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

Liza, looking at her. 'Wot 'ave yer been blubberin' abaht?'

      'Me?' said Sally, getting very red. 'Oh, I've got a bit of a toothache, an'—well, I'm rather a fool like, an' it 'urt so much that I couldn't 'elp cryin'.'

      Liza was not satisfied, but could get nothing further out of her. Then one day it came out. It was a Saturday night, the time when women in Vere Street weep. Liza went up into Sally's room for a few minutes on her way to the Westminster Bridge Road, where she was to meet Jim. Harry had taken the top back room, and Liza, climbing up the second flight of stairs, called out as usual.

      'Wot ho, Sally!'

      The door remained shut, although Liza could see that there was a light in the room; but on getting to the door she stood still, for she heard the sound of sobbing. She listened for a minute and then knocked: there was a little flurry inside, and someone called out:

      ''Oo's there?'

      'Only me,' said Liza, opening the door. As she did so she saw Sally rapidly wipe her eyes and put her handkerchief away. Her mother was sitting by her side, evidently comforting her.

      'Wot's up, Sal?' asked Liza.

      'Nothin',' answered Sally, with a brave little gasp to stop the crying, turning her face downwards so that Liza should not see the tears in her eyes; but they were too strong for her, and, quickly taking out her handkerchief, she hid her face in it and began to sob broken-heartedly. Liza looked at the mother in interrogation.

      'Oh, it's thet man again!' said the lady, snorting and tossing her head.

      'Not 'Arry?' asked Liza, in surprise.

      'Not 'Arry—'oo is it if it ain't 'Arry? The villin!'

      'Wot's 'e been doin', then?' asked Liza again.

      'Beatin' 'er, that's wot 'e's been doin'! Oh, the villin, 'e oughter be ashimed of 'isself 'e ought!'

      'I didn't know 'e was like that!' said Liza.

      'Didn't yer? I thought the 'ole street knew it by now,' said Mrs. Cooper indignantly. 'Oh, 'e's a wrong 'un, 'e is.'

      'It wasn't 'is fault,' put in Sally, amidst her sobs; 'it's only because 'e's 'ad a little drop too much. 'E's arright when 'e's sober.'

      'A little drop too much! I should just think 'e'd 'ad, the beast! I'd give it 'im if I was a man. They're all like thet—'usbinds is all alike; they're arright when they're sober—sometimes—but when they've got the liquor in 'em, they're beasts, an' no mistike. I 'ad a 'usbind myself for five-an'-twenty years, an' I know 'em.'

      'Well, mother,' sobbed Sally, 'it was all my fault. I should 'ave come 'ome earlier.'

      'Na, it wasn't your fault at all. Just you look 'ere, Liza: this is wot 'e done an' call 'isself a man. Just because Sally'd gone aht to 'ave a chat with Mrs. McLeod in the next 'ouse, when she come in 'e start bangin' 'er abaht. An' me, too, wot d'yer think of that!' Mrs. Cooper was quite purple with indignation.

      'Yus,' she went on, 'thet's a man for yer. Of course, I wasn't goin' ter stand there an' see my daughter bein' knocked abaht; it wasn't likely—was it? An' 'e rounds on me, an' 'e 'its me with 'is fist. Look 'ere.' She pulled up her sleeves and showed two red and brawny arms. ''E's bruised my arms; I thought 'e'd broken it at fust. If I 'adn't put my arm up, 'e'd 'ave got me on the 'ead, an' 'e might 'ave killed me. An' I says to 'im, "If you touch me again, I'll go ter the police-station, thet I will!" Well, that frightened 'im a bit, an' then didn't I let 'im 'ave it! "You call yerself a man," says I, "an' you ain't fit ter clean the drains aht." You should 'ave 'eard the language 'e used. "You dirty old woman," says 'e, "you go away; you're always interferin' with me." Well, I don't like ter repeat wot 'e said, and thet's the truth. An' I says ter 'im, "I wish yer'd never married my daughter, an' if I'd known you was like this I'd 'ave died sooner than let yer."'

      'Well, I didn't know 'e was like thet!' said Liza.

      ''E was arright at fust,' said Sally.

      'Yus, they're always arright at fust! But ter think it should 'ave come to this now, when they ain't been married three months, an' the first child not born yet! I think it's disgraceful.'

      Liza stayed a little while longer, helping to comfort Sally, who kept pathetically taking to herself all the blame of the dispute; and then, bidding her good night and better luck, she slid off to meet Jim.

      When she reached the appointed spot he was not to be found. She waited for some time, and at last saw him come out of the neighbouring pub.

      'Good night, Jim,' she said as she came up to him.

      'So you've turned up, 'ave yer?' he answered roughly, turning round.

      'Wot's the matter, Jim?' she asked in a frightened way, for he had never spoken to her in that manner.

      'Nice thing ter keep me witin' all night for yer to come aht.'

      She saw that he had been drinking, and answered humbly.

      'I'm very sorry, Jim, but I went in to Sally, an' 'er bloke 'ad been knockin' 'er abaht, an' so I sat with 'er a bit.'

      'Knockin' 'er abaht, 'ad 'e? and serve 'er damn well right too; an' there's many more as could do with a good 'idin'!'

      Liza did not answer. He looked at her, and then suddenly said:

      'Come in an' 'ave a drink.'

      'Na, I'm not thirsty; I don't want a drink,' she answered.

      'Come on,' he said angrily.

      'Na, Jim, you've had quite enough already.'

      ''Oo are you talkin' ter?' he said. 'Don't come if yer don't want ter; I'll go an' 'ave one by myself.'

      'Na, Jim, don't.' She caught hold of his arm.

      'Yus, I shall,' he said, going towards the pub, while she held him back. 'Let me go, can't yer! Let me go!' He roughly pulled his arm away from her. As she tried to catch hold of it again, he pushed her back, and in the little scuffle caught her a blow over the face.

      'Oh!' she cried, 'you did 'urt!'

      He was sobered at once.

      'Liza,' he said. 'I ain't 'urt yer?' She didn't answer, and he took her in his arms. 'Liza, I ain't 'urt you, 'ave I? Say I ain't 'urt yer. I'm so sorry, I beg your pardon, Liza.'

      'Arright, old chap,' she said, smiling charmingly on him. 'It wasn't the blow that 'urt me much; it was the wy you was talkin'.'

      'I didn't mean it, Liza.' He was so contrite, he could not humble himself enough. 'I 'ad another bloomin' row with the missus ter-night, an' then when I didn't find you 'ere, an' I kept witin' an' witin'—well, I fair downright lost my 'air. An' I 'ad two or three pints of four 'alf, an'—well, I dunno—'

      'Never mind, old cock. I can stand more than thet as long as yer loves me.'

      He kissed her and they were quite friends again. But the little quarrel had another effect which was worse for Liza. When she woke up next morning she noticed a slight soreness over the ridge of bone under the left eye, and on looking in the glass saw that it was black and blue and green. She bathed it, but it remained, and seemed to get more marked. She was terrified lest people should see it, and kept indoors all day; but next morning it was blacker than ever. She went to the factory with her hat over her eyes and her head bent down; she escaped observation, but on the way home she was not so lucky. The sharp eyes of some girls noticed it first.

      'Wot's the matter with yer eye?' asked one of them.

      'Me?' answered Liza, putting her hand up as if in ignorance. 'Nothin' thet I knows of.'

      Two or three young men were standing by, and hearing the girl, looked up.

      'Why, yer've got a black eye, Liza!'

      'Me? I ain't got no black eye!'

      'Yus you 'ave; 'ow d'yer get it?'

      'I dunno,' said Liza. 'I didn't know I 'ad one.'

      'Garn!