Mrs. Bindle Part 51

"Wot a nice room," Mrs. St.i.tchley looked about her appreciatively, "so genteel, and 'ow refined."

Mrs. Bindle smirked.

"I was sayin' to St.i.tchley only yesterday mornin' at breakfast--he was 'avin' sausages, 'e bein' so fond of 'em--'Mrs. Bindle 'as taste,' I says, '_and_ refinement.'"

Mrs. Bindle, who had seated herself opposite her visitor, drew in her chin and folded her hands before her, with the air of one who is receiving only what she knows to be her due.

There was a slight pause.

"Yes," said Mrs. St.i.tchley, with a sigh, "I was always one for refinement _and_ respectability."

Mrs. Bindle said nothing. She was wondering why Mrs. St.i.tchley had called. Although she would not have put it into words, or even allow it to find form in her thoughts, she knew Mrs. St.i.tchley to be a woman to whom gossip was the breath of life.

"Now you're wonderin' why I've come, my dear," continued Mrs. St.i.tchley, who always grew more friendly as her calls lengthened, "but it's a dooty. I says to St.i.tchley this mornin', 'There's that poor, dear Mrs.

Bindle a-livin' in innocence of the way in which she's bein' vilated.'"

Mrs. St.i.tchley was sometimes a little loose in the way she constructed her sentences and the words she selected.

Mrs. Bindle's lips began to a.s.sume a hard line.

"I don't understand, Mrs. St.i.tchley," she said.

"Jest wot I says to St.i.tchley, 'She don't know, the poor lamb,' I says, "ow she's bein' deceived, 'ow she's----'" Mrs. St.i.tchley paused, not from any sense of the dramatic; but because of a violent hiccough that had a.s.sailed her.

"Excuse me, mum--Mrs. Bindle," she corrected herself; "but I always was a one for 'iccups, an' when it ain't 'iccups it's spasms. St.i.tchley was sayin' to me only yesterday, no it wasn't, it was the day before, that----"

"Won't you tell me what you were going to?" said Mrs. Bindle. She knew of old how rambling were Mrs. St.i.tchley's methods of narration.

"To be sure, to be sure," and she nodded until the jet ornament in her black bonnet seemed to have become palsied. "Well, my dear, it's like this. As I was sayin' to St.i.tchley this mornin', 'I can't see poor Mrs.

Bindle deceived by that monster.' I see through 'im that evenin', a-turnin' your 'appy party into----" she paused for a simile--"into wot 'e turned it into," she added with inspiration.

"Oh! the wickedness of this world, Mrs. Bindle. Oh! the sin and error."

She cast up her bleary, watery blue eyes, and gazed at the yellow paper flycatcher, and once more the jet ornament began to s.h.i.+ver.

"Please tell me what it is, Mrs. St.i.tchley," said Mrs. Bindle, conscious of a sense of impending disaster.

"The wicked man, the cruel, heartless creature; but they're all the same, as I tell St.i.tchley, and him with a wife like you, Mrs. Bindle, to carry on with a young Jezebel like that, to----"

"Carry on with a young Jezebel!"

Mrs. Bindle's whole manner had changed. Her uprightness seemed to have become emphasised, and the grim look about her mouth had hardened into one of menace. Her eyes, hard as two pieces of steel, seemed to pierce through her visitor's brain. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

Instinctively Mrs. St.i.tchley recoiled.

"As I says to St.i.tchley----" she began, when Mrs. Bindle broke in.

"Never mind Mr. St.i.tchley," she snapped. "Tell me what you mean."

Mrs. St.i.tchley looked hurt. Things were not going exactly as she had planned. In the retailing of scandal, she was an artist, and she constructed her periods with a view to their dramatic effect upon her listener.

"Yes," she continued reminiscently, "'e's been a good 'usbindt 'as St.i.tchley. Never no gallivanting with other females. 'E's always said: 'Matilda, my dear, there won't never be another woman for me.' His very words, Mrs. Bindle, I a.s.sure _you_," and Mrs. St.i.tchley preened herself like a moth-eaten peac.o.c.k.

"You were saying----" began Mrs. Bindle.

"To be sure, to be sure," said Mrs. St.i.tchley; "but we all 'ave our crosses to bear. The Lord will give you strength, Mrs. Bindle, just as He gave me strength when St.i.tchley lorst 'is leg. 'The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,'" she added enigmatically.

"Mrs. St.i.tchley," said Mrs. Bindle, rising with an air of decision, "I insist on your telling me what you mean."

"Ah! my dear," said Mrs. St.i.tchley, with an emotion in her voice that she usually kept for funerals, "I knew 'ow it would be. I says to St.i.tchley, 'St.i.tchley,' I says, 'that poor, dear woman will suffer. She was made for sufferin'. She's one of them gentle, tender lambs, that's trodden underfoot by the serpent's tooth of man's l.u.s.t; but she will bear 'er cross.' Them was my very words, Mrs. Bindle," she added, indifferent to the mixture of metaphor.

Mrs. Bindle looked at her visitor helplessly. Her face was very white; but she realised Mrs. St.i.tchley's loquacity was undammable.

"A-takin' 'ome a young gal at two o'clock in the mornin', and then bein'

asked in by 'er mother--and 'er father away at 'is work every night--and 'er not mor'n seventeen, and all the neighbours with their 'eads out of the windows, and 'er a-screechin' and askin' of 'er mother not to 'it 'er, and 'er sayin' 'Wait 'till I get you, my gal,' and callin' 'im an ole villain. 'E ought to be took up. I says to St.i.tchley, 'St.i.tchley,' I says, 'that man ought to be took up, an' it's only because of Lord George that 'e ain't.'"

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Bindle made an effort to control herself. "Who was it that took some one home at two o'clock in the morning?"

"You poor lamb," croaked Mrs. St.i.tchley, gazing up at Mrs. Bindle, whose unlamblike qualities were never more marked than at that moment. "You poor lamb. You're being deceived, Mrs. Bindle, cruelly and wickedly vilated. Your 'usbindt's carrying on with a young gal wot might 'ave been 'is daughter. Oh! the wickedness of this world, the----"

"I don't believe it."

Mrs. St.i.tchley started back. The words seemed almost to hit her in the face. She blinked her eyes uncertainly, as she looked at Mrs. Bindle, the embodiment of an outraged wife and a vengeful fury.

"I'm afraid I must be going, my dear," said Mrs. St.i.tchley; "but I felt I ought to tell you."

"Not until you've told me everything," said Mrs. Bindle, with decision, as she moved towards the door, "and you don't leave this room until you've explained what you mean."

Mrs. St.i.tchley turned round in her chair as Mrs. Bindle pa.s.sed across the room, surprise and fear in her eyes.

"Lord a mercy me!" she cried. "Don't ee take on like that, Mrs. Bindle.

'E ain't worth it."

Then Mrs. Bindle proceeded to make it abundantly clear to Mrs. St.i.tchley that she required the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, without unnecessary circ.u.mlocution, verbiage, or obscuring metaphor.

At the end of five minutes she had reduced her visitor to a state of tearful compliance.

At first her periods halted; but she soon got into her stride and swung along with obvious enjoyment.

"My sister-in-law, not as she is my sister-in-law regler, St.i.tchley's father 'avin' married twice, 'is second bein' a widow with five of 'er own, an' 'er not twenty-nine at the time, reckless, I calls it. As I was sayin', Mrs. Coggles, 'er name's enough to give you a pain, an' the state of 'er 'ome, my dear----" Mrs. St.i.tchley raised her eyes to the ceiling as if words failed her.

"Well," she continued after a momentary pause, during which Mrs. Bindle looked at her without moving a muscle, "as I was sayin', Mrs.

Coggles"--she shuddered slightly as she p.r.o.nounced the name--"she lives in Arloes Road, No. 9, pink tie-ups to 'er curtains she 'as, an' that flashy in 'er dress. Well, well!" she concluded, as if Christian charity had come to her aid.

"She told me all about it. She was jest a-goin' to bed, bein' late on account of 'Ector, that's 'er seventh, ten months old an' still at the breast, disgustin' I calls it, 'avin' wot she thought was convulsions, an' 'earin' the row an' 'ubbub, she goes to the door an' sees everythink, an' that's the gospel truth, Mrs. Bindle, if I was to be struck down like Sulphira."

She then proceeded to give a highly elaborated and ornate account of Bindle's adventure of some six weeks previously. She accompanied her story with a wealth of detail, most of which was inaccurate, coupled with the a.s.surance that the Lord and Mrs. St.i.tchley would undoubtedly do all in their power to help Mrs. Bindle in her hour of trial.

Finally, Mrs. St.i.tchley found herself walking down the little tiled path that led to the Bindles' outer gate, in her heart a sense of great injustice.

"Never so much as bite or sup," she mumbled, as she turned out of the gate, taking care to leave it open, "and me a-tellin' 'er all wot I told 'er. I've come across meanness in my time; but I never been refused a cup-o'-tea, an' me fatiguing myself something cruel to go an' tell 'er.