CHAPTER XX
Derrick reached London on one of those mornings when she is at her verybest, and he felt his heart grow warm within him as he strode thefamiliar pavements, and inhaled the air which seemed to him laden, notwith smoke but with the flowers which were blooming bravely in the parksand squares. He had seen some beautiful places during his wanderings,but it seemed to him that none of them could compare with this Londonwhich every Englishman, abuse it as he may, regards sometimes with anopen and avowed affection, sometimes with a sneaking fondness.
Derrick was so full of the love of life, so thrilling with that sense ofyouth and health for which millionaires would barter all their gold,that it seemed to him difficult to believe that he was the same man who,only a few months ago, had paced the same streets, weighed down bymisery and despair; indeed, as he thought of all that had happened, theevents took to themselves the character of a phantasmagoria in which Mr.Bloxford, the circus people and Donna Elvira moved like insubstantialshadows. But, standing out clearly in his mind, was the fact that he wasin London, with his pockets full of money and with one desire, one hopepredominating over all others, the desire, the hope of seeing the girlat Brown's Buildings.
He would have made straight for "the Jail"; but Derrick's sense of dutyhad not deserted him, and with a sigh of resignation, he betook himselfto an engineering firm, whose offices were in that Victoria Street downwhich he had almost slunk the night he had left London, a fugitive. Hepresented his credentials, transacted his business, and then, with afast-beating heart, walked--he could not have sat in a taxi, though itshould exceed the speed limit--to the Buildings.
So great was the emotion that assailed him as he stepped into the coolshadow of the stone passage, that he actually trembled. The whole sceneof that eventful night rose before him so plainly that it might havebeen the preceding one, instead of months ago; in imagination, he couldsee her face, as she bent over the rail and whispered her good-bye.
It was the hour at which the Buildings is most quiet, and as Derrickwent up the stone stairs, he did not meet any one; he stood for a momentor two opposite Celia's door, actually afraid to knock; for, though hehad said to Donna Elvira that the girl might be married, that he mighthave lost sight of her for ever, he had always pictured her as behindthat door, and always cherished the conviction that, if ever he shouldreturn, he should find her there. At last, he knocked. No response came.He knocked again, and the sound of the diminutive knocker echoedprophetically amidst the stone walls; still there was no response. Hisheart sank within him, and he leant against the iron hand-rail, gnawingat his lip with a keen disappointment, a blank dismay. He tried to tellhimself that her absence might be only temporary, that she would return:it was ridiculous to suppose that she should not go out sometimes, thatshe should be sitting there within the room, waiting for him: absolutelyridiculous!
He lit a cigarette and waited on the merely improbable chance of herreturn; the minutes grew into half an hour before he realised that hemight wait hours, and that it would be easy to inquire if she were stillliving there. All the same, he lingered, as if he were loath to take hiseyes from that door through which she had come to him as an angel ofrescue--no, far better, as a pure, a brave woman.
Presently he heard the sound of slow footsteps ascending the stairs.They paused on the floor beneath him, and Derrick, descending quickly,saw the thin, bent figure of an old man; he held a violin-case and asmall parcel of grocery under his arm, and was on the point of unlockingthe door immediately beneath that of the girl. The old man turned hishead as Derrick came down upon him, and Derrick, notwithstanding thestate of his mind, was struck by the nobility and dignity of the thin,wasted face and the dark, penetrating eyes.
"I beg your pardon," said Derrick. "Can you tell me----?"
He stopped, for the old man had dropped the parcel and stood looking,not at it, but at Derrick. Derrick hastened to pick it up, and,instinctively, raised his hat as he handed the small package.
"I'm afraid I startled you, sir," he said, with that note of respect anddeference which came into Derrick's voice when he was addressing womenand the aged: it was just one of those little characteristics whichattracted people to the young man, and made them take to him at firstacquaintance. "I wanted to ask you a question about a young lady, theyoung lady who lives in the room above this." For the life of him, hecould not bring himself to ask the question straight out.
Mr. Clendon regarded him with a calm and courteous scrutiny, which, forall its courteousness, had a note of guardedness and caution. "What doyou wish to ask about her?" he inquired. He unlocked the door as he putthe question, and waving his long, white hand towards the room, added,"Will you not come in?"
Derrick stepped into the plain, meagrely-furnished room, and took theseat to which Mr. Clendon motioned him. The old man set the parcel andviolin-case on the table and, taking a chair, sat with his back to thelight and waited in silence.
"I am afraid I am intruding," said Derrick, still with that deferentialnote in his voice. "I shall be glad if you can tell me if the young ladyis still living above you."
"Why do you ask?" said Mr. Clendon. "Forgive me, you have not yetmentioned her name."
"I don't know it," said Derrick; "but I may say that I am a friend ofhers. I have every reason to be, for she did me a great service. Onemoment, sir"--as Mr. Clendon opened his lips--"this must seem ratherextraordinary to you, but I am sure that she would be glad to see me."
Mr. Clendon's eyes seemed to pierce Derrick through and through; then,removing his gaze, as if he were satisfied, Mr. Clendon said:
"The name of the young lady is Grant--Celia Grant; she is not now livingin the Buildings."
Derrick's eyes dropped, and he drew a long breath; his disappointmentwas so obvious that Mr. Clendon said:
"Is your business with Miss Grant one of importance, may I ask?"
"The greatest importance--to me," said Derrick, who felt somehowinspired to confidence; there was something in this old man's manner andattitude, in the low, rhythmic voice, that harmonized with Derrick'smood and influenced him in a fashion strange and puzzling.
"I am afraid I can't tell you the whole--well, you may call it 'story';but I may say that I am deeply indebted to Miss Grant, and that I amvery desirous of paying that debt--no; I can't do that!--but of seeingher and telling her that her kindness, her goodness, to me were notthrown away."
"An amiable sentiment," said Mr. Clendon, with dignified simplicity. "Nodoubt, Miss Grant would be glad to hear it from your lips; but she isnot here, she has gone."
"I am sorry, sir," said Derrick, rising, and the genuineness of hisassertion was attested by the deep sigh which accompanied it. "I don'tlike to ask you----" he hesitated--"but you would be rendering me a verygreat service, greater than you can imagine, if you would, if you could,tell me where to find her."
There was a silence. Mr. Clendon sat perfectly immovable; but his eyeswere searching Derrick's face, and the young man stood meeting the gazehonestly, candidly, unshrinkingly.
"I do not know whether I should be doing right in giving you MissGrant's address," said Mr. Clendon at last. "But I will admit that I amtempted to do so."
"If you would----" began Derrick; but Mr. Clendon stopped him with anupraised hand.
"You say that you are a friend of Miss Grant's--I seem to remember you,though I have only seen you at a distance, and then indistinctly. Areyou not the young man who lived in the flat opposite hers?"
Derrick's face grew red. "I am, sir," he said. "It was while I wasliving there that Miss Grant did me the service of which I speak. I wasin great trouble; in about as bad a trouble as a man could be; in fact,I had come to a point beyond which it seemed to me--I was a fool!--thatit was impossible to carry on. At that moment of folly and madness, MissGrant came to my aid, and saved me--you will think me extravagant if Isay--from death; but that's the real fact. I did not know her name untilyou told me just now; I saw her for only a few minutes; those fewminutes, and her angelic
goodness, changed the whole current of my life.Isn't it only natural that I should want to see her, to tell her----"
He broke off abruptly and turned away to the window. As the piercingeyes followed him, they grew troubled, the thin lips quivered and thewasted hand that lay on the table closed and unclosed spasmodically.
"Will you tell me your name?" asked the low voice. "Mine is Clendon."
Derrick hesitated for a moment; then he remembered Donna Elvira'sinjunction that he should bear his assumed name while in London.
"Sydney Green, sir."
"And you have come from abroad?" said Mr. Clendon. "I can see that byyour tanned face, by the character of your attire."
"From South America," said Derrick. "I am here on a mission, on businessfor an employer. I am afraid I cannot tell you any more; I've only justarrived and am staying at the Imperial in Western Square. If you think Ihave told you sufficient, if you can trust me, I shall be very gratefulif you will give me Miss Grant's address. I wish I could convince youthat I am asking it from no unworthy motive."
"You have already done so," said Mr. Clendon, quietly. "I will give youher address. Miss Grant is acting as librarian at Lord Sutcombe's house,at Thexford Hall."
"Lord Sutcombe!" muttered Derrick, with an imperceptible start. Thecolour again flooded his face; his gratitude, his joy were so greatthat, for a moment, they rendered him speechless, and his voice wasbroken when he could command it.
"I don't know how to thank you, sir," he said, and, impulsively, he heldout his hand.
Mr. Clendon took it after a moment's pause; and they stood, the old manand the young man, looking into each other's eyes, and Derrick's--noshame to him--were moist. For, think of it! he feared that he had lostthe girl on whom his heart had been set ever since the first moment hehad seen her; and now this old man had put him in the way of findingher. They stood with clasped hands for longer than is usual; and Derrickwas too absorbed in his own emotion to notice the tremor in the thinfingers which grasped his.
"I see that you will go to Miss Grant at once," said Mr. Clendon, with aflicker of a smile, that was not one of irony, but of sympathy.
"By the first train, and as fast as it will take me," said Derrick, withthe note of youth and hope ringing in his voice. "Look here, sir," hewent on, impelled by a strange feeling, "I may as well tell you thatwhich you have no doubt guessed already. I--I love Miss Grant. It wouldbe very strange, if I didn't, considering that she's the most beautifulgirl I've ever seen, and all she did for me. All the time I've been awayI've thought of her and longed to see her again. Not a moment of the dayor the waking night----But I beg your pardon, sir, I'm afraid you'llthink me--rather mad."
"Yours is a madness common to youth, and befitting it well," said Mr.Clendon. "That you should love her is not strange; she is all that yousay of her. Are you sure that you are worthy of her?"
"Good lord, no!" exclaimed Derrick, impetuously. "No man that ever wasborn could be worthy of her; no man could see her, be with her fiveminutes----Why, do you know, all the while I was talking to you, beforeyou called her 'Miss' Grant, I was tortured by the dread that has mademany an hour miserable for me, since I saw her last--the dread that someother man--that she might be married----"
"She is not married," said Mr. Clendon, with a faint smile, "though itis probable that many men have wanted to marry her."
"I've been thanking God that she is free, ever since I gleaned the factfrom your words," said Derrick. "I'm going down to her at once. May Itell her that I have seen you, that you gave me her address?"
"You may," said Mr. Clendon. "Miss Grant honours me with her friendship;I hope, I trust, her affection."
After a pause, he added:
"You are staying in England for some time?"
"For some little time," said Derrick, stifling a sigh at the thought ofever again leaving the girl of his heart.
"May I ask you to come to see me when you return to London?" asked Mr.Clendon; and his tone, though courteously conventional, was fraught witha certain earnestness.
"Of course, I will, sir," replied Derrick, promptly. "You have been verykind to me; you might have answered my question with an abrupt negative,have refused me the information; instead of which, you have--well, youhave been awfully good to me; you have relieved my mind of a load ofapprehension, and set me in the way of finding Miss Grant. Yes; you havebeen very good to me, and I hope you will let me see you again. Besides,you are a friend of hers, and that's quite enough to make me want toknow more of you."
"Then come to me when you return," said Mr. Clendon. "But do not let metrespass on your time, Mr. Green; you must have other claims, those ofyour people, your parents."
"Haven't any, sir," answered Derrick, gravely. "I'm all alone in theworld--for the present," he added, his eyes shining with the hope thatglowed in his breast.
"That is a strange statement," said Mr. Clendon, his brows raised, hiseyes fixed on Derrick's face.
"But it's true, unfortunately," said Derrick. "I must be going now, sir.Let me see, Waterloo is the station for Thexford. I'll go there and waitfor the first train."
He held out his hand and the two men shook hands again; and Mr. Clendonstood at the door and watched the young man as he went swiftly down thesteps, as if his life depended on his haste; the old man went back tohis room and, sinking into his chair, covered his eyes with his handsand sat as if lost in thought--and memories. And, strangely enough, itwas not of the young man he was thinking, but of a very beautiful woman,half woman, half girl, with black hair and brilliant eyes, with theblood of the South mantling in her cheeks, with the fire of the South,passionate, impetuous, uncontrollable, in eyes and cheek; a woman offire and strong will, hard to understand, impossible to control; a womanto make or wreck a man's life. The woman whose vision rose before theold man, who sat, a bowed and desolate figure, in his chair, had wreckedhis. Strange that the meeting with this young man had called up thatvision, strange that his face and voice had revivified the memory of thepast. With a sigh, a gesture of the flexible hand, as if he were puttingthe matter from him, Mr. Clendon took his violin from its case and beganto play.