Liza of Lambeth Read online

  'At what time d'yer start?'

  'The brake leaves at 'alf-past eight sharp.'

  'Why, it's only eight; it's only just struck at the church. 'Arry won't be there yet, will he?'

  'Oh, 'e's sure ter be early. I couldn't wite. I've been witin' abaht since 'alf-past six. I've been up since five this morning.'

  'Since five! What 'ave you been doin'?'

  'Dressin' myself and doin' my 'air. I woke up so early. I've been dreamin' all the night abaht it. I simply couldn't sleep.'

  'Well, you are a caution!' said Liza.

  'Bust it, I don't go on the spree every day! Oh, I do 'ope I shall enjoy myself.'

  'Why, you simply dunno where you are!' said Liza, a little crossly.

  'Don't you wish you was comin', Liza?' asked Sally.

  'Na! I could if I liked, but I don't want ter.'

  'You are a coughdrop--thet's all I can say. Ketch me refusin' when I 'ave the chanst.'

  'Well, it's done now. I ain't got the chanst any more.' Liza said this with just a little regret in her voice.

  'Come on dahn to the "Red Lion", Liza, and see us off,' said Sally.

  'No, I'm damned if I do!' answered Liza, with some warmth.

  'You might as well. P'raps 'Arry won't be there, an' you can keep me company till 'e comes. An' you can see the 'orses.'

  Liza was really very anxious to see the brake and the horses and the people going; but she hesitated a little longer. Sally asked her once again. Then she said:

  'Arright; I'll come with yer, and wite till the bloomin' old thing starts.'

  She did not trouble to put on a hat, but just walked out as she was, and accompanied Sally to the public-house which was getting up the expedition.

  Although there was still nearly half an hour to wait, the brake was drawn up before the main entrance; it was large and long, with seats arranged crosswise, so that four people could sit on each; and it was drawn by two powerful horses, whose harness the coachman was now examining. Sally was not the first on the scene, for already half a dozen people had taken their places, but Harry had not yet arrived. The two girls stood by the public-door, looking at the preparations. Huge baskets full of food were brought out and stowed away; cases of beer were hoisted up and put in every possible place--under the seats, under the driver's legs, and even beneath the brake. As more people came up, Sally began to get excited about Harry's non-appearance.

  'I say, I wish 'e'd come!' she said. ''E is lite.'

  Then she looked up and down the Westminster Bridge Road to see if he was in view.

  'Suppose 'e don't turn up! I will give it 'im when 'e comes for keepin' me witin' like this.'

  'Why, there's a quarter of an hour yet,' said Liza, who saw nothing at all to get excited about.

  At last Sally saw her lover, and rushed off to meet him. Liza was left alone, rather disconsolate at all this bustle and preparation. She was not sorry that she had refused Tom's invitation, but she did wish that she had conscientiously been able to accept it. Sally and her friend came up; attired in his Sunday best, he was a fit match for his lady-love--he wore a shirt and collar, unusual luxuries--and be carried under his arm a concertina to make things merry on the way.

  'Ain't you goin', Liza?' he asked in surprise at seeing her without a hat and with her apron on.

  'Na,' said Sally, 'ain't she a soft? Tom said 'e'd tike 'er, an' she wouldn't.'

  'Well, I'm dashed!'

  Then they climbed the ladder and took their seats, so that Liza was left alone again. More people had come along, and the brake was nearly full. Liza knew them all, but they were too busy taking their places to talk to her. At last Tom came. He saw her standing there and went up to her.

  'Won't yer change yer mind, Liza, an' come along with us?'

  'Na, Tom, I told yer I wouldn't--it's not right like.' She felt she must repeat that to herself often.

  'I shan't enjoy it a bit without you,' he said.

  'Well, I can't 'elp it!' she answered, somewhat sullenly.

  At that moment a man came out of the public-house with a horn in his hand; her heart gave a great jump, for if there was anything she adored it was to drive along to the tootling of a horn. She really felt it was very hard lines that she must stay at home when all these people were going to have such a fine time; and they were all so merry, and she could picture to herself so well the delights of the drive and the picnic. She felt very much inclined to cry. But she mustn't go, and she wouldn't go: she repeated that to herself twice as the trumpeter gave a preliminary tootle.

  Two more people hurried along, and when they came near Liza saw that they were Jim Blakeston and a woman whom she supposed to be his wife.

  'Are you comin', Liza?' Jim said to her.

  'No,' she answered. 'I didn't know you was goin'.'

  'I wish you was comin',' he replied, 'we shall 'ave a game.'

  She could only just keep back the sobs; she so wished she were going. It did seem hard that she must remain behind; and all because she wasn't going to marry Tom. After all, she didn't see why that should prevent her; there really was no need to refuse for that. She began to think she had acted foolishly: it didn't do anyone any good that she refused to go out with Tom, and no one thought it anything specially fine that she should renounce her pleasure. Sally merely thought her a fool.

  Tom was standing by her side, silent, and looking disappointed and rather unhappy. Jim said to her, in a low voice:

  'I am sorry you're not comin'!'

  It was too much. She did want to go so badly, and she really couldn't resist any longer. If Tom would only ask her once more, and if she could only change her mind reasonably and decently, she would accept; but he stood silent, and she had to speak herself. It was very undignified.

  'Yer know, Tom.' she said, 'I don't want ter spoil your day.'

  'Well, I don't think I shall go alone; it 'ud be so precious slow.'

  Supposing he didn't ask her again! What should she do? She looked up at the clock on the front of the pub, and noticed that it only wanted five minutes to the half-hour. How terrible it would be if the brake started and he didn't ask her! Her heart beat violently against her chest, and in her agitation she fumbled with the corner of her apron.

  'Well, what can I do, Tom dear?'

  'Why, come with me, of course. Oh. Liza, do say yes.'

  She had got the offer again, and it only wanted a little seemly hesitation, and the thing was done.

  'I should like ter, Tom,' she said. 'But d'you think it 'ud be arright?'

  'Yus, of course it would. Come on, Liza!' In his eagerness he clasped her hand.

  'Well,' she remarked, looking down, 'if it'd spoil your 'oliday--.'

  'I won't go if you don't--swop me bob, I won't!' he answered.

  'Well, if I come, it won't mean that I'm keepin' company with you.'

  'Na, it won't mean anythin' you don't like.'

  'Arright!' she said.

  'You'll come?' he could hardly believe her.

  'Yus!' she answered, smiling all over her face.

  'You're a good sort, Liza! I say, 'Arry, Liza's comin'!' he shouted.

  'Liza? 'Oorray!' shouted Harry.

  ''S'at right, Liza?' called Sally.

  And Liza feeling quite joyful and light of heart called back:

  'Yus!'

  ''Oorray!' shouted Sally in answer.

  'Thet's right, Liza,' called Jim; and he smiled pleasantly as she looked at him.

  'There's just room for you two 'ere,' said Harry, pointing to the vacant places by his side.

  'Arright!' said Tom.

  'I must jest go an' get a 'at an' tell mother,' said Liza.

  'There's just three minutes. Be quick!' answered Tom, and as she scampered off as hard as she could go, he shouted to the coachman: ''Old 'ard; there' another passenger comin' in a minute.'

  'Arright, old cock,' answered the coachman: 'no 'urry!'

  Liza rushed into the room, and called to her mother, who was still aslee
p:

  'Mother! mother! I'm going to Chingford!'

  Then tearing off her old dress she slipped into her gorgeous violet one; she kicked off her old ragged shoes and put on her new boots. She brushed her hair down and rapidly gave her fringe a twirl and a twist--it was luckily still moderately in curl from the previous Saturday--and putting on her black hat with all the feathers, she rushed along the street, and scrambling up the brake steps fell panting on Tom's lap.

  The coachman cracked his whip, the trumpeter tootled his horn, and with a cry and a cheer from the occupants, the brake clattered down the road.

  5

  As soon as Liza had recovered herself she started examining the people on the brake; and first of all she took stock of the woman whom Jim Blakeston had with him.

  'This is my missus!' said Jim, pointing to her with his thumb.

  'You ain't been dahn in the street much, 'ave yer?' said Liza, by way of making the acquaintance.

  'Na,' answered Mrs. Blakeston, 'my youngster's been dahn with the measles, an' I've 'ad my work cut out lookin' after 'im.'

  'Oh, an' is 'e all right now?'

  'Yus, 'e's gettin' on fine, an' Jim wanted ter go ter Chingford ter-day, an' 'e says ter me, well, 'e says, "You come along ter Chingford, too; it'll do you good." An' 'e says, "You can leave Polly"--she's my eldest, yer know--"you can leave Polly," says 'e, "ter look after the kids." So I says, "Well, I don't mind if I do," says I.'

  Meanwhile Liza was looking at her. First she noticed her dress: she wore a black cloak and a funny, old-fashioned black bonnet; then examining the woman herself, she saw a middle-sized, stout person anywhere between thirty and forty years old. She had a large, fat face with a big mouth, and her hair was curiously done, parted in the middle and plastered down on each side of the head in little plaits. One could see that she was a woman of great strength, notwithstanding evident traces of hard work and much child-bearing.

  Liza knew all the other passengers, and now that everyone was settled down and had got over the excitement of departure, they had time to greet one another. They were delighted to have Liza among them, for where she was there was no dullness. Her attention was first of all taken up by a young coster who had arrayed himself in the traditional costume--grey suit, tight trousers, and shiny buttons in profusion.

  'Wot cheer, Bill!' she cried to him.

  'Wot cheer, Liza!' he answered.

  'You are got up dossy, you'll knock 'em.'

  'Na then, Liza Kemp,' said his companion, turning round with mock indignation, 'you let my Johnny alone. If you come gettin' round 'im I'll give you wot for.'

  'Arright, Clary Sharp, I don't want 'im,' answered Liza. 'I've got one of my own, an' thet's a good 'andful--ain't it, Tom?'

  Tom was delighted, and, unable to find a repartee, in his pleasure gave Liza a great nudge with his elbow.

  ''Oo, I say,' said Liza, putting her hand to her side. 'Tike care of my ribs; you'll brike 'em.'

  'Them's not yer ribs,' shouted a candid friend--'them's yer whale-bones yer afraid of breakin'.'

  'Garn!'

  ''Ave yer got whale-bones?' said Tom, with affected simplicity, putting his arm round her waist to feel.

  'Na, then,' she said, 'keep off the grass!'

  'Well, I only wanted ter know if you'd got any.'

  'Garn; yer don't git round me like thet.'

  He still kept as he was.

  'Na then,' she repeated, 'tike yer 'and away. If yer touch me there you'll 'ave ter marry me.'

  'Thet's just wot I wants ter do, Liza!'

  'Shut it!' she answered cruelly, and drew his arm away from her waist.

  The horses scampered on, and the man behind blew his horn with vigour.

  'Don't bust yerself, guv'nor!' said one of the passengers to him when he made a particularly discordant sound. They drove along eastwards, and as the hour grew later the streets became more filled and the traffic greater. At last they got on the road to Chingford, and caught up numbers of other vehicles going in the same direction--donkey-shays, pony-carts, tradesmen's carts, dog-carts, drags, brakes, every conceivable kind of wheel thing, all filled with people, the wretched donkey dragging along four solid rate-payers to the pair of stout horses easily managing a couple of score. They exchanged cheers and greetings as they passed, the 'Red Lion' brake being noticeable above all for its uproariousness. As the day wore on the sun became hotter, and the road seemed more dusty and threw up a greater heat.

  'I am getting 'ot!' was the common cry, and everyone began to puff and sweat.

  The ladies removed their cloaks and capes, and the men, following their example, took off their coats and sat in their shirt-sleeves. Whereupon ensued much banter of a not particularly edifying kind respecting the garments which each person would like to remove--which showed that the innuendo of French farce is not so unknown to the upright, honest Englishman as might be supposed.

  At last came in sight the half-way house, where the horses were to have a rest and a sponge down. They had been talking of it for the last quarter of a mile, and when at length it was observed on the top of a hill a cheer broke out, and some thirsty wag began to sing 'Rule Britannia', whilst others burst forth with a different national ditty, 'Beer, Glorious Beer!' They drew up before the pub entrance, and all climbed down as quickly as they could. The bar was besieged, and potmen and barmaids were quickly busy drawing beer and handing it over to the eager folk outside.

  THE IDYLL OF CORYDON AND PHYLLIS.

  Gallantry ordered that the faithful swain and the amorous shepherdess should drink out of one and the same pot.

  ''Urry up an' 'ave your whack,' said Corydon, politely handing the foaming bowl for his fair one to drink from.

  Phyllis, without replying, raised it to her lips and drank deep. The swain watched anxiously.

  ''Ere, give us a chanst!' he said, as the pot was raised higher and higher and its contents appeared to be getting less and less.

  At this the amorous shepherdess stopped and handed the pot to her lover.

  'Well, I'm dashed!' said Corydon, looking into it; and added: 'I guess you know a thing or two.' Then with courtly grace putting his own lips to the place where had been those of his beloved, finished the pint.

  'Go' lumme!' remarked the shepherdess, smacking her lips, 'that was somethin' like!' And she put out her tongue and licked her lips, and then breathed deeply.

  The faithful swain having finished, gave a long sigh, and said:

  'Well, I could do with some more!'

  'For the matter of thet, I could do with a gargle!'

  Thus encouraged, the gallant returned to the bar, and soon brought out a second pint.

  'You 'ave fust pop,' amorously remarked Phyllis, and he took a long drink and handed the pot to her.

  She, with maiden modesty, turned it so as to have a different part to drink from; but he remarked as he saw her:

  'You are bloomin' particular.'

  Then, unwilling to grieve him, she turned it back again and applied her ruby lips to the place where his had been.

  'Now we shan't be long!' she remarked, as she handed him back the pot.

  The faithful swain took out of his pocket a short clay pipe, blew through it, filled it, and began to smoke, while Phyllis sighed at the thought of the cool liquid gliding down her throat, and with the pleasing recollection gently stroked her stomach. Then Corydon spat, and immediately his love said:

  'I can spit farther than thet.'

  'I bet yer yer can't.'

  She tried, and did. He collected himself and spat again, further than before, she followed him, and in this idyllic contest they remained till the tootling horn warned them to take their places.

  * * * * *

  At last they reached Chingford, and here the horses were taken out and the drag, on which they were to lunch, drawn up in a sheltered spot. They were all rather hungry, but as it was not yet feeding-time, they scattered to have drinks meanwhile. Liza and Tom, with Sally and her young man, went of
f together to the nearest public-house, and as they drank beer, Harry, who was a great sportsman, gave them a graphic account of a prize-fight he had seen on the previous Saturday evening, which had been rendered specially memorable by one man being so hurt that he had died from the effects. It had evidently been a very fine affair, and Harry said that several swells from the West End had been present, and he related their ludicrous efforts to get in without being seen by anyone, and their terror when someone to frighten them called out 'Copper!' Then Tom and he entered into a discussion on the subject of boxing, in which Tom, being a shy and undogmatic sort of person, was entirely worsted. After this they strolled back to the brake, and found things being prepared for luncheon; the hampers were brought out and emptied, and the bottles of beer in great profusion made many a thirsty mouth thirstier.

  'Come along, lidies an' gentlemen--if you are gentlemen,' shouted the coachman; 'the animals is now goin' ter be fed!'

  'Garn awy,' answered somebody, 'we're not hanimals; we don't drink water.'

  'You're too clever,' remarked the coachman; 'I can see you've just come from the board school.'

  As the former speaker was a lady of quite mature appearance, the remark was not without its little irony. The other man blew his horn by way of grace, at which Liza called out to him:

  'Don't do thet, you'll bust, I know you will, an' if you bust you'll quite spoil my dinner!'

  Then they all set to. Pork-pies, saveloys, sausages, cold potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, cold bacon, veal, ham, crabs and shrimps, cheese, butter, cold suet-puddings and treacle, gooseberry-tarts, cherry-tarts, butter, bread, more sausages, and yet again pork-pies! They devoured the provisions like ravening beasts, stolidly, silently, earnestly, in large mouthfuls which they shoved down their throats unmasticated. The intelligent foreigner seeing them thus dispose of their food would have understood why England is a great nation. He would have understood why Britons never, never will be slaves. They never stopped except to drink, and then at each gulp they emptied their glass; no heel-taps! And still they ate, and still they drank--but as all things must cease, they stopped at last, and a long sigh of content broke from their two-and-thirty throats.

  Then the gathering broke up, and the good folk paired themselves and separated. Harry and his lady strolled off to secluded byways in the forest, so that they might discourse of their loves and digest their dinner. Tom had all the morning been waiting for this happy moment; he had counted on the expansive effect of a full stomach to thaw his Liza's coldness, and he had pictured himself sitting on the grass with his back against the trunk of a spreading chestnut-tree, with his arm round his Liza's waist, and her head resting affectionately on his manly bosom. Liza, too, had foreseen the separation into couples after dinner, and had been racking her brains to find a means of getting out of it.