Part 8 (1/2)
”----since he was a lad. Even now I can scarcely recall his name. My memory begins to play strange tricks. Donald--no--Ronald. Ronald--what?
I can't get further than Ronald; my head is a trifle confused to-day.
Coming up from the country, you know. That's our 'bus, isn't it? All right.”
They went to Park Lane, but not another word was said about Ronald, and on the following day Mr. Lennard returned to Suss.e.x.
The summer advanced; Elsie accepted invitations now and then; but it soon became evident to Miss Saxon that she did not care very much for society.
She took a deep interest in all that concerned the welfare of children.
She went to public meetings and heard grand things spoken on their behalf; she learnt what true, large-hearted men, with power, and education, and opportunity, were doing for little ones in the world, and all the while the thought of Jamie lay deep down in her heart. He was never forgotten.
Nor did the Beatons forget him, but every effort to trace him had failed.
They often talked of him with Elsie as they sat, all three, in the little room behind the shop. Some subtle influence always seemed to draw Miss Kilner's steps to Wardour Street, and her presence was welcome there.
CHAPTER IX
_MEETINGS_
”Such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it.”--_A Winter's Tale._
Poor Mrs. Penn had a conscience. It had been lulled to sleep while she lived an unwholesome life with Maria and her husband, and allowed herself to be dominated by them. But the loss of Jamie and the visit to Wardour Street had awakened her better nature and the feelings of a happier time. She recalled Harold Waring's faithful words and Meta Neale's gentle counsels, and remembered all the comfort and help which she had found in Mrs. Beaton's friends.h.i.+p.
So powerfully did good emotions work within her that she suddenly resolved to fly from Maria's companions.h.i.+p. The Dennetts were mortally offended, but what did that matter? She wanted to go back to her old haunts and be helped by the presence of those who could lift her out of miry ways; and Mrs. Beaton and her son took compa.s.sion upon the repentant woman, and let her come to live with them. Sometimes they made little excursions into the suburbs, which did them all good. Mrs. Penn became a really useful member of the household, and waited on Mrs.
Beaton with careful attention. Andrew, who had been troubled about his mother's increasing feebleness, was no longer afraid to see her go out of doors. Mrs. Penn was by her side, a trustworthy companion nowadays, with a stout arm which could be safely leant upon.
July was gloriously bright, and one day the two women--Mrs. Beaton and Mrs. Penn--had prepared themselves for a trip to Richmond, when Miss Kilner suddenly presented herself.
”One longs to escape from London to-day,” she said. ”So you are going to Richmond? I have a school-friend who lives down by the river, and I told Miss Saxon that I should go to see her.”
”Will you come with us?” Mrs. Beaton asked, brightening.
”Yes,” Elsie answered; and the three went off together.
Down by the river there are old houses set deep in leafy gardens; creepers hang drowsily in the delicious air; long aisles open upon terraces bright with flowers. It was in an earthly paradise of this kind that Elsie loitered away a golden afternoon; and then, when the clocks were striking six, she went off to rejoin her companions.
She found them at the appointed meeting-place, and they all walked up from the river-side through a lane opening into the highway of the town.
Mrs. Beaton, a little weary, moved slowly, leaning on Mrs. Penn. Elsie, a few steps in the rear, gave herself up to one of those reveries which so often come to us at the close of a summer day. The lights were golden on the river. Some people were singing in a boat, and the voices floated sweetly over the water; it was pleasant melody, but there was a faint tone of sadness in the strain.
An open carriage and pair waited under the overhanging trees in the lane. Leaning back lazily on the cus.h.i.+ons was a lady, fair and still young, with a beautiful boy by her side. The child was in high spirits; his laugh rang out clear and fresh as Elsie drew near. He stood up in the carriage in his pretty sailor's suit, and the low sunlight shone into his blooming face and blue eyes. At the sight of him Mrs. Penn stopped short and uttered a little cry.
”It's Jamie!” she exclaimed. ”It's really Jamie!”
The boy knew her voice; the laugh died out on his lips in an instant; he looked at her with a gaze half-frightened, half-defiant, and drew closer to the lady's side.
”What is the matter, dear?” they heard her ask.
Before he could reply, before any one could speak again, a terrible thing happened. The horses began to plunge violently, and then, as the drowsy coachman woke with a start, they set off at a mad pace in spite of all his efforts to control them. Down the lane they went at a wild gallop, their thundering hoofs raising a cloud of dust, and the three horror-stricken women caught a swift glimpse of the lady and the child clinging to each other in a despairing embrace.
Scarcely knowing what she was doing, Elsie began to run after the flying carriage at the top of her speed; Mrs. Penn followed her at a slower pace, and poor Mrs. Beaton came panting behind.