The Beth Book
"I've a patient to see. Ta! ta! Take care of yourself."
* * * * *
Some little time after Beth's return, they were sitting at lunch
together, and Maclure was reading a daily paper.
"Matters look bad for that fellow, Cayley Pounce," he observed.
"Why, what has he been doing?" Beth asked.
"Poking a fellow's eye out with his umbrella," Dan answered. "He was
talking to a girl in the street one night, and got into a row with
some roughs, and jabbed one in the eye with his umbrella, and the
fellow died. The inquiry is now going on, and it's likely the
coroner's jury will bring in a verdict of manslaughter against Mr.
Cayley Pounce. His defence is that he wasn't anywhere near that part
of London on that particular night, and it's a case of mistaken
identity; but as he refuses to say where he was, and produces no
evidence by way of an alibi, that story won't avail him much."
"What night was it?" said Beth.
"On the 30th, just after midnight," Dan read out of the paper.
"Why, that was the night he insisted on escorting me home from the
theatre," Beth exclaimed. "He did not leave the Kilroys' until four
o'clock in the morning."
"Then why on earth doesn't he say so?" Dan asked.
"I can't imagine," Beth said. "I let him out myself; everybody else
had gone to bed. And I'm sure of the time, because I thought he was
never going away, and I was tired; and I looked at the clock and said,
'It's four o'clock, and I must go to bed.'"
Dan's face had darkened. "Do you mean to say you were sitting up with
him alone?" he demanded.
"Yes, for my sins!" Beth answered in a tone of disgust. "The Kilroys
were out when I returned from the theatre, and did not come in till
very late; and they went straight upstairs, supposing I had gone to
bed. As a rule they come into the library first. So Mr. Cayley Pounce
was left on my hands."
"Then," said Dan, pushing his plate away from him with a clatter, "it
is obvious why he is holding his tongue. He is determined not to
compromise you."
"Thank you!" said Beth, bridling. "I should think I am not so easily
compromised."
"Gad!" Dan ejaculated, "I don't know what you call easily compromised!
A man takes you home from a theatre, and stays with you alone till
four o'clock in the morning; if that isn't compromising I don't know
what is. No jury in the world would acquit you, and the fellow knows
that perfectly well, and is holding his tongue to screen you."
"I should think it's a great deal more likely he's holding his tongue
in order to get the credit of it," Beth observed drily. "It is a mere
pose. He knows I shall have to come forward to clear him if he doesn't
explain himself. I suppose I must go at once and stop the case; but if
it were not for his wife I declare I should hesitate. What is the form
of procedure? You will come with me, of course?"
"_I_ go with you!" Dan exclaimed brutally, "and see you make a public
exhibition of yourself, and bring disgrace on my name in a court of
justice! I'm damned if I do! And what's more, if you go, you don't
return to this house. I've too much self-respect for that. You hadn't
much of a reputation when I married you, and if you lose the little
you've got, you can go and I shall divorce you. My wife must be above
suspicion."
Beth folded her serviette slowly while he was speaking, and, when he
stopped, she rose from the table.
"It is unfortunate for me," she said, "that the Kilroys have gone
abroad. They know the man and the facts of the case, and would have
advised me. In their absence I must do what seems right without
advice. I cannot see that I have any choice in the matter. You could
make it perfectly easy for me by supporting me; if you do not support
me I must go alone. I shall pack up and go to town at once in order to
appear in court to-morrow morning, and I shall telegraph to Roberts,
the Kilroys' butler, to meet me there, and confirm my story. There are
the coachman and footman too, and the police constable--witnesses
enough, in all conscience."
"You are determined to go?" Dan demanded angrily.
"I must go," she rejoined.
"It is going to the devil, then," said Dan deliberately; "and I always
said you would. Remember, you don't return to this house!"
* * * * *
When Beth arrived in town, she found that there would be no need to
appear in the case at all, for the Kilroys' old butler Roberts had
seen the name of Mr. Alfred Cayley Pounce in the papers, and had
unwittingly frustrated his manoeuvre by going to the coroner's court
himself and volunteering to give evidence. He was accompanied by the
footman who had been out with the carriage on the night in question,
and the two together had no difficulty in proving an alibi. Thus, in
an ordinary commonplace manner, what had promised to be the triumph of
his life, the moment when he should stand confessed to the world a
chivalrous gentleman, sacrificing himself to save a lady of
prepossessing appearance, was converted into another of the many
failures of Mr. Alfred Cayley Pounce. This ended the case so far as he
and Beth were concerned; but with regard to Dan, Beth recognised that
her position remained the same. There was no return for her from the
step she had taken, and she would have to begin her life anew.
CHAPTER L
Beth went out into the world alone, knowingly and willingly. The
prospect had no terrors for her, neither did she feel any regret for
the past. She took it all as a matter of course. The days with Dan at
Slane were over, but life had still to be lived, and she set to work
to arrange it and live it to the best of her ability; what she most
urgently felt being merely that there were things she must see to at
once and settle about, and that she was rather pushed for time. The
first thing she did in London was to buy a map so that she might find
her way about economically, and some newspapers recommended to her by
the stationers as likely to have advertisements of respectable
lodgings in them. She studied these over a cup of coffee and a roll,
cut all the promising addresses out of the papers, found on the map
the best way to go by omnibus or railway, and then set off on her
quest, taking the red Hammersmith 'bus first of all, and explored West
Kensington. Her efforts in that direction were not successful.
Everything she saw at first was dear, dingy, and disheartening.
Landladies, judging her by her appearance, would only show her their
best rooms. When she explained that all she wanted was a nice, clean,
roomy attic because she was poor, they became suspicious, and declared
that she wasn't likely to get anything of that sort in a good
neighbourhood. Beth wondered what the bad neighbourhoods were like if
the one she was in were a good one. Later in the afternoon she found
herself on the Bayswater side in a street of tall houses off the main
thoroughfare. They were good houses, that must have been built for the
families of affluent people, and Beth was afraid it would be useless
to ask at any of them for the modest kind of accommodation which was
all she could afford. While she hesitated, however, standing in the
street before the one she had come to find, the hall-door opened, and
a young man came out. He and Beth looked at each other as he ran down
the steps, and Beth saw something so attractive in his face that she
spoke to him without hesitation.
"Can you tell me," she said, "if they have any attics to let at a
moderate price in this house?"
"Well, _I_ got one out of them," he said, smiling, "and I guess
there's another empty that would just about hold you, dress boxes and
all. I'll ring the bell, if you'll allow me, and get Ethel Maud Mary
to show you up. You'll make a better bargain with her than with her
ma."
The door was opened at this moment by a grimy servant.
"Gwendolen, will you give my compliments to Miss Ethel, if you
please," the young man said with grave formality, "and ask her if she
will be so good as to speak to me here for a moment."
Gwendolen nodded and retired to the back regions, whence presently a
plump, fair-complexioned, yellow-haired young person came hurrying
with a look of inquiry on her face.
"Oh, Miss Ethel," the young man began, taking off his hat, "I'm real
sorry to trouble you, but I want to introduce this young lady. I've
been recommending her to get a room here. I know she'll find you
moderate and comfortable, and the situation is one of the best for
getting into town."
Beth recognised the wording of the advertisement that had brought her
to the house.
"It _is_ handy," Miss Ethel agreed. "But we've nothing but an attic
unlet. Are you in Art, miss?"
"No, Literature," Beth answered, with presence of mind.
"_Lady's_, I suppose?" Ethel Maud Mary observed, meaning lady's
papers, and glancing at Beth's dress. "You've got to be smart for
that, and it doesn't leave much for living. Come this way, miss,
please. And thank you, Mr. Brock, for mentioning us."
She led the way upstairs, talking all the time with cheerful
inconsequence. "He's a real gentleman is Mr. Brock, as doubtless you
know, though an American, and dry, and you never know which is his
fun; and in Art, which is not much to reckon on, and that's why I
thought that you might be, though you do look more like Fashion. Art
is apt to be towzled, but why, goodness knows. You're not used to the
stairs, I see. I wish it wasn't such a height up."
"Oh, I don't mind the height, if the price is proportionately low,"
Beth said. "I must live within my means, and keep out of debt, you
know."
"That's a rhyme--low and you know. Did you do it on purpose?" Ethel
Maud Mary asked with interest.
"No," said Beth.
"Then that's for luck," said Ethel. "You'll keep out of debt all
right. I see it in your face. And I know a face when I see it. They'll
keep you on the _Lady's_ for the sake of your appearance, even if
you're not much use. You're elegant and speak nice, and that's what
they want to go about for them, particularly if it's a man."
"If what is a man?" Beth asked.
"The editor, you know. We 'ad a young lady here who used to say she'd
undertake to get an extra half-sovereign out of any editor in town;
but editresses there was no managing. Which is yours?"
"I don't know yet," said Beth. "I've only just arrived."
"What are you getting?"
"A pound a week," Beth answered, that being her exact income; "but I
have a little by me besides, to keep me going till I get started, you
know."
Ethel Maud Mary nodded her yellow head intelligently, and began to
climb the narrow flight of stairs which led to the attics, moving her
lips the while, as if she were making calculations. There was no
carpet on this last flight of stairs, but the boards were well washed,
and the attic itself smelt sweet and clean.
"This is it," Ethel explained. "Mr. Brock is in the other, next door.
There's only two of them. This is the biggest room, but the other is
north, and has the biggest window, and being in Art, he's got to think
of the light. If you look out there to the right, you'll see some
green in the Park. You'll like the Park. It's no distance if you're a
walker. Now, just let's see. I've been calculating about the money.
Mr. Brock pays fourteen shillings, but you'll not be able to afford
more than seven out of a pound. You shall have it for seven."
"But surely that will be a loss to you!" Beth exclaimed.
Ethel sat herself down on the side of the bed and smiled up at her.
"I'll not pretend we couldn't get more if we waited," she said; "but
waiting's a loss, and we're doing very well downstairs, and can afford
to pick and choose. You'll find in business that it pays better in the
end to get a good tenant you can trust, who'll stay, than one who