puzzling volume until I came to Ellerdale Street.
Ellerdale Street, Lewisham, I read aloud. From Porson Street to Ermine Road. Do those names bring back to you any recollection of the whereabouts of your friends house?
No, she reflected, with a perplexed expression. Ive never heard of them.
The street is apparently near Loampit Vale, I said. That would be the principal thoroughfare. You no doubt came from Lewisham Road Station by the Chatham and Dover Railway to Victoria or perhaps to Ludgate Hill?
She shook her head. Apparently she had not the slightest idea of the geography of London. Upon this point her mind was an utter blank.
How long have you been in London? I inquired.
Nearly a week; but Ive not been out before. My aunt has been ill, she explained.
Then you live in the country, I suppose?
Yes, I have lived in Warwickshire, but my home lately has been in France.
In France! I exclaimed, surprised. Where?
At Montgeron, not far from Paris.
And you have come to London on a visit?
No. I have come to live here, she replied; adding, It is absurd that the first evening I go out I am so utterly lost. I know my way about Paris quite well.
But Paris is not London, I said. The suburbs of our metropolis are veritable Saharas, with their miles and miles of streets where the houses are exactly similar, as if the jerry-builders had not two ideas of architecture.
It certainly was extraordinary that none of the thoroughfares which I had named gave her any clue to this remote street in which was situated her temporary home. She read down the names of the occupiers of the houses, but could not find her aunts name. True, there were some omissions, as there always are, and I began to fear that the Directory would not help us.
On turning over the page, however, I saw in italics: Ellerdale Road. See Hampstead.
Ah! I cried, there is another; but its Ellerdale Road, and after a few moments eager search I discovered it. This road runs from Fitzjohns Avenue to Arkwright Road in Frognal. Have you ever heard of them before?
It was really remarkable that a young girl should thus be so utterly lost in London. I, a man-about-town, knew the West End as I knew the way around my own chambers; and I thought I knew London; but now, on reflection, saw how utterly ignorant I was of the great world which lies beyond those few thoroughfares wherein are situated the theatres, the clubs, and the houses of the wealthy. For the bachelor who lives the life of London the world revolves around Piccadilly Circus.
My pretty companion stood puzzled. It was apparent that she had never heard of any of the thoroughfares I had mentioned, yet it was equally extraordinary that any persons living in London should be entirely ignorant of the district in which they resided.
The thoroughfare in Hampstead is Ellerdale Road, while that in Lewisham is Ellerdale Street. It must be either one or the other, for they are the only two in London? I said.
How far are they apart? she inquired, looking up from the book, dismayed.
I dont know the distance, I was compelled to admit. But the one is on one side of London, and the other is in the opposite direction perhaps nearly eight miles away.
I believe its Ellerdale Street. Ive always called it that, and neither of my aunts has corrected me. Then suddenly, as she glanced round the room, she started as if in terror, and pointing to the little side-table, cried
Oh, look!
I turned quickly, but saw nothing.
Why, what is it? I inquired in quick concern. But in an instant her face, a moment before suddenly blanched by some mysterious fear, relaxed into a smile, as she answered
Nothing! It was really nothing. I thought I thought I saw something in that corner.
Saw something! I exclaimed, advancing to the table. What do you mean?
Nothing, and she laughed a strange, forced laugh. It was really nothing, I assure you.
But surely your imagination did not cause you to start like that, I said dubiously. She was, I felt convinced, trying to conceal something from me. Could she, I wondered, be subject to hallucinations?
Then, as if to change the subject, she crossed to my side, and pointing to an antique ivory cross upon an ebony stand, much battered and yellow with age, which I had picked up in a shop on the Ponte Vecchio, in Florence, long ago, she exclaimed
What a quaint old crucifix!
And she took it up and examined it closely, as a connoisseur might look at it.
The figure, I see, is in silver, she observed. And it is very old. Italian, I should say.
Yes, I replied, rather surprised at her knowledge. How did you know that?
But she smiled, and declared that she only guessed it to be so, as I had half an hour ago spoken of a recent winter spent in Italy. Then, after admiring it, she placed it down, and again turned, sighed heavily, and bent over the Directory, which was still open upon the table.
As she did so, she suddenly burst forth
At last! Ive found it. Look! there can be no mistake. It isnt Ellerdale Street, but Ellerdale Road!
And bending beside her I read where she pointed with her slim finger the words, 16, Popejoy, Mrs
Is that your aunts name? I asked.
Yes, she replied.
And yours? I asked.
But she pursed up her lips and did not seem inclined to impart this knowledge to me.
My name is really of no account, she said. We shall not meet again.
Not meet again? I cried, for the thought of losing a friend so beautiful and so charming was an exceedingly unhappy one. Why shall we not meet? You are going to live in London now, you say, and taking a card from my cigarette-case I handed it to her.
With her clear, brilliant eyes fixed upon mine, she took the card almost mechanically, then glanced at it.
Im greatly indebted to you, Mr Cleeve, she said. But I dont see there is any necessity for you to know my name. It is sufficient, surely, for you to reflect that you one night befriended one who was in distress.
But I must know your name, I protested. Come, do tell me.
She hesitated, then lifted her eyes again to mine and answered
My name is Aline.
Aline, I repeated. A name as charming as its owner.
You want to pay me compliments, she laughed, blushing deeply.