Mrs. Bindle Part 50

"'Ere, look 'ere, missis," cried Bindle, seizing his opportunity. "It's no use a-chasin' me round this 'ere gooseberry bush. I told you I ain't no lion. I come to smooth things over. A sort o' dove, you know."

"Mother!--mother!" Again the girl clutched her mother's arm, shaking it in her excitement. "I was afraid to come home, honestly I was, and--and he saw me crying and--and said----" Sobs choked her further utterance.

"Come inside, the pair of you." Mrs. Brunger had at length become conscious of the interest of her neighbours. "Some folks never can mind their own business," she added, as a thrust at the inquisitive. Turning her back on the delinquent pair, she marched in at the door, along the short pa.s.sage to the kitchen at the farther end, where the gas was burning.

Bindle followed her confidently, and stood, cap in hand, by the kitchen-table, looking about him with interest. The girl, however, remained flattened against the side of the pa.s.sage, as if anxious to efface herself.

"Elsie, if you don't come in, I'll fetch you," announced the mother threateningly.

Elsie slid along the wall and round the door-post, making for the corner of the room farthest from her mother. There she stood with terrified eyes fixed upon her parent.

"Now, then, what have you two got to say for yourselves?" Mrs. Brunger looked from Bindle to her daughter, with the air of one who is quite prepared to a.s.sume the responsibilities of Providence.

"Well, it was like this 'ere," said Bindle easily. "I see 'er," he jerked his thumb in the direction of the girl, "cryin' under a lamp-post down the street, so I asks 'er wot's up."

Bindle paused, and Mrs. Brunger turned to her daughter with a look of interrogation.

"I--I----" began the girl, then she, too, stopped abruptly.

"You've been with that hussy Mabel Warnes again." There was accusation and conviction in Mrs. Brunger's tone. "Don't you deny it," she continued, although the girl made no sign of doing so. "I warned you what I'd do to you if you went out with that fast little baggage again, and I'll do it, so help me G.o.d, I will." Her voice was rising angrily.

"'Ere, look 'ere, missis----" began Bindle.

"My name's Brunger--Mrs. Brunger," she added, to prevent any possibility of misconception. "I thought I told you once."

"You did," said Bindle cheerfully. "Now, look 'ere," he continued persuasively, "we're only young once."

Mrs. Brunger snorted disdainfully; and the look she gave her daughter caused the girl to shrink closer to the wall.

"Rare cove I was for gettin' 'ome late," remarked Bindle reminiscently.

"More shame you," was the uncompromising retort.

"Shouldn't wonder if you was a bit late now an' again when you was a gal," he continued, looking up at Mrs. Brunger with critical appreciation--"or else the chaps didn't know wot was wot," he added.

"Two blacks don't make a white," was Mrs. Brunger's obscure comment.

"Yes; but a gal can't 'elp bein' pretty," continued Bindle, following the line of his reasoning. "Now, if you'd been like some ma's, no one wouldn't 'ave wanted to keep 'er out."

"Who are you getting at?" demanded Mrs. Brunger; but there was no displeasure in her voice.

"It's only the pretty ones wot gets kept out late," continued Bindle imperturbably, his confidence rising at the signs of a weakening defence. "Now, with a ma like you," he paused eloquently, "it was bound to 'appen. You didn't ought to be too 'ard on the gal, although, mind you," he said, turning to the culprit, "she didn't ought to go out with gals against her ma's wishes, an' she's goin' to be a good gal in future--ain't that so, my dear?"

The girl nodded her head vigorously.

"There, you see," continued Bindle, turning once more to Mrs. Brunger, whose face was showing marked signs of relaxation. "Now, if I was a young chap again," he continued, looking from mother to daughter, "well, anythink might 'appen."

"Go on with you, do." Mrs. Brunger's good humour was returning.

"Well, I suppose I must," said Bindle, with a grin. "It's about time I was 'opping it."

His announcement seemed to arouse the girl. Hitherto she had stood a silent witness, puzzled at the strange turn events were taking; but now she realised that her protector was about to leave her to the enemy. She started forward, and clutched Bindle by the arm.

"Don't go!--oh, don't go! I----" She stopped suddenly, and looked across at her mother.

"You ain't a-goin' to be too 'ard on 'er?" said Bindle, interpreting the look.

Mrs. Brunger looked irresolute. Her anger found its source in the mother-instinct of protection rather than in bad temper. Bindle was quick to take advantage of her indecision. With inspiration he turned to the girl.

"Now, you mustn't worry yer ma, my dear. She's got quite enough to see to without bein' bothered by a pretty little 'ead like yours. Now, if she forgives you, will you promise 'er not to be late again, an' not to go with that gal wot she don't like?"

"Oh, yes, yes! I won't, mums, honestly." She looked appealingly at her mother, and saw something in her face that was rea.s.suring, for a moment later she was clinging almost fiercely to her mother's arm.

"You must come in one Sat.u.r.day evening and see my husband," said Mrs.

Brunger a few minutes later, as Bindle fumbled with the latch of the hall door. "He's on _The Daily Age_, and is only home a-Sat.u.r.day nights."

"Oh, do, _please_!" cried the girl, smiles having chased all but the marks of tears from her face, and Bindle promised that he would.

"Now, if Mrs. B. was to 'ear of these little goin's on," he muttered, as he walked towards Fenton Street, "there'd be an 'ell of a row. Mrs. B.'s a good woman an', bein' a good woman, she's bound to think the worst,"

and he swung open the gate that led to his "Little Bit of 'Eaven."

II

"Good afternoon, Mrs. St.i.tchley."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bindle. I 'ope I 'aven't come at a inconvenient time."

"No, please come in," said Mrs. Bindle, with almost geniality, as she stood aside to admit her caller, then, closing the front-door behind her, she opened that leading to the parlour.

"Will you just wait here a minute, Mrs. St.i.tchley, and I'll pull up the blind?" she said.

Mrs. St.i.tchley smirked and smiled, whilst Mrs. Bindle made her way, with amazing dexterity, through the maze of things with which the room was crammed, in the direction of the window.

A moment later, she pulled up the dark-green blind, which was always kept drawn so that the carpet might not fade, and the sunlight shuddered into the room. It revealed a grievous medley of antimaca.s.sared chairs, stools, photograph-frames, pictures and ornaments, all of which were very dear to Mrs. Bindle's heart.

"Won't you sit down, Mrs. St.i.tchley?" enquired Mrs. Bindle primly. Mrs.

St.i.tchley was inveterate in her attendance at the Alton Road Chapel; Bindle had once referred to her as "a chapel 'og."

"Thank you, my dear, thank you," said Mrs. St.i.tchley, whose manner exuded friendliness.

She looked about her dubiously, and it was Mrs. Bindle who settled matters by indicating a chair of stamped-plush, the seat of which rose hard and high in the centre. Over the back was an ecru antimaca.s.sar, tied with a pale-blue ribbon. After a moment's hesitation, Mrs.

St.i.tchley entrusted it with her person.

"It's a long time since I see you, Mrs. Bindle." They had met three evenings previously at chapel.

Mrs. Bindle smiled feebly. She always suspected Mrs. St.i.tchley of surrept.i.tious drinking, in spite of the fact that she belonged to the chapel Temperance Society. Mrs. St.i.tchley's red nose, coupled with the pa.s.sion she possessed for chewing cloves, had made her fellow-wors.h.i.+pper suspicious.