Mrs. Bindle Part 52

I don't wonder he took up with that bit of a gal."

That night she confided in her husband. "St.i.tchley," she said, "there ain't never smoke without fire, you mark my words," and St.i.tchley, glancing up from his newspaper, enquired what the 'ell she was ga.s.sing about; but she made no comment beyond emphasising, once more, that he was to mark her words.

That afternoon, Mrs. Bindle worked with a vigour unusual even in her.

She attacked the kitchen fire, hurled into the sink a flat-iron that had the temerity to get too hot, scrubbed boards that required no scrubbing, washed linoleum that was spotless, blackleaded where to blacklead was like painting the lily. In short, she seemed determined to exhaust her energies and her anger upon the helpless and inanimate things about her.

From time to time there burst from her closed lips a sound as of one who has difficulty in holding back her pent-up feelings.

At length, having cleaned everything that was cleanable, she prepared a cup-of-tea, which she drank standing. Then, removing her ap.r.o.n and taking her bonnet from the dresser-drawer, she placed it upon her head and adjusted the strings beneath her chin.

Without waiting for any other garment, she left the house and made direct for Arloes Road.

Twice she walked its length, subjecting to a careful scrutiny the house occupied by the Brungers, noting the windows with great care, and finding in them little to criticise. Then she returned to Fenton Street.

The fact of having viewed the actual scene of Bindle's perfidy seemed to corroborate Mrs. St.i.tchley's story. Before the storm was to be permitted to burst, however, Mrs. Bindle intended to make a.s.surance doubly sure by, as she regarded it in her own mind, "catching him at it."

That night, she selected for her evening reading the chapter in the Bible which tells of the plagues of Egypt. Temporarily she saw herself in the roll of an outraged Providence, whilst for the part of Pharaoh she had cast Bindle, who, unaware of his impending doom, was explaining to Ginger at The Yellow Ostrich that a bigamist ought to be let off because "'e must be mad to 'ave done it."

III

Mrs. Bindle awaited the coming of Sat.u.r.day evening with a grimness that caused Bindle more than once to regard her curiously. "There's somethink on the 'andle," he muttered prophetically; but as Mrs. Bindle made no sign and, furthermore, as she set before him his favourite dishes, he allowed speculation to become absorbed in appet.i.te and enjoyment.

It was characteristic of Mrs. Bindle that, Bindle being more than usually under a cloud, she should take extra care in the preparation of his meals. It was her way of emphasising the difference between them; he the erring husband, she the perfect wife.

"I shan't be in to supper to-night, Lizzie," Bindle announced casually on the evening of what Mrs. Bindle had already decided was to be her day of wrath. He picked up his bowler-hat preparatory to making one of his lightning exits.

"Where are you going?" she demanded, hoping to trap him in a lie.

"When you gets yerself up dossy an' says you're goin' to chapel," he remarked, edging towards the door, "I says nothink at all, bein' a trustin' 'usband; so when I gets myself up ditto an' says I ain't goin'

to chapel, you didn't ought to say nothink either, Mrs. B. Wot's sauce for the goose is----"

"You're a bad, black-hearted man, Bindle, and you know it."

The intensity of feeling with which the words were uttered surprised him.

"Don't you think you can throw dust----" She stopped suddenly, then concluded, "You'd better be careful."

"I am, Mrs. B.," he replied cheerily, "careful _as_ careful."

Bindle had fallen into a habit of "dropping in" upon the Brungers on Sat.u.r.day evenings, and for this purpose he had what he described as "a wash an' brush-up." This resolved itself into an entire change of raiment, as well as the customary "rinse" at the kitchen sink. This in itself confirmed Mrs. St.i.tchley's story.

"Well, s'long," said Bindle, as he opened the kitchen door. "Keep the 'ome fires burnin'," and with that he was gone.

Bindle had learned from past experience that the more dramatic his exit the less likelihood there was of Mrs. Bindle scoring the final dialectical point.

This evening, however, she had other and weightier matters for thought--and action. No sooner had the kitchen door closed than, moving swiftly across to the dresser, she pulled open a drawer, and drew out her dark brown mackintosh and bonnet. With swift, deft movements she drew on the one, and tied the strings of the other beneath her chin.

Then, without waiting to look in the mirror over the mantelpiece, she pa.s.sed into the pa.s.sage and out of the hall door.

She was just in time to see Bindle disappear round the corner. Without a moment's hesitation she followed.

Unconscious that Mrs. Bindle, like Nemesis, was d.o.g.g.i.ng his steps, Bindle continued his way until finally he turned into Arloes Road. On reaching the second lamp-post he gave vent to a peculiarly shrill whistle. As he opened the gate that led to a neat little house, the front door opened, and a young girl ran down the path and clasped his arm. It was obvious that she had been listening for the signal. A moment later they entered the house together.

For a few seconds Mrs. Bindle stood at the end of the road, staring at the door that had closed behind them. Her face was white and set, and a grey line of grimness marked the spot where her lips had disappeared.

She had noted that the girl was pretty, with fair hair that clung about her head in wanton little tendrils and, furthermore, that it was bound with a broad band of light green ribbon.

"The villain!" she muttered between set teeth, as she turned and proceeded to retrace her steps. "I'll show him."

Arrived back at Fenton Street, she went straight upstairs and proceeded to make an elaborate toilet. A little more than an hour later the front door once more closed behind her, and Mrs. Bindle proceeded upon her way, b.u.t.toning her painfully tight gloves, conscious that sartorially she was a triumph of completeness.

IV

"An' 'as 'er Nibs been a good gal all the week?" Bindle paused in the act of raising a gla.s.s of ale to his lips.

"I have, mums, haven't I?" Elsie Brunger broke in, without giving her mother a chance to reply.

Mrs. Brunger nodded. The question had caught her at a moment when her mouth was overfull of fried plaice and potatoes.

"That's the ticket," said Bindle approvingly. "No bein' out late an'

gettin' 'ome with the milk, or"--he paused impressively--"I gets another gal, see?"

By this time Mrs. Brunger had reduced the plaice and potatoes to conversational proportions.

"She's been helping me a lot in the house, too," she said from above a white silk blouse that seemed determined to show how much there really was of Mrs. Brunger.

Elsie looked triumphantly across the supper-table at Bindle.

"That's a good gal," said Bindle approvingly.

"You've done her a lot of good, Mr. Bindle," said Mrs. Brunger, "and me and George are grateful, ain't we, George?"

Mr. Brunger, a heavy-faced man with sad, l.u.s.treless eyes and a sallow skin, nodded. He was a man to whom speech came with difficulty, but on this occasion his utterance was constricted by a fish-bone lodged somewhere in the neighbourhood of the root of his tongue.

"Wonderful 'ow all the gals take to me," remarked Bindle. "Chase me round gooseberry bushes, they do; anythink to get me."

"You go on with you, do," laughed Mrs. Brunger. "How was I to know?"

"I said I was a dove. You 'eard me, didn't you, Fluffy?" he demanded, turning to Elsie.

"I won't be called Fluffy," she cried, in mock indignation. "You know I don't like it."

"The man who goes about doin' wot a woman says she likes ain't goin' to get much jam," remarked Bindle oracularly.

"Now, let's get cleared away, mother," remarked Mr. Brunger, speaking for the first time.

"Oh, dad! don't you love your dominoes?" cried Elsie, jumping up and giving him a hug. "All right, mums and I will soon sound the 'All clear.' Come along, uncle, you butle." This to Bindle.

Amidst much chatter and laughter the table was cleared, the red cloth spread in place of the white, and the domino-box reached down from the kitchen mantelpiece. The serious business of the evening had begun.