time, he told himself that he would be paid for his services, perhaps liberally, and it might prevent him having to touch the little nest-egg in the Post Office Savings Bank.
When Edward parted with his late employer and left the grill-room it was with the key of Adderbury Cottage, Bushey Heath, in his pocket, and rather a feeling of resentment against Mr. Kyser and his firm, who did not hesitate to use a servant of twenty-two years' standing as a mere caretaker.
And resentment was a dangerous thing in the brain of the new Edward Povey.
CHAPTER II
AT NO. 8, BELITHA VILLAS
It was nine o'clock when Edward Povey pushed open the little iron gate of No. 8, Belitha Villas, Clapham, thereby announcing his return to the other eleven villas in the same row. For the twelve little iron gates of Belitha Villas had each its own peculiar squeak and clang, a fact that added considerably to the scandal-mongering of the little community, and had caused a certain old reprobate at No. 3 to make liberal use of the oil-can.
The master of No. 8 let himself in with his latch-key, and groping his way down the dark and narrow passage pushed open the dining-room door. The room was in darkness save for a little evil-smelling oil-lamp which shed a dismal radiance upon a cloth spread half across the table. An unsympathetic slab of red topside of beef glared aggressively from a dish in which the gravy had set to an unhealthy-looking fat-ringed jelly. This, flanked by the remains of a cottage loaf and a glass of ale, constituted the meal that Charlotte had left for the refreshment of her lord and master. The ale had long been drawn, and stood dead and listless, showing a surface destitute of foam. Edward took one sip, then sat down and lit a cigarette.
His gaze wandered round the little room, the corners of which were in a dingy shadow, and contrasted it in his mind with the grill-room of the Blue Dragon. And then his eye lighted upon a letter propped up against the brass lamp and put there evidently so that it should attract his early attention. He took it up and read it through, then with a few uncomplimentary remarks he thrust it into his pocket and, taking up the lamp, made his way up-stairs. Another moment and he was back again, holding the lamp above his head and searching the dim corners of the room.
A large unwieldy form that had been stretched upon a sofa in the shadow of the window recess roused itself and sat upright. It was clad in a shabby dressing-gown of some dark material and it had a stern eye.
"You're late, Edward."
"Yes, my dear, I am a little, I think. I thought you were up-stairs or had run along to have a chat with Mrs. Oakley. I didn't see you in the shadow there."
"I saw you, Edward, and I saw you read the letter, and I—I heard what you called uncle, and I am not in the habit of running along and having a chat with my neighbours in the middle of the night."
"Well, my dear woman, I didn't know you were there when I read his letter or I wouldn't have said it,—and it's only nine o'clock."
"That's enough, Edward; you've said what you've said. I'm astonished, but it can't be mended; they say men speak their true thoughts when they're in drink."
"I beg your pardon, Charlotte, I——"
"I'm not angry, Edward, but don't bang the lamp down like that, you'll splash the oil out. I repeat I'm not angry, only sorry. When I see a man come home at this hour and turn up his nose at a glass of good honest ale I know what it means. But that doesn't excuse what you said about uncle."
"Well, he's a rotten nuisance. I know as well as you do that we can't afford to upset the old chap, but he shouldn't come down on us like this, especially——"
"Especially what——?"
"——especially when it's—it's not convenient. The fact is, Charlotte, we'll have to draw in our horns a bit. I've got the sack, my dear, the push—the bullet—after twenty-two years—curse 'em."
"Edward, you forget you're speaking to me."
"Oh, no, I don't, my dear. I'm talking exactly how I feel. I'll get even with 'em yet. I'm going to draw some fresh beer."
When Edward returned, Charlotte had lit the hanging lamp with the green shade over the centre of the table and had settled herself in the one saddle-bag chair. Her husband sat opposite to her on a shiny horsehair stool and poured out a glass of foaming ale.
"Your health, my dear," he said, and drank deep.
"Umph! you seem to take it coolly, Edward; I suppose you think it's the easiest thing in the world to get employment at your age. Look at Mr. Hardy at No. 4, out for fifteen months and speaks Portuguese, they say, like a native——"
Edward held up a protesting hand.
"Mr. Hardy, my dear, doesn't enter into this. What's happened to-day has made me do a bit of hard thinking. Forty's not old, Charlotte, it's young. I feel like a boy just let out of school. I'll be full of schemes in a day or two."
Mrs. Povey waved her hands unconvincedly.
"But the present," she remarked with a sinister sweetness. "I suppose that hasn't entered into your head, eh? How about uncle? he's a self-made man and thinks everyone should succeed. When he hears you're sacked he'll cut us off without the shilling. He always says he's got no use for failures."
Mrs. Povey paused, and getting no reply went on.
"Besides, I've written to Aunt Eliza plenty of times and said how well we were doing; in fact, I'm afraid I've exaggerated, and now, here he is coming to visit us. I'm afraid he'll have a sort of awakening—and so will we."
Sitting forward with his hands on his knees, Edward Povey was staring into the little heap of cinders in the heart of which still glowed a dull red. His lips were parted and his eyes were dilated. Mrs. Povey leant over and shook him roughly by the shoulder. Then she moved the jug of beer out of his reach.
"Edward Povey, ain't you ashamed of yourself—the state you're in—go to bed—you hear me?"
Her husband drew his eyes from the contemplation of the fire and motioned to his wife to sit down.
"It's working out," he said, and stretched out his hand for the jug that wasn't there. Then he cleared his throat and told his wife about his adventure of the evening. Charlotte listened in a forbidding silence, and when he had finished:
"I don't know what all this gallivanting about in restaurants has to do with me," she said sharply, "a few shillings a week—it'll hardly pay your fare."
"One moment, dear? You say that uncle comes to us on Monday—you know what his visits are, only business trips, and at the most he'll stay two nights. And, Charlotte, Mr. Kyser goes to Switzerland to-morrow for a month—see?"
"See what?"
"My dear Charlotte, I've always thought that women as a class are inferior to us men, but for sheer unadulterated stupidity and criminal density commend me to Charlotte Povey."
"Edward—you dare to——"
