by Jean Plaidy
“These stays will give me the palpitations, Carolan; I sweat they will!” Carolan laughed.
“Oh, Mamma, Mamma, they are indeed too tight! Why, you will faint in the arms of Mr. Jonathan, or perhaps Marcus, if you persist in wearing them thus.”
“Unlace them… just a little. And, my dear, do you think that would disconcert either of them greatly?”
“Marcus would not be disconcerted, I am sure of that,” said Carolan, unlacing the stays with deft fingers.
“Of Mr. Crew I am not so sure.”
“You think it would annoy him then ?”
“Indeed I do not know. There! How is that? Breathe in, Mamma. Now!”
Kitty smiled at her reflection in the mirror.
“Ah! That’s better. You think Mr. Crew does not like me then?”
“Mamma, I cannot say. He may like us all a good deal, or he might like us not at all. It is not easy to tell.”
“Come, come! Does a man visit a family whom he hates?”
“I should think not. Mamma.”
“Well then?”
“By the frequency of his visits I should say that he likes us very much.”
Kitty put her head on one side and laughed gaily.
“Have you noticed, Carolan, that he endeavours .to call mostly when your father is out?”
Carolan smiled at the big, fleshy face reflected in the mirror. What a vain old darling she was! And her eyes were the colour of speedwells with the velvety quality of pansies; and her face was like a flower, big, overblown, rich in beauty before the petals began to fall.
“I had noticed that,” said Carolan.
Kitty fluttered her long, golden lashes.
“To you, I suppose, I am an old woman!”
Carolan bent her head and kissed her mother’s forehead.
“No,” she said.
“A very fascinating one ageless. Like … like … well, like no one but yourself!”
When Carolan stooped over, Kitty could see the letter she had tucked into the bodice of her dress. From the parson! It had come that day. And though, thought Kitty, I am supposed to be a foolish and frivolous woman, there are some matters which it is easy for me to understand. Carolan was not very pleased with that letter. What if there was an estrangement? Might that not be the best way for things to work out?
“Ah!” said Kitty.
“As if a man would look at an old woman when there is a young and lovely one about the house.”
Carolan laughed.
“Come, Mother, you must not talk thus, for I know you too well, and we both know that for many years men will continue to cast glances in your direction, whoever else may be about.”
“Flatterer!” said Kitty gaily, for truly is was a fact that Mr. Crew made a habit of calling when Darrell was out.
“Now Marcus!” said Kitty, trying to make her daughter believe that Jonathan Crew had not been the one in her thoughts.
“What do you think of Marcus?”
Carolan was silent, surveying their faces side by side in the dusky mirror. What did she think of Marcus? She did not know.
There is a certain mystery about that fellow,” went on Kitty.
“La! There are times when I could think him a veritable simpleton … and at others, there he is the man of the world!”
“I too,” said Carolan, ‘sometimes feel that he is not all that he would have us believe.”
There! Do you not find life interesting here, my dear?”
“Very interesting. Mamma.”
“More interesting than Haredon, I would say.”
Why did the girl shudder? What had happened at Haredon? Charles? He was a little beast, that boy. Could it be … Something had made her run away; and that parson had not been there to help her. A pox on that parson! Why in God’s name did a high-spirited girl like Carolan want to pledge herself to a parson? Why did she want to wait on his letters? Why, when one arrived, did it fill her with melancholy? How Kitty wished that she could put a spoke in this arrangement of Carolan’s with her parson! Everard Orland! She remembered him well; a tall, lanky, pale-faced boy … fastidious! A nincompoop! And betrothed to Carolan!
And what a lover Marcus would make! Kitty sighed for the passing of the years. If she were but Carolan’s age… The letter was showing above Carolan’s bodice. I wish I knew what the nincompoop has said to her, thought Kitty.
“Marcus is indeed an amusing man,” she said aloud.
Carolan went to the dressing-table and stood there, smiling at her mother.
“And you seem to find me most amusing, Carolan.”
“Most, darling.”
“I am not at all sure that your mirth pleases me.”
“I laugh because of your tremendous interest in these men.”
“And why should I not be interested in my friends?”
“But, Mamma, you do not know the first thing about Millie.”
“Millie? And why should I, pray?”
“If you were interested in human nature as such…”
“Indeed I am interested in human nature..
“But only when it is of masculine gender!”
“Well, and what do you know of Millie?”
“More than I know of Marcus or Jonathan.”
“Indeed! I am sorry to hear you profess such interest in a scullery maid!”
“Mammal You have the dignity of a queen.”
“And you, Carolan, have the vulgar curiosity of a serving-girl. Tell me, is Silly Millie your bosom friend, your confidante?”
Carolan came to her mother and touched her cheek with her finger. Now Kitty could see the paper more clearly and the black writing upon it. His handwriting was thick and bold, as though he were very sure of himself.
“No, Mamma, she is not. But I discovered that she and her family live in one large room at the end of Grape Street, and that there are many of them, and often no coal to make a fire, and often nothing but stale bread to eat.”
“She told you that?”
“It came out… she did not exactly tell me. Mamma, could we not have Millie to live here?”
“Your father is all against it; he says we cannot afford to keep a girl in the house.”
“It would surely cost no more; and in the circumstances…”
“Your father says no. Though it would suit me well to have the girl about ‘the place.”
“I cannot understand my father; he must guess what Millie’s home is like. I will speak to him.”
“There you go. You see, I am right when I say you have more interest in a serving-girl than in friends of your own standing.”
“No, Mamma, you misunderstand. I am interested in those two men. But, Mamma, do you not feel it… there is something in both of them … something remote … something … I feel I express myself badly, but do you not feel they are keeping something back?”
“Something in check. That is it. My dear, beware of Marcus.”
“How … beware. Mamma?”
“He is a very passionate man, and I have seen how his eyes glitter at the sight of you. I have heard stories of abductions ….”
Carolan laughed, and the letter fell from her bosom to the floor, but she laughed so much that she did not notice this, and Kitty was able to drop a lace handkerchief over the letter and pick them both up unnoticed.
“You may laugh, my dear,” said Kitty, putting the letter and the handkerchief on a small table, ‘but be careful I Never ride alone with Marcus. Never walk alone with Marcus. I could tell you some stories, I vow.”
“I have no doubt that you could.” Carolan leaned across the dressing-table, and in the dust on the mirror sketched two faces. In one she accentuated the lean features of Jonathan, and in the other the rather large ones of Marcus.
“There, Mammal There they are one either side of your mirror. You may study them and probe into their minds as much as you wish.”
“And very good likenesses too. Particularly of Jonathan!”
“He lend
s himself to caricature! There is a leanness about the man. Something of the bloodhound …”
“Anyone less like a bloodhound I never saw!” Carolan twisted her features into a grimace and by some artistry she captured the expression of Jonathan Crew. She sniffed around after the manner of a dog.
“And what have we here? I declare this is a fascinating house … And then he looks at you, Mamma, as though he finds you almost as fascinating as the house. Almost… but not quite!”
“Nonsense!” said Kitty.
“Nonsense indeed that he should find a gloomy old house more fascinating than you. The man must be crazy!”
“At least he is not a bit like a bloodhound.”
“Well, that is of what he reminds me. Then Marcus … sometimes his eyes are like a spaniel’s … in expression, I mean. Sentimental, pleading. But sometimes they are mischievous as a terrier’s and often as vapid as those of a pekinese.”
“I trust,” said Kitty, ‘that you are not so critical of Everard!” Then she could have slapped herself for such folly, for was that not the way to remind Carolan of the letter? She went on in a panic: “And now, my dear, be off with you. Run down and tell your dear friend Silly Millie to put the kettle on.”
Carolan smiled over her shoulder and went out. Kitty ran to the table and waited, listening to the sound of Carolan’s footsteps. She took the letter from the folds of the lace handkerchief, and ran her eyes hastily over it.
“I will come for you,” he had written, ‘as soon as the three months are up. I work very hard here, and plan what we shall do when you are here with me. I trust you are enjoying your stay with your parents. Do not get such a taste for Town life that the country will seem dull to you. Oh, how I wish the three months were up! Were it not for breaking my promise I should be with you there now …”
Carolan was coming back. How quickly she had missed the letter! Cunningly Kitty threw it onto the floor near the door; she was struggling into her dress as Carolan came in.
“Well, dear?”
“I thought I dropped something. Oh, yes …”
She pounced upon the letter, and tucked it into the bosom of her dress.
“Can I help you. Mamma?”
“No, dear. I am all right, thank you.” Her face was red with guilt, and Carolan had such penetrating eyes. She was relieved when Carolan went downstairs again.
“Bah!” said Kitty aloud.
“A milksop!
“How I wish the three months were up!”… “were it not for breaking my promise…”
A lover should never make promises to others than his mistress! Why, were I Carolan, I would say: “Forsooth, sir, if your promise to your mother is of more importance than the vows you would make to me, well, then is it so important to you that I should be your wife?”
Kitty tossed her head. She was playing the part now. She was Carolan, young and defiant and desired. Invitingly she smiled at the drawing of Marcus.
“I would know more of you, sir, before I pledged myself!”
Her eyes went to the sketch of Jonathan who came when Darrell was out. Now she was Kitty again. Not the young and lovely daughter, but the mother whom the years could not wither, but who seemed only to gather greater charm as time rolled on.
Down in the parlour behind the shop, the teapot stood upon the table. Kitty took her seat.
“Come, Darrell,” she called.
“A cup of tea, my love!”
He came up from the basement, looking tired, with the furrow on his brow. How he had changed from the boy she had loved in the wood. But how faithful she had been to him… always. The darling! The poor, suffering darling!
“Carolan, my dear, hand your father his cup.”
“I cannot stay long,” said Darrell.
“I have business to attend to; in five minutes I must be gone.”
“Father,” said Carolan, “I was talking to Mamma about poor Millie. Could she not live here? I fear it is a dreadful life she leads in her own home.”
“We cannot afford to keep the girl,” said Darrell.
“But, Father, it need not cost more. I have heard such a sad story of her. So many of them all in one room. And I heard that her father gets drunk on gin every night, and they are terrified of him, simply terrified! Could it make much difference if she lived here?”
“I did not intend…” he said.
She had gone to him; she sat on the arm of his chair. Kitty watched them. He loved this daughter of his dearly, though he scarcely knew her. He was afraid of her in an odd way or perhaps afraid for her. I must remember, thought Kitty, to ask him if he, like me, is disturbed by this suggested marriage.
Carolan said: “Father, can you imagine what it is like in that one room where they live?”
“Indeed I can,” said Darrell grimly.
“Then, Father, surely…”
He took her hand; there was an odd, defensive quality about him when he touched either of them, as though he were watching to see if they would flinch from being touched by those poor hands of his.
“You have a kind heart, daughter,” he said slowly, ‘and that is what I would wish. Millie shall come here.”
She kissed his cheek, and Kitty watched the colour run up under his skin. Dear Darrell! It was good to see them thus, and to know that it was her suffering, her endurance which had brought him this daughter. Squire Haredon … Brute! Lecher! What a man! She shivered deliciously, remembering incidents with him. What I endured! She laughed inwardly and stroked the soft skin of her arms.
“I shall tell her today,” said Carolan.
“I do declare,” said Kitty pouting prettily, ‘that you can twist your father around your finger. To me it was always “We cannot afford this! We cannot afford that!” And now, at your request, we are to have a maid to live in the house; we are to go here and there. Did you not say that we should go to Vauxhall, Darrell?”
He smiled fondly across at her.
“I did indeed. We must show Carolan around, must we not?”
“Oh! Did you think I should be the one to say no to a little gaiety?”
They were smiling, a happy family party. How I love them both! thought Kitty. It was worth going through what I did, for their sakes.
“Vauxhall Gardens on Saturday afternoon then, Darrell?”
“If you wish it then.”
“I do wish it!” How Carolan’s eyes sparkled! A pity to waste those sparkling eyes on a parson! I shall wear my black velvet, thought Kitty, and we shall have a carriage to take us there.
She looked across at them, smiling lovingly, but instead of their faces she saw herself sitting under the trees in her black velvet; she heard an elegant man whisper to his companions: “Gad! Who’s the beauty in black velvet?”
Darrell put down his cup and said he must go.
“Do not be long,” said Kitty.
And he smiled his well-pleased smile as he went out, and the wistful look was in his eyes, which meant that he was longing to finish with business and retire to the country.
Kitty sat back in her chair.
“Another cup, please, Carolan. My dear, what shall you wear for Vauxhall? You must look smart, my dear, because it is a veritable fashion parade there, I do hear. My black velvet is most becoming … I think I shall add a fichu of lace, something delicately coloured in a pastel shade. How glad I am that I have the colouring to suit black velvet.” The shop bell rang, and there was the sound of a footfall out there.
“Now who in the world can that be?” said Kitty, but her eyes were mischievous; she could guess, of course. By the Lord, I believe he waits outside the shop until he has seen Darrell go. Naughty man!
Carolan went through the parlour door. Kitty heard her say: “Oh … how do you do, Mr. Crew?”
Then she led him into the parlour. He looked pale, and his skin seemed to be drawn more tightly than ever across his prominent bones.
He came swiftly to her. Languidly she lifted a hand which he took courteously and presse
d to his lips. They were feverishly hot, those lips. Kitty found that piquant such hot lips, such a queer cold face unfathomable! Mysterious! Perhaps when a woman grew older she liked a subtle lover. Too much sweetness could be cloying too much petting, too much fondness. A strange man, Jonathan Crew!
“Carolan,” said Kitty, ‘perhaps our guest would like a cup of tea.”
“Indeed, Ma’am, you are too hospitable.”
“Now, sir! Should I refuse a cup of tea to a thirsty man?” Carolan filled the cup and handed it to him, and How his eyes rested full on the girl. Oh, she was attractive with her eyes that deep green, and her reddish hair, and the soft roundness of her cheeks. But would he wait until Darrell was out of the way, to call on Carolan? So ridiculous! And there was nothing foolish about Mr. Crew … except perhaps his rising passion for a woman older than himself; though it might well be that he did not know this, for truly she did not look her age.
