Читать книгу Moss Rose - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 10

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Mrs. Bulke and Belle remained alone in the kitchen; the landlady was sorting out what was worth preserving among the eatables and putting them into a cupboard, then stacking up the dirty crocks for Molly to take into the scullery.

Belle remained on the piano-stool, her hands clasped on her knees.

"Ain't you tired, dearie?" asked the yawning landlady pointedly.

"Yes, I'm tired, but I don't feel as if I could sleep tonight. My room is so cold."

"Them what pays for fires gets them," said Mrs. Bulke pleasantly. "And you've a grate what draws fine."

As Belle didn't reply, the landlady continued, jerking off the soiled white cloth:

"You think about what I was saying about helping Florrie—that would mean a bit of fire whenever you felt like it have this drain of porter?" She held up a nearly empty bottle to the gas and peered at the contents.

"No—I've had enough."

"You're wise. I've always been careful, too. Never let the drink get the better of you—not once—or you're done. Who is this coming down?"

A light, uncertain step on the stair, a push at the door, and Daisy Arrow entered, her bright hair fallen on her shoulders, her bodice open on her white bosom. She held her gaping reticule in her hand and took from it half a sovereign.

"Here you are, Ma—ten shillings off the rent."

"Thank you, dearie; anything I can do for you?"

"No." Daisy Arrow stared at Belle, who rose and came to the table. "Sure you don't want your feathers back?"

"I've said I don't. Daisy, who is it you've got upstairs?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I heard his voice," replied Belle dryly, "and 'I thought it sounded like that of a gentleman—an educated man—it seemed curious to hear such accents in this place—and it didn't sound quite English—"

Dairy Arrow laughed.

"I'm sorry I can't show him to you, Belle, my pet—he's a foreigner—and shy."

"A foreigner!" echoed Mrs. Bulke in disgust.

"Don't you turn up your nose, Ma, you wait till tomorrow—I'll give you a Christmas present—I'll have a few things to show you, see if I don't."

"Be quiet, Dairy Arrow—and shut up your bag—look, you've still got that dirty clasp-knife in it." As Belle spoke she snapped the gilt clasps of the reticule from which the white china beads dripped off the broken threads, and drew Daisy towards the door; again the light, uncertain step on the stair, ascending unsteadily now.

"Well," yawned Mrs. Bulke, "there's an end of her, I hopes—Mrs. Mac's been took home, Tommy's in bed, and Moll's snoozing off—that'll be enough for to-day."

She stretched up to turn off the gas. Belle had found and lit a candle; as the hard brilliance in the glass globe faded out, there was only the glow from the embers and the weak flame of the hard candle.