CHALLONER'S ADVENTURE: THE SQUIRE OF DAMES
Mr. Edward Challoner had set up lodgings in the suburb of Putney,
where he enjoyed a parlour and bedroom and the sincere esteem of
the people of the house. To this remote home he found himself, at
a very early hour in the morning of the next day, condemned to set
forth on foot. He was a young man of a portly habit; no lover of
the exercises of the body; bland, sedentary, patient of delay, a
prop of omnibuses. In happier days he would have chartered a cab;
but these luxuries were now denied him; and with what courage he
could muster he addressed himself to walk.
It was then the height of the season and the summer; the weather
was serene and cloudless; and as he paced under the blinded houses
and along the vacant streets, the chill of the dawn had fled, and
some of the warmth and all the brightness of the July day already
shone upon the city. He walked at first in a profound abstraction,
bitterly reviewing and repenting his performances at whist; but as
he advanced into the labyrinth of the south-west, his ear was
gradually mastered by the silence. Street after street looked down
upon his solitary figure, house after house echoed upon his passage
with a ghostly jar, shop after shop displayed its shuttered front
and its commercial legend; and meanwhile he steered his course,
under day's effulgent dome and through this encampment of diurnal
sleepers, lonely as a ship.
'Here,' he reflected, 'if I were like my scatter-brained companion,
here were indeed the scene where I might look for an adventure.
Here, in broad day, the streets are secret as in the blackest night
of January, and in the midst of some four million sleepers,
solitary as the woods of Yucatan. If I but raise my voice I could
summon up the number of an army, and yet the grave is not more
silent than this city of sleep.'
He was still following these quaint and serious musings when he
came into a street of more mingled ingredients than was common in
the quarter. Here, on the one hand, framed in walls and the green
tops of trees, were several of those discreet, bijou residences on
which propriety is apt to look askance. Here, too, were many of
the brick-fronted barracks of the poor; a plaster cow, perhaps,
serving as ensign to a dairy, or a ticket announcing the business
of the mangler. Before one such house, that stood a little
separate among walled gardens, a cat was playing with a straw, and
Challoner paused a moment, looking on this sleek and solitary
creature, who seemed an emblem of the neighbouring peace. With the
cessation of the sound of his own steps the silence fell dead; the
house stood smokeless: the blinds down, the whole machinery of
life arrested; and it seemed to Challoner that he should hear the
breathing of the sleepers.
As he so stood, he was startled by a dull and jarring detonation
from within. This was followed by a monstrous hissing and
simmering as from a kettle of the bigness of St. Paul's; and at the
same time from every chink of door and window spirted an ill-
smelling vapour. The cat disappeared with a cry. Within the
lodging-house feet pounded on the stairs; the door flew back,
emitting clouds of smoke; and two men and an elegantly dressed
young lady tumbled forth into the street and fled without a word.
The hissing had already ceased, the smoke was melting in the air,
the whole event had come and gone as in a dream, and still
Challoner was rooted to the spot. At last his reason and his fear
awoke together, and with the most unwonted energy he fell to
running.
Little by little this first dash relaxed, and presently he had
resumed his sober gait and begun to piece together, out of the
confused report of his senses, some theory of the occurrence. But
the occasion of the sounds and stench that had so suddenly assailed
him, and the strange conjunction of fugitives whom he had seen to
issue from the house, were mysteries beyond his plummet. With an
obscure awe he considered them in his mind, continuing, meanwhile,
to thread the web of streets, and once more alone in morning
sunshine.
In his first retreat he had entirely wandered; and now, steering
vaguely west, it was his luck to light upon an unpretending street,
which presently widened so as to admit a strip of gardens in the
midst. Here was quite a stir of birds; even at that hour, the
shadow of the leaves was grateful; instead of the burnt atmosphere
of cities, there was something brisk and rural in the air; and
Challoner paced forward, his eyes upon the pavement and his mind
running upon distant scenes, till he was recalled, upon a sudden,
by a wall that blocked his further progress. This street, whose
name I have forgotten, is no thoroughfare.
He was not the first who had wandered there that morning; for as he
raised his eyes with an agreeable deliberation, they alighted on
the figure of a girl, in whom he was struck to recognise the third
of the incongruous fugitives. She had run there, seemingly,
blindfold; the wall had checked her career: and being entirely
wearied, she had sunk upon the ground beside the garden railings,
soiling her dress among the summer dust. Each saw the other in the
same instant of time; and she, with one wild look, sprang to her
feet and began to hurry from the scene.
Challoner was doubly startled to meet once more the heroine of his
adventure, and to observe the fear with which she shunned him.
Pity and alarm, in nearly equal forces, contested the possession of
his mind; and yet, in spite of both, he saw himself condemned to
follow in the lady's wake. He did so gingerly, as fearing to
increase her terrors; but, tread as lightly as he might, his
footfalls eloquently echoed in the empty street. Their sound
appeared to strike in her some strong emotion; for scarce had he
begun to follow ere she paused. A second time she addressed
herself to flight; and a second time she paused. Then she turned
about, and with doubtful steps and the most attractive appearance
of timidity, drew near to the young man. He on his side continued
to advance with similar signals of distress and bashfulness. At
length, when they were but some steps apart, he saw her eyes brim
over, and she reached out both her hands in eloquent appeal.
'Are you an English gentleman?' she cried.
The unhappy Challoner regarded her with consternation. He was the
spirit of fine courtesy, and would have blushed to fail in his
devoirs to any lady; but, in the other scale, he was a man averse
from amorous adventures. He looked east and west; but the houses
that looked down upon this interview remained inexorably shut; and
he saw himself, though in the full glare of the day's eye, cut off
from any human intervention. His looks returned at last upon the
suppliant. He remarked with irritation that she was charming both
in face and figure, elegantly dressed and gloved; a lady
undeniable; the picture of distress and innocence; weeping and lost
in the city of diurnal sleep.
'Madam,' he said, 'I protest you have no cause to fear intrusion;
and if I have appeared to follow you, the fault is in this street,
which has deceived us both.' An unmistakable relief appeared upon
the lady's face. 'I might have guessed it!' she exclaimed. 'Thank
you a thousand times! But at this hour, in this appalling silence,
and among all these staring windows, I am lost in terrors--oh, lost
in them!' she cried, her face blanching at the words. 'I beg you
to lend me your arm,' she added with the loveliest, suppliant
inflection. 'I dare not go alone; my nerve is gone--I had a shock,
oh, what a shock! I beg of you to be my escort.'
'My dear madam,' responded Challoner heavily, 'my arm is at your
service.'
'She took it and clung to it for a moment, struggling with her
sobs; and the next, with feverish hurry, began to lead him in the
direction of the city. One thing was plain, among so much that was
obscure: it was plain her fears were genuine. Still, as she went,
she spied around as if for dangers; and now she would shiver like a
person in a chill, and now clutch his arm in hers. To Challoner
her terror was at once repugnant and infectious; it gained and
mastered, while it still offended him; and he wailed in spirit and
longed for release.
'Madam,' he said at last, 'I am, of course, charmed to be of use to
any lady; but I confess I was bound in a direction opposite to that
you follow, and a word of explanation--'
'Hush!' she sobbed, 'not here--not here!'
The blood of Challoner ran cold. He might have thought the lady
mad; but his memory was charged with more perilous stuff; and in
view of the detonation, the smoke and the flight of the ill-
assorted trio, his mind was lost among mysteries. So they
continued to thread the maze of streets in silence, with the speed
of a guilty flight, and both thrilling with incommunicable terrors.
In time, however, and above all by their quick pace of walking, the
pair began to rise to firmer spirits; the lady ceased to peer about
the corners; and Challoner, emboldened by the resonant tread and
distant figure of a constable, returned to the charge with more of
spirit and directness.
'I thought,' said he, in the tone of conversation, 'that I had
indistinctly perceived you leaving a villa in the company of two
gentlemen.'
'Oh!' she said, 'you need not fear to wound me by the truth. You
saw me flee from a common lodging-house, and my companions were not
gentlemen. In such a case, the best of compliments is to be
frank.'
'I thought,' resumed Challoner, encouraged as much as he was
surprised by the spirit of her reply, 'to have perceived, besides,
a certain odour. A noise, too--I do not know to what I should
compare it--'
'Silence!' she cried. 'You do not know the danger you invoke.
Wait, only wait; and as soon as we have left those streets, and got
beyond the reach of listeners, all shall be explained. Meanwhile,
avoid the topic. What a sight is this sleeping city!' she
exclaimed; and then, with a most thrilling voice, '"Dear God," she
quoted, "the very houses seem asleep, and all that mighty heart is
lying still."'
'I perceive, madam,' said he, 'you are a reader.'
'I am more than that,' she answered, with a sigh. 'I am a girl
condemned to thoughts beyond her age; and so untoward is my fate,
that this walk upon the arm of a stranger is like an interlude of
peace.'
They had come by this time to the neighbourhood of the Victoria
Station and here, at a street corner, the young lady paused,
withdrew her arm from Challoner's, and looked up and down as though
in pain or indecision. Then, with a lovely change of countenance,
and laying her gloved hand upon his arm -
'What you already think of me,' she said, 'I tremble to conceive;
yet I must here condemn myself still further. Here I must leave
you, and here I beseech you to wait for my return. Do not attempt
to follow me or spy upon my actions. Suspend yet awhile your
judgment of a girl as innocent as your own sister; and do not,
above all, desert me. Stranger as you are, I have none else to
look to. You see me in sorrow and great fear; you are a gentleman,
courteous and kind: and when I beg for a few minutes' patience, I
make sure beforehand you will not deny me.'
Challoner grudgingly promised; and the young lady, with a grateful
eye-shot, vanished round the corner. But the force of her appeal
had been a little blunted; for the young man was not only destitute
of sisters, but of any female relative nearer than a great-aunt in
Wales. Now he was alone, besides, the spell that he had hitherto
obeyed began to weaken; he considered his behaviour with a sneer;
and plucking up the spirit of revolt, he started in pursuit. The
reader, if he has ever plied the fascinating trade of the
noctambulist, will not be unaware that, in the neighbourhood of the
great railway centres, certain early taverns inaugurate the
business of the day. It was into one of these that Challoner,
coming round the corner of the block, beheld his charming companion
disappear. To say he was surprised were inexact, for he had long
since left that sentiment behind him. Acute disgust and
disappointment seized upon his soul; and with silent oaths, he
damned this commonplace enchantress. She had scarce been gone a
second, ere the swing-doors reopened, and she appeared again in
company with a young man of mean and slouching attire. For some
five or six exchanges they conversed together with an animated air;
then the fellow shouldered again into the tap; and the young lady,
with something swifter than a walk, retraced her steps towards
Challoner. He saw her coming, a miracle of grace; her ankle, as
she hurried, flashing from her dress; her movements eloquent of
speed and youth; and though he still entertained some thoughts of
flight, they grew miserably fainter as the distance lessened.
Against mere beauty he was proof: it was her unmistakable
gentility that now robbed him of the courage of his cowardice.
With a proved adventuress he had acted strictly on his right; with
one who, in spite of all, he could not quite deny to be a lady, he
found himself disarmed. At the very corner from whence he had
spied upon her interview, she came upon him, still transfixed, and-
-'Ah!' she cried, with a bright flush of colour. 'Ah!
Ungenerous!'
The sharpness of the attack somewhat restored the Squire of Dames
to the possession of himself.
'Madam,' he returned, with a fair show of stoutness, 'I do not
think that hitherto you can complain of any lack of generosity; I
have suffered myself to be led over a considerable portion of the
metropolis; and if I now request you to discharge me of my office
of protector, you have friends at hand who will be glad of the
succession.'
She stood a moment dumb.
'It is well,' she said. 'Go! go, and may God help me! You have
seen me--me, an innocent girl! fleeing from a dire catastrophe and
haunted by sinister men; and neither pity, curiosity, nor honour
move you to await my explanation or to help in my distress. Go!'
she repeated. 'I am lost indeed.' And with a passionate gesture
she turned and fled along the street.
Challoner observed her retreat and disappear, an almost intolerable
sense of guilt contending with the profound sense that he was being
gulled. She was no sooner gone than the first of these feelings
took the upper hand; he felt, if he had done her less than justice,
that his conduct was a perfect model of the ungracious; the
cultured tone of her voice, her choice of language, and the elegant
decorum of her movements, cried out aloud against a harsh
construction; and between penitence and curiosity he began slowly
to follow in her wake. At the corner he had her once more full in
view. Her speed was failing like a stricken bird's. Even as he
looked, she threw her arm out gropingly, and fell and leaned
against the wall. At the spectacle, Challoner's fortitude gave
way. In a few strides he overtook her and, for the first time
removing his hat, assured her in the most moving terms of his
entire respect and firm desire to help her. He spoke at first
unheeded; but gradually it appeared that she began to comprehend
his words; she moved a little, and drew herself upright; and
finally, as with a sudden movement of forgiveness, turned on the
young man a countenance in which reproach and gratitude were
mingled. 'Ah, madam,' he cried, 'use me as you will!' And once
more, but now with a great air of deference, he offered her the
conduct of his arm. She took it with a sigh that struck him to the
heart; and they began once more to trace the deserted streets. But
now her steps, as though exhausted by emotion, began to linger on
the way; she leaned the more heavily upon his arm; and he, like the
parent bird, stooped fondly above his drooping convoy. Her
physical distress was not accompanied by any failing of her
spirits; and hearing her strike so soon into a playful and charming
vein of talk, Challoner could not sufficiently admire the
elasticity of his companion's nature. 'Let me forget,' she had
said, 'for one half hour, let me forget;' and sure enough, with the
very word, her sorrows appeared to be forgotten. Before every
house she paused, invented a name for the proprietor, and sketched
his character: here lived the old general whom she was to marry on
the fifth of the next month, there was the mansion of the rich
widow who had set her heart on Challoner; and though she still hung
wearily on the young man's arm, her laughter sounded low and
pleasant in his ears. 'Ah,' she sighed, by way of commentary, 'in
such a life as mine I must seize tight hold of any happiness that I
can find.'
When they arrived, in this leisurely manner, at the head of
Grosvenor Place, the gates of the park were opening and the
bedraggled company of night-walkers were being at last admitted
into that paradise of lawns. Challoner and his companion followed
the movement, and walked for awhile in silence in that
tatterdemalion crowd; but as one after another, weary with the
night's patrolling of the city pavement, sank upon the benches or
wandered into separate paths, the vast extent of the park had soon
utterly swallowed up the last of these intruders; and the pair
proceeded on their way alone in the grateful quiet of the morning.
Presently they came in sight of a bench, standing very open on a
mound of turf. The young lady looked about her with relief.
'Here,' she said, 'here at last we are secure from listeners.
Here, then, you shall learn and judge my history. I could not bear
that we should part, and that you should still suppose your
kindness squandered upon one who was unworthy.'
Thereupon she sat down upon the bench, and motioning Challoner to
take a place immediately beside her, began in the following words,
and with the greatest appearance of enjoyment, to narrate the story
of her life.
