by George Moore
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.”
Sarah’s face brightened perceptibly, and Esther said —
“Have you backed him?’
“Only a trifle; half-a-crown that a friend put me on. Do they say he’ll win?”
“They say that if he don’t break down he’ll win by ‘alf a mile; it all depends on his leg.”
“Is he coming on in the betting?”
“Yes, I believe they’re now taking 12 to 1 about him. But I’ll ask William, if you like.”
“No, no, I only wanted to know if you’d heard anything new.”
XXXVIII
DURING THE NEXT fortnight Sarah came several times to the “King’s Head.” She came in about nine in the evening, and stayed for half-an-hour or more. The ostensible object of her visit was to see Esther, but she declined to come into the private bar, where they would have chatted comfortably, and remained in the public bar listening to the men’s conversation, listening and nodding while old John explained the horse’s staying power to her. On the following evening all her interest was in Ketley. She wanted to know if anything had happened that might be considered as an omen. She said she had dreamed about the race, but her dream was only a lot of foolish rubbish without head or tail. Ketley argued earnestly against this view of a serious subject, and in the hope of convincing her of her error offered to walk as far as Oxford Street with her and put her into her ‘bus. But on the following evening all her interest was centered in Mr. Journeyman, who declared that he could prove that according to the weight it seemed to him to look more and more like a certainty. He had let the horse in at six stone ten pounds, the official handicapper had only given him six stone seven pounds.
“They is a-sending of him along this week, and if the leg don’t go it is a hundred pound to a brass farthing on the old horse.”
“How many times will they gallop him?” Sarah asked.
“He goes a mile and a ‘arf every day now…. The day after to-morrow they’ll try him, just to see that he hasn’t lost his turn of speed, and if he don’t break down in the trial you can take it from me that it will be all right.”
“When will you know the result of the trial?”
“I expect a letter on Friday morning,” said Stack. “If you come in in the evening I’ll let you know about it.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Stack. I must be getting home now.”
“I’m going your way, Miss Tucker…. If you like, we’ll go together, and I’ll tell you,” he whispered, “all about the ‘orse.”
When they had left the bar the conversation turned on racing as an occupation for women.
“Fancy my wife making a book on the course. I bet she’d overlay it and then turn round and back the favourite at a shorter price than she’d been laying.”
“I don’t know that we should be any foolisher than you,” said Esther; “don’t you never go and overlay your book? What about Syntax and the ‘orse you told me about last week?”
William had been heavily hit last week through overlaying his book against a horse he didn’t believe in, and the whole bar joined in the laugh against him.
“I don’t say nothing about bookmaking,” said Journeyman; “but there’s a great many women nowadays who is mighty sharp at spotting a ‘orse that the handicapper had let in pretty easy.”
“This one,” said Ketley, jerking his thumb in the direction that Stack and Sarah had gone, “seems to ‘ave got hold of something.”
“We must ask Stack when he comes back,” and Journeyman winked at William.
“Women do get that excited over trifles,” old John remarked, sarcastically. “She ain’t got above ‘alf-a-crown on the ‘orse, if that. She don’t care about the ‘orse or the race — no woman ever did; it’s all about some sweetheart that’s been piling it on.”
“I wonder if you’re right,” said Esther, reflectively. “I never knew her before to take such an interest in a horse-race.”
On the day of the race Sarah came into the private bar about three o’clock. The news was not yet in.
“Wouldn’t you like to step into the parlour; you’ll be more comfortable?” said Esther.
“No thank you, dear; it is not worth while. I thought I’d like to know which won, that’s all.”
“Have you much on?”
“No, five shillings altogether…. But a friend of mine stands to win a good bit. I see you’ve got a new dress, dear. When did you get it?”
“I’ve had the stuff by me some time. I only had it made up last month. Do you like it?”
Sarah answered that she thought it very pretty. But Esther coul
d see that she was thinking of something quite different.
“The race is over now. It’s run at half-past two.”
“Yes, but they’re never quite punctual; there may be a delay at the post.”
“I see you know all about it.”
“One never hears of anything else.”
Esther asked Sarah when her people came back to town, and was surprised at the change of expression that the question brought to her friend’s face.
“They’re expected back to-morrow,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing; something to say, that’s all.”
The conversation paused, and the two women looked at each other. At that moment a voice coming rapidly towards them was heard calling, “Win-ner, win-ner!”
“I’ll send out for the paper,” said Esther.
“No, no… Suppose he shouldn’t have won?”
“Well, it won’t make any difference.”
“Oh, Esther, no; some one will come in and tell us. The race can’t be over yet; it is a long race, and takes some time to run.”
By this time the boy was far away, and fainter and fainter the terrible word, “Win-ner, win-ner, win-ner.”
“It’s too late now,” said Sarah; “some one’ll come in presently and tell us about it…. I daresay it ain’t the paper at all. Them boys cries out anything that will sell.”
“Win-ner, win-ner.” The voice was coming towards them.
“If he has won, Bill and I is to marry…. Somehow I feel as if he hasn’t.”
“Win-ner.”
“We shall soon know.” Esther took a halfpenny from the till.
“Don’t you think we’d better wait? It can’t be printed in the papers, not the true account, and if it was wrong—” Esther didn’t answer; she gave Charles the halfpenny; he went out, and in a few minutes came back with the paper in his hand. “Tornado first, Ben Jonson second, Woodcraft third,” he read out. “That’s a good thing for the guv’nor. There was very few what backed Tornado…. He’s only lost some place-money.”
“So he was only second,” said Sarah, turning deadly pale. “They said he was certain to win.”
“I hope you’ve not lost much,” said Esther. “It wasn’t with William that you backed him.”
“No, it wasn’t with William. I only had a few shillings on. It don’t matter. Let me have a drink.”
“What will you have?”
“Some whisky.”
Sarah drank it neat. Esther looked at her doubtfully.
The bars would be empty for the next two hours; Esther wished to utilize this time; she had some shopping to do, and asked Sarah to come with her. But Sarah complained of being tired, and said she would see her when she came back.
Esther went out a little perplexed. She was detained longer than she expected, and when she returned Sarah was staggering about in the bar-room, asking Charles for one more drink.
“All bloody rot; who says I’m drunk? I ain’t… look at me. The ‘orse did not win, did he? I say he did; papers all so much bloody rot.”
“Oh, Sarah, what is this?”
“Who’s this? Leave go, I say.”
“Mr. Stack, won’t you ask her to come upstairs?… Don’t encourage her.”
“Upstairs? I’m a free woman. I don’t want to go upstairs. I’m a free woman; tell me,” she said, balancing herself with difficulty and staring at Esther with dull, fishy eyes, “tell me if I’m not a free woman? What do I want upstairs for?”
“Oh, Sarah, come upstairs and lie down. Don’t go out.”
“I’m going home. Hands off, hands off!” she said, slapping Esther’s hands from her arm.
“‘For every one was drunk last night,
And drunk the night before;
And if we don’t get drunk to-night,
We don’t get drunk no more.
(Chorus.)
“‘Now you will have a drink with me,
And I will drink with you;
For we’re the very rowdiest lot
Of the rowdy Irish crew.’
“That’s what we used to sing in the Lane, yer know; should ‘ave seen the coster gals with their feathers, dancing and clinking their pewters. Rippin Day, Bank ‘oliday, Epping, under the trees— ’ow they did romp, them gals!
“‘We all was roaring drunk last night,
And drunk the night before;
And if we don’t get drunk to-night,
We won’t get drunk no more.’
“Girls and boys, you know, all together.”
“Sarah, listen to me.”
“Listen! Come and have a drink, old gal, just another drink.” She staggered up to the counter. “One more, just for luck; do yer ‘ear?” Before Charles could stop her she had seized the whisky that had just been served. “That’s my whisky,” exclaimed Journeyman. He made a rapid movement, but was too late. Sarah had drained the glass and stood vacantly looking into space. Journeyman seemed so disconcerted at the loss of his whisky that every one laughed.
A few moments after Sarah staggered forward and fell insensible into his arms. He and Esther carried her upstairs and laid her on the bed in the spare room.
“She’ll be precious bad to-morrow,” said Journeyman.
“I don’t know how you could have gone on helping her,” Esther said to Charles when she got inside the bar; and she seemed so pained that out of deference to her feelings the subject was dropped out of the conversation. Esther felt that something shocking had happened. Sarah had deliberately got drunk. She would not have done that unless she had some great trouble on her mind. William, too, was of this opinion. Something serious must have happened. As they went up to their room Esther said —
“It is all the fault of this betting. The neighbourhood is completely ruined. They’re losing their ‘omes and their furniture, and you’ll bear the blame of it.”
“It do make me so wild to hear you talkin’ that way, Esther. People will bet, you can’t stop them. I lays fair prices, and they’re sure of their money. Yet you says they’re losin’ their furniture, and that I shall have to bear the blame.”
When they got to the top of the stairs she said —
“I must go and see how Sarah is.”
“Where am I? What’s happened?… Take that candle out of my eyes…. Oh, my head is that painful.” She fell back on the pillow, and Esther thought she had gone to sleep again. But she opened her eyes. “Where am I? …That’s you, Esther?”
“Yes. Can’t you remember?”
“No, I can’t. I remember that the ‘orse didn’t win, but don’t remember nothing after…. I got drunk, didn’t I? It feels like it.”
“The ‘orse didn’t win, and then you took too much. It’s very foolish of you to give way.”
“Give way! Drunk, what matter? I’m done for.”
“Did you lose much?”
“It wasn’t what I lost, it was what I took. I gave Bill the plate to pledge; it’s all gone, and master and missis coming back tomorrow. Don’t talk about it. I got drunk so that I shouldn’t think of it.”
“Oh, Sarah, I didn’t think it was as bad as that. You must tell me all about it.”
“I don’t want to think about it. They’ll come soon enough to take me away. Besides, I cannot remember nothing now. My mouth’s that awful — Give me a drink. Never mind the glass, give me the water-bottle.”
She drank ravenously, and seemed to recover a little. Esther pressed her to tell her about the pledged plate. “You know that I’m your friend. You’d better tell me. I want to help you out of this scrape.”
“No one can help me now, I’m done for. Let them come and take me. I’ll go with them. I shan’t say nothing.”
“How much is it in for? Don’t cry like that,” Esther said, and she took out her handkerchief and wiped Sarah’s eyes. “How much is it in for? Perhaps I can get my husband to lend me the money to get it out.”
“It’s no use trying to help me…. Esther, I can’t talk about i
t now; I shall go mad if I do.”
“Tell me how much you got on it.”
“Thirty pounds.”
It took a long time to undress her. Every now and then she made an effort, and another article of clothing was got off. When Esther returned to her room William was asleep, and Esther took him by the shoulder.
“It is more serious than I thought,” she shouted. “I want to tell you about it.”
“What about it?” he said, opening his eyes.
“She has pledged the plate for thirty pounds to back that ‘orse.”
“What ‘orse?”
“Ben Jonson.”
“He broke down at the bushes. If he hadn’t I should have been broke up. The whole neighbourhood was on him. So she pledged the plate to back him. She didn’t do that to back him herself. Some one must have put her up to it.”
“Yes, it was Bill Evans.”
“Ah, that blackguard put her up to it. I thought she’d left him for good. She promised us that she’d never speak to him again.”
“You see, she was that fond of him that she couldn’t help herself. There’s many that can’t.”
“How much did they get on the plate?”
“Thirty pounds.”
William blew a long whistle. Then, starting up in the bed, he said, “She can’t stop here. If it comes out that it was through betting, it won’t do this house any good. We’re already suspected. There’s that old sweetheart of yours, the Salvation cove, on the lookout for evidence of betting being carried on.”
“She’ll go away in the morning. But I thought that you might lend her the money to get the plate out.”
“What! thirty pounds?”
“It’s a deal of money, I know; but I thought that you might be able to manage it. You’ve been lucky over this race.”
“Yes, but think of all I’ve lost this summer. This is the first bit of luck I’ve had for a long while.”
“I thought you might be able to manage it.”
Esther stood by the bedside, her knee leaned against the edge. She seemed to him at that moment as the best woman in the world, and he said —
