Part 52 (2/2)
This was where Barbara lived, then.
The little houses were small and compact, but of agreeably varying height and shape, with a tiny enclosure of green in front of each, protected by railings and a little gate. No. 101, before which the cab drew up, had a bush that Alex thought must be lilac, and was covered with ivy. There were red blinds to the windows.
She got out, pulling her heavy bag after her, and timidly pushed open the little gate, glancing up at the windows as she did so.
There was no one to be seen.
Still clutching at her suit-case, Alex pulled the bell faintly.
”There's half my fare owing yet,” said the cabman gruffly.
Thus reminded, Alex rang again.
An elderly parlour-maid with iron-grey hair and a hard face opened the door.
”Is--is Mrs. MacAllister at home?” faltered Alex.
”I'll inquire,” said the maid, with a lightning glance at the suit-case.
She left the door open, and Alex saw a little flight of stairs. A murmured colloquy took place at the top, and then Barbara, slight and severely black-clad, came down.
”Alex, that's not you?”
”Yes. Oh, Barbara!”
”My dear--I've been expecting to hear from you every day! I've been imagining all sorts of awful things. Why didn't you wire? Do come in--you must be dead, and have you been carrying that huge bag?”
”I came from the station in a cab.”
”A cab!” echoed Barbara in rather a dismayed voice. ”What a long way to come, when you could have done it so easily by the underground railway but I suppose you didn't know?”
”No,” repeated Alex blankly. ”I didn't know.”
”What's he waiting for? Will he carry your trunk upstairs?”
”That is all the luggage I have, and I can carry it up quite well, and it isn't heavy. But I hadn't quite enough money for the fare--he ought to have another half-crown.”
”Oh, dear,” said Barbara. ”Wait a minute, then, Alex.”
She disappeared up the stairs, leaving Alex alone with the severe parlour-maid, who still held open the front door.
She leant against the wall in the tiny pa.s.sage, wondering what she had expected of her actual arrival, that the reality should give her such a sense of misery.
If only she had telegraphed to Barbara from Folkestone!
”Here's two s.h.i.+llings. Ada, have you got a sixpence, by any chance?”
”There's sixpence in the kitchen, 'm,” said Ada, and fetched it.
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