Two Little Waifs Part 5

"We must get everything ready," he said. "I shall want to be free to see Bertram at once."

"But there's never a crowd inside the station here," said his wife.

"They won't let people in without special leave. We shall easily catch sight of Captain Bertram if he has managed to get inside."

"He's sure to have done so," said Mr. Marton, and in his anxiety to catch the first glimpse of his friend, Mr. Marton spent the next ten minutes with his head and half his body stretched out of the window long before the train entered the station, though even when it arrived there the dim light would have made it difficult to recognise any one.

Had there been any one to recognise! But there was not. The train came to a stand at last. Mr. Marton had eagerly examined the faces of the two or three men, _not_ railway officials, standing on the platform, but there was no one whom by any possibility he could for a second have taken for Captain Bertram. Mrs. Marton sat patiently in her place, hoping every instant that "Phillip" would turn round with a cheery "all right, here he is. Here, children!" and oh, what a weight--a weight that all through the long night journey had been mysteriously increasing--would have been lifted off the kind young lady's heart had he done so! But no; when Mr. Marton at last drew in his head there was a disappointed and perplexed look on his good-natured face.

"He's not here--not on the platform, I mean," he said, hastily correcting himself. "He must be waiting outside; we'll find him where we give up the tickets. It's a pity he didn't manage to get inside.

However, we must jump out. Here, Leonie, you take Mrs. Marton's bag, I'll shoulder the rugs. Hallo there," to a porter, "that's all right.

You give him the things, Leonie. Omnibus, does he say? Bless me, how can I tell? Bertram's got a cab engaged most likely, and we don't want an omnibus for us three. You explain to him, Leonie."

[Ill.u.s.tration: In another moment the little party was making its way through the station.]

Which Leonie did, and in another moment the little party was making its way through the station, among the crowd of their fellow-pa.s.sengers. Mr.

Marton first, with the rugs, then his wife holding Gladys by the hand, then Leonie and Roger, followed by the porter bringing up the rear. Mrs.

Marton's heart was not beating fast by this time; it was almost standing still with apprehension. But she said nothing. On they went through the little gate where the tickets were given up, on the other side of which stood with eager faces the few expectant friends who had been devoted enough to get up at five o'clock to meet their belongings who were crossing by the night mail. Mr. Marton's eyes ran round them, then glanced behind, first to one side and then to the other as if Captain Bertram could jump up from some corner like a jack-in-the-box. His face grew graver and graver, but he did not speak. He led his wife and the children and Leonie to the most comfortable corner of the dreary waiting-room, and saying shortly, "I'm going to look after the luggage and to hunt up Bertram. He must have overslept himself if he's not here yet. You all wait here quietly till I come back," disappeared in the direction of the luggage-room.

Mrs. Marton did not speak either. She drew Gladys nearer her, and put her arm round the little girl as if to protect her against the disappointment which she _felt_ was coming. Gladys sat perfectly silent.

What she was expecting, or fearing, or even thinking, I don't believe she could have told. She had only one feeling that she could have put into words, "Everything is _quite_ different from what I thought. It isn't at all like going to Papa."

But poor little Roger tugged at Leonie, who was next him.

"What are we waiting here in this ugly house for?" he said. "Can't we go to Papa and have our chocolate?"

Leonie stooped down and said something to soothe him, and after a while he grew drowsy again, and his little head dropped on to her shoulder.

And so they sat for what seemed a terribly long time. It was more than half an hour, till at last Mr. Marton appeared again.

"I've only just got out that luggage," he said. "What a detestable plan that registering it is! And now I've got it I don't know what to do with it, for----"

"Has he not come?" interrupted his wife.

Mr. Marton glanced at Gladys. She did not seem to be listening.

"Not a bit of him," he replied. "I've hunted right through the station half a dozen times, and it's an hour and a half since the train was due.

It cannot be some little delay. It's a pretty kettle of fish and no mistake."

Mrs. Marton's blue eyes gazed up in her husband's face with a look of the deepest anxiety.

"What _is_ to be done?" she said.

CHAPTER IV.

"WHAT IS TO BE DONE?"

"That is the question."

HAMLET.

Yes, "what was to be done?" That was certainly the question. Mr. Marton looked at his wife for a moment or two without replying. Then he seemed to take a sudden resolution.

"We can't stay here all the morning, that's about all I can say at present," he said. "Come along, we'd better go to the nearest hotel and think over matters."

So off they all set again--Mr. Marton and the rugs, Mrs. Marton and Gladys, Leonie and Roger--another porter being got hold of to bring such of the bags, etc., as were not left at the station with the big luggage.

Gladys walked along as if in a dream; she did not even wake up to notice the great wide street and all the carriages, and omnibuses, and carts, and people as they crossed to the hotel in front of the station. She hardly even noticed that all the voices about her were talking in a language she did not understand--she was completely dazed--the only words which remained clearly in her brain were the strange ones which Mr. Marton had made use of--"a pretty kettle of fish and no mistake."

"No mistake," that must mean that Papa's not coming to the station was not a mistake, but that there was some reason for it. But "a kettle of fish," what _could_ that have to do with it all? She completely lost herself in puzzling about it. Why she did not simply ask Mrs. Marton to explain it I cannot tell. Perhaps the distressed anxious expression on that young lady's own face had something to do with her not doing so.

Arrived at the hotel, and before a good fire in a large dining-room at that early hour quite empty, a slight look of relief came over all the faces. It was something to get warmed at least! And Mr. Marton ordered the hot chocolate for which Roger had been pining, before he said anything else. It came almost at once, and Leonie established the children at one of the little tables, drinking her own coffee standing, that she might attend to them and join in the talking of her master and mistress if they wished it.

Roger began to feel pretty comfortable. He had not the least idea where he was--he had never before in his life been at a hotel, and would not have known what it meant--but to find himself warmed and fed and Gladys beside him was enough for the moment; and even Gladys herself began to feel a very little less stupefied and confused. Mr. and Mrs. Marton, at another table, talked gravely and in a low voice. At last Mr. Marton called Leonie.

"Come here a minute," he said, "and see if you can throw any light on the matter. You are more at home in Paris than we are. Mrs. Marton and I are at our wits' end. If we had a few days to spare it would not be so bad, but we have not. Our berths are taken, and we cannot afford to lose three pa.s.sages."

"Mine too, sir," said Leonie. "Is mine taken too?"

"Of course it is. You didn't suppose you were going as cabin-boy, did you?" said Mr. Marton rather crossly, though I don't think his being a little cross was to be wondered at. Poor Leonie looked very snubbed.

"I was only wondering," she said meekly, "if I could have stayed behind with the poor children till----"

"Impossible," said Mr. Marton; "lose your pa.s.sage for a day or two's delay in their father's fetching them. If I thought it was more than that I would send them back to England," he added, turning to his wife.

"And poor Mrs. Lacy so ill! Oh no, that would never do," she said.

"And there's much more involved than our pa.s.sages," he went on. "It's as much as my appointment is worth to miss this mail. It's just this--Captain Bertram is either here, or has been detained at Ma.r.s.eilles. If he's still there, we can look him up when we get there to-morrow; if he's in Paris, and has made some stupid mistake, we must get his address at Ma.r.s.eilles, he's sure to have left it at the hotel there for letters following him, and telegraph back to him here. I never did know anything so senseless as Susan Lacy's not making him give a Paris address," he added.

"He was only to arrive here yesterday or the day before," said Mrs.

Marton.

"But the friends who were to have a nurse ready for the children? We should have had _some_ address."

"Yes," said Mrs. Marton self-reproachfully. "I wish I had thought of it. But Susan was so _sure_ all would be right. And certainly, in case of anything preventing Captain Bertram's coming, it was only natural to suppose he would have telegraphed, or sent some one else, or done _something_."

"Well--all things considered," said Mr. Marton, "it seems to me the best thing to do is to leave the children here, _even_ if we had a choice, which I must say I don't see! For I don't know how I could send them back to England, nor what their friends there might find to say if I did--nor can we----"

"Take them on to Ma.r.s.eilles with us?" interrupted Mrs. Marton. "Oh, Phillip, would not that be better?"

"And find that their father had just started for Paris?" replied her husband. "And then think of the expense. Here, they are much nearer at hand if they have to be fetched back to England."

Mrs. Marton was silent. Suddenly another idea struck her. She started up.

"Supposing Captain Bertram has come to the station since we left," she exclaimed. "He may be there now."

Mr. Marton gave a little laugh.