"We've quite enough talk 'ere about the Brethren; give them a rest. What
about the 'orses? Did they win any races? Yer can't 'ave missed 'earing
that."
"Yes, Silver Braid won the Stewards' Cup."
"Silver Braid was one of your horses?"
"Yes, Mr. Barfield won thousands and thousands, everyone in Shoreham won
something, and a ball for the servants was given in the Gardens."
"And you never thought of writing to me about it! I could have 'ad thirty
to one off Bill Short. One pound ten to a bob! And yer never thought it
worth while to send me the tip. I'm blowed! Girls aren't worth a damn....
Thirty to one off Bill Short--he'd have laid it. I remember seeing the
price quoted in all the papers. Thirty to one taken and hoffered. If you
had told me all yer knowed I might 'ave gone 'alf a quid--fifteen pun to
'alf a quid! as much as I'd earn in three months slaving eight and ten
hours a day, paint-pot on 'and about them blooming engines. Well, there's
no use crying over what's done--sich a chance won't come again, but
something else may. What are they going to do with the 'orse this
autumn--did yer 'ear that?"
"I think I 'eard that he was entered for the Cambridgeshire, but if I
remember rightly, Mr. Leopold--that's the butler, not his real name, but
what we call him--"
"Ah, yes; I know; after the Baron. Now what do 'e say? I reckon 'e knows.
I should like to 'ave 'alf-an-hour's talk with your Mr. Leopold. What do
'e say? For what 'e says, unless I'm pretty well mistaken, is worth
listening to. A man wouldn't be a-wasting 'is time in listening to 'im.
What do 'e say?"
"Mr. Leopold never says much. He's the only one the Gaffer ever confides
in. 'Tis said they are as thick as thieves, so they say. Mr. Leopold was
his confidential servant when the Gaffer--that's the squire--was a
bachelor."
Jim chuckled. "Yes, I think I know what kind of man your Mr. Leopold is
like. But what did 'e say about the Cambridgeshire?"
"He only laughed a little once, and said he didn't think the 'orse would
do much good in the autumn races--no, not races, that isn't the word."
"Handicaps?"
"Yes, that's it. But there's no relying on what Mr. Leopold says--he never
says what he really means. But I 'eard William, that's the footman--"
"What are you stopping for? What did yer 'ear 'im say?"
"That he intends to have something on next spring."
"Did he say any race? Did he say the City and Sub.?"
"Yes, that was the race he mentioned."
"I thought that would be about the length and the breadth of it," Jim
said, as he took up his knife and fork. There was only a small portion of
the beef-steak left, and this he ate gluttonously, and, finishing the last
remaining beer, he leaned back in the happiness of repletion. He crammed
tobacco into a dirty clay, with a dirtier finger-nail, and said--
"I'd be uncommon glad to 'ear how he is getting on. When are you going
back? Up for the day only?"
Esther did not answer, and Jim looked inquiringly as he reached across the
table for the matches. The decisive moment had arrived, and Mrs. Saunders
said--
"Esther ain't a-going back; leastways--"
"Not going back! You don't mean that she ain't contented in her
situation--that she 'as--"
"Esther ain't going back no more," Mrs. Saunders answered, incautiously.
"Look ee 'ere, Jim--"
"Out with it, old woman--no 'umbug! What is it all about? Ain't going back
to 'er sitooation, and where she 'as been treated like that--just look at
the duds she 'as got on."
The evening was darkening rapidly, and the firelight flickered over the
back of the toy dogs piled up on the dresser. Jim had lit his pipe, and
the acrid and warm odour of quickly-burning tobacco overpowered the smell
of grease and the burnt skin of the baked potato, a fragment of which
remained on the plate; only the sickly flavour of drying paste was
distinguishable in the reek of the short black clay which the man held
firmly between his teeth. Esther sat by the fire, her hands crossed over
her knees, no signs of emotion on her sullen, plump face. Mrs. Saunders
stood on the other side of Esther, between her and the younger children,
now quarrelling among themselves, and her face was full of fear as she
watched her husband anxiously.
"Now, then, old woman, blurt it out!" he said. "What is it? Can it be the
girl 'as lost her sitooation--got the sack? Yes, I see that's about the
cut of it. Her beastly temper! So they couldn't put up with it in the
country any more than I could mesel'. Well, it's 'er own look-out! If she
can afford to chuck up a place like that, so much the better for 'er.
Pity, though; she might 'ave put me up to many a good thing."
"It ain't that, Jim. The girl is in trouble."
"Wot do yer say? Esther in trouble? Well, that's the best bit I've heard
this long while. I always told ye that the religious ones were just the
same as the others--a bit more hypocritical, that's all. So she that
wouldn't 'ave nothing to do with such as was Mrs. Dunbar 'as got 'erself
into trouble! Well I never! But 'tis just what I always suspected. The
goody-goody sort are the worst. So she 'as got 'erself into trouble! Well,
she'll 'ave to get 'erself out of it."
"Now, Jim, dear, yer mustn't be 'ard on 'er; she could tell a very
different story if she wished it, but yer know what she is. There she sits
like a block of marble, and won't as much as say a word in 'er own
defence."
"But I don't want 'er to speak. I don't care, it's nothing to me; I only
laughed because--"
"Jim, dear, it is something to all of us. What we thought was that you
might let her stop 'ere till her time was come to go to the 'orspital."
"Ah, that's it, is it? That was the meaning of the 'alf-pound of steak and
the pint of porter, was it. I thought there was something hup. So she
wants to stop 'ere, do she? As if there wasn't enough already! Well, I be
blowed if she do! A nice thing, too; a girl can't go away to service
without coming back to her respectable 'ome in trouble--in trouble, she
calls it. Now, I won't 'ave it; there's enough 'ere as it is, and another
coming, worse luck. We wants no bastards 'ere.... And a nice example, too,
for the other children! No, I won't 'ave it!"
Jenny and Julia looked curiously at Esther, who sat quite still, her face
showing no sign of emotion. Mrs. Saunders turned towards her, a pitying
look on her face, saying clearly, "You see, my poor girl, how matters
stand; I can do nothing."
The girl, although she did not raise her eyes, understood what was passing
in her mother's mind, for there was a grave deliberativeness in the manner
in which she rose from the chair.
But just as the daughter had guessed what was passing in the mother's
mind, so did the mother guess what was passing in the daughter's. Mrs.
Saunders threw herself before Esther, saying, "Oh, no, Esther, wait a
moment; 'e won't be 'ard on 'ee." Then turning to her husband, "Yer don't
understand, Jim. It is only for a little time."
"No, I tell yer. No, I won't 'ave it! There be too many 'ere as it is."
"Only a little while, Jim."
"No. And those who ain't wanted 'ad better go at once--that's my advice to
them. The place is as full of us that we can 'ardly turn round as it is.
No, I won't 'ear of it!"
"But, Jim, Esther is quite willing to pay her way; she's saved a good
little sum of money, and could afford to pay us ten shillings a week for
board and the parlour."
A perplexed look came on Jim's face.
"Why didn't yer tell me that afore? Of course I don't wish to be 'ard on
the girl, as yer 'ave just heard me say. Ten shillings a week for her
board and the parlour--that seems fair enough; and if it's any convenience
to 'er to remain, I'm sure we'll be glad to 'ave 'er. I'll say right glad,
too. We was always good friends, Esther, wasn't we, though ye wasn't one
of my own?" So saying, Jim held out his hand.
Esther tried to pass by her mother. "I don't want to stop where I'm not
wanted; I wants no one's charity. Let me go, mother."
"No, no, Esther. 'Aven't yer 'eard what 'e says? Ye are my child if you
ain't 'is, and it would break my 'eart, that it would, to see you go away
among strangers. Yer place is among yer own people, who'll look after
you."
"Now, then, Esther, why should there be ill feeling. I didn't mean any
'arm. There's a lot of us 'ere, and I've to think of the interests of my
own. But for all that I should be main sorry to see yer take yer money
among strangers, where you wouldn't get no value for it. You'd better
stop. I'm sorry for what I said. Ain't that enough for yer?"
"Jim, Jim, dear, don't say no more; leave 'er to me. Esther, for my sake
stop with us. You are in trouble, and it is right for you to stop with me.
Jim 'as said no more than the truth. With all the best will in the world
we couldn't afford to keep yer for nothing, but since yer can pay yer way,
it is yer duty to stop. Think, Esther, dear, think. Go and shake 'ands
with 'im, and I'll go and make yer up a bed on the sofa."
"There's no bloody need for 'er to shake my 'and if she don't like," Jim
replied, and he pulled doggedly at his pipe.
Esther tried, but her fierce and heavy temper held her back. She couldn't
go to her father for reconciliation, and the matter might have ended quite
differently, but suddenly, without another word, Jim put on his hat and
went out to join "his chaps" who were waiting for him about the
public-house, close to the cab-rank in the Vauxhall Bridge Road. The door
was hardly closed behind him when the young children laughed and ran about
joyously, and Jenny and Julia went over to Esther and begged her to stop.
"Of course she'll stop," said Mrs. Saunders. "And now, Esther, come along
and help me to make you up a bed in the parlour."