Chapter 29

He laughed at her embarrassment and walked across the road hailing a hansom, just as he used to in old times when he came to see Miss Rice. The memory of those days came back upon her. It was strange to meet him again after so many years. She felt she had seen him now for the last time. But it was foolish and wicked, too, to think of such things; her husband dying.... But she couldn't help it; he reminded her of so much of what was past and gone. A moment after she dashed these personal tears aside and walked open-hearted to meet William. What had the doctor said? She must know the truth. If she was to lose him she would lose everything. No, not everything; her boy would still remain to her, and she felt that, after all, her boy was what was most real to her in life. These thoughts had passed through her mind before William had had time to answer her question.

"He said the left lung was gone, that I'd never be able to stand another winter in England. He said I must go to Egypt."

"Egypt," she repeated. "Is that very far from here?"

"What matter how far it is! If I can't live in England I must go where I can live."

"Don't be cross, dear. I know it's your health that makes you that irritable, but it's hard to bear at times."

"You won't care to go to Egypt with me."

"How can you think that, Bill? Have I ever refused you anything?"

"Quite right, old girl, I'm sorry. I know you'd do anything for me. I've always said so, haven't I? It's this cough that makes me sharp tempered and fretful. I shall be different when I get to Egypt."

"When do we start?"

"If we get away by the end of October it will be all right. It will cost a lot of money; the journey is expensive, and we shall have to stop there six months. I couldn't think of coming home before the end of April."

Esther did not answer. They walked some yards in silence. Then he said--

"I've been very unlucky lately; there isn't much over a hundred pounds in the bank."

"How much shall we want?"

"Three or four hundred pounds at least. We won't take the boy with us, we couldn't afford that; but I should like to pay a couple of quarters in advance."

"That won't be much."

"Not if I have any luck. The luck must turn, and I have some splendid information about the Great Ebor and the Yorkshire Stakes. Stack knows of a horse or two that's being kept for Sandown. Unfortunately there is not much doing in August. I must try to make up the money: it's a matter of life and death."

It was for his very life that her husband was now gambling on the race-course, and a sensation of very great wickedness came up in her mind, but she stifled it instantly. William had noticed the look of fear that appeared in her eyes, and he said--

"It's my last chance. I can't get the money any other way; and I don't want to die yet awhile. I haven't been as good to you as I'd like, and I want to do something for the boy, you know."

He had been told not to remain out after sundown, but he was resolved to leave no stone unturned in his search for information, and often he returned home as late as nine and ten o'clock at night coughing--Esther could hear him all up the street. He came in ready to drop with fatigue, his pockets filled with sporting papers, and these he studied, spreading them on the table under the lamp, while Esther sat striving to do some needlework. It often dropped out of her hands, and her eyes filled with tears. But she took care that he should not see these tears; she did not wish to distress him unnecessarily. Poor chap! he had enough to put up with as it was. Sometimes he read out the horses' names and asked her which she thought would win, which seemed to her a likely name. But she begged of him not to ask her; they had many quarrels on this subject, but in the end he understood that it was not fair to ask her. Sometimes Stack and Journeyman came in, and they argued about weights and distances, until midnight; old John came to see them, and every day he had heard some new tip. It often rose to Esther's lips to tell William to back his fancy and have done with it; she could see that these discussions only fatigued him, that he was no nearer to the truth now than he was a fortnight ago. Meanwhile the horse he had thought of backing had gone up in the betting. But he said that he must be very careful. They had only a hundred pounds left; he must be careful not to risk this money foolishly--it was his very life-blood. If he were to lose all this money, he wouldn't only sign his own death warrant, but also hers. He might linger on a long while--there was no knowing, but he would never be able to do any work, that was certain (unless he went out to Egypt); the doctor had said so, and then it would be she who would have to support him. And if God were merciful enough to take him off at once he would leave her in a worse plight than he had found her in, and the boy growing up! Oh, it was terrible! He buried his face in his hands, and seemed quite overcome. Then the cough would take him, and for a few minutes he could only think of himself. Esther gave him a little milk to drink, and he said--

"There's a hundred pounds left, Esther. It isn't much, but it's something. I don't believe that there's much use in my going to Egypt. I shall never get well. It is better that I should pitch myself into the river. That would be the least selfish way out of it."

"William, I will not have you talk in that way," Esther said, laying down her work and going over to him. "If you was to do such a thing I should never forgive you. I could never think the same of you."

"All right, old girl, don't be frightened. I've been thinking too much about them horses, and am a bit depressed. I daresay it will come out all right. I think that Mahomet is sure to win the Great Ebor, don't you?"

"I don't think there's no better judge than yourself. They all say if he don't fall lame that he's bound to win."

"Then Mahomet shall carry my money. I'll back him to-morrow."

Now that he had made up his mind what horse to back his spirits revived. He was able to dismiss the subject from his mind, and they talked of other things, of their son, and they laid projects for his welfare. But on the day of the race, from early morning, William could barely contain himself. Usually he took his winnings and losings very quietly. When he had been especially unlucky he swore a bit, but Esther had never seen any great excitement before a race was run. The issues of this race were extraordinary, and it was heart-breaking to see him suffer; he could not remain still a moment. A prey to all the terrors of hope, exhausted with anticipation, he rested himself against the sideboard and wiped drops of sweat from his forehead. A broiling sunlight infested their window-panes, the room grew oven-like, and he was obliged at last to go into the back parlour and lie down. He lay there in his shirt sleeves quite exhausted, hardly able to breathe; the arm once so strong and healthy was shrunken to a little nothing. He seemed quite bloodless, and looking at him Esther could hardly hope that any climate would restore him to health. He just asked her what the time was, and said, "The race is being run now." A few minutes after he said, "I think Mahomet has won. I fancied I saw him get first past the post." He spoke as if he were sure, and said nothing about the evening paper. If he were disappointed, Esther felt that it would kill him, and she knelt down by the bedside and prayed that God would allow the horse to win. It meant her husband's life, that was all she knew. Oh, that the horse might win! Presently he said, "There's no use praying, I feel sure it is all right. Go into the next room, stand on the balcony so that you may see the boy coming along."

A pale yellow sky rose behind the brick neighbourhood, and with agonised soul the woman viewed its plausive serenity. There seemed to be hope in its quietness. At that moment the cry came up, "Win-ner, Win-ner." It came from the north, from the east, and now from the west. Three boys were shouting forth the news simultaneously. Ah, if it should prove bad news! But somehow she too felt that the news was good. She ran to meet the boy. She had a half-penny ready in her hand; he fumbled, striving to detach a single paper from the quire under his arm. Seeing her impatience, he said, "Mahomet's won." Then the pavement seemed to slide beneath her feet, and the setting sun she could hardly see, so full was her heart, so burdened with the happiness that she was bringing to the poor sick fellow who lay in his shirt sleeves on the bed in the back room. "It's all right," she said. "I thought so too; it seemed like it." His face flushed, life seemed to come back. He sat up and took the paper from her. "There," he said, "I've got my place-money, too. I hope Stack and Journeyman come in tonight. I'd like to have a chat about this. Come, give me a kiss, dear. I'm not going to die, after all. It isn't a pleasant thing to think that you must die, that there's no hope for you, that you must go under ground."

The next thing to do was to pick the winner of the Yorkshire Handicap. In this he was not successful, but he backed several winners at Sandown Park, and at the close of the week had made nearly enough to take him to Egypt.

The Doncaster week, however, proved disastrous. He lost most of his winnings, and had to look forward to retrieving his fortunes at Newmarket. "The worst of it is, if I don't make up the money by October, it will be no use. They say the November fogs will polish me off."

Between Doncaster and Newmarket he lost a bet, and this bet carried him back into despondency. He felt it was no use struggling against fate. Better remain in London and be taken away at the end of November or December; he couldn't last much longer than that. This would allow him to leave Esther at least fifty pounds to go on with. The boy would soon be able to earn money. It would be better so. No use wasting all this money for the sake of his health, which wasn't worth two-pence-three-farthings. It was like throwing sovereigns after farthings. He didn't want to do any betting; he was as hollow as a shell inside, he could feel it. Egypt could do nothing for him, and as he had to go, better sooner than later. Esther argued with him. What should she have to live for if he was taken from her. The doctors had said that Egypt might set him right. She didn't know much about such things, but she had always heard that it was extraordinary how people got cured out there.

"That's true," he said. "I've heard that people who couldn't live a week in England, who haven't the length of your finger of lung left, can go on all right out there. I might get something to do out there, and the boy might come out after us."

"That's the way I like to hear you talk. Who knows, at Newmarket we might have luck! Just one big bet, a winner at fifty to one, that's all we want."

"That's just what has been passing in my mind. I've got particular information about the Cesarewitch and Cambridgeshire. I could get the price you speak of--fifty to one against the two, Matchbox and Chasuble--the double event, you know. I'm inclined to go it. It's my last chance."

XLIII

When Matchbox galloped home the winner of the Cesarewitch by five lengths, William was lying in his bed, seemingly at death's door. He had remained out late one evening, had caught cold, and his mouth was constantly filled with blood. He was much worse, and could hardly take notice of the good news. When he revived a little he said, "It has come too late." But when Chasuble was backed to win thousands at ten to one, and Journeyman and Stack assured him that the stable was quite confident of being able to pull it off, his spirits revived. He spoke of hedging. "If," he said to Esther, "I was to get out at eight or nine to one I should be able to leave you something, you know, in case of accidents." But he would not entrust laying off his bet to either Stack of Journeyman; he spoke of a cab and seeing to it himself. If he did this the doctor assured him that it would not much matter whether Chasuble won or lost. "The best thing he could do," the doctor said, "would be to become an in-door patient at once. In the hospital he would be in an equable temperature, and he would receive an attention which he could not get at home."

William did not like going into the hospital; it would be a bad omen. If he did, he felt sure that Chasuble would not win.

"What has going or not going to the hospital to do with Chasuble's chance of winning the Cambridgeshire?" said the doctor. "This window is loose in its sash, a draught comes under the door, and if you close out the draughts the atmosphere of the room becomes stuffy. You're thinking of going abroad; a fortnight's nice rest is just what you want to set you up for your journey."

So he allowed himself to be persuaded; he was taken to the hospital, and Esther remained at home waiting for the fateful afternoon. Now that the dying man was taken from her she had no work to distract her thought. The unanswerable question--would Chasuble win?--was always before her. She saw the slender greyhound creatures as she had seen them at Epsom, through a sea of heads and hats, and she asked herself if Chasuble was the brown horse that had galloped in first, or the chestnut that had trotted in last. She often thought she was going mad--her head seemed like it--a sensation of splitting like a piece of calico.... She went to see her boy. Jack was a great tall fellow of fifteen, and had happily lost none of his affection for his mother, and great sweetness rose up within her. She looked at his long, straight, yellow-stockinged legs; she settled the collar of his cloak, and slipped her fingers into his leathern belt as they walked side by side. He was bare-headed, according to the fashion of his school, and she kissed the wild, dark curls with which his head was run over; they were much brighter in colour when he was a little boy--those days when she slaved seventeen hours a day for his dear life! But he paid her back tenfold for the hardship she had undergone.

She listened to the excellent report his masters gave of his progress, and walked through the quadrangles and the corridors with him, thinking of the sound of his voice as he told her the story of his classes and his studies. She must live for him; though for herself she had had enough of life. But, thank God, she had her darling boy, and whatever unhappiness there might be in store for her she would bear it for his sake. He knew that his father was ill, but she refrained and told him no word of the tragedy that was hanging over them. The noble instincts which were so intrinsically Esther Waters' told her that it were a pity to soil at the outset a young life with a sordid story, and though it would have been an inexpressible relief to her to have shared her trouble with her boy, she forced back her tears and courageously bore her cross alone, without once allowing its edge to touch him.

And every day that visitors were allowed she went to the hospital with the newspaper containing the last betting. "Chasuble, ten to one taken," William read out. The mare had advanced three points, and William looked at Esther inquiringly, and with hope in his eyes.

"I think she'll win," he said, raising himself in his cane chair.

"I hope so, dear," she murmured, and she settled his cushions.

Two days after the mare was back again at thirteen to one taken and offered; she went back even as far as eighteen to one, and then returned for a while to twelve to one. This fluctuation meant that something was wrong, and William began to lose hope. But on the following day the mare was backed to win a good deal of money at Tattersall's, and once more she stood at ten to one. Seeing her back at the old price made William look so hopeful that a patient stopped as he passed down the corridor, and catching sight of the _Sportsman_ on William's lap, he asked him if he was interested in racing. William told him that he was, and that if Chasuble won he would be able to go to Egypt.

"Them that has money can buy health as well as everything else. We'd all get well if we could get out there."

William told him how much he stood to win.

"That'll keep you going long enough to set you straight. You say the mare's backed at ten to one--two hundred to twenty. I wonder if I could get the money. I might sell up the 'ouse."

But before he had time to realise the necessary money the mare was driven back to eighteen to one, and he said--

"She won't win. I might as well leave the wife in the 'ouse. There's no luck for them that comes 'ere."

On the day of the race Esther walked through the streets like one daft, stupidly interested in the passers-by and the disputes that arose between the drivers of cabs and omnibuses. Now and then her thoughts collected, and it seemed to her impossible that the mare should win. If she did they would have £2,500, and would go to Egypt. But she could not imagine such a thing; it seemed so much more natural that the horse should lose, and that her husband should die, and that she should have to face the world once more. She offered up prayers that Chasuble might win, although it did not seem right to address God on the subject, but her heart often felt like breaking, and she had to do something. And she had no doubt that God would forgive her. But now that the day had come she did not feel as if he had granted her request. At the same time it did not seem possible that her husband was going to die. It was all so hard to understand.

She stopped at the "Bell and Horns" to see what the time was, and was surprised to find it was half-an-hour later than she had expected. The race was being run, Chasuble's hoofs were deciding whether her husband was to live or die. It was on the wire by this time. The wires were distinct upon a blue and dove-coloured sky. Did that one go to Newmarket, or the other? Which?

The red building came in sight, and a patient walked slowly up the walk, his back turned to her; another had sat down to rest. Sixteen years ago patients were walking there then, and the leaves were scattering then just as now.... Without transition of thought she wondered when the first boy would appear with the news. William was not in the grounds; he was upstairs behind those windows. Poor fellow, she could fancy him sitting there. Perhaps he was watching for her out of one of those windows. But there was no use her going up until she had the news; she must wait for the paper. She walked up and down listening for the cry. Every now and then expectation led her to mistake some ordinary cry for the terrible "Win-ner, all the win-ner," with which the whole town would echo in a few minutes. She hastened forward. No, it was not it. At last she heard the word shrieked behind her. She hastened after the boy, but failed to overtake him. Returning, she met another, gave him a half-penny and took a paper. Then she remembered she must ask the boy to tell her who won. But heedless of her question he had run across the road to sell papers to some men who had come out of a public-house. She must not give William the paper and wait for him to read the news to her. If the news were bad the shock might kill him. She must learn first what the news was, so that her face and manner might prepare him for the worst if need be. So she offered the paper to the porter and asked him to tell her. "Bramble, King of Trumps, Young Hopeful," he read out.

"Are you sure that Chasuble hasn't won?"

"Of course I'm sure, there it is."

"I can't read," she said as she turned away.

The news had stunned her; the world seemed to lose reality; she was uncertain what to do, and several times repeated to herself, "There's nothing for it but to go up and tell him. I don't see what else I can do." The staircase was very steep; she climbed it slowly, and stopped at the first landing and looked out of the window. A poor hollow-chested creature, the wreck of a human being, struggled up behind her. He had to rest several times, and in the hollow building his cough sounded loud and hollow. "It isn't generally so loud as that," she thought, and wondered how she could tell William the news. "He wanted to see Jack grow up to be a man. He thought that we might all go to Egypt, and that he'd get quite well there, for there's plenty of sunshine there, but now he'll have to make up his mind to die in the November fogs." Her thoughts came strangely clear, and she was astonished at her indifference, until a sudden revulsion of feeling took her as she was going up the last flight. She couldn't tell him the news; it was too cruel. She let the patient pass her, and when alone on the landing she looked down into the depth. She thought she'd like to fall over; anything rather than to do what she knew she must do. But her cowardice only endured for a moment, and with a firm step she walked into the corridor. It seemed to cross the entire building, and was floored and wainscotted with the same brown varnished wood as the staircase. There were benches along the walls; and emaciated and worn-out men lay on the long cane chairs in the windowed recesses by which the passage was lighted. The wards, containing sometimes three, sometimes six or seven beds, opened on to this passage. The doors of the wards were all open, and as she passed along she started at the sight of a boy sitting up in bed. His head had been shaved and only a slight bristle covered the crown. The head and face were a large white mass with two eyes. At the end of the passage there was a window; and William sat there reading a book. He saw her before she saw him, and when she caught sight of him she stopped, holding the paper loose before her between finger and thumb, and as she approached she saw that her manner had already broken the news to him.

"I see that she didn't win," he said.

"No, dear, she didn't win. We wasn't lucky this time: next time--"

"There is no next time, at least for me. I shall be far away from here when flat racing begins again. The November fogs will do for me, I feel that they will. I hope there'll be no lingering, that's all. Better to know the worst and make up your mind. So I have to go, have I? So there's no hope, and I shall be under ground before the next meeting. I shall never lay or take the odds again. It do seem strange. If only that mare had won. I knew damned well she wouldn't if I came here."

Then, catching sight of the pained look on his wife's face, he said, "I don't suppose it made no difference; it was to be, and what has to be has to be. I've got to go under ground. I felt it was to be all along. Egypt would have done me no good; I never believed in it--only a lot of false hope. You don't think what I say is true. Look 'ere, do you know what book this is? This is the Bible; that'll prove to you that I knew the game was up. I knew, I can't tell you how, but I knew the mare wouldn't win. One always seems to know. Even when I backed her I didn't feel about her like I did about the other one, and ever since I've been feeling more and more sure that it wasn't to be. Somehow it didn't seem likely, and to-day something told me that the game was up, so I asked for this book.... There's wonderful beautiful things in it."

"There is, indeed, Bill; and I hope you won't get tired of it, but will go on reading it."

"It's extraordinary how consoling it is. Listen to this. Isn't it beautiful; ain't them words heavenly?"

"They is, indeed. I knew you'd come to God at last."

"I'm afraid I've not led a good life. I wouldn't listen to you when you used to tell me of the lot of harm the betting used to bring on the poor people what used to come to our place. There's Sarah, I suppose she's out of prison by this. You've seen nothing of her, I suppose?"

"No, nothing."

"There was Ketley."