You want to pay me compliments, she laughed, blushing deeply.
And your surname? I went on.
Cloud, she replied. Aline Cloud.
Then your aunts name is Popejoy, and you are living at 16, Ellerdale Road, Hampstead, I said, laughing. Well, we have discovered it all at last.
Yes, thanks to you, she replied, with a sigh of relief. Then looking anxiously at the clock, she added, Its late, therefore I must be going. I can get there in a cab, I suppose?
Certainly, I answered; and if youll wait a moment while I get a thick coat Ill see you safely there if I may be allowed.
No, she said, putting up her little hand as if to arrest me, I couldnt think of taking you out all that way at this hour.
I laughed, for I was used to late hours at the club, and had on many a morning crossed Leicester Square on my way home when the sun was shining.
So disregarding her, I went into my room, exchanged my light overcoat for a heavier one, placed a silk muffler around my neck, and having fortified myself with a whiskey and soda, we both went out, and entering a cab started forth on our long drive up to Hampstead.
The cabman was ignorant of Ellerdale Road, but when I directed him to Fitzjohns Avenue he at once asserted that he would quickly find it.
I hope we may meet again. We must! I exclaimed, when at last we grew near our journeys end. This is certainly a very strange meeting, but if at any time I can render you another service, command me.
You are extremely good, she answered, turning to me after looking out fixedly upon the dark, deserted street, for rain was falling, and it was muddy and cheerless. We had, however, better not meet again.
Why? I inquired. Her beauty had cast a spell about me, and I was capable of any foolishness.
Because it is unnecessary, she replied, with a strange vagueness, yet without hesitation.
We were passing at that moment the end of a winding thoroughfare, and at a word the cabman turned his horse and proceeded slowly in search of Number 16.
Without much difficulty we found it, a good-sized detached house, built in modern style, with gable ends and long windows; a house of a character far better than I had expected. I had believed the street to be a mean one, of those poor-looking houses which bear the stamp of weekly rents, but was surprised to find a quiet, eminently respectable suburban road at the very edge of London. At the back of the houses were open fields, and one or two of the residences had carriage-drives before them.
There was still a light over the door, which showed that the lost one was expected, and as she descended she allowed her little, well-gloved hand to linger for a moment in mine.
Good night, she said, merrily, and thank you ever so much. I shall never forget your kindness never.
Then you will repay me by meeting me again? I urged.
No, she answered, in an instant serious. It is best not.
Why? I trust I have not offended you?
Of course not. It is because you have been my friend to-night that I wish to keep apart from you.
Is that the way you treat your friends? I inquired.
Yes, she replied, meaningly. Then, after a pause, added, I have no desire to bring evil upon you.
Evil! I exclaimed, gazing in wonderment at her beauty. What evil can you possibly bring upon me?
You will, perhaps, discover some day, she answered, with a hollow, artificial laugh. But Im so very late. Good night, and thank you again so much.
Then turning quickly, with a graceful bow she entered the gate leading to the house, and rang the bell.
I saw her admitted by a smart maid, and having lit a fresh cigarette settled myself in a corner, and told the cabman to drive back to Charing Cross Mansions.
The man opened the trap-door in the roof of the conveyance, and began to chat, as night-cabmen will do to while away the time, yet the outlook was very dismal that broad, long, never-ending road glistening with wet, and lit by two straight rows of street-lamps as far as the eye could reach right down to Oxford Street.
I was thinking regretfully of Aline; of her grace, her beauty, and of the strange circumstances in which we had become acquainted. Her curious declaration that she might cause me some mysterious evil sorely puzzled me, and I felt impelled to seek some further explanation.
I entered my chambers with my latch-key, and the ever-watchful Simes came forward, took my hat and coat, drew forward my particular armchair, and placed the whiskey and syphon at my elbow.
I had mixed a final drink, and was raising my glass, when suddenly my eyes fell upon the little triangular side-table where the curios were displayed.
What I saw caused me to start and open my eyes in amazement. Then I walked across to inspect it more closely.
The ivory crucifix, the most treasured in my collection, had been entirely consumed by fire. Nothing remained of it but its ashes, a small white heap, the silver effigy fused to a mass.
Simes! I cried. Whats the meaning of this?
I dont know, sir, he answered, pale in alarm. I noticed it almost the instant you had left the house. The ashes were quite warm then.
Are you sure you havent had an accident with it? I queried, looking him straight in the face.
No, sir; I swear I havent, he replied. Your cab had hardly driven away when I found it just as it is now. I havent touched it.
I looked, and noted its position. It was in the exact spot where Aline had placed it after taking it in her hand.
I recollected, too, that it was there where she had seen the object which had so disturbed her.
That some deep and extraordinary mystery was connected with this sudden spontaneous destruction of the crucifix was plain. It was certainly an uncanny circumstance.
I stood before that little table, my eyes fixed upon the ashes, amazed, open-mouthed, petrified.
A vague, indefinite shadow of evil had fallen upon me.
Chapter Three
Womans World
The more I reflected, the greater mystery appeared to surround my pretty acquaintance of that well-remembered evening.
Three days went by, and, truth to tell, I remained in an uncertain, undecided mood. For a year past I had been the closest friend and confidant of Muriel Moore, but not her lover. The words of love I had spoken had been merely in jest, although I could not disguise from myself that she regarded me as something more than a mere acquaintance. Yet the strange, half-tragic beauty of Aline Cloud was undeniable. Sometimes I felt half-inclined to write to her and endeavour to again see her, but each time I thought of her, visions of Muriel rose before me, and I recollected that I admired her with an admiration that was really akin to love.
On the third evening I looked in at the St. Stephens Club, finding Roddy stretched in one of the morocco-covered chairs in the smoking-room, with a long whisky and soda on the table by his side.
Hullo! he cried gaily, as I advanced, where did you get to the other night?
No, old fellow, I answered, sinking into a chair near him; ask yourself that question. You slipped away so very quickly that I thought youd met some creditor or other.
Well, he answered, after a pause, I did see somebody I didnt want to meet.
A man? I asked, for my old chum had but few secrets from me.
No; a woman.
I nodded.
At that instant a thought occurred to me, and I wondered whether Roddy had encountered Aline, and whether she was the woman he did not wish to meet. Was she young? I asked, laughing.
Not very, he replied vaguely, adding, There are some persons who, being associated with the melancholy incidents in ones life, bring back bitter memories that one would fain forget.
Yes, yes; I understand, I said.
Then presently, when I had got my cigar under way, I related to him what had afterwards occurred, omitting, however, to tell him of the remarkable fusion of my crucifix. The latter fact was so extraordinary that it appeared incredible.
He listened in silence until I had finished, and then I asked him
Now, youve had a good long experience of all kinds of adventure. What do you think of it?
Well, when you commenced to tell me of her loneliness I felt inclined to think that she was deceiving you. The alone-in-London dodge has too often been worked. But you say that she was evidently a lady modest, timid, and apparently unused to London life. What name did she give you?
Cloud Aline Cloud.
Aline Cloud! he gasped, starting forward with a look of inexpressible fear.
Yes. Do you know her?
No! he answered promptly, instantly recovering himself.
But his manner was unconvincing. The hand holding his cigar trembled slightly, and it was apparent that the news I had imparted had created an impression upon him the reverse of favourable.
I did not continue the subject, yet as we chatted on, discussing other things, I pondered deeply.
Things in the House are droning away as usual, Roddy said, in answer to a question. I get sick of this never-ending talk. The debates seem to grow longer and longer. Im heartily weary of it all. And he sighed heavily.
Yet the papers report your speeches, and write leaders about them, I remarked. That speech of yours regarding Korea the other night was splendid.
Because I know the country, he replied. Im the only man in the House who has set foot in the place, I suppose. Therefore, I spoke from personal observation.
But with the reputation youve gained you ought to be well satisfied, I urged. You are among the youngest men in the House, yet you are hailed as a coming man.
Thats all very well, he answered. Nevertheless I wish Id never gone in for it, and he yawned and stretched himself.
Then, after a pause, he said reflectively
That was really a remarkable adventure of yours very remarkable! Where did you say the girl lived?
In Ellerdale Road, Hampstead. She lives with an aunt named Popejoy.
Ah! he exclaimed, then lapsed into a sullen silence, his brow clouded by a heavy, thoughtful look, as though he were reflecting upon some strange circumstance of the past.
I remained about an hour, when suddenly the division-bell rang and we parted: he entering the House to record his vote, I to stroll along to my own club to write letters.
Whether Roddy was acquainted with my pretty companion I was unable to determine. It seemed very much as if he were, for I could not fail to notice his paleness and agitation when I had pronounced her name. Still I resolved to act with discretion, for I felt myself on the verge of some interesting discovery, the nature of which, however, I knew not.
Next evening, in response to a telegram, Muriel Moore met me, and we dined together on the balcony of Frascatis Restaurant, in Oxford Street.
First let me confess that our attachment was something of a secret, for there was considerable difference in our social positions; I had known her for years, indeed ever since her hoydenish days when she had worn short frocks. Her father, a respectable tradesman in Stamford, a few miles from Tixover, had failed, and within a year had died, with the result that at nineteen she had drifted into that channel wherein so many girls drift who are compelled to seek their own living, and had become an assistant at a well-known milliners in Oxford Street. In the shop world milliners assistants and show-room hands rank higher than the ordinary girl who serves her wealthier sisters with tapes, ribbons, or underclothing, therefore Muriel had been decidedly fortunate in obtaining, this berth. It was, no doubt, on account of her beauty that the shrewd manageress of the establishment had engaged her, for her chief duty seemed to be to try on hats and bonnets for customers to witness the effect, and as nearly everything suited her she was enabled to effect many advantageous sales. Dozens of women, ugly and a trifle passé, were cajoled into believing that a certain hat suited them when they saw it upon her handsome, well-poised head.
She was dark, with refined, well-cut, intelligent features; not the doll-like, dimpled face of the average shop-girl, but a countenance open and handsome, even though her hair was arranged a trifle coquettishly, a fact which she explained was due to the wishes of the manageress. Her mouth was small, and had the true arch of Cupid, her teeth even and well-matched, her chin pointed and showing considerable determination, and her eyes black as those of any woman of the South. Many men who went with their wives and sisters to choose hats glanced at her in admiration, for she was tall, with a figure well-rounded, a small waist and an easy, graceful carriage, enhanced perhaps by the well-fitting costume of black satin supplied her by the management.
My family had bought their smaller drapery goods of her father for years, and it was in my college days that I had first seen and admired her in the little old-fashioned shop in St. Martins, in Stamford. Old Mr Moore, a steady-going man of antiquated ideas, had been overtaken and left behind in the race of life, for cheap cash drapers had of recent years sprung up all around him, his trade had dwindled down, until it left him unable to meet the invoices from Cooks, Pawsons, and other firms of whom he purchased goods, and he was compelled to file his petition.
I knew nothing of this, for I was abroad at the time. It must, however, have been a terrible blow to poor Muriel when she and her father were compelled to leave the old shop and take furnished rooms in a back street at the further end of the town, and a still more serious misfortune fell upon her when a few months later her father died, leaving her practically alone in the world. Through the influence of one of the commercial travellers from London, who had been in the habit of calling upon her father, she had obtained the berth at Madame Gabrielles, and for the past year had proved herself invaluable at that establishment, one of the most noted in London as selling copies of the latest models.
We did not very often meet, for she well understood that a union was entirely out of the question. We were excellent friends, purely Platonic, and it gave her pleasure and variety to dine sometimes with me at a restaurant. There was nothing loud about her; no taint of the London shop-girl, whose tastes invariably lie in the direction of the lower music-halls, Cinderella dances, and Sunday up-river excursions. She was a thoroughly honest, upright, and modest girl, who, compelled to earn her own living, had set out bravely to do so.
From where we sat dining we could listen to the music and look down upon the restaurant below. The tables were filled with diners and the light laughter and merry chatter general.
We had not met for nearly a month, as I had been down to Tixover, where we had had a house-party with its usual round of gaiety, shooting and cycling. Indeed, since June I had been very little in London, having spent the whole summer at Zermatt.
It seems so long since we were last here, she exclaimed suddenly, casting her eyes around the well-lit restaurant. I suppose you had quite a merry time at home?