The Way We Live Now III

THE WAY WE LIVE NOW

this evening. When he descended, he found Ruby in the hall, all arrayed. “You don’t come in here again to-night,” said Mrs. Pipkin, thumping the little table which stood in the passage, “if you goes out of that there door with that there young man.” “Then I shall,” said Ruby linking herself on to her lover’s

arm.

“Baggage! Slut!” said Mrs. Pipkin; “after all I’ve done for you, just as one as though you were my own flesh and blood.” “I’ve worked for it, I suppose; — haven’t I?” rejoined Ruby. “You send for your things to-morrow, for you don’t come in here no more. You ain’t nothing to me no more nor no other girl. But I’d ‘ve saved you, if you’d but a’ let me. As for you,” — and she looked at Sir Felix, — “only because I’ve lodgings to let, and because of the lady upstairs, I’d shake you that well, you’d never come here no more after poor girls.” I do not think that she need have feared any remonstrance from Mrs. Hurtle,

even had she put her threat into execution.

Sir Felix, thinking that he had had enough of Mrs. Pipkin and her lodger, left the house with Ruby on his arm. For the moment, Ruby had been triumphant, and was happy. She did not stop to consider whether her aunt would or would not open her door when she should return tired, and perhaps repentant. She was on her lover’s arm, in her best clothes, and going to have a dinner given to her. And her lover had told her that he had ever so many things, — ever so many things to say to her! But she would ask no impertinent questions in the first hour of her bliss. It was so pleasant to walk with him up to Pentonville; — so joyous to turn into a gay enclosure, half pub- lic-house and half tea-garden; so pleasant to hear him order

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Hurtle saw the poor man and told the story in Mrs. Pipkin’s presence.

“She’s headstrong, Mr. Crumb,” said Mrs. Hurtle.

“She is that, ma’am. And it was along wi’ the baro-nite she went?”

“It was so, Mr. Crumb.”

“Baro-nite! Well; — perhaps I shall catch him some of these days; — went to dinner wi’ him, did she? Didn’t she have no dinner here?”

Then Mrs. Pipkin spoke up with a keen sense of offence. Ruby Ruggles had had as wholesome a dinner as any young woman in London, — a bullock’s heart and potatoes, — just as much as ever she had pleased to eat of it. Mrs. Pipkin could tell Mr. Crumb that there was “no starvation nor yet no stint in her house.” John Crumb immediately produced a very thick and admirably useful blue cloth cloak, which he had brought up with him to London from Bungay, as a present to the woman who had been good to his Ruby. He assured her that he did not doubt that her victuals were good and plentiful, and went on to say that he had made bold to bring her a trifle out of respect. It was some little time before Mrs. Pipkin would allow herself to be appeased; — but at last she permitted the garment to be placed on her shoulders. But it was done after a melancholy fashion. There was no smiling consciousness of the bestowal of joy on the countenance of the donor as he gave it, no exuberance of thanks from the recipient as she received it. Mrs. Hurtle, standing by, declared it to be perfect; — but the occasion was one which admitted of no delight. “It’s very good of you, Mr. Crumb, to think of an old woman

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like me, — particularly when you’ve such a deal of trouble with a young ‘un.”

“It’s like the smut in the wheat, Mrs. Pipkin, or the d’sease in the ‘tatoes; — it has to be put up with, I suppose. Is she very partial, ma’am, to that young baro-nite?” This question was asked of Mrs. Hurtle.

“Just a fancy for the time, Mr. Crumb,” said the lady. “They never thinks as how their fancies may well-nigh half

kill a man!” Then he was silent for awhile, sitting back in his chair, not moving a limb, with his eyes fastened on Mrs. Pipkin’s ceiling. Mrs. Hurtle had some work in her hand, and sat watching him. The man was to her an extraordinary being, — so constant, so slow, so unexpressive, so unlike her own countrymen, — willing to endure so much, and at the same time so warm in his affections! “Sir Felix Carbury!” he said. “I’ll Sir Felix him some of these days. If it was only dinner, wouldn’t she be back afore this, ma’am?”

“I suppose they’ve gone to some place of amusement,” said Mrs. Hurtle.

“Like enough,” said John Crumb in a low voice.

“She’s that mad after dancing as never was,” said Mrs. Pipkin.

“And where is it as ‘em dances?” asked Crumb, getting up from his chair, and stretching himself. It was evident to both the ladies that he was beginning to think that he would follow Ruby to the music hall. Neither of them answered him, however, and then he sat down again. “Does ‘em dance all night at them places, Mrs. Pipkin?”

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“They do pretty nearly all that they oughtn’t to do,” said Mrs. Pipkin. John Crumb raised one of his fists, brought it down heavily on the palm of his other hand, and then again sat silent for awhile.

“I never knowed as she was fond o’ dancing,” he said. “I’d a had dancing for her down at Bungay, — just as ready as anything. D’ye think, ma’am, it’s the dancing she’s after, or the ba- ro-nite?” This was another appeal to Mrs. Hurtle.

“I suppose they go together,” said the lady.

Then there was another long pause, at the end of which poor John Crumb burst out with some violence. “Domn him! Domn him! What ‘ad I ever dun to him? Nothing! Did I ever interfere wi’ him? Never! But I wull. I wull. I wouldn’t wonder but I’ll swing for this at Bury!”

“Oh, Mr. Crumb, don’t talk like that,” said Mrs. Pipkin. “Mr. Crumb is a little disturbed, but he’ll get over it pres-

ently,” said Mrs. Hurtle.

“She’s a nasty slut to go and treat a young man as she’s treating you,” said Mrs. Pipkin.

“No, ma’am; — she ain’t nasty,” said the lover. “But she’s crou’ll — horrid crou’ll. It’s no more use my going down about meal and pollard, nor business, and she up here with that ba- ro-nite, — no, no more nor nothin’! When I handles it I don’t know whether its middlings nor nothin’ else. If I was to twist his neck, ma’am, would you take it on yourself to say as I was wrong?”

“I’d sooner hear that you had taken the girl away from him,” said Mrs. Hurtle.

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“I could pretty well eat him, — that’s what I could. Half past eleven; is it? She must come some time, mustn’t she?” Mrs. Pipkin, who did not want to burn candles all night long, declared that she could give no assurance on that head. If Ruby did come, she should, on that night, be admitted. But Mrs. Pipkin thought that it would be better to get up and let her in than to sit up for her. Poor Mr. Crumb did not at once take the hint, and remained there for another half-hour, saying little, but waiting with the hope that Ruby might come. But when the clock struck twelve he was told that he must go. Then he slowly collected his limbs and dragged them out of the house.

“That young man is a good fellow,” said Mrs. Hurtle as soon as the door was closed.

“A deal too good for Ruby Ruggles,” said Mrs. Pipkin. “And he can maintain a wife. Mr. Carbury says as he’s as well to do as any tradesman down in them parts.”

Mrs. Hurtle disliked the name of Mr. Carbury, and took this last statement as no evidence in John Crumb’s favour. “I don’t know that I think better of the man for having Mr. Carbury’s friendship,” she said.

“Mr. Carbury ain’t any way like his cousin, Mrs. Hurtle.” “I don’t think much of any of the Carburys, Mrs. Pipkin.

It seems to me that everybody here is either too humble or too overbearing. Nobody seems content to stand firm on his own footing and interfere with nobody else.” This was all Greek to poor Mrs. Pipkin. “I suppose we may as well go to bed now. When that girl comes and knocks, of course we must let her in. If I hear her, I’ll go down and open the door for her.”

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Mrs. Pipkin made very many apologies to her lodger for the condition of her household. She would remain up herself to answer the door at the first sound, so that Mrs. Hurtle should not be disturbed. She would do her best to prevent any further annoyance. She trusted Mrs. Hurtle would see that she was endeavouring to do her duty by the naughty wicked girl. And then she came round to the point of her discourse. She hoped that Mrs. Hurtle would not be induced to quit the rooms by these disagreeable occurrences. “I don’t mind saying it now, Mrs. Hurtle, but your being here is ever so much to me. I ain’t nothing to depend on, — only lodgers, and them as is any good is so hard to get!” The poor woman hardly understood Mrs. Hurtle, who, as a lodger, was certainly peculiar. She cared nothing for disturbances, and rather liked than otherwise the task of endeavouring to assist in the salvation of Ruby. Mrs. Hurtle begged that Mrs. Pipkin would go to bed. She would not be in the least annoyed by the knocking. Another half-hour had thus been passed by the two ladies in the parlour after Crumb’s departure. Then Mrs. Hurtle took her candle and had ascended the stairs half way to her own sitting-room, when a loud double knock was heard. She immediately joined Mrs. Pipkin in the passage. The door was opened, and there stood Ruby Ruggles, John Crumb, and two policemen! Ruby rushed in, and casting herself on to one of the stairs began to throw her hands about, and to howl piteously. “Laws a mercy; what is it?” asked Mrs. Pipkin.

“He’s been and murdered him!” screamed Ruby. “He has! He’s been and murdered him!”

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“This young woman is living here; — is she?” asked one of the policemen.

“She is living here,” said Mrs. Hurtle. But now we must go back to the adventures of John Crumb after he had left the house.

He had taken a bedroom at a small inn close to the Eastern Counties Railway Station which he was accustomed to frequent when business brought him up to London, and thither he proposed to himself to return. At one time there had come upon him an idea that he would endeavour to seek Ruby and his enemy among the dancing saloons of the metropolis; and he had asked a question with that view. But no answer had been given which seemed to aid him in his project, and his purpose had been abandoned as being too complex and requiring more intelligence than he gave himself credit for possessing. So he had turned down a street with which he was so far acquainted as to know that it would take him to the Islington Angel, — where various roads meet, and whence he would know his way eastwards. He had just passed the Angel, and the end of Goswell Road, and was standing with his mouth open, looking about, trying to make certain of himself that he would not go wrong, thinking that he would ask a policeman whom he saw, and hesitating because he feared that the man would want to know his business. Then, of a sudden, he heard a woman scream, and knew that it was Ruby’s voice. The sound was very near him, but in the glimmer of the gaslight he could not quite see whence it came. He stood still, putting his hand up to scratch his head under his hat, — trying to think what, in such an emergency, it would be well that he should

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do. Then he heard the voice distinctly, “I won’t; — I won’t,” and after that a scream. Then there were further words. “It’s no good — I won’t.” At last he was able to make up his mind. He rushed after the sound, and turning down a passage to the right which led back into Goswell Road, saw Ruby struggling in a man’s arms. She had left the dancing establishment with her lover; and when they had come to the turn of the passage, there had arisen a question as to her further destiny for the night. Ruby, though she well remembered Mrs. Pipkin’s threats, was minded to try her chance at her aunt’s door. Sir Felix was of opinion that he could make a preferable arrangement for her; and as Ruby was not at once amenable to his arguments he had thought that a little gentle force might avail him. He had therefore dragged Ruby into the passage. The unfortunate one! That so ill a chance should have come upon him in the midst of his diversion! He had swallowed several tumblers of brandy and water, and was therefore brave with reference to that interference of the police, the fear of which might otherwise have induced him to relinquish his hold of Ruby’s arm when she first raised her voice. But what amount of brandy and water would have enabled him to persevere, could he have dreamed that John Crumb was near him? On a sudden he found a hand on his coat, and he was swung violently away, and brought with his back against the railings so forcibly as to have the breath almost knocked out of his body. But he could hear Ruby’s exclamation, “If it isn’t John Crumb!” Then there came upon him a sense of coming destruction, as though the world for him were all over; and, collapsing throughout his limbs, he slunk down upon the ground.

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