CHAPTER LIII. SEEKING FOR WORK.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 371, 25 May 1889, Page 6

CHAPTER LIII. SEEKING FOR WORK.

Great Perciyal-sj'reet was a drearylooking thoroughfare, nearly a mile in length, and when the cab pulled up before No. S3, Dulcie could not help thinking that, buried inside those quiet habitations, to all intents and purposes one might be as dead to the outside world — the world from which she had just flown — as if one had never existed. She could imagine the months succeeding the months, and the years the years, without any occurrence ever taking place to break the daily monotony. The cabman now descended from his perch, and after seveial ineffectual though \igorous pulls at length succeeded in ringing the bell, though at the imminent risk of breaking the rusty old wire on which ib hung. After a somewhat prolonged pause, the door was opened by a stout, good-tempered-looking woman home forty years of age, whose dark eyes, smooth hairandrosy face appeared pleasantly at variance with her surroundings. Impressing an audible embrace upon her nephew's weather-beaten countenance, she exclaimed in tones of lively satisfaction : 'Dear heart ! who would ha' thought to have seen you at this time o'.day ! Come in and take a glass of Mr O'Donovan's best — ' she was going to say whisky, but. fearful of corrupting Joe's innocence, substituted the word ginger ale in its place. ' Wait a bit, Aunt Moll,' whispered Joe, in return; 'I've come upon biziness, and 'aye brought a sweet pretty young lady who wants to find a nice, quiet place to 'ide in,' winking mysteriously. * Lor', Joe ' my iiouse ain't a place to play hide-and-seek in. Thank goodness, it's a little bit too respectable for that.' 'So it may be, Aunt Moll, I won't say you nay. But this poor thing, she's in trouble, as is eaey to see with 'arf an eye, and she's been used to a werry different eort o' home, so just you take 'er in, without asking bo questions, and be good to her.' In consequence of this speech Mrs O'Donovan greeted Dulcie with a low curtsey as the latter descended from the hansom, and, leaving Joe in charge of his horse, they entered the house together. An unsavoury odour of damp clothes, onions, stuffiness, and inefficient drains met Dulcie's nostrils, but she was too thankful at finding some respectable haven of refuge to be very particular. ' Can you let me have a bedroom to myself?'she said, nervously. 'I don't mind about anything else, and shall endeavour to give as little trouble as possible ; but, 1 hesitating, ' I've not been very well latety, and may have to lie down a good bit.' Mrs O'Donovan, when she looked at her intending lodger's pale countenance, felt her heart grow big with compassion. ' Most certainly, miss. I beg your pardon, though ; perhaps I ought to have said ma'am ?' Dulcie blushed crimson, but remembering, just in time, that she had taken care to withdraw the only thing that might have betrayed her — namely, her wedding ring — she answered : 'No, no, Mrs O'Donovan, quite right. Call me Miss Shepton. That will do nicely.' <• Upon this, Mrs O'Donovan led the way upstairs, and throwing open a door on the first landing, triumphantly showed Dulcie into a tiny apartment looking out on a grimy vista of tall, smoking chimney tops. In one corner of the room stood a small white bed, and opposite to it were a chest of drawers and a painted wash-stand adorned with a cracked jug of gaudy colouring. On the walls was a cheap and flaring paper, in which bright solferina and arsenical green predominated, whilst down the middle of the otherwise bare floor reposed a strip of coarse and common matting. Nevertheless, the room was cleanly, so that Dulcie, upon seeing it, promptly signified her willingness to become its occupant. ' It's a sweet room, ain't it, miss ?' said Mrs O'Donovan, • a sweet, pretty room, 5 though I says it as shouldn't.' After some conversation ib was finally settled that Dulcie should pay the sum of two guineas a week for the privilege of becoming its tenant, which was to include ( three meals a day. Mrs O'Donovan then fetched her portmanteau and unpacked its contents, whilst she submitted to the process of being undressed and put to bed like a little child. She felt like a lost lamb that had Strayed from thd fold. At last she curled round I ' m her little narrow bed and fell asleep. Next morning, when she awoke, the sun already stood high in the heavens. It glinted through the dingy window-panes, glorifying all things with its amber rays, gilding even the smutty cbunney-pots as they stood out dark against the clear, blue- ; vaulted sky. Dulcie glanced at her watch. It wanted a quarter to eleven, and, quite horrified at the lateness of the hour, she ' sprang out of bed. But she felt so weak ! and dizzy that, after ringing the bell, she - was thankful to creep back into it ' again. She was too feverish, however, to ! lie 3till for loner, and by dinner time had j esconced herself on the drawing-room sofa, with the prospect of an interminable after- * noon in store. 1 Mrs O'Do-.jovan,' she said, • I can't stay l idle. For pity's sake, give me something E to do. ' That lady produced some dusters and l handed them over to Dulcie's tender * mercies. I She stitched on until her eyes ached and I her fingers throbbed, and then she gave £ herself over to bitter reflection. One great fear possessed her, which was I that of Mr Denver discovering her hiding- * place and forcing her once more to live A with him ; whil&t, according to present in- -* tentions, she was firmly resolved never to do so again. It seemed such a rest, being £ transplanted from the grand, noisy house * in Grosvenor Square to this little, quie £ one, where there was no one to talk o ' bully, no one to make disagreeable remark * or carry on an anecdotal, biographical 8 I conversation, depreciatory in nature and c deteriorating to the mind. Mrs O'Dono- £ van's rough-and-ready sympathy, un- \ polished manners, but "warm heart, con- * trasted favourably with those of a good I many people with whom she bad recently associated. They made her feel better and. * more peaceful than she had done for fi months, and the quietude exercised a bene- ; ficial influence over her worried and abnormally excited brain. In this manner, a whole week passed c away. Once or twice during that time 6 Dulcie ventured out for a turn up and c down Great Percival Street, and, finding her retreat still remained undiscovered, she ( daily gained courage. At the end of the week she paid Mrs O'Donovan's bill ; and * with her "slender stock of money thus re- *

\ duced, the necessity of immediately obtain- : ing some employment by which she could i earn a sustenance became clenrly imperative. Consequently she appealed to Mrs O'Donovan for advice, explaining the exact state of her finances. * You see,' she concluded, ' I must do something, and that without loss of time, else I shall find myself a pauper ; but the i only question is What?' ' Ah ! my dearie,' responded Mrs O'Donovan musingly, for she and her pretty, ladylike lodger had become close allies, ' I reckon it is by no means the first time that that question has been asked, and it will take somebody a deal sight cloverer than me to answer it. There's plenty o' trades and plenty o' people in this world, but the difficulty is lo fit one to the other. Life is like a large puzzle, which takes so much piecing and sorting that somehow you can't ever get it to come altogether quite right. There's allus one tiresome little bit wanting that just manages to spoil the whole.' 'But surely, Mrs. Donovan, you can recommond an occupation ?' urged Dulcie. 4 It's not so easy, and it you'll excuse my saying so, you're a'most too pretty : but you might do for a shop. So if I was you, my dear, I would just take the 'bus tomorrow to Oxford -street and Regent-street, and try my luck.' The next morning Dulcie arose betimes, and, dressing herself very quietly, started immediately after breakfast for Regentstreet. She had no very definite plans, but with one of youth's chief characteristics, believed firmly in something turning up. At the Quadrant she got out and walked, entering every shop that seemed' the least s-iitable to her purpose. At each one she met with the same answer, i.e., 'that the season was virtually over, and, instead of employing 1 extra hands, many were already being sent away.' Weary and dispirited, as a last resource, she went into a cigar shop and proffered her services. Mrs O'Donovan had talked of her good looks, perhaps they might avail her something here. The man at the counter was a Hebrew, with dark greasy hair, bold black eyes, and a quantity of flashy jewellery. He looked at her with a leer, and made some coarse aud slighting observation that sent the hot blood quivering through every nerve. If this was what she had to expect, not a moment was to be lost in departing. At that moment an elaborately-dressed old gentleman pushed open the shop door and inquired the price of some article exposed for sale in the window. As Dulcie passed bj he fixed such an impudent gaze upon her that once again she coloured up to the very temples. By this time she felt so I weary and dejected that, turning into the nearest confectioner's, she ordered a cup of chocolate us an excu&e for' gaining permission to sit down. After a while she rose and began her search anew. She had hardly moved on a couple of yards before she perceived the old gentleman of the cigar shop pretending to examine some semi-nude photographs of fashionaHe actresses, and before long, to i her intense annoyance, she became awaro that this individual, to whom she had taken an instinctive dislike, was dogging her footsteps. Perhaps he was some friend of Dennis — he looked not unlike one — or perhaps a detective in disguise. The thought thrilled her with the most active terror, and in another instant, supremely regardless of the jostling foot passengers, or of their astounded commentaries as she tore past them, she set to work to run at topmost speed. She never stopped or paused to look round until her breath failed her, and she perceived that she had far outstripped her tormentor. Oxford Circus was just in front, and in consequence of the road being under repair a certain confusion resulted, owing to which a considerable number of people— timorous ladies and young children — had collected at the crossing, -waiting to be escorted by the policeman on duty. Dulcie thankfully joined their ranks, and was just going to profit by a pause in the traffic, when, with firm, hurried footsteps, she suddenly saw a herculean form come dodging through the carnages straight towards her— a tall, boyish, broad-shoul-dered form that belonged to the very last person in the whole world she expected to meet, and yet wliose image had never been absent from her mind for five consecutive minutes. What wonder that her heart gave a convulsive leap, seeming as if it must fly out towards him, and then, ashamed of its" own vehement joy, stood deadly still, paralysed by a host of tumultuous emotions !