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I had meant to walk, you see, in spite of the red bundle! For I was afraid of being cheated by the cabman; and I was afraid too of running quite short of money, in case we didn't find Mrs. Wylie, or that she had left, and that, if the worst came to the worst, I might have to go to a hotel with the two children, and tel...
Indeed, I don't think I thought about that at all at the time, though afterwards mamma said to me I might have done so, had the worst come to the worst.
Chapter X
Beryl
YES, the fog was a fog, and no mistake. I don't think I have ever seen so bad a one since we came to live in London, or else it seemed to me terribly bad that day because I was not used to it, and because I was so anxious.
I felt half provoked and yet in a way glad that Margaret and Peterkin were not at all frightened, but rather pleased. They followed me along the platform after we got out of the carriage, lugging the bundle between them. It was not really heavy, and I had to go first, as the station was pretty full in that part, in spi...
I went on, staring about me for some one to ask advice from. At last, close to a book-stall, where several lights together made it a little clearer, I saw a railway man of some kind, standing, as if he was not in a hurry.
'Can you tell me where Enderby Street is, if you please?' I asked as civilly as I knew how.
'Enderby Street,' he repeated, in surprise. 'Of course; it's no distance off.'
Wasn't I thankful?
'How far?' I said.
'Well -- it depends upon which part of it you want. It's a long street. But if you're a stranger you'll never find your way in this fog. Better take a hansom.'
'Thank you,' I said. 'It's only a shilling, I suppose?'
He glanced at me again; he had been turning away. By this time the two children were close beside me. He saw that we belonged to each other.
'A shilling for two -- one-and-six for three,' he replied. 'Hansom or four-wheeler,' and then he moved off.
Just then Margaret began to cough, and a new fear struck me. She looked very delicate, and she had had a bad cold. Supposing the fog made her very ill? I was glad the man had spoken of a four-wheeler.
'Stuff your handkerchief or something into your mouth,' I said, 'so as not to get the fog down your throat. I'm going to call a four-wheeler.'
In some ways that dreadful day was not as bad as it might have been. There were scarcely any cabs about, but just then one stopped close to the end of the platform.
'Jump in,' I said, and before the driver had time to make any objection, for I know they do sometimes make a great favour of taking you anywhere in a fog, we were all inside.
I heard him growling a little, but when I put my head out of the window again, and said '19 Enderby Street,' he smoothed down.
We drove off, slowly enough, but that was to be expected. I pulled up both windows, for Margaret kept on coughing, in spite of having her handkerchief, and Peterkin's too, for all I knew, stuffed over her mouth and throat. They were both very quiet, but I think they were rather enjoying themselves. I suppose my taking ...
It was a horrid fog, but the lights made it not quite so bad outside, for the shops had got all their lamps on, and we could see them now and then. There was a lot of shouting going on, and yet every sound was muffled. There were not many carts or omnibuses or anything on wheels passing, and what there were, were movin...
After a few minutes it got darker again; it must have been when we got into Enderby Street, I suppose, for there are no shops, or scarcely any, there. I've often and often passed along it since, but I never do without thinking of that evening, or afternoon, for it was really not yet four o'clock.
And then we stopped.
'Nineteen, didn't you say?' asked the driver as I jumped out.
'Yes, nineteen,' I said. 'Stop here for a moment or two, till I see if we go in.'
For it suddenly struck me that if we had the awful bad luck not to find Mrs. Wylie, we had better keep the cab, to take us to some hotel, otherwise it might be almost impossible to get another. And then we should be out in the street, with Margaret and her bundle, and worse still, her cough.
I made my way, more by feeling than seeing, up the steps, and fumbled till I found the bell. I had not actually told the others to stay in the cab, though I had taken care to keep the window shut when I got out, and I never dreamt but what they'd stay where they were till I had found out if Mrs. Wylie was there.
But just as the door opened -- the servant came in double-quick time luckily, the reason for which was explained -- I heard a rustling behind me, and lo and behold, there they both were, and the terrible red bundle too, looking huger and queerer than ever, as the light from inside fell on it.
We must have looked a funny lot, as the servant opened the door. She -- it was a parlour-maid -- did start a little, but I didn't give her time to speak, though I daresay she thought we were beggars, thanks to those silly children.
'Mrs. Wylie is staying here,' I said. I thought it best to speak decidedly. 'Is she at home?'
I suppose my way of speaking made her see we were not beggars, and perhaps she caught sight of the four-wheeler, looming faintly through the fog, for she answered quite civilly.
'She is not exactly staying here. She is in rooms a little way from here, but she comes round most afternoons. I thought it was her when you rang, but I don't think she'll be coming now -- not in this fog.'
My heart had gone down like lead at the first words -- 'she is not,' but as the servant went on I got more hopeful again.
'Can you -- ' I began -- I was going to have asked for Mrs. Wylie's address, but just then Margaret coughed; the worst cough I had heard yet from her. 'Why couldn't you have stayed in the cab?' I said sharply, and perhaps it was a good thing, to show that we had a cab waiting for us. 'Please,' I went on, 'let this litt...
The parlour-maid stepped back, opening the door a little wider, but there was something doubtful in her manner, as if she was not quite sure if she was not running a risk in letting us in. I pushed Margaret forward, and not Margaret only! She was holding fast to her precious bundle, and Peterkin was holding fast to his...
'Can you give me Mrs. Wylie's address?' I said. 'I think the best thing we can do is to -- ' but I was interrupted again.
A girl -- a grown-up girl, a lady, I mean -- came forward from the inner part of the hall.
'Browner,' she said, 'do shut the door. You are letting the fog get all over the house, and it is bitterly cold.'
She was blinking her eyes a little as she spoke: either the light or the fog, or both, hurt them. Perhaps she had been sitting over the fire in a darkish room. 'Blinking her eyes' doesn't sound very pretty, but it was, I found afterwards, a sort of trick of hers, and somehow it suited her. She was very pretty. I didn't...
And as soon as she caught sight of us -- I daresay we seemed quite a little crowd at the door -- she stared too!
Then she came forward quickly, her voice growing anxious, and almost frightened.
'What is the matter?' she exclaimed. 'Has there been an accident? Who are these -- children?'
Browner moved towards her.
'Indeed, Miss,' she began, but the girl stopped her.
'Shut the door first,' she said decidedly. 'No, no, come in, please,' this was to me; I suppose I seemed to hesitate, 'and tell me what you want, and who you are?'
Her voice grew more hesitating as she went on, and it must have been very difficult to make out what sort of beings we were. Margaret's colourless face and dark eyes and hair, and the bright red of the bundle, at the first hasty glance, might almost have made you think of a little Italian wandering musician; but the mo...
'We are friends of Mrs. Wylie's -- Mrs. Wylie who lives at Rock Terrace,' I said, 'and -- and we've come to her because -- oh! because we've got into a lot of trouble, and the fog's made it worse, and we don't know anybody else in London.'