Beyond The Blue Mountains - Plaidy Jean - Страница 44

• Предыдущая
• 44/134
• Следующая

She could write to Everard, but it was only three weeks ago that he had given his word to his mother that he would not see her for three months. She was terribly frightened and lonely and inexperienced, bewildered by the passion she aroused in the men around her.

She sought for escape. There was only one way of escape she would go to her father and mother in London. She would write to Everard from London. It was simple it was the only solution. All that was needed was a little courage. So, late one night, she packed a small bag and crept out of the house; all through the night she walked, and early next morning reached Exeter and caught the London coach.

“Are you going far?” asked the merchant’s wife.

“To London! It is a long way to go alone.”

“I am going to my father and mother,” said Carolan.

“Ah! You have been on a visit to the country then?”

“Yes. On a visit.”

“And you are looking forward to joining your parents, I can see.”

“Very much.”

The merchants wife decided to keep a watchful eye on the child during the journey, for the melancholy young man who had drunk too freely at luncheon was casting many a speculative glance in the young traveller’s direction.

“I am surprised,” said the woman disapprovingly, ‘that you arc allowed to travel alone.”

“I had to come,” lied Carolan glibly, for she had made up the story lest she should need one, and could not but congratulate herself on her foresight in having prepared it.

“My aunt was taken sick, so she could not accompany me. I can take care of myself.”

“You may believe so,” retorted the merchant’s wife, and noted that her own husband was more than a little interested in the child. She resolved with redoubled fervour to see that the girl came to no mischief during the journey.

So much for the first day, but as they left Honiton behind them Carolan wondered whether she had not been a little impulsive. Her parents would be delighted to receive her of course, but perhaps they would have liked to prepare for her in advance. If only she could have gone to Everard I Surely, had she told him what she feared from the squire and Charles, he would have been glad to receive her! But how could a young parson take a girl into his household? He would have to dispatch her at once, and what good would it be to go to him if it were only that he might send her away? And where could he send her but to his mother, and was his mother really a friend of hers?

She had done the only possible thing then in coming to her mother; and once there she would write to Everard and explain everything to him, and by and by he would come for her and there would be a wedding, and she would go to that home which Everard had prepared for her. She felt gloriously wise, very competent to manage her own affairs; and by the time they reached Dorchester her spirits had risen, and her gaiety both amused and delighted her fellow travellers. She was very sure of herself, believing all her difficulties to be over; she was intoxicated with the success of her venture, and she took a wicked delight in inventing stories of her home and her past life for the entertainment of the inquisitive merchant’s wife. It was exciting to feel that at sixteen one could make great decisions and possessed the wit to carry them through.

She enjoyed the journey. The thrill of crossing Bagshot Heath … even in the morning! She almost wished it was twilight, and the heath full of terrors. She was sure if a highwayman attempted to get her little bit of money she would manage to fool him. But it was absurd to think of highwaymen at eight o’clock of the morning, with the sun brilliant and not yet too hot. By afternoon they would be at the Oxford Arms and the journey done; she would say goodbye to all these people who had been her constant companions for the last few days. This night she would spend under her parents’ roof. And the first thing she would do would be to dispatch a letter to Everard, telling him what she had done; and, who knew, Everard might decide he could not wait the stipulated three months, and come for her right away. They would be married in London from her father’s house.

“We are passing Turnham Green,” said one of the travellers, startling her out of her dreams.

It was afternoon when the coach trundled into the yard at the Oxford Arms. It was strange, thought Carolan, how people on a journey were somehow different from the same people at the journey’s end. There they had sat, these people, making idle conversation through the long days, over meals in communal dining-rooms; but when the coach unloaded and they stepped out on to the cobbles of the yard, looking about them for their friends, they were like butterflies emerging from the chrysalis stage. The melancholy young man, who had scarcely spoken throughout the entire journey, was greeting a friend; he was no longer melancholy but voluble, talking of lousy beds and dratted inns and the slowness of the coach. The merchant’s wife was being greeted affectionately by her sister, and seemed to have forgotten Carolan’s existence. But with Carolan the process was reversed. The gay butterfly crept back to her chrysalis. There was no one to meet Carolan, and indeed how could there be? But so childishly had she believed the charming fables she had told the merchant’s wife, that she had almost expected her father’s carriage to be waiting for her. So now she stood there, forlorn, cramped from the long hours in the coach, hungry and alone.

The merchant’s wife saw Carolan, and stopped her chatter. Carolan said quickly: “My father has not yet arrived; something must have occurred to delay him.”

The merchant’s wife looked faintly perturbed, but Carolan saw with relief that her affairs had ceased to be of paramount importance to the good woman, who was eager to be gone with her husband and sister.

“I shall take a little refreshment while I wait,” said Carolan.

“It may be that he has left a note for me at the inn.”

The merchant’s wife kissed her affectionately.

Take care of yourself, my child! And while you are waiting for your father do not talk to strangers; that is most unwise in London Town. And do not forget, my dear, if ever you should be Clapham way, you must bring your family to see us.”

The invitation was vague, for the girl was attractive and the merchant had a roving eye; and even the kindest of women must give thought to these matters.

“You are very kind!” said Carolan, for so the woman was, though old-fashioned and over-cautious and sentimental and middle-aged.

Carolan went into the inn. It was cool in the parlour. She sat in a deep window-seat, and looked about” her at the gleaming brass over the open fireplace. The pleasurable excitement was returning. She would engage some vehicle to take her to her parents’ house; it would be quite simple. In the glass on the sideboard she caught a glimpse of herself, small head held high, eyes a-sparkle. This was adventure as she loved it; she wished that Everard was here to enjoy it with her.

A serving maid came in, buxom and pretty, with ribbons in her gown and a mob-cap on her fluffy hair. Carolan asked for refreshment. It would have to be bread and cheese with a glass of ale to wash it down, said the maid, for that was the best the inn could offer in between meals. Carolan could think of nothing better, since all she needed was a little light refreshment before she set out to find her parents’ house. She would inquire about a conveyance later.

When the maid had disappeared, a woman came into the parlour and sat down in one of the chairs near Carolan. Carolan scarcely noticed her, so deep was she in her own thoughts, and when the maid returned with the food and drink, she took the little velvet purse from the pocket of her cloak, paid her, and wondered whether to ask then about the best way to get to her mother’s house; but before she could speak, the newcomer had engaged the maid’s attention and was asking for a glass of ale.

• Предыдущая
• 44/134
• Следующая