Bram Stoker: The Complete Novels. A to Z Classics

wished to see him as low or lower than themselves, he was falling, falling still. At such times Katey had stood shivering in the doorway, shrinking out into the night each time anyone entered the house or left it, but coming back again and again as if fascinated. She noticed that Jerry in his play seemed to have always bad luck, and to always play recklessly. It was heartbreaking work to her standing thus an unseen witness of the fall of the man she loved better than herself, and oftentimes the temptation to go in and try to induce him to leave the place became almost too strong for her. She retained herself, however, overcome for the time by the deadly fear that any overt act of hers might shear away the last thread of her influence over him

      At last one evening the temptation to enter became too strong. Jerry had seemingly worse luck than usual, and drank more accordingly. He got exceedingly quarrelsome, and before anyone could interfere a fight had arisen. It was not a long fight, for the bystanders were numerous, and soon choked off the combatants the way men choke off fighting dogs.

      Jerry’s opponent — none other than Sebright — regained command of his temper in a few seconds; but as for Jerry himself, his rage was frightful. He would not be pacified or appeased in any way, but continued to rage and storm with purple swollen face and voice hoarse from passion and drink. Katey saw that they were making him worse by holding him the way they did, and irritating him. She could stand it no longer. She pushed open the door and entered.

      At the sound of the opening door all turned round in fear that the newcomer was a policeman, and in the universal movement Jerry was released. Seeing a pretty young woman enter — for Katey, despite her long spell of hardship and suffering, was a pretty young woman still — the men who did not know her began what they called “being civil.” Jerry knew instinctively that Katey would not have entered the public-house without some cause, and his conscience told him that that cause was his own misconduct; and so in his semi-drunken rage he determined to vent his anger, which was half for himself, on her. In addition, he heard the sotto voce remarks of the other men, and this inflamed him still more. He came angrily forward, and said to his wife in hard, stern angry tones —

      “What brings you here?”

      The suddenness of the question, and the tone of it, took Katey by surprise, and she had to pause before replying. Her embarrassment was increased by the glare of light, and the rude admiring eyes turned upon her.

      Jerry repeated his question with his face inflamed and his right hand raised. It was the first time Jerry’s hand had ever been raised to her in anger, and it was no wonder that poor Katey covered her face and wept. This seemed to make Jerry more angry still. He took her by the arm roughly, and shook her, saying —

      “At it again. Cryin’ — always cryin’.” Then, again, with a sudden change, “What brings you here, I say — what brings you here?”

      Katey lifted her head, and looked at him pleadingly through her tears. “Come home, Jerry; come home.”

      “I’ll not go home. Go you home and don’t dare to watch or follow me again. Out of this, I say — out of this.”

      “Oh, Jerry, Jerry, don’t send me away to-night. Oh, Jerry, you’re hurting me; indeed you are. I’ll go quietly. Do let me go, Jerry. Look at all the men. It is ashamed of my life I am.”

      “Out of this, I say.”

      “Oh, Jerry, come home.”

      For answer Jerry lifted his hand and struck her in the face. The blow was a severe one, but Katey did not seem to feel it. The pain in her heart at the spirit which prompted the blow was so great that no outward pain would have touched her for the moment. With the courage and resolution of utter despair — for what could now be worse since Jerry had struck her — she clung to him, crying almost wildly —

      “Come home, come home.”

      Jerry dashed her aside, and ran over to the counter.

      “Give me brandy,” he said to Grinnell, “quick, man, give me brandy.”

      Grinnell was in nowise backward, and gave him as he desired. He drank off two or three glasses one after the other despite all Katey could do to prevent him

      After this his coming home was a matter of mere labour, for he got too drunk to stand or to think, and lay on the floor like a log.

      Katey looked round appealingly for help. Sebright and Mons, the only two men whom she knew, had both disappeared, for both of them retained sufficient pride to make them anxious to avoid the gaze of the injured woman. The help came from an unexpected quarter. Grinnell, who had hitherto been leaning complacently across the bar, came from behind it, and said very gently —

      “Let me help you.”

      Katey was so anxious about Jerry that she did not notice the strangeness of the offer coming from such a man, but answered gratefully —

      “Oh, thank you, sir. God will bless you.”

      Grinnell smiled softly to himself, but Katey did not see the smile.

      The pot-boy was sent for a cab, and, when it came, was put in charge of the bar, whilst Grinnell helped Katey to take home her husband. There was lots of assistance to put him into the cab, but, as she could not get him out herself, Grinnell went with her himself. When the vehicle began to move, Grinnell said softly —

      “This is a very sad affair.”

      “Oh, sad indeed,” sighed Katey.

      “I wish to God,” said Grinnell, with intensity of voice, “that I had known of you before. Your husband would not have got drink in my house.”

      “God bless you, sir, for these words. Oh, you will help me to keep him straight now, will you not?”

      “I will.”

      “You see,” said Katey, feeling that a palliation of her husband’s conduct was necessary, “the poor fellow has had much trouble and sorrow, and he was badly treated at the theatre.”

      “I know it — I know it,” said Grinnell, with indignation. “Didn’t the whole neighbourhood ring with it, and the people cry shame on old Meredith. Why, I couldn’t stand it, and it was no business of mine. I only wished to see justice. I amn’t so bad as I look. I went to him, and says I — “Look you here, sir,” says I, “you’re doin’ wrong. Here’s the best workman in London, and the best fellow, too,” says I, “and you’re losin’ him and doin’ a wrong thing. And don’t you expect to gain by it,” says I, “for wickedness never prospers,” says I, “and I tell you what,” says I, “some of the other theatres will get hold of him, and then won’t you be sorry. I have a good deal of influence,” says I, “and I’ll use it all for him” —

      He was going on thus when the cab stopped. He helped Katey to lift out Jerry, and between them they carried him up to the room.

      Grinnell waited a few minutes only, and said good night to Katey in a most friendly manner.

      “I will call round in the morning and see how he goes on,” he said, “and if you want anything that I have, you know it is quite at your disposal.”

      “Oh, sir, I wouldn’t for the world. I have no money, and I wouldn’t for the world have Jerry feel that I owed money for anything.”

      Grinnell gave a sudden unintentional laugh. “Don’t yon fret about that,” he said. “O’Sullivan owes me myself too much money already to let that trouble him.”

      Katey put her hand on her heart at this fresh blow, but said nothing.

      Grinnell went on:

      “But that doesn’t matter. Lord bless you. He’s as welcome as the flowers of May. I’m too fond of him to let a trifle of money vex him.” Then he went out.

      Katey, despite her prejudice, could not but feel better disposed towards him. The narrative of what he had done for Jerry in going to the manager, touched her deeply, and she said