Part 34 (1/2)
Poppy sat paling and reddening before her, speechless with confusion.
”Ah, my dear, you needn't mind me,” said Miss Drake kindly. ”I've lived among 'theatricals' all my days, and I know what life is for a lovely girl like you--and I can see you're a good girl, too!”
Poppy got up and walked away to the window, so unnerved she knew not what to do or say. The kind woman's words threw her into a state of misery. She had no idea that her secret was shared by others yet.
”What I wanted to say, dear,” continued Miss Drake, ”was, that if you haven't made your arrangements, you ought to do so at once: because it would be very inconvenient if anything happened here. You can see yourself, dear, the kind of house this is, full of quiet business people, who wouldn't like things to be upset--a doctor coming and going on the stairs and a nurse and all that fuss, you know. So, much as I shall regret losing you----”
”Oh, don't say anything more, Miss Drake,” Poppy interposed hastily. ”Of course, I shall go--I am going quite soon; I haven't made up my mind _where_, but I will do so at once--I'll find out as soon as I can----”
”Yes, yes, of course--don't worry; don't upset yourself, dear--_b.u.t.terton's Weekly_ is a good paper to find a nursing home in, if you haven't the address of any woman. But there! I expect you will get along all right.”
The moment she had gone Poppy flew out to the nearest paper-shop, bought a _b.u.t.terton's Weekly_, and brought it home for deep study. It is an odious paper. When she had read a few of its advertis.e.m.e.nts, nausea seized her. Was she one of the army of these asking for _secret_ and _confidential_ homes? And were these homes offered by _discreet nurses_ who could _get the baby adopted if desired_, meant for people like her?
Again shame flushed her, flooded her. She crushed the paper into a ball, hid it, and went out for the whole day. But when she came in she uncrushed it, and read in it again with dull eyes.
One little shabby advertis.e.m.e.nt drew her at last. The address it gave was a little mean street in Westminster. But the advertiser with great subtlety, and doubtless at the cost of extra pence, had added the magic words, ”_Near Westminster Abbey._”
Those little words redeemed the whole of the wretched sordid rag for Poppy. Her soul lifted up its head once more. Westminster Abbey! The sight of that beautiful place was for all the poor creatures who wanted these homes--it was for her! _His_ son should be born near Westminster Abbey!
The next day she sought the address--No. 10, Old Street--and found it after long wandering. It was, indeed, near Westminster Abbey, but the street was terribly poor. The minute she got into it, she cried out within herself:
”No: it cannot be here: I will not have it here--.” But at last she found the number staring at her from a dingy door. At that she turned and looked for Westminster Abbey--but there was no sign of it: only tall, narrow, sad houses, with frowsily-curtained windows; bleak children playing in the gutter and a knife-grinder wailing out his chant:
”Knives to grind.
Scissors to grind.
Pots and tea- Kittles to mend.”
”I shall die if I come here,” she said desperately, and turned to fly, but the door opened suddenly and a woman came out and ran an eye over her.
”Good-evening, lady. I see it is me you want,” was her laconic greeting.
”Step inside.”
And Poppy found herself doing as she was bidden, following the woman into a tawdry sitting-room, which a seething gas-jet lighted with a blue and pallid glare. She and the woman faced each other over a plum-coloured table-cloth that had a border of yellow-floss flowers in hideous free-hand design.
”Are you Nurse Selton?” Poppy asked; and Mrs. Selton smilingly acknowledged her name. She was a little dark villain of a woman, with a hard mouth full of a.s.sorted teeth, and shrewd, black eyes. Her expression, however, was good-tempered, and the nursing costume she wore gave her an air of respectability, even refinement. She proceeded to inform Poppy that she was well known and _esteemed_ in the neighbourhood; that the house was quiet and private ”in the extreme”; and that, as a nurse, she possessed all the necessary diplomas and certificates. (Whether this last was true or not her listener never discovered.)
”You will be _most_ comfortable,” she finished. Poppy shuddered.
”What are your terms?” she asked, in a dull voice, having entirely made up her mind not to stay with this hateful woman in this hateful house.
But she wished to parley and give herself time to rest, for she felt strangely ill. The woman named a sum ridiculously high.
”I could not afford to pay that,” she answered; and Nurse Selton regarded her coldly.
”That is not much for a lady of your sort--_first_, I presume? You won't get lower terms anywhere else. Won't _the gentleman_ help you?”
When Poppy realised the meaning of this question, the best she could do was to bite her lips and avert her eyes from the odious woman, who discontentedly continued:
”Well--I'll make it thirty s.h.i.+llings a week _until_, and two pounds a week _after_. Two guineas _for the little affair_--and if you want a doctor, a guinea extra.”
”I don't think I care to stay,” said the girl in a low voice. ”You said in your advertis.e.m.e.nt that your house was near Westminster Abbey, but I see that it is nothing of the kind.”