“Then where the devil is she; and what did you mean by telling me she was there?”
“She’s in the ‘ospittle. For the Lord’s sake don’t let it get out on me, Mr Jack, or I should have my house empty. The poor little darling took the scarlet fever; and — and—”
“And you deserve to be hanged for letting her catch it. Why didn’t you take proper care of her?”
“How could I help it, Mr. Jack? I’m sure if I could have took it myself instead—”
“I wish to Heaven you had, and the unfortunate child and everybody else might have been well rid of you.”
“Oh, don’t say that, Mr Jack. I may have spoke hasty to you; but its very hard to be owed money, and not be able to get the things for my blessed angel to be sent to the country in, and she going to be discharged on Friday. You needn’t look at me like that, Mr Jack. I wouldn’t deceive you of all people.”
“You would deceive your guardian angel — if you had one — for a shilling. Give me back those things. Here is a ring which you can pawn instead. It is worth something considerable, I suppose. Take what money you require for the child, and bring me the rest. But mind! Not one farthing of it shall you have for yourself, nor should you if I owed you ten years’ rent. I would not pawn it to save you from starvation. And get me some dinner, and some music paper — the same you used to get me, twenty-four staves to the page. Off with you. What are you gaping at?”
“Why, wherever did you get this ring, Mr. Jack?”
“That’s nothing to you. Take it away; and make haste with my dinner.”
“But did you buy it? Or was it—” The voice abruptly broke into a smothered remonstrance; and the landlady appeared on the landing, apparently pushed out by the shoulders. Then the lodger’s door slammed.
“Polly,” cried Magdalen impatiently. “Polly.”
“Lor’, Miss Madge!”
“Come down here. We have waited ten minutes for you.”
Mrs. Simpson came down, and brought her two visitors into her sittingroom on the second floor. “Won’t you sit down Miss?” she said to Mary. “Don’t pull that chair from the wall, Miss Madge, its leg is broke. Oh, dear! I’m greatly worrited, what with one thing and another.”
“We have been listening to a battle between you and the and the lodger upstairs” said Magdalen, “and you seemed to be getting the worst of it.”
“No one knows what I’ve gone through with that man.” said Mrs. Simpson, wiping her eyes. “He walked into the room a fortnight ago when I was out, without asking leave. Knocks at the door at one o’clock in the day and asks the girl if the garret is let to anyone. ‘No sir,’ says she. So he goes up and plants himself as if he owned the house. To be sure, she knew him of old; but that was all the more reason for keeping him out; for he never had a halfpenny. The first thing he sent her to do was to pawn his watch. And the things I have to put up with from him! He thinks no more of calling me every name he can lay his tongue to, and putting me out of my own room than if he was a prince, and me his kitchen maid. He is as strong as a bull, and cares for nothing nor nobody but himself.”
“What is he?” said Magdalen. “His name is Jack, isn’t it?”
“Yes; and a fit name it is for him. He came here first, to my sorrow, last December, and took the garret for half-a-crown a week. He had a portmanteau then and some little money; and he was quiet enough for almost a month. But he kept very much to himself except for letting poor little Rosie play about his room, and teaching her little songs. You can’t think what a queer child she is, Miss Sutherland. I’m sure you’d say so if you saw Mr. Jack, the only lodger she took any fancy to. At last he sent the servant to pawn his things; and I, like a fool, was loath to see him losing his clothes, and offered to let the rent run if he could pay at the end of the month. Then it came out that he was in the music profession, and akshally expected to get pupils while he was living in a garret. I did a deal for him, although he was nothing to me. I got him a stationer’s daughter from High Street to teach. After six lessons, if you’ll believe it, Miss, and she as pleased as anything with the way she was getting along, he told the stationer that it was waste of money to have the girl taught, because she had no qualification but vanity. So he lost her; and now she has lessons at four guineas a dozen from a lady that gets all the credit for what he taught her. Then Simpson’s brother-in-law got him a place in a chapel in the Edgeware Road to play the harmonium and train the choir. But they couldn’t stand him. He treated them as if they were dogs; and the three richest old ladies in the congregation, who had led the singing for forty-five years, walked out the second night, and said they wouldn’t enter the chapel till he was gone. When the minister rebuked him, he up and said that if he was a God and they sang to him like that, he’d scatter ’em with lightning. That’s his notion of manners. So he had to leave; but a few of the choir liked him and got him occasionally to play the piano at a glee club on the first floor of B public house. he got five shillings once a fortnight or so for that; and not another halfpenny had he to live on except pawning his clothes bit by bit. You may imagine all the rent 1 got. At last he managed someway to get took on as tutor by a gentleman at Windsor. I had to release his clothes out of my own money before he could go. I was five pound out of pocket by him, between rent and other things.”
“Did he ever pay you?” said Mary.
“Oh, yes, Miss. He certainly sent me the money. I am far from saying that he is not honorable when he has the means.”
“It is a funny coincidence,” said Mary. “It was to us that Mr Jack came as tutor. He taught Charlie.”
“To you!” said Magdalen, surprised and by no means pleased. “Then you know him?”
“Yes. He left us about a fortnight ago.”
“Just so,” said Mrs. Simpson, “and was glad enough to come straight back here without a penny in his pocket. And here he is like to be until some other situation drops into his lap. If I may ask, Miss, why did he leave you?”
“Oh. for no particular reason,” said Mary uneasily. “That is, my brother had left Windsor; and we did not require Mr Jack anymore.”
“So he was the tutor of whom Mrs Beatty told mother.” said Magdalen significantly.
“Yes.”
“I hope he was pleasanter in your house, Miss, than he is in mine. However, that’s not my business. I have no wish to intrude. Except the letter he wrote me with the money, not a civil word have I ever had from him.”
“A lady whom I know,” said Mary, “employed him, whilst he was with us, to correct some songs which she wrote. Perhaps I could induce her to give him some more. I should like to get him something to do. But I am afraid she was offended by the way he altered her composition last time.”
“Well, Polly,” said Magdalen, “we are forgetting my business. Where is the professor that Mrs Wilkins told me of? I wish Mr Jack gave lessons in elocution. I should like to have him for a master.”
“Why, Miss Madge, to tell you the honest truth, it is Mr Jack. But wait till I show you something. He’s given me a ring to pawn; and it’s the very moral of your own that you used to wear in Gower Street.”
“It is mine, Polly. I owe Mr Jack four guineas; and I must pay him today. Don’t stare: I will tell you all about it afterwards. I have to thank him too, for getting me out of a great scrape. Mary: do you wish to see him?”
“Well, I would rather not, “ said Mary slowly: “at least, I think it would be better not. But after all it can do no harm; and I suppose it would not be right for you to see him alone.”
“Oh, never mind that,” said Magdalen suspiciously. “I can have Polly with me.”
“If you had rather not have me present, I will go.”
“Oh,