Hatter's Castle

by Арчибальд Джозеф Кронин

  It was, as he had just impressed upon Nessie, the last lap of the race, and whilst he snored in the happy consciousness of having done his part towards success by relinquishing the parlour, she addressed herself with a slightly feverish mind, towards her final perusal of the third book of Euclid. Her face was, flushed from the heat inside the parlour, and a buzzing of insects, like that which had sent Brodie so comfortably to sleep, annoyed her and distracted her mind from its intent purpose. She had never been quite sure of her geometry and now, with the examination coming off in a few days' time, her deficiencies in this subject had intimidated her and impelled her to rush once more through the entire third book. She knotted her brow and moved her lips as she again began to cram the eighth proposition into her brain but, despite her concentration, the words upon the page wavered, the diagrams became blurred, and the lines ran into strange fantastic shapes, not unlike the eccentric figures which had lately filled her troubled dreams and tormented her at nights in her sleep. The axis of the angle to the vertical was the coefficient of no, no, what was she talking about that was perfect nonsense! She must stick into it better than that, or the Latta would slip out of this pocket of hers where it so safely reposed and run away like a white mouse that would quickly nibble up all these golden sovereigns like so much cheese. How hot it was! And how her head ached! Her English was excellent, Latin perfect, French quite good, algebra splendid yes, she was a clever girl, everybody said so, and indeed the examiners for the Bursary would realise it the moment they set eyes upon her. When she had made her way proudly and confidently to school on the day of an examination she had, in the consciousness of her eminence, always felt that people whispered to one another, saying, "That's Nessie Brodie! She's the cleverest scholar in the Academy; shell come out first in this test as sure as her name's Brodie." Perhaps the professors at the University would put their heads together and talk like that; at least they would do so after they had read her papers. They must do so! or her father would want to know the reason of it. Indeed, if they failed to recognise who she was and to give her the first place, he would knock their heads together for them like so many coconuts. Coconuts! Matt had promised to bring her some when he had left for India and she had wanted a monkey and a parrot too, but he had somehow forgotten about them, and now that he had gone off with that terrible woman, he would never remember about a wee thing like Nessie Brodie. Had he married Nancy? She did not know; but Nancy was wicked, even if Matt had put a ring on her finger; and not like Mary, who was good and kind to her. Yet Mary was not married, although she had somehow had a baby which was dead and never mentioned by any one. Mary never spoke of it, but had a sadness about her face as though there was something on her mind that she could never forget. Mary was always running after her, giving her soup and eggs and milk, cuddling her and telling her not to work so hard.

  Mary wanted her to win the Latta, but in a reasonable way, and simply to prevent her from being hurt by their father. Her dear sister would cry if she did not win it and yet she need not cry. If she failed it would be a wonderful idea never to tell Mary, to let the years run on and never say a single word about it. What was she thinking of? There must be no failing! If she was not sitting high up in that first place "at the top of the class" as her father had always called it, she herself would have to take the consequences. "I'll wring that thin neck of yours if you let anybody beat ye and after the way I've coached ye on for't" That was what he was always dinning into her ears between his spells of petting and wheedling. He had big hands!

  The axis of the angle to the vertical really it was the height of absurdity that she should be doing this on such a hot day, and on the Sabbath day too, when she might have been at the Bible Class with the white frock and the pink sash that Mamma had made for her. But that was worn out or grown out of now; she was getting a big girl. Yet Mamma had always liked her to go to Sunday school with kid gloves and her face washed after dinner. "Lad and lass, kiss and cas', Nessie's in the Bible Class." She was not in it now though, but working hard, ever so hard at her lessons "Yes Father, I'm stickin' in hard. What I'm doin', I'm doin' weel." Mamma had liked her to please Father, but Mamma was dead. She had no mother and Mary had no baby! Mamma and Mary's baby were together sitting on a cloud, waving to her, and singing, "Nessie Brodie's going to win the Latta." She wanted to join in the chorus with all her might, but something tightened her throat and restrained her. Lately she had not been so sure of herself. No! It was a big thing for a girl, and a Brodie at that, to win the Latta. A big thing rand a difficult thing! She had been sure of it at first, so much so that at one time the heap of golden guineas had lain piled upon her plate for every one to see and admire. But now a dreadful, secret doubt was creeping into her mind as to whether she could do it. No one knew about it that was a comfort and no one would ever know.

  "Yes, Father, I'm getting on splendid couldn't be better. That Grierson hasn't got a chance. I'm the stumbling block. The Latta's mine already." He was pleased at that, rubbing his hands together and smiling at her approvingly and it was fine for her to feel that she was pleasing him! She would hide everything so cleverly and carefully that he would never see that she was not sure of herself.

  She had her own ways of doing things, the clever girl that she was! She was inside her own mind now, creeping about the passages of her brain, admiring, congratulating herself, seeing her very thoughts flow with a marvellous rippling fluency, watching them delightedly as they flashed past her like brilliant, rushing waves of scintillating light.

  At last she started suddenly, her eyes lost their vacancy, her face its smooth, unruffled placidity and, as she rubbed her brows with her hand and looked at the clock, she murmured, confusedly, "Good sakes! What have I been thinking about ? Have I been asleep or what? There's an hour gone and I can't mind a thing about it!" She shook her head with annoyance at her own weakness, at the loss of this

  precious hour, and was once more about to apply herself to the Book of Euclid when the door opened quietly and her sister came into the room.

  "Here's a glass of milk for you, dear," whispered Mary, tiptoeing up to the table. "Father's asleep now, so I thought I might bring you this. It's cold as can be. I've had the jug in running water for an hour."

  Nessie took the glass from her sister and began to sip it in an absent fashion.

  "It's cool as cool," she replied, after a moment. "It's as good as ice cream on a day like this. Did you ever feel it so close?"

  Mary pressed her palm lightly against her sister's cheek.

  "You're hot!" she murmured. "Will you not take a half an hour off and come out in the air with me?"

  "And what would happen to me if he woke up and found I had gone out?" queried Nessie, with a sharp look. "You know you would get it worse than me, too! No! I'll stay where I am. This milk is cooling me fine. Besides, I've got all this book to get through before Friday."

  "How is the headache now?" said Mary after a pause, during which she contemplated the other with some anxiety.

  "Just the same! It doesn't feel like a headache now. It's more a numbness."

  "Would you like me to put on some more cold water and vinegar cloths for you?"

  "Never mind, Mary! I don't think they do much good. I'll be better after next Saturday when I've got the exam. over. That's the only thing that'll cure it."

  "Is there nothing you can think of that you'd like?"

  "No! There's nothing I fancy at all. It's real kind of you though, Mary. You've been wonderful to me and you've had to put up with so much yourself. But I could never have done without you."

  "I've done nothing," replied Mary sadly. "I would like to have done much more. I wish I could have stopped you from going up for the Bursary, but it was impossible! I didn't want you to take it."

  "Don't say that!" cried Nessie quickly. "You know I must go up for it. I've thought of nothing else for the last six months and if I had to draw back now it would fair break my heart. I must take it."

  "Do y
ou really want to go on with it?" asked Mary doubtfully.

  "Just think how I've worked," replied Nessie with some emotion. "Just think how I've been made to work. Am I going to let all that go for nothing? I should hope not. I'm so set on it myself now that I couldn't hold back if I was to try. I feel it now like something that's gripping me and drawing me on."

  Mary gazed at the nervous eagerness in her sister's eyes, and, in an attempt to soothe the other, murmured consolingly:

  "It'll not be long till it's over now, anyway, Nessie! Don't fret yourself too much about it. Let the work go easy for a day or two."

  "How can you talk like that," exclaimed Nessie petulantly. "You know I've got all this ground to get over and it's most important too. This third book is not right into my head yet. I must get it in. I've I've got to drive it in like a nail so that it will stay in and never come out. I might get a question on this very thing that you're felling me to leave alone."

  "Hush, Nessie dear! Don't excite yourself," pleaded Mary.

  "It's enough to make anybody excited," cried the other wildly. "Here am I working the brains out of myself and you would think that all I had to do was to walk up to that university and ask for the Latta and come home with it in my hand like a stick of toffee. It's not like that at all, I tell you."

  "Wheesht, Nessie! Be calm, pettie," soothed Mary. "Don't upset yourself; I didn't mean anything like that."

  "You did so!" returned Nessie agitatedly. "Everybody thinks the same thing. They think it's that easy for me because I'm so clever. They don't know the work and the toil that I've been forced to put in. It's been enough to drive me out of my mind."

  "I know though, dear," replied Mary softly, stroking the other's brow. "I know all about it and how you've been kept at it! Don't worry yourself though. You're getting tired and anxious. You used to be ever so confident about it. Never mind if you don't win the miserable Bursary. What does it matter!"

  Nessie, however, was so strung up that no attitude her sister could have adopted would have pleased her and now she burst into tears.

  "What does it matter," she sobbed hysterically. "That's a good one, that is, for me that's set my very heart on winning it. And to call the good hundred sovereigns that I'll get 'miserable' is enough to discourage anybody. Don't you know what Father'll do to me if I don't win it? He'll kill me."

  "He'll not do that, Nessie," replied Mary steadily. "I'm here now and I'll protect you from any fear of that. I'll be there when you get the result and if he tries to lay a finger on you it'll be the worse for him."

  "What could you do?" cried Nessie. "You talk as if it was better for you to stand up to Father than for me to win the Latta."

  Mary did not reply to this ungracious speech but stood silent, soothing Nessie by gentle movements of her hands, until at last the other's sobs ceased and, drying her eyes, she remarked with a sudden composure:

  "I don't know what we're goin' on about, running around in a circle like that. We've been talkin' nonsense. Of course I'll win the Latta and that's the end of it!"

  "That's right, dear," returned Mary, happy to see the other more tranquil. "I know you will. Have you got on well to-day?"

  "Splendid!" replied Nessie, in a constrained manner, strangely at variance with her words. "Like a house on fire. I don't know what came over me then. You'll not think any more about what I said, will you, Mary?" she continued in a persuasive voice. "Don't say a word about it to any one! I wouldn't like Father

  to hear I had been so silly. Why, I'm as sure of the Bursary as I am of finishing this milk," and she emptied the remains of the milk at a gulp.

  "You'll know I'll say nothing," answered Mary, looking at her sister perplexedly, considering with some degree of wonder this sudden change in her manner and disposition. Did Nessie really think that she would succeed, or was this attitude assumed to conceal a deeper and more secret fear that she might fail? Thinking anxiously of the immediate future that lay before her sister, Mary said slowly:

  "You'll be sure to let me know the result before Father, won't you, Nessie? Let me know whenever it comes out."

  "Of course I will," replied the other with a continuance of the same manner, but directing her eyes from her sister and looking sideways out of the window. "We'll not know till a fortnight after the examination."

  "You're sure now," insisted Mary. "Say that we'll open the letter together."

  "Yes! Yes!" cried Nessie fretfully. "Have I not told you that I would long ago. You can open it yourself, for all I care. I've promised you and I'll not break my word. You should be letting me get on instead of harping about that."

  Again Mary surveyed her sister with some uneasiness, realising how unlike her usual clinging, artless mildness was this petulant assumption of assurance, but although she felt troubled in her mind, she decided that this must be the result simply of a natural anxiety at the nearness of the examination and she said gently:

  "I'll go and let you get on then, dear! But please don't tire yourself out too much. I'm anxious for you." Then, as she picked up the empty tumbler and retreated to the door, she said tentatively: "You're sure you wouldn't like to come out for a few minutes? I'm going out for my walk now."

  "No," cried Nessic, with a vehement shake of her head, "I'll not bother about it. I'll get on well and I'll be as right as the mail." She smiled at Mary with a curious complacency she who a moment ago had been shaken by bitter sobs and whose invariable attitude towards her sister was one of utter dependency. "Away and have your walk, woman!" she added. "I want to have a quiet think to myself."

  "About the Euclid?" said Mary doubtfully, from the door.

  "Ay! About the Euclid," cried Nessie, with a short laugh. "Away and don't bother me."

  Mary shut the parlour door and, as the kitchen was closed to her by its consecration to Brodie's sleep, went slowly up to her room, still bearing in her hand the tumbler which had contained Nessie's milk. She gazed at this empty glass, trying to comfort herself by the recollection of all the care which she had lately bestowed upon her sister, of the additional nourishment which she had obtained for her and induced her to take; but in spite of the reassuring nature of her thoughts she sighed, unable to dismiss from her mind the sudden outburst which had recently occurred, and in which she thought she detected still some evidence of that lack of balance which, since her return, had troubled her in Nessie. While she put on her hat and gloves to take her customary walk, she determined to maintain a closer and more careful observation upon her sister during the climax of Nessie's endeavours, which would be manifested during the coming week.

  Outside, the air was warm and still, and the street deserted to that quietude which induced her on Sundays to take her stroll invariably in the afternoon, rather than in the evening, when the same road was crowded By promenading couples. At this time, too, she felt safe in the knowledge that with Brodie asleep Nessie would be immune from his hectoring attention for an hour or two, and this assurance gave her a sense of freedom which now she rarely experienced. She proceeded to the head of the road and chose, to-day, the left-hand turn, which led directly towards the distant Winton Hills that stood away from her, rendered more remote by the shimmering haze of heat which almost veiled them. This haze lay also upon the roadway, rising in faint vibrations of the air like a mirage and giving the illusion of pools of water lying wetly at a distance upon the path in front of her. But there was no wetness; everything was dry with

  dust which soon covered her shoes with a white, impalpable powder and stirred in little puffs about her skirt with every step she took. The day was delicious, the country lying in a basking warmth, but it was not the hour for walking and soon the small, front curl which defied always the severity of her brush lay wisping damply against the whiteness of her brow; her paces dwindled and she felt tired With her tiredness came a returning consciousness of Nessie's strange

  manner to her earlier in the afternoon, the heat all at once became overpowering, and she had made up her mind to tu
rn back towards home when, suddenly, she observed a dogcart coming rapidly in her direction along the road. Immediately, she perceived the nature of the vehicle and the identity of the driver and, in a quick flutter of confusion, she made to turn and retreat, halted, stood indecisively for a moment, looking this way and that as though seeking some place of concealment; then, realising perhaps the futility of flight, she lowered her head and walked rapidly to meet it. As she progressed, she made every effort to compose her features, hoping that she would pass without being observed, but, to her growing agitation, though she observed nothing, she heard the crunching of the advancing wheels gradually subside and come to a halt beside her, heard Renwick's voice saying:

  "Good day to you Miss Brodie!"

  She felt it impossible for her to look up to disclose, in her face, the revealing turmoil of her feelings as, thinking unhappily that she was now Miss Brodie to him and not Miss Mary, or even Mary, she stammered out an acknowledgment of his greeting.

  "It's a wonderful day," he exclaimed cheerily. "Quite perfect; but it's too hot to be on foot. It must be like crossing the Sahara to walk to-day."

  Had he, she asked herself, observed her hot face and the dust upon her boots which must give her the appearance of some dishevelled and disreputable tramp!

  "I ought to say, in politeness, that it's a coincidence our meeting here," he continued, "but that's hardly so. I was aware that you took this walk on Sundays when I drove out here to-day. I wanted to know about Nessie."

  How wonderful his words would have been without that last explanatory sentence, but as she stood foolishly with downcast head, she became aware that she must say something in reply or he would consider that she was stupid or uncouth, or both; with a great effort she slowly lifted her eyes to his, thought instantly, despite her embarrassment, how clean cut was his dark, eager face against the background of the sky and murmured feebly, irrelevantly: