Sinister Street. Compton MackenzieЧитать онлайн книгу.
of Don Quixote, he certainly preferred it to the world in which Nanny lived. That seemed to him a circumscribed and close existence for which he had no sympathy. It was a world of poking about in medicine-cupboards, of blind unreasonableness, of stupidity and malice and blank ugliness. He would sit watching Nanny nibbling with her front teeth the capers of the caper sauce, and he would hate her. She interfered with him, with his day-dreams and toys and meals; and the only time when he wanted her presence was in the middle of the night, when she was either drinking her glass of ale in the kitchen or snoring heavily in the next room. Michael's only ambition was to live in his own world. This he would have shared with his mother, but her visits were now so rare that it was unwise to rely on her presence for happiness. He was learning to do without her: Nurse he had never yet learnt to endure. She charged ferociously into his fancies, shattering them with her fussy interference, just as she would snatch away his clay pipe, when the most perfect bubble was trembling on the edge of the bowl.
"Time for tea," she would mutter. "Time for bed," she would chatter. Always it was time for something unpleasant.
Mrs. Frith, on the other hand, was a person whose attractions grew with longer friendship, as Nurse's decreased even from the small quantity she originally possessed. As Michael month by month grew older, Mrs. Frith expanded towards him. She found him an attentive, even a breathless listener to her rollicking tales. Her life Michael plainly perceived to have been crammed with exciting adventures. In earliest youth she had been forced by cunning to outwit a brutal father with the frightening habit of coming home in the evening and taking off his belt to her and her brothers and her sisters. The house in which she lived had been full of hiding-places, and Mrs. Frith, picturing herself to Michael of less ample girth, described wonderfully how her father had actually routed for her with a broom-handle while her mother sat weeping into an apron. Then it appeared that it was the custom of small boys in the street of her youth to sell liquorice-water in exchange for pins.
"But was it nice?" asked Michael, remembering liquorice-powder.
"Lovely stuff," Mrs. Frith affirmed. "They used to go calling up and down, 'Fine liquorice-water! Fine liquorice-water! Bring out your pins and have a bottle of liquorice-water.'"
"And did you?" asked Michael.
"Did we? Of course we did—every pin in the place. There wasn't a pin in the whole street after those boys had gone by."
"What else did you do when you were little, Mrs, Frith?"
"What else? Why everything."
"Yes, but tell me what," Michael begged, clasping his knees and looking earnestly at Cook.
"Why once I went to a Sunday-school treat and got thrown off of a donkey and showed more than I meant and the boys all hollered after me going to Sunday-school and I used to stand behind a corner and dodge them. The saucy demons!"
These tales were endless, and Michael thought how jolly it would be to set out early one summer morning with Mrs. Frith and look for adventures like Don Quixote. This became a favourite day-dream, and he used to fancy Mrs. Frith tossed in a blanket like Sancho Panza. What company she would be, and it would be possible with two donkeys. He had seen women as fat as her riding on donkeys by the seaside.
One day Mrs. Frith told him she was thinking of getting married again, and on a Sunday afternoon Michael was introduced to her future husband, a certain Mr. Hopkins, who had a shining red head and an enormous coloured handkerchief into which he trumpeted continuously. Mr. Hopkins also had a daughter three or four years older than Michael—a wizened little girl called Flossie who spoke in a sort of hiss and wore very conspicuous underclothing of red flannelette. Michael and Flossie played together shyly under the admiring patronage of Mrs. Frith and Mr. Hopkins, and were just beginning to be friendly when Nurse came in and said:
"Can't be allowed. No, no. Never heard of such a thing. Tut-tut."
After this Nurse and Mrs. Frith did not seem to get on very well, and Mrs. Frith used to talk about 'people as gave theirselves airs which they had no business to of done.' She was kinder than ever to Michael and gave him as many sultanas as he wanted and told him all about the house into which she and Mr. Hopkins and Flossie would presently depart from Carlington Road.
"Are you going away?" Michael asked, aghast.
"Going to be married," said Mrs. Frith.
"But I don't want you to go."
"There, bless your heart, I've a good mind to stay. I believe you'll miss your poor old Mrs. Frith, eh, ducky?"
Everybody nice went away, Michael thought. It was extraordinary how only nasty food and nasty people were wholesome.
Mrs. Frith's departure was even more exciting than her stories. One afternoon Michael found her in the kitchen, dancing about with her skirts kilted above her knees. He was a little embarrassed at first, but very soon he had to laugh because she was evidently not behaving like this in order to show off, but because she enjoyed dancing about the kitchen.
"Why are you dancing, Mrs. Frith?" he asked.
"Happy as a lark, lovey," she answered in an odd voice. "Happy as a lark, for we won't go home till morning, we won't go home till morning," and singing, she twirled round and round until she sank into a wicker arm-chair. At this moment Annie came running downstairs with Nurse, and both of them glared at Mrs. Frith with shocked expressions.
"What ever are you doing, Cook?" said Nurse.
"That's all right, lovey. That's All Sir Garnet, and don't you make no mistake. Don't you—make no mistake."
Here Mrs. Frith gave a very loud hiccup and waved her arms and did not even say 'beg pardon' for the offensive noise.
"Michael," said Nurse, "go upstairs at once. Mrs. Frith, get up. You ignorant and vulgar woman. Get up."
"And you ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Cook to Nurse. "You old performing monkey, that's what you are."
"Annie," said Nurse, "fetch a policeman in, and go and get this woman's box."
"Woman!" said Mrs. Frith. "Woman yourself. Who's a woman? I'm not a woman. No, I'm not. And if I am a woman, you're not the one to say so. Ah, I know how many bottles have gone out of this house and come in—not by me."
"Hold your impudent tongue," said Nurse.
"I shall not hold my tongue, so now," retorted Mrs. Frith.
Michael had squeezed himself behind the kitchen door fascinated by this duel. It was like Alice in Wonderland, and every minute he expected to see Cook throwing plates at Nanny, who was certainly making faces exactly like the Duchess. The area door slammed, and Michael wondered what was going to happen. Presently there came the sound of a deep tread in the passage and a policeman entered.
"What's all this?" he said in a deep voice.
"Constable," said Nurse, "will you please remove this dreadful woman?"
"What's she been doing?" asked the policeman.
"She's drunk."
Mrs. Frith apparently overwhelmed by the enormity of the accusation tottered to her feet and seized a saucepan.
"None of that now," said the policeman roughly, as he caught her by the waist.
"Oh, I'm not afraid of a bluebottle," said Mrs. Frith haughtily. "Not of a bluebottle, I'm not."
"Are you going to charge her?" the policeman asked.
"No, no. Nothing but turn her out. The girl's packing her box. Give her the box and let her go."
"Not without my wages," said Mrs. Frith. "I'm not going to leave my wages behind. Certaintly I'm not."
Nurse fumbled in her purse, and at last produced some money.
"That's the easiest way," said the policeman. "Pay her the month and let her go. Come on, my lady."
He seized Mrs. Frith and began to walk her to the door as if she were a heavy sack. Michael began to cry. He did not want Mrs. Frith to be hurt and