Part 22 (1/2)
Her anger blazed up into a final flame. This gave her strength to throw the old man from her; he crashed into the grate; she heard his head strike against the coal-box. Mavis cast one look upon the shapeless and bleeding heap of humanity and left the room.
CHAPTER NINE
AWING
Mavis was again workless, this time with a capital of fifteen s.h.i.+llings and sixpence halfpenny.
Immediately after her interview with Orgles, she had gone to her room to change into her out-of-door clothes.
She disregarded the many questions that several of the girls came upstairs to ask her. She packed up her things as a preliminary to leaving ”Dawes'” for good. For many hours she paced the streets, heedless of where her steps led her, her heart seemingly breaking with rage and shame at the insults to which she had been subjected.
About eight, she felt utterly exhausted, and turned into the first shop where she could get refreshment.
This was a confectioner's. The tea and dry biscuits she ordered enabled her to marshal her distracted thoughts into something approaching coherence; she realised that, as she was not going back to ”Dawes',”
she must find a roof for the night.
She had several times called on her old friend Mrs Ellis; she decided to make for her house. She asked her way to the nearest station, which was Notting Hill; here she took a ticket to Hammersmith and then walked to Kiva Street, where she knocked at the familiar door. A powerful-looking man in corduroy trousers and s.h.i.+rt sleeves opened it.
”Mrs Ellis?” asked Mavis.
”'Orspital.”
”I'm very sorry. What's the matter with her?”
”Werry bad.”
”I wanted rooms. I used to lodge here.”
At this piece of information the man made as if he would close the door.
”Can you tell me where I can get a room for the night?” asked Mavis.
The man by way of reply muttered something about the lady at the end of the row wanting a lodger.
”Which hospital is Mrs Ellis at?” asked Mavis.
By way of reply, the door was slammed in her face. Mavis dragged her weary limbs to the end house in the row, where, in reply to her knock, a tall, pasty-faced, crossed-eyed woman, who carried an empty jug, answered the door.
”I thought you was Mrs Bonus,” remarked the woman.
”I want a room for the night. I used to lodge with Mrs Ellis at number 20.”
”Did yer? There! I do know yer face. Come inside.”
Mavis followed the landlady into a faded and formal little sitting-room, where the latter sat wearily in a chair, still clasping her jug.
”Can I have a room?” asked Mavis.
”I think so. My name's Bilkins.”