by Jean Plaidy
Carolan put her arms round his neck and kissed him. which made him flush with pleasure. He. who was undemonstrative himself, loved such gestures in his wife and daughter.
Jonathan Crew came to the shop often. He would sit in the parlour and talk to Kitty and Carolan. A most interesting man, he was, and how well he knew London! There was no place one could mention without his knowing a good deal about it; and in his quiet, unimpassioned way, he was a vivid talker.
“Has it struck you,” said Kitty one day, ‘that Mr. Crew has a good deal of leisure?”
“It had not until you mentioned it,” replied Carolan.
“Mamma, why do you look so full of wisdom?”
“For this reason, my dear. The hours of a clerk are very long. Does a clerk get so much leisure for visiting ladies?”
“He has explained; he comes here when sent out on some commission.”
“Ah!” laughed Kitty.
“I was not born yesterday!”
“Oh, Mamma, why must you see intrigue in the most ordinary things!”
“Intrigue? I? My dear, I would have you know that I am a few years older than you are. I have lived; why, I could tell you … but no matter. It is an extraordinary thing to me, if not to you. that Mr. Crew has so much time on his hands. Has he the air of a clerk, think you? Those eyes of his do they look as if they have stared at rows of figures? Does he look as if he has spent long hours on an office stool?”
“The elbows of his coat were very shiny, I noticed!”
“La! What a baby it is! What could be easier, for one with means at his command, than to acquire the shiny-elbowed coat of a clerk! I have a theory; suppose he came here to explore these parts. He might be a most important person! You laugh. Carolan. but do you or do you not know more of the world than I?”
“I do not dream, as you do, Mamma.”
“Stuff and nonsense! It might well be that he belongs to the quality and poses as poor Mr. Jonathan Crew in order that he might make our acquaintance.”
“Why ever should he do that, Mamma?”
“Kitty patted her hair.
“Because, my child, he may be tired of sycophants; he may want friends for his own sake. My dear, you are not without attractions.”
Carolan laughed, but Kitty only smiled. She had her own private thoughts on the matter, and these she would not admit to anyone.
Carolan was in the parlour one day when the shop door bell rang. It was morning; her mother was still a-bed, and Darrell had gone out for an hour or so, he said. Millie was working in the kitchen.
Carolan went into the shop. A man was standing there. He had his back towards her. and, as she approached with a bright “Good morning’, he turned and she was looking into a pair of blue eyes that twinkled merrily. She had seen them before, and they must have made a vast impression on her, for she recognized them at once as belonging to the man who had stolen her handkerchief.
“Good morning,” he said, and she knew that he recognized her. for a look of embarrassment passed quickly over his face. He added quickly: “I came to see Mr. Grey.”
She answered: “He is out; I will attend to you. What is it?”
Now the embarrassment had left him; he was mischievous, amused.
“That is very kind of you.”
“Not kind at all. I am here to serve my father’s customers. What is it you want?”
His eyes went round the shop and fell on some oddments of jewellery lying in a tray.
“A ring,” he said.
“A ring for a lady…”
He moved towards the tray, but she was before him. She put her hands over the tray and faced him squarely.
“Please touch nothing! I might tell you that I recognize you. You stole a handkerchief of mine some days back.”
He laughed. He had good white teeth, and though his face was far from handsome, it was attractive.
“You think that extremely funny, I gather,” said Carolan coldly.
“I find it extremely gratifying that you should know me again.”
“I should have thought it would be merely embarrassing … for a thief I’ “Will you believe me,” he said, ‘if I tell you that that was my one and only lapse?”
“No!”
“But you are cruel!”
“I hope I am not a fool.”
“Do I look like a common thief?”
“I do not know how a common thief should look. I only know you are one.”
“You are brutal…”
“Do you think an honest man would be tempted to steal a girl’s handkerchief just because it was a pleasant and dainty affair?”
“He might because she was a pleasant and dainty affair!”
She flushed angrily.
“Sir! You are offensive.”
“My manners are rough, but my heart is soft,” he said.
“I assure you the theft of the handkerchief was my only lapse.”
“Then you had better return it.”
He looked sad.
“No!” she cried.
“You have doubtless disposed of it to a fellow criminal! I should be obliged if you will leave this shop, but not before you have turned out your pockets to show me that you are taking none of my father’s goods with you.”
“What a spitfire you are! But a fine daughter to your father, I’ll be bound.”
“I shall very certainly not allow him to be robbed under my nose.”
“And it is such a charming nose!”
Turn out your pockets, sir!”
“And if I say no, what then, lady?” He stretched out his arm. Feel those muscles; feel those biceps! I’ll warrant you have nothing like it.”
“Do not dare to touch me.”
“Certainly I would not presume to touch your ladyship.”
“Then turn out your pockets.”
“Before you make me ?”
“I am not joking. I warn you that sooner or later you will end up in Newgate.”
“Ah, who can be sure that that evil fate does not await him!”
“An honest man can. Now. pray. sir. turn out your pockets and be gone.”
He thrust his hands into his pockets. He began laying out the contents on a small table: a clasp knife, a leather purse, a bandanna handkerchief. As he did so he looked at her puckishly, as though consumed with some private mirth which, try as he might, he could not repress.
“You say that an honest man need not fear the dark shadow of Newgate.” he said.
“Never be too sure of that! Newgate is an octopus; it stretches out ugly tentacles to catch the unwary.”
To catch the dishonest,” she said.
“Hurry.”
“I would like to talk of that one lapse.”
“But I am not interested.”
“It is a mistake not to be interested in your fellow men.”
“It is a mistake to listen to the tales of robbers.”
“You are harsh. Sad that such harshness should exist behind that lovely face of yours!”
“Do not think that your absurd flattery moves me in the least.”
“Flattery? It is not flattery. Come, do you ever use your mirror?”
She began to laugh suddenly.
“You are amused?”
“Enormously. You speak the language of thieves: those very words were said to me by a cheat in an inn parlour just before she relieved me of my purse.”
“A purse is a purse. A handkerchief is a very different matter.”
“I see no difference.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I have preserved that handkerchief, that I look at it often and think of you?”
“No,” said Carolan.
“Pray take up your things and be gone.”
The next time we meet I shall convince you.”
There will be no next time.”
“Do not be sure of that.”
“I am absolutely sure.”
“It is never wise to be sure of anything in this world.
How old are you?”
“A most impertinent question which I shall certainly not answer.”
“Not yet seventeen, I’ll warrant. Do you know how old I am?” She looked at his face now, for there was in him an irrepressible charm which, in spite of distrust, she could not ignore. She saw that his face was as brown as a berry, and wrinkled, but not with age; his teeth were good; and his smile and his merry eyes made a pleasant thing of his rather ugly face.
Thirty years old, I’d say,” she answered.
“Old enough to have trained your hands to keep off property which does not belong to them.”
“Twenty-four. That’s no lie, and it surprises you. I do not wonder at that, for it is not the number of years that leave their mark upon the face, but the contents of them.”
The shop door opened to admit Darrell. He stared at the pair of them for a moment; then advanced into the shop.
“Why, Marcus!”
“Darrell… my old friend!” They clasped hands.
“I was not expecting you,” said Darrell.
“A chance call, that is all. Your charming daughter and I have been making each other’s acquaintance. But I for one should be glad of a more formal introduction.”
“Why yes,” said Darrell, still looking a trifle dazed.
“My daughter, Carolan. Carolan, Mr. Marcus Markham.”
“You did not say you knew my father,” said Carolan with an angry glint in her eyes.
“I was coming to that,” he told her; his smile was broad and yet secret.
“You did not give me much time, you know.”
“Well, come in! Come in!” said Darrell.
“I did want to buy a ring I see there. A gold ring, is it not? And of good workmanship? Perhaps Miss Carolan will serve me.”
“Certainly I will,” said Carolan. Darrell said: “You will eat with us? What is there, Carolan?”
“Boiled mutton with caper sauce … but not ready for half an hour.”
“You will stay, Marcus?”
Marcus let his eyes rest on Carolan.
“Wild horses would not drag me away, Darrell my friend! But pray do not disturb yourself about this little matter of the ring. Go on in; take off your boots; take off your coat. Miss Carolan and I will settle about the ring.”
Darrell said: “As you will,” and went in.
Carolan looked up into the man’s face.
“Why did you not tell me you were a friend of my father?”
“I did not think you would believe me.”
Tell me, are you a thief?”
The stealing of your handkerchief was my only lapse.”
“But that makes you a thief!”
“Indeed it does. Shall you denounce me?”
“How can I… for such a paltry thing?” She began to laugh.
“I suppose you think I am a foolish creature.”
“I think you are a charming creature.”
“And a spitfire! You said that.”
“Such an honest little spitfire! No, my dear, you were angry in a good cause… I like you for it.”
“Well then, shall we forget the whole stupid business?”
“Forget it! I shall never forget my first meeting with you. Instead we will say that the stormy beginning of our friendship is over. There is a trite saying that sunshine is brighter after the storm, but like most trite sayings it is true.”
“I am sorry for jumping to conclusions. What did you think when I asked you to turn out your pockets? And you a guest, a friend of my father’s!”
“I thought it fun.”
Did you think it fun to steal my handkerchief?”
“Certainly fun with a smack of danger in it. Men have hanged by the neck for stealing a handkerchief!”
“I see. I am, you notice, from the country. London ways are very new to me.”
“You are the sweeter for that.”
“You wish to see a ring… was this it?”
“It was. Slip it on your finger that I may see the effect.”
“There! It is attractive, is it not?”
“Delightfully so, there.”
She put her head on one side, surveying it, wondering about the person for whom he was buying it; his wife, his sweetheart? I would not care to be either, thought Carolan, remembering the warmth of his merry eyes as they smiled into hers. A gay man, a man fond of the pleasures of life … and yet very different from the squire. Not furtive; not sly; not lecherous; just amorous and eager and merry and very gallant. She liked him, in spite of the fact that he had made her feel foolish.
He took the ring and put it into his pocket.
“I will settle with your father.”
She bowed her head.
“And now shall we go inside?”
“I would prefer to look around here with you. Who knows, I might see something else that attracts me.”
“Then I must call my father, for I have the dinner to attend to.”
“Then let us go and find your father.”
They went into the shop parlour. Darrell was sitting in an armchair; he had removed his boots and wore soft down-at-heel slippers. His feet, like his hands, were misshapen, had become so, Carolan knew, during that tragic period of his life which he was forever trying to forget.
“Father, here is your friend,” said Carolan.
“Now I must go to the kitchen to see how Millie is getting on.”
In the kitchen she absently lifted the lid of the stew-pot and sniffed the appetizing smell which rushed out. She was thinking of the man in the parlour. He had aroused in her a longing not for him, but for Everard.
Kitty had heard that there was a visitor. She came down resplendent in black velvet: it was low cut, too magnificent. Carolan thought it incongruous for the shop parlour as she came in carrying the steaming dish of mutton.
She listened to Kitty’s talking to Marcus Markham.
“So you have already met my little daughter? She thought you were a customer an ordinary customer. Do you think she is like me? Tell me that.”
“No,” said Marcus, ‘not greatly like you, though there is a resemblance.”
“Rejoice, Carolan, you are only a little like met” “Nay, Ma’am, that would assuredly not be a matter for rejoicing in the ordinary way, but may I say that your daughter has beauty of a different kind?”
“Marcus! Flatterer!”
It was a little foolish, thought Carolan. Why could Mamma not resign herself to growing old! She had Darrell; he was, she was fond of saying, her true love. Why must she always be seeking for stupid compliments which did not mean anything! She felt a little angry, not only with Kitty but with Mr. Markham. Everard would not pay such stupid compliments. But Everard was different from all others; there was no one quite like Everard there never had been and never would be. Soon, soon there must be a letter.
They sat round the table, and Darrell served the mutton.
“How silent is Miss Carolan,” said Marcus.
“Ah!” said Darrell.
“Dreaming of Everard, I’ll be bound. Eh, daughter?”
“Everard?” said Marcus lightly.
“Is it permitted to ask who this most lucky person is who so occupies Miss Carolan’s thoughts?”
The man she is going to marry … very soon!” said Darrell, and he said it firmly, almost as though he had chosen him for his daughter and was determined that she should marry him, if he had to drive her to the altar.
“I might have known,” said Marcus, ‘that such a prize would be quickly appropriated.”
“He is a parson!” said Kitty.
“And the marriage,” put in Darrell, ‘is to take place in a few weeks’ time .We are expecting Everard to call here soon… in a week or so. Then he will have the arrangements for the wedding complete.”
“I sigh with envy!”
“La! Sir!” put in Kitty.
“You should not find it so difficult to persuade a girl to marry you!”
“You mistake
me, Ma’am. I am full of envy, not for Bridegroom Tom, Dick or Harry, but only for Bridegroom Everard.”
Kitty lay back in her chair, her fingers curled lovingly about her glass.
“In my days men were different. They did not envy long; they took what they wanted.”
Carolan’s heart was beating wildly; an angry flush came into her cheeks.There were times when she felt really angry with Mamma.
“It is a good thing then,” she said tartly, ‘that men have changed. Nowadays we are not taken; we decide!”
“Bravo!” cried Marcus. He lifted his glass. To the modern generation! The march towards civilization is slow but steady. Each generation is a little less savage than the last’ “I like savages,” said Kitty.
“But you are a pagan,” said Marcus, caressingly.
“I like pagans, and I must confess I am not over-fond of parsons. Not do I think our Carolan will make an ideal parson’s wife; she has too much of me in her.”
“You know nothing of the matter, Kitty,” said Darrell sternly, and Kitty pouted at being so spoken to. Angry lights leaped into her eyes. She to know nothing! She who had been loved by many, married to a lascivious brute who had however provided her with a comfortable home; she who had left that home to run away to squalor with Darrell, and had taught him how to make love and be happy! He was her true love, of course, but there were times when his unworldliness drove her well-nigh crazy. They had this attractive daughter who had rashly betrothed herself to a parson; there were better fish in the sea than parsons. And a man who came to the shop in the course of business might well be rich a merchant or a nobleman. Who was Marcus Markham? She had never thought very much of him until now. When they had come to live at the shop, he had come into their life: or about that time Kitty was not sure. How could she be sure of unimportant details! Darrell never talked about him much; the few idle questions she had asked had never been really answered. She had thought Jonathan Crew might be posing as a clerk, but Marcus Markham had an air which Jonathan Crew would never have. The burning question of the moment was Who was Marcus Markham?
“Mr. Markham,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes demurely, ‘do you agree that I am an ignoramus?”
Marcus flashed a smile at Carolan.
“Certainly not! You exude wisdom. But one thing I am absolutely certain of in whatever generation Miss Carolan had lived, she would choose and not be chosen.”
