But now luck seemed to have deserted her. It was the middle of September and she had not yet been able to find the situation she wanted; and it had become more and more distressing to her to refuse sixteen pound a year. She had calculated it all out, and nothing less than eighteen pound was of any use to her. With eighteen pound and a kind mistress who would give her an old dress occasionally she could do very well. But if she didn't find these two pounds she did not know what she should do. She might drag on for a time on sixteen pound, but such wages would drive her in the end into the workhouse. If it were not for the child! But she would never desert her darling boy, who loved her so dearly, come what might. A sudden imagination let her see him playing in the little street, waiting for her to come home, and her love for him went to her head like madness. She wondered at herself; it seemed almost unnatural to love anything as she did this child.
Then, in a shiver of fear, determined to save her 'bus fare, she made her way through Leicester Square. She was a good-looking girl, who hastened her steps when addressed by a passer-by or crossed the roadway in sullen indignation, and who looked in contempt on the silks and satins which turned into the Empire, and she seemed to lose heart utterly. She had been walking all day and had not tasted food since the morning, and the weakness of the flesh brought a sudden weakness of the spirit. She felt that she could struggle no more, that the whole world was against her—she felt that she must have food and drink and rest. All this London tempted her, and the cup was at her lips. A young man in evening clothes had spoken to her. His voice was soft, the look in his eyes seemed kindly.
Thinking of the circumstances ten minutes later it seemed to her that she had intended to answer him. But she was now at Charing Cross. There was a lightness, an emptiness in her head which she could not overcome, and the crowd appeared to her like a blurred, noisy dream. And then the dizziness left her, and she realised the temptation she had escaped. Here, as in Piccadilly, she could pick out the servant girls; but here their service was yesterday's lodging-house—poor and dissipated girls, dressed in vague clothes fixed with hazardous pins. Two young women strolled in front of her. They hung on each other's arms, talking lazily. They had just come out of an eating-house, and a happy digestion was in their eyes. The skirt on the outside was a soiled mauve, and the bodice that went with it was a soiled chocolate. A broken yellow plume hung out of a battered hat. The skirt on the inside was a dim green, and little was left of the cotton velvet jacket but the cotton. A girl of sixteen walking sturdily, like a little man, crossed the road, her left hand thrust deep into the pocket of her red cashmere dress. She wore on her shoulders a strip of beaded mantle; her hair was plaited and tied with a red ribbon. Corpulent women passed, their eyes liquid with invitation; and the huge bar-loafer, the man of fifty, the hooked nose and the waxed moustache, stood at the door of a restaurant, passing the women in review.
A true London of the water's edge—a London of theatres, music-halls, wine-shops, public-houses—the walls painted various colours, nailed over with huge gold lettering; the pale air woven with delicate wire, a gossamer web underneath which the crowd moved like lazy flies, one half watching the perforated spire of St. Mary's, and all the City spires behind it now growing cold in the east, the other half seeing the spire of St. Martin's above the chimney-pots aloft in a sky of cream pink. Stalwart policemen urged along groups of slattern boys and girls; and after vulgar remonstrance these took the hint and disappeared down strange passages. Suddenly Esther came face to face with a woman whom she recognised as Margaret Gale.
"What, is it you, Margaret?"
"Yes, it is me all right. What are you doing up here? Got tired of service? Come and have a drink, old gal."
"No, thank you; I'm glad to have seen you, Margaret, but I've a train to catch."
"That won't do," said Margaret, catching her by the arm; "we must have a drink and a talk over old times."
Esther felt that if she did not have something she would faint before she reached Ludgate Hill, and Margaret led the way through the public-house, opening all the varnished doors, seeking a quiet corner. "What's the matter?" she said, startled at the pallor of Esther's face.
"Only a little faintness; I've not had anything to eat all day."