Esther Waters Part 10

"Go away. If you don't, I'll go straight to Mrs. Barfield."

She pa.s.sed into the kitchen and shut the door in his face. He had gone a trifle pale, and after lingering a few moments he hurried away to the stables, and Esther saw him spring on the box.

As it was frequent with Esther not to speak to anyone with whom she had had a dispute for a week or fifteen days, her continued sulk excited little suspicion, and the cause of the quarrel was attributed to some trifle. Sarah said--

"Men are such fools. He is always begging of her to forgive him. Just look at him--he is still after her, following her into the wood-shed."

She rarely answered him a yes or no, but would push past him, and if he forcibly barred the way she would say, "Let me go by, will you? You are interfering with my work." And if he still insisted, she spoke of appealing to Mrs. Barfield. And if her heart sometimes softened, and an insidious thought whispered that it did not matter since they were going to be married, instinct forced her to repel him; her instinct was that she could only win his respect by refusing forgiveness for a long while. The religion in which her soul moved and lived--the sternest Protestantism--strengthened and enforced the original convictions and the prejudices of her race; and the natural shame which she had first felt almost disappeared in the violence of her virtue. She even ceased to fear discovery. What did it matter who knew, since she knew? She opened her heart to G.o.d. Christ looked down, but he seemed stern and unforgiving. Her Christ was the Christ of her forefathers; and He had not forgiven, because she could not forgive herself. Hers was the unpardonable sin, the sin which her race had elected to fight against, and she lay down weary and sullen at heart.

The days seemed to bring no change, and wearied by her stubbornness, William said, "Let her sulk," and he went out with Sarah; and when Esther saw them go down the yard her heart said, "Let him take her out, I don't want him." For she knew it to be a trick to make her jealous, and that he should dare such a trick angered her still further against him, and when they met in the garden, where she had gone with some food for the cats, and he said, "Forgive me, Esther, I only went out with Sarah because you drove me wild," she closed her teeth and refused to answer. But he stood in her path, determined not to leave her. "I am very fond of you, Esther, and I will marry you as soon as I have earned enough or won enough money to give you a comfortable 'ome."

"You are a wicked man; I will never marry you."

"I am very sorry, Esther. But I am not as bad as you think for. You let your temper get the better of you. So soon as I have got a bit of money together--"

"If you were a good man you would ask me to marry you now."

"I will if you like, but the truth is that I have only three pounds in the world. I have been unlucky lately--"

"You think of nothing but that wicked betting. Come, let me pa.s.s; I'm not going to listen to a lot of lies."

"After the Leger--"

"Let me pa.s.s. I will not speak to you."

"But look here, Esther: marriage or no marriage, we can't go on in this way: they'll be suspecting something shortly."

"I shall leave Woodview." She had hardly spoken the words when it seemed clear to her that she must leave, and the sooner the better. "Come, let me pa.s.s.... If Mrs. Barfield--"

An angry look pa.s.sed over William's face, and he said--

"I want to act honest with you, and you won't let me. If ever there was a sulky pig! ...Sarah's quite right; you are just the sort that would make h.e.l.l of a man's life."

She was bound to make him respect her. She had vaguely felt from the beginning that this was her only hope, and now the sensation developed and defined itself into a thought and she decided that she would not yield, but would continue to affirm her belief that he must acknowledge his sin, and then come and ask her to marry him. Above all things, Esther desired to see William repentant. Her natural piety, filling as it did her entire life, unconsciously made her deem repentance an essential condition of their happiness. How could they be happy if he were not a G.o.d-fearing man?

This question presented itself constantly, and she was suddenly convinced that she could not marry him until he had asked forgiveness of the Lord.

Then they would be joined together, and would love each other faithfully unto death.

But in conflict with her prejudices, her natural love of the man was as the sun shining above a fog-laden valley; rays of pa.s.sion pierced her stubborn nature, dissolving it, and unconsciously her eyes sought William's, and unconsciously her steps strayed from the kitchen when her ears told her he was in the pa.s.sage. But when her love went out freely to William, when she longed to throw herself in his arms, saying, "Yes, I love you; make me your wife," she noticed, or thought she noticed, that he avoided her eyes, and she felt that thoughts of which she knew nothing had obtained a footing in his mind, and she was full of foreboding.

Her heart being intent on him, she was aware of much that escaped the ordinary eye, and she was the first to notice when the drawing-room bell rang, and Mr. Leopold rose, that William would say, "My legs are the youngest, don't you stir."

No one else, not even Sarah, thought William intended more than to keep in Mr. Leopold's good graces, but Esther, although unable to guess the truth, heard the still tinkling bell ringing the knell of her hopes. She noted, too, the time he remained upstairs, and asked herself anxiously what it was that detained him so long. The weather had turned colder lately....

Was it a fire that was wanted? In the course of the afternoon, she heard from Margaret that Miss Mary and Mrs. Barfield had gone to Southwick to make a call, and she heard from one of the boys that the Gaffer and Ginger had ridden over in the morning to Fendon Fair, and had not yet returned.

It must have been Peggy who had rung the bell. Peggy? Suddenly she remembered something--something that had been forgotten. The first Sunday, the first time she went to the library for family prayers, Peggy was sitting on the little green sofa, and as Esther pa.s.sed across the room to her place she saw her cast a glance of admiration on William's tall figure, and the memory of that glance had flamed up in her brain, and all that night Esther saw the girl with the pale face and the coal-black hair looking at her William.

Next day Esther waited for the bell that was to call her lover from her.

The afternoon wore slowly away, and she had begun to hope she was mistaken when the metal tongue commenced calling. She heard the baize door close behind him; but the bell still continued to utter little pathetic notes. A moment after all was still in the corridor, and like one sunk to the knees in quicksands she felt that the time had come for a decided effort. But what could she do? She could not follow him to the drawing-room. She had begun to notice that he seemed to avoid her, and by his conduct seemed to wish that their quarrel might endure. But pride and temper had fallen from her, and she lived conscious of him, noting every sign, and intensely, all that related to him, divining all his intentions, and meeting him in the pa.s.sage when he least expected her.

"I'm always getting in your way," she said, with a low, nervous laugh.

"No harm in that; ...fellow servants; there must be give and take."

Tremblingly they looked at each other, feeling that the time had come, that an explanation was inevitable, but at that moment the drawing-room bell rang above their heads, and William said, "I must answer that bell."

He turned from her, and pa.s.sed through the baize door before she had said another word.

Sarah remarked that William seemed to spend a great deal of his time in the drawing-room, and Esther started out of her moody contemplation, and, speaking instinctively, she said, "I don't think much of ladies who go after their servants."

Everyone looked up. Mrs. Latch laid her carving-knife on the meat and fixed her eyes on her son.

"Lady?" said Sarah; "she's no lady! Her mother used to mop out the yard before she was 'churched.'"

"I can tell you what," said William, "you had better mind what you are a-saying of, for if any of your talk got wind upstairs you'd lose yer situation, and it might be some time before yer got another!"

"Lose my situation! and a good job, too. I shall always be able to suit mesel'; don't you fear about me. But if it comes to talking about situations, I can tell you that you are more likely to lose yours than I am to lose mine."

William hesitated, and while he sought a judicious reply Mrs. Latch and Mr. Leopold, putting forth their joint authority, brought the discussion to a close. The jockey-boys exchanged grins, Sarah sulked, Mr. Swindles pursed up his mouth in consideration, and the elder servants felt that the matter would not rest in the servant's hall; that evening it would be the theme of conversation in the "Red Lion," and the next day it would be the talk of the town.

About four o'clock Esther saw Mrs. Barfield, Miss Mary, and Peggy walk across the yard towards the garden, and as Esther had to go soon after to the wood-shed she saw Peggy slip out of the garden by a bottom gate and make her way through the evergreens. Esther hastened back to the kitchen and stood waiting for the bell to ring. She had not to wait long; the bell tinkled, but so faintly that Esther said, "She only just touched it; it is a signal; he was on the look-out for it; she did not want anyone else to hear."

Esther remembered the thousands of pounds she had heard that the young lady possessed, and the beautiful dresses she wore. There was no hope for her. How could there be? Her poor little wages and her print dress! He would never look at her again! But oh! how cruel and wicked it was! How could one who had so much come to steal from one who had so little? Oh, it was very cruel and very wicked, and no good would come of it either to her or to him; of that she felt quite sure. G.o.d always punished the wicked.

She knew he did not love Peggy. It was sin and shame; and after his promises--after what had happened. Never would she have believed him to be so false. Then her thought turned to pa.s.sionate hatred of the girl who had so cruelly robbed her. He had gone through that baize door, and no doubt he was sitting by Peggy in the new drawing-room. He had gone where she could not follow. He had gone where the grand folk lived in idleness, in the sinfulness of the world and the flesh, eating and gambling, thinking of nothing else, and with servants to wait on them, obeying their orders and saving them from every trouble. She knew that these fine folk thought servants inferior beings. But was she not of the same flesh and blood as they? Peggy wore a fine dress, but she was no better; take off her dress and they were the same, woman to woman.

She pushed through the door and walked down the pa.s.sage. A few steps brought her to the foot of a polished oak staircase, lit by a large window in coloured gla.s.s, on either side of which there were statues. The staircase sloped slowly to an imposing landing set out with columns and blue vases and embroidered curtains. The girl saw these things vaguely, and she was conscious of a profusion of rugs, matting, and bright doors, and of her inability to decide which door was the drawing-room door--the drawing-room of which she had heard so much, and where even now, amid gold furniture and sweet-scented air, William listened to the wicked woman who had tempted him away from her. Suddenly William appeared, and seeing Esther he seemed uncertain whether to draw back or come forward. Then his face took an expression of mixed fear and anger; and coming rapidly towards her, he said--

"What are you doing here?"... then changing his voice, "This is against the rules of the 'ouse."

"I want to see her."

"Anything else? What do you want to say to her? I won't have it, I tell you.... What do you mean by spying after me? That's your game, is it?"

"I want to speak to her."

With averted face the young lady fled up the oak staircase, her handkerchief to her lips. Esther made a movement as if to follow, but William prevented her. She turned and walked down the pa.s.sage and entered the kitchen. Her face was one white tint, her short, strong arms hung tremblingly, and William saw that it would be better to temporise.

"Now look here, Esther," he said, "you ought to be d.a.m.ned thankful to me for having prevented you from making a fool of yourself."

Esther's eyelids quivered, and then her eyes dilated.

"Now, if Miss Margaret," continued William, "had--"

"Go away! go away! I am--" At that moment the steel of a large, sharp-pointed knife lying on the table caught her eye. She s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, and seeing blood she rushed at him.

William retreated from her, and Mrs. Latch, coming suddenly in, caught her arm. Esther threw the knife; it struck the wall, falling with a rattle on the meat screen. Escaping from Mrs. Latch, she rushed to secure it, but her strength gave way, and she fell back in a dead faint.

"What have you been doing to the girl?" said Mrs. Latch.

"Nothing, mother.... We had a few words, that was all. She said I should not go out with Sarah."

"That is not true.... I can read the lie in your face; a girl doesn't take up a knife unless a man well-nigh drives her mad."