Much Darker Days Part 5

It was one of those highly-priced private hotels in the New Out.

As, however, I had no desire to purchase this place of entertainment, the exorbitant value set on it by its proprietors did not affect my spirits.

In a few minutes I had told my mother all save two things: the business of the baby, and the fate which had overtaken Sir Runan.

With these trifling exceptions she knew all.

To fall into Philippa's arms was, to my still active parent, the work of a moment.

Then Philippa looked at me with an artless wink.

'Basil, my brother, you are really too good.'

Ah, how happy I should have felt could that one dark night's work have been undone!

CHAPTER VII.--Rescue And Retire!

HITHERTO I have said little about my mother, and I may even seem to have regarded that lady in the light of a temporary convenience. My readers will, however, already have guessed that _my_ mother was no common character.

Consider for a moment the position which she so readily consented to occupy.

The trifling details about the sudden decease of Sir Runan and the affair of the baby, as we have seen, I had thought it better _not_ to name to her.

Matters, therefore, in her opinion, stood thus:--

Philippa was the victim of a baronet's wiles.

When off with the new love, she had promptly returned and pa.s.sed a considerable time under the roof of the old love; that is, of myself.

Then I had suddenly arrived with this eligible prospective daughter-in-law at my mother's high-priced hotel, and I kept insisting that we should at once migrate, we three, to foreign parts--the more foreign the better.

I had especially dilated on the charms of the scenery and the salubrity of the climate in _countries where there was no extradition treaty with England_.

Even if there was nothing in these circ.u.mstances to arouse the watchful jealousy of a mother, it must be remembered that, as a _chaperon_, she did seem to come a little late in the day.

'As you have lived together so long without me,' some parents would have observed, 'you can do without me altogether.'

None of these trivial objections occurred to my mother.

She was good-nature itself.

Just returned from a professional tour on the Continent (she was, I should have said, in the profession herself, and admirably filled the _exigeant_ part of Stout Lady in a highly respectable exhibition), my mother at once began to pack up her properties and make ready to accompany us.

Never was there a more good-humoured _chaperon_. If one of us entered the room where she was sitting with the other, she would humorously give me a push, and observing 'Two is company, young people, three is none,' would toddle off with all the alacrity that her figure and age permitted.

I learned from inquiries addressed to the _Family Herald_ (correspondence column) that the Soudan was then, even as it is now, the land safest against English law. Spain, in this respect, was reckoned a bad second.

The very next day I again broached the subject of foreign travel to my mother. It was already obvious that the frost would not last for ever.

Once the snow melted, once the crushed ma.s.s that had been a baronet was discovered, circ.u.mstantial evidence would point to Philippa. True, there was no one save myself who could positively _swear_ that Philippa had killed Sir Runan. Again, though I could positively swear it, my knowledge was only an inference of my own. Philippa herself had completely forgotten the circ.u.mstance. But the suspicions of the Bearded Woman and of the White Groom were sure to be aroused, and the Soudan I resolved to seek without an hour's delay.

I reckoned without my hostess.

My mother at first demurred.

'You certainly don't look well, Basil. But why the Soudan?'

'A whim, a sick man's fancy. Perhaps because it is not so very remote from Old Calabar, the country of Philippa's own father. Mother, tell me, how do you like her?'

'She is the woman you love, and however shady her antecedents, however peculiar her style of conversation, she is, she must be, blameless.

To say more, after so short an acquaintance, might savour of haste and exaggeration.'

A woman's logic!

'Then you _will_ come to the Soudan with us to-morrow?'

'No, my child, further south than Spain I will _not_ go, not this journey!'

Here Philippa entered.

'Well, what's the next news, old man?' she said.

'To Spain, to-morrow!'

'Rain, rain, Go to Spain, Be sure you don't come back again.'

sang sweet Philippa, in childish high spirits.

I had rarely seen her thus!

Alas, Philippa's nursery charm against the rain proved worse than unavailing.

That afternoon, after several months of brave black frost, which had gripped the land in its stern clasp, the rain began to fall heavily.

The white veil of snow gradually withdrew.

All that night I dreamed of the white snow slowly vanishing from the white hat.

Next morning the snow had vanished, and the white hat must have been obvious to the wayfaring man though a fool.

Next morning, and the next, and the next, found me still in London.

Why?

_My mother was shopping!_