CHAPTER XIX

SALOME FINDS A WELCOME

THE following day was oppressively hot, and Juliet felt no inclination to go abroad. Her room, being immediately below the roof, grew like an oven as the heat of the day increased; her head throbbed, the odours which rose from the kitchen sickened her, but she chose to remain in her room rather than encounter again the curious gaze of strangers. Adolphe waited upon her at mealtimes, and showed himself prompt and eager in serving her; but her appetite failed in the stifling atmosphere, and the dishes he set out with such care were left almost untasted.

How the leaden hours passed Juliet hardly knew. She could not read, she could hardly think connectedly. A kind of stupor possessed her as she lay back in the crimson velvet chair; but every now and then sharp, clear visions of the past would cross her mind, stinging her into bitter consciousness of her sin and folly. Sometimes the face of the lady who had looked at her so kindly and spoken so gently would come back to her, and she would ask herself where she had seen her before, or of whom it could be that the stranger reminded her.

Juliet was resting with her eyes closed when a loud, plaintive "mew" made her start, and looking up she saw a cat standing at her open window regarding her with beseeching eyes. It was a tabby, very prettily marked, but thin and miserable-looking, which forlornly wandering across the roofs had lighted on Juliet's open window.

"Puss, puss, puss!" she called gently, fearing to frighten it.

The cat looked at her doubtfully, mistrusting perhaps the foreign accents.

"Mignon, mignon!" Juliet tried next, in her most ingratiating manner.

The cat uttered another imploring mew.

Juliet turned to the luncheon-tray which still stood on her table, hastily put together on a plate the most appetising scraps she could find, and placed the plate on the floor just below the window. The cat hesitated only for a moment; then apparently convinced of Juliet's kind intentions, she leaped from the window to the floor and began hungrily to devour the feast.

When she had licked the plate quite clean, she proceeded to wash herself daintily. Then she sat still and looked at Juliet with such friendly eyes that the girl ventured to draw near and gently stroke pussy's head. Madame la Chatte graciously permitted the caress, and even condescended to purr.

Juliet, delighted to have gained such a companion, fondled her rapturously; but when she lifted her into her lap, puss resented the familiarity, struggled to get free, and as soon as she was at liberty, walked to the crimson velvet couch, leapt on to it, and ensconced herself comfortably in its most remote corner. No matter. Juliet followed, seated herself by the cat's side, and continued to stroke her soft head. It was wonderful how much less lonely she felt, now that this feline wanderer had cast herself on her hospitality.

A little later madame, fresh from her toilette, with her hair crisply curled and coiled, and her corset tightly laced, came to pay her daily visit. She smiled as she saw the cat, and watched the interest which Juliet displayed in her. It struck her that the girl was very young and childlike, far too young to be staying without a guardian in Paris. She was devoured with curiosity concerning her, and began to question Juliet eagerly.

"Monsieur does not come, it seems," she said, "and mademoiselle has not heard from him. Is it not so? Is it that he knows where mademoiselle may be found? Mademoiselle will perhaps like to write to him? Shall I bring mademoiselle the ink and the paper and the pen?"

Juliet curtly declined the offer. Madame found her curiosity baffled at every turn. Her questions and insinuations alike failed to extract information.

"See here," said madame at last, laying on the table a newspaper she had brought in her hand, "mademoiselle can perhaps amuse herself with this. You see it is an English journal of yesterday. An Englishman who slept here last night left it behind him."

Juliet thanked her, and when madame had gone, she took up the paper, and glanced over its columns with indifferent eyes. Suddenly she saw words which startled her, and leaning forward eagerly read the following paragraph:

"SERIOUS CHARGE AGAINST ALGERNON CHALCOMBE.

"Algernon Chalcombe, the well-known music hall singer, was yesterday arrested in Paris on a charge of forgery. It appears that on Monday, he cashed in London a cheque for £200 which purported to be signed by Joseph Barham, manager of the Cold Harbour Music Hall. The signature was, however, a forgery, and was discovered to be such late on the following day. The matter being at once put in the hands of the police, they speedily discovered that Chalcombe had left London for the Continent. They at once telegraphed to the French police, with the result that Chalcombe was arrested on his arrival in Paris. There is a report that his affairs are desperately involved in consequence of gambling transactions. It is of course possible, and we sincerely hope it may be the case, that Mr. Chalcombe can establish his innocence of the crime of which he is accused. When arrested in Paris, he was accompanied by a young lady with whom he had travelled from Dover."

Juliet's head swam as she read the newspaper report. Algernon Chalcombe a gambler and a forger! Was it to such a one that she had been ready to entrust her future? Was it for the sake of such a man that she had left her home and the mother who loved her so tenderly? No, not for his sake. She could not so deceive herself. It was for her own sake, for the sake of the future he had painted to her in such brilliant hues. He himself had counted for little with her. Amongst the many strangely mingled sensations Juliet experienced at this moment, came a conviction that she had never truly loved this man, whom she had dared to think of marrying.

Had she loved him, she would not have at once concluded that he was guilty of the crime of which he was accused. But she felt instinctively that the worst was true. With preternatural quickness, her mind gathered evidence from the past that seemed to confirm its truth.

Had not Algernon often spoken to her of his being "desperately hard up"? Had he not said jokingly, yet with an appearance of grim earnest beneath his joke, that he was ready to do anything to obtain money? Did she not know how cleverly he had once imitated his sister's handwriting, and how she had spoken of his skill in this respect? Had she not been struck with the gleam in his eyes when she had handed him the money with which he was to purchase their marriage licence? She doubted now if the money had been so spent. She knew the name of Joseph Barham. He was the manager of the large music hall at which Algernon most often sang. She remembered hearing Algernon say that Mr. Barham was about to go to America. She believed he was to sail on the day before they left London. Had Algernon then trusted to his absence to prevent the discovery of the fraud, and had his artfully laid plan somehow miscarried?

She remembered how freely she had told Algernon every particular with respect to her own property, and a new misgiving assailed her. Had he wooed her for the sake of her money? Would he have been faithful to the promise he had given, when he had her in his power? Would he have been content to play the secondary part she had assigned him in her life?

Poor Juliet! She was beginning to perceive that she had been like the poor silly fly whom the artful spider entangles in his glistening web, or like the foolish moth she had seen fall with singed wings on the drawing-room table on that evening which now seemed so long, long ago.

The pressure of mental pain brought a sense of physical discomfort that made her go to the window, and lean far out, to catch all the air she could. As she gazed over the dreary roofs, she felt as if she had suddenly grown quite old. The happy, careless, childish self of the past was for ever gone. She knew now what life really was, with its pitfalls and perils, at which she had often heard her elders darkly hint; but she had bought her experience at a high price.

Presently she took up the newspaper, and read again that brief paragraph. The sentence concerning herself struck her painfully, filling her with a terrible sense of shame. How could she bear it, if it ever became known that she was the young lady who had accompanied Chalcombe on his flight? She would feel for ever branded with ignominy, if she met the glance of eyes which said that they knew. Ah, she could never risk it. She could never go home now. She had placed an impassable barrier between herself and the old home, which she loved now as she had never loved it before. And what was to become of her in the future she could not tell.

With the thought came such a painful yearning for her mother's gentle presence, and for the love which had never failed her in any trouble yet,—though which of the slight vexations of her past could be truly called a trouble?—That Juliet could control herself no longer, and threw herself on the couch in a passion of weeping, which lasted till she was too exhausted to weep more.

The next morning, Juliet felt too ill to rise. She lay in her bed with her head throbbing wildly, and with sick, dizzy sensations overpowering her, whenever she attempted to raise herself from her pillow. She so seldom had a day's illness, that these symptoms were sufficient to alarm her, and she felt more miserable and forsaken than before. She thought that perhaps she was going to die, and tried to persuade herself that this was the best thing that could happen to her. But life was strong in her young frame, and she shrunk with horror from the thought of death.

She lay there feeling utterly comfortless, and filled with a vague wonder at the misery which had overwhelmed her. Could it be herself, Juliet Tracy, in whose good fortune she had always so firmly believed, to whom such sorrow and loneliness had come? Did she, who had dreamed of such a brilliant future, lie here in the dreary, close, foreign room beneath the baked roof? How she loathed the crimson velvet chairs, the gilding, the glare of everything about her! Oh, to feel a breeze, or quaff a draught of iced water!

Her only comfort was derived from the presence of the cat, who came purring to her bedside, and seemed, Juliet fancied, to know that she was ill. But possibly puss was moved by feelings not entirely disinterested, since she presently jumped on to the bed and settled herself cosily at Juliet's feet.

Madame was disturbed to find the young English lady lying in bed, so white, and with such a sorrowful look on her young face. The adventure was not proceeding as she had expected. There was no excitement about it, and it puzzled her. She asked Juliet about her friends, and suggested that she should write to them, Juliet receiving the suggestion in stony silence. Then she proposed that Juliet should see an English doctor, residing in Paris, who came every day to the hotel for his dinner. This proposal Juliet decidedly negatived. She was not ill; it was only a headache; she did not want a doctor. She had a quick sense of the surprise an English medical man would feel at finding her there alone, and dreaded the questions he might be expected to ask.

It was well she declined the suggestion. Madame had no idea that the doctor she mentioned was not a type of all English medical practitioners; but assuredly Juliet would have shrunk in horror from the shabby, dissipated-looking, ill-favoured man, had he been presented to her.

Madame was kind in her way. She brought Juliet some lemonade, which was really reviving, and she shook up and arranged her pillows very adroitly. But madame breathed heavily, and her high-heeled shoes resounded on the polished floor. Juliet, who was in a state of nervous suffering to which every sound is agony, was thankful when madame had satisfied her sense of duty and retired to the regions below.

After a while, Juliet felt a little better, and wishing to prove that there was no occasion for a doctor's services, she got up, and, with slow and feeble movements, dressed herself. But when she had done this, she felt so faint and giddy that she was glad to stretch herself on the couch, taking the pillows from her bed to increase its comfort, which was slight, in spite of its gorgeous appearance.

She was lying thus, feeling very wretched, when she heard the sound of steps on the stairs and the voice of Adolphe. He seemed to be conducting someone to a room. Could it be that he was bringing the doctor to her after all?

Juliet, in dismay, started into a sitting posture, her face turned towards the door. The next moment, it was gently opened—the face of Salome looked in upon her.

Yes, it was indeed Salome, in her close-fitting bonnet and long plain cloak, who advanced. For a moment, Juliet could hardly believe her eyes; then she uttered a cry of amazement and delight, and threw herself, sobbing wildly, into her sister's arms.