Esther Waters Part 62

She spoke so gently that he looked at her surprised, for he remembered her quick temper, and he said, "You're the best wife a man ever had."

"No, I'm not, Bill, but I tries to do my best."

The spring was the harshest ever known, and his cough grew worse and the blood-spitting returned. Esther grew seriously alarmed. Their doctor spoke of Brompton Hospital, and she insisted on his going there to be examined.

William would not have her come with him; and she did not press the point, fearing to irritate him, but sat at home waiting anxiously for him to return, hoping against hope, for their doctor had told her that he feared very long trouble. And she could tell from his face and manner that he had bad news for her. All her strength left her, but she conquered her weakness and said--

"Now tell me what they said. I've a right to know; I want to know."

"They said it was consumption."

"Oh, did they say that?"

"Yes, but they don't mean that I'm going to die. They said they hoped they could patch me up; people often live for years with only half a lung, and it is only the left one that's gone."

He coughed slightly and wiped the blood from his lips. Esther was quite overcome.

"Now, don't look like that," he said, "or I shall fancy I'm going to die to-morrow."

"They said they thought that they could patch you up?"

"Yes; they said I might go on a long while yet, but that I would never be the man I was."

This was so obvious she could not check a look of pity.

"If you're going to look at me like that I'd sooner go into the hospital at once. It ain't the cheerfulest of places, but it will be better than here."

"I'm sorry it was consumption. But if they said they could patch you up, it will be all right. It was a great deal for them to say."

Her duty was to overcome her grief and speak as if the doctors had told him that there was nothing the matter that a little careful nursing would fail to put right. William had faith in the warm weather, and she resolved to put her trust in it. It was hard to see him wasting away before her eyes and keep cheerful looks in her face and an accent of cheerfulness in heir voice. The suns.h.i.+ne which had come at last seemed to suck up all the life that was in him; he grew paler, and withered like a plant. Then ill-luck seemed to have joined in the hunt; he could not "touch" a winner, and their fortune drained away with his life. Favourites and outsiders, it mattered not; whatever he backed lost; and Esther dreaded the cry "Win-ner, all the win-ner!" He sat on the little balcony in the sunny evenings looking down the back street for the boy to appear with the "special." Then she had to go and fetch the paper. On the rare occasions when he won, the spectacle was even more painful. He brightened up, his thin arm and hand moved nervously, and he began to make projects and indulge in hopes which she knew were vain.

She insisted, however, on his taking regularly the medicine they gave him at the hospital, and this was difficult to do. For his irritability increased in measure as he perceived the medicine was doing him no good; he found fault with the doctors, railed against them unjustly, and all the while the little; cough continued, and the blood-spitting returned at the end of cruel intervals, when he had begun to hope that at least that trouble was done with. One morning he told his wife that he was going to ask the doctors to examine him again. They had spoken of patching up; but he wanted to know whether he was going to live or die. There was a certain relief in hearing him speak so plainly; she had had enough of the torture of hope, and would like to know the worst. He liked better to go to the hospital alone, but she felt that she could not sit at home counting the minutes for him to return, and begged to be allowed to go with him. To her surprise, he offered no opposition. She had expected that her request would bring about quite a little scene, but he had taken it so much as a matter of course that she should accompany him that she was doubly glad that she had proposed to go with him; if she hadn't he might have accused her of neglecting him. She put on her hat; the day was too hot for a jacket; it was the beginning of August; the town was deserted, and the streets looked as if they were about to evaporate or lie down exhausted, and the poor, dry, dusty air that remained after the season was too poor even for Esther's healthy lungs; it made William cough, and she hoped the doctors would order him to the seaside.

From the top of their omnibus they could see right across the plateau of the Green Park, dry and colourless like a desert; as they descended the hill they noticed that autumn was already busy in the foliage; lower down the dells were full of fallen leaves. At Hyde Park Corner the blown dust whirled about the hill-top; all along St. George's Place glimpses of the empty Park appeared through the railings. The wide pavements, the Brompton Road, and a semi-detached public-house at the cross-roads, announced suburban London to the Londoner.

"You see," said William, "where them trees are, where the road turns off to the left. That 'ouse is the 'Bell and Horns.' That's the sort of house I should like to see you in."

"It's a pity we didn't buy it when we had the money."

"Buy it! That 'ouse is worth ten thousand pounds if it's worth a penny."

"I was once in a situation not far from here. I like the Fulham Road; it's like a long village street, ain't it?"

Her first service was with Mrs. Dunbar, in Sydney Street, and she remembered the square church tower at the Chelsea end; a little further on there was the Vestry Hall in the King's Road, and then Oakley Street on the left, leading down to Battersea. Mrs. Dunbar used to go to some gardens at the end of the King's Road. Cremorne Gardens, that was the name; there used to be fire-works there, and she often spent the evening at the back window watching the rockets go up. That was just before Lady Elwin had got her the situation as kitchen-maid at Woodview. She remembered the very shops--there was Palmer's the b.u.t.terman, and there was Hyde's the grocer's. Everything was just as she had left it. How many years ago? Fifteen or sixteen. So enwrapped was she in memories that William had to touch her. "Here we are," he said; "don't you remember the place?"

She remembered very well that great red brick building, a centrepiece with two wings, surrounded by high iron railings lined with gloomy shrubs. The long straight walks, the dismal trees arow, where pale-faced men walked or rested feebly, had impressed themselves on her young mind--thin, patient men, pacing their sepulchre. She had wondered who they were, if they would get well; and then, quick with sensation of lingering death, she had hurried away on her errands. The low wooden yellow-painted gates were unchanged. She had never before seen them open, and it was new to her to see the gardens filled with bright suns.h.i.+ne and numerous visitors. There were flowers in the beds, and the trees were beautiful in their leaf.a.ge. A little yellow was creeping through, and from time to time a leaf fell exhausted from the branches.

William, who was already familiar with the custom of the place, nodded to the porter and was let pa.s.s without question. He did not turn to the princ.i.p.al entrance in the middle of the building, but went towards a side entrance. The house physician was standing near it talking with a young man whom Esther recognised as Mr. Alden. The thought that he, too, might be dying of consumption crossed her mind, but his appearance and his healthy, hearty laugh rea.s.sured her. A stout, common girl, healthy too, came out of the building with a child, a little thing of twelve or thirteen, with death in her face. Mr. Alden stopped her, and in his cheerful, kind manner hoped the little one was better. She answered that she was. The doctor bade him good-bye and beckoned William and Esther to follow him. Esther would have liked to have spoken to Mr. Alden. But he did not see her, and she followed her husband, who was talking with the doctor, through the doorway into a long pa.s.sage. At the end of the pa.s.sage there were a number of girls in print dresses. The gaiety of the dresses led Esther to think that they must be visitors. But the little cough warned her that death was amongst them. As she went past she caught sight of a wasted form in a bath-chair. The thin hands were laid on the knees, on a little handkerchief, and there were spots on the whiteness deeper than the colour of the dress. They pa.s.sed down another pa.s.sage, meeting a sister on their way; pretty and discreet she was in her black dress and veil, and she raised her eyes, glancing affectionately at the young doctor. No doubt they loved each other. The eternal love-story among so much death!

Esther wished to be present at the examination, but a sudden whim made William say that he would prefer to be alone with the doctor, and she returned to the gardens. Mr. Alden had not yet gone. He stood with his back turned to her. The little girl she had seen him speaking to was sitting on a bench under the trees; she held in her hands a skein of yellow worsted which her companion was winding into a ball. Two other young women were with them and all four were smiling and whispering and looking towards Mr. Alden. They evidently sought to attract his attention, and wished him to come and speak to them. Just the natural desire of women to please, and moved by the pathos of this poor coquetting, he went to them, and Esther could see that they all wanted to talk to him. She too would have liked to have spoken to him; he was an old friend. And she walked up the grounds, intending to pa.s.s by him as she walked back. His back was still turned to her, and they were all so interested that they gave no heed to anything else. One of the young women had an exceedingly pretty face. A small oval, perfectly snow-white, and large blue eyes shaded with long dark lashes; a little aquiline nose; and Esther heard her say, "I should be well enough if it wasn't for the cough. It isn't no better since--" The cough interrupted the end of the sentence, and affecting to misunderstand her, Mr. Alden said--

"No better than it was a week ago."

"A week ago!" said the poor girl. "It is no better since Christmas."

There was surprise in her voice, and the pity of it took Mr. Alden in the throat, and it was with difficulty that he answered that "he hoped that the present fine weather would enable her to get well. Such weather as this," he said, "is as good as going abroad."

This a.s.sertion was disputed. One of the women had been to Australia for her health, and the story of travel was interspersed by the little coughs, terrible in their apparent insignificance. But it was Mr. Alden that the others wished to hear speak; they knew all about their companion's trip to Australia, and in their impatience their eyes went towards Esther. So Mr.

Alden became aware of a new presence, and he turned.

"What! is it you, Esther?"

"Yes, sir."

"But there doesn't seem much the matter with you. You're all right."

"Yes, I'm all right, sir; it's my husband."

They walked a few yards up the path.

"Your husband! I'm very sorry."

"He's been an out-door patient for some time; he's being examined by the doctors now."

"Whom did you marry, Esther?"

"William Latch, a betting man, sir."

"You married a betting man, Esther? How curiously things do work out! I remember you were engaged to a pious young man, the stationer's foreman.

That was when you were with Miss Rice; you know, I suppose, that she's dead."

"No, sir, I didn't know it. I've had so much trouble lately that I've not been to see her for nearly two years. When did she die, sir?"

"About two months ago. So you married a betting man! Miss Rice did say something about it, but I don't think I understood that he was a betting man; I thought he was a publican."

"So he was, sir. We lost our licence through the betting."

"You say he's being examined by the doctor. Is it a bad case?"

"I'm afraid it is, sir."

They walked on in silence until they reached the gate.

"To me this place is infinitely pathetic. That little cough never silent for long. Did you hear that poor girl say with surprise that her cough is no better than it was last Christmas?"

"Yes, sir. Poor girl, I don't think she's long for this world."

"But tell me about your husband, Esther," he said, and his face filled with an expression of true sympathy. "I'm a subscriber, and if your husband would like to become an in-door patient, I hope you'll let me know."

"Thank you, sir; you was always the kindest, but there's no reason why I should trouble you. Some friends of ours have already recommended him, and it only rests with himself to remain out or go in."