Mrs. Bindle: Some Incidents from the Domestic Life of the Bindles by Jenkins (best ebook reader for chromebook TXT) 📗

smiled feebly. She always suspected Mrs. Stitchley of surreptitious drinking, in spite of the fact that she belonged to the chapel Temperance Society. Mrs. Stitchley's red nose, coupled with the passion she possessed for chewing cloves, had made her fellow-worshipper suspicious.

"Wot a nice room," Mrs. Stitchley looked about her appreciatively, "so genteel, and 'ow refined."

Mrs. Bindle smirked.

"I was sayin' to Stitchley only yesterday mornin' at breakfast—he was 'avin' sausages, 'e bein' so fond of 'em—'Mrs. Bindle 'as taste,' I says, 'and refinement.'"

Mrs. Bindle, who had seated herself opposite her visitor, drew in her chin and folded her hands before[Pg 294] her, with the air of one who is receiving only what she knows to be her due.

There was a slight pause.

"Yes," said Mrs. Stitchley, with a sigh, "I was always one for refinement and respectability."

Mrs. Bindle said nothing. She was wondering why Mrs. Stitchley had called. Although she would not have put it into words, or even allow it to find form in her thoughts, she knew Mrs. Stitchley to be a woman to whom gossip was the breath of life.

"Now you're wonderin' why I've come, my dear," continued Mrs. Stitchley, who always grew more friendly as her calls lengthened, "but it's a dooty. I says to Stitchley this mornin', 'There's that poor, dear Mrs. Bindle a-livin' in innocence of the way in which she's bein' vilated.'" Mrs. Stitchley was sometimes a little loose in the way she constructed her sentences and the words she selected.

Mrs. Bindle's lips began to assume a hard line.

"I don't understand, Mrs. Stitchley," she said.

"Jest wot I says to Stitchley, 'She don't know, the poor lamb,' I says, ''ow she's bein' deceived, 'ow she's——'" Mrs. Stitchley paused, not from any sense of the dramatic; but because of a violent hiccough that had assailed her.

"Excuse me, mum—Mrs. Bindle," she corrected herself; "but I always was a one for 'iccups, an' when it ain't 'iccups it's spasms. Stitchley was sayin' to me only yesterday, no it wasn't, it was the day before, that——"

"Won't you tell me what you were going to?" said[Pg 295] Mrs. Bindle. She knew of old how rambling were Mrs. Stitchley's methods of narration.

"To be sure, to be sure," and she nodded until the jet ornament in her black bonnet seemed to have become palsied. "Well, my dear, it's like this. As I was sayin' to Stitchley this mornin', 'I can't see poor Mrs. Bindle deceived by that monster.' I see through 'im that evenin', a-turnin' your 'appy party into——" she paused for a simile—"into wot 'e turned it into," she added with inspiration.

"Oh! the wickedness of this world, Mrs. Bindle. Oh! the sin and error." She cast up her bleary, watery blue eyes, and gazed at the yellow paper flycatcher, and once more the jet ornament began to shiver.

"Please tell me what it is, Mrs. Stitchley," said Mrs. Bindle, conscious of a sense of impending disaster.

"The wicked man, the cruel, heartless creature; but they're all the same, as I tell Stitchley, and him with a wife like you, Mrs. Bindle, to carry on with a young Jezebel like that, to——"

"Carry on with a young Jezebel!"

Mrs. Bindle's whole manner had changed. Her uprightness seemed to have become emphasised, and the grim look about her mouth had hardened into one of menace. Her eyes, hard as two pieces of steel, seemed to pierce through her visitor's brain. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

Instinctively Mrs. Stitchley recoiled.

"As I says to Stitchley——" she began, when Mrs. Bindle broke in.[Pg 296]

"Never mind Mr. Stitchley," she snapped. "Tell me what you mean."

Mrs. Stitchley looked hurt. Things were not going exactly as she had planned. In the retailing of scandal, she was an artist, and she constructed her periods with a view to their dramatic effect upon her listener.

"Yes," she continued reminiscently, "'e's been a good 'usbindt 'as Stitchley. Never no gallivanting with other females. 'E's always said: 'Matilda, my dear, there won't never be another woman for me.' His very words, Mrs. Bindle, I assure you," and Mrs. Stitchley preened herself like a moth-eaten peacock.

"You were saying——" began Mrs. Bindle.

"To be sure, to be sure," said Mrs. Stitchley; "but we all 'ave our crosses to bear. The Lord will give you strength, Mrs. Bindle, just as He gave me strength when Stitchley lorst 'is leg. 'The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,'" she added enigmatically.

"Mrs. Stitchley," said Mrs. Bindle, rising with an air of decision, "I insist on your telling me what you mean."

"Ah! my dear," said Mrs. Stitchley, with an emotion in her voice that she usually kept for funerals, "I knew 'ow it would be. I says to Stitchley, 'Stitchley,' I says, 'that poor, dear woman will suffer. She was made for sufferin'. She's one of them gentle, tender lambs, that's trodden underfoot by the serpent's tooth of man's lust; but she will bear 'er cross.' Them was my very words, Mrs. Bindle," she added, indifferent to the mixture of metaphor.[Pg 297]

Mrs. Bindle looked at her visitor helplessly. Her face was very white; but she realised Mrs. Stitchley's loquacity was undammable.

"A-takin' 'ome a young gal at two o'clock in the mornin', and then bein' asked in by 'er mother—and 'er father away at 'is work every night—and 'er not mor'n seventeen, and all the neighbours with their 'eads out of the windows, and 'er a-screechin' and askin' of 'er mother not to 'it 'er, and 'er sayin' 'Wait 'till I get you, my gal,' and callin' 'im an ole villain. 'E ought to be took up. I says to Stitchley, 'Stitchley,' I says, 'that man ought to be took up, an' it's only because of Lord George that 'e ain't.'"

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Bindle made an effort to control herself. "Who was it that took some one home at two o'clock in the morning?"

"You poor lamb," croaked Mrs. Stitchley, gazing up at Mrs. Bindle, whose unlamblike qualities were never more marked than at that moment. "You poor lamb. You're being deceived, Mrs. Bindle, cruelly and wickedly vilated. Your 'usbindt's carrying on with a young gal wot might 'ave been 'is daughter. Oh! the wickedness of this world, the——"

"I don't believe it."

Mrs. Stitchley started back. The words seemed almost to hit her in the face. She blinked her eyes uncertainly, as she looked at Mrs. Bindle, the embodiment of an outraged wife and a vengeful fury.

"I'm afraid I must be going, my dear," said Mrs. Stitchley; "but I felt I ought to tell you."[Pg 298]

"Not until you've told me everything," said Mrs. Bindle, with decision, as she moved towards the door, "and you don't leave this room until you've explained what you mean."

Mrs. Stitchley turned round in her chair as Mrs. Bindle passed across the room, surprise and fear in her eyes.

"Lord a mercy me!" she cried. "Don't ee take on like that, Mrs. Bindle. 'E ain't worth it."

Then Mrs. Bindle proceeded to make it abundantly clear to Mrs. Stitchley that she required the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, without unnecessary circumlocution, verbiage, or obscuring metaphor.

At the end of five minutes she had reduced her visitor to a state of tearful compliance.

At first her periods halted; but she soon got into her stride and swung along with obvious enjoyment.

"My sister-in-law, not as she is my sister-in-law regler, Stitchley's father 'avin' married twice, 'is second bein' a widow with five of 'er own, an' 'er not twenty-nine at the time, reckless, I calls it. As I was sayin', Mrs. Coggles, 'er name's enough to give you a pain, an' the state of 'er 'ome, my dear——" Mrs. Stitchley raised her eyes to the ceiling as if words failed her.

"Well," she continued after a momentary pause, during which Mrs. Bindle looked at her without moving a muscle, "as I was sayin', Mrs. Coggles"—she shuddered slightly as she pronounced the name—"she lives in Arloes Road, No. 9, pink tie-ups to 'er curtains she 'as, an' that flashy in 'er dress. Well, well!" she[Pg 299] concluded, as if Christian charity had come to her aid.

"She told me all about it. She was jest a-goin' to bed, bein' late on account of 'Ector, that's 'er seventh, ten months old an' still at the breast, disgustin' I calls it, 'avin' wot she thought was convulsions, an' 'earin' the row an' 'ubbub, she goes to the door an' sees everythink, an' that's the gospel truth, Mrs. Bindle, if I was to be struck down like Sulphira."

She then proceeded to give a highly elaborated and ornate account of Bindle's adventure of some six weeks previously. She accompanied her story with a wealth of detail, most of which was inaccurate, coupled with the assurance that the Lord and Mrs. Stitchley would undoubtedly do all in their power to help Mrs. Bindle in her hour of trial.

Finally, Mrs. Stitchley found herself walking down the little tiled path that led to the Bindles' outer gate, in her heart a sense of great injustice.

"Never so much as bite or sup," she mumbled, as she turned out of the gate, taking care to leave it open, "and me a-tellin' 'er all wot I told 'er. I've come across meanness in my time; but I never been refused a cup-o'-tea, an' me fatiguing myself something cruel to go an' tell 'er. I don't wonder he took up with that bit of a gal."

That night she confided in her husband. "Stitchley," she said, "there ain't never smoke without fire, you mark my words," and Stitchley, glancing up from his newspaper, enquired what the 'ell she was gassing about; but she made no comment beyond emphasising, once more, that he was to mark her words.[Pg 300]

That afternoon, Mrs. Bindle worked with a vigour unusual even in her. She attacked the kitchen fire, hurled into the sink a flat-iron that had the temerity to get too hot, scrubbed boards that required no scrubbing, washed linoleum that was spotless, blackleaded where to blacklead was like painting the lily. In short, she seemed determined to exhaust her energies and her anger upon the helpless and inanimate things about her.

From time to time there burst from her closed lips a sound as of one who has difficulty in holding back her pent-up feelings.

At length, having cleaned everything that was cleanable, she prepared a cup-of-tea, which she drank standing. Then, removing her apron and taking her bonnet from the dresser-drawer, she placed it upon her head and adjusted the strings beneath her chin.

Without waiting for any other garment, she left the house and made direct for Arloes Road.

Twice she walked its length, subjecting to a careful scrutiny the house occupied by the Brungers, noting the windows with great care, and finding in them little to criticise. Then she returned to Fenton Street.

The fact of having viewed the actual scene of Bindle's perfidy seemed to corroborate Mrs. Stitchley's story. Before the storm was to be permitted to burst, however, Mrs. Bindle intended to make assurance doubly sure by, as she regarded it in her own mind, "catching him at it."

That night, she selected for her evening reading the[Pg 301] chapter in the Bible which tells of the plagues of Egypt. Temporarily she saw herself in the roll of an outraged Providence, whilst for the part of Pharaoh she had cast Bindle, who, unaware of his impending doom, was explaining to Ginger at The Yellow Ostrich that a bigamist ought to be let off because "'e must be mad to 'ave done it."

III

Mrs. Bindle awaited the coming of Saturday evening with a grimness that caused Bindle more than once to regard her curiously. "There's somethink on the 'andle," he muttered prophetically; but as Mrs. Bindle made no sign and, furthermore, as she set before him his favourite dishes, he allowed speculation to become absorbed in appetite and enjoyment.

It was characteristic of Mrs. Bindle that, Bindle being more than usually under a cloud, she should take extra care in the preparation of his meals. It was her way of emphasising the difference between them; he the erring husband, she the perfect wife.

"I shan't be in to supper to-night, Lizzie," Bindle announced casually on the evening of what Mrs. Bindle had already decided was to be her day of wrath. He picked up his bowler-hat preparatory to making one of his lightning exits.

"Where are you going?" she demanded, hoping to trap him in a lie.[Pg 302]

"When you gets yerself up dossy an' says you're goin' to chapel," he remarked, edging towards the door, "I says nothink at all, bein' a trustin' 'usband; so when I gets myself up ditto an' says I ain't goin' to chapel, you didn't ought to say nothink either, Mrs. B. Wot's sauce for the goose is——"

"You're a bad, black-hearted man, Bindle, and you know it."

The intensity of feeling with which the words were uttered surprised him.

"Don't you think you can throw dust——" She stopped suddenly, then concluded, "You'd better be careful."

"I am, Mrs. B.," he replied cheerily, "careful as careful."

Bindle had fallen into a habit of "dropping in" upon the Brungers on Saturday evenings, and for this purpose he had what he described