Part 50 (1/2)
”Will you go, Delia?”
”No!” said Delia, throwing back her beautiful head. ”No! This is my place, Mr. Mark. I'm very sorry--but you must leave me here. Give my love to Mrs. Matheson.”
”Delia!” He turned to her imploringly. But the softness she had shewn on the journey had died out of her face. She stood resolved, and some cold dividing force seemed to have rolled between them.
”I don't see what you can do, Mr. Winnington,” said Gertrude, still smiling. ”I have pointed that out to you before. As a matter of fact Delia will not even be living here on money provided by you at all. She has other resources. You have no hold on her--no power--that I can see.
And she wishes to stay with me. I think we must bid you good night. We are very busy.”
He stood a moment, looking keenly from one to the other, at Gertrude's triumphant eyes blazing from her emaciated face, at Delia's exalted, tragic air. Then, with a bow, and in silence, he left the room, and the house.
It was quite dark when he emerged on Milbank Street. All the neighbourhood of the Houses of Parliament and the Abbey seemed to be alive with business and traffic. But Palace Yard was still empty save for a few pa.s.sing figures, and there was no light on the Clock Tower. A placard on the railings of the Square caught his notice--”Threatened Raid on the House of Commons. Police precautions.” At the same moment he was conscious that a policeman standing at the corner of the House of Commons had touched his hat to him, grinning broadly. Winnington recognised a Maumsey man, whom he had befriended in various ways, who owed his place indeed in the Metropolitan force to Winnington's good word.
”Hullo, Hewson--how are you? Flouris.h.i.+ng?”
The man's face beamed again. He was thinking of a cricket match the year before under Winnington's captaincy. Like every member of the eleven, he would have faced ”death and d.a.m.nation” for the captain.
They walked along the man's beat together. A thought struck Winnington.
”You seem likely to have some disturbance here tomorrow?” he said, as they neared Westminster Bridge.
”It's the ladies, Sir. They do give a lot of trouble!” Winnington laughed--paused--then looked straight at the fine young man who was evidently so glad to see him.
”Look here, Hewson--I'll tell you something--keep it to yourself!
There'll be a lady in that procession to-morrow whom I don't want knocked about. I shall be here. Is there anything you can do to help me? I shall try and get her out of the crowd. Of course I shall have a motor here.”
Hewson looked puzzled, but eager. He described where he was likely to be stationed, and where Winnington would probably find him. If Mr.
Winnington would allow him, he would tip a wink to a couple of mates, who could be trusted--and if he could do anything to help, why, he would be ”rare pleased” to do it.
”But I'm afraid it'll be a bad row, Sir. There's a lot of men coming--from Whitechapel--they say.”
Winnington nodded and walked on. He went to his club, and dined there, refusing a friend's invitation to go and dine with him at home. And after dinner, as the best means of solitude, he went out again into the crowded streets, walking aimlessly. The thought of Delia arrested--refused bail--in a police cell--or in prison--tormented him.
All the traditional, fastidious instincts of his cla.s.s and type were strong in him. He loathed the notion of any hand laid upon her, of any rough contact between her clean youth, and the brutalities of a London crowd. His blood rushed at the thought of it. The mere idea of any insult offered her made him murderous.
He turned down Whitehall, and at a corner near Dover House he presently perceived a small crowd which was being addressed by a woman. She had brought a stool with her, and was standing on it. A thin slip of a girl, with a childish, open face and shrill voice. He went up to listen to her, and stood amazed at the ignorant pa.s.sion, the reckless violence of what she was saying. It seemed indeed to have but little effect upon her hearers. Men joined the crowd for a few minutes, listened with upturned impa.s.sive faces, and went their way. A few lads attempted horse-play, but stopped as a policeman approached; and some women carrying bundles propped them against a railing near, and waited, lifting tired eyes, and occasionally making comments to each other.
Presently, it appeared to Winnington that the speaker was no more affected by her own statements--appalling as some of them were--than her hearers. She appeared to be speaking from a book--to have just learnt a lesson. She was then a paid speaker? And yet he thought not.
Every now and then phrases stood out--fiercely sincere--about the low wages of women, their exclusion from the skilled trades, the marriage laws, the exploiting and ”selling” of women, and the like. And always, in the background of the girl's picture, the hungry and sensual appet.i.tes of men, lying in wait for the economic and physical weakness of the woman.
He waited until she had finished. Then he helped her down from her perch, and made a way for her through the crowd. She looked at him in astonishment. ”Thank you, Sir,--don't trouble! Last night I was pelted with filth. Are you one of us?”
He shook his head, smiling.
”I didn't agree with you. I advise you to look up some of those things you said. But you speak very well. Good-night.”
She looked at him angrily, gathered up her skirt with a rattle, in a small hand, and disappeared.
He presently turned back towards Buckingham Gate, and in a narrow Westminster street, as he pa.s.sed the side of a high factory building, suddenly there emerged from a door-way a number of women and girls, who had evidently been working over-time. Some of them broke at once into loud talk and laughter, as though in reaction from the confinement and tension of their work, some--quite silent--turned their tired faces to him as they pa.s.sed him; and some looked boldly, provocatively at the handsome man, who on his side was clearly observing them. They were of all types, but the majority of the quite young girls were pale and stunted, shewing the effect of long hours, and poor food. The coa.r.s.e or vicious faces were few; many indeed were marked by a modest or patient gentleness. The thin line of hurrying forms disappeared into darkness and distance, some one way, some another; and Winnington was left to feel that in what he had seen--this everyday incident of a London street--he had been aptly reminded of what a man who has his occupation and dwelling amid rural scenes and occupations too readily forgets--that toiling host of women, married and unmarried, which modern industry is every day using, or devouring, or wasting. The stream of lives rushes day by day through the industrial rapids; some of it pa.s.sing on to quiet and fruitful channels beyond the roar, and some lost and churned for ever in the main tumult of the river.