"I'll do the accounts with pleasure," replied Miriam, thankful for the opportunity of thus paying her way; "and if you accept payment for my board and lodging like that, I shall be only too pleased."
So the bargain was struck, and Miriam undertook to balance the finances of the Pitt Hotel, which, to speak truly, were in a sad muddle. Mrs. Perks was a good landlady, an excellent housekeeper, but when it came to figures, Mrs. Perks was not in the first flight. The hotel, though by no means a high class one, paid well enough. Those who patronised it were of the shabby-genteel order. Would-be authors, frowsy foreigners, shabby ne'er-do-weels, came here for bed and board; and Mrs. Perks, as hard as a diamond if not so brilliant, screwed money out of them somehow. But the fact that they generally came again argued that even pertinacious and dogged as she was, Mrs. Perks had something on the other side which more than counterbalanced her capabilities in this direction. There were those who could speak very feelingly of the natural kindness within Mrs. Perks, and of her invariable readiness to hold out a helping hand to the unfortunate. A hard woman, a sordid woman, yet a true woman withal, and therefore capable of a great tenderness. There were many worse people than Mrs. Perks.
As the days went by and Miriam grew in favour, the landlady contracted the habit of taking tea with her in the bed-sitting room which was her abode for the time. And on these occasions, softened by the tea and mellowed by the toast, the old lady was wont to wax confidential, and talk a great deal about the late Mr. Barton. But what had been the true state of affairs between them Miriam never learned. Mrs. Perks was quite able, and evidently intended, to keep that to herself. For the rest she spoke both good and ill of the Squire, though on the whole she seemed in nowise to grieve that he was no more.
"Ah, Miss Cranes," she sighed on one of these occasions, "he was a bad 'un, was Mr. Barton; in fact, I don't think I ever knowed a wuss. Yet he 'ad 'is good points too. You couldn't call 'im 'oly and you couldn't call 'im wicious; he was betwixt and between like—a Moses and a Judas—and where he's gone to is more than I can tell."
"I suppose you know all about his life in London?"
"I do and I don't, Miss Cranes. He 'elps me to take this 'otel, and I paid off the money 'e advanced, so 'im and me was quits. But although I was 'ouse-keeper at the Manor House some time, and 'e put me 'ere in the way of earnin' my own livin', it wasn't a good 'eart as made 'im do it—oh dear no, not at all. He wanted a home 'ere where 'e could go and come without bein' talked about."
"Why, where did he use to go?"
"Ah!"—Mrs. Perks sniffed significantly—"where didn't he go? Slums was pleasures to 'im and criminals delights. Lor', Miss Cranes, if you only knowed the awful people as called 'ere to see Mr. Bartons, your blood would freeze in your veins!"
"Did you ever happen to notice a tall dark man, wearing a black cloak?"
"Wot, with a white face and a scar on it? Ah, that I did. What 'is name was, I didn't rightly know. The Shadder Mr. Barton called 'im, and shadder 'e was in his comin's and goin's, an' no mistake. 'E was a bad 'un, that Shadder, and I believe 'e did all Mr. Barton's wicked work for 'im. I never looked in the noospapers, Miss Cranes, but I expected to see a 'orrid murder by the Shadder and Mr. Bartons, but some'ow they managed to keep clear of the gallers."