by Jean Plaidy
“What?” said the squire. But she would not tell; she merely repeated: “He is very brave.”
The squire chortled uneasily.
“Dammed if you are not impressed by his pretty face!”
She said: “He is not pretty, is he?”
“I saw you,” blundered on the squire, ‘playing the coquette there on the lawn. Dammed if you were not flirting with the boy!”
She turned a look so cold upon him that he was faintly alarmed, which was of course absurd. He had given her a magnificent present; she was his daughter; she should be fond of him. He would beat her till she was black and blue if she was not. She had ridden on a little ahead of him, like a queen showing her displeasure. By God, he thought, will she be haughty with me, eh! He spurred his horse until he was level with her; but the delicacy of her child’s profile turned his anger into something he did not understand. Harshness was no way to win these creatures; he had to learn to be soft. For here was Bess and Kitty all over again; he saw it in the tilt of her head. Damn her! If he took the horse away from her she would doubtless toss her head and let it go rather than hear a word said against her friend Everard. They were like that, these female creatures who fascinated him. This was his third chance and he had to learn his lesson. If he wanted their affection and God damn him he would be a lonely man to the end of his days without some affection he had to win it, not stretch out and take it; it had to be given, not grabbed.
“There!” he said, with his voice soft enough to please her.
“You have a silly old man for a father, Carrie that’s what you’re thinking?”
She turned towards him. Here eyes were like green jewels and her brow above them was like ivory. All anger had faded before the softness in his voice. She said indignantly.
“Of course you are not silly!”
“Father!” he said.
“You talk to me as though I am a post. Am I to have no name?”
Now the colour rushed into her face. She knew then, did she. That sly Jennifer had doubtless told her; by God, he would have her out of that nursery. How he wished he had never clapped eyes on the woman.
“Carrie,” he said, ‘why should you not call me Father?” She said: “I will, if you wish.” And he was not at all sure then that she knew.
“Well see that you do in future, and begin now. Come on!”
“Yes … Father.”
“Look here, Carrie, we are friends, you see. I like you, Carrie.” His horse was so close to hers now that he leaned over her and she could feel his breath against her cheek.
“If anything goes wrong up there in the nursery, you come and tell me all about it, understand?”
Two champions in one naming!
Her lips parted and she nodded.
“Thank you… Father I” He roared with laughter. He slapped his thigh. She wished he would not do that; it irritated her strangely. But he was constantly doing it; it meant he was pleased in a particular way.
Lightly she touched the strawberry roan with her heel, and together she and the squire broke into a canter up the slight incline.
“Carrie!” he cried.
“I’ll tell you what we will do! We will pay a call on your Aunt Harriet.”
He was full of fun and mischief. Fun to see old Harry again! Besides, she had a present for the child; she had sent a note over to say so. He would enjoy comparing this young beauty with that dry old spinster, particularly as Harriet did not like the child.
“She has a present for you.”
“Another present!” Carolan brought her mare down to a trot. Those little hands, he thought, who would believe they had such power in them!
He put his face very close to hers to see more clearly the soft texture of her skin, for his eyes were not what they had been.
“Hey, girl,” he said, ‘it will not be a strawberry roan she has for you. What do you think?”
“A Prayer Book.”
“Or a Bible!”
It was good fun to share a joke with your young daughter. Damn it. she was his daughter; she was a seven months child. Had not Kitty had some trouble in rearing her? His daughter! His! There would be trouble for anyone who dared suggest she was not!
Oaklands looked neat and trim, and the blinds had been drawn to shut out the sunshine. Emm from the workhouse opened the door; she was not a bad-looking girl. Possibilities there, the squire had often thought, if one had the time to develop them; he certainly had no time this morning; he was paying a call with his daughter.
Harriet came into the drawing-room.
“Why, George, how delightful of you to call!”
“I am not alone. I have brought someone with me who has a birthday.”
He winked broadly at Harriet, who tried to smile. She did not believe in pampering children. She looked much the same as she had the day Kitty had come to her; there was perhaps a little more grey in her hair; she had never really recovered from the disappointment the squire had given her, though she tried to tell herself that it was a matter for congratulation. George had not improved with the years; he had coarsened visibly, and he had never been a refined man. Once she had caught him kissing Janet in the hall; Janet was the workhouse girl who shared the work with Emm. Disgusting sight!
“Carolan,” roared George, “come and say how do you do to your Aunt Harriet.”
“My gracious!” said Aunt Harriet.
“Whatever has the child been doing? Look at your hair, girl. Look at your hands! I cannot have you in my drawing-room in such a condition.” The squire put out a hand and rumpled the reddish hair.
“This child,” he said, with what Harriet noticed was a fondness almost touching on imbecility, ‘could never be tidy. She was not made that way!” He began to laugh as though it were a great joke.
“Run along, child,” said Harriet severely.
“Find Janet or Emm, and one of them will give you water to wash your hands, and do please comb your hair!”
The child, she thought, was very like her grandmother the same pertness, the same way of twisting a man like George Haredon round her fingers.
“And,” she called after Carolan, ‘tell Emm to bring two glasses and the cowslip wine.” She turned to George, and she was smiling now.
“I know you always like my cowslip wine better than anyone else’s.”
“Ah!” said George.
“Your cowslip wine, Harry no one can touch it!” The woman almost dimpled. He sat down heavily in one of her chairs.
“I hope,” she said severely, ‘that that child is not in danger of being spoiled.”
“Who, little Carrie?”
Harriet frowned in an exasperation from which she could not keep a certain tenderness. Was it not typical of George to call Carolan Carrie, just as he called her Harry! Even now she thought of George as a big-hearted, blundering and misguided boy. The right woman would have made all the difference in the world to George, and she, Harriet, knew full well who that woman was, though she would never whisper it to a soul.
“Yes,” she said, “Carolan.”
George was serious suddenly.
“I do not think there is much spoiling done in the nursery. Jennifer Jay is not the woman to spoil a child, and Charles, I am sorry to say, can be a brute.”
“She seems to me to be a pert creature in the making.”
“She is going to be a regular little beauty, eh, Harry?”
“I sincerely hope not, George.”
“You mean that?”
“I think a woman is a better woman for not being… a regular little beauty!”
“You would know more about that than I would, Harry,” he said wickedly.
The cowslip wine was brought in and poured out by Emm. Absently, but with interest, the squire’s eyes rested on Emm’s young body beneath the old-fashioned muslin dress which had once been Harriet’s. Harriet noticed his look, and sighed.
“Thank you, Emm!” said the squire, and he took his glass and drank noisily.
/> “Good stuff, Harry! Good stuff!”
He felt amusement bubbling up inside him; he was in good spirits today. Have a bit of fun with old Harriet! It appealed to him, that, in his new chaste mood. He was a father today: so he would have a bit of fun with old Harry, because in no circumstances could he be tempted.
“Ah!” he murmured.
“A pity you never married. You would have made some man a damned fine wife!”
Her lips quivered slightly.
“Yes,” he said, letting his lids fall over his eyes to hide the twinkle there, ‘a damned fine wife. Cannot think why you never did, Harry.
“Pon my soul, I cannot think why!”
“Well, George, there are other things in life than matrimony. And if a woman remains a spinster, it may not be for the want of asking.”
“He would have been a lucky man, Harry, a lucky man!” He had infused his voice with a wistfulness which almost made him choke.
“Thank you, George,” she said quietly and gently.
“But men,” went on the squire, ‘are fools sometimes, Harry. Damned fools men are!”
She lifted her face, and he saw how brilliant her eyes were. Her skin was pale, but it seemed to glow, and he could see the fluttering of her heart beneath the prim bodice.
“I know,” went on George, ‘because I happen to be one myself!”
Harriet got to her feet and went rather shakily towards the cowslip wine.
“Another glass, George?”
“I could never say no to your cowslip wine, Harry!” Oh, this was the greatest fun, this was! Here she was, standing before him, her eyes downcast, her hands not quite steady. She had taken it in, the sly old puss. Why, she was as ready and willing as any pot-house wench, for all her prudery. Ah! thought the squire, what is virtue? Where is it? There is nothing real in virtue. It is a phantom, and women like Harriet pride themselves in possessing it, because they know no one will ever attack it. Oh, you silly old woman; it would be the greatest joke of a lifetime to take her here and now, with one of those workhouse girls likely to burst in at any moment and catch their mistress eagerly relinquishing a virtue she had cherished for years. Better than that, take her to her still-room and violate her virginity there! Damn it! That would be the greatest joke he could think of. She preserved it as zealously as she preserved her plums, and all because she had known there would be no one to take it! When he got home he would split his sides with laughing. It would have been good fun to tell Kitty all about it, if Kitty had been what he had always wanted her to be. But Kitty and he were far apart as far apart as he and Bess were really. He took the glass from Harriet, and let his fingers touch hers sentimentally. Then Carolan came into the room, her hair combed into some order.
“Come here, child,” said Harriet, ‘and let me see your hands.”
Carolan showed them.
“Not very clean,” said Harriet.
“They do not come quite clean,” said Carolan, smiling disarmingly.
The two of them side by side… What a contrast, he thought! Why, the child was more of a woman even now than Harriet could ever be.
“You are nine years old today,” said Harriet.
“You are leaving childhood behind you; it should not be necessary to tell you to wash your hands.”
Carolan looked up at Harriet, and saw the squire standing just behind her; he winked at Carolan, and Carolan began to laugh.
“Really!” said Harriet.
“Really! Why do you laugh?”
“I do not know,” said Carolan, for she could not say she laughed because the squire had winked at her.
“I just laughed.”
“Indeed, Miss. That was very unseemly. In my young days I should have been beaten for such rudeness. But nowadays there is much licence!” Harriet turned to George.
“You have heard, have you not, that to spare the rod is to spoil the child?”
George laid his great hands on Carolan and lifted her up.
“There shall be no sparing of the rod nor spoiling of the child,” he said, and he tweaked Carolan’s ear to show her that he was making another joke.
“I had a present for you,” said Harriet, as though she were wondering whether Carolan still deserved it.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, Aunt Harriet!”
Harriet sailed over to a little table and unlocked a drawer.
“And I hope, my child, that you will read it every day.”
George stooped down and whispered: “A Bible, I will bet you, young Carrie. A Bible!”
And so it was. Carolan was laughing so much she could scarcely say thank you.
“If everyone,” said Harriet, ‘read their Bibles every day, there would be less trouble in the world.” And she was looking at George as she said this.
He and Carolan stood side by side like two children. He was enjoying this; he had not been in such spirits for years.
“That’s true,” said George.
“Remember it, young Carolan!” And now he had had enough of this visit. They must go, he said.
“Thank you, Harriet, for the wine. Thank you for everything.” He kissed her hand. A most interesting morning.
They rode home slowly. He dismounted first and went over to Carolan.
“Well,” he said, ‘what do you think of your father’s birthday present?”
“It is a lovely present! Thank you!”
“Thank you who?”
“Thank you. Father.”
He shook a big finger at her, which made him look very wicked.
“And do not forget, please, or …” She moved from him a little.
“I will not forget, Father. And I love my present … It is a lovely, lovely present.” He was satisfied.
“I was right about the Bible, Carrie!” She hunched her shoulders and laughed. Oh, she had charm. Why? She was not really pretty, though she might be later. But even now she had all Bess’s charm and all Kitty’s charm, though it was without their beauty.
“Do not forget it was a bet,” he said, and he was breathless with emotion.
“A bet? What…”
“I said, did I not, “I bet it is a Bible”?”
“Oh, yes, you said that.”
“And it was; so because I was right you owe me something.” She was bewildered, wondering what he meant.
“What-should I owe you?”
“Well, as we did not stipulate, shall we say… a kiss?”
“A kiss!” She was a little startled, and he saw that and was suddenly angry. God damn them, they were all alike. He had given her a valuable mare, and she did not want to give even a kiss in exchange. But, God damn her insolence, she should. He lifted her out of the saddle, and put his face close to hers. He kissed her on the mouth. It was such a soft baby mouth. She gave a little ay of dismay for he had hurt her with his roughness.
He shouted at her: “By God, girl, you would take everything and give nothing your mother all over again! Kiss me or I will give you the biggest thrashing you have ever had in your life.”
Her little mouth trembled. She shut her eyes tightly, so that he could see the fringe of reddish-tipped lashes jutting out; she shut her eyes so that she should not see his face, he knew. She kissed him and his heart was heavy within him.
He set her down angrily.
“Get in.” he said.
“Get in before I put a whip about your shoulders.”
She went, and he looked after her, and he knew that the morning had not been a success but a miserable failure. She was not his daughter any more than he was the man he sometimes pretended he was because he longed to be that man.
“Jake!” he roared.
“You lazy hound, where are you?”
Jake came out and touched his forelock. Jake was jumpy as a two-year-old, eager to anticipate his master’s wishes when he was in this mood.
“Take those damned horses away!” cried the squire. And he turned sharply and went into the house.
Carolan went up t
o the nursery happily enough. She had had an abrupt dismissal from the squire, but she did not attach much importance to that. It had been an agreeable morning, except when she had had to kiss the squire. That had been most unpleasant, but Carolan’s life had never run smoothly for very long at a time, so she was prepared for sudden storms.
But, going upstairs, she thought what an extraordinary morning it had been. First her talk with her mother, then the horrible affair of the shrew mouse, then the present of the horse, then Everard who had said they must go riding together, then the horrid way the squire had kissed her. And now … back to the nursery, and she did not know what she would find. Charles and Jennifer might have something fearful in store for her as a punishment.
Cautiously she went in. There was no sign of anyone. She breathed with relief, and went along to Margaret’s room because she wanted to tell Margaret about the horse and the Bible and the paperknife and cedarwood box.
“Margaret!” she called, and tapped on the door. There was no answer and she opened the door. Margaret had been sitting at her table by the window, for there was her quill pen and some sheets of paper lying on it.
She thought she heard Margaret in the garden below, and went to the window to look out; as she did so her eyes fell on the paper which had fluttered to the floor. On it was written “Margaret Haredon. Margaret Orland.”
Carolan picked it up. Margaret Haredon was Margaret, of course, but who was Margaret Orland? There was no Margaret Orland. Then on the other side of the paper she saw that Margaret had written that many times.
“Margaret Orland. Margaret Orland.” Why, Margaret could only be Margaret Orland if she married Everard!
What a strange morning! So much had been discovered, and yet more than ever seemed hidden. Margaret wanted to marry Everard, That was the latest discovery, and it disturbed Carolan, for though it seemed silly to think of such things when you were nine years old, she had imagined herself, some day, in the vague future, married to Everard.
Margaret was coming up the stairs and Carolan hastily threw down the sheet of paper; she went out into the corridor to meet Margaret, and though she told her about the strawberry roan, the cedarwood box and the Bible, she did not mention the paperknife.
