The Essential Somerset Maugham: 33 Books in One Edition. Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

go with you; you're a married man.'

      'Garn! wot's the matter—jest ter go ter the ply? An' besides, my missus can't come if she wanted, she's got the kids ter look after.'

      'I should like ter see it,' said Liza meditatively.

      They had reached her house, and Jim said:

      'Well, come aht this evenin' and tell me if yer will—eh, Liza?'

      'Na, I'm not comin' aht this evening.'

      'Thet won't 'urt yer. I shall wite for yer.'

      ''Tain't a bit of good your witing', 'cause I shan't come.'

      'Well, then, look 'ere, Liza; next Saturday night's the last night, an' I shall go to the theatre, any'ow. An' if you'll come, you just come to the door at 'alf-past six, an' you'll find me there. See?'

      'Na, I don't,' said Liza, firmly.

      'Well, I shall expect yer.'

      'I shan't come, so you needn't expect.' And with that she walked into the house and slammed the door behind her.

      Her mother had not come in from her day's charing, and Liza set about getting her tea. She thought it would be rather lonely eating it alone, so pouring out a cup of tea and putting a little condensed milk into it, she cut a huge piece of bread-and-butter, and sat herself down outside on the doorstep. Another woman came downstairs, and seeing Liza, sat down by her side and began to talk.

      'Why, Mrs. Stanley, wot 'ave yer done to your 'ead?' asked Liza, noticing a bandage round her forehead.

      'I 'ad an accident last night,' answered the woman, blushing uneasily.

      'Oh, I am sorry! Wot did yer do to yerself?'

      'I fell against the coal-scuttle and cut my 'ead open.'

      'Well, I never!'

      'To tell yer the truth, I 'ad a few words with my old man. But one doesn't like them things to get abaht; yer won't tell anyone, will yer?'

      'Not me!' answered Liza. 'I didn't know yer husband was like thet.'

      'Oh, 'e's as gentle as a lamb when 'e's sober,' said Mrs. Stanley, apologetically. 'But, Lor' bless yer, when 'e's 'ad a drop too much 'e's a demond, an' there's no two ways abaht it.'

      'An' you ain't been married long neither?' said Liza.

      'Na, not above eighteen months; ain't it disgriceful? Thet's wot the doctor at the 'orspital says ter me. I 'ad ter go ter the 'orspital. You should have seen 'ow it bled!—it bled all dahn' my fice, and went streamin' like a bust waterpipe. Well, it fair frightened my old man, an' I says ter 'im, "I'll charge yer," an' although I was bleedin' like a bloomin' pig I shook my fist at 'im, an' I says, "I'll charge ye—see if I don't!" An' 'e says, "Na," says 'e, "don't do thet, for God's sike, Kitie, I'll git three months." "An' serve yer damn well right!" says I, an' I went aht an' left 'im. But, Lor' bless yer, I wouldn't charge 'im! I know 'e don't mean it; 'e's as gentle as a lamb when 'e's sober.' She smiled quite affectionately as she said this.

      'Wot did yer do, then?' asked Liza.

      'Well, as I wos tellin' yer, I went to the 'orspital, an' the doctor 'e says to me, "My good woman," says 'e, "you might have been very seriously injured." An' me not been married eighteen months! An' as I was tellin' the doctor all about it, "Missus," 'e says ter me, lookin' at me straight in the eyeball. "Missus," says 'e, "'ave you been drinkin'?" "Drinkin'?" says I; "no! I've 'ad a little drop, but as for drinkin'! Mind," says I, "I don't say I'm a teetotaller—I'm not, I 'ave my glass of beer, and I like it. I couldn't do withaht it, wot with the work I 'ave, I must 'ave somethin' ter keep me tergether. But as for drinkin' 'eavily! Well! I can say this, there ain't a soberer woman than myself in all London. Why, my first 'usband never touched a drop. Ah, my first 'usband, 'e was a beauty, 'e was."'

      She stopped the repetition of her conversation and addressed herself to Liza.

      ''E was thet different ter this one. 'E was a man as 'ad seen better days. 'E was a gentleman!' She mouthed the word and emphasized it with an expressive nod.

      ''E was a gentleman and a Christian. 'E'd been in good circumstances in 'is time; an' 'e was a man of education and a teetotaller, for twenty-two years.'

      At that moment Liza's mother appeared on the scene.

      'Good evenin', Mrs. Stanley,' she said, politely.

      'The sime ter you, Mrs. Kemp.' replied that lady, with equal courtesy.

      'An' 'ow is your poor 'ead?' asked Liza's mother, with sympathy.

      'Oh, it's been achin' cruel. I've hardly known wot ter do with myself.'

      'I'm sure 'e ought ter be ashimed of 'imself for treatin' yer like thet.'

      'Oh, it wasn't 'is blows I minded so much, Mrs. Kemp,' replied Mrs. Stanley, 'an' don't you think it. It was wot 'e said ter me. I can stand a blow as well as any woman. I don't mind thet, an' when 'e don't tike a mean advantage of me I can stand up for myself an' give as good as I tike; an' many's the time I give my fust husband a black eye. But the language 'e used, an' the things 'e called me! It made me blush to the roots of my 'air; I'm not used ter bein' spoken ter like thet. I was in good circumstances when my fust 'usband was alive, 'e earned between two an' three pound a week, 'e did. As I said to 'im this mornin', "'Ow a gentleman can use sich language, I dunno."'

      ''Usbands is cautions, 'owever good they are,' said Mrs. Kemp, aphoristically. 'But I mustn't stay aht 'ere in the night air.'

      ''As yer rheumatism been troublin' yer litely?' asked Mrs. Stanley.

      'Oh, cruel. Liza rubs me with embrocation every night, but it torments me cruel.'

      Mrs. Kemp then went into the house, and Liza remained talking to Mrs. Stanley, she, too, had to go in, and Liza was left alone. Some while she spent thinking of nothing, staring vacantly in front of her, enjoying the cool and quiet of the evening. But Liza could not be left alone long, several boys came along with a bat and a ball, and fixed upon the road just in front of her for their pitch. Taking off their coats they piled them up at the two ends, and were ready to begin.

      'I say, old gal,' said one of them to Liza, 'come an' have a gime of cricket, will yer?'

      'Na, Bob, I'm tired.'

      'Come on!'

      'Na, I tell you I won't.'

      'She was on the booze yesterday, an' she ain't got over it,' cried another boy.

      'I'll swipe yer over the snitch!' replied Liza to him, and then on being asked again, said:

      'Leave me alone, won't yer?'

      'Liza's got the needle ter-night, thet's flat,' commented a third member of the team.

      'I wouldn't drink if I was you, Liza,' added another, with mock gravity. 'It's a bad 'abit ter git into,' and he began rolling and swaying about like a drunken man.

      If Liza had been 'in form' she would have gone straight away and given the whole lot of them a sample of her strength; but she was only rather bored and vexed that they should disturb her quietness, so she let them talk. They saw she was not to be drawn, and leaving her, set to their game. She watched them for some time, but her thoughts gradually lost themselves, and insensibly her mind was filled with a burly form, and she was again thinking of Jim.

      ''E is a good sort ter want ter tike me ter the ply,' she said to herself. 'Tom never arst me!'

      Jim had said he would come out in the evening; he ought to be here soon, she thought. Of course she wasn't going to the theatre with him, but she didn't mind talking to him; she rather enjoyed being asked to do a thing and refusing, and she would have liked another opportunity of doing so. But he didn't come and he had said he would!

      'I say, Bill,' she said at last to one of the boys who was fielding close beside her, 'that there Blakeston—d'you know 'im?'

      'Yes, rather; why, he works at the sime plice as me.'

      'Wot's 'e