Chapter X: In the Fog

AS stated by Mrs. Howard, the young widow had left her house at two o'clock in the afternoon. It was very foggy even then, though not so dense as a little later.

Mrs. Mordaunt hardly knew how she had dragged through the weary hours of that long morning. It had been hard to keep her attention in any degree fixed upon the children's lessons.

Julia, the eldest girl, remarked more than once, "I am sure you are not well, Mrs. Mordaunt."

And she answered, with a faint smile, "Only a bad headache, dear. I shall be better by-and-by."

But the headache grew worse, as time went on.

At luncheon, she could eat nothing. And even Mrs. Howard, usually a most unobservant person, noticed her extreme paleness.

"I should advise you to get home early," she said, with unwonted kindness. "The children cannot, of course, walk out, and if the fog were to increase, you might have difficulty in finding your way."

"It is bad enough now," Julia said, as they rose from table.

"Yes. I really think you would be wise to take an omnibus for once, Mrs. Mordant, rather than to trust to your own powers," said Mrs. Howard.

"It would be the best plan—perhaps," replied Mrs. Mordaunt, with the same effort after attention, which even the children had observed over their lessons. She had repeatedly failed to answer questions, until twice or three times addressed.

Now she went back mechanically into the school-room. But instead of putting on bonnet and cloak, she sat down at the table, and rested her forehead on her hand.

The children cast wondering glances.

"I'm sure the fog gets more yellow every minute," Julia said at length. "Mamma advised you to make haste."

"Certainly—thank you—I am forgetting," Mrs. Mordaunt exclaimed, and she started up nervously, as in the morning with Rhona. "How strange! I fancied I was at home. I thought—"

She stopped and gazed round, as if in perplexity.

"Did you? How funny!" said Julia. "Here is your bonnet, Mrs. Mordaunt. Can't you find your gloves?"

"My gloves! Oh yes; I knew there was something," said Mrs. Mordaunt faintly.

"Annie has them. Look,—here they are. I do think you are dreadfully tired to-day; aren't you?"

"Yes. I must try to get rested before to-morrow," said Mrs. Mordaunt, speaking in a more natural voice. "Good-bye, dear."

The children kissed her as usual, and then from the window watched her leaving the front door, and passing away into the fog.

"Poor Mrs. Mordaunt! She looks as if she could hardly walk," Julia said pityingly.

Some little distance had to be traversed before an omnibus could be met with. Once at the right spot, she might be carried to the very corner of Mrs. Burrell's street, within a few yards of the house-door.

As yet, Mrs. Mordaunt had not discovered the loss of her purse. Generally she would have done so in a very short time. But this day, she was so oppressed and confused that much might pass unnoticed.

A crossing lay before her, easy enough to an experienced Londoner, but presenting serious difficulties to one so timid and so little used to London streets. Mrs. Mordaunt often waited at this spot fifteen or twenty minutes, before venturing to trust herself among the throng of vehicles. Sometimes she found a friendly policeman to escort her over.

To-day, no policeman came within sight, and the fog made matters worse than usual. She had a sensation of being suffocated by the thick air; while the incessant noise brought on such dizziness and confusion of brain that she scarcely knew what she was about. Twice in desperation she started, and twice rushed back, barely in time, as a heavily-laden omnibus loomed suddenly through the mist, almost upon her.

Trembling from head to foot, with wildly beating heart, she waited,—still on the wrong side of the road,—noting how every omnibus seemed full, and wondering whether she should obtain a seat, even if she could get across. An easy matter usually, at that time of the day, but people evidently preferred trusting to others' sagacity, rather than to their own.

Each moment the fog was thickening. Should she try again to cross, or should she walk towards home, and seek a less crowded spot farther on? By so doing, she would lose the possibility of a certain short cut, which might prove desirable, in case the omnibus plan was a failure.

A sudden doubt swept through her mind. Had she crossed already, or had she not? On which side of the road was she really standing? Where lay her home?

Mrs. Mordaunt staggered back against the wall, unnoticed and panting for breath, as she strove to regain her self-command. But the confusion of memory would not right itself. She found herself in a state of utter bewilderment. If only the ceaseless rush of sound would stop for one moment, that she might think. All clearness of recollection was gone. How weird and unnatural seemed this world of yellow fog, with dim lights and figures looming past, ever coming and vanishing! Who cared what became of her? A terrible wave of desolation passed over the poor young thing; and still she could hear the throbbing of her own heart, above all outer noises, and still she vainly sought to disentangle the confusion of brain.

What was it she had to do? Where should she go? In which direction lay her home? "Had" she a home?

It was at this moment that she put her hand into her pocket to feel for the purse which always lay there. The movement was a purely instinctive one, connected with her wish to get into an omnibus. The loss of her purse became, however, at once apparent.

A deadly coldness crept over her from head to foot. In that purse was all the money on which she could count, to support herself and Rhona for a month to come. Doubtless she had been very imprudent to carry so much in her pocket. But the danger of leaving money in lodgings had seemed to her inexperience the greater of the two.

"I must have dropped it somewhere on my way," she muttered. "Perhaps—perhaps at Mrs. Howard's. I must go back at once." That it could have been absent from her pocket all day, did not occur as a possibility.

Momentarily aroused by the shock, and forgetting her bewilderment about the crossing, she retraced her steps, earnestly scanning the footpath as she went. It would have been an almost hopeless search, in such a fog, even had the purse been really dropped thereabouts.

After walking the length of a street, she was seized with dread lest she might have passed it by; and she went slowly a second time over the same ground. Then she resolved to return straight to Mrs. Howard's. But confusion and faintness were resuming their sway, and unconsciously, her next turn was a wrong one.

With the lost purse prominent in her mind, she pressed forward, persistently searching right and left, often turning back to hunt anew, and becoming entangled in a labyrinth of strange streets.

Gradually, it dawned upon her mind that she ought by this time to have reached Mrs. Howard's. Before she had time to feel alarmed, she struck upon a thoroughfare which in the fog seemed to her identical with the one she had already tried to cross. To recognise surroundings was not possible, but she had dim glimpses of cabs and omnibuses proceeding cautiously past.

"Singular," she murmured, "I thought I was going just the other way. But this fog is so confusing. Well, I cannot get into an omnibus now, and I am so tired, I must go straight home. Perhaps I shall find the purse to-morrow at Mrs. Howard's."

That suggestion came soothingly, but it did not remain in her mind. No longer troubled by a doubt as to which side of the road she was on, she resolved not to attempt crossing till later, and started without delay in what she believed to be the direction of Mrs. Burrell's house, little dreaming that each step was carrying her farther away.

Fog and darkness closed her in, yet still she pressed forward, though with faltering limbs. There were certain landmarks by which she felt sure of recognising, even in such fog and darkness, the nearness of the right street. But somehow, as minutes passed, she forgot to look for them. The recollection of her lost purse was again uppermost in her thoughts. A vague feeling that something had to be found before she might go home, urged on her weary feet. And for once, the poor young mother had no remembrance of Rhona. She knew nothing of the lapse of time, nothing of the distance traversed. For a while she was only conscious of her loss, and of the ceaseless impulse to press forward; but these were slowly merged into a sense of terrible heart-sinking, of a dragging weight at every limb, of an irresistible longing for rest.

Only to be at home! Only to be able to lie down somewhere! That at last was the one desire. Mrs. Mordaunt had forgotten her purse, forgotten Rhona, forgotten everything except just the agonising need for repose. Each step taken, it seemed to her that she could not possibly take another. Where she was going or wished to go, she had no power to think. The outer fog seemed to be stifling her very breath; and the fog within her brain had deadened all consciousness except of exhaustion.

She walked on still, but moaned faintly from time to time, and staggered often. Oh for some quiet corner, wherein to be alone and still!

"Cab, ma'am?"

Mrs. Mordaunt had passed beyond the busy neighbourhood of shops, unknowingly, and was among private houses, where foot-passengers were few. She had come a long way, longer than would have been possible under ordinary circumstances, and the feverish excitement which had borne her on was all but at an end.

A "four-wheeler" had stopped, and the man bent over inquiringly from his box. "Cab, ma'am?"

"Yes," she said, and he descended.

The cab would be a place to rest in, and further than this, her thoughts could not go. Lost purse and lack of means to pay were forgotten. She stumbled feebly, stepping in, and the man gave a helping hand.

"Awful day, mum," he said, with a look at the white face. "Where to, please?"

"Where to?" repeated Mrs. Mordaunt. "To—"

There was a pause, and the man waited. All power of thought had passed from her.

"To—to—Number Three—" and again a pause. "Number Three, Winifred Place," she said, speaking mechanically, yet in a clear and natural voice.

But that was not Mrs. Burrell's address. Only the number was right.