Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen

Still, it took all that day to reach it. We might have found out the railway station and taken a train: but I thought we ought to keep the little money we had left, for food. We walked for a while with a boy who had a great big basket on his back, that he had filled with onions: he showed us to a place where wagons came, to pick up vegetables for the city markets. We had missed the best of the traffic, but we got a ride, in the end, with a man with a slow horse, taking scarlet beans to Hammersmith. He said Charles made him think of his son—Charles had that sort of face—so I let them ride up front together, and sat in the back of the cart, with the beans. I sat with my cheek against a crate, my eyes on the road ahead, and now and then the road would rise and show us London again, grown a little nearer. I might have slept; keep from watching. I watched as the roads began to be busier and the country hedges began to give way to palings and walls; I watched the leaf become b rick, the grass become cinders and dust, the ditches

kerb-stones. When once the cart drew close to the side of a house that was pasted, two inches thick, with fluttering bills, I reached and tore free a strip of poster—held it for a second, then let it fly. It had a picture of a hand upon it, holding a pistol. It left soot on my fingers. Then I knew I was home. From Hammersmith, we walked. That part of London was strange to me, but I found I knew my way all right—just as I had known, in the country, which road to take at a fork. Charles walked beside me, blinking, and sometimes catching hold of the cuff of my sleeve; in the end I took his hand to lead him across a street, and he let his fingers stay there. I saw us reflected in the glass of a great shop window—me in my bonnet , him in his plain pea-jacket—we looked like the Babes in the bloody Wood.

Then we reached Westminster, and got our first proper view of the river; and I had to stop. Wait, Charles, I said, putting my hand to my heart and turning away from him. I did not want him to see me so stirred up. But then, the sharpest part of my feelings being over, I began to think. We ought not to cross the water just yet, I said, as we walked on. I was thinking of who we might bump into. Suppose we chanced upon Gentleman? Or, suppose he chanced upon us? I did not think he would put a hand upon me, himself; but fifteen thousand pounds is a deal of money, and I knew he was up to hiring bullies to do his bad work for him. I had not thought of this, until now. I had thought only of reaching London . I began to look about me, in a new way. Charles saw me do it.

What is it, miss? he said. Nothing, I answered. Only, Im afraid there may still be men, sent out by Dr Christie. Lets cut down here. I took him down a dark and narrow street. But then I thought, a dark and narrow street would be the worst kind of street to be caught in. I turned instead—we were somewhere near Charing Cross now—into the Strand; a time we came to the end of a road that had one or two little stalls, selling second-hand clothes. I went to the first we came to, and bought Charles a woollen scarf. For myself, I got a veil. who sold it to me teased me. Dont care for a hat, instead? he said. Your face is too pretty to hide.

I held out my hand for my half-penny change. All right, I said, impatient. Sos my arse. Charles flinched. I did not care. I put on the veil and felt better. It looked badly above my bonnet and pale print gown, but I thought I might pass for a girl with scars, or with some kind of ailment of the face. I made Charles draw the woollen scarf about his mouth and pull down his cap. When he complained that the day was hot I said, If I get taken by Dr Christies spies before I bring you to Mr Rivers, how hot do you think you'll find it, then? He looked ahead, to the crush of coaches and horses at Ludgate Hill. It was six oclock, and the traffic was at its worst.

Then when will you bring me to him? he said. And how much further does he live? Not much at all. But, we must be careful. I have to think. Let us find somewhere quiet We ended up at St Pauls. We went in, and I sat in one of the pews while Charles walked about and looked at the statues. I thought, I must only get to Lant Street, and then I shall be saved; worrying me was the thought of the story that Gentleman might have put about the Borough. Say all of Mr Ibbss nephews had had their hearts turned against me? Say I met John Vroom before I reached Mrs Sucksby? he would know me, even behind my veil. I must be careful. I should have to study the house—make my move only when I knew how the land lay. It was hard, to be cautious and slow; mother, who had not been cautious enough. Look what happened to her.

I shivered. St Pauls was cold, even in July. The glass at the windows was losing its colours, as the afternoon turned to night. At Dr Christies, now, they would be waking us up to take us down to our suppers. We would have bread-and-butter, and a pint of tea . . . Charles came and sat beside me. I heard him sigh. He had his cap in his hands, and his fair hair shone. Three boys in white gowns went about with flames on sticks of brass, lighting more lamps and candles; and I looked at him and thought how well he would fit among them, in a gown of his own. Then I looked at his coat. It was a good one, though rather

marked by dust. How much money have we now, Charles? I said. We had a penny and a half. I took him to a pawn-shop on Watling Street, and we pledged his coat for two shillings. He cried as he handed it over. Oh, how, he said, shall I ever see Mr Rivers now? Hell never want a boy in shirt-sleeves! I said we would get the coat back in a day or two. I bought him some shrimps and a piece of bread-and-butter, and a cup of tea. London shrimps, I said. Yum, aint they lovely? He did not answer. When we walked on, he walked a step behind me with his arms about himself, his eyes on the ground. His eyes were red—from tears, and also from grit.

We crossed the river at Blackfriars, and from there, though I had been going so carefully, I went more carefully still. We kept away from the back lanes and alleys, and stuck to the open roads; light, and always a good light for doing any kind of shady business in, better even than darkness—helped to hide us. Every step we took, however, was taking me closer to home: I began to see certain familiar things—even, certain familiar people—and felt, again, a stir in my head and heart, that I thought would quite undo me. Then we reached Gravel Lane and the Southwark Bridge Road, turned up to the west end of Lant Street and stood looking along it ; and my blood rushed so fast and my heart rose so high, I thought I should swoon. I gripped the brick wall we rested against and let my head drop, until the blood went slower. When I spoke, my voice was thick. said,

See that black door, Charles, with the window in it? Thats the door to my own house. The lady lives there, thats been like my mother. I should like more than anything now, to run to that door; It aint safe. Not safe? he said. He gazed about him, fearfully. I suppose those streets—that looked so dear to my eyes I could have lain down and kissed them—might have looked rather low to his. Not safe, I said again, while Dr Christies men are still behind us. But I looked along the street, at Mr Ibbss door, and then at the window above it. It was the window to the room I shared with Mrs Sucksby, and the temptation to go closer to it was too great. I caught hold of Charles and pushed him before me, and we walked, then stood at a wall where there was a bit of shadow between two bulging bow-windows. Some kids went by, and laughed at my veil. I knew their mothers, they were neighbors of ours ; and I began to be afraid again, of being seen, and recognized. I thought I was a fool, after all, to have come so far down the street; then I thought, Why dont I just make a run at the door, calling out for Mrs Sucksby? Maybe Id have done it. I cant say. For I had turned, as if to rearrange my bonnet; and while I was still making up my mind Charles put his hand to his mouth, and cried out, Oh !

The kids that had laughed at my veil had run far down the street, and then had parted, to let someone walk between them. It was Gentleman. He was wearing that old slouch hat, and had a scarlet cloth at his throat. His hair and whiskers were longer than ever. We watched him saunter. I think he was whistling. Then, at Mr Ibbss shop-door, he came to a stop. He put his hand to the pocket of his coat and drew out a key. kicked his feet against the step—first the right, then the left—to knock the dust from them; then he fitted the key in the lock, glanced idly about, and went inside. He did it all, in the easiest and most familiar way you can imagine. I saw him, and quivered right through. But my feelings were queer. The devil! I said. I should like to have killed him, to have shot him, to have run at him and struck his face. But the sight of him had also made me afraid—more afraid than I ought to have been—as afraid as if I were still at Dr Christies and might at any moment be taken, shaken, bound and plunged in water. My breath came strangely, in little catches. I dont think Charles noticed. He was thinking of his shirt-sleeves.—Oh! he still said. He was looking at his finger-nails, and at the smudges of dirt on his cuffs. I caught hold of his arm. I wanted to run—back, the way we had come. I wanted to run, more than anything. I almost did. Come on, I said. Come, quick. Then I looked again at Mr Ibbss door— thought of Mrs Sucksby behind it—thought of Gentleman, cool and easy at her side. Damn him, for making me afraid of my own home! I wont be chased away! I said. here. And I gripped Charles tighter and began to push him, not away from Lant Street, but further along it. There were rooming-houses, all along that side. We reached one, now. at the door.—Got half a one, she said. Half was not enough. We went to the next house, and then the next. They were both full. At last we reached the house right across from Mr Ibbss. woman on the step with a baby. I did not know her. That was good. Got a room? I said quickly. Might have, she answered, trying to see beyond my veil. At the front? I looked up and pointed. That one? That one costs more. Well have it for the week. Ill give you a shilling now, and pay you the rest tomorrow. She made a face; but she wanted gin, I knew it. All right, she said. She got to her feet, put the baby on the step, and took us up a slippery staircase. The door to the room she led us into had no lock to it, only a stone for propping it shut. The room was small and dark, with two low beds and a chair. The window had shutters closed before it, on the street. -side, and there was a stick with a hook hung next to the glass, meant for opening them. You do it like this, said the woman, beginning to show us. I stopped her. I said I had a weakness of the eye and didnt care for sunlight. For I had seen straight away that the shutters had little holes cut in them, that were more or less perfect for what I wanted; and when the woman had got our shilling off us and gone, I shut the door behind her, took off my veil and bonnet, then put myself at the glass and looked out. There was nothing to see, however. Mr Ibbss shop door was still shut, and Mrs Sucksbys window dark. I watched for quite a minute before I remembered Charles. He was standing, gazing at me, squeezing his cap between his hands. other room a man gave a shout, and he jumped. Sit down, I said. I put my face back^to the window. I want my jacket, he said. You cant have it. The shop is closed. We shall get it tomorrow. I dont believe you. You told a lie to that lady, about having a poor eye. You took that gown and those shoes, and that pie. That pie made me sick. I have brought you to London. Aint that what you wanted? I thought London would be different. You havent seen the best parts yet. Go to sleep. Well get your jacket back in the morning. You shall feel like a new man then. How shall we get it? You just gave our shilling to that lady I shall get us another shilling tomorrow. How? You mustnt ask. Go to sleep. Aint you tired? This bedve got black hairs in it. Then take the other. That one has red hairs. Red hairs won't hurt you. I heard him sit and rub his face. I thought he might be about to cry again. But then, after a minute he spoke, and his voice had changed. Werent Mr Riverss whiskers long, though? he said. Werent they, I answered, my eye at the shutter still. Id say he needs a boy to trim them. Don't he just! He sighed then, and lay back upon the bed, putting his cap over his eyes; and I kept watch at the glass. I kept watch, like cats keep watch at mouse-holes—not minding the hours as they passed, not thinking of anything but what I gazed at. The night grew dark, and the street—that was a busy street, in summer—grew empty and still, the kids all gone to their beds, the men and women come back from the public houses, the dogs asleep. In the other rooms in the house, people walked , pulled chairs across the floor; a baby cried. girl—she was drunk, I suppose—laughed, on and on. Still I watched. Some clock struck off the hours. I could not hear bells without winning, now, and felt every one of them: at last came the twelve, and then the half, and I was listening out for the three-quarters—still watching , still waiting; but beginning to wonder, perhaps, what it was I thought I would see—when this happened: There came a light and a shadow, in Mrs Sucksbys room; and then a figure—Mrs Sucksby herself! My heart nearly flew into bits. Her hair showed white, and she had her old black taffeta gown on. She stood with a lamp in her hand, her face turned from me, her jaw moving—she was talking to someone else farther back in the room, someone who now came forward, as she moved back. A girl. A girl, very slim at the waist... I saw her, and began to shake. She came on, while Mrs Sucksby moved about the room behind her, taking off her brooches and rings. She came right to the glass. She lifted her arm to rest it upon the bar of the window -sash, and then she stood with her brow upon her wrist, and grew still. Only her fingers moved, as they plucked idly at the lace across the window. Her hand was bare. Her hair was curled. her. Then Mrs Sucksby spoke again, the girl lifted her face, the light of the street-lamp fell full upon it; and I cried out loud. She might have heard me—though I dont think she can have—for she turned her head and seemed to look at me, to hold my gaze across the dusty street and the darkness, for quite a minute. I dont think I blinked, in all that time. I dont think she did, her eyes stayed open— I saw them, and remembered their color at last. Then she turned back into the room, took a step away, caught up the lamp; Mrs Sucksby went close to her, lifted her hands, and began to unfasten the hooks at the back of her collar. Then came darkness. I moved back from the window. My own white face was reflected there, the streetlight striking it—on the cheek, beneath my eye—in the shape of a heart. I turned from the glass. My cry had woken Charles, and I suppose my look was peculiar. Miss, what is it? he said in a whisper. I put my hand before my mouth. Oh, Charles! I said. I took a couple of staggering steps towards him. Charles, look at me! Tell me who I am! Who, miss? Not miss, dont call me missl I never was a miss, though they made me out one.—Oh! She has taken everything from me, Charles. She has taken everything and made it hers, in spite. her, as she made— Oh! Ill kill her, tonight! I ran in a kind of fever, back to the shutter, to look at the face of the house. I said, Now, might I climb to the window? I could force the bolt, creep in, and stab her as she lies sleeping .Where is that knife? I ran again, and caught it up and tried its edge. Not sharp enough, I said. I looked about me, then picked up the stone that was used as a door-stop, and drew the blade across it. Like this? said to Charles. Or like this? Which makes the best edge? Come on, come on. Youre the bloody knife-boy, arent you? He watched me in terror; then came and, with trembling fingers, showed me how. I ground the blade. Thats good, I said. That will feel good, with its point against her breast. that, after all, a death by stabbing comes rather quick? Had I not ought to find a slower way?—I thought of stifling, strangling, beating with a club.—Have we a club, Charles? That will take longer; oh! I should like to have her know me, as she dies. You shall come with me, Charles. You shall help.—Whats the matter? He had walked to the wall and stood with his back against it, and began to quiver. He said, You aint—You aint the lady you seemed to be at Briar! I said, Look at you. You aint the boy. That boy had nerve. I want Mr Rivers! I laughed, a mad laugh. Ive got news for you. Mr Rivers aint quite the gent you thought him, either. Mr Rivers is a devil and a rogue. He stepped forward. He aint! He is, though. He ran off with Miss Maud, told everyone I was her and put me in a madhouse. Who else do you think it was, signed my order? If he signed it, it must have been true! He's a villain. Hes a gem of a man! Everyone at Briar said so. They never knew him like I did. Hes bad, hes rotten. He made his hands into fists. I dont care! he cried. You want to man for a devil? Better that, than— Oh! He sat upon the floor and hid his face. Oh! Oh! I was never more miserable, in all of my life. And I hate you, I said, you fucking nancy I still had the stone in my hand. I threw it at him. It missed him by about a foot; but the sound of it striking the wall and floor was awful. I was shaking, now, almost as badly as he was. I looked at the knife I held, then put it from me. my face. My cheek and brow were wet with a horrible sweat. I went to Charles and knelt beside him. He tried to push me away. Get off me! he cried. Or, kill me now! I dont care! Charles, listen to me, I said, in a steadier voice. I dont hate you, truly. And you mustnt hate me. I am all youve got. You have lost your place at Briar, and your aunty dont want you. go back to the country now. Besides, you should never find your way out of Southwark, without my help. You should wander and grow bewildered; and London is full of cruel hard men who do unspeakable things to bewildered fair-haired boys. might be taken by the master of a ship, and finish up in Jamaica. How should you like that? Dont cry, for Gods sake!—He had begun to sob.—You think I shouldn't like to cry? , and the person that cheated me worst is lying at this moment in my own bed, with my own mothers arms about her. This is a greater thing than you can understand. This is a matter of life and death. I was foolish to say I would kill her tonight. But give me a day or two more, and let me think. Theres money over there and—I swear it, Charles!—there are people there too who, once they know how Ive been wronged , will give any kind of sum to the boy that has helped me back to them..." He shook his head, still crying; and now, at last, I began to cry, too. I put my arm about him and he leaned into my shoulder, and we shuddered and wailed until, finally, someone in the room next door began to bang on the wall and call out for us to stop. There, now, I said, wiping my nose. Youre not afraid, now? Youll sleep, like a good boy? He said he thought he would, if I would keep beside him; and so we lay together on the bed with the red hairs in it, and he slept, with his pink lips parted, and his breaths coming even and smooth. But I kept wakeful, all through that night. I thought of Maud, across the street, lying breathing in Mrs Sucksbys arms, her mouth open like his, like a flower, her throat perfectly slender, and perfectly white and bare. By the time the morning came, I had the beginnings of a plan worked out. I stood at the window and watched Mr Ibbss door for a time but then, seeing no-one stirring, gave it up. That could wait. now was money. I knew how to get it. I made Charles brush his hair and put a parting in it, then took him quietly from the house, by the back way. I took him to Whitechapel—a place, I thought, far enough from the Borough for me to risk going about without my veil. I found a spot on the High Street. Stand here, I said. He did. Now, remember how you cried so hard last night? Lets see you do it again. Lets what? I caught hold of his arm and pinched it. He gave a squeal, then began to snivel. I put my hand on his shoulder and looked up and down the street, in an anxious way. A few people gazed curiously at us. them over. Please, sir, please, lady, I said. I just come upon this poor boy, hes come in from the country this morning and has lost his master. Can you spare a couple of farthings, set him back upon his way? Can you? Hes all alone and dont know no-one, dont know Chancery Lane from Woolwich. cart. —__God bless you, sir! Dont cry, mate! Look, this gentleman is giving you twopence. Here comes some more! And they say Londoners hearts are hard, in the country—dont they . . .? Of course, the idea of ​​a gentleman giving him money made Charles cry worse than ever. His tears were like so many magnets. We made three shillings, that first day—which paid for our room; after, on a different street, we made four. That got us our suppers. The money that was left over after that I kept, along with the ticket to Charles coat, in my shoe. I wore my shoes, even in bed. want my jacket, Charles would say, a hundred times an hour; and every time Id answer, Tomorrow. I swear. I promise. Just one more day . . . And then, all day, I would stand at the shutters, my eye at the heart-shaped hole. I was watching the house, figuring out its habits. I was marking it, patient as a cracksman. I saw thieves come, bringing pieces of poke to Mr Ibbs: I saw him turn the lock on his door, pull down his blind. The sight of his hands, of his honest face, made me want to weep. Id think, Why cant I go to him? Then, a little later, Id see Gentleman, and be filled again with fear. Then Id see Maud. Id see her at the window. She liked to stand there, with her face against the sash—as if she knew I was watching, and mocked me! I saw Dainty, helping her dress in the mornings, fastening up her hair. And I saw Mrs Sucksby, at night, letting it down.—Once I saw her lift a stress of it to her mouth, and kiss it. With each new thing, I would press my faqe so hard against the glass I stood at, it would groan in its frame. And at night, when the house was dark, I would take up my candle and walk, back and forth, back and forth, from one wall to another. They have got them all in their power, I say. Dainty, and Mr Ibbs, and Mrs Sucksby; and I dare say John and even Phil. Like two great spiders, they have spun their web. Weve got to be careful, Charles. Oh, havent we! For say they know, through Dr Christie, that Ive escaped? They must know by now! Charles. They are waiting for me. She never leaves the house— thats clever!—for, in keeping there, she keeps near Mrs Sucksby. He goes. Well make our move, next time he does. Im the fly they want. They shant get me. Well send them you. They wont have thought of that! Hey, Charles? Charles never answered. I had kept him so long in that dark room, doing nothing, his face had got pale, and his eyes had begun to grow glassy, ​​like a dolls. I want my jacket, he still said, now and then, in a feeble sort of bleat; but I think he had almost forgotten what it was he wanted it for. For at last there came a time when he said it, and I answered: All right. Today you'll get it. Weve waited long enough . Todays our day; and instead of looking pleased, he stared and looked frightened. Perhaps he thought he saw a certain severe something in my eye. I dont know. It seemed to me I was thinking like a sharper, for the first time in my life. I took him back to Watling Street and got his jacket out of pawn . But I kept hold of it. Then I took him on a bus.—For a treat, I said. Look out the window, at the shops. I found us places next to a woman holding a baby. I sat with the coat across my lap. Then I looked at the baby. The woman caught my eye, and I smiled. Pretty boy, she said. Isn't he? Wont sleep for his mother, though. I bring him on the buses and the bumping sends him off. Weve been from Fulham to Bow; Hes a peach, I said. I leaned in and stroked his cheek. Look at them lashes! Hell break hearts, he will. Then I leaned back. When the next stop came, I made Charles get off. The woman said good-bye, and from the window, as the bus moved away, she waved. But I didnt wave back. For, under cover of Charles coat, I had had a feel about her waistband; and had prigged her watch. It was a nice little ladies watch, and just what I needed. I showed it to Charles. He looked at it as though it were a snake that might bite him. Where did you get that? he said. Someone gave it to me. I dont believe you. Give me my jacket. In a minute. Give me my coat! We were walking on London Bridge. Shut up, I said, or Ill throw it over the side.—Thats better. Now, tell me this: can you write? He would not answer until I had gone to the wall of the bridge and dangled his jacket over; then he began to cry again, but said that he could. Good boy, I said. I made him walk a little further, until we found a man hawking papers and inks. I bought a plain white sheet, and a pencil; and I took Charles back to our room and had him sit and write out a letter. I stood with my hand on the back of his neck, and watched . Write, Mrs Sucksby, I said. He said, How do you spell it? Don't you know? He frowned, then wrote. It looked all right to me. I said, Now you write this. Write: / was put in the madhouse by that villain your friend—so called!—Gentleman— You are going too fast, he said, as he wrote. He tilted his head. By that villain your friend— —so called!—Gentleman; and that bitch Maud Lilly.—You must make those names stand out. The pencil moved on, then stopped. He blushed. I won't write that word, he said. What word? That B-word. What? Before Miss Lilly. I pinched his neck. You write it, I said. You hear me? Then you write this, nice and big: PIGEON MY ARSE! She is WORSE THAN HIM! He hesitated; then bit his lip and wrote. Thats good. Now this. Put: Mrs Sucksby, I have escaped and am close at hand. Send me a signal by this boy. He is a friend, he is writing this, his name is Charles. Trust him, and believe me—oh! if this fails, Ill die!—believe me as ever as good and as faithful as your own daughter—There you must leave a space. He did. I took the paper from him and wrote, at the bottom, my name. Dont look at me! I said, as I did it; then I kissed where I had written, and folded the paper up. Heres what you must do next, I said then. Tonight, when Gentleman—Mr Rivers—leaves the house, you must go over, and knock, and ask to see Mr Ibbs. Say you've got a thing to sell him. Youll know him straight off: he's tall, and trims his whiskers. Hell ask if you've been followed; and you must be sure, when he does, to say you got away clean. Then hell ask what brought you to him. Say you know Phil. he asks how you know him youre to say, "Through a pal named George." If he asks which George you must say, "George Joslin, down Colliers Rents." George who, down where? George Joslin, down— Oh, miss! I should rather anything than this! Should you rather the cruel hard men, the unspeakable things, Jamaica? He swallowed. George Joslin, down Colliers Rents, he said. Good boy. Next you hand him the watch. He will give you a price; but whatever price he gives you—if it be, a hundred pounds, or a thousand—you must say it aint enough. Say the watch is a good one , with Geneva works. Say—I dont know—say your dad done watches, and you know them. Make him look a bit harder. Any luck, hell take the back off—that will give you the chance to look about. Heres who you are looking for: a lady, rather old, with hair of silver—shell be sitting in a rocking-chair, perhaps with a baby in her lap. Thats Mrs Sucksby, that brought me up. Shell do anything for me. You find a way to reach her side, and pass this letter to her. You do it, Charles, and were saved. But listen here. If theres a dark-faced, mean-looking boy about, keep clear of him, hes against us. goes for a red-headed girl. And if that viper Miss Maud Lilly is anywhere near, you hide your face. Understand me? If she sees you—more even than the boy—then we are done for. He swallowed again. He put the note on the bed, and sat and looked fearfully at it. He practiced his piece. I stood at the window, and watched, and waited. First came twilight, then came dark; and with the dark came Gentleman, slipping from Mr Ibbss door with his hat at an angle and that scarlet cloth at his throat. I saw him go; gave it another half-an-hour, to be sure; then looked at Charles. Put your coat on, I said. Its time. He grew pale. I gave him his cap and his scarf, and turned up his collar. Have you got the letter? Very good. Be brave, now. stuff. Ill be watching, dont forget. He did not speak. He went, and after a moment I saw him cross the street and stand before Mr Ibbss. He walked like a man on his way to the rope. He pulled his scarf a little higher about his face, then he looked round, to where he knew I stood behind the shutter.—Don't look round, you fool! I thought, when he did that. Then he plucked at his scarf again; . He looked as though he would like to. But before he could, the door was opened, by Dainty. They spoke, and she left him waiting while she went in to Mr Ibbs; street. Like a fool, he glanced with her, as if to see what she looked for. Then she nodded, and stepped back. He went in, and the door was closed. I imagined her turning the latch with her neat white hand. Then I waited. Say five minutes passed. Say ten. What did I suppose would happen? Perhaps, that the door would open, Mrs Sucksby come flying out, with Mr Ibbs behind her; perhaps only that shed go to her room—show a light, make a sign—I dont know. But the house stayed quiet, and when at last the door did open, there came only Charles again, with Dainty still behind him; and then again, the door was shut. Charles stood, and quivered. I was used by now to his quivers, and think I knew from the look of this one that things were bad. I saw him look up at our window and think about running.—Dont you run, you fuckster! I said, and hit the glass; and perhaps he heard it, for he put down his head and came back across the street and up the stairs. By the time he reached the room his face was crimson, and slick with tears and snot. God help me, I didnt mean to do it! he said, bursting in. God help me, she found me out and made me! Made you what? I said. What happened? What happened, you little tick? I got hold of him and shook him. He put his hands before his face. She got the letter off me and read it! he said. Who did? Miss Maud! Miss Maud! I looked at him in horror. She saw me, he said, and she knew me. I did it all, just as you said. I gave the watch, and the tall man took it and opened its back. He thought my scarf was queer, and asked if Id the toothache. I said I did. He showed me a pair of nippers, that he said were good for drawing teeth. I think he was teasing. The dark boy was there, burning paper. He called me a—a pigeon. The red-headed girl didnt give me a look. But the lady, your ma, was sleeping; and I tried to reach her side, but Miss Maud saw the letter in my hand. Then she looked at me, and knew me. She said, "Come here, boy, youve hurt your hand," and she got hold of me before the others could see. She had been playing cards at a table, and she held the letter under the table and read it, and she twisted my fingers so hard— His words began to dissolve, like salt in the water of his tears. Stop crying! I said. Stop crying for once in your life, or I swear, Ill hit you! Tell me now, what did she do? He took a breath, and put his hand to his pocket, and brought something out. She did nothing, he said. But she gave me this. She took it from the table where she sat. She gave it to me, as if it might be a secret; and then the tall man closed the watch up and she pushed me away. He gave me a pound, and I took it, and the red-headed girl let me out. Miss Maud watched me go, and her eyes were like eyes on fire; but she never said a word. She only gave me this, and I think she must have meant it for you but, oh, miss! you can call me a fool, but God help me if I know what its for! He handed it over. She had made it very small, and it took me a moment to unfold it and know what it was. When I did, I held it, and turned it, then turned it again; then I stood gazing stupidly at it. Just this? I said. Charles nodded. It was a playing card. It was one of the playing cards from her old French deck at Briar. It was the Two of Hearts. It had got greasy, and was marked by the folds she had put in it; but it still had that crease, in the shape of her heel, across one of its painted red pips. I held it, and remembered sitting with her in her parlour, springing the pack to tell her fortune. She had worn her blue gown. She had put her hand before her mouth. Now you are frightening me! she had said. How she must have laughed about it, later! Shes making game of me, I said, my voice not perfectly steady. She has sent me this—youre sure theres no message on it, no mark or sign?—she has sent me this, to tease me. Why else? Miss, I dont know. She took it from the table-top. She took it quick, and there was a—a wildness, about her eye. What sort of a wildness? I cant say. She looked, not like herself. She wore no gloves. Her hair was curled and queer. There was a glass beside her place—I dont like to say—I think it had gin in it. Gin? We looked at each other. What shall we do? he asked me. I did not know. I must think, I said, beginning to walk about. I must think what shell do. Shell tell Gentleman—wont she?—and show him our letter. Then hell move, very quick, to find us. They didnt see you come back here? Someone else mightve, though. We cant be sure. Weve had luck on our side, so far; now our lucks turning. Oh, if only Id never taken that womans wedding-gown!—I knew it would make a bad fortune. Lucks like the tide: it turns, then gets faster and cant be stopped. Dont say it! cried Charles. He was wringing his hands. Send the lady her gown back, cant you? You cant cheat luck like that. The best you can do is, try and outface it. Outface it? I went to the window again, and gazed at the house. Mrs Sucksby is in there now, I said. Wont one word from me do it? When did I ever let myself be frightened by John Vroom? Dainty I think wont harm me; nor Mr Ibbs. And Maud sounds muddled by gin. Charles, Ive been a fool to wait at all. Give me my knife. We are going over. He stood, open-mouthed, and did nothing. I got the knife myself, then took him by his wrist and led him from the room, down the slippery staircase. A man and a girl stood at the bottom, quarrelling; but their voices faded and they turned their heads to watch us as we went by. Perhaps they saw my knife. I had nowhere to hide it. The street was blowing about with gusts of grit and paper, the night still hot. My head was bare. Anyone who saw me now would know me for Susan Trinder; but it was too late to care. I ran with Charles to Mr Ibbss door, knocked on it, then left him on the step while I stood aside with my back to the wall. The door was opened after a minute, just an inch. Youve come too late. It was Daintys voice. Mr Ibbs says— Oh! Its you again. What now? Changed your mind? The door was opened a little further. Charles stood, and licked his mouth, his eyes on Daintys. Then he looked at me; and when she saw him do that, she put out her head and also looked. Then she screamed. Mrs Sucksby! I cried. I made a charge at the door, and Dainty went flying. I caught Charless arm and pulled him into the shop. Mrs Sucksby! I shouted again. I ran to the hanging baize curtain and knocked it back. The passage beyond was dark, and I stumbled, and Charles stumbled with me. Then I reached the door at the end, and threw it open. There came heat, and smoke, and light, that made me wink. I saw Mr Ibbs first. He had come half-way to the door, hearing all the shouting. When he saw me he stopped, and flung up his hands. Behind him was John Vroom, in his dog-skin coat; behind John Vroom—I saw her, and could have cried like a girl—was Mrs Sucksby. At the table, in Mrs Sucksbys great chair, was Maud. Beneath the chair was Charley Wag. He had begun to bark at the commotion. Now, seeing me, he barked more wildly and beat his tail, then came and rose up before me to give me his paws. The row was awful. Mr Ibbs reached forward and seized his collar and quickly jerked it back. He jerked so hard, Charley was almost throttled. I flinched away and lifted my arms. The others all watched me. If they had not seen my knife before, they saw it now. Mrs Sucksby opened her mouth. She said, Sue, I— Sue— Then Dainty came running in behind me, from Mr Ibbss shop. Where is she? she cried. She had made her hands into fists. She pushed Charles aside, saw me, and stamped. Youve got some cheek, coming.back here. You bitch! You have just about broke Mrs Sucksbys heart! Keep off me, I said, waving my knife. She looked at it in astonishment, then fell back. I wished she hadnt; for there was something awful about it. She was only Dainty, after all. The knife began to shake. Mrs Sucksby, I said, turning to her. They have told you lies. I never— They had me—him and her—locked up! And it has taken me all this time—all this time, since May!—to get back to you. Mrs Sucksby had her hand at her heart. She looked so surprised and afraid, it might have been her I was pointing the knife at. She looked at Mr Ibbs, and then she looked at Maud. Then she seemed to come to herself. She took two or three nimble steps across the kitchen and put her arms about me, tight. Dear girl, she said. She pressed my face against her bosom. Something hard struck my cheek. It was Mauds diamond brooch. Oh! I cried, when I felt it. And I struggled away. She has taken you from me, with jewels! With jewels and lies! Dear girl, said Mrs Sucksby again. But I looked at Maud. She had not flinched, or started, at sight of me, as the others all had; she had only—just like Mrs Sucksby— lifted her hand to her heart. She was dressed like a girl of the Borough, but her face was put back from the light, her eyes in shadow—she looked handsome and proud. Her hand was trembling, though. Thats right, I said, when I saw that. You shake. She swallowed. You had much better not have come here, Sue, she said. You had much better have stayed away You can say so! I cried. Her voice was clear, and sweet. I remembered hearing it, now, in my dreams at the madhouse. You can say so, you cheat, you snake, you viper! Girl-fight! cried John, with a clap of his hands. Hey! hey! said Mr Ibbs. He had taken out a handkerchief and was wiping his brow. He looked at Mrs Sucksby. She still had her arms about me, and I could not see her face. But I felt her grip grow slack as she reached to take the knife from my hands. Why, hes a sharp one, aint he? she said, with a nervous laugh. She put the knife gently on the table. I leaned and snatched it up again. Dont leave it, I said, where she might get it! Oh, Mrs Sucksby, you dont know what a devil she is! Sue, listen to me, said Maud. Dear girl, said Mrs Sucksby again, over her words. This is so astonishingly queer. This is so— Only look at you! Like a regular— ha, ha!—soldier. She wiped her mouth. What say you sit down, now, and be nice? What say we send Miss Lilly upstairs, if looking at her upsets you? Eh? And theres John and Dainty: lets ask them, shall we?—she jerked her head—to slip upstairs, too? Dont let them go! I cried, as Dainty began to move. Not her, not them! I waved the knife. You, John Vroom, stay, I said. And then, to Mrs Sucksby and Mr Ibbs: Theyll go for Gentleman! Dont trust them! Shes lost her mind, said John, rising from his chair. I made a swipe at the sleeve of his coat. I said, stay! I cried. He looked at Mrs Sucksby. She looked at Mr Ibbs. Sit down, son, Mr Ibbs said quietly. John sat. I nodded to Charles. Charles, stand behind me, by the door to the shop. Keep them from running to it, should they try He had taken off his cap, and was biting the band of it. He went to the door, his face so pale, in the shadows, it seemed to glow. John looked at him and laughed. You leave him alone, I said at once. He has been a friend to me, more ever than you were. Mrs Sucksby, I should never have got back to you, without him. I should never have got free of—of the madhouse. She put her fingers to her cheek. Helped you so far as that, did he? she said, with her eyes on Charles. She smiled. Then hes a dear boy; and we shall be sure to pay him out. Shant we, Mr Ibbs? Mr Ibbs said nothing. Maud leaned from her chair. You must go, Charles, she said, in her clear, low voice. You must go from here. She looked at me. The look was strange. You must both go, before Gentleman comes back. I curled my lip at her. Gentleman, I said. Gentleman. You have learned Borough habits very quick. The blood rose in her cheek. I am changed, she murmured. I am not what I was. You are not, I said. She lowered her eyes. She looked at her hands. And then, as if seeing that they were bare—and as if one could cover the bareness of the other—she put them awkwardly together. There came the faint jingle of metal: she had, upon her wrist, two or three thin silver bangles, of a kind I had used to like to wear. She held them, to make them be still; then lifted her head again and caught my gaze. I said, in a hard, steady voice: Was being a lady not enough for you, that you must come to the Borough and take the things that were ours? She did not answer. Well? I said. She began to try to draw free the bangles. Take them, she said. I dont want them! You think / want them? Mrs Sucksby stepped forward, her own hands darting towards Mauds. Let them stay! she cried. Her voice was hoarse. She looked at me, then gave an awkward sort of laugh. Dear girl, she said, moving back, whats silver, in this house? Whats silver, compared with the joy of seeing your face? She put one hand to her throat, and leaned with the other upon the back of a chair. She leaned heavily, and the chair-legs grated on the floor. Dainty, she said, fetch me out a tumbler of brandy, will you? This turn of thingsve quite undone me. Like Mr Ibbs, she took out a handkerchief and passed it over her face. Dainty gave her her drink, and she sipped it, and sat. Come beside me, she said to me. Put down that old knife, wont you? And then, when I hesitated: What, afraid of Miss Lilly? With me and Mr Ibbs—and your own pal Charles—to mind you? Come, sit. I looked again at Maud. I had thought her a viper, but, in the bringing and pouring of the brandy the lamp had got moved about, and I saw in the light of it how slight and pale and tired she was. At Mrs Sucksbys cry, she had fallen still; her hands still shook, however, and she rested her head against the high back of her chair, as if the weight of it hurt her. Her face was damp. A few strands of hair clung to it. Her eyes were darker than they ought to have been, and seemed to glitter. I sat, and put the knife before me. Mrs Sucksby took my hand. I said, I have been done very wrong, Mrs Sucksby. Mrs Sucksby slowly shook her head. My dear, I begin to see it, she said. God knows what lies theyve told you! The truth is, she was in it with him from the start. They set me up, between them, to take her place; and they put me in the madhouse, where everyone supposed me to be her— John whistled. Double-cross, he said. Nice work but—oh! He laughed. You pigeon! Which is what I had known, all along, he would say; though now, it did not seem to matter. Mrs Sucksby looked, not at me, but at our joined hands. She was smoothing her thumb upon mine. I thought the news had stunned her. A bad business, she said quietly. Worse than that! I cried. Oh, much, much worse! A madhouse, Mrs Sucksby! With nurses, that hurt and starved me! I was hit one time, so hard—! I was dropped—I was dropped in a bath—! She drew free her hand and raised it before her face. No more, dear girl! No more. I cant bear to hear it. Did they torture you, with tongs? asked John. Did they put you in a strait-coat? They put me in a tartan gown, and boots of— Of iron? I hesitated, then glanced at Charles. Boots without laces, I said. They thought that, if they gave me laces, I should hang myself. And my hair— Did they cut it? said Dainty, sitting, putting a hand before her mouth. Her mouth had a fading bruise beside it—from John, I suppose. Did they shave it off? I hesitated again, then said, They sewed it to my head. Her eyes filled with tears. Oh, Sue! she said. I swear, I never meant it when I called you a bitch just now! Thats all right, I said. You werent to know. I turned again to Mrs Sucksby, and touched the skirt of my dress. This gown I stole, I said. And these shoes. And I walked, nearly all the way to London. My only thought was to get back here to you. For worse than all the cruel things that were done to me in the madhouse was the thought of the lies that Gentleman must have told you, about where I had gone. I supposed at first, he would have said that I had died. She took my hand again. He might, she said, have thought of it. But I knew you would ask for my body. Wouldnt I! Straight off! Then I guessed what he would say. He would say I had cut with the money, and cheated you all. He did, said John. He sucked his tooth. I always said that you hadnt the nerve. I looked into Mrs Sucksbys face. But I knew you wouldnt believe it, I said, of your own daughter. Her grip on my hand grew tight. I knew you would look for me, until you found me. Dear girl, I— Oh, I should have got you, too, in another month more!—only, you know, I kept my searching quiet from John and Dainty Did you, Mrs Sucksby? said Dainty. My dear, I did. I sent out a man, confidentially She wiped her lips. She looked at Maud. But Maud had her eyes upon me. I suppose the lamp that lit her face also lit mine, for she said, softly and suddenly, You look ill, Sue. It was the third time she had spoken my name. I heard it and— despite myself—I thought of the other times she had said it, so softly as that, and felt myself colour. You do look done up, said Dainty. You look like you aint slept in a week. I havent, I said. Then why, said Mrs Sucksby, making to rise, wont you go upstairs now, and put your head down? And then tomorrow, me and Dainty will come and fix you up in one of your old gowns, and dress your hair— Dont go to sleep here, Sue! said Maud, leaning from her chair and putting her hand towards me. Theres danger here. I took up my knife again, and she drew her hand back. I said, You think I dont know danger? You think that, in looking at you, Im not seeing danger with a face—a false face, with an actress mouth—with lying blushes, and two brown treacherous eyes? The words were like clinker on my tongue: they were awful, but I must spit them out or swallow them and choke. She held my gaze, and her eyes did not seem treacherous, at all. I turned the knife. The blade took up the light of the lamp and sent it darting across her cheek. I came here to kill you, I said. Mrs Sucksby shifted in her seat. Maud kept her glittering gaze on mine. You came to Briar, she said, to do that. . . Then I looked away and let the knife fall. I felt suddenly tired, and sick. I felt all the walking I had done, and all the careful watching. Now nothing was as I had thought it would be. I turned to Mrs Sucksby. Can you sit, I said, and hear her tease me? Can you know the wicked trick she played me, and have her here, and not want to throttle her? I meant it; and yet it sounded like bluster, too. I looked around the room. Mr Ibbs, can you? I said. Dainty, shouldnt you like to shake her to pieces, in my behalf? Shouldnt I! said Dainty. She showed her fist. Cheat my best pal, would you? she said to Maud. Lock her up in a madhouse and sew up her hair? Maud said nothing, but slightly turned her head. Dainty shook her fist again, then let it sink. She caught my eye. Seems an awful shame, though, Sue. Miss Lilly turning out to be such a sport, and all. And brave? I done her ears last week, and she never cried once. And then, she has took to taking stitches out, that natural— All right, Dainty, said Mrs Sucksby quickly. I looked again at Maud—at her neat ear which, I now saw, had a crystal drop falling from it on a wire of gold; and at the curls in her fair hair; and at her dark eye-brows. They had been tweezered into two fine arches. Above her chair—I had not seen this before, either, but it seemed all of a piece with the drops, the curls and arches, the bangles on her wrist—above her chair there was hanging, from a beam, a little cage of wicker with a yellow bird in it. I felt tears rise into my throat. You have taken everything that was mine, I said. You have taken it, and made it better. I took it, she answered, because it was yours. Because I must! Why must you? Why? She opened her mouth to speak. Then she looked at Mrs Sucksby and her face changed. For villainys sake, she said flatly. For villainys sake. Because you were right, before: my face is a false one, my mouth is an actress mouth, my blushes tell lies, my eyes— My eyes— She looked away. Her voice had begun to rise. She made it flat again. Richard found that, after all, we must wait for our money, longer than we thought. She took up her glass in both her hands, and swallowed what was left in it. You havent got the money? She put the glass back down. Not yet. Thats something, then, I said. I shall want a share of that. I shall want half of it. Mrs Sucksby, do you hear? They shall give me half their fortune, at least. Not a stinking three thousand, but a half. Think what we shall do, with that! But I did not want the money; and when I spoke, my voice sounded hateful to me. Mrs Sucksby said nothing. Maud said, You shall have what you like. I will give you anything, anything at all—if you will only go from here, now, before Richard comes back. Go from here? Because you tell me to? This is my home! Mrs Sucksby— Mrs Sucksby, will you tell her? Mrs Sucksby again passed a hand across her mouth. There again, Susie, she said slowly, Miss Lilly might be right. If there is the money to be thought of, you might do well, for now, to keep out of Gentlemans way. Let me speak with him, first. Ill give him a taste of my temper, though! She said it in a queer, half-hearted way, with a try at a smile—as she might have said it, I thought, if she had just found out that Gentleman had swindled her out of two or three shillings at cards. I guessed she was thinking about Mauds fortune, and how it might be cut. I couldnt help but wish that, after all, the money was nothing to her. I said, Will you make me go? The words came out like a whisper. I looked away from her, about the kitchen—at the old Dutch clock on the shelf, and the pictures on the walls. On the floor by the door to the stairs was the white china chamber-pot, with the dark eye in it, from my own room, that must have been brought down to be washed and then forgotten. I would not have forgotten it. On the table beneath my hand was a heart: I had scratched it into the wood, the summer before. I had been like a child still, then. I had been like an infant— I looked about me again. Why were there no babies? The kitchen was still. Everyone was still, and watching me. Will you make me go, I said again to Mrs Sucksby, and let her stay? Now my voice was broken as a boys. Will you trust them, not to send Dr Christie to me? Will you— Will you take her gowns, will you take the pins from her head, will you kiss her, will you let her sleep beside you in my old place, while I lie in a bed with—with red hairs in it? Sleep beside me? said Mrs Sucksby quickly. Who told you that? Red hairs?said John. But Maud had lifted her head, her gaze grown sharp. You have watched us! she said. And then, when she had thought it through: At the shutter! Ive watched you, I answered, more strongly. Ive watched you, you spider! taking everything of mine. You would rather do that— God damn you!—than sleep with your own husband! Sleep with—with Richard? She looked astounded. You dont suppose—? Susie, said Mrs Sucksby, putting her hand upon me. Sue, said Maud at the same time, leaning across the table and also reaching for me. You dont suppose him anything to me? You dont think him a husband to me, in anything but name? Dont you know I hate him? Dont you know I hated him, at Briar? Will you make out now, I said, in a kind of trembling scorn, that you only did what you did because he made you? He did make me!—But, not in the way you mean. I said, Will you pretend, that you arent a swindling cheat? She said, Will you? And again, she held my gaze; and again, I was almost shamed by it, and looked away. Then after a moment I said, more quietly, I hated it. I didnt smile, with him, when your back was turned. You think I did? Why not? You are an actress.-You are acting now! Am I? She said it, still with her eyes on my face, still with her hand reaching for mine but falling short of taking it. The light was all upon us, the rest of the kitchen almost dark. I looked at her fingers. They were marked with dirt, or bruised. I said, If you hated him, why did you do it? There was no other way, she said. You saw my life. I needed you, to be me. So you might come here, and be me!1 She did not answer. I said, We might have cheated him. If you had told me. We might have— What? Anything. Something. I dont know what. . . She shook her head. How much, she asked quietly, would you have given up? Her gaze was so dark, yet so steady and true; but I grew aware, all at once, of Mrs Sucksby—of John and Dainty, Mr Ibbs—all of them, watching, silent and curious, thinking, Whats this . . .? And in that moment, I saw into my own cowardly heart and knew that I would have given up nothing for her, nothing at all; and that, sooner than be shamed by her now, I would die. She reached again. Her fingers brushed my wrist. I took up the knife and jabbed at her hand. Dont touch me! I said, as I did it. I got to my feet. Dont any of you touch me! My voice was wild. Not any of you! Do you hear me? I came back here, thinking this my home; now you want to cast me out again. I hate you all! I wish I had stayed in the country! I looked from face to face. Dainty had begun to cry. John sat, open-mouthed and astonished. Mr Ibbs had his hand at his cheek. Maud nursed her bleeding fingers. Charles shook. Mrs Sucksby said, Sue, put down the knife. Cast you out? The idea! I— Then she stopped. Charley Wag had lifted his head. From Mr Ibbss shop there came the sound of a key, turning in a lock. Then came the kicking of boots; then whistling. Gentleman! she said. She looked at Maud, at Mr Ibbs, at me. She got up, and leaned to catch at my arm. Sue, she said, as she did it. She spoke in a voice that was almost a whisper. Susie, sweetheart, will you come upstairs . . .? But I did not answer, only gripped the knife more firmly. Charley Wag gave a feeble bark, and Gentleman heard him, and barked in reply. Then he whistled again, a lazy waltz tune, and we heard him stumbling along the passage and watched as he pushed at the door. I think he was drunk. His hat was crooked, his cheek quite pink, his mouth a perfect O. He stood, and slightly swayed, and looked about the room, squinting into the shadows. The whistle died. His lips grew straight, and he licked them. Hallo, he said, heres Charles. He winked. Then he looked at me, and at my knife. Hallo, heres Sue. He took off his hat and began to unwind the scarlet cloth from his throat. I supposed you might come. Had you left it another day, I should have been ready. I have just now collected a letter, from that fool Christie. He certainly dragged his heels, in letting me know of your escape! I think he planned to recapture you before he should have to. Bad publicity, when ones lady lunatics run. He put the scarlet cloth inside the hat and let them drop. He took out a cigarette. Youre fucking cool, I said. I was shaking. Heres Mrs Sucksby and Mr Ibbs, know everything. He laughed. I should say they do. Gentleman! said Mrs Sucksby. Listen to me. Sue has told us terrible things. I want you to go. Dont let him leave! I said. Hell send for Dr Christie! I waved my knife. Charles, stop him! Gentleman had lit his cigarette, but apart from that had not moved. He turned to look at Charles, who had taken a couple of doubtful steps towards him. He put his hand to Charless hair. So, Charley, he said. Please, sir, said Charles. You have found me out a villain. Charless lip began to tremble. Honest to God, Mr Rivers, I never meant to! There, there, said Gentleman. He stroked Charless cheek. Mr Ibbs made a puffing sound with his lips. John got to his feet, then looked about him as if he did not know why he had done it. He blushed. Sit down, John, said Mrs Sucksby. He folded his arms. I shall stand if I like. Sit down, or Ill hit you. Hit me? His voice was hoarse. Hit them two, there! He pointed to Gentleman and Charles. Mrs Sucksby took two quick steps, and struck him. She struck him hard. He put both his arms to his head and gazed at her from between his elbows. You old cow! he said. You been down on me since the day I was born. You touch me again, youll know it! His eyes blazed as he said it; but then, they filled with tears and he began to sniv