Sparrows Part 86

"But what are your charges?"

"'Ow much can you afford?"

After discussion, it was arranged that, if Mavis decided to stay with Mrs Gowler for three weeks certain, she was to pay twenty-two s.h.i.+llings a week, this sum to include the woman's skilled attendance and nursing, together with bed and board. In the event of Mavis wanting medical advice, Mrs Gowler had an arrangement with a doctor by which he charged the moderate fee of a s.h.i.+lling a visit to any of her patients that required his services. The extreme reasonableness of the terms inclined Mavis to decide on going to Mrs Gowler's.

"There's only one thing," she said: "I've a dog; she's a great pet and quite clean. If you wouldn't object to her coming, I might--"

"Bring her: bring her. Is she having dear little puppies?"

"Oh dear, no."

"A pity. The more the merrier. I love work."

This decided Mavis. With considerable misgiving, but spurred by poverty, she told the woman that she was coming.

"An' what about binding our bargain?" asked Mrs Gowler.

"How much do you want?" asked Mavis, as she produced her purse. "Will five s.h.i.+llings do?"

"It'll do," admitted Mrs Gowler grudgingly, although the deposit she usually received was half a crown.

"I feel rather faint. Is there anywhere I can sit down for a minute?"

asked Mavis.

"If you don't mind the kitchen. P'raps you'd like a cup of tea. I always keep it ready on the fire."

Mavis thanked her and followed Mrs Gowler to the room indicated.

Although it was late in May, a roaring fire was burning in the kitchen, about which, on various sized towel-horses, numerous articles of babies' attire were airing.

"Too 'ot for yer?" asked Mrs Gowler.

"I don't mind where it is so long as I sit down."

"'Ow do you like your tea?" asked her hostess. "Noo or stooed?"

"I'd like fresh tea if it isn't any trouble," replied Mavis.

The tea was quickly made, there being a plentiful supply of boiling water. Whilst Mavis was gratefully sipping hers, a noise of something falling was heard in the scullery behind.

"It's that dratted cat," cried Mrs Gowler, as she caught up a broom and waddled from the kitchen. She returned, a moment later, with something remotely approaching a look of tenderness in her eyes.

"It's awright; it's my Oscar," she remarked.

Then what appeared to be a youth of eighteen years of age entered the kitchen. He was dark, with a receding forehead; his chin, much too large for his face, seemed as if it had been made for somebody else.

His absence of expression, together with the feeling of discomfort that at once seized Mavis, told her that he was an idiot.

"Go an' shake hands with the lady, Oscar."

Mavis shuddered to feel his damp palm upon hers.

"You wouldn't believe it, but 'e's six fingers on each 'and, and 'e's twenty-eight: ain't yer, Oscar?" remarked his mother proudly.

Oscar turned to grin at his mother, whilst Mavis, with all her maternal instinct aroused, avoided looking at or thinking of the idiot as much as possible.

Mrs Gowler waxed eloquent on the subject of her Oscar, to whom she was apparently devoted. She was just telling Mavis how he liked to amuse himself by torturing the cat, when a sharp cry penetrated into the kitchen, as if coming from the neighbourhood of the front door.

"Bella's coming on," she said, as she caught up an ap.r.o.n before leaving the kitchen. "Be nice to the lady, Oscar, and see her out, like the gent you are," cried Mrs Gowler, before shutting the door.

Alone with the grinning idiot, Mavis shut her eyes, the while she finished her tea. She did not want her baby to be in any way affected by the acute mental discomfort occasioned to its mother by the presence of Mrs Gowler's son, a contingency she had understood could easily be a reality. When she looked about for her hat and umbrella, she discovered, to her great relief, that she was alone, Oscar having apparently slipped out after his mother, the kitchen door being ajar.

Mavis drew on her gloves, stopped her ears with her fingers as she pa.s.sed along the pa.s.sage, opened the door and hurried away from the house.

Once outside, the beauty of the sweet spring day emphasised the horror of the house she had left.

She set her lips grimly, thought lovingly of Perigal, and resolved to dwell on her approaching ordeal as little as possible. Before returning to Mrs Scatchard's, she looked in to see Miss Nippett, who, with the coming of summer, seemed to lose strength daily. She now hardly ever got up, but remained in bed all day, where she would talk softly to herself. She always brightened up when Mavis came into the room, and was ever keenly interested in the latest news from the academy, particularly in Mr Poulter's physical and economic wellbeing. Seeing how make-believe inquiries of Mr Poulter after his accompanist's health cheered the lonely old woman, Mavis had no compunction in employing these white lies to brighten Miss Nippett's monotonous days.

She raised herself in bed and nodded a welcome as Mavis entered the room. After a.s.suring Mavis "that she was all right, reely she was," she asked:

"When are you going to 'ave your baby?"

"Very soon now," sighed Mavis.

"I don't think I shall ever 'ave one," remarked Miss Nippett.

"Indeed!"

"They're a great tie if one has a busy life," she said, to add wistfully, "Though it would be nice if one could get Mr Poulter for a G.o.dfather."

"Wouldn't it!" echoed Mavis.

"Give it a good start in the world, you know. It 'ud be something to talk about 'avin' 'im for a G.o.dfather."

Presently, when Mavis stooped to kiss the wan face before going, Miss Nippett said:

"If I was to die, d'ye know what 'ud make me die 'appy?"

"Don't talk such nonsense: at your age, too."

"If I could just be made a partner in 'Poulter's,'" continued Miss Nippett. "Not for the money, you understand, reely not for that; but for the honour, as you might say."

"I quite understand."

"But there, one mustn't be too ambitious. That's the worst of me. And it's the way to be un'appy," she sighed.

Mavis walked with heavy heart to her lodging; for all her own griefs, Miss Nippett's touching faith in "Poulter's" moved her deeply.

When Mavis got back, she found Mrs Scatchard and her niece in high feather. They insisted upon Mavis joining them at what they called a knife and fork tea, to which Mr Napper and two friends of the family had been invited. Mr Scatchard was not present, but no mention was made of his absence, it being looked upon as an inevitable relaxation after the work and fret of the day. The room was littered with evening papers.

"It all went off beautiful, my dear," Mrs Scatchard remarked to Mavis.