“He is a good man,” Isabel said, gazing out the window, “but kindness played little role in our association.” A frown shadowed her profile as she mused in silence for a moment. Then she said in an almost inaudible voice, “I was brought up to believe that we should do unto others as we would have others do unto us, but I-I have broken that rule, as well as many others. Is it futile to hope that I may escape punishment?”
This sounded to me like a confession, but of what sins? I guessed that Isabel’s troubles involved Mr. Lock, and I pondered what might happen between a man and a beautiful woman living in his house. I blushed again, ashamed of entertaining thoughts about subjects that were none of my business; yet my curiosity persisted.
“Are you going to Birmingham, then?” I asked, because that city lay on our route.
“No!” A shudder accompanied Isabel’s violent negative. Then she turned to me and said, “I am on leave from my post and traveling to London.” The frosty look had returned to her eyes. “Where do you and your sister go, Miss Bronte?” she said, abruptly steering the conversation away from herself.
“We are also traveling to London.” I fervently hoped Isabel wouldn’t ask why.
Isabel only asked, “And how long do you stay?”
“A few days,” I said, glad that I need not fabricate a lie to conceal my private purpose.
“Will you be taking up employment soon?” Again, Isabel studied me with close scrutiny, as if genuinely curious.
Since I couldn’t discuss my current occupation as a writer, lest I give away my identity as Currer Bell, I said, “At present, I’m between positions and living at home.”
Isabel nodded, and I had the disconcerting sense that she was making note of this information for later reference. After a while, Anne awakened, and I introduced her to Isabel, and the three of us made trifling conversation. Whenever the train stopped at a station, Isabel cowered in her seat, seeming to avoid the window for fear that someone would see her. Anne and I left the carriage several times, but not she. Still, I doubted that Isabel could pass the whole night without leaving the train, and when we reached Nottingham just before midnight, she accepted my invitation to go into the station.
The platform was dimly lit by gas lamps; a few passengers and station officials awaited the train. Exiting the coach, Anne and I left our satchels inside, but Isabel lugged her carpetbag with her. This was large, bulky, and patterned with red roses. I wondered what was in the bag, and why Isabel would not let it out of her sight. Did it contain something valuable, perhaps stolen? Was it the law that she feared so?
As the three of us walked towards the privies, I watched Isabel dart wary glances at the other passengers. Her fright was contagious. I found myself peering across the dark train yard in search of pursuers, and seeing malevolence in the faces of the railway guards. Isabel stuck close by Anne and me as we entered the station’s refreshment room. I bought tea to drink with the bread and cold meat we’d brought from home. I returned to Anne and found Isabel gone.
“She just turned and fled without a word,” Anne said in bewilderment. “Why, I wonder?”
I watched the door swing shut. “I don’t know.”
“There’s something about her that makes me quite uneasy,” Anne said.
We ate our meal, then hurried back to the train. The window of our coach showed no sign of Isabel, but when I opened the coach door, a cry rang forth. Startled, we beheld Isabel lying curled on her seat, staring up at us.
“Oh. It’s you.” Relief erased the panic from Isabel’s face.
“Whom did you think it would be?” I asked.
Isabel shook her head. “No one.”
Anne and I exchanged glances as we took our seats. Soon after the train began moving, Anne dozed off. I tried to rest, but my mind seethed with questions about Isabel, who brooded in the seat opposite me. At last I slept, disturbed by dreams of unknown pursuers chasing me along railroad tracks, and of myself arriving naked at the offices of Smith, Elder amp; Company.
I awakened to sunshine on my face. Stretching my cramped muscles, I yawned. Through the window, beyond the railroad tracks, spread miles of dingy shops, warehouses, and tenements. Smoke cast a grey pall over the cityscape. During the six years since I’d last seen London, it had grown tremendously. This was the great capital of England, bursting with mansions and slums, pleasure gardens and markets, factories and monuments, and some three million inhabitants. I recalled how Emily had hated it. But I loved the sense that anything could happen in London. I sat up, alert, my nerves tingling with dread and excitement. Anne was awake, too. Isabel White looked as if she’d not slept all night, her lovely face wan and haunted.
“Good morning,” I said.
My companions murmured in reply. Isabel said, “Miss Bronte, I must express my gratitude for your assistance and the pleasure of your company.”
“The pleasure was mine.” I was disappointed that our acquaintance must end and that I would never know more about the mysterious Miss White.
Soon the train drew into Euston Station and screeched to a halt beneath the iron roofs that sheltered multiple tracks. On one side stood inns, taverns, and a street filled with horse-drawn wagons, carriages, and omnibuses. Along the other extended the terminal building, fronted by the platform. There, a huge crowd milled. Gentlemen in tall black hats and ladies in fashionable gowns mingled with children and common tradesmen amidst piled trunks, bundles, and hampers. Vendors sold refreshments from trolleys; beggarboys roamed. The pandemonium daunted me, and I hesitated to leave the coach, but Isabel flung open the door, hefted her carpetbag, and quickly stepped onto the platform. Anne and I picked up our satchels and followed. Steam and smoke from chugging locomotive engines assailed us as we huddled together in the rushing crowds. Other passengers alit and greeted waiting friends; railway guards climbed on the train’s roof and unloaded baggage. Whistles shrieked and voices clamored. Isabel stood near me, her worried gaze scanning the chaos.
“Have you a place to go?” I asked, feeling a certain responsibility towards her.
Clutching her bag, Isabel nodded vaguely, looking past me.
On impulse I said, “Anne and I will be staying at the Chapter Coffee House in Paternoster Row. If you desire company, please do visit us there.”
The guards pulled our trunk off the train and dropped it on the platform. Anne and I hurried over to claim our property, and when I again looked towards Isabel White, she had vanished.
4
By eight o’clock that morning, Anne and I made our way to the Chapter Coffee House. We washed ourselves, breakfasted, then set off for the premises of Smith, Elder amp; Company.
London engulfed us in its overwhelming turmoil. Horse-drawn carriages manned by red-coated coachmen rattled through the crammed streets. Costermongers hawked fruits and vegetables; female peddlers sold matches and needles. Crude laborers trudged along every thoroughfare; ragged children armed with brooms begged to sweep our path clean for a penny. We walked rapidly, clutching our pocketbooks, fearful of thieves. Sharp London accents colored the voices around us. And everywhere was filth even worse than I remembered. We sidestepped garbage and horse droppings upon which flies swarmed; we forded streams of black, malodorous water in open gutters. A foul stench of decay emanated from the nearby Thames River. The air tasted of cholera.
Breathless and perspiring in the heat, our clothes grimy with dust, we at last reached Cornhill, a broad avenue in London’s financial district. Around us towered the Royal Exchange, the Bank of England, and other examples of classical architecture. London is the world’s richest city, and we were in its mercantile heart. Foreign languages buzzed through the district. Wealthy traders congregated in coffeehouses and jostled humble black-coated clerks.