CHAPTER XIXIN THE LONDON TRAINThe train had started before Isla's travelling companion caught a glimpse of her face. She rose up with a sudden bang from her seat, with the result that, in spite of herself, Isla lowered her paper a little to see what was going to happen. What she did see was only the purple lady removing her large and unsuitable headgear, which seemed to interfere with her comfort."Hats are gettin' worse every day," she said with a pleasant smile as she jabbed two immense pins with imitation moonstone tops into the stuffing of the cushions behind her. "Soon they'll need to get us hat-compartments. Eh--what? Now, where have I seen you before?"She took some hairpins from her abundant and really pretty hair, and with a back-comb began to do her toilet.Isla was saved the difficulty of answering by a sudden gleam of recognition wandering across the lady's face."Oh, I know--on the road right down there in Glenogle yesterday! Now, ain't you jolly glad to be gettin' away from that God-forsaken hole?""Just at the present moment I am," Isla admitted.She wondered what means she should take to ensure for herself quiet and privacy. She was incapable of any act of studied rudeness, but the prospect of listening to the woman's talk appalled her. Should she call the guard and ask to be given another seat in another compartment, or should she politely inform her fellow-traveller that she did not care to talk.The lady flopped upon her seat, shook her head to see whether the coils of her hair were firmer, and then settled herself back among the cushions, smoothing out the creases of her cheap blanket-coat with a plump white hand.She had now a black frock on, but, in contrast with Isla's neat, trim, well-fitting suit of home-spun, it looked badly cut, badly worn, altogether unsuitable for a journey. There were quantities of white net--not too clean--about her neck, and many brooches and a long chain, on which hung a lorgnette, while a double eyeglass was pinned to her bosom. She wore a great many rings of sorts and a wedding one.Isla's eyes were quick enough to detect that."Goin' all the way?" she asked with an engaging smile.Isla nodded."So am I, and jolly glad I'll be to hear the noise and smell the good old smells of the Euston Road. How they live up there! But there--it ain't livin', is it now? Would you call it livin'--eh?""Well," said Isla, diverted in spite of herself, and feeling no longer the appalling dread that pursued her in Glenogle regarding this very woman, "it depends on what you call living.""Just so. Well, I like a bit of fun myself--a night out occasionally and a bit of stir in the daytime. Them hills, and big, dark locks get on my nerves. I was four days at the little hotel at Strathyre, and I had just about enough of it.""Visiting friends in the neighbourhood?""No," snapped the woman. "It was a bit of business I was on, and it was last night before I saw the party I had to see. Not but what I was comfortable there, and they do make good food. Ever stopped there? They tell me they hadn't an empty bed from Easter till now--full up with fishermen and that sort. Can't understand it--don't pretend to. It's the silence--the big empty silence that gets at me. It would drive me crazy in a month, and I'd be gettin' up in my sleep and wanderin' into that water.""You would get used to Strathyre," said Isla, smiling a little as she raised her paper, and hoping that there might now be a reprieve.Her passionate hope was that the woman, who had all the unreserve of her class, would not be seized with a sudden desire to confide the nature of her business to her fellow-traveller. She did not want to hear the truth from these lips. If necessary she would have to tell her somehow that she did not wish to go on talking."I doubt it very much! I've been about too much and seen too much life to settle down in the country. I may have to, perhaps, later on, when I get older and not so fond of racket. Nothing to hurt--don't you know?--only a night at one of the halls and a good old canter down Regent Street and Oxford Street.""I never saw anybody riding there," said Isla in a startled voice."I don't mean that, of course!" laughed the stranger; "not but what I could do it and make the traffic sit up for me too. When I was in India I had me own horse every mornin' and them grinnin' black men to hold it for me till I was ready to mount. I had a figure then as slim as yours, and they all said I looked better in me habit than in anything else.""What part of India were you in?" asked Isla, fascinated in spite of herself."Pretty well all over, but latterly I was in the north. My husband was in the Fighting Fifth. Ever heard of them?""Yes, of course. They were through the Afghan campaign. My father was a soldier, and he used to show us as children their marches on the map.""Oh, indeed! Then you know something about the service? Any brother in it?""I had one," said Isla, and the colour rose hotly in her face."I love it. Even when I was a little nipper I always said I'd never marry anybody but a soldier. And I didn't.""Is your husband alive still?""No--dead. Killed in action he was, a-savin' of his Colonel. I've got the little brown cross at home somewhere. These were the days! There never was a braver chap than Joe Bisley ever shouldered a musket. Ah, poor Joe!"Isla, perceiving that her companion was now in the throes of reminiscence, shrank back nervously in her corner."Doesn't it make your head ache to talk in the train?" she asked rather hastily. "There are heaps of papers here if you like to read. You are welcome to any of them. The gentleman who saw me off bought a great many.""Ah, I don't wonder!" said the other with an admiring glance of approval. "You are just the sort that they would buy everything for if they got the chance. A little standoffish, too--ain't that what they like? Oh, I know them through and through!"In spite of herself, Isla laughed out loud."Oh, it was a very old friend of my family who was seeing me off to-day! My father's lawyer in fact.""Ah, then, he knew what side his bread was buttered on. And are you goin' to London, may I ask?""Yes.""What particular part?""I shall stay the night at the Euston Hotel. I may go abroad. My plans are a little indefinite at present.""Same as mine. It ain't an easy thing for a lone woman to make up her mind, and, as I told the party I spoke of, last night, I'm gettin' tired of uncertainty. I want to know where I am. That's what for I took that long journey and stopped at that queer little hotel. I wanted to see a party and get my bearings.""And did you get them?" asked Isla desperately."Yes, I think so. But, bless you, you never know where you are with them. They're as slippery as eels. If you weren't so pretty, my dear, I'd warn you to steer clear of them for the rest of your mortal life. But it ain't in reason that you'll be allowed. There must be dozens after you."Isla shook her head and then pointed suggestively to the illustrated papers, even making a remark about one of the pictures on the cover.But the lady did not accept the hint."I don't read much," she confessed. "And men and women are much more interesting than books. When you've seen a bit of life, as I have, what's written in a book doesn't count for much. It's like a stuffed sawdust man beside a real flesh-and-blood one. Yes, they're a slippery crew, but they makes life--don't they, my dear?""They make its dispeace, anyhow," said Isla, surprised into an expression of opinion that she immediately regretted.Her companion's face brightened, and she sat forward eagerly."Fancy you thinkin' that! Well, as you've had reason to say that, I don't mind tellin' you I agree. They're worth watchin', they need watchin' all the time, though most of them are like babies, with no more thought of what's goin' to happen. Now there's me! When I was in India I was pretty and slim as you are, though you wouldn't think it, and I was a toast in the station and could have had me pick after Joe died. There was the Sergeant--a splendid figure of a man with four medals and pay saved. He would have married me right off, and so would the little Corporal, and even one of the subs. that had an Earl for his grandfather; but I passed by them all and took up with one that nobody could be sure of. He's here to-day and gone to-morrow, so to speak, and even his wife couldn't keep him on the string."Isla jumped up with her colour fluttering and threw down her paper."It's very hot in here, isn't it? Excuse me, but I must go out into the corridor for a little fresh air. I can't stand the heat any longer.""Oh, poor dear, have a drop of brandy! They do have uncommon good spirits at Strathyre, but then, it's the dew of their own mountains, isn't it? Do have a drop, dearie. It'll buck you up at once.""No, no, thank you!" cried Isla over her shoulder from the corridor. "I never touch spirits. I only want to be quiet and not talk for the rest of the journey."Mrs. Bisley looked disappointed, but she comforted herself with a drop of the dew of the mountains and then sat down to have a look at the papers.Once Isla glanced back at her and, in spite of herself, had to admit the prettiness of her face. She looked about thirty-five, and had she been properly dressed she could have been made to look much more attractive. There was something winning about her, too, but--oh, the irony of fate that should have brought them together in that narrow space, from which it was impossible to escape!Isla's abnormally quick perception had easily filled in the lines of the story. She had no doubt that the party referred to by her fellow-traveller was Malcolm. And that the woman believed that she had a right to him there could be no doubt. He had not admitted her claim, Isla concluded, else surely he could never have been so base as lift his eyes to Vivien Rosmead.She felt sick as she pressed her throbbing head against the cold glass of the corridor window, enjoying the swish of the wind on her cheek.Should she never get away from the shadows which had darkened her life? Was it ordained that she should be pursued, far beyond the limits of Glenogle, by the sordid phantoms of Malcolm's past and present? Was fate wholly inexorable--were poor human beings but puppets, liable to be rudely moved hither and thither upon the boards of the stage of life? If it were so she might as well go back and fight it out on the Moor of Creagh."Feelin' better, my dear?" said Mrs. Bisley kindly, when she presently turned her head. "The first lunch will be comin' along immediately, and that'll make you feel better.""I don't take it," said Isla, seeing a probable respite for an hour or so, during which she might either escape or rearrange her plans. "I have a few sandwiches in my dressing-bag and, later, I shall get a cup of tea. I never eat much when I am travelling.""A mistake, my dear. Take it from me that has travelled a lot both by land and sea. If you don't eat you get so low that you can't bear yourself. Do say two for luncheon when the waiter comes along; then we'll go in together."Isla shook her head."No, thank you."The attendant came at the moment to inform them that the first luncheon would be served in about twenty minutes. Isla crept back again to her corner under the sympathetic scrutiny of her companion."What a colour you have, to be sure! Sorry you don't feel up to luncheon," she said cheerfully. "It's all use. When you've knocked about as much as I have you'll get more experiences. I'm up to all travelling dodges."Isla had no doubt of it. She opened out another paper and let her eyes fall languidly on it, praying fervidly for the quick passage of the next twenty minutes. At another time she would have most thoroughly enjoyed such a travelling-companion and would undoubtedly have elicited her whole family history. But now her whole desire and aim was to stem the avalanche."Queer--wasn't it?--that we should meet like this," pursued her wholly unconscious tormentor. "I took to you that day when I met you on the road far more than to that other one you was with when you came back. She's a haughty piece, if you like. They told me at the hotel at Strathyre that it's expected she'll maybe be Lady of Achree some day, but we don't think!""Nobody pays any attention to the gossip of the Glen," said Isla, the desperate look stealing to her face again."Well, you may take it from me that that won't come orf," said Mrs. Bisley with cheerful emphasis, at the same time picking up a paper and beginning a languid inspection of the pictures it contained.For about ten minutes there was a blessed silence, and then the restaurant attendant appeared to ask them to take seats for the first luncheon. Mrs. Bisley, full of pleasurable anticipation, jumped up and proceeded to arrange her hair and pin on her hat at the most becoming angle. Then she grasped her hand-bag and came out into the corridor, nodding delightedly."Sure you won't come, Miss? It would do you no end of good. Do be persuaded.""Oh, no, thank you. I couldn't eat.""Then, I leave you to keep our seats. Hope we don't have anyone else put in with us at Carlisle. Then we can have a nice chat all the afternoon.""Heaven forbid!" said Isla in her inmost soul.A few minutes after her companion had disappeared, and when the corridor was quite empty, she rang the bell. It was a long time before anyone answered it. Then, indeed, it was only the conductor who came. He had not even heard the bell--he merely came through by chance."Will you be so kind as to get me another seat at once and have my things moved?" she said, with that single touch of hauteur mingled with appeal which, somehow, always commanded immediate service.The man touched his hat, looked inquiringly into the compartment, and, seeing no one, put a question."The train is rather full, ma'am. Are you not comfortable here? I don't believe there is another compartment in it with only two passengers.""I don't mind. I want to move," said Isla desperately. "I--I don't care for my fellow-traveller. No--she isn't in the least objectionable, but I want to move right to the other end of the train, if possible, and if there is no other accommodation I'll pay for a first-class seat.""Very well, Miss. I'll see what I can do," he said obligingly enough as he moved on through the doorway of the corridor.Isla feverishly began at once to gather her things together, and she had her dressing-bag in her hand and her rug over her arm when, in about eight minutes' time, the guard returned."There is one corner seat in the front of the train--two gentlemen and a lady in the compartment. One of them is going out at Crewe. So if you'd care to wait till then----""No, thank you. I'll go now," she said.The man, still further puzzled, made up his mind to come through later and take a look at the other occupant of the compartment, now absent. He gathered up Isla's things and led the way to the front portion of the train. Isla felt that she was not particularly welcome in her new quarters. A woman, eating oranges, glared at her disagreeably, but at least she was left severely alone. She felt weak and limp after the strain of the morning, and all the afternoon every footfall in the corridor made her start, fully expecting to behold in pursuit of her the companion whom she had deserted. But she neither saw nor heard any more of her until they arrived at Euston and rubbed shoulders at the luggage barriers.Isla did not perceive her at first, and had just called out to the man that Mackinnon was the name on her box.At the sound of it Mrs. Bisley started back as if she had been shot, her vivid colour paled, and she put her hand to her side as if she felt some spasm."Well, I'm blest!" she whispered inly to herself. "So that's it! I might have known. Oh, Winnie Bisley, once more your long tongue has got you into trouble."She had the delicacy of feeling to wish to efface herself from Isla Mackinnon's eyes, and yet she had a most insatiable desire to find out her destination. Remembering, however, that she had said she would sleep the night at the Euston Hotel she gave up the idea of discovery as impracticable.As Isla's porter shouldered her trunk and she turned to follow him towards the hotel entrance she saw the woman again, and their eyes met.Mrs. Bisley did not even smile, but Isla, as she passed by her, paused for the fraction of a second."I did not mean to be so rude as you may have thought, but my head ached dreadfully and I felt that I must get away to where it was not necessary to talk.""I quite understand," replied Mrs. Bisley. "Don't apologize. I don't take offence easily. I'm not that sort. You're Miss Mackinnon, aren't you?""Yes.""It might have saved a lot of talk if you had told me your name at the beginning," she said a trifle drily. "But, after all, perhaps there isn't any great harm done.""I hope not. You meant to be kind, I'm sure. Good night, Mrs. Bisley.""Bisley was my name," she said grimly. "Good night, Miss Mackinnon. If it should be that you ever want to see me again--and stranger things have happened--you'll find me at 21 Henrietta Street, off the Edgeware Road--fourth turning on your left from the Marble Arch.""I'll remember it," said Isla hastily. "Good night."She was glad once more to escape. She had got much fresh food for thought, and she was at a loss to know how to act in a matter which seemed to concern her, and yet with which she was loth to intermeddle.On one point, however, her mind was absolutely made up. Malcolm should not win Vivien Rosmead under false pretences. Not for the second time should the peace and happiness of that dear woman be imperilled.But she did not yet know how she was going to prevent the crowning act of the tragedy of Malcolm's life."Tragedy" was the word Isla used to herself as the whole story beat upon her brain where she lay, tossing sleepless in her noisy bedroom, disturbed by the shriek of the trains, the long dull roar of life in the Euston Road, and, above all, by the phantoms of her own sad heart.How easily, by putting a few adroit questions, could she have wiled the whole story from her fellow-traveller's lips! It was not her pride alone that had prevented her from asking these questions. She was afraid.She fell asleep with one last haunting thought in her mind--how much happier than she were the Mackinnons who slept their last dreamless sleep on the Braes of Balquhidder.CHAPTER XXTHE REALITY OF THINGSTowards the morning Isla fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep, from which she did not awake till half-past ten o'clock.A sense of confusion and dismay swept over her when she realized how late it was, until she remembered that, in her scheme of things, time just then was of no consequence.Certainly she had things to do, but the hour of their doing mattered to no man or woman. She was alone, she was free, this day and other days were in front of her to do with what she willed.She sprang up, rang for hot water, and, pulling up the blind a little way, looked out upon streets bathed in a flood of glorious autumn sunshine. Somehow, it comforted her that London did not weep at her coming. It seemed an augury of good will. She had not known how physically tired she was until she had stretched herself on her bed. And now, her strength fully restored by sleep, her spirit became less craven.She was still joyous over her escape. Things might happen in the Glen and she would never know. She, whose interest in the smallest event there had ever been of the warm and proprietary kind, had by one drastic step cut herself off from her old life. And for the moment she had room for little else in her mind but a sense of lively relief that she had gotten clean away.As she dressed leisurely she reviewed the events of yesterday, among which the meeting and conversation with Joe Bisley's widow stood out in odd relief.Isla was not without a latent sense of humour. In happier circumstances she could have extracted a great deal of amusement from the passing show of life, and she was able to smile at the situation of yesterday. It had been Gilbertian to the last degree, and might have been culled from the pages of the latest comic opera.What surprised her most was that she had no feeling of indignation or resentment against this woman who had stepped from the unknown into the Mackinnon scheme of things. Nay, she felt kindly towards her--she felt that somewhere, deep down in that undisciplined nature, there was gold. It was not the woman's fault that she had been born in another sphere, that she was so far from comprehending Isla's own points of view.She had other qualities which are common to the whole of humanity--good feeling, honesty, kind-heartedness, and sympathy. Isla was womanly enough and just enough to concede the possession of all these to Winifred Bisley. Her own innate goodness convinced her that this woman was not, and could not be, wholly bad. And no doubt--and here her thoughts again became tinged with bitterness--in this case also Malcolm had been to blame.She preferred to leave the unfinished story, however, to try to banish from her mind the problem of the loose threads which wanted weaving together. As for the day of unravelling, that was hid in the womb of time, but from past experience Isla had no doubt that that day would surely come.In her mind's eye this morning Glenogle was shadowy, and even her passionate championship of Vivien Rosmead seemed to suffer some chill. She was concerned altogether with herself. And perhaps just then that was no bad thing for Isla Mackinnon, seeing that she had arrogated to herself so long the rôle of general burden-bearer to the community.She felt fit and strong and hopeful as she belted her trim waist and fastened the Mackinnon badge into her black tie and set her hat firmly on her pretty hair. The memory of the nodding plumes and the moonstone hat-pins evoked a smile as she turned away from the mirror.With that smile still lingering on her lips she went forth to conquer London!She was the very last arrival in the breakfast-room, and she apologized for her lateness."I was very tired after my long journey," she said to the head waiter. "If it is too late for breakfast I must take something else."Too late, madam! It is never too late here for anything," he said magnificently as he directed her gallantly to a small table set comfortably near to the cheerful fire, and placed the menu card before her.When Isla had made her choice one of the satellites was instructed to fulfil her order with dispatch, and the head waiter stood near in case that the charming lady should desire further speech with him."No, I don't think I shall require my room another night," she answered, when he ventured on a polite inquiry. "I have had to come up rather unexpectedly, and, immediately after breakfast, I shall go out and see the friend with whom I expect to stay while I am in London. I may leave my things here, I suppose?""Certainly, madam. The room's yours until the evening.""Thank you. Have you been having good weather in London? It is lovely this morning. And please, can you tell me the best way to get from here to the Edgeware Road?""Underground, madam, from King's Cross. It will take you in about ten minutes."Isla thanked him again, and when he laid the morning paper before her she felt that a hotel could be a very comfortable place. She was glad to hear about the Underground, because her riches were not great, and she must be careful about small expenses.About noon she sallied forth on foot to find the Metropolitan station at King's Cross. She was an absolute stranger to that part of London. True, she had frequently arrived at the great termini, but on these occasions she had simply got into a cab or carriage and been quickly conveyed westward.She enjoyed the new experience--she was in the mood at the moment to enjoy everything and to put the best face even on her difficulties.At the Edgeware Road station she felt confused by the frightful congestion in the streets until, in answer to an inquiry, a friendly policeman told her that the street she wished to find was near the Park end of the wide thoroughfare."About ten minutes' walk, Miss," he assured her.And, though a policeman's ten minutes is an elastic measure, Isla was not unduly tired by the time she reached Agnes Fraser's door.Before she rang the bell she looked critically up and down Cromer Street, contemplating the fact that for some time to come it would limit her horizon. It was eminently respectable but dull, and some of the houses had a dingy look. Even Mrs. Fraser's, Isla thought, was less bright and cheerful than usual. The brass furnishings on the doors looked as if they had not been polished for several days, and the raindrops had dried upon the "Apartments" plate which, the last time Isla had seen it, had shone like gold.An exceedingly untidy slip of a girl about sixteen, in response to her ring, opened the door just a few inches. She had a squint in one eye, which perhaps accounted for her cap being set awry on her unkempt hair."Is Mrs. Fraser at home?" asked Isla imperiously."Yus, Miss, but she ain't well, she's in bed. You can't see her."This dashed Isla's fine spirits for a moment."In bed is she? What is the matter--anything serious?""She's 'ad newmonier, been mortial bad, Miss, but she's gettin' better. Only if it's apartments yer after, there ain't any."She delivered herself of this statement wholly on her own initiative, and in order to get rid as quickly as possible of her questioner."Is Mrs. Fraser very ill? Has she been able to see anyone just lately?""Yus, Miss, she's bin up at midday since Monday. She's settin' up now in 'er room.""I'll come inside," said Isla decidedly. "Go upstairs and tell her that Miss Mackinnon from Achree has called and would like very much to see her.""Yus, Miss," said the girl stolidly, and, opening the door a little more widely, permitted Isla to step into the hall."There ain't anywheer but Mr. Carswell's room. The drorin'-room lidy ain't out this mornin'. Yus--yer can sit 'ere if yer likes. But Missis Fraser, she don't like me leavin' folks in the hall since a werry decent-looking man took away three umbrellas and Mister Carswell's best greatcoat."Isla sat down on one of the rush-bottomed chairs and asked the girl to make haste to convey her message. Very soon she heard the quick shutting of various doors, the rushing about of feet upstairs, and, after about five minutes, the damsel appeared out of breath and with her cap more awry than ever."Yer can come up," she said laconically.Isla proceeded to ascend the somewhat dark staircase, which received all the light it possessed from a dome in the roof three floors up. All these stairs had Isla to ascend, for Mrs. Fraser was fully let, and she had had to retire to one of the attics when she was laid aside.It was a very bare room, but a bright fire made it fairly cheerful, and Agnes herself in a red flannelette dressing-gown, blushing all over her face, was in the middle of the room to welcome Isla when she reached the door."I'm very sorry, dear Miss Isla, to bring you up all this way. But could I help it? Oh, what I have suffered bein' shut up here, an' the hoose at the mercy o' thae rubbitch in the kitchen! Hoo mony times had ye to ring?--three or fewer, I'll be bound.""No, only once--and don't worry yourself, dear soul," said Isla, whose joy at sight of Mrs. Fraser's homely and welcoming face could not be dimmed by the recital of sordid details. "I hope you are really getting better.""Oh ay. I'm to get doon the morn. I'm very sorry I'm no doon the day for ye. If ye had written I wad hae been doon. Noo I canna offer ye onything--no even a cup o' tea. I wad never be sure hoo it wad come up.""I don't need anything," said Isla, as she closed the door and put Agnes back in her chair. "I've only just come out from my breakfast at the Euston Hotel.""You're not stoppin' wi' Lady Mackinnon, then?""No. They are still abroad. They will not come back, I think, for about two months yet."Agnes looked a trifle puzzled, but sat waiting respectfully for further enlightenment."Your little maid told me downstairs that you are full up when she supposed I was looking for accommodation," said Isla presently. "I hope she only said that to get rid of me. I want a room here, Agnes."Mrs. Fraser's face flushed again with the quick nervous flush of the invalid who is not yet quite able to cope with everyday affairs."Oh, Miss Isla, this is not the place for you--and very well ye ken it. I can gie ye another address. Ye mind Lady Eden's own maid Martin? She's in Seymour Street, and doin' well. Ye should go and see her. She wad be very prood to get ye, I am sure."Isla shook her head, drew her chair a little nearer that of Agnes, and looked at her very straightly."I can't afford to go to Martin, even if I liked her--which I never did. Things have not been going very well with me lately, Agnes, and--and it became imperative that I should get away. I can't explain it to you this morning, and I know you will never ask questions.""I hope I ken my place a little better than that, Miss Isla," said Mrs. Fraser.But her tone was sad."I'm not at all well off, and, in fact, I must look about immediately for something to do."At this strange announcement Mrs. Fraser fell back in her chair, as if overcome."Oh, Miss Isla, ye don't say so! It's awful, my dear! You to be seekin' something to do! It's no richt--it canna be richt. Oh, my dear, what is the meanin' o' it?"Isla dashed away a sudden moisture from her eyes."It's difficult to explain. You must have known that things were not going well at Achree for a long time, not even in my father's lifetime. Since he died and my brother has become the Laird affairs have got all muddled, and the outlook is hopeless. Further, we don't get on, Agnes. You knew Malcolm as a boy of seven years. So perhaps I needn't say much more.""No. But to let you go out into the world like this--it's a cryin' shame! You--a Mackinnon o' Achree! It shouldna be," said Agnes desperately."Oh, he did not actually send me out, you know, Agnes. In fact, he thinks I am on my way to France--to my aunt and uncle.""And surely he is richt. That is where ye should be, Miss Isla. Oh, tak' my advice and go now. London's a cauld, cruel place for them that has to get their livin'. It's me and Fraser that kens that. And for you to be oot in it! It minds me on naething but a lamb that has wandered frae its mither amang the little hills and wi' the snaw comin' doon like to blind it. Ye canna do it, Miss Isla. Tak' it frae me that kens--ye canna do it!""I must, Agnes, and if you can't encourage me you must hold your tongue, dear soul," said Isla bravely. "Let us get back to the point. Can you let me have a room? In fact, you must let me have a room--quite cheap, though at its market-value and not a penny less. All I want to make sure of is that I am under your roof. Nothing else matters."Agnes, still flushed and nervous, gave the matter rapid consideration."The drawing-room floor is what ye ocht to hae, Miss Isla.""But I couldn't pay for it. So, what comes next?""There's the floor below this--the back room. It's big and very quiet, but it doesna get much sun. There has been a French artist in it, and he painted things on the doors and on the mantelpiece. Some thinks them very bonnie. He gaed oot only last week awa' back to his ain country, and he was apparently very sorry to leave. He was a very decent man for a Frenchman.""That sounds more like it," said Isla cheerfully. "How much, Agnes? Honest Indian, now--how much did the Frenchman pay?""Twelve shillings a week, and he had his breakfast for that. But it was a French breakfast--naething but coffee and rolls. I would never charge you that, though. Miss Isla; if ye would just tak' the room it's a prood woman I'd be, and as for Fraser, he would be neither to haud nor bind aboot it.""That I can't do, Agnes, even to see the expansion of Fraser. If you like to give me the room and a French breakfast, with a very occasional egg when they are good and cheap, for twelve shillings a week--why, then, I'll take it gladly and pay a week in advance if I can come in to-day.""Oh, but, Miss Isla, I am not able yet to see properly to things, and, as I say, I've naething but rubbitch in the kitchen. Even at the very best, my hoose is not what you hae been accustomed to, and I should never hae an easy or a happy mind aboot ye.""That's sad, for I am going to be very easy and happy about myself, dear soul. So, do say I may come in this very afternoon. My things are all at the Euston Hotel, and, of course, staying there is beyond my means altogether."Mrs. Fraser sat back in her chair, and her face was troubled."Come, of course, and welcome, my dear. But I am wae for ye. And what is it ye think of tryin' to do? Is it to go as a companion to an old leddy--or what? There is so very little a leddy like you can do.""I read an advertisement in the 'Morning Post' this morning for a young person to take pet dogs for an airing in the Park. My physical powers would be equal to that, I believe, and it would not need much brain power at least."Agnes hardly even laughed at the suggestion."I ken what I'm speakin' aboot, Miss Isla. I have not kept an apartment hoose in London for seven years for naething. The things I hae seen, they would fill a book.""I have no doubt of it, but I'm not going to add to your tragic reminiscences, Agnes. Fortune is now going to begin to smile on me. Don't let us meet trouble half-way, anyhow. We'll change the subject. Haven't you anything to ask about your old friends and neighbours in the Glen?""I dinna hear frae ony o' them noo, Miss Isla. Oot o' sicht oot o' mind. Hoo's Elspeth Maclure, and has she ony mair bairns?""None since the last," laughed Isla."And is her tongue ony quater? Eh, that lassie! When we were neibours at Achree I tell ye she fair deaved a body. You'll no mind--ye were young at the time--that I had to ask the hoosekeeper to let me sleep in anither room. Naebody could sleep wi' Elspeth. She wud speak even in her sleep. We were a' sorry for Maclure. But, of course, he was a quate man, or there wad hae been ructions."Isla retailed a few items of Glenogle and Lochearn gossip for Mrs. Fraser's benefit, and finally returned to the subject of the room."I can tak' ye doon to see it, Miss Isla. I was as far as the dining-room yesterday."Isla thanked her, and together they went down one flight of stairs and entered a large, wide room with two long windows looking out upon a microscopic back-yard, in which was a solitary tree. Though it was little more than noon the room was rather gloomy, and Agnes pointed out that it was the projecting portions of the neighbouring houses that darkened the windows."If I get employment I shall be out most of the day, and in the evenings I shall have a fire, and then it will be quite cosy. So these are the Frenchman's pictures! Why, some of them are very pretty."He had done some sketches in water colour on the panels of the door and also on the sides of the mantel-piece; and, though the furniture was a little hopeless and rather suggestive of the cheaper end of the Tottenham Court Road, Isla was thankful to get it.But Agnes Fraser felt a little despondent about it all the afternoon, and when Fraser, who was steward at a West-End club, came home at tea-time to see how she was, he found that she had been crying.He also took a gloomy view of Miss Mackinnon's venture into the unknown."It's only her fad, Nance. And afore she has had time to get tired o't or even to get a grup o' the rael thing she'll rue it, or some o' them will come and tak' her away. So let her come, and dinna you fash your heid aboot her. Eh, woman, I'm gled to see ye in a frock at last!"About six o'clock that evening a four-wheeler trundled up to Mrs. Fraser's house in Cromer Street, and Isla with all her belongings was admitted to her new quarters.She slept soundly that night, secure in the haven found under the roof of an old friend.But Agnes herself, who knew the hardships of London life and had very special knowledge of the extreme difficulty the indigent gentlewoman experienced in finding employment, never closed an eye.
CHAPTER XIX
IN THE LONDON TRAIN
The train had started before Isla's travelling companion caught a glimpse of her face. She rose up with a sudden bang from her seat, with the result that, in spite of herself, Isla lowered her paper a little to see what was going to happen. What she did see was only the purple lady removing her large and unsuitable headgear, which seemed to interfere with her comfort.
"Hats are gettin' worse every day," she said with a pleasant smile as she jabbed two immense pins with imitation moonstone tops into the stuffing of the cushions behind her. "Soon they'll need to get us hat-compartments. Eh--what? Now, where have I seen you before?"
She took some hairpins from her abundant and really pretty hair, and with a back-comb began to do her toilet.
Isla was saved the difficulty of answering by a sudden gleam of recognition wandering across the lady's face.
"Oh, I know--on the road right down there in Glenogle yesterday! Now, ain't you jolly glad to be gettin' away from that God-forsaken hole?"
"Just at the present moment I am," Isla admitted.
She wondered what means she should take to ensure for herself quiet and privacy. She was incapable of any act of studied rudeness, but the prospect of listening to the woman's talk appalled her. Should she call the guard and ask to be given another seat in another compartment, or should she politely inform her fellow-traveller that she did not care to talk.
The lady flopped upon her seat, shook her head to see whether the coils of her hair were firmer, and then settled herself back among the cushions, smoothing out the creases of her cheap blanket-coat with a plump white hand.
She had now a black frock on, but, in contrast with Isla's neat, trim, well-fitting suit of home-spun, it looked badly cut, badly worn, altogether unsuitable for a journey. There were quantities of white net--not too clean--about her neck, and many brooches and a long chain, on which hung a lorgnette, while a double eyeglass was pinned to her bosom. She wore a great many rings of sorts and a wedding one.
Isla's eyes were quick enough to detect that.
"Goin' all the way?" she asked with an engaging smile.
Isla nodded.
"So am I, and jolly glad I'll be to hear the noise and smell the good old smells of the Euston Road. How they live up there! But there--it ain't livin', is it now? Would you call it livin'--eh?"
"Well," said Isla, diverted in spite of herself, and feeling no longer the appalling dread that pursued her in Glenogle regarding this very woman, "it depends on what you call living."
"Just so. Well, I like a bit of fun myself--a night out occasionally and a bit of stir in the daytime. Them hills, and big, dark locks get on my nerves. I was four days at the little hotel at Strathyre, and I had just about enough of it."
"Visiting friends in the neighbourhood?"
"No," snapped the woman. "It was a bit of business I was on, and it was last night before I saw the party I had to see. Not but what I was comfortable there, and they do make good food. Ever stopped there? They tell me they hadn't an empty bed from Easter till now--full up with fishermen and that sort. Can't understand it--don't pretend to. It's the silence--the big empty silence that gets at me. It would drive me crazy in a month, and I'd be gettin' up in my sleep and wanderin' into that water."
"You would get used to Strathyre," said Isla, smiling a little as she raised her paper, and hoping that there might now be a reprieve.
Her passionate hope was that the woman, who had all the unreserve of her class, would not be seized with a sudden desire to confide the nature of her business to her fellow-traveller. She did not want to hear the truth from these lips. If necessary she would have to tell her somehow that she did not wish to go on talking.
"I doubt it very much! I've been about too much and seen too much life to settle down in the country. I may have to, perhaps, later on, when I get older and not so fond of racket. Nothing to hurt--don't you know?--only a night at one of the halls and a good old canter down Regent Street and Oxford Street."
"I never saw anybody riding there," said Isla in a startled voice.
"I don't mean that, of course!" laughed the stranger; "not but what I could do it and make the traffic sit up for me too. When I was in India I had me own horse every mornin' and them grinnin' black men to hold it for me till I was ready to mount. I had a figure then as slim as yours, and they all said I looked better in me habit than in anything else."
"What part of India were you in?" asked Isla, fascinated in spite of herself.
"Pretty well all over, but latterly I was in the north. My husband was in the Fighting Fifth. Ever heard of them?"
"Yes, of course. They were through the Afghan campaign. My father was a soldier, and he used to show us as children their marches on the map."
"Oh, indeed! Then you know something about the service? Any brother in it?"
"I had one," said Isla, and the colour rose hotly in her face.
"I love it. Even when I was a little nipper I always said I'd never marry anybody but a soldier. And I didn't."
"Is your husband alive still?"
"No--dead. Killed in action he was, a-savin' of his Colonel. I've got the little brown cross at home somewhere. These were the days! There never was a braver chap than Joe Bisley ever shouldered a musket. Ah, poor Joe!"
Isla, perceiving that her companion was now in the throes of reminiscence, shrank back nervously in her corner.
"Doesn't it make your head ache to talk in the train?" she asked rather hastily. "There are heaps of papers here if you like to read. You are welcome to any of them. The gentleman who saw me off bought a great many."
"Ah, I don't wonder!" said the other with an admiring glance of approval. "You are just the sort that they would buy everything for if they got the chance. A little standoffish, too--ain't that what they like? Oh, I know them through and through!"
In spite of herself, Isla laughed out loud.
"Oh, it was a very old friend of my family who was seeing me off to-day! My father's lawyer in fact."
"Ah, then, he knew what side his bread was buttered on. And are you goin' to London, may I ask?"
"Yes."
"What particular part?"
"I shall stay the night at the Euston Hotel. I may go abroad. My plans are a little indefinite at present."
"Same as mine. It ain't an easy thing for a lone woman to make up her mind, and, as I told the party I spoke of, last night, I'm gettin' tired of uncertainty. I want to know where I am. That's what for I took that long journey and stopped at that queer little hotel. I wanted to see a party and get my bearings."
"And did you get them?" asked Isla desperately.
"Yes, I think so. But, bless you, you never know where you are with them. They're as slippery as eels. If you weren't so pretty, my dear, I'd warn you to steer clear of them for the rest of your mortal life. But it ain't in reason that you'll be allowed. There must be dozens after you."
Isla shook her head and then pointed suggestively to the illustrated papers, even making a remark about one of the pictures on the cover.
But the lady did not accept the hint.
"I don't read much," she confessed. "And men and women are much more interesting than books. When you've seen a bit of life, as I have, what's written in a book doesn't count for much. It's like a stuffed sawdust man beside a real flesh-and-blood one. Yes, they're a slippery crew, but they makes life--don't they, my dear?"
"They make its dispeace, anyhow," said Isla, surprised into an expression of opinion that she immediately regretted.
Her companion's face brightened, and she sat forward eagerly.
"Fancy you thinkin' that! Well, as you've had reason to say that, I don't mind tellin' you I agree. They're worth watchin', they need watchin' all the time, though most of them are like babies, with no more thought of what's goin' to happen. Now there's me! When I was in India I was pretty and slim as you are, though you wouldn't think it, and I was a toast in the station and could have had me pick after Joe died. There was the Sergeant--a splendid figure of a man with four medals and pay saved. He would have married me right off, and so would the little Corporal, and even one of the subs. that had an Earl for his grandfather; but I passed by them all and took up with one that nobody could be sure of. He's here to-day and gone to-morrow, so to speak, and even his wife couldn't keep him on the string."
Isla jumped up with her colour fluttering and threw down her paper.
"It's very hot in here, isn't it? Excuse me, but I must go out into the corridor for a little fresh air. I can't stand the heat any longer."
"Oh, poor dear, have a drop of brandy! They do have uncommon good spirits at Strathyre, but then, it's the dew of their own mountains, isn't it? Do have a drop, dearie. It'll buck you up at once."
"No, no, thank you!" cried Isla over her shoulder from the corridor. "I never touch spirits. I only want to be quiet and not talk for the rest of the journey."
Mrs. Bisley looked disappointed, but she comforted herself with a drop of the dew of the mountains and then sat down to have a look at the papers.
Once Isla glanced back at her and, in spite of herself, had to admit the prettiness of her face. She looked about thirty-five, and had she been properly dressed she could have been made to look much more attractive. There was something winning about her, too, but--oh, the irony of fate that should have brought them together in that narrow space, from which it was impossible to escape!
Isla's abnormally quick perception had easily filled in the lines of the story. She had no doubt that the party referred to by her fellow-traveller was Malcolm. And that the woman believed that she had a right to him there could be no doubt. He had not admitted her claim, Isla concluded, else surely he could never have been so base as lift his eyes to Vivien Rosmead.
She felt sick as she pressed her throbbing head against the cold glass of the corridor window, enjoying the swish of the wind on her cheek.
Should she never get away from the shadows which had darkened her life? Was it ordained that she should be pursued, far beyond the limits of Glenogle, by the sordid phantoms of Malcolm's past and present? Was fate wholly inexorable--were poor human beings but puppets, liable to be rudely moved hither and thither upon the boards of the stage of life? If it were so she might as well go back and fight it out on the Moor of Creagh.
"Feelin' better, my dear?" said Mrs. Bisley kindly, when she presently turned her head. "The first lunch will be comin' along immediately, and that'll make you feel better."
"I don't take it," said Isla, seeing a probable respite for an hour or so, during which she might either escape or rearrange her plans. "I have a few sandwiches in my dressing-bag and, later, I shall get a cup of tea. I never eat much when I am travelling."
"A mistake, my dear. Take it from me that has travelled a lot both by land and sea. If you don't eat you get so low that you can't bear yourself. Do say two for luncheon when the waiter comes along; then we'll go in together."
Isla shook her head.
"No, thank you."
The attendant came at the moment to inform them that the first luncheon would be served in about twenty minutes. Isla crept back again to her corner under the sympathetic scrutiny of her companion.
"What a colour you have, to be sure! Sorry you don't feel up to luncheon," she said cheerfully. "It's all use. When you've knocked about as much as I have you'll get more experiences. I'm up to all travelling dodges."
Isla had no doubt of it. She opened out another paper and let her eyes fall languidly on it, praying fervidly for the quick passage of the next twenty minutes. At another time she would have most thoroughly enjoyed such a travelling-companion and would undoubtedly have elicited her whole family history. But now her whole desire and aim was to stem the avalanche.
"Queer--wasn't it?--that we should meet like this," pursued her wholly unconscious tormentor. "I took to you that day when I met you on the road far more than to that other one you was with when you came back. She's a haughty piece, if you like. They told me at the hotel at Strathyre that it's expected she'll maybe be Lady of Achree some day, but we don't think!"
"Nobody pays any attention to the gossip of the Glen," said Isla, the desperate look stealing to her face again.
"Well, you may take it from me that that won't come orf," said Mrs. Bisley with cheerful emphasis, at the same time picking up a paper and beginning a languid inspection of the pictures it contained.
For about ten minutes there was a blessed silence, and then the restaurant attendant appeared to ask them to take seats for the first luncheon. Mrs. Bisley, full of pleasurable anticipation, jumped up and proceeded to arrange her hair and pin on her hat at the most becoming angle. Then she grasped her hand-bag and came out into the corridor, nodding delightedly.
"Sure you won't come, Miss? It would do you no end of good. Do be persuaded."
"Oh, no, thank you. I couldn't eat."
"Then, I leave you to keep our seats. Hope we don't have anyone else put in with us at Carlisle. Then we can have a nice chat all the afternoon."
"Heaven forbid!" said Isla in her inmost soul.
A few minutes after her companion had disappeared, and when the corridor was quite empty, she rang the bell. It was a long time before anyone answered it. Then, indeed, it was only the conductor who came. He had not even heard the bell--he merely came through by chance.
"Will you be so kind as to get me another seat at once and have my things moved?" she said, with that single touch of hauteur mingled with appeal which, somehow, always commanded immediate service.
The man touched his hat, looked inquiringly into the compartment, and, seeing no one, put a question.
"The train is rather full, ma'am. Are you not comfortable here? I don't believe there is another compartment in it with only two passengers."
"I don't mind. I want to move," said Isla desperately. "I--I don't care for my fellow-traveller. No--she isn't in the least objectionable, but I want to move right to the other end of the train, if possible, and if there is no other accommodation I'll pay for a first-class seat."
"Very well, Miss. I'll see what I can do," he said obligingly enough as he moved on through the doorway of the corridor.
Isla feverishly began at once to gather her things together, and she had her dressing-bag in her hand and her rug over her arm when, in about eight minutes' time, the guard returned.
"There is one corner seat in the front of the train--two gentlemen and a lady in the compartment. One of them is going out at Crewe. So if you'd care to wait till then----"
"No, thank you. I'll go now," she said.
The man, still further puzzled, made up his mind to come through later and take a look at the other occupant of the compartment, now absent. He gathered up Isla's things and led the way to the front portion of the train. Isla felt that she was not particularly welcome in her new quarters. A woman, eating oranges, glared at her disagreeably, but at least she was left severely alone. She felt weak and limp after the strain of the morning, and all the afternoon every footfall in the corridor made her start, fully expecting to behold in pursuit of her the companion whom she had deserted. But she neither saw nor heard any more of her until they arrived at Euston and rubbed shoulders at the luggage barriers.
Isla did not perceive her at first, and had just called out to the man that Mackinnon was the name on her box.
At the sound of it Mrs. Bisley started back as if she had been shot, her vivid colour paled, and she put her hand to her side as if she felt some spasm.
"Well, I'm blest!" she whispered inly to herself. "So that's it! I might have known. Oh, Winnie Bisley, once more your long tongue has got you into trouble."
She had the delicacy of feeling to wish to efface herself from Isla Mackinnon's eyes, and yet she had a most insatiable desire to find out her destination. Remembering, however, that she had said she would sleep the night at the Euston Hotel she gave up the idea of discovery as impracticable.
As Isla's porter shouldered her trunk and she turned to follow him towards the hotel entrance she saw the woman again, and their eyes met.
Mrs. Bisley did not even smile, but Isla, as she passed by her, paused for the fraction of a second.
"I did not mean to be so rude as you may have thought, but my head ached dreadfully and I felt that I must get away to where it was not necessary to talk."
"I quite understand," replied Mrs. Bisley. "Don't apologize. I don't take offence easily. I'm not that sort. You're Miss Mackinnon, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"It might have saved a lot of talk if you had told me your name at the beginning," she said a trifle drily. "But, after all, perhaps there isn't any great harm done."
"I hope not. You meant to be kind, I'm sure. Good night, Mrs. Bisley."
"Bisley was my name," she said grimly. "Good night, Miss Mackinnon. If it should be that you ever want to see me again--and stranger things have happened--you'll find me at 21 Henrietta Street, off the Edgeware Road--fourth turning on your left from the Marble Arch."
"I'll remember it," said Isla hastily. "Good night."
She was glad once more to escape. She had got much fresh food for thought, and she was at a loss to know how to act in a matter which seemed to concern her, and yet with which she was loth to intermeddle.
On one point, however, her mind was absolutely made up. Malcolm should not win Vivien Rosmead under false pretences. Not for the second time should the peace and happiness of that dear woman be imperilled.
But she did not yet know how she was going to prevent the crowning act of the tragedy of Malcolm's life.
"Tragedy" was the word Isla used to herself as the whole story beat upon her brain where she lay, tossing sleepless in her noisy bedroom, disturbed by the shriek of the trains, the long dull roar of life in the Euston Road, and, above all, by the phantoms of her own sad heart.
How easily, by putting a few adroit questions, could she have wiled the whole story from her fellow-traveller's lips! It was not her pride alone that had prevented her from asking these questions. She was afraid.
She fell asleep with one last haunting thought in her mind--how much happier than she were the Mackinnons who slept their last dreamless sleep on the Braes of Balquhidder.
CHAPTER XX
THE REALITY OF THINGS
Towards the morning Isla fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep, from which she did not awake till half-past ten o'clock.
A sense of confusion and dismay swept over her when she realized how late it was, until she remembered that, in her scheme of things, time just then was of no consequence.
Certainly she had things to do, but the hour of their doing mattered to no man or woman. She was alone, she was free, this day and other days were in front of her to do with what she willed.
She sprang up, rang for hot water, and, pulling up the blind a little way, looked out upon streets bathed in a flood of glorious autumn sunshine. Somehow, it comforted her that London did not weep at her coming. It seemed an augury of good will. She had not known how physically tired she was until she had stretched herself on her bed. And now, her strength fully restored by sleep, her spirit became less craven.
She was still joyous over her escape. Things might happen in the Glen and she would never know. She, whose interest in the smallest event there had ever been of the warm and proprietary kind, had by one drastic step cut herself off from her old life. And for the moment she had room for little else in her mind but a sense of lively relief that she had gotten clean away.
As she dressed leisurely she reviewed the events of yesterday, among which the meeting and conversation with Joe Bisley's widow stood out in odd relief.
Isla was not without a latent sense of humour. In happier circumstances she could have extracted a great deal of amusement from the passing show of life, and she was able to smile at the situation of yesterday. It had been Gilbertian to the last degree, and might have been culled from the pages of the latest comic opera.
What surprised her most was that she had no feeling of indignation or resentment against this woman who had stepped from the unknown into the Mackinnon scheme of things. Nay, she felt kindly towards her--she felt that somewhere, deep down in that undisciplined nature, there was gold. It was not the woman's fault that she had been born in another sphere, that she was so far from comprehending Isla's own points of view.
She had other qualities which are common to the whole of humanity--good feeling, honesty, kind-heartedness, and sympathy. Isla was womanly enough and just enough to concede the possession of all these to Winifred Bisley. Her own innate goodness convinced her that this woman was not, and could not be, wholly bad. And no doubt--and here her thoughts again became tinged with bitterness--in this case also Malcolm had been to blame.
She preferred to leave the unfinished story, however, to try to banish from her mind the problem of the loose threads which wanted weaving together. As for the day of unravelling, that was hid in the womb of time, but from past experience Isla had no doubt that that day would surely come.
In her mind's eye this morning Glenogle was shadowy, and even her passionate championship of Vivien Rosmead seemed to suffer some chill. She was concerned altogether with herself. And perhaps just then that was no bad thing for Isla Mackinnon, seeing that she had arrogated to herself so long the rôle of general burden-bearer to the community.
She felt fit and strong and hopeful as she belted her trim waist and fastened the Mackinnon badge into her black tie and set her hat firmly on her pretty hair. The memory of the nodding plumes and the moonstone hat-pins evoked a smile as she turned away from the mirror.
With that smile still lingering on her lips she went forth to conquer London!
She was the very last arrival in the breakfast-room, and she apologized for her lateness.
"I was very tired after my long journey," she said to the head waiter. "If it is too late for breakfast I must take something else.
"Too late, madam! It is never too late here for anything," he said magnificently as he directed her gallantly to a small table set comfortably near to the cheerful fire, and placed the menu card before her.
When Isla had made her choice one of the satellites was instructed to fulfil her order with dispatch, and the head waiter stood near in case that the charming lady should desire further speech with him.
"No, I don't think I shall require my room another night," she answered, when he ventured on a polite inquiry. "I have had to come up rather unexpectedly, and, immediately after breakfast, I shall go out and see the friend with whom I expect to stay while I am in London. I may leave my things here, I suppose?"
"Certainly, madam. The room's yours until the evening."
"Thank you. Have you been having good weather in London? It is lovely this morning. And please, can you tell me the best way to get from here to the Edgeware Road?"
"Underground, madam, from King's Cross. It will take you in about ten minutes."
Isla thanked him again, and when he laid the morning paper before her she felt that a hotel could be a very comfortable place. She was glad to hear about the Underground, because her riches were not great, and she must be careful about small expenses.
About noon she sallied forth on foot to find the Metropolitan station at King's Cross. She was an absolute stranger to that part of London. True, she had frequently arrived at the great termini, but on these occasions she had simply got into a cab or carriage and been quickly conveyed westward.
She enjoyed the new experience--she was in the mood at the moment to enjoy everything and to put the best face even on her difficulties.
At the Edgeware Road station she felt confused by the frightful congestion in the streets until, in answer to an inquiry, a friendly policeman told her that the street she wished to find was near the Park end of the wide thoroughfare.
"About ten minutes' walk, Miss," he assured her.
And, though a policeman's ten minutes is an elastic measure, Isla was not unduly tired by the time she reached Agnes Fraser's door.
Before she rang the bell she looked critically up and down Cromer Street, contemplating the fact that for some time to come it would limit her horizon. It was eminently respectable but dull, and some of the houses had a dingy look. Even Mrs. Fraser's, Isla thought, was less bright and cheerful than usual. The brass furnishings on the doors looked as if they had not been polished for several days, and the raindrops had dried upon the "Apartments" plate which, the last time Isla had seen it, had shone like gold.
An exceedingly untidy slip of a girl about sixteen, in response to her ring, opened the door just a few inches. She had a squint in one eye, which perhaps accounted for her cap being set awry on her unkempt hair.
"Is Mrs. Fraser at home?" asked Isla imperiously.
"Yus, Miss, but she ain't well, she's in bed. You can't see her."
This dashed Isla's fine spirits for a moment.
"In bed is she? What is the matter--anything serious?"
"She's 'ad newmonier, been mortial bad, Miss, but she's gettin' better. Only if it's apartments yer after, there ain't any."
She delivered herself of this statement wholly on her own initiative, and in order to get rid as quickly as possible of her questioner.
"Is Mrs. Fraser very ill? Has she been able to see anyone just lately?"
"Yus, Miss, she's bin up at midday since Monday. She's settin' up now in 'er room."
"I'll come inside," said Isla decidedly. "Go upstairs and tell her that Miss Mackinnon from Achree has called and would like very much to see her."
"Yus, Miss," said the girl stolidly, and, opening the door a little more widely, permitted Isla to step into the hall.
"There ain't anywheer but Mr. Carswell's room. The drorin'-room lidy ain't out this mornin'. Yus--yer can sit 'ere if yer likes. But Missis Fraser, she don't like me leavin' folks in the hall since a werry decent-looking man took away three umbrellas and Mister Carswell's best greatcoat."
Isla sat down on one of the rush-bottomed chairs and asked the girl to make haste to convey her message. Very soon she heard the quick shutting of various doors, the rushing about of feet upstairs, and, after about five minutes, the damsel appeared out of breath and with her cap more awry than ever.
"Yer can come up," she said laconically.
Isla proceeded to ascend the somewhat dark staircase, which received all the light it possessed from a dome in the roof three floors up. All these stairs had Isla to ascend, for Mrs. Fraser was fully let, and she had had to retire to one of the attics when she was laid aside.
It was a very bare room, but a bright fire made it fairly cheerful, and Agnes herself in a red flannelette dressing-gown, blushing all over her face, was in the middle of the room to welcome Isla when she reached the door.
"I'm very sorry, dear Miss Isla, to bring you up all this way. But could I help it? Oh, what I have suffered bein' shut up here, an' the hoose at the mercy o' thae rubbitch in the kitchen! Hoo mony times had ye to ring?--three or fewer, I'll be bound."
"No, only once--and don't worry yourself, dear soul," said Isla, whose joy at sight of Mrs. Fraser's homely and welcoming face could not be dimmed by the recital of sordid details. "I hope you are really getting better."
"Oh ay. I'm to get doon the morn. I'm very sorry I'm no doon the day for ye. If ye had written I wad hae been doon. Noo I canna offer ye onything--no even a cup o' tea. I wad never be sure hoo it wad come up."
"I don't need anything," said Isla, as she closed the door and put Agnes back in her chair. "I've only just come out from my breakfast at the Euston Hotel."
"You're not stoppin' wi' Lady Mackinnon, then?"
"No. They are still abroad. They will not come back, I think, for about two months yet."
Agnes looked a trifle puzzled, but sat waiting respectfully for further enlightenment.
"Your little maid told me downstairs that you are full up when she supposed I was looking for accommodation," said Isla presently. "I hope she only said that to get rid of me. I want a room here, Agnes."
Mrs. Fraser's face flushed again with the quick nervous flush of the invalid who is not yet quite able to cope with everyday affairs.
"Oh, Miss Isla, this is not the place for you--and very well ye ken it. I can gie ye another address. Ye mind Lady Eden's own maid Martin? She's in Seymour Street, and doin' well. Ye should go and see her. She wad be very prood to get ye, I am sure."
Isla shook her head, drew her chair a little nearer that of Agnes, and looked at her very straightly.
"I can't afford to go to Martin, even if I liked her--which I never did. Things have not been going very well with me lately, Agnes, and--and it became imperative that I should get away. I can't explain it to you this morning, and I know you will never ask questions."
"I hope I ken my place a little better than that, Miss Isla," said Mrs. Fraser.
But her tone was sad.
"I'm not at all well off, and, in fact, I must look about immediately for something to do."
At this strange announcement Mrs. Fraser fell back in her chair, as if overcome.
"Oh, Miss Isla, ye don't say so! It's awful, my dear! You to be seekin' something to do! It's no richt--it canna be richt. Oh, my dear, what is the meanin' o' it?"
Isla dashed away a sudden moisture from her eyes.
"It's difficult to explain. You must have known that things were not going well at Achree for a long time, not even in my father's lifetime. Since he died and my brother has become the Laird affairs have got all muddled, and the outlook is hopeless. Further, we don't get on, Agnes. You knew Malcolm as a boy of seven years. So perhaps I needn't say much more."
"No. But to let you go out into the world like this--it's a cryin' shame! You--a Mackinnon o' Achree! It shouldna be," said Agnes desperately.
"Oh, he did not actually send me out, you know, Agnes. In fact, he thinks I am on my way to France--to my aunt and uncle."
"And surely he is richt. That is where ye should be, Miss Isla. Oh, tak' my advice and go now. London's a cauld, cruel place for them that has to get their livin'. It's me and Fraser that kens that. And for you to be oot in it! It minds me on naething but a lamb that has wandered frae its mither amang the little hills and wi' the snaw comin' doon like to blind it. Ye canna do it, Miss Isla. Tak' it frae me that kens--ye canna do it!"
"I must, Agnes, and if you can't encourage me you must hold your tongue, dear soul," said Isla bravely. "Let us get back to the point. Can you let me have a room? In fact, you must let me have a room--quite cheap, though at its market-value and not a penny less. All I want to make sure of is that I am under your roof. Nothing else matters."
Agnes, still flushed and nervous, gave the matter rapid consideration.
"The drawing-room floor is what ye ocht to hae, Miss Isla."
"But I couldn't pay for it. So, what comes next?"
"There's the floor below this--the back room. It's big and very quiet, but it doesna get much sun. There has been a French artist in it, and he painted things on the doors and on the mantelpiece. Some thinks them very bonnie. He gaed oot only last week awa' back to his ain country, and he was apparently very sorry to leave. He was a very decent man for a Frenchman."
"That sounds more like it," said Isla cheerfully. "How much, Agnes? Honest Indian, now--how much did the Frenchman pay?"
"Twelve shillings a week, and he had his breakfast for that. But it was a French breakfast--naething but coffee and rolls. I would never charge you that, though. Miss Isla; if ye would just tak' the room it's a prood woman I'd be, and as for Fraser, he would be neither to haud nor bind aboot it."
"That I can't do, Agnes, even to see the expansion of Fraser. If you like to give me the room and a French breakfast, with a very occasional egg when they are good and cheap, for twelve shillings a week--why, then, I'll take it gladly and pay a week in advance if I can come in to-day."
"Oh, but, Miss Isla, I am not able yet to see properly to things, and, as I say, I've naething but rubbitch in the kitchen. Even at the very best, my hoose is not what you hae been accustomed to, and I should never hae an easy or a happy mind aboot ye."
"That's sad, for I am going to be very easy and happy about myself, dear soul. So, do say I may come in this very afternoon. My things are all at the Euston Hotel, and, of course, staying there is beyond my means altogether."
Mrs. Fraser sat back in her chair, and her face was troubled.
"Come, of course, and welcome, my dear. But I am wae for ye. And what is it ye think of tryin' to do? Is it to go as a companion to an old leddy--or what? There is so very little a leddy like you can do."
"I read an advertisement in the 'Morning Post' this morning for a young person to take pet dogs for an airing in the Park. My physical powers would be equal to that, I believe, and it would not need much brain power at least."
Agnes hardly even laughed at the suggestion.
"I ken what I'm speakin' aboot, Miss Isla. I have not kept an apartment hoose in London for seven years for naething. The things I hae seen, they would fill a book."
"I have no doubt of it, but I'm not going to add to your tragic reminiscences, Agnes. Fortune is now going to begin to smile on me. Don't let us meet trouble half-way, anyhow. We'll change the subject. Haven't you anything to ask about your old friends and neighbours in the Glen?"
"I dinna hear frae ony o' them noo, Miss Isla. Oot o' sicht oot o' mind. Hoo's Elspeth Maclure, and has she ony mair bairns?"
"None since the last," laughed Isla.
"And is her tongue ony quater? Eh, that lassie! When we were neibours at Achree I tell ye she fair deaved a body. You'll no mind--ye were young at the time--that I had to ask the hoosekeeper to let me sleep in anither room. Naebody could sleep wi' Elspeth. She wud speak even in her sleep. We were a' sorry for Maclure. But, of course, he was a quate man, or there wad hae been ructions."
Isla retailed a few items of Glenogle and Lochearn gossip for Mrs. Fraser's benefit, and finally returned to the subject of the room.
"I can tak' ye doon to see it, Miss Isla. I was as far as the dining-room yesterday."
Isla thanked her, and together they went down one flight of stairs and entered a large, wide room with two long windows looking out upon a microscopic back-yard, in which was a solitary tree. Though it was little more than noon the room was rather gloomy, and Agnes pointed out that it was the projecting portions of the neighbouring houses that darkened the windows.
"If I get employment I shall be out most of the day, and in the evenings I shall have a fire, and then it will be quite cosy. So these are the Frenchman's pictures! Why, some of them are very pretty."
He had done some sketches in water colour on the panels of the door and also on the sides of the mantel-piece; and, though the furniture was a little hopeless and rather suggestive of the cheaper end of the Tottenham Court Road, Isla was thankful to get it.
But Agnes Fraser felt a little despondent about it all the afternoon, and when Fraser, who was steward at a West-End club, came home at tea-time to see how she was, he found that she had been crying.
He also took a gloomy view of Miss Mackinnon's venture into the unknown.
"It's only her fad, Nance. And afore she has had time to get tired o't or even to get a grup o' the rael thing she'll rue it, or some o' them will come and tak' her away. So let her come, and dinna you fash your heid aboot her. Eh, woman, I'm gled to see ye in a frock at last!"
About six o'clock that evening a four-wheeler trundled up to Mrs. Fraser's house in Cromer Street, and Isla with all her belongings was admitted to her new quarters.
She slept soundly that night, secure in the haven found under the roof of an old friend.
But Agnes herself, who knew the hardships of London life and had very special knowledge of the extreme difficulty the indigent gentlewoman experienced in finding employment, never closed an eye.