Esther Waters Part 6

"Greedy!" murmured the little boy, in whom the warm tea had induced a new perspiration; "I haven't had what you might call a dinner for the last three months. I think I'll chuck the whole thing."

"Not until this race is over," said Mr. Swindles. "Supposing I was to pa.s.s the warming-pan down these 'ere sheets. What do you say, Mr. Leopold? They are beginning to feel a bit cold."

"Cold! I 'ope you'll never go to a 'otter place. For G.o.d's sake, Mr.

Leopold, don't let him come near me with the warming-pan, or else he'll melt the little flesh that's left off me."

"You 'ad better not make such a fuss," said Mr. Leopold; "if you don't do what you are told, you'll have to take salts again and go for another walk with William."

"If we don't warm up them sheets 'e'll dry up," said Mr. Swindles.

"No, I won't; I'm teeming."

"Be a good boy, and you shall have a nice cut of mutton when you get up,"

said Mr. Leopold.

"How much? Two slices?"

"Well, you see, we can't promise; it all depends on how much has come off, and 'aving once got it hoff, we don't want to put it on again."

"I never did 'ear such rot," said Swindles. "In my time a boy's feelings weren't considered--one did what one considered good for them."

Mr. Leopold strove to engage the Demon's attention with compliments regarding his horsemanship in the City and Sub. while Mr. Swindles raised the bedclothes.

"Oh, Mr. Swindles, you are burning me."

"For 'eaven's sake don't let him start out from under the bed like that!

Can't yer 'old him? Burning you! I never even touched you with it; it was the sheet that you felt."

"Then the sheet is at 'ot as the b.l.o.o.d.y fire. Will yer leave off?"

"What! a Demon like you afraid of a little touch of 'eat; wouldn't 'ave believed it unless I 'ad 'eard it with my own ears," said Mr. Leopold.

"Come, now, do yer want to ride the crack at Goodwood or do yer not? If you do, remain quiet, and let us finish taking off the last couple of pounds."

"It is the last couple of pounds that takes it out of one; the first lot comes off jest like b.u.t.ter," said the boy, rolling out of the way of the pan. "I know what it will be; I shall be so weak that I shall just ride a stinking bad race."

Mr. Leopold and Mr. Swindles exchanged glances. It was clear they thought that there was something in the last words of the fainting Demon, and the pan was withdrawn. But when the boy was got into the scale again it was found that he was not yet nearly the right weight, and the Gaffer ordered another effort to be made. The Demon pleaded that his feet were sore, but he was sent off to Portslade in charge of the redoubtable William.

And as the last pounds came off the Demon's little carca.s.s Mr. Leopold's face resumed a more tranquil expression. It began to be whispered that instead of hedging any part of his money he would stand it all out, and one day a market gardener brought up word that he had seen Mr. Leopold going into Brighton.

"Old Watkins isn't good enough for him, that's about it. If Silver Braid wins, Woodview will see very little more of Mr. Leopold. He'll be for buying one of them big houses on the sea road and keeping his own trap."

VIII

The great day was now fast approaching, and the Gaffer had promised to drive his folk in a drag to Goodwood. No more rain was required, the colt's legs remained sound, and three days of sunshine would make all the difference in their sum of happiness. In the kitchen Mrs. Latch and Esther had been busy for some time with chickens and pies and jellies, and in the pa.s.sage there were cases packed with fruit and wine. The dressmaker had come from Worthing, and for several days the young ladies had not left her. And one fine morning, very early--about eight o'clock--the wheelers were backed into the drag that had come from Brighton, and the yard resounded with the blaring of the horn. Ginger was practising under his sister's window.

"You'll be late! You'll be late!"

With the exception of two young gentlemen, who had come at the invitation of the young ladies, it was quite a family party. Miss Mary sat beside her father on the box, and looked very charming in white and blue. Peggy's black hair seemed blacker than ever under a white silk parasol, which she waved negligently above her as she stood up calling and talking to everyone until the Gaffer told her angrily to sit down, as he was going to start. Then William and the coachman let go the leaders' heads, and running side by side swung themselves into their seats. At the same moment a glimpse was caught of Mr. Leopold's sallow profile amid the boxes and the mackintoshes that filled the inside of the coach.

"Oh, William did look that handsome in those beautiful new clothes!

...Everyone said so--Sarah and Margaret and Miss Grover. I'm sorry you did not come out to see him."

Mrs. Latch made no answer, and Esther remembered how she hated her son to wear livery, and thought that she had perhaps made a mistake in saying that Mrs. Latch should have come out to see him. "Perhaps this will make her dislike me again," thought the girl. Mrs. Latch moved about rapidly, and she opened and closed the oven; then, raising her eyes to the window and seeing that the other women were still standing in the yard and safely out of hearing, she said--

"Do you think that he has bet much on this race?"

"Oh, how should I know, Mrs. Latch?... But the horse is certain to win."

"Certain to win! I have heard that tale before; they are always certain to win. So they have won you round to their way of thinking, have they?" said Mrs. Latch, straightening her back.

"I know very well indeed that it is not right to bet; but what can I do, a poor girl like me? If it hadn't been for William I never would have taken a number in that sweepstakes."

"Do you like him very much, then?"

"He has been very kind to me--he was kind when--"

"Yes, I know, when I was unkind. I was unkind to you when you first came.

You don't know all. I was much troubled at that time, and somehow I did not--. But there is no ill-feeling?... I'll make it up to you--I'll teach you how to be a cook."

"Oh, Mrs. Latch, I am sure----"

"Never mind that. When you went out to walk with him the other night, did he tell you that he had many bets on the race?"

"He talked about the race, like everyone else, but he did not tell me what bets he had on."

"No, they never do do that.... But you'll not tell him that I asked you?"

"No, Mrs. Latch, I promise."

"It would do no good, he'd only be angry; it would only set him against me. I am afraid that nothing will stop him now. Once they get a taste for it it is like drink. I wish he was married, that might get him out of it.

Some woman who would have an influence over him, some strong-minded woman.

I thought once that you were strong-minded----"

At that moment Sarah and Grover entered the kitchen talking loudly. They asked Mrs. Latch how soon they could have dinner--the sooner the better, for the Saint had told them that they were free to go out for the day.

They were to try to be back before eight, that was all. Ah! the Saint was a first-rate sort. She had said that she did not want anyone to attend on her. She would, get herself a bit of lunch in the dining-room. Mrs. Latch allowed Esther to hurry on the dinner, and by one o'clock they had all finished. Sarah and Margaret were going into Brighton to do some shopping, Grover was going to Worthing to spend the afternoon with the wife of one of the guards of the Brighton and South Coast Railway. Mrs. Latch went upstairs to lie down. So it grew lonelier and lonelier in the kitchen.

Esther's sewing fell out of her hands, and she wondered what she should do. She thought that she might go down to the beach, and soon after she put on her hat and stood thinking, remembering that she had not been by the sea, that she had not seen the sea since she was a little girl. But she remembered the tall ships that came into the harbour, sail falling over sail, and the tall ships that floated out of the harbour, sail rising over sail, catching the breeze as they went aloft--she remembered them.

A suspension bridge, ornamented with straight-tailed lions, took her over the weedy river, and having crossed some pieces of rough gra.s.s, she climbed the shingle bank. The heat rippled the blue air, and the sea, like an exhausted caged beast, licked the shingle. Sea-poppies bloomed under the wheels of a decaying bathing-machine, and Esther wondered. But the sea here was lonely as a prison, and, seeing the treeless coast with its chain of towns, her thoughts suddenly reverted to William. She wished he were with her, and for pleasant contemplation she thought of that happy evening when she saw him coming through the hunting gate, when, his arm about her, William had explained that if the horse won she would take seven shillings out of the sweepstakes. She knew now that William did not care about Sarah; and that he cared for her had given a sudden and unexpected meaning to her existence. She lay on the shingle, her day-dream becoming softer and more delicate as it rounded into summer sleep.

And when the light awoke her she saw flights of white clouds--white up above, rose-coloured as they approached the west; and when she turned, a tall, melancholy woman.

"Good evening, Mrs. Randal," said Esther, glad to find someone to speak to. "I've been asleep."

"Good evening, Miss. You're from Woodview, I think?"