The Lodger
Page 3
CHAPTER III
But what was a little snub compared with the intense relief and joyof going down and telling Bunting of the great piece of good fortunewhich had fallen their way?
Staid Mrs. Bunting seemed to make but one leap down the steep stairs.In the hall, however, she pulled herself together, and tried to stillher agitation. She had always disliked and despised any show ofemotion; she called such betrayal of feeling "making a fuss."
Opening the door of their sitting-room, she stood for a momentlooking at her husband's bent back, and she realised, with a pangof pain, how the last few weeks had aged him.
Bunting suddenly looked round, and, seeing his wife, stood up. Heput the paper he had been holding down on to the table: "Well," hesaid, "well, who was it, then?"
He felt rather ashamed of himself; it was he who ought to haveanswered the door and done all that parleying of which he had heardmurmurs.
And then in a moment his wife's hand shot out, and the ten sovereignsfell in a little clinking heap on the table.
"Look there!" she whispered, with an excited, tearful quiver in hervoice. "Look there, Bunting!"
And Bunting did look there, but with a troubled, frowning gaze.
He was not quick-witted, but at once he jumped to the conclusionthat his wife had just had in a furniture dealer, and that thisten pounds represented all their nice furniture upstairs. If thatwere so, then it was the beginning of the end. That furniture inthe first-floor front had cost--Ellen had reminded him of the factbitterly only yesterday--seventeen pounds nine shillings, andevery single item had been a bargain. It was too bad that she hadonly got ten pounds for it.
Yet he hadn't the heart to reproach her.
He did not speak as he looked across at her, and meeting thattroubled, rebuking glance, she guessed what it was that he thoughthad happened.
"We've a new lodger!" she cried. "And--and, Bunting? He's quitethe gentleman! He actually offered to pay four weeks in advance, attwo guineas a week."
"No, never!"
Bunting moved quickly round the table, and together they stood there,fascinated by the little heap of gold. "But there's ten sovereignshere," he said suddenly.
"Yes, the gentleman said I'd have to buy some things for himto-morrow. And, oh, Bunting, he's so well spoken, I really feltthat--I really felt that--" and then Mrs. Bunting, taking a stepor two sideways, sat down, and throwing her little black apron overher face burst into gasping sobs.
Bunting patted her back timidly. "Ellen?" he said, much moved by heragitation, "Ellen? Don't take on so, my dear--"
"I won't," she sobbed, "I--I won't! I'm a fool--I know I am!But, oh, I didn't think we was ever going to have any luck again!"
And then she told him--or rather tried to tell him--what thelodger was like. Mrs. Bunting was no hand at talking, but one thingshe did impress on her husband's mind, namely, that Mr. Sleuth waseccentric, as so many clever people are eccentric--that is, in aharmless way--and that he must be humoured.
"He says he doesn't want to be waited on much," she said at lastwiping her eyes, "but I can see he will want a good bit of lookingafter, all the same, poor gentleman."
And just as the words left her mouth there came the unfamiliar soundof a loud ring. It was that of the drawing-room bell being pulledagain and again.
Bunting looked at his wife eagerly. "I think I'd better go up, eh,Ellen?" he said. He felt quite anxious to see their new lodger.For the matter of that, it would be a relief to be doing somethingagain.
"Yes," she answered, "you go up! Don't keep him waiting! I wonderwhat it is he wants? I said I'd let him know when his supper wasready."
A moment later Bunting came down again. There was an odd smile onhis face. "Whatever d'you think he wanted?" he whisperedmysteriously. And as she said nothing, he went on, "He's asked mefor the loan of a Bible!"
"Well, I don't see anything so out of the way in that," she saidhastily, "'specially if he don't feel well. I'll take it up to him."
And then going to a small table which stood between the two windows,Mrs. Bunting took off it a large Bible, which had been given to heras a wedding present by a married lady with whose mother she hadlived for several years.
"He said it would do quite well when you take up his supper," saidBunting; and, then, "Ellen? He's a queer-looking cove--not likeany gentleman I ever had to do with."
"He is a gentleman," said Mrs. Bunting rather fiercely.
"Oh, yes, that's all right." But still he looked at her doubtfully."I asked him if he'd like me to just put away his clothes. But,Ellen, he said he hadn't got any clothes!"
"No more he hasn't;" she spoke quickly, defensively. "He had themisfortune to lose his luggage. He's one dishonest folk 'ud takeadvantage of."
"Yes, one can see that with half an eye," Bunting agreed.
And then there was silence for a few moments, while Mrs. Buntingput down on a little bit of paper the things she wanted her husbandto go out and buy for her. She handed him the list, together witha sovereign. "Be as quick as you can," she said, "for I feel a bithungry. I'll be going down now to see about Mr. Sleuth's supper.He only wants a glass of milk and two eggs. I'm glad I've neverfallen to bad eggs!"
"Sleuth," echoed Bunting, staring at her. "What a queer name!How d'you spell it--S-l-u-t-h?"
"No," she shot out, "S-l-e--u--t--h."
"Oh," he said doubtfully.
"He said, 'Think of a hound and you'll never forget my name,'"and Mrs. Bunting smiled.
When he got to the door, Bunting turned round: "We'll now be ableto pay young Chandler back some o' that thirty shillings. I amglad." She nodded; her heart, as the saying is, too full for words.
And then each went about his and her business--Bunting out intothe drenching fog, his wife down to her cold kitchen.
The lodger's tray was soon ready; everything upon it nicely anddaintily arranged. Mrs. Bunting knew how to wait upon a gentleman.
Just as the landlady was going up the kitchen stair, she suddenlyremembered Mr. Sleuth's request for a Bible. Putting the tray downin the hall, she went into her sitting-room and took up the Book;but when back in the hall she hesitated a moment as to whether itwas worth while to make two journeys. But, no, she thought shecould manage; clasping the large, heavy volume under her arm, andtaking up the tray, she walked slowly up the staircase.
But a great surprise awaited her; in fact, when Mr. Sleuth'slandlady opened the door of the drawing-room she very nearly droppedthe tray. She actually did drop the Bible, and it fell with a heavythud to the ground.
The new lodger had turned all those nice framed engravings of theearly Victorian beauties, of which Mrs. Bunting had been so proud,with their faces to the wall!
For a moment she was really too surprised to speak. Putting thetray down on the table, she stooped and picked up the Book. Ittroubled her that the Book should have fallen to the ground; butreally she hadn't been able to help it--it was mercy that thetray hadn't fallen, too.
Mr. Sleuth got up. "I--I have taken the liberty to arrange theroom as I should wish it to be," he said awkwardly. "You see,Mrs.--er--Bunting, I felt as I sat here that these women's eyesfollowed me about. It was a most unpleasant sensation, and gaveme quite an eerie feeling."
The landlady was now laying a small tablecloth over half of thetable. She made no answer to her lodger's remark, for the goodreason that she did not know what to say.
Her silence seemed to distress Mr. Sleuth. After what seemed along pause, he spoke again.
"I prefer bare walls, Mrs. Bunting," he spoke with some agitation."As a matter of fact, I have been used to seeing bare walls aboutme for a long time." And then, at last his landlady answered him,in a composed, soothing voice, which somehow did him good to hear."I quite understand, sir. And when Bunting comes in he shall takethe pictures all down. We have plenty of space in our own roomsfor them."
"Thank you--thank you very much."
Mr. Sleuth appeared greatly relieved.
"And I have brought you up
my Bible, sir. I understood you wantedthe loan of it?"
Mr. Sleuth stared at her as if dazed for a moment; and then, rousinghimself, he said, "Yes, yes, I do. There is no reading like the Book.There is something there which suits every state of mind, aye, and ofbody too--"
"Very true, sir." And then Mrs. Bunting, having laid out what reallylooked a very appetising little meal, turned round and quietly shutthe door.
She went down straight into her sitting-room and waited there forBunting, instead of going to the kitchen to clear up. And as shedid so there came to her a comfortable recollection, an incident ofher long-past youth, in the days when she, then Ellen Green, hadmaided a dear old lady.
The old lady had a favourite nephew--a bright, jolly young gentleman,who was learning to paint animals in Paris. And one morning Mr.Algernon--that was his rather peculiar Christian name--had had theimpudence to turn to the wall six beautiful engravings of paintingsdone by the famous Mr. Landseer!
Mrs. Bunting remembered all the circumstances as if they had onlyoccurred yesterday, and yet she had not thought of them for years.
It was quite early; she had come down--for in those days maidsweren't thought so much of as they are now, and she slept with theupper housemaid, and it was the upper housemaid's duty to be downvery early--and, there, in the dining-room, she had found Mr.Algernon engaged in turning each engraving to the wall! Now, hisaunt thought all the world of those pictures, and Ellen had feltquite concerned, for it doesn't do for a young gentleman to puthimself wrong with a kind aunt.
"Oh, sir," she had exclaimed in dismay, "whatever are you doing?"And even now she could almost hear his merry voice, as he hadanswered, "I am doing my duty, fair Helen"--he had always calledher "fair Helen" when no one was listening. "How can I draw ordinaryanimals when I see these half-human monsters staring at me all thetime I am having my breakfast, my lunch, and my dinner?" That waswhat Mr. Algernon had said in his own saucy way, and that was whathe repeated in a more serious, respectful manner to his aunt, whenthat dear old lady had come downstairs. In fact he had declared,quite soberly, that the beautiful animals painted by Mr. Landseerput his eye out!
But his aunt had been very much annoyed--in fact, she had made himturn the pictures all back again; and as long as he stayed there hejust had to put up with what he called "those half-human monsters."Mrs. Bunting, sitting there, thinking the matter of Mr. Sleuth'sodd behaviour over, was glad to recall that funny incident of herlong-gone youth. It seemed to prove that her new lodger was not sostrange as he appeared to be. Still, when Bunting came in, she didnot tell him the queer thing which had happened. She told herselfthat she would be quite able to manage the taking down of thepictures in the drawing-room herself.
But before getting ready their own supper, Mr. Sleuth's landladywent upstairs to clear away, and when on the staircase she heard thesound of--was it talking, in the drawing-room? Startled, shewaited a moment on the landing outside the drawing-room door, thenshe realised that it was only the lodger reading aloud to himself.There was something very awful in the words which rose and fell onher listening ears:
"A strange woman is a narrow gate. She also lieth in wait as fora prey, and increaseth the transgressors among men."
She remained where she was, her hand on the handle of the door,and again there broke on her shrinking ears that curious, high,sing-song voice, "Her house is the way to hell, going down tothe chambers of death."
It made the listener feel quite queer. But at last she summoned upcourage, knocked, and walked in.
"I'd better clear away, sir, had I not?" she said. And Mr. Sleuthnodded.
Then he got up and closed the Book. "I think I'll go to bed now,"he said. "I am very, very tired. I've had a long and a veryweary day, Mrs. Bunting."
After he had disappeared into the back room, Mrs. Bunting climbedup on a chair and unhooked the pictures which had so offended Mr.Sleuth. Each left an unsightly mark on the wall--but that, afterall, could not be helped.
Treading softly, so that Bunting should not hear her, she carriedthem down, two by two, and stood them behind her bed.