CHAPTER XXXIV
IN TYSON’S KITCHEN
The distance to the house was short. Before Henrietta had done more than taste the bliss of the open night, had done more than lift her eyes in thankfulness to the dark profundity above her, she was under the eaves. A stealthy tap was answered by the turning of a key, a door was quickly and silently opened, and she was pushed forward. Bess muttered a word or two—to a person unseen—and gripping her arm, thrust her along a passage. A second door gave way as mysteriously, and Henrietta found herself dazzled and blinking on the threshold of the kitchen which she had left twenty-four hours before. It was lighted, but not with the wastefulness and extravagance of the previous evening. Nor did it display those signs of disorder and riot which had yesterday opened her eyes.
She was sinking under the weight of the child, which she had hugged to her that it might not cry, and she went straight to the settle and laid the boy on it. He opened his eyes and looked vacantly before him; but, apparently, he was too far gone in weakness, or in too much fear, to cry. While Henrietta, relieved of the weight, and perhaps of a portion of her fears, sank on the settle beside him, leant her face on her arms and burst into passionate weeping.
It was perhaps the best thing in her power. For the men had followed her into the kitchen; and Lunt, with brutal oaths, was asking why she was there and what new folly was this. Bess turned on him—she well knew how to meet such attacks; and with scornful tongue she bade him wait, calling him thick-head, and adding that he’d learn by-and-by, if he could learn anything. Then, while Giles, ill-content himself, gave some kind of account of the thing, she began—as if it were a trifle—to lay the supper. And almost by force she got Henrietta to the table.
“It’s food you want!” she said bluntly. “Don’t play the silly! Who’s hurt you? Who’s going to hurt you? Here, take a sip of this, and you’ll feel better. Never heed him,” with a contemptuous glance at Lunt. “He’s most times a grumbler.”
For the moment Henrietta was quite broken, and the pressure which the other exerted was salutary. She did what she was bidden, swallowing a mouthful of the Scotch cordial Bess forced on her, and eating and drinking mechanically. Meanwhile the three men had brought their heads together, and sat discussing the position with unconcealed grudging and mistrust.
At length:
“You’ve grown cursed kind of a sudden!” Lunt swore, scowling at the two women. The child, in the presence of the men, sat paralysed with terror. “What’s this blamed fuss about?”
“What fuss?” Bess shot at him over her shoulder. And going to the child she bent over it with a bowl of bread and milk.
“Why don’t you lay ’em up in lavender?” the man sneered. “See here, she was a peacock yesterday and you’d grind her pretty face under your heel! To-day—— What does it mean? I want to know.”