The waif broke into a wide smile, grabbed the coin in one hand and the boy with the other and they scuttled off up the street.
Poor little devils, he said, as they resumed walking. Where do they live?
I have no idea, but they seem to have adopted me.
No doubt because you give them money.
Perhaps, but it is little enough. The government should do something for the poor and I do not mean build more unions where they can be conveniently forgotten. They are no better than prisons and most people would rather beg and steal than enter one.
He agreed wholeheartedly but, until something was done officially, it was up to individuals to make their plight known. He had no voice except through his writing. He did not see himself as a novelist, like Charles Dickens, who was also concerned with highlighting poverty, but he could write books and pamphlets pointing out the facts. And the facts made horrifying reading. It was a pity too few people troubled themselves with them. Something else had to be done to make the government pay attention. His visits to the Commons to listen to debates had made him realise that although most of its members paid lip service to the need for action, few were prepared to do it. It was one of the reasons he wanted to join them. You evidently feel strongly on the subject, he said.
I have seen what poverty can do. She opened the door of one of the houses, slightly better than the rest for the curtains were relatively clean, the step scrubbed and the door knocker polished. He followed her inside, as she knew he would. I live on the first floor, she said, turning to thank him again and hoping he would take it as a dismissal, although the damage was already done.
There you are! A woman came out from the back regions of the hallway. She was very fat, wore a black skirt, pink blouse and an apron that had seen better days. Her greying hair was pulled back so tightly into a bun at the back of her head it seemed to stretch the skin on her face, making her dark eyes look narrow. About time, too. I never did undertake to be his warder, you know. I cant keep him in if he is determined to go out.
Oh, dear, I am sorry, Mrs Beales. Has he not come back?
No, you know he wont shift until they throw him out. I gave him a luvverly plate of stew for his dinner, luvverly it were, and he just looked at it and grunted that he needed food, not pigswill, and slammed outa the house. If you think Im goin to put up with that sort of treatment, miss, you can think again. I cn find plenty of tenants whod be more appreciative.
I am sorry, Mrs Beales. He can be a little difficult about his food sometimes.
Dont I know it! You shouldnbe so late home. You know it sets him off.
Im afraid I had to work late.
Hmm. The comment was one of derisory disbelief.
Thank you, Mrs Beales, she said levelly, aware that the woman was looking Richard up and down, summing him up and probably coming to quite the wrong conclusion. Ill go and look for him.
Do you know where he has gone? Richard asked the woman. I came especially to see him.
She grunted. I wouldnt put money on you gettin much sense outa him tonight.
I think I know where he is, Diana said, giving up all hope of keeping the truth from him or the rest of his family. He was looking at her with an expression she could not quite fathom. Was it curiosity or disgust or compassion? Those blue eyes gave nothing away, but he could not have failed to understand what Mrs Beales had been hinting. She wished the ground would open and swallow her.
Lead the way, he commanded, as Mrs Beales plodded back to her own quarters.
This need not concern you, Mr Harecroft. Please tell Mr Harecroft senior I shall be at work as usual tomorrow.
I will do no such thing. Take me to your father.
Why?
Why? he repeated impatiently. Do you think I am slow-witted? It is as plain as day what is wrong with him and I doubt if you are strong enough to get him home alone.
It is not like that. He is not well.
Your loyalty is commendable, Miss Bywater. Now let us go and find him. His apparent abruptness marked a deep concern. How did someone as young and beautiful as she was come to such a pass? Long before he went into the army, he had become aware of the deep chasm between rich and poor, a chasm that the rich for the most part ignored, salving their consciences with donations to charity. The poor had always been part of the population, but in this young ladys case, he was sure it was of recent duration. That she had managed to hide it so successfully said a great deal for her pride and determination. Was that the sort of thing his great-grandmother wanted him to find out?
Without answering him, she turned and went out again. Neither spoke as she walked swiftly down the street, holding her grey working skirt out of the mire, with him in attendance. Why had Papa slipped back, after being good for so long? And tonight of all nights.
They could hear the sound of raucous singing long before they reached the door of The Dog and Duck. She hesitated with her hand on the latch, but it wasnt as if it were the first time she had been obliged to enter that establishment, so she took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Stay here, Richard said, putting a hand on her arm to detain her. Ill fetch him out.
He wont go with a stranger. It was said half-heartedly. Now her horrible secret was out, the invitation to Borstead Hall would be withdrawn, there would be no marriage to Stephen, probably no job either. She was not so concerned about the invitation or Stephens half-hearted proposal, but the job was important. And she had a dreadful feeling one depended on the other.
The tavern was crowded with working men, some of whom were singing lustily. James Bywater was sitting in a corner between two scruffy individuals apparently deep in conversation. His suit of clothes had once been smart and his cravat had been clean that morning, but was clean no longer. On the table at his side was a tricorne hat that he had once worn when commanding his ship. Diana hurried over to him. Oh, let him be sensible, she prayed. Make him come homequietly.
The trouble was that, even sober, he was difficult to handle, rather like a truculent child determined to have his own way. And yet, like a child, he was warm and loving and he never meant to hurt her. For her dead mothers sake she persevered with her effort to help him to help himself.
From his corner seat he saw her and waved his full glass at her, slopping the contents over his fingers. The strong weatherbeaten seaman was gone and in his place was a shabby middle-aged man with an empty sleeve and brown stains on his cravat. His dog, Toby, sat patiently at his feet, waiting to lead him home because that was what had frequently happened in the past. Diana, what are you doing here? She was thankful his speech was not too slurred.
Looking for you, Papa. I was hoping you would be at home. I have brought someone to meet you.
He looked past her to where Richard stood. Your young man?
She felt the colour flood her face. Just lately he had been talking to her about making a good marriage, telling her to encourage her employers son, as if that would solve all their problems. You would be well set up there, he had said. No more scrimping and trying to make ends meet and we could leave this sordid place.