Mrs. Bindle Part 42

Then, suddenly, she half-lifted herself in bed and, once more raising her head, sniffed the air suspiciously.

"I know that saucepan's burning," she said with conviction; but she sank back again, panting. The burning of a saucepan seemed a thing of ever-lessening importance.

"No, it ain't, Lizzie, reelly it ain't. I filled it right up to the brim. It's that bit o' stoo I spilt on the stove. Stinks like billy-o, don't it?" His sense of guilt made him garrulous. "I'll go an' sc.r.a.pe it orf," he added, and with that he was gone.

"Oh, my Gawd!" he muttered as he opened the kitchen door, and was greeted by a volume of bluish smoke that seemed to catch at his throat.

He made a wild dash for the stove, seized the saucepan and, taking it over to the sink, turned on the tap.

A moment later he dropped the saucepan into the sink and started back, blinded by a volume of steam that issued from its interior.

Swiftly and quietly he opened the window and the outer door.

"You ain't no cook, J.B.," he muttered, as he unhitched the roller-towel and proceeded to use it as a fan, with the object of driving the smell out of the window and scullery-door.

When the air was clearer, he returned to the sink and, this time, filled both the saucepans with water and replaced them on the stove.

"I wonder wot I better do," he muttered, and he looked about him helplessly.

Then, with sudden inspiration, he remembered Mrs. Hearty.

Creeping softly upstairs, he put his head round the bedroom door and announced that he was going out to buy a paper. Without waiting for either criticism or comment, he quickly closed the door again.

Ten minutes later, he was opening the gla.s.s-panelled door, with the white curtains and blue tie-ups, that led from Mr. Hearty's Fulham shop to the parlour behind.

Mrs. Hearty was sitting at the table, a gla.s.s half-full of Guinness'

stout before her.

At the sight of Bindle, she began to laugh, and laughter always reduced her to a state that was half-anguish, half-ecstasy.

"Oh, Joe!" she wheezed, and then began to heave and undulate with mirth.

At the sight of the anxious look on his face she stopped suddenly, and with her clenched fist began to pound her chest.

"It's my breath, Joe," she wheezed. "It don't seem to get no better.

'Ave a drop," she gasped, pointing to the Guinness bottle on the table.

"There's a gla.s.s on the dresser," she added; but Bindle shook an anxious head.

"It's Lizzie," he said.

"Lizzie!" wheezed Mrs. Hearty. "What she been doin' now?"

Mrs. Hearty possessed no illusions about her sister's capacity to contrive any man's domestic happiness. Her own philosophy was, "If things must happen, let 'em," whereas she was well aware that Mrs.

Bindle strove to control the wheels of destiny.

"When you're my size," she would say, "you won't want to worry about anything; it's the lean 'uns as grizzles."

"She's ill in bed," he explained, "an' I don't know wot to do. Says she won't see a doctor, an' she's sort o' fidgetty because she thinks I'm burnin' the bloomin' saucepans--an' I 'ave burned 'em, Martha," he added confidentially. "Such a stink."

Whereat Mrs. Hearty began to heave, and strange movements rippled down her manifold chins. She was laughing.

There was, however, no corresponding light of humour in Bindle's eyes, and she quickly recovered herself. "What's the matter with 'er, Joe?"

she gasped.

"She won't say where it is," he replied. "I think it's 'er chest."

"All right, I'll come round," and she proceeded to make a series of strange heaving movements until, eventually, she acquired sufficient bounce to bring her to her feet. "You go back, Joe," she added.

"Righto, Martha! You always was a sport," and Bindle walked towards the door. As he opened it he turned. "You won't say anythink about them saucepans," he said anxiously.

"Oh! go hon, do," wheezed Mrs. Hearty, beginning to undulate once more.

With her brother-in-law, Mrs. Hearty was never able to distinguish between the sacred and the profane.

Half an hour later, Mrs. Hearty and Bindle were standing one on either side of Mrs. Bindle's bed. Mrs. Hearty was wearing a much-worn silk plush cape and an old, pale-blue tam-o-shanter, originally belonging to her daughter, which gave her a rakish appearance.

"What's the matter, Lizzie?" she asked, puffing like a collie in the Dog Days.

"I'm ill. Leave me alone!" moaned Mrs. Bindle in a husky voice.

Bindle looked across at Mrs. Hearty, in a way that seemed to say, "I told you she was bad."

"Don't be a fool, Lizzie," was her sister's uncompromising comment. "You go for a doctor, Joe."

"I won't have----" began Mrs. Bindle, then she stopped suddenly, a harsh, bronchial cough cutting off the rest of her sentence.

"You've got bronchitis," said Mrs. Hearty with conviction. "Put the kettle on before you go out, Joe."

"Leave me alone," moaned Mrs. Bindle. "Oh! I don't want to die, I don't want to die."

"You ain't goin' to die, Lizzie," said Bindle, bending over her, anxiety in his face. "You're goin' to live to be a 'undred."

"You go an' fetch a doctor, Joe. I'll see to 'er," and Mrs. Hearty proceeded to remove her elaborate black plush cape.

"I don't want a doctor," moaned Mrs. Bindle. In her heart was a great fear lest he should confirm her own fears that death was at hand; but Bindle had disappeared on his errand of mercy, and Mrs. Hearty was wheezing and groaning as, with arms above her head, she strove to discover the single hat-pin with which she had fixed the tam-o-shanter to her scanty hair.

"There's two rashers of bacon and an egg on the top shelf of the larder for Joe's breakfast," murmured Mrs. Bindle hoa.r.s.ely.

Mrs. Hearty nodded as she pa.s.sed out of the door.

In spite of her weight and the shortness of her breath, she descended to the kitchen. When Bindle returned, he found the bedroom reeking with the smell of vinegar. Mrs. Bindle was sitting up in bed, a towel enveloping her head, so that the fumes of the boiling vinegar should escape from the basin only by way of her bronchial tubes.

"'Ow is she?" he asked anxiously.

"She's all right," gasped Mrs. Hearty. "Is 'e coming?"

"Be 'ere in two ticks," was the response. "Two of 'em was out, this was the third."