"I wish, mother, you was going to the hospital with me; it would save a
lot of expense and you'd be better cared for."
"I'd like to be with you, dearie, but I can't leave my 'ome, all these
young children about and no one to give an order. I must stop where I am.
But I've been intending to tell you--it is time that you was thinking
about yer letter."
"What letter, mother?"
"They don't take you without a letter from one of the subscribers. If I
was you, now that the weather is fine and you have strength for the walk,
I'd go up to Queen Charlotte's. It is up the Edgware Road way, I think.
What do you think about to-morrow?"
"To-morrow's Sunday."
"That makes no matter, them horspitals is open."
"I'll go to-morrow when we have washed up."
On Friday Esther had had to give her father more money for drink. She gave
him two shillings, and that made a sovereign that he had had from her. On
Saturday night he had been brought home helplessly drunk long after
midnight, and next morning one of the girls had to fetch him a drop of
something to pull him together. He had lain in bed until dinner-time,
swearing he would brain anyone who made the least noise. Even the Sunday
dinner, a nice beef-steak pudding, hardly tempted him, and he left the
table saying that if he could find Tom Carter they would take a penny boat
and go for a blow on the river. The whole family waited for his departure.
But he lingered, talked inconsequently, and several times Mrs. Saunders
and the children gave up hope. Esther sat without a word. He called her a
sulky brute, and, snatching up his hat, left the house. The moment he was
gone the children began to chatter like birds. Esther put on her hat and
jacket.
"I'm going, mother."
"Well, take care of yourself. Good luck to you."
Esther smiled sadly. But the beautiful weather melted on her lips, her
lungs swelled with the warm air, and she noticed the sparrow that flew
across the cab rank, and saw the black dot pass down a mews and disappear
under the eaves. It was a warm day in the middle of April, a mist of green
had begun in the branches of the elms of the Green Park; and in Park Lane,
in all the balconies and gardens, wherever nature could find roothold, a
spray of gentle green met the eye. There was music, too, in the air, the
sound of fifes and drums, and all along the roadway as far as she could
see the rapid movement of assembling crowds. A procession with banners was
turning the corner of the Edgware Road, and the policeman had stopped the
traffic to allow it to pass. The principal banner blew out blue and gold
in the wind, and the men that bore the poles walked with strained backs
under the weight; the music changed, opinions about the objects of the
demonstration were exchanged, and it was some time before Esther could
gain the policeman's attention. At last the conductor rang his bell, the
omnibus started, and gathering courage she asked the way. It seemed to her
that every one was noticing her, and fearing to be overheard she spoke so
low that the policeman understood her to say Charlotte Street. At that
moment an omnibus drew up close beside them.
"Charlotte Street, Charlotte Street," said the policeman, "there's
Charlotte Street, Bloomsbury." Before Esther could answer he had turned to
the conductor. "You don't know any Charlotte Street about here, do you?"
"No, I don't. But can't yer see that it ain't no Charlotte Street she
wants, but Queen Charlotte's Hospital? And ye'd better lose no time in
directing her."
A roar of coarse laughter greeted this pleasantry, and burning with shame
she hurried down the Edgware Road. But she had not gone far before she had
to ask again, and she scanned the passers-by seeking some respectable
woman, or in default an innocent child.
She came at last to an ugly desert place. There was the hospital, square,
forbidding; and opposite a tall, lean building with long grey columns.
Esther rang, and the great door, some fifteen feet high, was opened by a
small boy.
"I want to see the secretary."
"Will you come this way?"
She was shown into a waiting-room, and while waiting she looked at the
religious prints on the walls. A lad of fifteen or sixteen came in. He
said--
"You want to see the secretary?"
"Yes."
"But I'm afraid you can't see him; he's out."
"I have come a long way; is there no one else I can see?"
"Yes, you can see me--I'm his clerk. Have you come to be confined?"
Esther answered that she had.
"But," said the boy, "you are not in labour; we never take anyone in
before."
"I do not expect to be confined for another month. I came to make
arrangements."
"You've got a letter?"
"No."
"Then you must get a letter from one of the subscribers."
"But I do not know any."
"You can have a book of their names and addresses."
"But I know no one."
"You needn't know them. You can go and call. Take those that live
nearest--that's the way it is done."
"Then will you give me the book?"
"I'll go and get one."
The boy returned a moment after with a small book, for which he demanded a
shilling. Since she had come to London her hand had never been out of her
pocket. She had her money with her; she did not dare leave it at home on
account of her father. The clerk looked out the addresses for her and she
tried to remember them--two were in Cumberland Place, another was in
Bryanstone Square. In Cumberland Place she was received by an elderly lady
who said she did not wish to judge anyone, but it was her invariable
practice to give letters only to married women. There was a delicate smell
of perfume in the room; the lady stirred the fire and lay back in her
armchair. Once or twice Esther tried to withdraw, but the lady, although
unswervingly faithful to her principles, seemed not indifferent to
Esther's story, and asked her many questions.
"I don't see what interest all that can be to you, as you ain't going to
give me a letter," Esther answered.
The next house she called at the lady was not at home, but she was
expected back presently, and the maid servant asked her to take a seat in
the hall. But when Esther refused information about her troubles she was
called a stuck-up thing who deserved all she got, and was told there was
no use her waiting. At the next place she was received by a footman who
insisted on her communicating her business to him. Then he said he would
see if his master was in. He wasn't in; he must have just gone out. The
best time to find him was before half-past ten in the morning.
"He'll be sure to do all he can for you--he always do for the good-looking
ones. How did it all happen?"
"What business is that of yours? I don't ask your business."
"Well, you needn't turn that rusty."
At that moment the master entered. He asked Esther to come into his study.
He was a tall, youngish-looking man of three or four-and-thirty, with
bright eyes and hair, and there was in his voice and manner a kindness
that impressed Esther. She wished, however, that she had seen his mother
instead of him, for she was more than ever ashamed of her condition. He
seemed genuinely sorry for her, and regretted that he had given all his
tickets away. Then a thought struck him, and he wrote a letter to one of
his friends, a banker in Lincoln's Inn Fields. This gentleman, he said,
was a large subscriber to the hospital, and would certainly give her the
letter she required. He hoped that Esther would get through her trouble
all right.
The visit brought a little comfort into the girl's heart; and thinking of
his kind eyes she walked slowly, inquiring out her way until she got back
to the Marble Arch, and stood looking down the long Bayswater Road. The
lamps were beginning in the light, and the tall houses towered above the
sunset. Esther watched the spectral city, and some sensation of the poetry
of the hour must have stolen into her heart, for she turned into the Park,
choosing to walk there. Upon its dim green grey the scattered crowds were
like strips of black tape. Here and there by the railings the tape had
been wound up in a black ball, and the peg was some democratic orator,
promising poor human nature unconditional deliverance from evil. Further
on were heard sounds from a harmonium, and hymns were being sung, and in
each doubting face there was something of the perplexing, haunting look
which the city wore.
A chill wind was blowing. Winter had returned with the night, but the
instinct of spring continued in the branches. The deep, sweet scent of the
hyacinth floated along the railings, and the lovers that sat with their
arms about each other on every seat were of Esther's own class. She would
have liked to have called them round her and told them her miserable
story, so that they might profit by her experience.