“Could you spare a penny, lady?”
His voice was the most surprising thing about him; it was cultured, even charming; and it seemed to her a very sad state of affairs that such a man as he apparently was should be reduced to begging in the streets of London. She had never been able to hide her feelings.
He looked straight into her face and some of the merriness left his eyes.
She said: “I am sorry I have nothing to give. I have had my purse stolen.”
“Your purse!” he said. That is bad. And did you see the thief?”
“Indeed I saw her, but I did not know her for a thief until too late.”
“New to London Town, that is you, lady!” His eyes darted from the fine lace at her throat to the good leather of her shoes.
“You are bound somewhere?”
“To my family in Grape Street. Perhaps you can tell me if I am near?”
“Grape Street! You cannot mean Grape Street … but if you do, it is just around the corner.”
He leaned towards her and touched her sleeve as he pointed the way.
“Thank you,” she said.
“What part of Grape Street were you after, lady?”
“Number sixty.”
“Ah!” he said, and his eyes were merry again.
“It is number sixty then! You cannot miss it-the number is plain over the door.” And he seemed consumed with some joke of his own.
“Good day to you, lady.”
He bowed rather mockingly, she thought; he swaggered along the street, and was soon out of sight.
As she turned to follow his directions, a man approached her. He was tall and spare of figure, and as he came nearer he slackened his pace. She was suddenly afraid. She looked about her at the deserted street; the man with the merry eyes had already disappeared.
“Forgive me,” said the newcomer, his eyes taking in every detail of her appearance, ‘but are you aware that the man who just approached has made off with your handkerchief?”
She stared at the man. His face was very white, and the skin seemed to be drawn too tightly across his sharp features so that they gave the impression of trying to burst through it. He had the face of a dead man, Carolan thought, apart from his eyes, which were dark and alert strange, excited and inquisitive eyes. She thought fearfully, What now, I wonder?
“You have lost a handkerchief, I believe?” he insisted.
She stepped back a pace, suspecting some trap. She felt in the pocket of her gown.
“I have,” she said.
“He took it.”
“You saw him?”
“One looks for these things in this part of the town.”
Then why did you wait to tell me until it is too late to retrieve it?” she demanded.
She did not realize it, but all the time they were speaking she was stepping backwards, putting distance between herself and the man.
“It would have been unwise to try to retrieve it. Think yourself fortunate that it was merely a handkerchief. These streets ate as full of thieves as a warren is of rabbits. They work together; it is not always wise to raise a hue and cry in these streets. You have got off lightly. Would you allow me to help you?”
She was suddenly angry. She had felt so sorry for the man with the merry blue eyes, and he had known it and laughed at her for it! Were there none but thieves and rogues in this wicked place? Humiliation and anger made her forget her fear of the newcomer; besides, his respectable garments of black that were a little shiny, suggested honesty in some odd way.
“I am looking for Grape Street,” she said, “My parents live there, and I am visiting them.”
“Your parents live in Grape Street!” he repeated as though stupefied.
“That is what I said. I wonder if that rogue who stole my handkerchief directed me truly.”
“Tell me,” he said, ‘where in Grape Street your parents live.”
“The number is sixty.”
“Sixty! Let me see. I believe that is the secondhand shop, is it not?”
The dark eyes searched her face eagerly. Strange eyes -beautiful eyes in an unbeautiful face; that was what made them look so incongruous.
“Secondhand shop! My mother did not say…”
He spoke slowly.as though checking over the items in his mind.
“You have never been to London before, have you? You have come on a visit from the country; you are visiting your parents. And it is your mother who lives in the secondhand shop at number sixty Grape Street.”
It was kind of him to express such interest, but she had been robbed twice in a very short time, and she was in no mood to trust a living soul.
“When I saw you,” he said, “I was of the opinion that it was some prank that had brought you here. You are not dressed for these streets, if you will allow me to say so. That makes you very conspicuous.”
“It is far from a prank,” said Carolan.
“I have been in this wicked place little more than an hour, and already I have lost my purse, my brooch and a lace handkerchief.”
“That is because you have doubtless acted unwisely. Will you allow me to walk with you to number sixty Grape Street? I am sure I can protect you from further annoyance.”
She hesitated.
“If you would feel happier, I would walk in front and you could follow. I understand that you are not inclined to trust strangers, and that means that you have acquired some wisdom in the last hour.”
She was sorry for her seeming churlishness; she was absolutely certain that this man was no pickpocket.
“If you would show me the way, I should be most grateful,” she murmured.
“And please do not walk in front.”
He walked beside her, so that he was nearer the road to protect her from splashes of mud and filth if any vehicle came along the street. He kept a certain distance between them, as though he were trying to inspire her with confidence in him.
“Would you think me impertinent if I asked you your name?”
“Indeed no! It is Carolan Haredon.”
He seemed to be searching a list of names in his mind.
“Carolan Haredon,” he repeated.
“Let me see, I believe it is a Mr. and Mrs. Grey who keep the secondhand shop.”
“My… mother is Mrs. Grey,” said Carolan quickly.
“I see … I see…” Odd, the impression he gave of making a mental note of information!
But Carolan was too bewildered by all that had happened to give more than a passing thought to him. Her mother in a secondhand shop! Had she changed? She thought of Kitty … in her boudoir with Therese to dress her, and Sambo to sit at her feet… That Kitty … in a secondhand shop!
“My name,” the man beside her was saying, ‘is Jonathan Crew, at your service. And here is Grape Street… and see, there is number sixty!”
Number sixty was a small dark shop, and in its window and doorway hung garments of all descriptions. It was dingy and depressing, thought Carolan; her heart sank, and with her first glimpse went all the pretty pictures she had built up in her imagination. She stepped down into the dark interior of the shop, and Mr. Jonathan Crew followed her.
Almost immediately a door opened and a man appeared. He was the man she had seen in the wood.
“Father!” she cried.
He stared at her, without recognition.
“It is Carolan… your daughter,” she said.
“Is my mother here?”
“Carolan!” A smile broke out on the man’s face.
“Why… little Carolan! So it is!”
He took her face between his hands; her hood fell back, and her reddish hair gleamed even in the darkness of the shop. There were tears in the man’s eyes. He held her against him as though he loved her very dearly. He said: “Little daughter! Little daughter!” Then: “Kitty!” he called.
“Kitty!”
And all this time Jonathan Crew stood close to a bunch of old coats hanging in the doorway, and watched them.
Kitty came into the shop; she had put on a good deal of weight, and had changed subtly. She was the same beautiful Kitty, but the hair, without the ministrations of Therese, was untidy. She wore a pink frock with fine lace on it. but the pink material and the lace were none too clean. She saw Carolan. and screamed with delight.