The Adventures of an Ugly Girl

by Mrs. George Corbett

Thus it happened that my outward bearing was that of one who is already resigned to her fate, when I begged them to give me some information that would enable me to picture the whereabout of my husband until he returned to me. I knew that my friends had very faint hopes that he would ever return. But they were also acting a part. They wished to blind me concerning the real gravity of the situation, in order to preserve me from the shock of sudden and hopeless bereavement. The interview was, in fact, a little comedy which had for its motif the enshroudment of a terrible tragedy.

But it sufficed my purpose. I learned all that my friends could tell me, and when I begged to be excused from dining with my hosts, on the plea of being too ill and sick at heart for any society but my own, I was not wasting my time in self-indulgent grief, as was imagined, but was hastily gathering together everything that I could conveniently take which would be necessary for a long journey.

I had even room to feel thankful that I had received so many valuable presents of jewelry, which might, on occasion, be turned into cash, and that the generosity of my friends had prevented me from spending much of the money which Lady Elizabeth had sent to me. Neither money nor jewelry took up much room, and it was an object with me to be as unencumbered as possible. I already knew something of the exigencies of sudden departures, and had no mind to take anything that would hinder my progress.

Luckily for my present purpose, Sergius and I, in view of a possible Continental trip, had studied Bradshaw to some purpose lately, and I now had little difficulty in extracting some information that would guide me to Moscow, whither I was told that Sergius had gone.

My newly-engaged maid was not a little bewildered by the turn of events. But she proved amenable to reason and did as she was bid without questioning. I told her to fetch me a hansom, and to tell the driver to stop at the tradesmen’s entrance, where my portmanteau was put into the vehicle. Then, accompanied by my maid, I also went out by the tradesmen’s entrance, my object in doing so being to escape the observation of the Prince and Princess Michaelow, who might have noticed my departure from the front door, and who would then assuredly have tried to dissuade me from following Sergius.

On arriving at Victoria Station I found that I had thirty-five minutes to spare. This I occupied in visiting a hairdresser’s shop in the vicinity. Here I was enabled to purchase a gray wig and sundry etceteras which would effectually transform my outward semblance into that of a staid, elderly lady who would not be thought unfit to travel unescorted. I had already purchased a quiet black bonnet and a long black cloak from my maid, and felt sure that my ultimate transformation would be complete enough to deceive even Sergius, if he saw me.

At half-past eight I left Victoria, after giving the maid some messages for the Michaelows. She was to tell them that I thanked them for all their kindness to me, and that I felt it to be my duty to join my husband at once, without risking the delay which even my best wishers might possibly consider advisable.

I was not without hope that I might see Sergius even before I left the boat, or, at all events, before I had been long en route. But he had probably not taken the same direction that I was taking, and I felt bitterly disappointed when I failed to overtake him. I was at Brussels by five o’clock in the morning, and twelve hours later was in Cologne. The next morning saw me on the way to Berlin, and I pushed on thence to Alexandrovo with as little delay as possible.

I represented myself as an English lady on her way to Moscow to visit her sister’s family, and had not much difficulty in obtaining a passport. In two hours from leaving Alexandrovo I was in Warsaw. Now that I had crossed the frontier I was in momentary dread of betraying myself by overanxiety, and did my best to appear as careless and joy-expecting as if I verily expected nothing more exciting than a reunion with my sister.

But in Warsaw I felt so ill with suspense, disappointment, and travel-fatigue, that I was compelled to rest at a hotel for a day, in order to recruit my strength sufficiently to complete my long journey without a breakdown. Two days later I reached Moscow, via Smolensk, and then the fever of unrest and anxiety allowed me no ease for a time.