'To her you were asking about,--the Essex Street Beauty? I should
think she just was. She's a drinker, is poor Meg, and drinking in
Primrose Court means starvation. Meg and the Beauty were often short
enough of grub, but, drunk or sober, Meg would never touch a mouthful
till the Beauty had had her fill. I noticed it many a time--not a
mouthful. When Meg was obliged to send her into the streets to sell
things she was always afraid that the Beauty might come to harm
through the toffs and the chaps. The toffs were the worst looking
after her--as they mostly are--so I was always watching her in the
day-time, and at night Meg was always watching her, and that was what
made me know your face, as soon as ever I clapt eyes on it.'
'Why, what do you mean?'
'Well, one rainy night when I was standing by the theatre door, I
heard a toff ask a policeman about the Essex Street Beauty, and I
thought I knew what that meant very well. So I ran off to find Meg. I
had seen her watching the Beauty all the time. But lo and behold! Meg
was gone and the Beauty too. So I run across here, and found Meg and
the Beauty getting their supper as quiet as possible. Meg had heard
the toff talking to the policeman--though I didn't know she was
standing so near--and whisked her off and away as quick as
lightning.'
'That was I,' I said. 'God! God! If I had only known!'
'There's the same look now on your face as there was then, and I
should know it among ten thousand.'
'Polly Onion,' I said, 'there is my address, and if ever you want a
friend, and if you are in trouble, you will know where to find
assistance,' and I gave her another sovereign.
'You're a good sort,' said she, 'and no mistake.'
'Good-bye,' I said, shaking her hand. 'See well after Mrs. Gudgeon.'
'All right,' said she, and a smile broke over her face. 'I think I
ought to tell you now,' she continued, 'that Meg's no more ill of
dropsy than I am; she could walk twenty miles off the reel; there
ain't a bullock in England half as strong as Meg; she's shamming.'
'Shamming, but why?'
'Well, she ain't drunk; ever since the Beauty died she's never
touched a drop o' gin. But she's turned quite cranky. She's got it
into her head that the relations of the Beauty are going to send her
to prison for kidnapping; and she thinks that every one that comes
near her is a policeman in plain clothes. She's just lying in bed to
keep herself out of the way till she starts.'
'Where's she going, then?'
'She talks about going to see after her son Bob in the country; her
husband is a Welshman. He's over the water.'
'Did you say she had given up drinking?' I asked.
'Yes; she seemed to dote on the Beauty, and when the Beauty died she
said, "My darter went wrong through me drinkin', and my son Bob went
wrong through me drinkin'; and I feel somehow that it was through my
drinkin' that I lost the Beauty; and never will you find me touch
another drop o' gin, Poll. Beer I ain't fond on, and it 'ud take a
rare swill o' beer to get up as far as Meg Gudgeon's head."'
'There ain't much fault to be found with a woman like Meg Gudgeon,'
said Sinfi. 'Was the Beauty fond o' her? She ought to ha' bin.'
'She used to call her Knocker,' said the girl. 'She seemed very fond
of her when they were together, but seemed to forget her as soon as
they were apart.'
Sinfi and I then left the house.
In Great Queen Street she took my hand as if to bid me good-bye. But
she stood and gazed at me wistfully, and I gazed at her. At last she
said,
'An' now, brother, we'll jist go across to Kingston Vale, an' see my
daddy, an' set your livin'-waggin to rights.'
'Then, Sinfi,' I said, 'you and I are once more--'
I stopped and looked at her. The fearless young Amazon and seeress,
who kept a large family of the Kaulo Camloes in awe, was supposed to
have nearly conquered the feminine weakness of tears; but she had
not. There was a chink in the Amazon's armour, and I had found it.
'Yis,' said she, nodding her head and smiling. 'You an' me's right
pals ag'in.'
As we were going I told her how I had replaced the jewel in the tomb.
'I know'd you would do it. Yis, I heer'd you telling the gravedigger
the same thing.'
'And yet,' said I bitterly, 'in spite of that and in spite of the
Golden Hand, she is dead.'
Sinfi stood silently looking at me now. Even her prodigious faith
seemed conquered.