On Sunday, as soon as dinner was over, Esther had intended to go to East
Dulwich to see Mrs. Lewis. But as she closed the door behind her, she saw
Sarah coming up the street.
"Ah, I see you're going out."
"It don't matter; won't you come in, if it's only for a minute?"
"No, thank you, I won't keep you. But which way are you going? We might go
a little way together."
They walked down Waterloo Place and along Pall Mall. In Trafalgar Square
there was a demonstration, and Sarah lingered in the crowd so long that
when they arrived at Charing Cross, Esther found that she could not get to
Ludgate Hill in time to catch her train, so they went into the Embankment
Gardens. It had been raining, and the women wiped the seats with their
handkerchiefs before sitting down. There was no fashion to interest them,
and the band sounded foolish in the void of the grey London Sunday.
Sarah's chatter was equally irrelevant, and Esther wondered how Sarah
could talk so much about nothing, and regretted her visit to East Dulwich
more and more. Suddenly Bill's name came into the conversation.
"But I thought you didn't see him any more; you promised us you wouldn't."
"I couldn't help it.... It was quite an accident. One day, coming back
from church with Annie--that's the new housemaid--he came up and spoke to
us."
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'How are ye?... Who'd thought of meeting you!'"
"And what did you say?"
"I said I didn't want to have nothing to do with him. Annie walked on, and
then he said he was very sorry, that it was bad luck that drove him to
it."
"And you believed him?"
"I daresay it is very foolish of me. But one can't help oneself. Did you
ever really care for a man?"
And without waiting for an answer, Sarah continued her babbling chatter.
She had asked him not to come after her; she thought he was sorry for what
he had done. She mentioned incidentally that he had been away in the
country and had come back with very particular information regarding a
certain horse for the Cesarewitch. If the horse won he'd be all right.
At last Esther's patience was tired out.
"It must be getting late," she said, looking towards where the sun was
setting. The river rippled, and the edges of the warehouses had
perceptibly softened; a wind, too, had come up with the tide, and the
women shivered as they passed under the arch of Waterloo Bridge. They
ascended a flight of high steps and walked through a passage into the
Strand.
"I was miserable enough with him; we used to have hardly anything to eat;
but I'm more miserable away from him. Esther, I know you'll laugh at me,
but I'm that heart-broken... I can't live without him... I'd do anything
for him."
"He isn't worth it."
"That don't make no difference. You don't know what love is; a woman who
hasn't loved a man who don't love her, don't. We used to live near here.
Do you mind coming up Drury Lane? I should like to show you the house."
"I'm afraid it will be out of our way."
"No, it won't. Round by the church and up Newcastle Street.... Look,
there's a shop we used to go to sometimes. I've eaten many a good sausage
and onions in there, and that's a pub where we often used to go for a
drink."
The courts and alleys had vomited their population into the Lane. Fat
girls clad in shawls sat around the slum opening nursing their babies. Old
women crouched in decrepit doorways, fumbling their aprons; skipping ropes
whirled in the roadway. A little higher up a vendor of cheap ices had set
up his store and was rapidly absorbing all the pennies of the
neighborhood. Esther and Sarah turned into a dilapidated court, where a
hag argued the price of trotters with a family leaning one over the other
out of a second-floor window. This was the block in which Sarah had lived.
A space had been cleared by the builder, and the other side was shut in by
the great wall of the old theatre.
"That's where we used to live," said Sarah, pointing up to the third
floor. "I fancy our house will soon come down. When I see the old place it
all comes back to me. I remember pawning a dress over the way in the lane;
they would only lend me a shilling on it. And you see that shop--the
shutters is up, it being Sunday; it is a sort of butcher's, cheap meat,
livers and lights, trotters, and such-like. I bought a bullock's heart
there, and stewed it down with some potatoes; we did enjoy it, I can tell
you."
Sarah talked so eagerly of herself that Esther had not the heart to
interrupt her. They made their way out into Catherine Street, and then to
Endell Street, and then going round to St. Giles' Church, they plunged
into the labyrinth of Soho.
"I'm afraid I'm tiring you. I don't see what interest all this can be to
you."
"We've known each other a long time."
Sarah looked at her, and then, unable to resist the temptation, she
continued her narrative--Bill had said this, she had said that. She
rattled on, until they came to the corner of Old Compton Street. Esther,
who was a little tired of her, held out her hand. "I suppose you must be
getting back; would you like a drop of something?"
"It is going on for seven o'clock; but since you're that kind I think I'd
like a glass of beer."
"Do you listen much to the betting talk here of an evening?" Sarah asked,
as she was leaving.
"I don't pay much attention, but I can't help hearing a good deal."
"Do they talk much about Ben Jonson for the Cesarewitch?"
"They do, indeed; he's all the go."