Captivity Part 40

"I wonder if that queer remark in Genesis, 'Adam knew Eve, his wife,'

means this strange understanding that has happened to me to-night? I've often been puzzled by what it could mean. Did it mean that he became aware, in a flash as I did, of what this s.e.x business might mean in his life--how it might be a chain to him as it has been to so many people?

It's queer--it's like waking up from a dream that's been over you all your life, and suddenly seeing things very clear. I see them clear now."

She looked out across the shining sea. "Either it can be a chain, or it can be a Spear of Deliverance as it was to Parsifal."

She looked from the sea to Louis, unconscious, untroubled by problems now that she had taken his burdens upon herself. She realized that she had even more battles to fight now. She had her own; there was an enemy within her own camp. Even as she stood there watching him her nails gripped the stone coping fiercely because half of her was wanting last night's tornado back again.

"No, I won't put up with chains. I'll carry a Spear," she said, and tumbled down the ladder to dress ... tumbled because her feet were unsteady.

CHAPTER XVII

As she was dressing she became aware of sounds of violent scrubbing going on in the next room--she had often heard such sounds almost before dawn. She had noticed, too, the almost painful cleanliness of the rather bare, big house. She knew that no servants were kept; she never saw Mrs.

King scrubbing; most of her time was spent in cooking and washing clothes. Mr. King had never, yet, put in an appearance.

Presently the scrubbing stopped and shambling steps came along the landing as someone slopped along, dragging his slippers into which he had merely thrust his toes. There was a scratching sort of tap at the door. Marcella opened it quickly.

A man stood in the doorway, a man with bent shoulders, grey hair and bent back. His face was yellow and unhealthy-looking; his eyes were filmed and colourless. He seemed half asleep as he looked round over his shoulder suspiciously.

"Missus--have you got a tray bit?" he whispered.

"What's that?" she asked.

"A tray bit, missus--just thruppence--a mouldy thruppence to get a livener."

"Oh, you want some money?" she said hurriedly, and realizing the impossibility of offering a grown up man threepence gave him half a crown. He shambled off without a word and she saw no more of him. Later, when Louis came down from the roof, he slid along the landing on the soap the scrubber had left there. When Marcella went down to the kitchen where Mrs. King was already busy ironing, the mystery was explained.

"My boss has gone off for the day," she complained. "I went up into Dutch Frank's room just now, and found the pail of water left there!

He'd hardly begun his scrubbing. I don't know where he got his money from."

"Was _that_ your husband?" cried Marcella, stopping short in her toast-making.

"Oh, he's bin at you, has he?" said Mrs. King resignedly.

"I gave him--a little money. I didn't know he was your husband," said Marcella apologetically.

"I ought to have warned you, but there, you can't think of every blooming thing at once. Don't you worry, kid. I'm not blaming you. He would have been at you sooner or later. It's all the same in the long run, but it means I've got to scrub the floors. And my back's that bad--I do suffer with my back something cruel."

"Where has he gone, then?"

"Oh, beer-b.u.mming. He goes off every day, and comes in every night after closing time, shikkered up."

"I've never seen him before," ventured Marcella.

"He's a lad, Bob is. We had a bonser hotel once, kid--a tied house, you know. He was manager, on'y he drunk us out of it. So then I took on this place on my own--got the furniture hire system, else he'd raise money on it, and sell it up under me. He's no d.a.m.n good to me, you know, kid--only I do manage to get a bit of scrubbing out of him, of a morning."

"Does he scrub floors?" asked Marcella in awestruck tones.

"It's all he's good for. He never earns a penny. He goes and tacks on to any fellow he sees looking a bit flushed with money and boozes with him all day. He often meets a fellow that knew us when we had the hotel, and he gets a beer or two out of him."

"Oh, I am sorry, Mrs. King," began Marcella, but Mrs. King laughed a little harshly.

"I don't mind so much now, kid--got past it. So long as my back don't trouble me too much. The boys are very good to me--they put him to bed if he's dead drunk. If he isn't dead drunk I won't sleep with him, because he's always forward and vulgar when he's only half there. Then he haves to sleep on the sofa in the dining-room. Next day he gets up and cleans the grates and scrubs for me. If he didn't he wouldn't get any money out of me--and well he knows it."

"But do you give him money for drink?"

"Yes. But not till he's done his scrubbing. You see, being in the hotel business all his life, he can't get started of a morning till he's had a dog's hair. So he'll scrub all three storeys down for thruppence. When he's had one drink, and is safe inside a hotel, he's got sauce enough to raise drinks out of anyone. But you know, whenever there's a new chum about that he can get thruppence out of, it's poor Ma for the scrubbing.

And my back's just as bad as bad can be!"

The fire was not very bright. Marcella wished Louis's chops would cook more quickly. She wanted to get upstairs.

"It's dreadful being married to a man like that," said Marcella.

"It is," said Mrs. King, planting her iron viciously on Mr. King's shirt that she was ironing. "I used to try to stop him once. Only you get disheartened in time, don't you, kid? The times I've started a new home and had it sold up under me! Six homes I've had and this is the seventh.

And the times I've trusted him, only to get laughed at for being a soft.

Now all I do is to feel d.a.m.n glad to get him off my hands for the day.

We've made that a hard and fast rule. I'll do for him, and give him a meal of a Sunday when the hotels are closed and see to his washing, and let him sleep in my bed when he's drunk enough not to get vulgar. In return he does the scrubbing and the grates, and I find him in liveners--"

"Oh, my goodness--do you love him?" asked Marcella, staring at her.

It was Mrs. King's turn to stare.

Then she laughed loudly, a little hysterically, until tears came into her eyes as she stood with her iron poised.

"Love him? By cripes, no! I'd as soon think of loving one of them bugs the Dagoes leave in your bed when they have a room for the night."

"Why did you marry him, then?"

Mrs. King put down her iron and stared out through the door into the sun-baked courtyard where washing flapped and bleached and hens scratched in the dust. It seemed as though she had never thought about it before.

"I suppose I married him for the same reason as you married your chap, kid. I suppose I was took with him, once."

Marcella gathered her plates and teapot on the tray and stood at the door for an instant, visioning last night's glamour ending in loathing, or in dull acceptance of misery and disappointment.

"I do feel sorry, Mrs. King," she said, her eyes damp.

"I'm sorrier for you, kid," said Mrs. King, attacking the shirt again.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"And I'm nearly forty-nine. I've got through thirty years of my misery, and you've all yours to come. I've learnt not to care. I go and have a bit of a splash at the Races when I'm pretty flush with money, and I have a gla.s.s or two of port with the boys sometimes, and get a laugh out of it. You've got to learn these things yet, poor little devil. But don't you make the mistake I made and be too soft with him."

Marcella shook her head.

"And--I say, kid. I go down on my bended knees every day and thank G.o.d I've got no kids of his--"