Beyond The Blue Mountains - Plaidy Jean - Страница 65

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Those were stolen from society, a society which is rotten and decayed, a society which made me what I am. The handkerchief was stolen from you.”

Then you are sorry for having stolen it?”

“I could wish that you had given it.”

“You anger me, Marcus. You are no fool; surely there are ways in which you could earn a living!”

“A man who returns from Botany Bay has not much chance, Carolan.”

“But surely, having taken your punishment…”

He smiled at her wistfully.

“Carolan, one day I shall tell you the story of my life. It will run into many chapters.”

“I shall look forward to hearing it. I want to understand. But in the meantime you frighten me … What if…”

“Never fear, Carolan! I shall not be caught; I am too old a hand! It is not the hardened sinner who is most frequently caught, believe me!”

She shivered, and he went on softly: “Carolan, it is sweet to see you so concerned for me. I could almost be glad I am what I am, to so earn your sweet sympathy.”

She stamped her foot.

“How foolish you are! How ridiculous! I dislike that exaggerated talk, those honeyed compliments. You are glad you are a thief so that I can be sorry for you! I assure you I am not… not in the least, when you talk in that strain!”

“Now I adore you! Why is it that an angry woman can be so enchanting … if she is beautiful? Of course an ugly angry woman is a vile object, but if she be beautiful… If, again, you see… that little word!”

Carolan turned away, tears smarting in her eyes. She felt weary and depressed.

“Why did you come here tonight?” she demanded. To see my father?”

“When I come here,” he said slowly, ‘it is always in the hope of seeing you.”

“I believe I heat his footsteps. He is coming up from below.”

“Carolan …” He caught her hand and looked at her pleadingly.

“Let me tell you more fully, Carolan. Let me explain everything. There are terrible things I could tell you, Carolan.”

“Oh, Marcus!” Her lips trembled.

“Marcus, I will do everything I can to help you. Please, you must believe that, Marcus.”

“I will believe it, Carolan. I will carry the memory of this moment with me to the grave.”

“And you will promise…?”

“I will explain.”

“But I must have your promise. Marcus, be careful. What if you were caught again?”

“I will explain. Tomorrow we must meet, Carolan. Quick … where shall it be? Tomorrow afternoon at three? I will be waiting outside the shop. I shall take you somewhere quiet, and we will talk. For there is much I must say to you…”

“Here is my father,” she said, and went towards him.

“Father, here is Marcus to see you.”

She ran to her room; she was trembling. She threw herself onto the bed; she shut her eyes, but she could not shut out the face of Marcus. I should have nothing to do with him, she told herself. He is a thief, a convict! He should not be in my father’s house. But I must help him, I must!

She spoke into her pillow.

“You would see that, Everard, you who are so good. That is what out life together will be, Everard; helping others, will it not? That is religion … not the beautiful sermons you will preach, not the prayers you will say … It is helping others, Everard.” How she longed for a sight of his calm and beautiful face.

“Ah!” he said.

“A little cottage under the shadow of the parsonage! A pretty picture, that. Perhaps your children will look over my garden wall and talk to me as I work in my garden.

How she longed to tell him the story of Marcus!

It was wonderful what comfort, what hope the thought of Everard could bring.

She slept, and dreamed of a country parsonage, and Marcus was there and she was leaning over the wall of a cottage garden. Distinctly she saw his long tapering fingers curled about a garden spade.

The shop door bell tinkled. Carolan said to Millie: “I will go.”

She had an idea it was Marcus. He had agreed to meet her at three that afternoon, and it was only eleven of the morning, but her thoughts were full of him. She was glad her father was out; he had gone off early that morning, having most urgent business, he said. Kitty was still a-bed: And Millie did not count; she was humming to herself while washing the dishes in the kitchen.

Carolan hastened through the door which led into the shop. It was not Marcus standing there, but Jonathan Crew.

“Good morning,” he said.

“I was passing …”

“Good morning! It was good of you to call. Will you drink a cup of chocolate? Mamma is not yet up.”

He said: “A cup of chocolate sounds most inviting.”

“Then come in, do! And I will make it.”

Millie put her head round the door, her lips formed into a round O of alarm, but when she saw who the visitor was, the O became a smile. Poor Millie was always afraid her father would come for her and take her back with him. The attic with the sloping ceiling, and the tiny window, which she occupied, was paradise to Millie.

“Here is Mr. Crew, Millie,” said Carolan, ‘come to drink a cup of chocolate.”

“Oh,” said Millie, “I will make It, Miss Carolan.”

There was nothing she would not do for Miss Carolan, for it was she who had given her that paradise under the roof up there, Millie knew. There were those who called her silly, but Millie knew.

“I can make it Millie,” said Carolan. She was disappointed, in no mood for light conversation. She had hoped to see Marcus, to hear more of his strange story.

Through the kitchen doorway she could see Jonathan Crew; he was leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed as though he were very, very tired. She thought his clerkship on the wharf must be an exacting job. He often looked tired and … what was it?… lifeless. lacking in vitality. But was that because she had unconsciously compared him with Marcus? Marcus was full of life; he was a born rogue, for whatever had driven him to the perilous life he lived, he enjoyed it. she was sure. Why did she have to like Marcus so much? A thief, a rogue and an ex-convict. And Jonathan, who was a steady clerk, a kind and sympathetic man, she did not really like.

She carried the tray into the parlour, and set it on the table.

“Ah! said Jonathan. This is very pleasant.”

She handed him the cup. and he lifted his eyes to hers. It seemed to her then that there was something behind those eyes … something that was trying to break through, and perhaps was being stopped from breaking through. She could swear he was excited.

“Would you like me to tell Mamma that you are here?” she asked.

“No. no.” He spoke so eagerly that she thought then that he had come to ask her to marry him. She could think of nothing else to account for that excitement, that eagerness to speak to her alone.

“She will be sorry to have missed you. Do you know, this is the first time you have visited us in the morning?”

“My work usually engages me in the mornings.”

“It must be very tiring work, and bad for the eyes.”

“Do you know, I did not sleep at all last night!”

Now she was sure it was going to be a declaration. Why else should he have that air of suppressed excitement?

“No,” he went on, “I could not sleep. I was thinking of… that poor young man.”

She breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was good of him to have such sympathy.

“Yes.” she said.

“I thought of him too.”

“I cannot understand it; it seems so short-sighted of him. Is he completely unaware of the risks he runs?”

“He is not unaware.”

“Ah! You have spoken to him!”

She did not want to talk of it, but how could she help it when he spoke so sympathetically, so earnestly, and she, impetuously, had already given away the fact that she had spoken to Marcus!

“Yes,” she said, “I have seen him.”

“And taxed him… with that?”

“Well…”

He did not pursue the question. He said, as though talking to himself: “I would help him. If he had a good job … well, a moderately good job .. would not that help him to … to be honest? I mean, there is a vacancy in my office. Perhaps if I put in a word … What do you think?”

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