Esther Waters Part 35

"He don't know nothing about you--how should 'e?"

"Very likely; but there's no need to be that particular nasty. As I've said before, what's done can't be undone. I treated you badly, I know that; and I've been badly treated myself--d.a.m.ned badly treated. You've 'ad a 'ard time; so have I, if that's any comfort to ye."

"I suppose it is wrong of me, but seeing you has brought up a deal of bitterness, more than I thought there was in me."

William lay at length, his body resting on one arm. He held a long gra.s.s stalk between his small, discoloured teeth. The conversation had fallen.

He looked at Esther; she sat straight up, her stiff cotton dress spread over the rough gra.s.s; her cloth jacket was unb.u.t.toned. He thought her a nice-looking woman and he imagined her behind the bar of the "King's Head." His marriage had proved childless and in every way a failure; he now desired a wife such as he felt sure she would be, and his heart hankered sorely after his son. He tried to read Esther's quiet, subdued face. It was graver than usual, and betrayed none of the pa.s.sion that choked in her. She must manage that the men should not meet. But how should she rid herself of him? She noticed that he was looking at her, and to lead his thoughts away from herself she asked him where he had gone with his wife when they left Woodview. Breaking off suddenly, he said--

"Peggy knew all the time I was gone on you."

"It don't matter about that. Tell me where you went--they said you went foreign."

"We first went to Boulogne, that's in France; but nearly everyone speaks English there, and there was a nice billiard room handy, where all the big betting men came in of an evening. We went to the races. I backed three winners on the first day--the second I didn't do so well. Then we went on to Paris. The race-meetings is very 'andy--I will say that for Paris--half-an-hour's drive and there you are."

"Did your wife like Paris?"

"Yes, she liked it pretty well--it is all the place for fashion, and the shops is grand; but she got tired of it too, and we went to Italy."

"Where's that?"

"That's down south. A beast of a place--nothing but sour wine, and all the cookery done in oil, and nothing to do but seeing picture-galleries. I got that sick of it I could stand it no longer, and I said, 'I've 'ad enough of this. I want to go home, where I can get a gla.s.s of Burton and a cut from the joint, and where there's a horse worth looking at.'"

"But she was very fond of you. She must have been."

"She was, in her way. But she always liked talking to the singers and the painters that we met out there. Nothing wrong, you know. That was after we had been married about three years."

"What was that?"

"That I caught her out."

"How do you know there was anything wrong? Men always think bad of women."

"No, it was right enough! she had got dead sick of me, and I had got dead sick of her. It never did seem natural like. There was no 'omeliness in it, and a marriage that ain't 'omely is no marriage for me. Her friends weren't my friends; and as for my friends, she never left off insulting me about them. If I was to ask a chap in she wouldn't sit in the same room with him. That's what it got to at last. And I was always thinking of you, and your name used to come up when we was talking. One day she said, 'I suppose you are sorry you didn't marry a servant?' and I said, 'I suppose you are sorry you did?'"

"That was a good one for her. Did she say she was?"

"She put her arms round my neck and said she loved none but her big Bill.

But all her flummery didn't take me in. And I says to myself, 'Keep an eye on her.' For there was a young fellow hanging about in a manner I didn't particularly like. He was too anxious to be polite to me, he talked to me about 'orses, and I could see he knew nothing about them. He even went so far as go down to Kempton with me."

"And how did it all end?"

"I determined to keep my eye on this young whipper-snapper, and come up from Ascot by an earlier train than they expected me. I let myself in and ran up to the drawing-room. They were there sitting side by side on the sofa. I could see they were very much upset. The young fellow turned red, and he got up, stammering, and speaking a lot of rot.

"'What! you back already? How did you get on at Ascot? Had a good day?'

"'Rippin'; but I'm going to have a better one now,' I said, keeping my eye all the while on my wife. I could see by her face that there was no doubt about it. Then I took him by the throat. 'I just give you two minutes to confess the truth; I know it, but I want to hear it from you. Now, out with it, or I'll strangle you.' I gave him a squeeze just to show him that I meant it. He turned up his eyes, and my wife cried, 'Murder!' I threw him back from me and got between her and the door, locked it, and put the key in my pocket. 'Now,' I said, 'I'll drag the truth out of you both.' He did look white, he shrivelled up by the chimney-piece, and she--well, she looked as if she could have killed me, only there was nothing to kill me with. I saw her look at the fire-irons. Then, in her nasty sarcastic way, she said, 'There's no reason, Percy, why he shouldn't know. Yes,' she said, 'he is my lover; you can get your divorce when you like.'

"I was a bit taken aback; my idea was to squeeze it all out of the fellow and shame him before her. But she spoilt my little game there, and I could see by her eyes that she knew that she had. 'Now, Percy,' she said, 'we'd better go.' That put my blood up. I said, 'Go you shall, but not till I give you leave,' and without another word I took him by the collar and led him to the door; he came like a lamb, and I sent him off with as fine a kick as he ever got in his life. He went rolling down, and didn't stop till he got to the bottom. You should have seen her look at me; there was murder in her eyes. If she could she'd have killed me, but she couldn't and calmed down a bit. 'Let me go; what do you want me for? You can get a divorce.... I'll pay the costs.'

"'I don't think I'd gratify you so much. So you'd like to marry him, would you, my beauty?'

"'He's a gentleman, and I've had enough of you; if you want money you shall have it.'

"I laughed at her, and so it went on for an hour or more. Then she suddenly calmed down. I knew something was up, only I didn't know what. I don't know if I told you we was in lodgings--the usual sort, drawing-room with folding doors, the bedroom at the back. She went into the bedroom, and I followed, just to make sure she couldn't get out that way. There was a chest of drawers before the door; I thought she couldn't move it, and went back into the sitting-room. But somehow she managed to move it without my hearing her, and before I could stop her she was down the stairs like lightning. I went after her, but she had too long a start of me, and the last I heard was the street door go bang."

The conversation paused. William took the stalk he was chewing from his teeth, and threw it aside. Esther had picked one, and with it she beat impatiently among the gra.s.s.

"But what has all this to do with me?" she said. "If this is all you have brought me out to listen to----"

"That's a nice way to round on me. Wasn't it you what asked me to tell you the story?"

"So you've deserted two women instead of one, that's about the long and short of it."

"Well, if that's what you think I'd better be off," said William, and he rose to his feet and stood looking at her. She sat quite still, not daring to raise her eyes; her heart was throbbing violently. Would he go away and never come back? Should she answer him indifferently or say nothing? She chose the latter course. Perhaps it was the wrong one, for her dogged silence irritated him, and he sat down and begged of her to forgive him.

He would wait for her. Then her heart ceased throbbing, and a cold numbness came over her hands.

"My wife thought that I had no money, and could do what she liked with me.

But I had been backing winners all the season, and had a couple of thousand in the bank. I put aside a thousand for working expenses, for I intended to give up backing horses and go in for bookmaking instead. I have been at it ever since. A few ups and downs, but I can't complain. I am worth to-day close on three thousand pounds."

At the mention of so much money Esther raised her eyes. She looked at William steadfastly. Her object was to rid herself of him, so that she might marry another man; but at that moment a sensation of the love she had once felt for him sprang upon her suddenly.

"I must be getting back, my mistress will be waiting for me."

"You needn't be in that hurry. It is quite early. Besides, we haven't settled nothing yet."

"You've been telling me about your wife. I don't see much what it's got to do with me."

"I thought you was interested... that you wanted to see that I wasn't as much to blame as you thought."

"I must be getting back," she said; "anything else you have to say to me you can tell me on the way home."

"Well, it all amounts to this, Esther; if I get a divorce we might come together again. What do you think?"

"I think you'd much better make it up with her. I daresay she's very sorry for what she's done."

"That's all rot, Esther. She ain't sorry, and wouldn't live with me no more than I with her. We could not get on; what's the use? You'd better let bygones be bygones. You know what I mean--marry me."

"I don't think I could do that."

"You like some other chap. You like some chap, and don't want me interfering in your life. That's why you wants me to go back and live with my wife. You don't think of what I've gone through with her already."

"You've not been through half of what I have. I'll be bound that you never wanted a dinner. I have."

"Esther, think of the child."

"You're a nice one to tell me to think of the child, I who worked and slaved for him all these years."

"Then I'm to take no for an answer?"