Sparrows Part 47

She did not give her address; she told him how she believed it would be for his advantage not to enc.u.mber his n.o.ble career with concern for her. She had added that, if it were destined for them to meet, nothing would give her greater pleasure than to see him again. She ended by wis.h.i.+ng him G.o.d-speed, a safe return, a successful and happy life. As the days pa.s.sed, with all the indignities and anxieties attending the quest for employment, the girl's thoughts more and more inclined to Melkbridge. She longed to breathe its air, tread its familiar ways, steep herself in the scarcely awakened spirit of the place. She constantly debated in her mind whether or not she should write to Mr.

Devitt to ask for employment. She told herself how, in doing what she had resolved upon doing only in the last extremity, she was giving no more hurt to her pride than it received, several times daily, in her hopeless search for work. A startling occurrence had put the fear of London into her heart and decided her to write to Melkbridge. She had been walking down Victoria Street, raging with anger at the insult that a rich photographer had offered her, to whom, in reply to an advertis.e.m.e.nt, she had applied for work, when her attention was attracted by a knot of people gathered about a hospital nurse, a girl, and a policeman.

The nurse, a harsh, forbidding-looking woman, was endeavouring to coax the girl into a waiting cab. The girl was excitedly appealing for release to the policeman, to the knot of spectators, to pa.s.sers-by.

When anyone displayed a sign of active interest in the matter, the nurse had put her finger to her forehead to signify that her charge was insane.

Mavis was about to avoid the gathering by crossing the road, when she caught a glimpse of the girl's face, to recognise it as belonging to Miss Meakin. Wondering what it could mean, she hastened to her old acquaintance, who, despite her protests, was being urged towards the cab.

"It's all a mistake. Let me go! Oh! won't anyone help?" Miss Meakin had cried as Mavis reached her side.

"What is it? What has happened?" asked Mavis.

"It's you: it's you! Thank Heaven!" cried Miss Meakin.

"What has happened? I insist on knowing," Mavis had asked, as she glanced defiantly at the forbidding-looking nurse.

"It's not a nurse. It's a man. I know he is. He's followed me, and now he's trying to get me away," sobbed the girl.

Mavis turned to the nurse, who put her finger to her forehead, as if to insist that Miss Meakin's mind was unhinged.

Mavis had appealed to the policeman, to declare there must be some mistake, as she knew Miss Meakin to be of sound mind; but this man had replied that it was not his place to interfere. Mavis, feeling anxious for her friend, was debating in her mind whether she should get into the cab with the girl and the nurse, when a keen-faced-looking man, who had listened to all that had been said, came forward to tell the policeman that if he did not interfere, his remissness, together with his number, would be reported to Scotland Yard.

The policeman, stirred to action, stepped forward, at which the nurse had sprung into the cab, to be driven away, when Miss Meakin had gone into hysterics upon Mavis' shoulder.

Later, after she had come to herself in a chemist's shop, she had told Mavis that she had left "Dawes'," and was now keeping house for an aunt who was reduced to taking in paying guests somewhere in North Kensington. She had been to Vincent Square to look up a late paying guest of her aunt's, who had taken with her some of the household linen by mistake. Upon her setting out for home, she had met with the uncanny adventure from which Mavis' timely arrival had released her.

Directly Mavis reached home, she had written to Mr Devitt. Four days pa.s.sed, during which she heard nothing in reply. The suspense filled her soul with a sickening dread. Work at Melkbridge now promised alluring possibilities, qualities that had never presented themselves to her mind in the days when she believed that a letter from her would secure from Mr Devitt what she desired. To her surprised delight, the fifth morning's post had brought her a letter from Mr Devitt, which told her that, if she would start at once for Melkbridge, she could earn a pound a week in the office of a boot manufactory, of which he was managing director; the letter had also contained postal orders for three pounds to pay the expenses of her moving from London to Wilts.h.i.+re. Mavis could hardly believe her eyes. She had already p.a.w.ned most of her trinkets, till now there alone remained her father's gifts, from which she was exceedingly loath to part. The three pounds, in relieving her of this necessity, was in the nature of a G.o.dsend.

Now she stood on the platform at Melkbridge. Her luggage had been put out of the train, which had steamed away. Mavis thought that she would ask the station-master if he knew of a suitable lodging. The man whom she judged to be this person was, at present, engaged with the porters.

While she waited till he should be at liberty, her mind went back to the time when she had last stood on the same platform. It had been on the day when she had come down to Melkbridge fully confident of securing work with the Devitt family. This had only been a few months ago, but to Mavis it seemed long years: she had experienced so much in the time. Then it occurred to her how often Archie Windebank had walked on the same platform--Archie Windebank, who was now on the sea so many hundreds of miles from where she stood. She wondered if he ever found time to think of her. She sighed.

Seeing that the station-master was disengaged, she approached the spectacled, dapper little man and told him of her wants.

"Would it be for long?" he asked.

"Possibly for years. I'm coming to work here."

"Work!"

"In the office of one of Mr Devitt's companies."

The man a.s.sumed an air of some deference.

"Mr Devitt! Our leading inhabitant--sings baritone," remarked the station-master.

"Indeed!"

"A fair voice, but a little undisciplined in the lower register. This is quite between ourselves."

"Of course. Do you think you can help me to find rooms?"

"I wish I could. Let me think."

Mr Medlicott, as he was called, put the tips of his fingers together, while he reflected. Mavis watched his face for something in the nature of encouragement.

"Dear! dear! dear! dear!" he complained.

"Don't bother. It's good of you to think of it at all," said Mavis.

"Stay! I have it. Why didn't I think of it before? Mrs Farthing: the very thing."

"Where does she live?"

"The Pennington side of Melkbridge--over a mile from here; but I know you'd find there everything that you desire."

"Thanks. I'll leave my boxes here and walk there."

"I can save you the trouble. Her husband is guard on the 4.52. If you can fill up the time till then, it will save you walking all that way, perhaps, for no purpose."

Mavis thanked the station-master, left her luggage in his care and walked to the town, where the unmistakable London cut of her well-worn clothes attracted the attention of the female portion of the population. She had a cup of tea in a confectioner's, and felt better for it. She then set out to walk to her old favourite nook on the banks of the river, a spot rich with a.s.sociations of her childhood. Her nearest way was to walk across the churchyard to the meadows, the third of which bordered the Avon. It only needed a quarter of an hour's walk along its banks to find the place she wanted. Unconsciously, her steps led her in a contrary direction from that in which she had purposed going. Almost before she knew what she had done, she had taken the road to Hayc.o.c.k Abbey, which was Windebank's Wilts.h.i.+re home. It required something of an effort to enable her to retrace her steps. She reached and crossed the churchyard, where long forgotten memories crowded upon her; it was with heavy heart that she struck across the meadows.

When she reached the Avon, she found the river to be swollen with the winter's rain. The water, seamed with dark streaks, flowed turbulently, menacingly, past her feet. She walked along the river's deserted bank to the place that she had learned to look upon as her own. Its discovery gave her much of a shock. She had always pictured it in her mind as when she had last seen it. Then, it had been in early July. The river had lazily flowed past banks gaily decorated with timid forget-me-nots and purple veitch; the ragged robin had looked roguishly from the hedge. Such was the heat, that the trees of her nook had looked longingly towards the cool of the water, while the scent of lately mown hay seemed to pervade the world. That was then.

Now, a desolation had invaded the spot. In place of summer gaiety there was only dreariness. The flowers had gone; a raw wind soughed along the river's banks; instead of the scent of the hay there was only the smell of damp earth, as if to proclaim to the girl that such desolation was the certain heritage of all living things.

Mavis could not get rid of the impression that the contrast between the place as she remembered it and as it was now resembled her own life.

She made her way, with all dispatch, to the station. Here she learned that Mrs Farthing could not take her in until the following day, as her present "visitors" were not leaving till then. Mavis p.r.i.c.ked up her ears at the mention of visitors; she did not think such polite euphemisms had penetrated so far afield.

She had little thought to give the matter, as she was concerned to know where she was going to spend the night. Mr Medlicott solved her perplexity; he insisted upon Mavis seeing Mrs Medlicott, who proved to be a simple, kindly countrywoman, who dropped an old-fas.h.i.+oned curtsey directly she set eyes on the girl. The station-master's wife showed Mavis a little room and told her that she was welcome to the use of it for the night, if she were not afraid of being kept awake by the pa.s.sing and shunting of trains. Mavis jumped at the offer, whereat Mrs Medlicott insisted on her sitting down to a solid, homely tea, a meal which was often interrupted by Mr Medlicott getting up to attend to his duties upon the platform. When tea was over, there was yet another hour's daylight. Mrs Medlicott suggested to Mavis that it might be as well for her to call on Mrs Farthing, to see if she liked her; she mentioned that Mr Farthing was a very nice man, but that his wife was not a person everyone could get on with.

Mavis set out for the Pennington end of Melkbridge, where, after some inquiry, she found that Mrs Farthing lived in an old-world cottage, which was situated next door to a farm.

The girl's knock brought Mrs. Farthing, first to the window, then to the door, whereupon Mavis explained her errand, not forgetting to mention who had recommended her to come.

"Please to come inside," said Mrs. Farthing.

Mavis followed the woman, who was little and sharp-eyed, into a clean, orderly living room, where she was asked to take a seat. She was surprised to see her prospective landlady also sit, for all the world as if she were entertaining a guest.

"Did you say you were taking up church work?" asked Mrs Farthing.

"No, I did not."

"I thought you did," said Mrs Farthing, as her face fell.

"You see, my father was a sea captain, so I have to be so careful to whom I let my rooms."

"If I thought they weren't respectable, I shouldn't have come here,"

retorted Mavis.

Mrs Farthing winced, but recovered herself.