Chapter 26

"Well, it won't make any difference."

"Oh, Esther, no; some one will come in and tell us. The race can't be over yet; it is a long race, and takes some time to run."

By this time the boy was far away, and fainter and fainter the terrible word, "Win-ner, win-ner, win-ner."

"It's too late now," said Sarah; "some one'll come in presently and tell us about it.... I daresay it ain't the paper at all. Them boys cries out anything that will sell."

"Win-ner, win-ner." The voice was coming towards them.

"If he has won, Bill and I is to marry.... Somehow I feel as if he hasn't."

"Win-ner."

"We shall soon know." Esther took a halfpenny from the till.

"Don't you think we'd better wait? It can't be printed in the papers, not the true account, and if it was wrong--" Esther didn't answer; she gave Charles the halfpenny; he went out, and in a few minutes came back with the paper in his hand. "Tornado first, Ben Jonson second, Woodcraft third," he read out. "That's a good thing for the guv'nor. There was very few what backed Tornado.... He's only lost some place-money."

"So he was only second," said Sarah, turning deadly pale. "They said he was certain to win."

"I hope you've not lost much," said Esther. "It wasn't with William that you backed him."

"No, it wasn't with William. I only had a few shillings on. It don't matter. Let me have a drink."

"What will you have?"

"Some whisky."

Sarah drank it neat. Esther looked at her doubtfully.

The bars would be empty for the next two hours; Esther wished to utilize this time; she had some shopping to do, and asked Sarah to come with her. But Sarah complained of being tired, and said she would see her when she came back.

Esther went out a little perplexed. She was detained longer than she expected, and when she returned Sarah was staggering about in the bar-room, asking Charles for one more drink.

"All bloody rot; who says I'm drunk? I ain't... look at me. The 'orse did not win, did he? I say he did; papers all so much bloody rot."

"Oh, Sarah, what is this?"

"Who's this? Leave go, I say."

"Mr. Stack, won't you ask her to come upstairs?... Don't encourage her."

"Upstairs? I'm a free woman. I don't want to go upstairs. I'm a free woman; tell me," she said, balancing herself with difficulty and staring at Esther with dull, fishy eyes, "tell me if I'm not a free woman? What do I want upstairs for?"

"Oh, Sarah, come upstairs and lie down. Don't go out."

"I'm going home. Hands off, hands off!" she said, slapping Esther's hands from her arm.

"'For every one was drunk last night, And drunk the night before; And if we don't get drunk to-night, We don't get drunk no more.

(Chorus.)

"'Now you will have a drink with me, And I will drink with you; For we're the very rowdiest lot Of the rowdy Irish crew.'

"That's what we used to sing in the Lane, yer know; should 'ave seen the coster gals with their feathers, dancing and clinking their pewters. Rippin Day, Bank 'oliday, Epping, under the trees--'ow they did romp, them gals!

"'We all was roaring drunk last night, And drunk the night before; And if we don't get drunk to-night, We won't get drunk no more.'

"Girls and boys, you know, all together."

"Sarah, listen to me."

"Listen! Come and have a drink, old gal, just another drink." She staggered up to the counter. "One more, just for luck; do yer 'ear?" Before Charles could stop her she had seized the whisky that had just been served. "That's my whisky," exclaimed Journeyman. He made a rapid movement, but was too late. Sarah had drained the glass and stood vacantly looking into space. Journeyman seemed so disconcerted at the loss of his whisky that every one laughed.

A few moments after Sarah staggered forward and fell insensible into his arms. He and Esther carried her upstairs and laid her on the bed in the spare room.

"She'll be precious bad to-morrow," said Journeyman.

"I don't know how you could have gone on helping her," Esther said to Charles when she got inside the bar; and she seemed so pained that out of deference to her feelings the subject was dropped out of the conversation. Esther felt that something shocking had happened. Sarah had deliberately got drunk. She would not have done that unless she had some great trouble on her mind. William, too, was of this opinion. Something serious must have happened. As they went up to their room Esther said--

"It is all the fault of this betting. The neighbourhood is completely ruined. They're losing their 'omes and their furniture, and you'll bear the blame of it."

"It do make me so wild to hear you talkin' that way, Esther. People will bet, you can't stop them. I lays fair prices, and they're sure of their money. Yet you says they're losin' their furniture, and that I shall have to bear the blame."

When they got to the top of the stairs she said--

"I must go and see how Sarah is."

"Where am I? What's happened?... Take that candle out of my eyes.... Oh, my head is that painful." She fell back on the pillow, and Esther thought she had gone to sleep again. But she opened her eyes. "Where am I? ...That's you, Esther?"

"Yes. Can't you remember?"

"No, I can't. I remember that the 'orse didn't win, but don't remember nothing after.... I got drunk, didn't I? It feels like it."

"The 'orse didn't win, and then you took too much. It's very foolish of you to give way."

"Give way! Drunk, what matter? I'm done for."

"Did you lose much?"

"It wasn't what I lost, it was what I took. I gave Bill the plate to pledge; it's all gone, and master and missis coming back tomorrow. Don't talk about it. I got drunk so that I shouldn't think of it."

"Oh, Sarah, I didn't think it was as bad as that. You must tell me all about it."

"I don't want to think about it. They'll come soon enough to take me away. Besides, I cannot remember nothing now. My mouth's that awful--Give me a drink. Never mind the glass, give me the water-bottle."

She drank ravenously, and seemed to recover a little. Esther pressed her to tell her about the pledged plate. "You know that I'm your friend. You'd better tell me. I want to help you out of this scrape."

"No one can help me now, I'm done for. Let them come and take me. I'll go with them. I shan't say nothing."

"How much is it in for? Don't cry like that," Esther said, and she took out her handkerchief and wiped Sarah's eyes. "How much is it in for? Perhaps I can get my husband to lend me the money to get it out."

"It's no use trying to help me.... Esther, I can't talk about it now; I shall go mad if I do."

"Tell me how much you got on it."

"Thirty pounds."

It took a long time to undress her. Every now and then she made an effort, and another article of clothing was got off. When Esther returned to her room William was asleep, and Esther took him by the shoulder.

"It is more serious than I thought," she shouted. "I want to tell you about it."

"What about it?" he said, opening his eyes.

"She has pledged the plate for thirty pounds to back that 'orse."

"What 'orse?"

"Ben Jonson."

"He broke down at the bushes. If he hadn't I should have been broke up. The whole neighbourhood was on him. So she pledged the plate to back him. She didn't do that to back him herself. Some one must have put her up to it."

"Yes, it was Bill Evans."

"Ah, that blackguard put her up to it. I thought she'd left him for good. She promised us that she'd never speak to him again."

"You see, she was that fond of him that she couldn't help herself. There's many that can't."

"How much did they get on the plate?"

"Thirty pounds."

William blew a long whistle. Then, starting up in the bed, he said, "She can't stop here. If it comes out that it was through betting, it won't do this house any good. We're already suspected. There's that old sweetheart of yours, the Salvation cove, on the lookout for evidence of betting being carried on."

"She'll go away in the morning. But I thought that you might lend her the money to get the plate out."

"What! thirty pounds?"

"It's a deal of money, I know; but I thought that you might be able to manage it. You've been lucky over this race."

"Yes, but think of all I've lost this summer. This is the first bit of luck I've had for a long while."

"I thought you might be able to manage it."

Esther stood by the bedside, her knee leaned against the edge. She seemed to him at that moment as the best woman in the world, and he said--

"Thirty pounds is no more to me than two-pence-halfpenny if you wish it, Esther."

"I haven't been an extravagant wife, have I?" she said, getting into bed and taking him in her arms. "I never asked you for money before. She's my friend--she's yours too--we've known her all our lives. We can't see her go to prison, can we, Bill, without raising a finger to save her?"

She had never called him Bill before, and the familiar abbreviation touched him, and he said--

"I owe everything to you, Esther; everything that's mine is yours. But," he said, drawing away so that he might see her better, "what do you say if I ask something of you?"

"What are you going to ask me?"

"I want you to say that you won't bother me no more about the betting. You was brought up to think it wicked. I know all that, but you see we can't do without it."

"Do you think not?"

"Don't the thirty pounds you're asking for Sarah come out of betting?"

"I suppose it do."

"Most certainly it do."

"I can't help feeling, Bill, that we shan't always be so lucky as we have been."

"You mean that you think that one of these days we shall have the police down upon us?"

"Don't you sometimes think that we can't always go on without being caught? Every day I hear of the police being down on some betting club or other."

"They've been down on a great number lately, but what can I do? We always come back to that. I haven't the health to work round from race-course to race-course as I used to. But I've got an idea, Esther. I've been thinking over things a great deal lately, and--give me my pipe--there, it's just by you. Now, hold the candle, like a good girl."

William pulled at his pipe until it was fully lighted. He threw himself on his back, and then he said--

"I've been thinking things over. The betting 'as brought us a nice bit of trade here. If we can work up the business a bit more we might, let's say in a year from now, be able to get as much for the 'ouse as we gave.... What do you think of buying a business in the country, a 'ouse doing a steady trade? I've had enough of London, the climate don't suit me as it used to. I fancy I should be much better in the country, somewhere on the South Coast. Bournemouth way, what do you think?"

Before Esther could reply William was taken with a fit of coughing, and his great broad frame was shaken as if it were so much paper.

"I'm sure," said Esther, when he had recovered himself a little, "that a good deal of your trouble comes from that pipe. It's never out of your mouth.... I feel like choking myself."

"I daresay I smoke too much.... I'm not the man I was. I can feel it plain enough. Put my pipe down and blow out the candle.... I didn't ask you how Sarah was."

"Very bad. She was half dazed and didn't tell me much."

"She didn't tell you where she had pledged the plate?"

"No, I will ask her about that to-morrow morning." Leaning forward she blew out the candle. The wick smouldered red for a moment, and they fell asleep happy in each other's love, seeming to find new bonds of union in pity for their friend's misfortune.

XXXIX

"Sarah, you must make an effort and try to dress yourself."

"Oh, I do feel that bad, I wish I was dead!"

"You must not give way like that; let me help you put on your stockings."

Sarah looked at Esther. "You're very good to me, but I can manage." When she had drawn on her stockings her strength was exhausted, and she fell back on the pillow.

Esther waited a few minutes. "Here're your petticoats. Just tie them round you; I'll lend you a dressing-gown and a pair of slippers."

William was having breakfast in the parlour. "Well, feeling a bit poorly?" he said to Sarah. "What'll you have? There's a nice bit of fried fish. Not feeling up to it?"

"Oh, no! I couldn't touch anything." She let herself drop on the sofa.

"A cup of tea'll do you good," said Esther. "You must have a cup of tea, and a bit of toast just to nibble. William, pour her out a cup of tea."

When she had drunk the tea she said she felt a little better.

"Now," said William, "let's 'ear all about it. Esther has told you, no doubt, that we intend to do all we can to help you."

"You can't help me.... I'm done for," she replied dolefully.

"I don't know about that," said William. "You gave that brute Bill Evans the plate to pawn, so far as I know."

"There isn't much more to tell. He said the horse was sure to win. He was at thirty to one at that time. A thousand to thirty. Bill said with that money we could buy a public-house in the country. He wanted to settle down, he wanted to get out of--I don't want to say nothing against him. He said if I would only give him this chance of leading a respectable life, we was to be married immediately after."

"He told you all that, did he? He said he'd give you a 'ome of your own, I know. A regular rotter; that man is about as bad as they make 'em. And you believed it all?"

"It wasn't so much what I believed as what I couldn't help myself. He had got that influence over me that my will wasn't my own. I don't know how it is--I suppose men have stronger natures than women. I 'ardly knew what I was doing; it was like sleep-walking. He looked at me and said, 'You'd better do it.' I did it, and I suppose I'll have to go to prison for it. What I says is just the truth, but no one believes tales like that. How long do you think they'll give me?"

"I hope we shall be able to get you out of this scrape. You got thirty pounds on the plate. Esther has told you that I'm ready to lend you the money to get it out."

"Will you do this? You're good friends indeed.... But I shall never be able to pay you back such a lot of money."

"We won't say nothing about paying back; all we want you to do is to say that you'll never see that fellow again."

A change of expression came over Sarah's face, and William said, "You're surely not still hankering after him?"

"No, indeed I'm not. But whenever I meets him he somehow gets his way with me. It's terrible to love a man as I love him. I know he don't really care for me--I know he is all you say, and yet I can't help myself. It is better to be honest with you."

William looked puzzled. At the end of a long silence he said, "If it's like that I don't see that we can do anything."

"Have patience, William. Sarah don't know what she's saying. She'll promise not to see him again."

"You're very kind to me. I know I'm very foolish. I promised before not to see him, and I couldn't keep my promise."

"You can stop with us until you get a situation in the country," said Esther, "where you'll be out of his way."

"I might do that."

"I don't like to part with my money," said William, "if it is to do no one any good." Esther looked at him, and he added, "It is just as Esther wishes, of course; I'm not giving you the money, it is she."

"It is both of us," said Esther; "you'll do what I said, Sarah?"

"Oh, yes, anything you say, Esther," and she flung herself into her friend's arms and wept bitterly.

"Now we want to know where you pawned the plate," said William.

"A long way from here. Bill said he knew a place where it would be quite safe. I was to say that my mistress left it to me; he said that would be sufficient.... It was in the Mile End Road."

"You'd know the shop again?" said William.

"But she's got the ticket," said Esther.

"No, I ain't got the ticket; Bill has it."

"Then I'm afraid the game's up."

"Do be quiet," said Esther, angrily. "If you want to get out of lending the money say so and have done with it."

"That's not true, Esther. If you want another thirty to pay him to give up the ticket, you can have it."

Esther thanked her husband with one quick look. "I'm sorry," she said, "my temper is that hasty. But you know where he lives," she said, turning to the wretched woman who sat on the sofa pale and trembling.

"Yes, I know where he lives--13 Milward Square, Mile End Road."

"Then we've no time to lose; we must go after him at once."

"No, William dear; you must not; you'd only lose your temper, and he might do you an injury."

"An injury! I'd soon show him which was the best man of the two."

"I'll not hear of it, Sarah. He mustn't go with you."

"Come, Esther, don't be foolish. Let me go."

He had taken his hat from the peg. Esther got between him and the door.

"I forbid it," she said; "I will not let you go--perhaps to have a fight, and with that cough."

William was coughing. He had turned pale, and he said, leaning against the table, "Give me something to drink, a little milk."

Esther poured some into a cup. He sipped it slowly. "I'll go upstairs," she said, "for my hat and jacket. You've got your betting to attend to." William smiled. "Sarah, mind, he's not to go with you."

"You forget what you said last night about the betting."

"Never mind what I said last night about the betting; what I say now is that you're not to leave the bar. Come upstairs, Sarah, and dress yourself, and let's be off."

Stack and Journeyman were waiting to speak to him. They had lost heavily over old Ben and didn't know how they'd pull through; and the whole neighbourhood was in the same plight; the bar was filled with gloomy faces.

And as William scanned their disconcerted faces--clerks, hair-dressers, waiters from the innumerable eating houses--he could not help thinking that perhaps more than one of them had taken money that did not belong to them to back Ben Jonson. The unexpected disaster had upset all their plans, and even the wary ones who had a little reserve fund could not help backing outsiders, hoping by the longer odds to retrieve yesterday's losses. At two the bar was empty, and William waited for Esther and Sarah to return from Mile End. It seemed to him that they were a long time away. But Mile End is not close to Soho; and when they returned, between four and five, he saw at once that they had been unsuccessful. He lifted up the flap in the counter and all three went into the parlour.

"He left Milward Square yesterday," Esther said. "Then we went to another address, and then to another; we went to all the places Sarah had been to with him, but no tidings anywhere."

Sarah burst into tears. "There's no more hope," she said. "I'm done for; they'll come and take me away. How much do you think I'll get? They won't give me ten years, will they?"

"I can see nothing else for you to do," said Esther, "but to go straight back to your people and tell them the whole story, and throw yourself on their mercy."

"Do you mean that she should say that she pawned the plate to get money to back a horse?"

"Of course I do."

"It will make the police more keen than ever on the betting houses."

"That can't be helped."

"She'd better not be took here," said William; "it will do a great deal of harm.... It don't make no difference to her where she's took, do it?"

Esther did not answer.

"I'll go away. I don't want to get no one into trouble," Sarah said, and she got up from the sofa.

At that moment Charles opened the door, and said, "You're wanted in the bar, sir."

William went out quickly. He returned a moment after. There was a scared look on his face. "They're here," he said. He was followed by two policemen. Sarah uttered a little cry.

"Your name is Sarah Tucker?" said the first policeman.

"Yes."

"You're charged with robbery by Mr. Sheldon, 34, Cumberland Place."

"Shall I be taken through the streets?"

"If you like to pay for it, you can go in a cab," the police-officer replied.

"I'll go with you, dear," Esther said. William plucked her by the sleeve. "It will do no good. Why should you go?"

XL

The magistrate of course sent the case for trial, and the thirty pounds which William had promised to give to Esther went to pay for the defence. There seemed at first some hope that the prosecution would not be able to prove its case, but fresh evidence connecting Sarah with the abstraction of the plate was forthcoming, and in the end it was thought advisable that the plea of not guilty should be withdrawn. The efforts of counsel were therefore directed towards a mitigation of sentence. Counsel called Esther and William for the purpose of proving the excellent character that the prisoner had hitherto borne; counsel spoke of the evil influence into which the prisoner had fallen, and urged that she had no intention of actually stealing the plate. Tempted by promises, she had been persuaded to pledge the plate in order to back a horse which she had been told was certain to win. If that horse had won, the plate would have been redeemed and returned to its proper place in the owner's house, and the prisoner would have been able to marry. Possibly the marriage on which the prisoner had set her heart would have turned out more unfortunate for the prisoner than the present proceedings. Counsel had not words strong enough to stigmatise the character of a man who, having induced a girl to imperil her liberty for his own vile ends, was cowardly enough to abandon her in the hour of her deepest distress. Counsel drew attention to the trusting nature of the prisoner, who had not only pledged her employer's plate at his base instigation, but had likewise been foolish enough to confide the pawn-ticket to his keeping. Such was the prisoner's story, and he submitted that it bore on the face of it the stamp of truth. A very sad story, but one full of simple, foolish, trusting humanity, and, having regard to the excellent character the prisoner had borne, counsel hoped that his lordship would see his way to dealing leniently with her.