by J. M. Barrie
CHAPTER XXXII
AN ELOPEMENT
The solitary child remained at Double Dykes, awaiting the arrival of herfather, for the Painted Lady's manner of leaving the world had made sucha stir that the neighbors said he must have heard of it, even though hewere in London, and if he had the heart of a stone he could not deserthis bairn. They argued thus among themselves, less as people who weresure of it than to escape the perplexing question, what to do withGrizel if the man never claimed her? and before her they spoke of hiscoming as a certainty, because it would be so obviously the best thingfor her. In the meantime they overwhelmed her with offers of everythingshe could need, which was kindly but not essential, for after thefuneral expenses had been paid (Grizel insisted on paying them herself)she had still several gold pieces, found in her mamma's beautifultortoise-shell purse, and there were nearly twenty pounds in the bank.
But day after day passed, and the man had not come. Perhaps he resentedthe Painted Lady's ostentatious death; which, if he was nicely strung,must have jarred upon his nerves. He could hardly have acknowledgedGrizel now without publicity being given to his private concerns. Or hemay never have heard of the Painted Lady's death, or if he read of it,he may not have known which painted lady in particular she was. Or hemay have married, and told his wife all and she had forgiven him, whichsomehow, according to the plays and the novels, cuts the past adriftfrom a man and enables him to begin again at yesterday. Whatever thereason, Grizel's father was in no hurry to reveal himself, and thoughnot to her, among themselves the people talked of the probability of hisnot coming at all. She could not remain alone at Double Dykes, they alladmitted, but where, then, should she go? No fine lady in need of ahandmaid seemed to think a painted lady's child would suit; indeed,Grizel at first sight had not the manner that attracts philanthropists.Once only did the problem approach solution; a woman in the Den-head waswilling to take the child because (she expressed it) as she had sevenshe might as well have eight, but her man said no, he would not have hisbairns fil't. Others would have taken her cordially for a few weeks ormonths, had they not known that at the end of this time they would beblamed, even by themselves, if they let her go. All, in short, wereeager to show her kindness if one would give her a home, but where wasthat one to be found?
Much of this talk came to Grizel through Tommy, and she told him in thehouse of Double Dykes that people need not trouble themselves about her,for she had no wish to stay with them. It was only charity they broughther; no one wanted her for herself. "It is because I am a child ofshame," she told him, dry-eyed.
He fidgeted on his chair, and asked, "What's that?" not very honestly.
"I don't know," she said, "no one will tell me, but it is something youcan't love."
"You have a terrible wish to be loved," he said in wonder, and shenodded her head wistfully. "That is not what I wish for most of all,though," she told him, and when he asked what she wished for most ofall, she said, "To love somebody; oh, it would be sweet!"
To Tommy, most sympathetic of mortals, she seemed a very pathetic littlefigure, and tears came to his eyes as he surveyed her; he could alwayscry very easily.
"If it wasna for Elspeth," he began, stammering, "I could love you, butyou winna let a body do onything on the sly."
It was a vague offer, but she understood, and became the old Grizel atonce. "I don't want you to love me," she said indignantly; "I don'tthink you know how to love."
"Neither can you know, then," retorted Tommy, huffily, "for there'snobody for you to love."
"Yes, there is," she said, "and I do love her and she loves me."
"But wha is she?"
"That girl." To his amazement she pointed to her own reflection in thefamous mirror the size of which had scandalized Thrums. Tommy thoughtthis affection for herself barely respectable, but he dared not say solest he should be put to the door. "I love her ever so much," Grizelwent on, "and she is so fond of me, she hates to see me unhappy. Don'tlook so sad, dearest, darlingest," she cried vehemently; "I love you,you know, oh, you sweet!" and with each epithet she kissed herreflection and looked defiantly at the boy.
"But you canna put your arms round her and hug her," he pointed outtriumphantly, and so he had the last word after all. UnfortunatelyGrizel kept this side of her, new even to Tommy, hidden from all others,and her unresponsiveness lost her many possible friends. Even MissAilie, who now had a dressmaker in the blue-and-white room, sitting on abedroom chair and sewing for her life (oh, the agony--or is it therapture?--of having to decide whether to marry in gray with beads orbrown plain to the throat), even sympathetic Miss Ailie, having met withseveral rebuffs, said that Grizel had a most unaffectionate nature, and,"Ay, she's hardy," agreed the town, "but it's better, maybe, forhersel'." There are none so unpopular as the silent ones.
If only Miss Ailie, or others like her, could have slipped noiselesslyinto Double Dykes at night, they would have found Grizel's pillow wet.But she would have heard them long before they reached the door, andjumped to the floor in terror, thinking it was her father's step atlast. For, unknown to anyone, his coming, which the town so anxiouslydesired, was her one dread. She had told Tommy what she should say tohim if he came, and Tommy had been awed and delighted, they were suchscathing things; probably, had the necessity arisen, she would havefound courage to say them, but they were made up in the daytime, and atnight they brought less comfort. Then she listened fearfully and longedfor the morning, wild ideas coursing through her head of flying beforehe could seize her; but when morning came it brought other thoughts, asof the strange remarks she had heard about her mamma and herself duringthe past few days. To brood over these was the most unhealthy occupationshe could find, but it was her only birthright. Many of the remarks cameunguardedly from lips that had no desire to pain her, others fell in arage because she would not tell what were the names in her letter toGod. The words that troubled her most, perhaps, were the doctor's, "Sheis a brave lass, but it must be in her blood." They were not intendedfor her ears, but she heard. "What did he mean?" she asked Miss Ailie,Mrs. Dishart, and others who came to see her, and they repliedawkwardly, that it had only been a doctor's remark, of no importance topeople who were well. "Then why are you crying?" she demanded, lookingthem full in the face with eyes there was no deceiving.
"Oh, why is everyone afraid to tell me the truth!" she would cry,beating her palms in anguish.
She walked into McQueen's surgery and said, "Could you not cut it out?"so abruptly that he wondered what she was speaking about.
"The bad thing that is in my blood," she explained. "Do cut it out, Isha'n't scream. I promise not to scream."
He sighed and answered, "If it could be cut out, lassie, I would try todo it, though it was the most dangerous of operations."
She looked in anguish at him. "There are cleverer doctors than you,aren't there?" she asked, and he was not offended.
"Ay, a hantle cleverer," he told her, "but none so clever as that. Godhelp you, bairn, if you have to do it yourself some day."
"Can I do it myself?" she cried, brightening. "I shall do it now. Is itdone with a knife?"
"With a sharper knife than a surgeon's," he answered, and then,regretting he had said so much, he tried to cheer her. But that he couldnot do. "You are afraid to tell me the truth too," she said, and whenshe went away he was very sorry for her, but not so sorry as she wasfor herself. "When I am grown up," she announced dolefully, to Tommy, "Ishall be a bad woman, just like mamma."
"Not if you try to be good," he said.
"Yes, I shall. There is something in my blood that will make me bad, andI so wanted to be good. Oh! oh! oh!"
She told him of the things she had heard people say, but though theyperplexed him almost as much as her, he was not so hopeless of learningtheir meaning, for here was just the kind of difficulty he liked toovercome. "I'll get it out o' Blinder," he said, with confidence in hisingenuity, "and then I'll tell you what he says." But however much hemight strive to do so, Tommy could never repea
t anything without givingit frills and other adornment of his own making, and Grizel knew this."I must hear what he says myself," she insisted.
"But he winna speak plain afore you."
"Yes, he will, if he does not know I am there."
The plot succeeded, though only partially, for so quick was the blindman's sense of hearing that in the middle of the conversation he said,sharply, "Somebody's ahint the dyke!" and he caught Grizel by theshoulder. "It's the Painted Lady's lassie," he said when she screamed,and he stormed against Tommy for taking such advantage of his blindness.But to her he said, gently, "I daresay you egged him on to this,meaning well, but you maun forget most of what I've said, especiallyabout being in the blood. I spoke in haste, it doesna apply to the likeof you."
"Yes, it does," replied Grizel, and all that had been revealed to hershe carried hot to the surgery, Tommy stopping at the door in as greatperturbation as herself. "I know what being in the blood is now," shesaid, tragically, to McQueen, "there is something about it in the Bible.I am the child of evil passions, and that means that I was born withwickedness in my blood. It is lying sleeping in me just now because I amonly thirteen, and if I can prevent its waking when I am grown up Ishall always be good, but a very little thing will waken it; it wants somuch to be wakened, and if it is once wakened it will run all throughme, and soon I shall be like mamma."
It was all horribly clear to her, and she would not wait for words ofcomfort that could only obscure the truth. Accompanied by Tommy, whosaid nothing, but often glanced at her fascinated yet alarmed, as ifexpecting to see the ghastly change come over her at any moment--for hewas as convinced as she, and had the livelier imagination--she returnedto Monypenny to beg of Blinder to tell her one thing more. And he toldher, not speaking lightly, but because his words contained a solemnwarning to a girl who, he thought, might need it.
"What sort of thing would be likeliest to waken the wickedness?" sheasked, holding her breath for the answer.
"Keeping company wi' ill men," said Blinder, gravely.
"Like the man who made mamma wicked, like my father?"
"Ay," Blinder replied, "fly from the like of him, my lass, though itshould be to the other end of the world."
She stood quite still, with a most sorrowful face, and then ran away,ran so swiftly that when Tommy, who had lingered for a moment, came tothe door she was already out of sight. Scarcely less excited than she,he set off for Double Dykes, his imagination in such a blaze that helooked fearfully in the pools of the burn for a black frock. But Grizelhad not drowned herself; she was standing erect in her home, like one atbay, her arms rigid, her hands clenched, and when he pushed open thedoor she screamed.
"Grizel," said the distressed boy, "did you think I was him come foryou?"
"Yes!"
"Maybe he'll no come. The folk think he winna come."
"But if he does, if he does!"
"Maybe you needna go wi' him unless you're willing?"
"I must, he can compel me, because he is my father. Oh! oh! oh!" Shelay down on the bed, and on her eyes there slowly formed the littlewells of water Tommy was to know so well in time. He stood by her sidein anguish; for though his own tears came at the first call, he couldnever face them in others.
"Grizel," he said impulsively, "there's just one thing for you to do.You have money, and you maun run away afore he comes!"
She jumped up at that. "I have thought of it," she answered "I am alwaysthinking about it, but how can I, oh, now can I? It would not berespectable."
"To run away?"
"To go by myself," said the poor girl, "and I do want to be respectable,it would be sweet."
In some ways Tommy was as innocent as she, and her reasoning seemed tohim to be sound. She was looking at him woefully, and entreaty was onher face; all at once he felt what a lonely little crittur she was, and,in a burst of manhood,--
"But, dinna prig wi' me to go with you," he said, struggling.
"I have not!" she answered, panting, and she had not in words, but themute appeal was still on her face.
"Grizel," he cried, "I'll come!"
Then she seized his hand and pressed it to her breast, saying, "Oh,Tommy, I am so fond of you!"
It was the first time she had admitted it, and his head wagged wellcontent, as if saying for him, "I knew you would understand me someday." But next moment the haunting shadow that so often overtook him inthe act of soaring fell cold upon his mind, and "I maun take Elspeth!"he announced, as if Elspeth had him by the leg.
"You sha'n't!" said Grizel's face.
"She winna let go," said Tommy's.
Grizel quivered from top to toe. "I hate Elspeth!" she cried, withcurious passion, and the more moral Tommy was ashamed of her.
"You dinna ken how fond o' her I am," he said.
"Yes, I do."
"Then you shouldna want me to leave her and go wi' you."
"That is why I want it," Grizel blurted out, and now we are all ashamedof her. But fortunately Tommy did not see how much she had admitted inthat hasty cry, and as neither would give way to the other they partedstiffly, his last words being "Mind, it wouldna be respectable to go byyoursel'," and hers "I don't care, I'm going." Nevertheless it was shewho slept easily that night, and he who tossed about almost untilcockcrow. She had only one ugly dream, of herself wandering from door todoor in a strange town, asking for lodgings, but the woman who answeredher weary knocks--there were many doors but it was invariably the samewoman--always asked, suspiciously, "Is Tommy with you?" and Grizel shookher head, and then the woman drove her away, perceiving that she wasnot respectable. This woke her, and she feared the dream would cometrue, but she clenched her fists in the darkness, saying, "I can't helpit, I am going, and I won't have Elspeth," and after that she slept inpeace. In the meantime Tommy the imaginative--but that night he was notTommy, rather was he Grizel, for he saw her as we can only seeourselves. Now she--or he, if you will--had been caught by her fatherand brought back, and she turned into a painted thing like her mother.She brandished a brandy bottle and a stream of foul words ran lightlyfrom her mouth and suddenly stopped, because she was wailing "I wantedso to be good, it is sweet to be good!" Now a man with a beard waswhipping her, and Tommy felt each lash on his own body, so that he hadto strike out, and he started up in bed, and the horrible thing was thathe had never been asleep. Thus it went on until early morning, when hiseyes were red and his body was damp with sweat.
But now again he was Tommy, and at first even to think of leavingElspeth was absurd. Yet it would be pleasant to leave Aaron, whodisliked him so much. To disappear without a word would be a finerevenge, for the people would say that Aaron must have ill-treated him,and while they searched the pools of the burn for his body, Aaron wouldbe looking on trembling, perhaps with a policeman's hand on hisshoulder. Tommy saw the commotion as vividly as if the searchers werealready out and he in a tree looking down at them; but in a second healso heard Elspeth skirling, and down he flung himself from the tree,crying, "I'm here, Elspeth, dinna greet; oh, what a brute I've been!"No, he could not leave Elspeth, how wicked of Grizel to expect it ofhim; she was a bad one, Grizel.
But having now decided not to go, his sympathy with the girl who was tolose him returned in a rush, and before he went to school he besoughther to--it amounted to this, to be more like himself; that is, he beggedher to postpone her departure indefinitely, not to make up her minduntil to-morrow--or the day after--or the day after that. He producedreasons, as that she had only four pounds and some shillings now, whileby and by she might get the Painted Lady's money, at present in thebank; also she ought to wait for the money that would come to her fromthe roup of the furniture. But Grizel waived all argument aside; securein her four pounds and shillings she was determined to go to-night, forher father might be here to-morrow; she was going to London because itwas so big that no one could ever find her there, and she would never,never write to Tommy to tell him how she fared, lest the letter put herfather on her track. He implored her to write
once, so that the moneyowing her might be forwarded, but even this bribe did not move her, andhe set off for school most gloomily.
Cathro was specially aggravating that day, nagged him, said before thewhole school that he was a numskull, even fell upon him with the tawse,and for no earthly reason except that Tommy would not bother his headwith the _oratio obliqua_. If there is any kind of dominie moremaddening than another, it is the one who will not leave you alone (askany thoughtful boy). How wretched the lot of him whose life is castamong fools not capable of understanding him; what was that saying aboutentertaining angels unawares? London! Grizel had more than sufficientmoney to take two there, and once in London, a wonder such as himselfwas bound to do wondrous things. Now that he thought of it, to become aminister was abhorrent to him; to preach would be rather nice, oh, whatthings he should say (he began to make them up, and they were so grandthat he almost wept), but to be good after the sermon was over, alwaysto be good (even when Elspeth was out of the way), never to think queerunsayable things, never to say Stroke, never, in short, to "find away"--he was appalled. If it had not been for Elspeth--
So even Elspeth did not need him. When he went home from school,thinking only of her, he found that she had gone to the Auld Licht manseto play with little Margaret. Very well, if such was her wish, he wouldgo. Nobody wanted him except Grizel. Perhaps when news came from Londonof his greatness, they would think more of him. He would send a letterto Thrums, asking Mr. McLean to transfer his kindness to Elspeth. Thatwould show them what a noble fellow he was. Elspeth would really benefitby his disappearance; he was running away for Elspeth's sake. And whenhe was great, which would be in a few years, he would come back for her.
But no, he--. The dash represents Tommy swithering once more, and he wasat one or other end of the swither all day. When he acted sharply it wasalways on impulse, and as soon as the die was cast he was a philosopherwith no regrets. But when he had time to reflect, he jumped miserablyback and forward. So when Grizel was ready to start, he did not know inthe least what he meant to do.
She was to pass by the Cuttle Well, on her way to Tilliedrum, where shewould get the London train, he had been told coldly, and he could bethere at the time--if he liked. The time was seven o'clock in theevening on a week-day, when the lovers are not in the Den, and Tommyarrived first. When he stole through the small field that separatesMonypenny from the Den, his decision was--but on reaching the CuttleWell, its nearness to the uncanny Lair chilled his courage, and now hehad only come to bid her good-by. She was very late, and it suddenlystruck him that she had already set off. "After getting me to promise togo wi' her!" he said to himself at once.
But Grizel came; she was only late because it had taken her such a longtime to say good-by to the girl in the glass. She was wearing her blackdress and lustre jacket, and carried in a bundle the few treasures shewas taking with her, and though she did not ask Tommy if he was coming,she cast a quick look round to see if he had a bundle anywhere, and hehad none. That told her his decision, and she would have liked to sitdown for a minute and cry, but of course she had too much pride, and shebade him farewell so promptly that he thought he had a grievance. "I'mcoming as far as the toll-house wi' you," he said, sulkily, and so theystarted together.
At the toll-house Grizel stopped. "It's a fine night," said Tommy,almost apologetically, "I'll go as far as the quarry o' Benshee."
When they came to the quarry he said, "We're no half-roads yet, I'll gowi' you as far as Padanarum." Now she began to wonder and to glance athim sideways, which made him more uncomfortable than ever. To preventher asking him a question for which he had no answer, he said, "Whatmakes you look so little the day?"
"I am not looking little," she replied, greatly annoyed, "I am lookingtaller than usual. I have let down my frock three inches so as to looktaller--and older."
"You look younger than ever," he said cruelly.
"I don't! I look fifteen, and when you are fifteen you grow up veryquickly. Do say I look older!" she entreated anxiously. "It would makeme feel more respectable."
But he shook his head with surprising obstinacy, and then she began toremark on his clothes, which had been exercising her curiosity eversince they left the Den.
"How is it that you are looking so stout?" she asked.
"I feel cold, but you are wiping the sweat off your face every minute."
It was true, but he would have preferred not to answer. Grizel'squestions, however, were all so straight in the face, that there was nododging them. "I have on twa suits o' clothes, and a' my sarks," he hadto admit, sticky and sullen.
She stopped, but he trudged on doggedly. She ran after him and gave hisarm an impulsive squeeze with both hands, "Oh, you sweet!" she said.
"No, I'm not," he answered in alarm.
"Yes you are! You are coming with me."
"I'm not!"
"Then why did you put on so many clothes?"
Tommy swithered wretchedly on one foot. "I didna put them on to come wi'you," he explained, "I just put them on in case I should come wi' you."
"And are you not coming?"
"How can I ken?"
"But you must decide," Grizel almost screamed.
"I needna," he stammered, "till we're at Tilliedrum. Let's speak aboutsome other thing."
She rocked her arms, crying, "It is so easy to make up one's mind."
"It's easy to you that has just one mind," he retorted with spirit, "butif you had as many minds as I have--!"
On they went.
