As her neighbour had remarked, she hated children, and she became so unutterably wearied of the care of these three all day and every day, that she began to wish she had never troubled about paying Pattie out, or chosen some way which had not entailed the plague of three children upon herself.
Still, she had triumphed; she had had her vengeance. The thought was very sweet, and the bother to herself would soon be over now. Indeed, it must be, or Tom would be coming back.
One Saturday had already passed, since Maud came, and on the second Saturday three things happened. News of Pattie came to her. Wrapped round a haddock which she had purchased for dinner, was a crumpled piece of newspaper. The name upon it, "Old Keston Gazette," caught her eye instantly. She turned it over and glanced down its columns, and her eyes rested on one, and a look and a smile of triumph flashed into her face.
But as she read, her look changed, a deep and angry flush mounted to her forehead and spread to her neck. In a sudden transport of rage, she crumpled up the paper into a ball, cast it upon the floor and trampled on it, and then stooping, she picked it up and thrust it into the fire.
She had failed—she had been deceived—tricked—foiled. All her efforts had been in vain! Pattie had escaped from her toils scot-free. Pattie had never gone to the station at all. She had stolen the child from one of its own sisters! She had risked so much for that! She could have shrieked in her impotent anger.
Turning, she met the wondering gaze of the two children, who had stopped in their play to watch her. She gave them both a smart box on the ears, and then, further enraged when they both began to cry, she seized them roughly and thrust them into the bedroom. She would gladly have smacked her own baby, only that he happened to be asleep.
The second happening was a postcard in the afternoon, from the maid who lived where she used to wash in Old Keston. Her mistress was away, she said; the new washerwoman had not put in an appearance and if Mrs. Adams was not engaged on Monday, would she come and oblige?
Mrs. Adams was not engaged. She thought things over and she decided to go. Not by her usual trains, however. Something must be devised about ridding herself of Maud. She was sick of seeing after the child and she found herself listening to every heavy footstep on the stairs. She would go over late on Monday morning, and returning by a later train, could observe the movements of the St. Olave's household when the dusk fell. She must do something or Tom would be back.
The third happening came late at night.
As might have been expected, Jim came home at last with very little money in his pocket.