Part 86 (1/2)
”But what are your charges?”
”'Ow much can you afford?”
After discussion, it was arranged that, if Mavis decided to stay with Mrs Gowler for three weeks certain, she was to pay twenty-two s.h.i.+llings a week, this sum to include the woman's skilled attendance and nursing, together with bed and board. In the event of Mavis wanting medical advice, Mrs Gowler had an arrangement with a doctor by which he charged the moderate fee of a s.h.i.+lling a visit to any of her patients that required his services. The extreme reasonableness of the terms inclined Mavis to decide on going to Mrs Gowler's.
”There's only one thing,” she said: ”I've a dog; she's a great pet and quite clean. If you wouldn't object to her coming, I might--”
”Bring her: bring her. Is she having dear little puppies?”
”Oh dear, no.”
”A pity. The more the merrier. I love work.”
This decided Mavis. With considerable misgiving, but spurred by poverty, she told the woman that she was coming.
”An' what about binding our bargain?” asked Mrs Gowler.
”How much do you want?” asked Mavis, as she produced her purse. ”Will five s.h.i.+llings do?”
”It'll do,” admitted Mrs Gowler grudgingly, although the deposit she usually received was half a crown.
”I feel rather faint. Is there anywhere I can sit down for a minute?”
asked Mavis.
”If you don't mind the kitchen. P'raps you'd like a cup of tea. I always keep it ready on the fire.”
Mavis thanked her and followed Mrs Gowler to the room indicated.
Although it was late in May, a roaring fire was burning in the kitchen, about which, on various sized towel-horses, numerous articles of babies' attire were airing.
”Too 'ot for yer?” asked Mrs Gowler.
”I don't mind where it is so long as I sit down.”
”'Ow do you like your tea?” asked her hostess. ”Noo or stooed?”
”I'd like fresh tea if it isn't any trouble,” replied Mavis.
The tea was quickly made, there being a plentiful supply of boiling water. Whilst Mavis was gratefully sipping hers, a noise of something falling was heard in the scullery behind.
”It's that dratted cat,” cried Mrs Gowler, as she caught up a broom and waddled from the kitchen. She returned, a moment later, with something remotely approaching a look of tenderness in her eyes.
”It's awright; it's my Oscar,” she remarked.
Then what appeared to be a youth of eighteen years of age entered the kitchen. He was dark, with a receding forehead; his chin, much too large for his face, seemed as if it had been made for somebody else.
His absence of expression, together with the feeling of discomfort that at once seized Mavis, told her that he was an idiot.
”Go an' shake hands with the lady, Oscar.”
Mavis shuddered to feel his damp palm upon hers.