The Lodger (4 page)

  "I hope I know a gentleman when I see one," she
said, with a break in her staid voice,

  "I shall have to see about getting some clothes
to-morrow, Mrs. Bunting." Again he looked at her appealingly.

  "I expect you'd like to wash your hands now, sir.
And would you tell me what you'd like for supper? We haven't much
in the house."

  "Oh, anything'll do," he said hastily. "I don't want
you to go out for me. It's a cold, foggy, wet night, Mrs. Bunting.
If you have a little bread-and-butter and a cup of milk I shall be
quite satisfied."

  "I have a nice sausage," she said hesitatingly.

  It was a very nice sausage, and she had bought it
that same morning for Bunting's supper; as to herself, she had been
going to content herself with a little bread and cheese. But now -
wonderful, almost, intoxicating thought - she could send Bunting
out to get anything they both liked. The ten sovereigns lay in her
hand full of comfort and good cheer.

  "A sausage? No, I fear that will hardly do. I never
touch flesh meat," he said; "it is a long, long time since I tasted
a sausage, Mrs. Bunting."

  "Is it indeed, sir?" She hesitated a moment, then
asked stiffly, "And will you be requiring any beer, or wine,
sir?"

  A strange, wild look of lowering wrath suddenly
filled Mr. Sleuth's pale face.

  "Certainly not. I thought I had made that quite
clear, Mrs. Bunting. I had hoped to hear that you were an abstainer
- "

  "So I am, sir, lifelong. And so's Bunting been since
we married." She might have said, had she been a woman given to
make such confidences, that she had made Buntlng abstain very early
in their acquaintance. That he had given in about that had been the
thing that first made her believe, that he was sincere in all the
nonsense that he talked to her, in those far-away days of his
courting. Glad she was now that he had taken the pledge as a
younger man; hut for that nothing would have kept him from the
drink during the bad times they had gone through.

  And then, going downstairs, she showed Mr. Sleuth
the nice bedroom which opened out of the drawing-room. It was a
replica of Mrs. Bunting's own room just underneath, excepting that
everything up here had cost just a little more, and was therefore
rather better in quality.

  The new lodger looked round him with such a strange
expression of content and peace stealing over his worn face. "A
haven of rest," he muttered; and then, "'He bringeth them to their
desired haven.' Beautiful words, Mrs. Bunting."

  "Yes, sir."

  Mrs. Bunting felt a little startled. It was the
first time anyone had quoted the Bible to her for many a long day.
But it seemed to set the seal, as it were, on Mr. Sleuth's
respectability.

  What a comfort it was, too, that she had to deal
with only one lodger, and that a gentleman, instead of with a
married couple! Very peculiar married couples had drifted in and
out of Mr. and Mrs. Bunting's lodgings, not only here, in London,
but at the seaside.

  How unlucky they had been, to be sure! Since they
had come to London not a single pair of lodgers had been even
moderately respectable and kindly. The last lot had belonged to
that horrible underworld of men and women who, having, as the phase
goes, seen better days, now only keep their heads above water with
the help of petty fraud.

  "I'll bring you up some hot water in a minute, sir,
and some clean towels," she said, going to the door.

  And then Mr. Sleuth turned quickly round. "Mrs.
Bunting " - and as he spoke he stammered a little - " I - I don't
want you to interpret the word attendance too liberally. You need
not run yourself off your feet for me. I'm accustomed to look after
myself."

  And, queerly, uncomfortably, she felt herself
dismissed - even a little snubbed. "All right, sir," she said.
"I'll only just let you know when I've your supper ready."

  
B
ut what was a
little snub compared with the intense relief and joy of going down
and telling Bunting of the great piece of good fortune which had
fallen their way?

  Staid Mrs. Bunting seemed to make but one leap down
the steep stairs. In the hall, however, she pulled herself
together, and tried to still her agitation. She had always disliked
and despised any show of emotion; she called such betrayal of
feeling "making a fuss."

  Opening the door of their sitting-room, she stood
for a moment looking at her husband's bent back, and she realised,
with a pang of pain, how the last few weeks had aged him.

  Bunting suddenly looked round, and, seeing his wife,
stood up. He put the paper he had been holding down on to the
table: "Well," he said, "well, who was it, then?"

  He felt rather ashamed of himself; it was he who
ought to have answered the door and done all that parleying of
which he had heard murmurs.

  And then in a moment his wife's hand shot out, and
the ten sovereigns fell in a little clinking heap on the table.

  "Look there!" she whispered, with an excited,
tearful quiver in her voice. "Look there, Bunting!"

  And Bunting did look there, but with a troubled,
frowning gaze.

  He was not quick-witted, but at once he jumped to
the conclusion that his wile had just had in a furniture dealer,
and that this ten pounds represented all their nice furniture
upstairs. If that were so, then it was the beginning of the end.
That furniture in the first-floor front had cost - Ellen had
reminded him of the fact bitterly only yesterday - seventeen pounds
nine shillings, and every single item had been a bargain. It was
too bad that she had only got ten pounds for it.

  Yet he hadn't the heart to reproach her.

  He did not speak as he looked across at her, and
meeting that troubled, rebuking glance, she guessed what it was
that he thought had happened.

  "We've a new lodger!" she cried. "And - and,
Bunting? He's quite the gentleman! He actually offered to pay four
weeks in advance, at two guineas a week."

  "No, never!"

  Bunting moved quickly round the table, and together
they stood there, fascinated by the little heap of gold. "But
there's ten sovereigns here," he said suddenly.

  "Yes, the gentleman said I'd have to buy some things
for him to-morrow. And, oh, Bunting, he's so well spoken, I really
felt that - I really felt that - " and then Mrs. Bunting, taking a
step or two sideways, sat down, and throwing her little black apron
over her face burst into gasping sobs.

  Bunting patted her back timidly. "Ellen?" he said,
much moved by her agitation, "Ellen? Don't take on so, my dear -
"

  "I won't," she sobbed, "I - I won't! I'm a fool - I
know I am! But, oh, I didn't think we was ever going to have any
luck again!"

  And then she told him - or rather tried to tell him
- what the lodger was like. Mrs. Bunting was no hand at talking,
but one thing she did impress on her husband's mind, namely, that
Mr. Sleuth was eccentric, as so many clever people are eccentric -
that is, in a harmless way - and that he must be humoured.

  "He says he doesn't want to be waited on much," she
said at last wiping her eyes, "but I can see he will want a good
bit of looking after, all the same, poor gentleman."

  And just as the words left her mouth there came the
unfamiliar sound of a loud ring. It was that of the drawing-room
bell being pulled again and again.

  Bunting looked at his wife eagerly. "I think I'd
better go up, eh, Ellen?" he said. He felt quite anxious to see
their new lodger. For the matter of that, it would be a relief to
be doing something again.

  "Yes," she answered, "you go up! Don't keep him
waiting! I wonder what it is he wants? I said I'd let him know when
his supper was ready."

  A moment later Bunting came down again. There was an
odd smile on his face. "Whatever d'you think he wanted?" he
whispered mysteriously. And as she said nothing, he went on, "He's
asked me for the loan of a Bible!"

  "Well, I don't see anything so out of the way in
that," she said hastily, "'specially if he don't fell well. I'll
take it up to him."

  And then going to a small table which stood between
the two windows, Mrs. Bunting took off it a large Bible, which had
been given to her as a wedding present by a married lady with whose
mother she had lived for several years.

  "He said it would do quite well when you take up his
supper," said Bunting; and, then, "Ellen? He's a queer-looking cove
- not like any gentleman I ever had to do with."

  "He is a gentleman," said Mrs. Bunting rather
fiercely.

  "Oh, yes, that's all right." But still he looked at
her doubtfully. "I asked him if he'd like me to just put away his
clothes. But, Ellen, he said he hadn't got any clothes!"

  "No more he hasn't;" she spoke quickly, defensively.
"He had the misfortune to lose his luggage. He's one dishonest folk
'ud take advantage of."

  "Yes, one can see that with half an eye," Buntlng
agreed.

  And then there was silence for a few moments, while
Mrs. Bunting put down on a little bit of paper the things she
wanted her husband to go out and buy for her. She handed him the
list, together with a sovereign. "Be as quick as you can," she
said, "for I feel a bit hungry. I'll be going down now to see about
Mr. Sleuth's supper. He only wants a glass of milk and two eggs.
I'm glad I've never fallen to bad eggs!"

  "Sleuth," echoed Bunting, staring at her. "What a
queer name! How d'you spell it - S-l-u-t-h?"

  "No," she shot out, "S-l-e - u - t - h."

  "Oh,'' he said doubtfully. "He said, 'Think of a
hound and you'll never forget my name,'" and Mrs. Bunting
smiled.

  When he got to the door, Bunting turned round:
"We'll now be able to pay young Chandler back some o' that thirty
shillings. I am glad." She nodded; her heart, as the saying is, too
full for words.

  And then each went about his and her business -
Bunting out into the drenching fog, his wife down to her cold
kitchen.

  The lodger's tray was soon ready; everything upon it
nicely and daintily arranged. Mrs. Bunting knew how to wait upon a
gentleman.

  Just as the landlady was going up the kitchen stair,
she suddenly remembered Mr. Sleuth's request for a Bible. Putting
the tray down in the hall, she went into her sitting-room and took
up the Book; but when back in the hall she hesitated a moment as to
whether it was worth while to make two journeys. But, no, she
thought she could manage; clasping the large, heavy volume under
her arm, and taking up the tray, she walked slowly up the
staircase.

  But a great surprise awaited her; in fact, when Mr.
Sleuth's landlady opened the door of the drawing-room she very
nearly dropped the tray. She actually did drop the Bible, and it
fell with a heavy thud to the ground.

  The new lodger had turned all those nice framed
engravings of the early Victorian beauties, of which Mrs. Bunting
had been so proud, with their faces to the wall!

  For a moment she was really too surprised to speak.
Putting the tray down on the table, she stooped and picked up the
Book. It troubled her that the should have fallen to the ground;
but really she hadn't been able to help it - it was mercy that the
tray hadn't fallen, too.

  Mr. Sleuth got up. "I - I have taken the liberty to
arrange the room as I should wish it to be," he said awkwardly.
"You see, Mrs. - er - Bunting, I felt as I sat here that these
women's eyes followed me about. It was a most unpleasant sensation,
and gave me quite an eerie feeling."

  The landlady was now laying a small tablecloth over
half of the table. She made no answer to her lodger's remark, for
the good reason that she did not know what to say.

  Her silence seemed to distress Mr. Sleuth. After
what seemed a long pause, he spoke again.