The Lady of the Basement Flat Part 25

But he lived; he spoke; he opened his dark eyes and smiled upon us; he demanded a battered "boy stout" doll, and hugged it to his pneumonia jacket; he drank his milk, and said "More!" he grew cross and fractious--oh, welcome, gladdening sign!--and said, "Doe away! No more daddies! No more nursies! Don't want n.o.bodies! Boo-hoo-hoo!" and we went and wept for gladness.

Illness, the really critical touch-and-go illness which nurses call "a good case," turns a home into an isolation camp. The outer world retreats to an immeasurable distance, and the watchers stare out of the windows, and behold with stupefaction hard-hearted men and women walking abroad on two legs, with hats on their heads, and umbrellas in their hands, talking and laughing and pursuing their petty avocations, not in the least affected by the fact that the temperature had again soared up to 104, and the doctor spoke gravely about heart strain. It seems inconceivable that human creatures, living a few yards away, are actually going to parties, and attending theatres, trying on new clothes, and worrying about cracked cups.

It was with much the same shock of incredulity that, on descending to my flat one afternoon, I was met with the news that a gentleman was in the drawing-room waiting to see me. Bridget was out walking with the little girls, and the orphan, as usual, had opened the door. I demanded to be told "all about it," upon which she inhaled a deep breath, and set forth her tale after the manner of a witness in the police court.

"He says to me, 'Is Miss Harding at home?' I says, 'Yes, sir, she's at home, but she's out at the moment nursing a little boy upstairs'. He says to me, 'Is Miss Evelyn Wastneys at home?' I says, 'She don't live here, sir. There has some letters come--' He says, 'When will Miss Harding be in?' I says, 'She generally gives us a look, as it might be, about six, before the young ladies settles to bed'. 'Then I'll wait!'

he says, takes off his hat, and walked in. I said, 'What name shall I say, please?' He said, 'It doesn't matter about my name. She doesn't know it.'"

I stood silent, digesting the news.

"What sort of a gentleman is he? What does he look like?"

The orphan considered, silently chewing the cud.

"He looks," she opined deliberately, "as if he could give you _what for_!"

At that, without one second's pause, I scuttled into my own room and locked the door behind me. (I would have "locked and double locked" it, as heroines of fiction do on such occasions, but it has always remained a mystery to me how they manage to do it!) That being done I fell into a chair, and breathlessly confronted--the worst!

It was the Squire! I knew it without a doubt. If the orphan had devoted an hour to her description, she could not have been more apt.

In some mysterious way he had tracked me to my lair. I might have known he would do it! He was not the sort of man to be daunted by a closed door. He would put out the whole of his big, indomitable force, till by hook or by crook it flew open, and the secret was revealed. Mercifully, however, it was so far only Miss Harding whom he had discovered; Evelyn Wastneys still eluded his grasp, and if I could summon enough nerve and courage to carry through one final interview, all might yet be well. It was useless to say I would not see him. He would simply wait until I did. The only result would be to arouse his suspicions. I rose slowly and confronted myself in the gla.s.s.

The disguise was good, but was it good enough? I hastily opened my "make up" case, and accentuated the lines which the expert had shown were most telling--the curve of the upper lip, the kink in the eyebrow, the long wrinkle from nose to chin. I wrapped my Paisley scarf round my shoulders, took my courage in both hands, and opened the door. I decided to go into the dining-room, draw the cas.e.m.e.nt curtains, seat myself with my back to the light, and--send the orphan to summon him to my presence! I was nervous and scared, but--let me confess it--the moment was not without a fearful joy! My heart was beating with quick, excited throbs. It was the oddest, most inexplicable thing, but I--I really wanted to see him. If a wish could have spirited him away, I could not have brought myself to breathe it. It seemed suddenly as if, unknown to myself, I had missed him, been missing him for a long, long time--

The door opened and he came in.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A DOUBLE EXCITEMENT.

He wore a dark suit, and carried a silk hat in his hand. The conventional dress made a great difference in his appearance; it always does when one is accustomed to see a man in the easy, becoming garb of the country. He looked older, more imposing; in the dim light it seemed to me that he was thinner too, had lost some of his deep tan.

I rose from my chair and bowed. He bowed too, and said:--

"Miss Harding, I believe?"

Long might he believe it! I waved him to a chair, and said suavely, "Pray sit down."

"I--er--I called to ask if you would be kind enough to give me Miss Wastneys' address. I believe her letters are sent to this address."

"May I ask who gave you that information?"

"I'm sorry; but I'm not at liberty to say. It was a discovery which has given me considerable difficulty to make."

"Excuse me, Mr--er--" I stopped short with an admirable air of inquiry.

"My name is Maplestone."

"Thank you! I presume, Mr Maplestone, that you are aware of Miss Wastneys' wish to keep her address private for the moment. Do you consider yourself justified in acting in direct opposition to her wishes?"

"I do," he said st.u.r.dily. "I warned her that I would do everything in my power to find her. I am only sorry that I have been so long in doing it."

"I am afraid she would not share your regret. In any case, I cannot take the responsibility of helping you any further."

"You refuse to tell me where to find her?"

"I am sorry to appear discourteous, Mr Maplestone, but I have no choice."

He looked at me, a cool, casual glance, and impatiently frowned. There was no flicker of recognition in his look. To him I was obviously a mere figure-head, an obstinate, elderly woman who stood as an obstacle in his path. He hesitated for a moment, and then said emphatically:--

"My business is imperative. It is absolutely necessary to see Miss Wastneys."

"I think she must decide this point."

"Madam!"--he glared at me reproachfully--"you are probably not aware that I have asked Miss Wastneys to be my wife?"

"I was not aware, Mr Maplestone, that Miss Wastneys had accepted that offer."

"She has not. That is just the point. If she had, I should not need help. But she is going to! That is why I am so anxious to find her--to prevent further waste of time."

Braced against my cus.h.i.+ons, I gasped in mingled exasperation and dismay.

That tone of certainty impressed me against my will. It required an effort to preserve an unruffled appearance.

"I cannot give you any help, Mr Maplestone. To the best of my belief, you are wrong in your expectations."

"Evelyn--Miss Wastneys is your niece, I believe?"

I bowed, mentally quoting the orphan's qualification:--

"Sort of!"

"May I ask if she has confided in you--told you the history of our acquaintance?"

For one moment I hesitated, then:--

"I think I may say that I know practically all that there is to tell."

He leant forward suddenly, rested an arm on the table, and fixed me with eager eyes.

"Miss Harding, I want a friend! I want an ally. I came here to-day, hoping to find one in you. Will you be on my side?"

I drew back; but, before I had time to protest, he hurled another crisp, sharp question at my head:--

"Do you love your niece?"

The question appealed to me. I answered promptly, as it were mentally licking my lips:--