Part 72 (2/2)
”Little nephew that Janet's taking about!” murmured Maggie, in surprise; and to Edwin, ”Do you know?”
Edwin shook his head. ”When?” he asked.
”Well, this morning,” said Mrs Hamps. ”I met them as I was coming up.
She was on one side of the road, and the child was on the other--just opposite Howson's. My belief is she'd lost all control over the little jockey. Oh! A regular little jockey! You could see that at once.
'Now, George, come along,' she called to him. And then he shouted, 'I want you to come on this side, auntie.' Of course I couldn't stop to see it out. She was so busy with him she only just moved to me.”
”George? George?” Maggie consulted her memory. ”How old was he, about?”
”Seven or eight, I should say.”
”Well, it couldn't be one of Tom's children. Nor Alicia's.”
”No,” said Auntie Hamps. ”And I always understood that the eldest daughter's--what's her name?”
”Marian.”
”Marian's were all girls.”
”I believe they are. Aren't they, Edwin?”
”How can I tell?” said Edwin. It was a marvel to him how his auntie collected her information. Neither she nor Clara had ever been in the slightest degree familiar with the Orgreaves, and Maggie, so far as he knew, was not a gossiper. He thought he perceived, however, the explanation of Mrs Hamps's visit. She had encountered in the street a phenomenon which would not harmonise with facts of her own knowledge, and the discrepancy had disturbed her to such an extent that she had been obliged to call in search of relief. There was that, and there was also her natural inclination to show herself off on her triumphant sixtieth birthday.
”Charles Orgreave isn't married, is he?” she inquired.
”No,” said Maggie.
SEVEN.
Silence fell upon this enigma of Janet's entirely unaccountable nephew.
”Charlie may be married,” said Edwin humorously, at length. ”You never know! It's a funny world! I suppose you've seen,” he looked particularly at his auntie, ”that your friend Parnell's dead?”
She affected to be outraged.
”I've seen that Parnell is dead,” she rebuked him, with solemn quietness. ”I saw it on a poster as I came up. I don't want to be uncharitable, but it was the best thing he could do. I do hope we've heard the last of all this Home Rule now!”
Like many people Mrs Hamps was apparently convinced that the explanation of Parnell's scandalous fall and of his early death was to be found in the inherent viciousness of the Home Rule cause, and also that the circ.u.mstances of his end were a proof that Home Rule was cursed of G.o.d. She reasoned with equal power forwards and backwards. And she was so earnest and so dignified that Edwin was sneaped into silence.
Once more he could not keep from his face a look that seemed to apologise for his opinions. And all the heroic and pa.s.sionate grandeur of Parnell's furious career shrivelled up to mere sordidness before the inability of one narrow-minded and ignorant but vigorous woman to appreciate its quality. Not only did Edwin feel apologetic for himself, but also for Parnell. He wished he had not tried to be funny about Parnell; he wished he had not mentioned him. The brightness of the birthday was for an instant clouded.
”I don't know what's coming over things!” Auntie Hamps murmured sadly, staring out of the window at the street gay with October sun s.h.i.+ne.
”What with that! And what with those terrible baccarat scandals. And now there's this free education, that we ratepayers have to pay for.
They'll be giving the children of the working cla.s.ses free meals next!”
she added, with remarkably intelligent antic.i.p.ation.
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