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Esther Waters, a novel by George Augustus Moore |
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Chapter 8 |
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_ CHAPTER VIII The great day was now fast approaching, and the Gaffer had promised to drive his folk in a drag to Goodwood. No more rain was required, the colt's legs remained sound, and three days of sunshine would make all the difference in their sum of happiness. In the kitchen Mrs. Latch and Esther had been busy for some time with chickens and pies and jellies, and in the passage there were cases packed with fruit and wine. The dressmaker had come from Worthing, and for several days the young ladies had not left her. And one fine morning, very early--about eight o'clock--the wheelers were backed into the drag that had come from Brighton, and the yard resounded with the blaring of the horn. Ginger was practising under his sister's window. "You'll be late! You'll be late!" With the exception of two young gentlemen, who had come at the invitation of the young ladies, it was quite a family party. Miss Mary sat beside her father on the box, and looked very charming in white and blue. Peggy's black hair seemed blacker than ever under a white silk parasol, which she waved negligently above her as she stood up calling and talking to everyone until the Gaffer told her angrily to sit down, as he was going to start. Then William and the coachman let go the leaders' heads, and running side by side swung themselves into their seats. At the same moment a glimpse was caught of Mr. Leopold's sallow profile amid the boxes and the mackintoshes that filled the inside of the coach. "Oh, William did look that handsome in those beautiful new clothes! ...Everyone said so--Sarah and Margaret and Miss Grover. I'm sorry you did not come out to see him." Mrs. Latch made no answer, and Esther remembered how she hated her son to wear livery, and thought that she had perhaps made a mistake in saying that Mrs. Latch should have come out to see him. "Perhaps this will make her dislike me again," thought the girl. Mrs. Latch moved about rapidly, and she opened and closed the oven; then, raising her eyes to the window and seeing that the other women were still standing in the yard and safely out of hearing, she said-- "Do you think that he has bet much on this race?" "Oh, how should I know, Mrs. Latch?... But the horse is certain to win." "Certain to win! I have heard that tale before; they are always certain to win. So they have won you round to their way of thinking, have they?" said Mrs. Latch, straightening her back. "I know very well indeed that it is not right to bet; but what can I do, a poor girl like me? If it hadn't been for William I never would have taken a number in that sweepstakes." "Do you like him very much, then?" "He has been very kind to me--he was kind when--" "Yes, I know, when I was unkind. I was unkind to you when you first came. You don't know all. I was much troubled at that time, and somehow I did not--. But there is no ill-feeling?... I'll make it up to you--I'll teach you how to be a cook." "Oh, Mrs. Latch, I am sure----" "Never mind that. When you went out to walk with him the other night, did he tell you that he had many bets on the race?" "He talked about the race, like everyone else, but he did not tell me what bets he had on." "No, they never do do that.... But you'll not tell him that I asked you?" "No, Mrs. Latch, I promise." "It would do no good, he'd only be angry; it would only set him against me. I am afraid that nothing will stop him now. Once they get a taste for it it is like drink. I wish he was married, that might get him out of it. Some woman who would have an influence over him, some strong-minded woman. I thought once that you were strong-minded----" At that moment Sarah and Grover entered the kitchen talking loudly. They asked Mrs. Latch how soon they could have dinner--the sooner the better, for the Saint had told them that they were free to go out for the day. They were to try to be back before eight, that was all. Ah! the Saint was a first-rate sort. She had said that she did not want anyone to attend on her. She would, get herself a bit of lunch in the dining-room. Mrs. Latch allowed Esther to hurry on the dinner, and by one o'clock they had all finished. Sarah and Margaret were going into Brighton to do some shopping, Grover was going to Worthing to spend the afternoon with the wife of one of the guards of the Brighton and South Coast Railway. Mrs. Latch went upstairs to lie down. So it grew lonelier and lonelier in the kitchen. Esther's sewing fell out of her hands, and she wondered what she should do. She thought that she might go down to the beach, and soon after she put on her hat and stood thinking, remembering that she had not been by the sea, that she had not seen the sea since she was a little girl. But she remembered the tall ships that came into the harbour, sail falling over sail, and the tall ships that floated out of the harbour, sail rising over sail, catching the breeze as they went aloft--she remembered them. A suspension bridge, ornamented with straight-tailed lions, took her over the weedy river, and having crossed some pieces of rough grass, she climbed the shingle bank. The heat rippled the blue air, and the sea, like an exhausted caged beast, licked the shingle. Sea-poppies bloomed under the wheels of a decaying bathing-machine, and Esther wondered. But the sea here was lonely as a prison, and, seeing the treeless coast with its chain of towns, her thoughts suddenly reverted to William. She wished he were with her, and for pleasant contemplation she thought of that happy evening when she saw him coming through the hunting gate, when, his arm about her, William had explained that if the horse won she would take seven shillings out of the sweepstakes. She knew now that William did not care about Sarah; and that he cared for her had given a sudden and unexpected meaning to her existence. She lay on the shingle, her day-dream becoming softer and more delicate as it rounded into summer sleep. And when the light awoke her she saw flights of white clouds--white up above, rose-coloured as they approached the west; and when she turned, a tall, melancholy woman. "Good evening, Mrs. Randal," said Esther, glad to find someone to speak to. "I've been asleep." "Good evening, Miss. You're from Woodview, I think?" "Yes, I'm the kitchen-maid. They've gone to the races; there was nothing to do, so I came down here." Mrs. Randal's lips moved as if she were going to say something. But she did not speak. Soon after she rose to her feet. "I think that it must be getting near tea-time; I must be going. You might come in and have a cup of tea with me, if you're not in a hurry back to Woodview." Esther was surprised at so much condescension, and in silence the two women crossed the meadows that lay between the shingle bank and the river. Trains were passing all the while, scattering, it seemed, in their noisy passage over the spider-legged bridge, the news from Goodwood. The news seemed to be borne along shore in the dust, and, as if troubled by prescience of the news, Mrs. Randal said, as she unlocked the cottage door---- "It is all over now. The people in those trains know well enough which has won." "Yes, I suppose they know, and somehow I feel as if I knew too. I feel as if Silver Braid had won." Mrs. Randal's home was gaunt as herself. Everything looked as if it had been scraped, and the spare furniture expressed a meagre, lonely life. She dropped a plate as she laid the table, and stood pathetically looking at the pieces. When Esther asked for a teaspoon she gave way utterly. "I haven't one to give you; I had forgotten that they were gone. I should have remembered and not asked you to tea." "It don't matter, Mrs. Randal; I can stir up my tea with anything--a knitting-needle will do very well--" "I should have remembered and not asked you back to tea; but I was so miserable, and it is so lonely sitting in this house, that I could stand it no longer.... Talking to you saved me from thinking, and I did not want to think until this race was over. If Silver Braid is beaten we are ruined. Indeed, I don't know what will become of us. For fifteen years I have borne up; I have lived on little at the best of times, and very often have gone without; but that is nothing compared to the anxiety--to see him come in with a white face, to see him drop into a chair and hear him say, 'Beaten a head on the post,' or 'Broke down, otherwise he would have won in a canter.' I have always tried to be a good wife and tried to console him, and to do the best when he said, 'I have lost half a year's wages, I don't know how we shall pull through.' I have borne with ten thousand times more than I can tell you. The sufferings of a gambler's wife cannot be told. Tell me, what do you think my feelings must have been when one night I heard him calling me out of my sleep, when I heard him say, 'I can't die, Annie, without bidding you good-bye. I can only hope that you will be able to pull through, and I know that the Gaffer will do all he can for you, but he has been hit awful hard too. You mustn't think too badly of me, Annie, but I have had such a bad time that I couldn't put up with it any longer, and I thought the best thing I could do would be to go.' That's just how he talked--nice words to hear your husband speak in your ear through the darkness! There was no time to send for the doctor, so I jumped out of bed, put the kettle on, and made him drink glass after glass of salt and water. At last he brought up the laudanum." Esther listened to the melancholy woman, and remembered the little man whom she saw every day so orderly, so precise, so sedate, so methodical, so unemotional, into whose life she thought no faintest emotion had ever entered--and this was the truth. "So long as I only had myself to think of I didn't mind; but now there are the children growing up. He should think of them. Heaven only knows what will become of them... John is as kind a husband as ever was if it weren't for that one fault; but he cannot resist having something on any more than a drunkard can resist the bar-room." "Winner, winner, winner of the Stewards' Cup!" The women started to their feet. When they got into the street the boy was far away; besides, neither had a penny to pay for the paper, and they wandered about the town hearing and seeing nothing, so nervous were they. At last Esther proposed to ask at the "Red Lion" who had won. Mrs. Randal begged her to refrain, urging that she was unable to bear the tidings should it be evil. "Silver Braid," the barman answered. The girl rushed through the doors. "It is all right, it is all right; he has won!" Soon after the little children in the lane were calling forth "Silver Braid won!" And overcome by the excitement Esther walked along the sea-road to meet the drag. She walked on and on until the sound of the horn came through the crimson evening and she saw the leaders trotting in a cloud of dust. Ginger was driving, and he shouted to her, "He won!" The Gaffer waved the horn and shouted, "He won!" Peggy waved her broken parasol and shouted, "He won!" Esther looked at William. He leaned over the back seat and shouted, "He won!" She had forgotten all about late dinner. What would Mrs. Latch say? On such a day as this she would say nothing. _ |
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