THE HIDING-PLACE.
Jane did not feel the least shade of regret or fear when she took Maud
home.
There was no one there, of course, for Jim was at work still and Harry
and the baby were at the Nursery. Jane gave Maud some bread and jam
and a mug of milk and sat down to think over the situation.
Harry had made his appearance in the house and street without
occasioning the least remark or surprise. They made no apologies for
him, no explanations beyond the one that he was Jim's nephew.
This was her niece. That was all the difference. With no mystery and
no explanations she felt perfectly secure. She would act exactly as
she had done when Harry came. There was only one thing necessary for
protection. The colour of the child's hair should be brown and her
white dress and sun hat should be pink!
"What's your name, child?" she said abruptly.
Maud looked up startled.
"I'm Maudie," she said piteously, her blue eyes filling with tears, "I
don't like being here. I want to go home to my mother."
She struggled out of her chair, and prepared to depart, but Jane
lifted her back rather roughly and spoke sharply.
"Look here," she said, "you've got to be a good girl and do what Aunt
Jane tells you, and if you are a good girl and don't cry, you shall go
home to-morrow; but if you cry, you shan't!"
She bustled over to a cupboard and began rummaging, bringing out
presently a ball of pink Dolly dye and a little bottle of deep-red
crystals, while poor little Maud choked back her tears as best she
could. Her short experience of life had brought prompt fulfilment of
promises, and she watched Jane quite interestedly, as she threw a few
crystals into a basin, poured boiling water on them, and produced a
lovely crimson liquid.
Jane then tied a towel round the child's neck.
"I'm going to make you some lovely curls," she announced,
unconsciously using one of Denys's constant formulas, and in a moment
Maud's golden head was sopped all over with the crimson liquid, and
after it was dried on the towel, she emerged with fluffy brown curls
and streaks of brown upon her face. That defect was soon remedied, and
the brown stain travelled all over her face and neck till the clear
white skin had disappeared, and she looked like all the other little
sun-browned children who ran about in the street below.
Jane surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction; then she rapidly
undressed her new charge, put her into one of Harry's nightdresses,
tucked her up into Harry's bed, and turned her attention to the frock
and hat, and when they were hanging on the line, pink and damp, she
cleared up the room and wished Jim would make haste and come home. She
wanted to get her explanations to him over before she fetched Harry
and the baby.
But no Jim came, and at last she went downstairs and knocked at a
neighbour's door.
"I say," she said, "I wish you'd fetch my baby and the brat from the
Nursery for me. My husband's not in yet, and I've brought my sister's
child home along of me for a few days, and he don't know a word about
it. If he was to come in while I was out, he might be putting the
child outside in the street."
"I'll go," said the woman carelessly. "My word, Jane Adams, but I
thought you hated children!"
"So I do!" answered Jane fiercely, "but he _would_ have his sister's,
now it's my turn for _my_ sister's!"
As she turned up the stairs her own words came back to her with a
sudden qualm. Her sister's child! What about Tom?
He would know that this was not his sister's child--he might even know
whose child it was, for he must probably have seen it with Pattie!
But even as the disquieting thought came, a reassuring one followed.
Tom was gone away for a month on a special job for his master, and
long before that time had elapsed, Pattie would be dismissed and the
child could be returned.
Jim did not come home till very late, and when he did, he was more
than half intoxicated, and he accepted Jane's story without demur,
indeed he scarcely listened to what she said; and as the little girl
was still asleep when he went to work in the morning, he really had no
idea that there was any addition to his family circle.
Harry was enchanted with a playmate so pretty, so gentle, so near his
own age. He wanted to take her to walk in the street to show her off,
but Jane promptly boxed his ears and forbade any such thing, on pain
of terrific wrath, so Harry contented himself with offering her every
toy he possessed, and Maud accepted his attentions like a little
queen, and was really quite happy, except when she thought of her
mother or Denys. But always there was the same answer to her pleadings
to go home.
"To-morrow--to-morrow--if you don't cry."
So the days passed on. Each day Jim drank more and more heavily as he
ceased to resist the temptation, and it took stronger hold upon him,
and each day Jane grew a little more restless and anxious as she
waited for news of Pattie's downfall. She had counted on going over to
Old Keston, ostensibly to see her sister and the new baby, but really
to pick up any gossip she could about Pattie; but though night after
night she made up her mind to go the next day, yet in the morning her
heart failed her. The chance of recognition was possible, and to take
Maud through the streets to the Nursery, in the glare of the morning
sunshine, seemed to be courting discovery. Nor did she dare to leave
the child at home alone, because of the neighbours. She would have
left Harry alone with the utmost indifference, and locked him in, and
he might have been frightened and screamed and cried all day, for all
she would have cared, and the neighbours could have made any remarks
they liked; but this was different.
She was certainly beginning to be nervous, and she took more beer than
she had ever taken before, because she felt so much more cheerful
for a little while, and when the inevitable depression it caused,
returned, why then she took some more!
As her neighbour had remarked, she hated children, and she became so
unutterably wearied of the care of these three all day and every day,
that she began to wish she had never troubled about paying Pattie out,
or chosen some way which had not entailed the plague of three children
upon herself.
Still, she had triumphed; she had had her vengeance. The thought was
very sweet, and the bother to herself would soon be over now. Indeed,
it must be, or Tom would be coming back.
One Saturday had already passed, since Maud came, and on the second
Saturday three things happened. News of Pattie came to her. Wrapped
round a haddock which she had purchased for dinner, was a crumpled
piece of newspaper. The name upon it, "Old Keston Gazette," caught her
eye instantly. She turned it over and glanced down its columns, and
her eyes rested on one, and a look and a smile of triumph flashed into
her face.
But as she read, her look changed, a deep and angry flush mounted to
her forehead and spread to her neck. In a sudden transport of rage,
she crumpled up the paper into a ball, cast it upon the floor and
trampled on it, and then stooping, she picked it up and thrust it into
the fire.
She had failed--she had been deceived--tricked--foiled. All her
efforts had been in vain! Pattie had escaped from her toils scot-free.
Pattie had never gone to the station at all. She had stolen the child
from one of its own sisters! She had risked so much for that! She
could have shrieked in her impotent anger.
Turning, she met the wondering gaze of the two children, who had
stopped in their play to watch her. She gave them both a smart box on
the ears, and then, further enraged when they both began to cry, she
seized them roughly and thrust them into the bedroom. She would gladly
have smacked her own baby, only that he happened to be asleep.
The second happening was a postcard in the afternoon, from the maid
who lived where she used to wash in Old Keston. Her mistress was away,
she said; the new washerwoman had not put in an appearance and if Mrs.
Adams was not engaged on Monday, would she come and oblige?
Mrs. Adams was not engaged. She thought things over and she decided to
go. Not by her usual trains, however. Something must be devised about
ridding herself of Maud. She was sick of seeing after the child and
she found herself listening to every heavy footstep on the stairs. She
would go over late on Monday morning, and returning by a later train,
could observe the movements of the St. Olave's household when the dusk
fell. She must do something or Tom would be back.
The third happening came late at night.
As might have been expected, Jim came home at last with very little
money in his pocket.
He threw over to Jane her usual housekeeping money and growled out
that he had not got any extra for Harry this week. She must make do
without it. A child like that couldn't cost much, anyhow!
That put the finishing touch to Jane's day. She stormed and raved, she
called her husband names, she threatened all sorts of things, but as
Jim observed, hard words would not draw blood out of a stone, and he
sat there stolidly smoking and listening to the torrent of words, till
suddenly his patience gave way all at once, and he declared that if
he heard another word, he would take the money back and do the
housekeeping himself.
That would have suited Jane very ill, and it sobered her somewhat, and
when Jim added that if they were all going short of food next week,
she had better send that kid of her sister's home, she became quite
silent. It occurred to her that it might be well not to push Jim too
hard till the child was safely gone. After that she would have a free
hand.
She maintained a sulky silence all Sunday, but Jim took no notice of
her. He went out directly after breakfast, taking Harry with him, and
they did not return till late at night.
On Monday morning she announced that she was going to work, and
demanded the money for the Nursery for Harry, which Jim had always
paid cheerfully, but now he only retorted that he had no more money,
and went angrily out, apparently heedless of her reply that if he did
not pay, Harry could stop at home. For a full minute Jim stood outside
on the landing, his hand in his pocket, irresolute. He was quite
unaware that the Nursery charge was fivepence for one child,
eightpence for two, and tenpence for three, and that Jane had pocketed
any benefit which arose from sending more than one. He had sixpence
to last him through Monday, but if he left fivepence of that for the
Nursery, he would have but one penny for beer!
Yesterday his heart had turned away from his temptation to the fair,
innocent little chap that he meant to be a father to, and he had
taken him out all day, and had never touched one drop of intoxicating
beverage, contenting himself, and very happily too, with iced lemonade
and soda water and coffee.
But this morning was different. The cruel trick of his mates rose up
in his mind and held him back from trying again. Then he had no coffee
ready for dinner, even if he meant to begin again, and it would not
hurt the boy to be left at home alone. Still he hesitated, conscious
that he was weighing two loves--the child's welfare; his own desire.
And his own desire conquered.
He went quietly downstairs and out to his work, and Jane dressed the
baby and Maud, and took them down to her obliging neighbour.
"Take these two down to the Nursery for me," she said, "I've to go
back to my old work to-day."
Poor little Harry! He stood forlornly in the middle of the empty room,
listening to the sound of the key turning in the lock, listening to
the sound of his aunt's retreating footsteps.
Then he thought of the happy Nursery where Maud and Baby had gone;
he thought of his place at the head of the long dinner-table that
somebody else would have this Monday, and he sat down in a heap on the
floor and cried.
Presently he got up and looked about for something to do. His dinner
stood on the table, and he thought he might as well eat it now, and
when that was disposed of, he strolled into the bedroom, and there
he spied the corner of the box that held his best frock, sticking out
from under the bed.
Now was his chance! He would have his own again, his bright penny and
his bestest pocket-handkerchief with lace upon it.
But the box stuck fast.
Nothing daunted, Harry wrestled with it. He pushed and pulled, under
the bed and behind the bed, this way and that, till suddenly, as he
pulled, the obstruction which held it gave way, the box came out with
a run, and Harry toppled over backwards with a crash, and an awful
sound of breaking china, and a rushing of cold water.
For a moment Harry lay there stunned, the broken toilet jug lying
in shivers around him, the water soaking into him from head to foot;
then, as he came to himself, his startled screams filled the room and
he struggled up and sat looking round.
He was more frightened than hurt, but the sight of that broken jug
terrified him more than the fall and the wetting. Wouldn't Aunt Jane
whip him when she knew!
There was great tenacity in Harry's character. He gathered himself up
at last, and opened the box and found his frock and its pocket and its
precious contents. He looked at the frock a long time lovingly, then
he replaced it, pushed back the box, set the bed straight and gave an
involuntary shiver.
He was soaked from head to foot, and though it was summer weather, he
felt very, very cold.
He sat down by the empty fireplace and shivered again, and by-and-by
he fell fast asleep and dreamed strange dreams, but always he was
very, very cold.