Norton, Andre - Novel 39 (14 page)

 
          
 
Fortune favored her further in that Mrs.
Carruthers was presently absent from the premises, having presumably elected to
spend the night with a married daughter in the distant wilds of
Richmond
. Her landlady's absence obviated the
necessity of Hester inventing an excuse for her own excursion or the clothing
she intended to wear for both comfort and protective coloration.

 
          
 
The only obstacle that remained to be
surmounted was the one to which she descended—the Underground itself. Hester
had never given thought to nor set eyes upon this marvelous yet menacing
miracle of modern engineering. But she gave quite a bit of thought to it once
she set foot in the tunnel beneath the teeming streets. Thanks to her shabby
outfit no one paid particular heed, but she observed others closely in order to
emulate their progress from stairwell to platform to train.

 
          
 
It was there, and amidst the rush and roar of
the journey that followed, that Hester again reminded herself that what she had
longed for had come to pass; she really was in London. Not only in, but under,
hurtling through howling darkness along with the company of clerks, costers,
students, soldiers en route to the Tower, shopkeepers wearing bowlers. There
were only a few females, most of them boasting less shabby outfits than her
own. Apparently, as was the case with the omnibuses, a silent covenant
conferred immunity from unwelcome masculine attentions while traveling via
Underground. Had these same women ventured to traverse the streets above as
lone pedestrians, they would easily have risked being accosted.

 
          
 
Certainly, despite the startlement resulting
from sound and motion, this mode of transport was infinitely more preferable.
Of course, members of the gentry would eschew the sooty, odorous Underground
completely; glancing around, Hester decided there were no subscribers to The
British Lady aboard. Ladies did not travel unaccompanied at night, even by
private carriage here in
London
.

 
          
 
Here in
London
, What would Father have to say about that?
Hester mused. He, who had
so
shielded her from the
present-day pitfalls of the world, had himself been imprisoned in the past.
What his personal past may have consisted of still remained a mystery; but
whether he began life in
London
as Lane or Jekyll, he had left it long ago. He would never have ridden
the Underground, for at the time of his departure it did not exist, nor for
that matter was there a Salvation Army. But there was now, and after a noisy
and jolting arrival at Mansion House Station, Hester emerged upon the street
and consulted her mental map before starting off toward the organization's
headquarters.

 
          
 
Lights were brighter and vehicular traffic
more abundant here; passersby better dressed and more mannerly. Were they not,
Hester was confident that her present appearance would still be such as to put
off mashers. As it was, she gave only a portion of her attention to her
surroundings, for a portion of her mind still busied itself with thoughts of
Father. What would he think of his dutiful—and deliberately
downtrodden—daughter if he could have seen her clad in this unseemly fashion as
she ran her risky errand the other evening? What would he say to her repeating
the masquerade tonight? How might he respond to the gibes of Miss Agatha
Scrimshaw?

 
          
 
The mere notion brought a smile to Hester's
face. Then, as she rounded the corner into
Queen Victoria Street
, there was no opportunity for further
fancy. Her destination rose before her.

 
          
 
Hester had scarcely expected the headquarters
to be quite that impressive. Located across from the British and Foreign Bible
Society, the building at
101 Queen Victoria Street
had formerly been the property of a
billiard club. Since its acquisition by the Salvation Army, an adjoining unit
had been given over to a Uniform and Book Department, but the larger five-story
structure housed a ground-floor meeting hall and a variety of offices above.

 
          
 
If the sight of the headquarters' exterior was
a surprise, its interior held others yet to come. The first proved to be the j
paucity of attendees straggling alone or in pairs as Hester I entered the
edifice. There was nothing remarkable about those she observed; in the main
they represented much the same types as had her fellow travelers on the
Underground. It was just that somehow she had anticipated being part of a
larger turnout. Her second surprise came upon glancing upward at the large wall
clock in the outer corridor just before the stairway which rose to the floor
above. The time was scarce past seven-thirty. She had not reckoned with the
swiftness of her passage here. But her unexpectedly early arrival did account
for why there were as yet so few others moving along toward the entrance to the
meeting hall beyond.

 
          
 
Thus, minor surprises easily gave way to
simple explanations. But now as Hester set off down the corridor she was
startled by the sound of a voice from above.

 
          
 
"
Miss Lane
—!"

 
          
 
The sudden greeting echoed from above and its
source, now descending the stairway, was another surprise; this one explicable
only as coincidence. Hester recognized Captain Ellison and returned her smile
as she approached.

 
          
 
Tonight the lady was in full uniform and, as
Hester was pleased to observe, looked little the worse for wear despite the
telltale evidence of recent contusion that remained. "What a pleasure to
welcome you here," the captain said. "But why did you not inform me
of your coming?"

 
          
 
"It was a last-minute decision,"
Hester told her.

 
          
 
Captain Ellison nodded. "I'm delighted to
see you. Miss Kirby has already told me of your visit. She was most pleased by
your interest."

 
          
 
"Will she be attending tonight?"

 
          
 
"I think not. You must remember she
serves as a volunteer rather than an enlistee in our ranks. And as I'm sure you
noted
,
there is overmuch to command her
energies." Captain Ellison had consulted the wall clock while speaking.
"It is customary to convene our meetings at ten past the hour, to ensure
sufficient time for latecomers to be seated. If you're willing to undertake the
stairs, I would afford you at least a fleeting glimpse of our premises."

 
          
 
Hester was willing, the stairs were
undertaken, and the resultant glimpses—though fleeting, indeed—proved
rewarding. Hester had not been prepared for the degree to which the Salvation
Army was organized, or the broad scope of its activities. Even at this hour
many of the offices on the upper floors were still occupied; she remarked upon
the fact that work was apparently continued around the clock.

 
          
 
"And around the world," said Captain
Ellison. "We are establishing a foothold internationally as quickly as
funds permit and our training centers increase the ranks. But it is from here
most activities are directed, including publication of prayer books and song
sheets."

 
          
 
Standing now in a large office on the top
story, Hester glanced at the half-dozen uniformed figures huddled over
individual desks. "These people seem truly dedicated," she said.

 
          
 
The captain smiled. "It takes a great
deal of dedication to write material for our newspaper, The War Cry, and then
run back and forth with it between here and our printing presses in the
basement."

 
          
 
These last words were uttered against a
musical counterpoint emanating from below. She paused,
then
nodded quickly. "The program is starting. We'd best be on our way."

 
          
 
Their descent terminated, they made their
progress along the ground-floor corridor to the large meeting hall beyond the
entranceway. Here another surprise awaited
Hester,
the
place had now been filled almost to capacity. Captain Ellison spied and
escorted her to an unoccupied seat at the end of the very last row.

 
          
 
"I trust you will be comfortable
here," she said.

 
          
 
"Yes, thank you. But I was hoping you'd
join me."

 
          
 
"Perhaps later, once my
duties upstairs permit."

 
          
 
The captain moved away, leaving Hester to
survey her surroundings. The auditorium's stage was broad, its illumination
bright,
its
orchestra pit commodious. The assemblage
of musicians occupying this area more than tripled the number she'd seen—and
heard—on the street the other
evening.
They were, in
addition, better uniformed and far more accomplished performers. Hester did not
recognize the melody they were playing, but the militant overtones issuing from
the brass section identified the selection as a Salvation Army hymn.

 
          
 
Transferring her gaze to the audience, Hester
beheld an unusual sight. The early arrivals she had noted were predominantly
female and almost entirely members of the working class. But during the
interval she had spent upstairs, their ranks had been swelled by a sizable
number of more prosperous citizens. None, she fancied, would necessarily be
numbered amongst Lady Ames's acquaintances, but dress and decorum indicated a
status far superior to their surroundings. And it was indeed curious to see
gentility seated cheek by jowl with those who could easily pass as their
household servants.

 
          
 
For a moment Hester felt a twinge of regret
over her own choice of garments; no need to play the slattern here. Then her
pang passed as she reminded herself that the majority of the well-dressed women
in this audience must have come by cab or carriage, accompanied by male
escorts. No, she had good reason to wear what she did, and in the end it was a
matter of little consequence. What really mattered was her reason for being
here.

 
          
 
". . .
And now, without
further ado, our chief of staff, William Bramwell Booth."

 
          
 
Hester blinked. Absorbed in her own thoughts,
she had observed nothing of what had been going on once the music ceased. The
jaunty little woman wearing her regulation uniform and bonnet stood
center-stage, already concluding an introduction. Now, as she glanced to her
right, an imposing figure advanced toward her to the accompaniment of applause
from the audience.

 
          
 
So this was Bramwell Booth! Hester had not
expected the son of the Army's founder to be so imposing a figure. But the
bearded man had the flashing eyes and imperious presence of one born to
command.

 
          
 
Now it was his voice that commanded. His
subject was the plight of the homeless, and as he spoke Hester matched his
words with her own recollections of what she had seen the other evening.

 
          
 
"When I journey afield in the service of
the Army, residents of small communities often greet me with questions
concerning our problems here in
London
.

 
          
 
" ‘Is
it true,'
they ask, 'that people actually live there in the street?'

 
          
 
"'Some
live,' I
tell them, 'and some die.'"

 
          
 
Bramwell Booth nodded. "We are told that
the
East End
alone harbors a population of close to a
million. A hundred thousand or more have no fixed abode. Is it then surprising
that many of them perish?