Esther Waters Part 13

"Thank you, thank you, but I have all I want. Mrs. Barfield has been very good to me."

The babbling of so many voices drew Mr. Leopold from the pantry; he came with a gla.s.s of beer in his hand, and this suggested a toast to Sarah.

"Let's drink baby's health," she said. "Mr. Leopold won't refuse us the beer."

The idea provoked some good-natured laughter, and Esther hid her face in her hands and tried to get away. But Margaret would not allow her. "What nonsense!" she said. "We don't think any the worse of you; why that's an accident that might happen to any of us."

"I hope not," said Esther.

The jug of beer was finished; she was kissed and hugged again, some tears were shed, and Esther walked down the yard through the stables.

The avenue was full of wind and rain; the branches creaked dolefully overhead; the lane was drenched, and the bare fields were fringed with white mist, and the houses seemed very desolate by the bleak sea; and the girl's soul was desolate as the landscape. She had come to Woodview to escape the suffering of a home which had become unendurable, and she was going back in circ.u.mstances a hundred times worse than those in which she had left it, and she was going back with the memory of the happiness she had lost. All the grief and trouble that girls of her cla.s.s have so frequently to bear gathered in Esther's heart when she looked out of the railway carriage window and saw for the last time the stiff plantations on the downs and the angles of the Italian house between the trees. She drew her handkerchief from her jacket, and hid her distress as well as she could from the other occupants of the carriage.

XIII

When she arrived at Victoria it was raining. She picked up her skirt, and as she stepped across a puddle a wild and watery wind swept up the wet streets, catching her full in the face.

She had left her box in the cloak-room, for she did not know if her father would have her at home. Her mother would tell her what she thought, but no one could say for certain what he would do. If she brought the box he might fling it after her into the street; better come without it, even if she had to go back through the wet to fetch it. At that moment another gust drove the rain violently over her, forcing it through her boots. The sky was a tint of ashen grey, and all the low brick buildings were veiled in vapour; the rough roadway was full of pools, and nothing was heard but the melancholy bell of the tram-car. She hesitated, not wishing to spend a penny unnecessarily, but remembering that a penny wise is often a pound foolish she called to the driver and got in. The car pa.s.sed by the little brick street where the Saunders lived, and when Esther pushed the door open she could see into the kitchen and overhear the voices of the children. Mrs. Saunders was sweeping down the stairs, but at the sound of footsteps she ceased to bang the broom, and, stooping till her head looked over the banisters, she cried--

"Who is it?"

"Me, mother."

"What! You, Esther?"

"Yes, mother."

Mrs. Saunders hastened down, and, leaning the broom against the wall, she took her daughter in her arms and kissed her. "Well, this is nice to see you again, after this long while. But you are looking a bit poorly, Esther." Then her face changed expression. "What has happened? Have you lost your situation?"

"Yes, mother."

"Oh, I am that sorry, for we thought you was so 'appy there and liked your mistress above all those you 'ad ever met with. Did you lose your temper and answer her back? They is often trying, I know that, and your own temper--you was never very sure of it."

"I've no fault to find with my mistress; she is the kindest in the world--none better,--and my temper--it wasn't that, mother--"

"My own darling, tell me--"

Esther paused. The children had ceased talking in the kitchen, and the front door was open. "Come into the parlour. We can talk quietly there....

When do you expect father home?"

"Not for the best part of a couple of hours yet."

Mrs. Saunders waited until Esther had closed the front door. Then they went into the parlour and sat down side by side on the little horsehair sofa placed against the wall facing the window. The anxiety in their hearts betrayed itself on their faces.

"I had to leave, mother. I'm seven months gone."

"Oh, Esther, Esther, I cannot believe it!"

"Yes, mother, it is quite true."

Esther hurried through her story, and when her mother questioned her regarding details she said--

"Oh, mother, what does it matter? I don't care to talk about it more than I can help."

Tears had begun to roll down Mrs. Saunders' cheeks, and when she wiped them away with the corner of her ap.r.o.n, Esther heard a sob.

"Don't cry, mother," said Esther. "I have been very wicked, I know, but G.o.d will be good to me. I always pray to him, just as you taught me to do, and I daresay I shall get through my trouble somehow."

"Your father will never let you stop 'ere; 'e'll say, just as afore, that there be too many mouths to feed as it is."

"I don't want him to keep me for nothing--I know well enough if I did that 'e'd put me outside quick enough. But I can pay my way. I earned good money while I was with the Barfields, and though she did tell me I must go, Mrs. Barfield--the Saint they call her, and she is a saint if ever there was one--gave me four pounds to see me, as she said, through my trouble. I've better than eleven pound. Don't cry, mother dear; crying won't do no good, and I want you to help me. So long as the money holds out I can get a lodging anywhere, but I'd like to be near you; and father might be glad to let me have the parlour and my food for ten or eleven shillings a week--I could afford as much as that, and he never was the man to turn good money from his door. Do yer think he will?"

"I dunno, dearie; 'tis hard to say what 'e'll do; he's a 'ard man to live with. I've 'ad a terrible time of it lately, and them babies allus coming.

Ah, we poor women have more than our right to bear with!"

"Poor mother!" said Esther, and, taking her mother's hand in hers, she pa.s.sed her arm round her, drew her closer, and kissed her. "I know what he was; is he any worse now?"

"Well, I think he drinks more, and is even rougher. It was only the other day, just as I was attending to his dinner--it was a nice piece of steak, and it looked so nice that I cut off a weany piece to taste. He sees me do it, and he cries out, 'Now then, guts, what are you interfering with my dinner for?' I says, 'I only cut off a tiny piece to taste.' 'Well, then, taste that,' he says, and strikes me clean between the eyes. Ah, yes, lucky for you to be in service; you've half forgot by now what we've to put up with 'ere."

"You was always that soft with him, mother; he never touched me since I dashed the hot water in his face."

"Sometimes I thinks I can bear it no longer, Esther, and long to go and drown meself. Jenny and Julia--you remember little Julia; she 'as grown up such a big girl, and is getting on so well--they are both at work now in the kitchen. Johnnie gives us a deal of trouble; he cannot tell a word of truth; father took off his strap the other day and beat him dreadful, but it ain't no use. If it wasn't for Jenny and Julia I don't think we should ever make both ends meet; but they works all day at the dogs, and at the warehouse their dogs is said to be neater and more lifelike than any other. Their poor fingers is worn away cramming the paper into the moulds; but they never complains, no more shouldn't I if he was a bit gentler and didn't take more than half of what he earns to the public-'ouse. I was glad you was away, Esther, for you allus was of an 'asty temper and couldn't 'ave borne it. I don't want to make my troubles seem worse than they be, but sometimes I think I will break up, 'special when I get to thinking what will become of us and all them children, money growing less and expenses increasing. I haven't told yer, but I daresay you have noticed that another one is coming. It is the children that breaks us poor women down altogether. Ah, well, yours be the hardest trouble, but you must put a brave face on it; we'll do the best we can; none of us can say no more."

Mrs. Saunders wiped her eyes with the corner of her ap.r.o.n; Esther looked at her with her usual quiet, stubborn stare, and without further words mother and daughter went into the kitchen where the girls were at work. It was a long, low room, with one window looking on a small back-yard, at the back of which was the coal-hole, the dust-bin, and a small outhouse. There was a long table and a bench ran along the wall. The fireplace was on the left-hand side; the dresser stood against the opposite wall; and amid the poor crockery, piled about in every available s.p.a.ce, were the toy dogs, some no larger than your hand, others almost as large as a small poodle.

Jenny and Julia had been working busily for some days, and were now finishing the last few that remained of the order they had received from the shop they worked for. Three small children sat on the floor tearing the brown paper, which they handed as it was wanted to Jenny and Julia.

The big girls leaned over the table in front of iron moulds, filling them with brown paper, pasting it down, tucking it in with strong and dexterous fingers.

"Why, it is Esther!" said Jenny, the elder girl. "And, lorks, ain't she grand!--quite the lady. Why, we hardly knowed ye." And having kissed their sister circ.u.mspectly, careful not to touch the clothes they admired with their pasty fingers, they stood lost in contemplation, thrilled with consciousness of the advantage of service.

Esther took Harry, a fine little boy of four, up in her arms, and asked him if he remembered her.

"Naw, I don't think I do. Will oo put me down?"

"But you do, Lizzie?" she said, addressing a girl of seven, whose bright red hair shone like a lamp in the gathering twilight.

"Yes, you're my big sister; you've been away this year or more in service."

"And you, Maggie, do you remember me too?"

Maggie at first seemed doubtful, but after a moment's reflection she nodded her head vigorously.

"Come, Esther, see how Julia is getting on," said Mrs. Saunders; "she makes her dogs nearly as fast as Jenny. She is still a bit careless in drawing the paper into the moulds. Well, just as I was speaking of it: 'ere's a dog with one shoulder just 'arf the size of the other."

"Oh, mother, I'm sure n.o.body'd never know the difference."

"Wouldn't know the difference! Just look at the hanimal! Is it natural?