Esther Waters Part 33

"Shall I wait for you?"

"Wait for me! I should think not, indeed."

Esther ran down the area steps. Her hand paused as it was about to lift the jug down from the dresser, and a number of thoughts fled across her mind. That man would be waiting for her outside. What was she to do? How unfortunate! If he continued to come after her he and Fred would be sure to meet.

"What are you waiting for, I should like to know?" she cried, as she came up the steps.

"That's 'ardly civil, Esther, and after so many years too; one would think--"

"I want none of your thinking; get out of my sight. Do you 'ear? I want no truck with you whatever. Haven't you done me enough mischief already?"

"Be quiet; listen to me. I'll explain."

"I don't want none of your explanation. Go away."

Her whole nature was now in full revolt, and quick with pa.s.sionate remembrance of the injustice that had been done her, she drew back from him, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng. Perhaps it was some pa.s.sing remembrance of the breakage of the first beer-jug that prevented her from striking him with the second. The spasm pa.s.sed, and then her rage, instead of venting itself in violent action, a.s.sumed the form of dogged silence. He followed her up the street, and into the bar. She handed the jug across the counter, and while the barman filled it searched in her pocket for the money. She had brought none with her. William promptly produced sixpence. Esther answered him with a quick, angry glance, and addressing the barman, she said, "I'll pay you to-morrow; that'll do, I suppose? 41 Avondale Road."

"That will be all right, but what am I to do with this sixpence?"

"I know nothing about that," Esther said, picking up her skirt; "I'll pay you for what I have had."

Holding the sixpence in his short, thick, and wet fingers, the barman looked at William. William smiled, and said, "Well, they do run sulky sometimes."

He caught at the leather strap and pulled the door open for her, and as she pa.s.sed out she became aware that William still admired her. It was really too bad, and she was conscious of injustice. Having destroyed her life, this man had pa.s.sed out of sight and knowledge, but only to reappear when a vista leading to a new life seemed open before her.

"It was that temper of yours that did it; you wouldn't speak to me for a fortnight. You haven't changed, I can see that," he said, watching Esther's face, which did not alter until he spoke of how unhappy he had been in his marriage. "A regular brute she was--we're no longer together, you know; haven't been for the last three years; could not put up with 'er. She was that--but that's a long story." Esther did not answer him. He looked at her anxiously, and seeing that she would not be won over easily, he spoke of his money.

"Look 'ere, Esther," he said, laying his hand on the area gate. "You won't refuse to come out with me some Sunday. I've a half a share in a public-house, the 'King's Head,' and have been backing winners all this year. I've plenty of money to treat you. I should like to make it up to you. Perhaps you've 'ad rather a 'ard time. What 'ave yer been doing all these years? I want to hear."

"What 'ave I been doing? Trying to bring up your child! That's what I've been doing."

"There's a child, then, is there?" said William, taken aback. Before he could recover himself Esther had slipped past him down the area into the house. For a moment he looked as if he were going to follow her; on second thoughts he thought he had better not. He lingered a moment and then walked slowly away in the direction of the Metropolitan Railway.

"I'm sorry to 'ave kept you waiting, miss, but I met with an accident and had to come back for another jug."

"And what was the accident you met with, Esther?"

"I wasn't paying no attention, miss; I was looking at a cab that could hardly get through the stones they've been laying down in the Pembroke Road; the poor little horse was pulling that 'ard that I thought he'd drop down dead, and while I was looking I ran up against a pa.s.ser-by, and being a bit taken aback I dropped the jug."

"How was that? Did you know the pa.s.ser-by?"

Esther busied herself with the dishes on the sideboard; and, divining that something serious had happened to her servant, Miss Rice refrained and allowed the dinner to pa.s.s in silence. Half-an-hour later Esther came into the study with her mistress's tea. She brought over the wicker table, and as she set it by her mistress's knees the shadows about the bookcase and the light of the lamp upon the book and the pensive content on Miss Rice's face impelled her to think of her own troubles, the hards.h.i.+p, the pa.s.sion, the despair of her life compared with this tranquil existence. Never had she felt more certain that misfortune was inherent in her life. She remembered all the trouble she had had, she wondered how she had come out of it all alive; and now, just as things seemed like settling, everything was going to be upset again. Fred was away for a fortnight's holiday--she was safe for eleven or twelve days. After that she did not know what might not happen. Her instinct told her that although he had pa.s.sed over her fault very lightly, so long as he knew nothing of the father of her child, he might not care to marry her if William continued to come after her. Ah!

if she hadn't happened to go out at that particular time she might never have met William. He did not live in the neighbourhood; if he did they would have met before. Perhaps he had just settled in the neighbourhood.

That would be worst of all. No, no, no; it was a mere accident; if the cask of beer had held out a day or two longer, or if it had run out a day or two sooner, she might never have met William! But now she could not keep out of his way. He spent the whole day in the street waiting for her.

If she went out on an errand he followed her there and back. If she'd only listen. She was prettier than ever. He had never cared for any one else.

He would marry her when he got his divorce, and then the child would be theirs. She did not answer him, but her blood boiled at the word "theirs."

How could Jackie become their child? Was it not she who had worked for him, brought him up? and she thought as little of his paternity as if he had fallen from heaven into her arms.

One evening as she was laying the table her grief took her unawares, and she was obliged to dash aside the tears that had risen to her eyes. The action was so apparent that Miss Rice thought it would be an affectation to ignore it. So she said in her kind, musical, intimate manner, "Esther, I'm afraid you have some trouble on your mind; can I do anything for you?"

"No, miss, no, it's nothing; I shall get over it presently."

But the effort of speaking was too much for her, and a bitter sob caught her in the throat.

"You had better tell me your trouble, Esther; even if I cannot help you it will ease your heart to tell me about it. I hope nothing is the matter with Jackie?"

"No, miss, no; thank G.o.d, he's well enough. It's nothing to do with him; leastways--" Then with a violent effort she put back her tears. "Oh, it is silly of me," she said, "and your dinner getting cold."

"I don't want to pry into your affairs, Esther, but you know that----"

"Yes, miss, I know you to be kindness itself; but there's nothing to be done but to bear it. You asked me just now if it had anything to do with Jackie. Well, it is no more than that his father has come back."

"But surely, Esther, that's hardly a reason for sorrow; I should have thought that you would have been glad."

"It is only natural that you should think so, miss; them what hasn't been through the trouble never thinks the same as them that has. You see, miss, it is nearly nine years since I've seen him, and during them nine years I 'ave been through so much. I 'ave worked and slaved, and been through all the 'ards.h.i.+p, and now, when the worst is over, he comes and wants me to marry him when he gets his divorce."

"Then you like some one else better?"

"Yes, miss, I do, and what makes it so 'ard to bear is that for the last two months or more I've been keeping company with Fred Parsons--that's the stationer's a.s.sistant; you've seen him in the shop, miss--and he and me is engaged to be married. He's earning good money, thirty s.h.i.+llings a week; he's as good a young man as ever stepped--religious, kind-hearted, everything as would make a woman 'appy in 'er 'ome. It is 'ard for a girl to keep up with 'er religion in some of the situations we have to put up with, and I'd mostly got out of the habit of chapel-going till I met him; it was 'e who led me back again to Christ. But for all that, understanding very well, not to say indulgent for the failings of others, like yourself, miss. He knew all about Jackie from the first, and never said nothing about it, but that I must have suffered cruel, which I have. He's been with me to see Jackie, and they both took to each other wonderful like; it couldn't 'ave been more so if 'e'd been 'is own father. But now all that's broke up, for when Fred meets William it is as likely as not as he'll think quite different."

The evening died behind the red-brick suburb, and Miss Rice's strip of garden grew greener. She had finished her dinner, and she leaned back thinking of the story she had heard. She was one of those secluded maiden ladies so common in England, whose experience of life is limited to a tea party, and whose further knowledge of life is derived from the yellow-backed French novels which fill their bookcases.

"How was it that you happened to meet William--I think you said his name was William?"

"It was the day, miss, that I went to fetch the beer from the public-house. It was he that made me drop the jug; you remember, miss, I had to come back for another. I told you about it at the time. When I went out again with a fresh jug he was waiting for me, he followed me to the 'Greyhound' and wanted to pay for the beer--not likely that I'd let him; I told them to put it on the slate, and that I'd pay for it to-morrow. I didn't speak to him on leaving the bar, but he followed me to the gate. He wanted to know what I'd been doing all the time. Then my temper got the better of me, and I said, 'Looking after your child.' 'My child!' says he.

'So there's a child, is there?'"

"I think you told me that he married one of the young ladies at the place you were then in situation?"

"Young lady! No fear, she wasn't no young lady. Anyway, she was too good or too bad for him; for they didn't get on, and are now living separate."

"Does he speak about the child? Does he ask to see him?"

"Lor', yes, miss; he'd the cheek to say the other day that we'd make him our child--our child, indeed! and after all these years I've been working and he doing nothing."

"Perhaps he might like to do something for him; perhaps that's what he's thinking of."

"No, miss, I know him better than that. That's his cunning; he thinks he'll get me through the child."

"In any case I don't see what you'll gain by refusing to speak to him; if you want to do something for the child, you can. You said he was proprietor of a public-house."

"I don't want his money; please G.o.d, we'll be able to do without it to the end."

"If I were to die to-morrow, Esther, remember that you would be in exactly the same position as you were when you entered my service. You remember what that was? You have often told me there was only eighteen-pence between you and the workhouse; you owed Mrs. Lewis two weeks' money for the support of the child. I daresay you've saved a little money since you've been with me, but it cannot be more than a few pounds. I don't think that you ought to let this chance slip through your fingers, if not for your own, for Jackie's sake. William, according to his own account, is making money. He may become a rich man; he has no children by his wife; he might like to leave some of his money--in any case, he'd like to leave something--to Jackie."

"He was always given to boasting about money. I don't believe all he says about money or anything else."

"That may be, but he may have money, and you have no right to refuse to allow him to provide for Jackie. Supposing later on Jackie were to reproach you?"