A Christmas fog by John's Strange Winter One, I may as well say at
once that I, Miranda Cheap, am not a young girl. I have
heard it said that when one sits down to tell a story, one ought
to take the public completely into one's confidence, and put the reader in the
same category as one's lawyer, one's doctor, and one's banker. Well,
I have no doubt that the advice is excellently good, and therefore I will
say at once that I am not a young girl. I belong as yet
to the noble army of spinsters. And when my last parent died, leaving
me a modest but sufficient competence upon which to support myself, I did not
do what so many unmarried women seem to think the right thing, and go
to live with one of my married sisters. But after leaving the large house
in which my mother had lived and died, I took my share of the
furniture and settled myself down in the smallest flat that I could find in all
London. My sister Rose said that I was funny and independent. I agreed
with her that I was independent, but I could not see anything particularly funny
in my arrangements. My sister Maude, who had seven children under fourteen,
said she thought I was horribly selfish because I did not happen to have got
married as my sisters had done. I had collared, yes, that was
the word she used. I had collared an extra three hundred pounds a year,
and now I went and lived by myself and gave nobody else the benefit
of it. Then Susie had her say. Now, Susie is a rich
woman. Money is no object to her, but she is always in trouble
with her servants. And Susie wanted my mother's useful maid to go into her
household and help to look after the next generation. Now Barbara had been my
nurse before she was my mother's maid, and it had always been an understood
thing between my mother and Barbara and myself that I was never to turn my
back upon her. And if I had told her that she would have to
leave me and go to live with missus Sargeant, that was Susie's married name,
I think poor Barbara would have broken her heart. But to tell you
the truth, I never thought of such a thing. Susie had a husband
who could protect her. I hadn't anybody I was not able to afford to
keep more servants than Barbara and a young cook, and naturally Barbara was,
under these circumstances, absolutely essential to my well being. My sister in law,
missus Horace Cheap, also cast her eye upon Barbara, and another sister
of hers, who was no earthly relation to us, even went so far
as to offer her double the wages that I was able to give her,
if only she would go in and take charge of her nursery. However,
the family discussion came to an end at last, and Barbara and I took
up our abode in our new home on the second floor of Rosemary Mansions.
Well, dear reader, this has not very much to do with my story,
and yet it is necessary that I should slightly sketch out the main lines
of my previous life. Somehow, it had always been an uneventful existence.
I think it is often so with the only one of a large family who
remains to the end in the parent nest. My sisters had all pared off
and had made new nests for themselves. I stayed behind to make my mother's
last days happy, partly because I had no wish to desert her, and
partly to be quite frank, because I had never had any temptation to do
so. And yet I was quite as good looking as any of my sisters,
and I was certainly quite as a grief in myself, if not more
so. But from the days when I was just out of my teens,
it always seemed to be an understood thing in the Cheap family that Miranda was
an unromantic person who would never have a love story or get married as all
the others had done. And so when the incident happened of which I am
about to tell you, I had got to the mature age of thirty four,
and I had never had a lover in my life. My eldest sister,
Susie, had married very young and had three daughters who seemed all likely
to follow in her footsteps. The eldest of the three, Dorian, was
a tall, pretty lively girl of nearly eighteen. She was my godchild and
my favorite among all my nieces, and right merrily did she take advantage of
her position as such. Aunt Miranda. She would say to me, I
want you to take me in for a few days. My people are going
off to Bournemouth or some other place, and I have several engagements in town
that I don't want to miss. She never said if you can do with
me, and I never told her to wait until I invited her. And
I generally found that the engagements consisted of some arrangement with a young man,
and that I had to take her to a concert, or a theater,
or a dance, as the case might be. When the third or fourth
young man of the kind was introduced to me, I asked Dorian seriously when
she was going to be married. Oh, I don't think, aunt Miranda,
she replied promptly that I feel like marrying any of them. But my
dear, you really ought not to encourage these young men unless you mean to
marry one of them. It's not the proper thing to do at all.
Does your mother know? Oh? Yes, mother knows, said Dorian cheerfully.
Mother says, if I marry under two or three thousand a year,
I shall be a fool, and so I should. But one can have
little fun without thinking of marrying. I read her a little lecturette upon the
mistaken policy of frittering away one's life. Well, Auntie, she said,
quite cheerfully, by all accounts, you have not fritted your life away,
and yet here you are left high and dry and as much alone in the
world as if you had not a single relation on all the earth. For
the first time in my life, I felt a hideous sense of loneliness creeping
over me. And for an hour, after the child had gone gaily off
to a tea party at some house near by, I sat wondering what I
should feel like when another thirty four years had gone by and I should still
be living in this flat or some other, quite by myself. It was
just a week before Christmas. By some freaks, the Sergeant family had all
gone out of town, excepting Dore, who had flatly refused to be taken
away from several dances for which she had engaged herself from the first waltz to
the very last. It is all the same to you, mother, was
her argument, whether I go down to that dull old house in the country,
or whether I stay up in town with Aunt Miranda. I hate the
country, particularly in winter, and more particularly in a hired house in a
neighborhood where you hardly know a soul. It's a ghastly i dear mother,
of which I am sure you will all bitterly repent ere. The time is
at an end, So dear darling mother, do leave me with Aunt Miranda,
and we shall be two happy old maids eating our Christmas dinner together.
My sister Susy was always inclined to shift her burdens on to other people's shoulders,
and although I don't mean to imply that Doreen was a burden, still
she was one of SUSY's responsibilities. So when the family took their departure for
a rambling country house in one of the wildest parts of Yorkshire, Doreen,
accompanied by several large dress baskets, came to me. I think it was
the fact of its being Christmas, as well as Dorian's remark, that first
made me realize how lonely, how very lonely, I had been. She
was such a good child, She was so sweet tempered and cheerful, and
so popular with other young people, that she soon turned my quiet flat into
as bright a corner of the world as you could well find in any part
of London. Miss Dorrean makes a good deal of traffic, said Barbara to
me, when Dorian had been with us about three days. Yes, Barbara,
I replied, but it is good for us. You and I are
too old things who want stirring up and rousing out of our selfish old maidism.
Now, miss Miranda, said Barbara, there is not much of the
old maid about you. I sighed, I don't know, Barbara, I
said, I begin to feel very old and very much of a maiden lady.
It is not a pleasant feeling. I had then been living for several
years at Rosemary Mansions. You know the particular block of flats, of course
that I mean, But perhaps you don't know that they are built in a
very unusual form. There are four separate sets of flats in the one great
square building. Each of the four sides has its entrance, its large hall,
its great door mats with salvae written upon them, its liveried porter,
and its convenient lift. And each hall goes right through to the courtyard at
the back, so that from each one could communicate with any one of the
other three sets of flats. Well, it happened one day just before Christmas,
the day before Christmas Eve, to be exact, that Dorian went to
help some friends to deck a Christmas tree, which was to form one of
the attractions at a party at which we were bidden for the following evening,
the tree was to be followed by a dance with a cotillion, and I
understood from Dorian that the favors for the cotillion were to be something very unusual
and out of the common. As Dorian was fully occupied that afternoon, I
took the opportunity of going out to buy a present for her. She had
been with me to buy the various presents that were necessary for me to send
to the other members of the family, but until that moment I had not
had an opportunity of buying for Dorian a certain article of jewelry which I knew
she was most anxious to possess. It was a horrid afternoon, stingingly cold,
an inclination to fog. I took a cab as far as Oxford Street
and there made my purchase. Then I passed Bouchards, and it occurred to
me that I should be wise if I took home with me an extra cake
or so, because although I had weeks before ordered my usual supply of Christmas
dainties, the advent of Dorian had made it more than likely that we should
find ourselves very badly off for nice things for afternoon tea. Not that Dorian
ate so much. You know, I don't mean that. But Dorian had
such a train of young men, and Dorian had so many girlfriends, and
young men and young girls do get through a good deal of plum cake and
such things when they congregate together, and so I thought it would be a
good thing if I stepped into Bouchards and bought some extra things which I could
carry home with me. I bought a three pound plum cake and a two
pound cherry cake and put them into the first hansom that I saw. Rosemary
Mansion's Westminster was the direction I gave the g Hu. I saw with dismay
that the fog was thickening visibly, and as we descended towards the Houses of
Parliament it had become almost impossible to distinguish the houses. As we passed,
more than once we were blocked by the traffic, and my gi Hu made
one or two horse remarks to me through the trap door that he was afraid
he would find Rosemary Mansions very difficult to get at. I told him cheerfully
to do his best, that I would give him something extra. But I
cannot say that I felt very cheerful. Here was I a lone woman sitting
in a cab in a neighborhood which I did not recognize, with a handsome
piece of jewelry in my hand, a well filled purse in my pocket,
and two heavy cakes on the seat beside me. My driver made one or
two inquiries and took some obviously wrong turnings. But at last he drew up
at the door of Rosemary Mansions, and I got out of the cab with
a sigh of relief. I gave him double fare, and he told me
that he would walk his horse right home and not attempt to earn another penny
that night. You say, lardie, he said, it goes down your
throat and down your horse's throat, so oh, my ghost straight. I
bade him good night and a merry Christmas. As I went up the steps,
I looked up in order to make sure that I had arrived at my
own entrance. For as I said before, there were four entrances to Rosemary
Mansions, each one with the name plainly written above the portals and below the
name one of the first four letters of the alphabet. I lived in Rosemary
Mansions A. The fog was, however, too thick for me to distinguish
the letters. So I passed within, knowing that it would be perfectly easy
to find my own staircase from the porter's. Oh yes, this was my
own hall. I recognized the crimson carpets, the great door mats, the
porter's bench, and the dog lying before the fire, which blazed in a
semi open grate. But there was no porter about, which was very unusual
at that hour. I supposed that dogg It, as our porter was called,
had either gone upstairs with a message, or else down below to his
own apartment to get his tea. I looked into the porter's lodge to see
if there were any letters for me, but a glance told me that there
was not a single letter in the rack. As I did not choose to
disturb dogged at his tea, I quietly walked up the staircase without troubling to
wait for the lift. Oh how horrid the fog was. It made one
think kindly even of the rambling country house in the wilds of distant Yorkshire.
Indeed, it was so heavy and so thick that it had worked its way
within doors, and the electric lights at various points of the stairs shone with
a curious yellow radiance, and each had a sort of halo surrounding it.
I reached my own door and rang the bell. Nobody came. I rang
again and again, but there was no response. How was it that everybody
was out of the way this afternoon? I supposed Barbara had gone off buying
Christmas things. Then where was Jane? I felt impatiently in my pocket to
see if I had my key? I had. I opened the door with
a sigh of relief. How very extraordinary all was in darkness. I drew
the key out of the lock, shut the door behind me, and,
passing on through the inner door, which was of heavy ground glass, closed
it behind me. It shut with a little click. How odd I had
never heard the door click like that before. I groped my hand along the
wall, feeling for the switches of the electric light. Why what had happened?
There was no switch. I went back to the door, which now
was closed quite tightly. I could find no handle. So I went back
again to feel for the switches of the electric light, but could not discover
them. How extraordinary and how curious the effect of this yellow fog was.
It made not only the streets, but my own house feels strange. Never
mind, I should find a light in the dining room, probably a fire.
Certainly there would be one in the kitchen. I turned towards the door
of the dining room, which was the first on the left after the second
door of entrance, but I could not find any sign of an electric switch.
Then it dawned upon me that I had mistaken my block and my flat,
and here was I shut up in the dark in a flat belonging to
some known person. I groped my way back to the inner door of the
entrance. No, I could find no chase of a handle upon it.
I shook it, I knocked upon it, but with no result excepting that
I hurt my knuckles even through my thick winter gloves. At this point I
put my two heavy cakes, which I had still been carrying, down upon
the floor, and set myself to make a tour of the apartments. The
entrance was evidently precisely of the same proportions as my own, and it was
furnished. I came in turn to an umbrella stand, one of those tall
porcelain pipes which held several sticks and umbrellas, and to a carved hall bench,
then to a table. I dropped over a door mat and felt the
outlines of one or two pictures. Then I touched a brush and something that
felt in the dark like a fox head. It was certainly the staffed head
of some small animal. At last I reached the kitchen door, hoping to
find a fire there. No, all was dark. If only I had
had a light, the situation would not have been so bad. But although
I groped about for at least ten minutes, I could not find a single
box of matches. At last I came to what was evidently the kitchen easy
chair, and in that I sat myself down, wondering what on earth I
should do next. I might try ringing the bells. So I started on
a tour round the kitchen, shinning myself violently several times. Ere I remembered
that I should not find any bell pool there. Then I groped my way
once more to the door which led to the corridor, and felt with my
hand along the wall for the door of the dining room. I knocked down
a chair and I think a small table. Then I ran against the sideboard.
Crash. There was a sound of falling glass. Oh, dear,
I had smashed something belonging to someone I did not know, and I had
cut myself. At last, however, I did find the little knob of
the electric bell, and had the satisfaction of hearing it tinkling away in the
kitchen, which I had just left. Ringing the bell was no good.
I went back to the door which led into the corridor. But mind you,
when I say I went, I mean that I arrived there after a
progress involving much need of patience and the receipt of many hard knocks. Then
I nerved myself to speak, Is there anybody there? I said. I
have a refined and ladylike voice, which my dear mother always used to say
was one of my greatest charms. It sounded so soft and inefficient as I
sat there in the darkness, and I to speak in a much louder and
more determined tone. Is anybody there? My voice echoed down the corridor,
but no answering voice came out of the darkness in reply. I then determined
to make a complete tour of the apartments. I explored the drawing room,
the dining room, the little study, the large bedroom, the spare bedroom,
the kitchen, the bathroom, and the servant's bedroom all in turn,
and after the manner of the blind, I examined with my hands each chimney
shelf in case I might come across one precious box of matches. But although
I resolutely carried this idea into effect, I did not light upon a single
one. And at this point I sat down and wept. It was the
day before Christmas Eve. Perhaps the owner of the flat had gone away for
the holidays. I could not get out of that front door. I had
nothing to eat, and there was nothing but water to drink. I had
already touched the tap in the kitchen, so that I knew I should not
die of thirst. But I might be locked up in that flat for ten
days or more, and the only sustenance I knew of was tap water and
two bushard cakes. So I sat down and wept, wept piteously, until
I suddenly became aware that I was chilled to the very marrow of my bones.
I wondered what they would do at home, What would Doren think?
What would Barbara say? Would they go to the police, would they go
the round of the hospitals. Would the cabman to whom I had given double
fare come and give evidence that he had driven such a lady as Dorean would
describe to one of the entrances to Rosemary Mansions. I tried to console myself
with the assurance that, after all, Rosemary Mansions was a highly respectable bill
where tenants were not accepted unless they gave the very highest of references, that
nobody who came and found me there eventually would believe that a woman of my
position and means had come with any felonious intent. In the meantime, I
must make the best of a bad situation. I must resign myself to sitting
there in the dark and in the cold, and be thankful that I had
bought those two cakes with a view of helping out Christmas. Little did I
think when I entered Bouchard's busy, attractive shop that they would probably prove themselves
a barrier between me and starvation. By this time, I was yearning for
my tea. If only I had been able to find a match, if
I had been able to find a gas ring or even some coals, I
might have made myself a cup of tea French leave tea in this house in
which I had unwittingly invited myself. However, that was evidently out of the
question, so I at last groped my way back to where I had left
my Bouchard cakes. And then I groped my way back to the kitchen again,
and there I groped about until I found a knife, for they always
keep such things in the kitchen drawer. Having smelt it to make sure that
it had not been used for onions or soap, I wiped it carefully on
the inside of my skirt, and then ventured to cut myself a large piece
of cake. I had not much difficulty in finding a cup, and after
making sure that it was clean, I filled it from the tap. And
there I sat in the dark, eating my rich cake and drinking my ice
cold water, which seemed to go down my pour inside like a frozen waterfall.
All the same, I felt better when I had disposed of my wedge
of cake, and I felt very grateful to Bouchard for occupying the precise city
in Oxford Street which had attracted my attention. Ours went by, at all
events, they seemed like ours to me, for I had sat myself down
to wait patiently till morning light should shed some ray of hope upon my desperate
situation. When morning came, I would write a note and throw it down
in the courtyard, or I would pick up a few inexpensive articles of crockery
and send them down smash, and so attract attention that way. I felt
that it would be useless to shout into this fog. It would be like
calling down a coal mine. And to tell you the truth, I did
not like, in the darkness to open any of the windows. At last,
I began to get desperately sleepy, is he. I was not accustomed
to sitting in out of darkness, and as there is nothing so fatiguing to
the eyes as staring into the night, I closed them in order to prevent
myself from getting a bad attack of neuralgia. It was very uncomfortable in that
hard, straight up chair, which was evidently one of the windsor persuasion with
a not very soft cushion tied onto the seat. Then an idea occurred to
me. The flat was empty, I mean that its occupants were evidently away.
So I came to the conclusion that I might as well go and lie
down upon one of the beds I knew, which was the best bedroom.
It was the same as my own, and I had good occasion to know
that there was a big bed in it, for I had run against it
with such force that I bruised myself severely. I therefore, after a last
drink of cold water, got up and with care, found my way to
the best bedroom. The bed was a large and luxurious one, spread with
a satin covered Ida dwann. I happened to be wearing a sealskin coat which
came down to my knee. It was a coat with a storm collar.
On my head. I had a toque of mink fur garnished with pink roses
and some violets. I threw back the idodan quilt and got on to the
bed, tucking myself well round with the soft satin cover. It was a
glorious bed, a delicious bed, a bed that must have been made purposely
for some poor wanderer like myself. The pillows were soft, but not too
soft, not pappy, you know. And they were nice pillows, as
I could tell by the linen slips which covered them. There was embroidery at
the corners and a small frill with a lace edge or round. There were
much nicer pillows than my own, so I drew up my storm collar yet
a little higher, snuggled down under the coverlet, and in five minutes I
was sound asleep. Two I do not know how long I had slept.
You see, I had no means of knowing how the time had passed since
I was entrapped, I might almost say entombed in the strange dwelling of some
person unknown to me. I seemed to have been asleep for many hours when
I suddenly awoke. I came to myself with a start, on realizing that
I was not in my own bed. Just at first I thought I had
been awakened from my ordinary sleep, and that my bed was on fire.
But no, it was an electric light just over my head. I was
not dreaming. Another light was shedding its brilliant rays over the dressing table,
just where my own light hung, and an asbestos fire was burning cheerily in
the grate. I had barely time to take all these things in and to
locate the circumstances of my incarceration when I heard a voice which said, good
Heavens. It was a man's voice, and my first instinct was to hold
the satin covered idodown still more closely round me. Oh, the dickens.
Are you, went on the voice, Sir, said I in quavering accents.
Madam, what are you doing in my bed? Said the voice indignantly.
I don't understand this. You must go away, please. I could
not get out, I cried piteously. No poor woman on earth could be
less anxious to inflict herself upon you than I am. But I'm afraid I
mistook your flat for my own. I dare say I look very funny,
for I still had my satin toke with the pink roses and violets on my
head, and my storm collar was pulled well up above my ears. I
live in one of these flats, I went on. I took a cab
home from Bouchard's. Oh that's where the Bouchard cakes came from, is it?
He said? I went into the kin to make myself a cup of
coffee, as I always do, and found cakes there which I knew I
had never supplied. Sir, what is the time, I asked? It
is about three o'clock in the morning, Rather more, he replied, at
least it was three when I left the offices of the Daily Trumpeter. Is
there a fog? I demanded, Oh, nothing to speak of? Now,
did you say you lived in these flats? I do, Indeed I
do. I live on the second floor of Block AD. When I came
home, the fog was so bad that I could not see the letter.
Oh, three o'clock in the morning. What shall I do? What can
I do? Well? The best thing you can do is to go home,
he said. Sensibly, you must really forgive me, madam, for
speaking as I did, But you must recognize that it was rather a standing
for a hard work journalist to come home and find pink roses and violets rolled
up in his idol down. I am sure. I offer you ten thousand
apologies for making so free with your belongings, I said, apologetically. But
it was so dark. Why didn't you turn up the lights? I would
have done so, but I could not find the switches. I could not
find any matches, and as I am not a new woman and do not
smoke, I hadn't any with me. And I was so cold and so
miserable, sitting in the darkness, wondering if my people had given orders to
drag the river for me. Oh, yes, of course, there are
your people to consider, he remarked. Will you excuse my asking you a
plain question. Are you a married lady? No, I am not,
I replied. I live in these mansions, as I told you, in
number eight block, on the second floor. My name is Cheap. Oh
didn't Herbert Sergeant marry a miss Cheap. Yes, yes, she's my sister,
I said eager and Dorian, her eldest child is staying with me.
Now she must be frightened out of her wits. Well between you and me,
mischief, I think it would take a good deal to frighten miss Dorean.
But that is neither here nor there. You must be got home,
and you must be got out of this little affair with as little noise as
possible. Look here, I'll leave you for a few minutes to put your
hat straight and so on, while I go down and reconnoiter. Why didn't
you think of the tradesman's entrance? I did. It was locked. Everything's
locked, I said, in a tragic voice. That's because the old woman
who looks after me and gets my breakfast takes the keita let herself in with,
and the handle is off the inner door. That's why you could not
get out there. I expect it rolled down when you let it slip too
you had better leave your cakes behind you. You'll have to tell your people
that you got lost in the fog, and nobody will believe that you hung
on to those two heavy cakes all the time. Now look here, mischief,
I'm Barkley of the Daily Trumpeter, Raymond Barkley. We've got to tell
the same story. You got lost in the fog, and I picked you
up and convoyed you home safe. Now I sat clear. Oh, yes,
thank you, quite quite clear. I won't be two minutes. Putting
my hair straight, all right, he said, and picking up his fur
lined coat, he went out, shutting the door noiselessly after him. I
put my hair straight with trembling fingers and pinned on my smart flower decked toke.
I made myself look as decent as I could. My handkerchief I had
left on the bed. But what did I do with my gloves? I
went to the door and opened it. Mister Barkley, I must have my
gloves. What did I do with them? Can I have left them in
the kitchen? Yes? I did see a pair of ladies gloves in there,
he said, with a laugh. I thought my old woman had bloomed
out that way. Now keep close behind me. When you go downstairs,
I have been down once. All is as quiet as the grave. And
if we can get out of this building and round your own entrance without anyone
seeing us, no one will know that you have been here at all.
If we should chance to meet anyone, shrink back, get out of sight.
Don't let them see you. We must dissemble. There was no more
light on the staircase than the gleam from the electric lamp which burned all night
in the central hall. We descended the stairs like a couple of thieves,
he going first and I following at a respectful distance. My heart beat furiously
as I reached the lower flight. A few more steps and I should be
safe. I should be out in the protective night, and nobody but Raymond
Berkeley would be any the wiser as to the exact locality in which I had
lost myself. Fortune favored me. Not a soul came on the scene,
and we gained the outer door in safety. It's all right, he said,
why you are trembling like a leaf? Here, take my arm.
Remember your story, and I'll see you through it. I was hideously frightened.
So frightened was I that I quite forgot to thank him, but clung
to his arm like grim death, and he piloted me, without further loss
of time, to my own entrance. Have you got your key, he
asked? Oh, I have left it in your flat, I replied,
where, said he? Oh, how stupid of me. I don't know.
I let myself in with it. I don't know what I did with
it after that. It doesn't matter. I'll go back for it. Even
then, that angelic man didn't call me a fool, and I think he
really would have been perfectly justified if he had. You had better stand here
in the shade, he said, and wait for me. I won't be
two minutes, all right, I returned. You are sure you'll not be
frightened? No, no, I'm not a bit frightened. As a matter
of fact, my teeth were chattering, but not with that kind of fear,
as you can very well understand. In less than two minutes he returned.
Found it the very first thing, he said, triumphantly. I trod
on it just inside the front door. The rule of our flats was that
each occupant had a ring given to him on taking possession of his apartment.
Upon this ring were two keys. The past key of the outer entrance and
the latch key of the flat. I don't know, said mister Berklay in
an undertone, as we stole towards the stairs. How it comes that your
key unlocks my door? There is something wrong about that. I shall make
a fuss about it to morrow. Oh don't, it'll give me away if
you do, I cried, Oh sir, it would. Then I must
be mum. Remember your story. I picked you up on my way home
from the Daily Trumpeter. Yes, yes, I replied, I will not
forget. I knocked lightly at my own door. There was a sound of
voices within, and Dorring came rushing out. Oh, Auntie, she cried.
We've been nearly frantic about you, and you're with mister Berkley. How
funny. I don't know about its being funny, said mister Berkeley. It
might have been funny if she had not been with me. Owing to the
terrible fog, I found your aunt hopelessly lost. She put herself in my
care, and I have convoyed her safely here. She is very cold and
very tired, so don't ask her any questions, but give her something hot
to drink and put her to bed. But you will come in, won't
you, I said faintly. I wanted to have a good cry, a
real good cry. Not to night, Not to night, he said cheerily.
Bed is the best place for wandering ladies and tired out journalists. I
will come in to morrow, fancy, if you're any the worse. He
did call the next day, and on Christmas Day he sent me the loveliest
poesy that I ever saw in my life, France roses and double violets,
done up in a basket, lined with pink satin, edged with a border
of mink fur. Why, Auntie, said Doren, It's just like your
toke. It's the quaintest fancy I've ever seen. I felt myself blushing and
found it very convenient to hide my face in the flowers. But I didn't
tell Dorin the meaning of that quaint conceit. It was a little secret which
I kept to myself. I cannot think, said Dorry that afternoon, when
mister Berkeley had come in again, just to see if I was any the
worse. You know, I cannot think how Auntie managed to lose herself for
so long, because there was not much fog after about eight o'clock. Mister
Berkeley avoided the question. I suppose you were dreadfully frightened and upset and thought
there had been an accident, said he. Oh, yes, we thought
of all sorts of things. We thought of an accident first, so we
took a cab and went to ether so many hospitals, Barbara and I.
Then the fog began to lift, and we wonted if we ought to go
to the police, And yet seemed so funny to mix Aunty up with the
police station. I put up my hand and laid it on hers. I
am so glad you did not go to the police, dear child, I
said, because although I got lost, I got home safe after all,
thanks to mister Berkeley. And I would rather you did not tell any one
about it, Dorin, because it sounds so odd for a woman of my
age to own that she got lost in London, poor Auntie, said Dorin.
Well, it might have been worse, said mister Berkeley. And as
I am going to be married to Raymond Berkeley in about six weeks time,
I quite agree with him. End of a Christmas Fog by John's Strange Winter