"It is a kindness, and would be a pleasure," said Mr. Crew, and all four of them went through a door into the shop parlour.
Pale sunshine, streaming through her window, awakened Carolan next morning. Just at first she could not remember where she was, for the room and its furniture were unfamiliar; a strange room indeed, full of shabby grandeur. The two armchairs, with their brocade coverings, had been splendid once; the carved table was a beauty; the curtains were rich though I torn in places and a little dirty.
The incidents of the day before crowded into Carolan's mind. She remembered coming through the streets of London to her father's shop; she remembered drinking a glass of ale with Their new friend, Mr. Crew, who had volunteered a little information about himself. He had a clerkship in a shipping company's office on the river bank; he lived in the Grape Street neighbourhood because it was cheap and he found it interesting. He had little money, he said oddly, for any entertainment save the study of human nature and indeed there could not be a more interesting study, nor one that was kinder to the purse.
They had talked of him a little, after he had gone.
"An honest man," said Darrell, 'and one without pretensions.”
But Kitty had added: "A little on the dull side. Now I would have preferred my Carolan to have been brought here by a nobleman!”
"A nobleman in Grape Street!" laughed Darrell indulgently.
"That, my dear, is looking for an apple on a pear tree.”
"Indeed it is not!" retorted Kitty.
"Often enough I have heard of noblemen coming down to the poor parts of London, disguised as clerks or journeymen, or tinkers, or what you will. It is a new sport among the aristocracy.”
She was the same Kitty, painting rosy pictures of the life around her as she wanted it to be, not as it was.
Carolan stretched herself in bed and thought, I do believe she is trying to conjure up a romance for me and Mr. Crew, who, she is assuring herself, is a prince disguised as a clerk. And this in spite of what I have told her of Everard! Dear, inconsequent Mamma, to whom fidelity is an elastic quality to be stretched by her according to her need and mood of the moment.
Last night she had brought Carolan into this room, and had sat at the dressing-table, twirling her hair while the candlelight played about her face.
"Of course, darling," she had said, 'this is no permanent home! It is a stepping-stone to better things. Your father has told me so, and well you know your father is not the man to lie. He has said to me: "Kitty, my own love, this is not what I would wish for you!" And indeed I understand that, for is it what I have been used to!
"No!" he said.
"One day I shall make a fortune here, and then you shall have a fine house, a worthy setting for your beauty." And, Carolan, do you think me still beautiful? What do you say? Have I aged much since you last saw me?”
She had indeed looked lovely with the candlelight to soften her face.
Carolan had laughed at her vanity, but had been unable to resist pleasing her charming, illogical mother.
Then Kitty cried a little, and laughed a good deal, and said she was happy, happy, happy that her own darling daughter had at last come home to her mother. She had kissed her tenderly; insisted on waiting until she was in bed, and tucking her in as though she were a little child.
Carolan remembered sharply that when she had been a child, Kitty had not come to tuck her in. But such thoughts she quickly dismissed, because when Kitty was with her it was always difficult not to fall in with the bit of play-acting she was putting over at the moment.
Carolan put one bare foot out to the rug beside her bed; then the other. She pattered across the floor to the narrow window. Now she was looking down on the mean street. It was deserted, no doubt because of the earliness of the hour. The dingy houses opposite were so close that but for the curtains it would have been possible to see into those rooms behind them. When she leaned out of the window she could see the facade of the shop, but the door was shut and the old clothes which had hung in the doorway had been taken in.
She thought of Jonathan Crew's words "These streets are as full of thieves as a warren is of rabbits." She wondered why her father, if he had wanted a shop, did not have one in a busy thoroughfare such as some of those through which she had passed yesterday on her way from the Oxford Arms. Surely more business could be done in those busy streets.
She thought of the ladies and gentlemen riding by in their carriages.
They would not want to buy old clothes, of course, but there were other things in the shop.
She left the window and washed her hands and face in the basin. The water was cold and refreshing.
When she was dressed she opened her door and listened. There was no sound in the house; evidently her parents were not early risers. She smiled to herself, thinking what a good idea it would be to prepare breakfast and take it up to their room. Her mother, she was sure, would enjoy that. She tiptoed downstairs and along the passage to the shop parlour. There was a sour smell in the place, which she decided probably came from all those second-hand goods in the shop beyond.
A clock began to strike. One, two, three, four ... right up to seven.
She opened the parlour door and looked in at the shop. Light flickered through the shutters and fell on a pair of brass candlesticks; they glittered brightly among that hotchpotch of articles. Chairs and carpets, chinaware and silver, oddments of furniture, usually broken and decrepit; and everywhere old clothes. The striking, she saw, had come from a grandfather clock in one corner of the shop.
Carolan thought indulgently of her parents. She was beginning to suspect that her father was no shrewd business man. Why did he not arrange his goods more attractively? That confidence, which she had lost owing to her encounter with two thieves during her first hour or so in London, was returning. While she was awaiting Everard she would look after these two dear simple parents of hers. Oh, she could imagine them with their shop! No doubt her mother went through the stock and kept the most attractive articles for herself; and her father, poor sad man, would not say her nay. Oh, they needed looking after, these two parents of hers! Mamma was a child at heart ... and Father? Terrible things had happened to him. His gentle expression and his smile were like a mask he drew down closely over his features lest you should read there what he did not wish you to. Kitty would never read anything she did not want to; but Carolan would read the truth if he as much as lifted that mask for a moment. And he was afraid that she would, poor darling.
She looked up at the bell over the door, which would warn her father of the approach of a customer; that was well enough. But why did he hang garments outside the door, in a place which was as full of thieves as a warren was of rabbits? Carolan clicked her tongue indulgently; he had probably lost lots of things that way, and most likely did not know it!
She heard a movement in the shop parlour, and turning, saw her father entering the room.
"Good morning!" she said.
"Good morning, Carolan! Is this a little tour of exploration?”
"Yes. I thought I would get breakfast for you and Mamma.”
"That is a kind thought, but your mother does not open her eyes until midday; I shall have mine now, because I have to go out this morning on important business.”
"You were going to get it yourself then?”
"Ah." He had a very charming smile.
"I am a handy man, daughter." He looked down at his hands, and she followed his gaze. They were gnarled hands, and one of the fingers of his right hand was missing. They seemed to be telling her so much, those hands; they made her want to weep.