When Matchbox galloped home the winner of the Cesarewitch by five lengths,
William was lying in his bed, seemingly at death's door. He had remained
out late one evening, had caught cold, and his mouth was constantly filled
with blood. He was much worse, and could hardly take notice of the good
news. When he revived a little he said, "It has come too late." But when
Chasuble was backed to win thousands at ten to one, and Journeyman and
Stack assured him that the stable was quite confident of being able to
pull it off, his spirits revived. He spoke of hedging. "If," he said to
Esther, "I was to get out at eight or nine to one I should be able to
leave you something, you know, in case of accidents." But he would not
entrust laying off his bet to either Stack of Journeyman; he spoke of a
cab and seeing to it himself. If he did this the doctor assured him that
it would not much matter whether Chasuble won or lost. "The best thing he
could do," the doctor said, "would be to become an in-door patient at
once. In the hospital he would be in an equable temperature, and he would
receive an attention which he could not get at home."
William did not like going into the hospital; it would be a bad omen. If
he did, he felt sure that Chasuble would not win.
"What has going or not going to the hospital to do with Chasuble's chance
of winning the Cambridgeshire?" said the doctor. "This window is loose in
its sash, a draught comes under the door, and if you close out the
draughts the atmosphere of the room becomes stuffy. You're thinking of
going abroad; a fortnight's nice rest is just what you want to set you up
for your journey."
So he allowed himself to be persuaded; he was taken to the hospital, and
Esther remained at home waiting for the fateful afternoon. Now that the
dying man was taken from her she had no work to distract her thought. The
unanswerable question--would Chasuble win?--was always before her. She saw
the slender greyhound creatures as she had seen them at Epsom, through a
sea of heads and hats, and she asked herself if Chasuble was the brown
horse that had galloped in first, or the chestnut that had trotted in
last. She often thought she was going mad--her head seemed like it--a
sensation of splitting like a piece of calico.... She went to see her boy.
Jack was a great tall fellow of fifteen, and had happily lost none of his
affection for his mother, and great sweetness rose up within her. She
looked at his long, straight, yellow-stockinged legs; she settled the
collar of his cloak, and slipped her fingers into his leathern belt as
they walked side by side. He was bare-headed, according to the fashion of
his school, and she kissed the wild, dark curls with which his head was
run over; they were much brighter in colour when he was a little
boy--those days when she slaved seventeen hours a day for his dear life!
But he paid her back tenfold for the hardship she had undergone.
She listened to the excellent report his masters gave of his progress, and
walked through the quadrangles and the corridors with him, thinking of the
sound of his voice as he told her the story of his classes and his
studies. She must live for him; though for herself she had had enough of
life. But, thank God, she had her darling boy, and whatever unhappiness
there might be in store for her she would bear it for his sake. He knew
that his father was ill, but she refrained and told him no word of the
tragedy that was hanging over them. The noble instincts which were so
intrinsically Esther Waters' told her that it were a pity to soil at the
outset a young life with a sordid story, and though it would have been an
inexpressible relief to her to have shared her trouble with her boy, she
forced back her tears and courageously bore her cross alone, without once
allowing its edge to touch him.
And every day that visitors were allowed she went to the hospital with the
newspaper containing the last betting. "Chasuble, ten to one taken,"
William read out. The mare had advanced three points, and William looked
at Esther inquiringly, and with hope in his eyes.
"I think she'll win," he said, raising himself in his cane chair.
"I hope so, dear," she murmured, and she settled his cushions.
Two days after the mare was back again at thirteen to one taken and
offered; she went back even as far as eighteen to one, and then returned
for a while to twelve to one. This fluctuation meant that something was
wrong, and William began to lose hope. But on the following day the mare
was backed to win a good deal of money at Tattersall's, and once more she
stood at ten to one. Seeing her back at the old price made William look so
hopeful that a patient stopped as he passed down the corridor, and
catching sight of the _Sportsman_ on William's lap, he asked him if he was
interested in racing. William told him that he was, and that if Chasuble
won he would be able to go to Egypt.
"Them that has money can buy health as well as everything else. We'd all
get well if we could get out there."
William told him how much he stood to win.
"That'll keep you going long enough to set you straight. You say the
mare's backed at ten to one--two hundred to twenty. I wonder if I could
get the money. I might sell up the 'ouse."
But before he had time to realise the necessary money the mare was driven
back to eighteen to one, and he said--
"She won't win. I might as well leave the wife in the 'ouse. There's no
luck for them that comes 'ere."
On the day of the race Esther walked through the streets like one daft,
stupidly interested in the passers-by and the disputes that arose between
the drivers of cabs and omnibuses. Now and then her thoughts collected,
and it seemed to her impossible that the mare should win. If she did they
would have £2,500, and would go to Egypt. But she could not imagine such a
thing; it seemed so much more natural that the horse should lose, and that
her husband should die, and that she should have to face the world once
more. She offered up prayers that Chasuble might win, although it did not
seem right to address God on the subject, but her heart often felt like
breaking, and she had to do something. And she had no doubt that God would
forgive her. But now that the day had come she did not feel as if he had
granted her request. At the same time it did not seem possible that her
husband was going to die. It was all so hard to understand.
She stopped at the "Bell and Horns" to see what the time was, and was
surprised to find it was half-an-hour later than she had expected. The
race was being run, Chasuble's hoofs were deciding whether her husband was
to live or die. It was on the wire by this time. The wires were distinct
upon a blue and dove-coloured sky. Did that one go to Newmarket, or the
other? Which?
The red building came in sight, and a patient walked slowly up the walk,
his back turned to her; another had sat down to rest. Sixteen years ago
patients were walking there then, and the leaves were scattering then just
as now.... Without transition of thought she wondered when the first boy
would appear with the news. William was not in the grounds; he was
upstairs behind those windows. Poor fellow, she could fancy him sitting
there. Perhaps he was watching for her out of one of those windows. But
there was no use her going up until she had the news; she must wait for
the paper. She walked up and down listening for the cry. Every now and
then expectation led her to mistake some ordinary cry for the terrible
"Win-ner, all the win-ner," with which the whole town would echo in a few
minutes. She hastened forward. No, it was not it. At last she heard the
word shrieked behind her. She hastened after the boy, but failed to
overtake him. Returning, she met another, gave him a half-penny and took a
paper. Then she remembered she must ask the boy to tell her who won. But
heedless of her question he had run across the road to sell papers to some
men who had come out of a public-house. She must not give William the
paper and wait for him to read the news to her. If the news were bad the
shock might kill him. She must learn first what the news was, so that her
face and manner might prepare him for the worst if need be. So she offered
the paper to the porter and asked him to tell her. "Bramble, King of
Trumps, Young Hopeful," he read out.
"Are you sure that Chasuble hasn't won?"
"Of course I'm sure, there it is."
"I can't read," she said as she turned away.
The news had stunned her; the world seemed to lose reality; she was
uncertain what to do, and several times repeated to herself, "There's
nothing for it but to go up and tell him. I don't see what else I can do."
The staircase was very steep; she climbed it slowly, and stopped at the
first landing and looked out of the window. A poor hollow-chested
creature, the wreck of a human being, struggled up behind her. He had to
rest several times, and in the hollow building his cough sounded loud and
hollow. "It isn't generally so loud as that," she thought, and wondered
how she could tell William the news. "He wanted to see Jack grow up to be
a man. He thought that we might all go to Egypt, and that he'd get quite
well there, for there's plenty of sunshine there, but now he'll have to
make up his mind to die in the November fogs." Her thoughts came strangely
clear, and she was astonished at her indifference, until a sudden
revulsion of feeling took her as she was going up the last flight. She
couldn't tell him the news; it was too cruel. She let the patient pass
her, and when alone on the landing she looked down into the depth. She
thought she'd like to fall over; anything rather than to do what she knew
she must do. But her cowardice only endured for a moment, and with a firm
step she walked into the corridor. It seemed to cross the entire building,
and was floored and wainscotted with the same brown varnished wood as the
staircase. There were benches along the walls; and emaciated and worn-out
men lay on the long cane chairs in the windowed recesses by which the
passage was lighted. The wards, containing sometimes three, sometimes six
or seven beds, opened on to this passage. The doors of the wards were all
open, and as she passed along she started at the sight of a boy sitting up
in bed. His head had been shaved and only a slight bristle covered the
crown. The head and face were a large white mass with two eyes. At the end
of the passage there was a window; and William sat there reading a book.
He saw her before she saw him, and when she caught sight of him she
stopped, holding the paper loose before her between finger and thumb, and
as she approached she saw that her manner had already broken the news to
him.
"I see that she didn't win," he said.
"No, dear, she didn't win. We wasn't lucky this time: next time--"
"There is no next time, at least for me. I shall be far away from here
when flat racing begins again. The November fogs will do for me, I feel
that they will. I hope there'll be no lingering, that's all. Better to
know the worst and make up your mind. So I have to go, have I? So there's
no hope, and I shall be under ground before the next meeting. I shall
never lay or take the odds again. It do seem strange. If only that mare
had won. I knew damned well she wouldn't if I came here."
Then, catching sight of the pained look on his wife's face, he said, "I
don't suppose it made no difference; it was to be, and what has to be has
to be. I've got to go under ground. I felt it was to be all along. Egypt
would have done me no good; I never believed in it--only a lot of false
hope. You don't think what I say is true. Look 'ere, do you know what book
this is? This is the Bible; that'll prove to you that I knew the game was
up. I knew, I can't tell you how, but I knew the mare wouldn't win. One
always seems to know. Even when I backed her I didn't feel about her like
I did about the other one, and ever since I've been feeling more and more
sure that it wasn't to be. Somehow it didn't seem likely, and to-day
something told me that the game was up, so I asked for this book....
There's wonderful beautiful things in it."
"There is, indeed, Bill; and I hope you won't get tired of it, but will go
on reading it."
"It's extraordinary how consoling it is. Listen to this. Isn't it
beautiful; ain't them words heavenly?"
"They is, indeed. I knew you'd come to God at last."
"I'm afraid I've not led a good life. I wouldn't listen to you when you
used to tell me of the lot of harm the betting used to bring on the poor
people what used to come to our place. There's Sarah, I suppose she's out
of prison by this. You've seen nothing of her, I suppose?"
"No, nothing."
"There was Ketley."
"No, Bill, don't let's think about it. If you're truly sorry, God will
forgive."
"Do you think He will--and the others that we know nothing about? I
wouldn't listen to you; I was headstrong, but I understand it all now. My
eyes 'ave been opened. Them pious folk that got up the prosecution knew
what they was about. I forgive them one and all."
William coughed a little. The conversation paused, and the cough was
repeated down the corridor. Now it came from the men lying on the long
cane chairs; now from the poor emaciated creature, hollow cheeks, brown
eyes and beard, who had just come out of his ward and had sat down on a
bench by the wall. Now it came from an old man six feet high, with
snow-white hair. He sat near them, and worked assiduously at a piece of
tapestry. "It'll be better when it's cut," he said to one of the nurses,
who had stopped to compliment him on his work; "it'll be better when it's
cut." Then the cough came from one of the wards, and Esther thought of the
fearsome boy sitting bolt up, his huge tallow-like face staring through
the silence of the room. A moment after the cough came from her husband's
lips, and they looked at each other. Both wanted to speak, and neither
knew what to say. At last William spoke.
"I was saying that I never had that feeling about Chasuble as one 'as
about a winner. Did she run second? Just like my luck if she did. Let me
see the paper."
Esther handed it to him.
"Bramble, a fifty to one chance, not a man in a hundred backed her; King
of Trumps, there was some place money lost on him; Young Hopeful, a rank
outsider. What a day for the bookies!"
"You mustn't think of them things no more," said Esther. "You've got the
Book; it'll do you more good."
"If I'd only have thought of Bramble... I could have had a hundred to one
against Matchbox and Bramble coupled."
"What's the use of thinking of things that's over? We should think of the
future."
"If I'd only been able to hedge that bet I should have been able to leave
you something to go on with, but now, when everything is paid for, you'll
have hardly a five-pound note. You've been a good wife to me, and I've
been a bad husband to you."
"Bill, you mustn't speak like that. You must try to make your peace with
God. Think of Him. He'll think of us that you leave behind. I've always
had faith in Him. He'll not desert me."
Her eyes were quite dry; the instinct of life seemed to have left her.
They spoke some little while longer, until it was time for visitors to
leave the hospital. It was not until she got into the Fulham Road that
tears began to run down her cheeks; they poured faster and faster, like
rain after long dry weather. The whole world disappeared in a mist of
tears. And so overcome was she by her grief that she had to lean against
the railings, and then the passers-by turned and looked at her curiously.