Читать книгу Moss Rose - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 9

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Florrie and May, startled out of their drowsy, cosy reminiscences, echoed with drunken gravity: "Daisy's brought a gentleman home!"

The kitchen door, which Mrs. Bulke had hung ajar, was pushed open and Daisy's head, with crooked pink plume, tattered, loosened green bonnet, slipping knot of red hair, flushed face, looked in. Her air was one of triumph. Belle had never seen her look so young and well.

"Come in, dearie," said Mrs. Bulke, in a carefully lowered voice, "come in and tell us all about it."

Daisy entered; she had been drinking and was walking unsteadily; in her arms was a large bag of apples, oranges and nuts.

"Here's something for your Christmas, Ma, we came round by Covent Garden."

She tumbled the fruit in front of the two women seated at the table and laughed to see the walnuts and chestnuts roll among the soiled glasses and cups.

"You don't know the luck I've had," she leered with her hand on her full bosom.

"Well, I'm glad, I'm sure, dearie, if it wasn't time! What about the rent?"

"I'll pay you in the morning."

"Only my joke—why not ask the gentleman in—for a drain—a cold night like this?"

The words seemed to penetrate Daisy's stupid bemusement; she looked round the kitchen and at the occupants, all of whom were staring at her; Belle, observing her from the piano-stool, saw a look of cunning come into the large eyes inflamed from fog and drink.

"No—he is a gentleman," said Daisy sharply. "And I don't want any more drink—no, I've got to keep sober."

"Sober!" grinned Morrie with a hiccough. "And a gentleman! My! We're quite the lady, aren't we?"

"You've never seen a gentleman—not to speak to," retorted Daisy fiercely.

"Not here, not at No. 12—that I ain't—and as for you, my beauty, as for you, you vixen—"

Florrie had squared her elbows in a threatening attitude; Mrs. Bulke intervened.

"Leave her alone, can't you? What business is it of yourn?" She added a few sharp foul words that reduced the other to a whining submission, then turned to Daisy. "Well, dearie, if you won't bring him down, you go up to him—you don't want him to think better of it, do you, and slip away out into the fog?"

"He'd wait for me. All night and all day, he'd wait for me!"

She snatched the bonnet from her graceful head and swirled it round on her hand.

"It brought me luck, Belle, didn't it? Your beautiful plume! It was that he noticed, the pink plume on my chestnut hair—it reminded him—never mind of what. You'd hie it back, wouldn't you, dearie?"

"No, I don't want it any more. It's dirty from the fog and uncurled from the damp."

Daisy Arrow tossed her head, sending the shining hair in waves of brightness down her back, laughed unsteadily, and swayed to the door, muttering: "You don't know my luck."

Belle rose from the piano-stool.

"Tommy ought to be in bed—look at him now—he's fast asleep."

"The pet," said Mrs. Bulke absently. "Take him along, Molly, do." She stood at the door, listening intently.

A man's step, a man's voice in the passage above and Daisy Arrow laughing shrilly.

"Can't hear what he says," muttered Mrs. Bulke, "but he do sound like a gentleman—well, well—" she patted her hair; her expression was satirical and incredulous. "Come along, Florrie. Come along, May. I'm going to put the gas out—you'll have to be finding your way home, Mrs. Mac—or p'raps Molly will go with you when she's put Tommy to bed."