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 lends 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!