Part 35 (1/2)
She turned away; she could not bear it, and that very night she came to a determination, which in due course was communicated to Harold, and him alone. That determination was to let things be for the present, upon the chance of something happening by means of which the dilemma might be solved. But if nothing happened--and indeed it did not seem probable to her that anything would happen--then she would sacrifice herself at the last moment. She believed, indeed she knew, that she could always call Edward Cossey back to her if she liked. It was a compromise, and like all compromises had an element of weakness; but it gave time, and time to her was like breath to the dying.
”Sir,” said George presently, ”it's Boisingham Quarter Sessions the day after to-morrow, ain't it?” (Mr. de la Molle was chairman of Quarter Sessions.)
”Yes, of course, it is.”
George thought for a minute.
”I'm a-thinking, Squire, that if I arn't wanting that day I want to go up to Lunnon about a bit of business.”
”Go up to London!” said the Squire; ”why what are you going to do there? You were in London the other day.”
”Well, Squire,” he answered, looking inexpressibly sly, ”that ain't no matter of n.o.body's. It's a bit of private affairs.”
”Oh, all right,” said the Squire, his interest dying out. ”You are always full of twopenny-halfpenny mysteries,” and he continued his walk.
But George shook his fist in the direction of the road down which the dog-cart had driven.
”Ah! you laryer devil,” he said, alluding to Mr. Quest. ”If I don't make Boisingham, yes, and all England, too hot to hold you, my mother never christened me and my name ain't George. I'll give you what for, my cuckoo, that I will!”
CHAPTER x.x.xIV
GEORGE'S DIPLOMATIC ERRAND
George carried out his intention of going to London. On the second morning after the day when Mr. Quest had driven the auctioneer in the dog-cart to Honham, he might have been seen an hour before it was light purchasing a third cla.s.s return ticket to Liverpool Street.
Arriving there in safety he partook of a second breakfast, for it was ten o'clock, and then hiring a cab caused himself to be driven to the end of that street in Pimlico where he had gone with the fair ”Edithia” and where Johnnie had made acquaintance with his ash stick.
Dismissing the cab he made his way to the house with the red pillars, but on arriving was considerably taken aback, for the place had every appearance of being deserted. There were no blinds to the windows, and on the steps were muddy footmarks and bits of rag and straw which seemed to be the litter of a recent removal. Indeed, there on the road were the broad wheelmarks of the van which had carted off the furniture. He stared at this sight in dismay. The bird had apparently flown, leaving no address, and he had taken his trip for nothing.
He pressed upon the electric bell; that is, he did this ultimately.
George was not accustomed to electric bells, indeed he had never seen one before, and after attempting in vain to pull it with his fingers (for he knew that it must be a bell because there was the word itself written on it), as a last resource he condescended to try his teeth.
Ultimately, however, he discovered how to use it, but without result.
Either the battery had been taken away, or it was out of gear. Just as he was wondering what to do next he made a discovery--the door was slightly ajar. He pushed it and it opened--revealing a dirty hall, stripped of every sc.r.a.p of furniture. Entering, he shut the door and walked up the stairs to the room whence he had fled after thras.h.i.+ng Johnnie. Here he paused and listened, thinking that he heard somebody in the room. Nor was he mistaken, for presently a well-remembered voice shrilled out:
”Who's skulking round outside there? If it's one of those bailiffs he'd better hook it, for there's nothing left here.”
George's countenance positively beamed at the sound.
”Bailiffs, marm?” he called through the door--”it ain't no varminty bailiffs, it's a friend, and just when you're a-wanting one seemingly.
Can I come in?”
”Oh, yes, come in, whoever you are,” said the voice. Accordingly he opened the door and entered, and this was what he saw. The room, like the rest of the house, had been stripped of everything, with the solitary exceptions of a box and a mattress, beside which were an empty bottle and a dirty gla.s.s. On the mattress sat the fair Edithia, /alias/ Mrs. d'Aubigne, /alias/ the Tiger, /alias/ Mrs. Quest, and such a sight as she presented George had never seen before. Her fierce face bore traces of recent heavy drinking and was moreover dirty, haggard and dreadful to look upon; her hair was a frowsy mat, on some patches of which the golden dye had faded, leaving it its natural hue of doubtful grey. She wore no collar and her linen was open at the neck. On her feet were a filthy pair of white satin slippers, and on her back that same gorgeous pink satin tea-gown which Mr. Quest had observed on the occasion of his visit, now however soiled and torn.
Anything more squalid or repulsive than the whole picture cannot be imagined, and though his nerves were pretty strong, and in the course of his life he had seen many a sight of utter dest.i.tution, George literally recoiled from it.
”What's the matter?” said the hag sharply, ”and who the d.i.c.kens are you? Ah, I know now; you're the chap who whacked Johnnie,” and she burst into a hoa.r.s.e scream of laughter at the recollection. ”It was mean of you though to hook it and leave me. He pulled me, and I was fined two pounds by the beak.”
”Mean of /him/, marm, not me, but he was a mean varmint altogether he was; to go and pull a lady too, I niver heard of such a thing. But, marm, if I might say so, you seem to be in trouble here,” and he took a seat upon the deal box.