Beggars May Sing

by Sara Seale

  She felt wretched at having hurt him, and stared straight in front of her into the hot fire until the heat dried up the tears which had sprung to her eyes, and she was able to look away.

  The silence between them was very strained, and presently Mark said in a colourless voice:

  "It's getting late, Gina. I think you ought to go to bed."

  She rose at once, and turned to say good-night to him. He held out his hand and smiled suddenly.

  "Sleep well, and bless you," he said.

  She stood looking at him a little irresolutely, then with a swift instinctive gesture, she took his hand 'and held it against her lips for a moment, just as she had done on New Year's Eve.

  "Bless you, Mark," she said in a husky little voice, and fled.

  She left him looking first startled, then thoughtful. There were occasions when he wondered if she cared for him more than she pretended. Had Philippa been right after all when she had said that Gina took her cue from him?

  He wondered for perhaps the first time what she would do if he were to make love to her.

  IV

  Julie went frequently to London in these days. Nothing was ever said, but it was tacitly understood that she went to see Victor, since he couldn't come to her. Gina would drive her to the station in the morning, and she would come back by the last train and take a taxi up. Sometimes Victor motored her down in the Bentley, and Gina would hear the roar of its departure in the small hours of the morning. But beyond announcing the date of her marriage, Julie never discussed her affairs with the household, and Gina wondered how Mark would arrange things once he had Swann for a brother-in-law.

  The Careys came down for a week-end, and one or two legal friends of Mark's occasionally turned up, but for the most part life was dull. It was the dead period between Christmas and Easter when the winter seemed harshest, and the village entered upon a long session of measles and mumps. Mark's household succumbed to a mild form of 'flu, Gina taking some time to throw off the results, for she was run-down and nervy to start with.

  Gina had scarcely seen Evan since the night of the charity ball, but he was down for a week-end early in March, and came out hunting on Saturday, riding one of the Pratts' horses. He greeted Gina with no embarrassment, and she looked at him with interest, 'and wondered why he had ever attracted her.

  He looked well on a horse, and the weak March sunlight gave his skin that golden tinge she had always found so fascinating. But watching him now, she thought his face Was a little too effeminate in its clear-cut beauty, and his mouth, which she had thought so sweet and gentle, was really a little weak.

  He chatted to her easily, then took up his position at Nancy's side, where he clearly meant to remain all day.

  The field moved off, and Gina found herself beside Sir Charles Napier on his big weight-carrier.

  "I hear your stepmother is marrying again," he remarked.

  "Yes, early in May," said Gina, who had that morning driven Julie to the station for another day in London.

  "What's going to become of you, young lady?" he asked.

  "I don't know. Everyone's asking that," she said rather mournfully. "I shall look for some work, I suppose, only I don't quite know what."

  "Nonsense," Sir Charles said irritably. "Proctor wouldn't hear of that. I dislike these modern habits of young women who must go out to work, instead of staying quietly at home, as they did in my young day."

  "In your young day, they probably had homes to stay quietly in," said Gina mildly. "Everyone hasn't now."

  "Tush! Don't you be like your scatter-brained brother, my dear. You just wait a bit and be sensible," said Sir Charles, and rode away to speak to someone else.

  "Now I wonder what on earth he meant by that," thought Gina, staring after him.

  They found quickly, and had quite a brisk run in the morning. Sweeny had borrowed a neighbouring farmer's cob, and he embarrassed Gina by his well-meant comments on her mistakes.

  "Give her a beltin', Miss Gina!" he shouted as the Southern Belle refused a fence for the third time. "Gripes! It's no manner of use coaxing her, for she has a slug in her black heart this day. Will I give her a crack behindt? G'wan on over will ye now!" He rode up with a rush, and caught the mare a terrific thwack with his crop which sent her bounding into the air. "Holy God, she's kilt!" he exclaimed as Gina went flying from the saddle.

  "I wish you'd leave her alone, Sweeny," cried Gina angrily, as she mounted again. "You always make me fall off."

  "I'm sorry, Miss Gina, but you sit loose in your seat," said Sweeny apologetically.

  "I know I do," snapped Gina, and took her next fence with more care.

  Nancy and Evan kept close together, and once Nancy called out, "Not taken to a side-saddle yet, Gina? You should. It looks ever so much nicer—don't you think so, Evan?"

  He smiled. "I mustn't be rude to Gina, must I?" he said naively.

  Gina smiled to herself. Nancy wasn't doing so badly.

  Hounds checked, but only for a moment, and they were off again.

  "Good sport today!" some man shouted as he passed her on a stretch of plough.

  "Very," said Gina grimly, and tried to sit firmer in her saddle.

  A broken gate, a hedge; Sweeny behind shouting: "Don't belt her so hard, Miss Gina! She'll turn cranky on you. Spake soft to her now!" And then a wood, the sun slanting through the naked branches in blinding flashes as you sped past, and here at last was the kind of nasty place you dreamed about in nightmares; a ditch and hedge dangerous with overhanging branches, and an uphill, boggy take-off.

  Gina felt the old sickening fear loom up within her; fear of falling, fear of being fallen upon. She was the last. There was no one behind her, and nothing to stop her going back and finding an easier way.

  "I won't be afraid, I won't be 'afraid," she muttered, desiring at least to conquer herself if she died in the attempt. She had disgraced herself before by turning back.

  She sat low in her saddle, and went hard at the fence, ducking her head and shutting her eyes tight as the mare rose to the jump. Almost at the same moment another rider appeared from a different part of the wood, and charged the fence at the same time. A shrill voice that Gina knew to be Nancy's screamed: "Get out of my way!" There was a terrific impact as both horses met and landed in a wild mix-up on the other side. Both girls were thrown clear, but Gina's foot was badly stamped on by Nancy's horse as it struggled up.

  "Good God! Are you both all right?" Gina, through a mist of pain, saw Evan's horrified face on the other side of the hedge, and he hurriedly dismounted, and tying up his horse, scrambled over to their assistance.

  Nancy was sitting up a little distance off, gingerly putting her bowler straight, and patting her curls into place.

  "You cut in on me!" she cried furiously. "You oughtn't even to have attempted such a jump when you're such a rotten rider." She suddenly saw Evan, and gave a little sobbing sigh and put her hand to her side.

  He saw that Gina was standing up apparently unhurt, and knelt down by Nancy. "Where are you hurt?" he asked anxiously. "Is it bad, dear?"

  "Oh, I don't know. I think I'm going to faint. If you could just support me—thank you so much." Nancy smiled wanly, and gracefully accepted Evan's flask.

  Gina stood and watched them; she despised Nancy, but she didn't blame her. She supposed this was all part of the business of getting your man. But, later, when Nancy allowed herself to be considered well enough to be propped tenderly against a tree-trunk, and Evan said to Gina in a rather shaky voice: "That was damned careless of you, Gina. You might have killed Nancy," she felt her temper flare up.

  "So might Nancy have killed me," she retorted. "It was as much her fault as mine. I thought I was the last. I usually am."

  "Well, you needn't be so snarky. Can't you see that she's hurt, and you're not?" said Evan angrily.

  "She's all right," snapped Gina. The pain in her foot was blinding. She knew it would subside a little once it had reached its zenith, but at the moment
she wanted to scream.

  "Oh, Gina, I do feel very shaky," said Nancy in a weak voice. "I think I'll have to go home in the car, Evan. Would you mind taking me back to the pub and then bringing on the horses?"

  "Of course not. Do you think you can ride that far?"

  "Oh, I think so." She got to her feet, clinging heavily to his arm, and he carefully lifted her into her saddle.

  "Shall I give you a leg-up?" he asked Gina a little coldly.

  "Thanks." She placed her uninjured foot in his hands, and struggled up.

  "Good-night, Gina."

  "Good-night."

  She watched them ride away slowly, Evan's hand supporting Nancy in the saddle. She could hear Nancy's voice floating back to her, getting livelier as they grew farther away.

  Gina sat still in her saddle, trying to rest her foot. At last, with tears of pain running down her cheeks, she turned the mare's head homewards, and began the long weary hack back.

  CHAPTER XIII

  I

  BY the time she got home, her foot was throbbing hotly, 'and she felt rather sick. She encountered Mark in the hall and stared at him in surprise.

  "Hullo!" she said. "I thought you weren't coming this week-end. Julie's in town, you know."

  "Yes, I know. I've only been here about half an hour," he replied. "Have a good day? I hear you had a smash-up with the Pratt lady. You weren't hurt, I hope?"

  "How on earth did you hear that?"

  "I met Evan coming back with the horses. He seemed quite upset. However, as the lady is apparently recovering sufficiently to be taken to a dance in Eastcliff tonight, I don't think she can be very bad."

  Gina laughed. "The Sprat is priceless!" she said. "Well, it works with Evan, doesn't it? And to think I might have married him! Well, well,"

  "Sorry?"

  "No. The Sprat's made for him, good luck to them!"

  "Well, come along in and get some tea. Shall I pull your boots off for you?"

  "Thanks."

  She extended her uninjured foot first, and wondered if her other foot had swollen at all. But when he took hold of her second boot and gave it a pull, the pain was so violent that she cried out.

  He looked up sharply and saw that she was as white as paper.

  "My dear child, what is it?" he exclaimed.

  She felt as though she might faint at any minute, and she put her head down between her hands to try and stop the sickness.

  Mark gave one look at her, and hurried away for some brandy. She drank it at a gulp, and gradually the faint-ness wore off, and she was only aware of the pain.

  "I'm all right now," she said weakly. "It was only the jab my foot gave when you pulled. I ought to have warned you. Nancy's horse trod on me rather heavily and I think my foot's swollen."

  "My poor Gina, I'm terribly sorry," he said in concerned tones. He looked at the boot. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt you, my dear. I think we'd better cut the boot off."

  "Oh, don't ruin my only pair," she protested with a smile. "Try and work it off gently, Mark. It'll be all right if you're careful."

  He began to ease the boot gradually, asking her repeatedly if she felt all right, and eventually he got it off, and the relief was immediate. He insisted on taking off her stocking and looking at the damage, and exclaimed involuntarily at the sight of her discoloured foot. A great purple bruise was spreading rapidly across the swollen instep, and he quickly rang the bell for Julie's medicine-chest.

  "You must have suffered tortures," he said. "Do you mean to say you rode home all that way with your foot in this condition? Why on earth didn't you get Nancy to give you a lift?"

  "I don't think that suggestion would have been very popular," said Gina with a grin.

  "That blasted little humbug!" Mark exclaimed furiously. "Nothing the matter with her, and you in pain all the time!" He examined the foot more closely, then began to apply cold-water compresses. "You've bruised it badly, but I don't think there's any serious harm done. It'll be easier once we get the swelling down."

  Gradually the pain subsided to a dull throb, as he bathed and massaged and finally bandaged with a practical skill which was very soothing. Then he picked her up and carried her in to tea.

  "Where's Sebastian?" she asked, seeing only two cups on the tray.

  "He's gone over to the Neills'. He left a message to say he wouldn't be back to dinner," said Mark, arranging a cushion for her foot.

  She was suddenly very quiet, visualizing a long evening alone with Mark in this tender protective mood, and wondering which would be the greater, the pain or the pleasure.

  She sat, stretched out drowsily by the fire, thin and small in her shabby breeches, listening to his pleasant voice as he talked to her, and presently she grew sleepy with the warmth and relaxation of mind and body, and fell asleep until it was time to have her bath.

  Mark watched her cross the hall, limping slightly as she went.

  "Are you sure you can manage? You wouldn't like me to carry you?" he asked.

  "No, thanks, I'm all right."

  "I'll come and bandage you up again when you've had your bath."

  The drawing-room fire had not been lighted, since Julie was returning late, so after dinner they sat in Mark's study, guiltily pleased that, left to themselves, they hadn't bothered to change. Gina clad in an old woollen frock, shuffled about in bedroom slippers because she couldn't get a shoe comfortably over her bandage, and Mark looked at her with amusement.

  "We're rather a ragamuffin pair tonight, aren't we?" he said.

  "It's nice, isn't it? So much more homely," she said.

  They glanced across at each other, and laughed, comfortably aware of a new pleasant intimacy.

  "We like a lot of the same things, don't we, Judge?" said Gina, snuggling deeper into her chair.

  "Yes," said Mark, and there was momentary sadness in the brief monosyllable.

  She looked at him swiftly. His face was in shadow, so that she couldn't see his expression, but his hands were full in the firelight, and she watched his sensitive fingers cross and uncross each other as he sat staring into the fire. Once they tightened convulsively, the knuckles gleaming whitely for a moment, and as if suddenly aware that his hands were giving him away to Gina, he folded his arms across his chest.

  "Are you happier now, Gina?" he asked her abruptly.

  "Happier?"

  "Yes. I've imagined you haven't been frightfully happy of late."

  She made her usual assertion. "Oh, I'm all right. It's been rather a beastly time though, hasn't it? 'Flu and bad weather and things."

  "Is—I hope Julie's nice to you now," he said hesitatingly.

  "Oh, yes. Things are quite peaceful. I'm sorry, Mark

  It must be foul having perpetually squabbling women in your house."

  "My dear child—! It's scarcely your fault, is it?" he said quickly. "You ought never to have lived together, really. I'm afraid Julie has become terribly vindictive in her unhappiness. It must come from unhappiness, of course."

  "Of course. Julie was desperately in love with my father, you know, and I don't think he ever thought much about women in that way. He was a queer crazy person. I believe he was devoted to my mother. Even to me whom he did love, he was often very queer. Julie must have suffered terribly, with her temperament."

  He looked at her with tenderness. How unresentful she was of Julie's unkindness!

  "Weren't things often rather difficult in Ireland?" he asked.

  "Yes, they were, but it was different there. One was younger, and could always get 'away if the house became too hot," she said frankly. "You see, Sebastian and I were at school most of the time, and in the holidays I think Julie tried to be nice for Father's sake. But he never noticed these things much. As long as he had his hobbies and a little rough shooting, and a bit of fishing, he was really quite oblivious to what went on in the house. Julie ought never to have married him. He was just like Sebastian, you know—always deep in some new scheme, and quite irresponsible. He
never really knew what he wanted —if he wanted anything 'at all. I think he was happy just existing. Julie took all the responsibility off his shoulders, you see. I think he chiefly appreciated her for that, and she knew it."

  "Not very much seems to have escaped you as a child," he observed with a smile.

  "No. Well, at that age I think one is naturally very curious about one's elders," she said with a funny little matureness of speech that made him laugh.

  "What do you honestly think of Sebastian?" she asked suddenly.

  He glanced 'at her without speaking, then he said cautiously: "Well, I confess I sometimes feel a little worried about him."

  She gave a sharp, impatient sigh. "So do I," she admitted. "I don't believe he'll ever settle to anything."

  "Oh, well, he's only a boy still. He may shake down quite well later on," said Mark reassuringly, but she shook her head.

  "No. Sebastian's feckless. Father was just the same— that's why we never had any money," she replied. "He had a fixed view-point about money—mostly other people's money—and Sebastian is the same, only ten times worse. I hope you'll make him work, Mark."

  "You can't make anyone work who won't, my dear," he told her kindly. "But I'll do my best."

  "And then of course you must make me work," she said in a matter-of-fact little voice. "But you won't have to drive me hard. I'm very willing."

  There was a silence during which he watched her face, sharply outlined in the firelight. The elfin look was strongly apparent in her tilted eyes and flaming hair, but there was a queer, rather weary hint of maturity in her high, delicate forehead and bitter-sweet mouth.

  "You've never thought of reconsidering your other decision?" he asked her gently.

  She didn't move. "No."

  "I'm sorry. I'd thought that perhaps—"

  "Perhaps what?" She asked the question on a sharp intake of breath.

  "I thought perhaps you might have become fond of me enough not to mind."

  There was a little pause, then she asked with some difficulty, "Did you mean it to be merely 'a marriage of convenience on my side? I mean—would you expect—"