“And now,” said Therese, ‘the little one must fly away. There is much to be done, and so little time to do it in!”
“Did you hear that, Carolan? Therese is mistress here!”
Therese smiled; so did Kitty; so Carolan smiled too, and it was only when she was outside the door that she remembered she had not asked that which she had come to ask. She went back to the nursery and hid herself in a quiet corner, but nobody spoke to her, so she went over the adventure with Everard again and again, beginning at that part where Everard put the key in the door and let in the sunshine. Everard was her special friend, she kept reminding herself; he had talked to her as though she were older than five; and he liked her, she believed, better than he liked Margaret and Charles-which was a triumph.
She went to bed, and her bed was still in the room which she shared with Margaret; and when the candle was out and Margaret was sleeping and it really was rather frightening even though she could hear Margaret’s breathing in the next bed, it was not with her mother that she, after her usual fashion, held a whispered conversation, but with Everard.
The year that Carolan was nine was one of the most eventful of the century. France declared war on England, and Charlotte Corday assassinated Marat in his bath; Louis XVI was executed that January and his queen followed him in October; that year saw the beginning of the Reign of Terror in France and the wave of uneasiness which swept over England because of it. But Carolan was unconcerned with events outside her nursery. She awoke on the morning of her birthday in great excitement. She now had her own room, but she had lost much of her childish fear of the dark. Sometimes, of course, when she had heard an eerie story she had nightmares, but that was not often; then she would dream she was locked up with the dead, and that dream persisted. But it was a dream with a happy ending, and when she awoke, perhaps screaming, trying to fight off queer dark shapes, she would think of Everard’s coming through the door, picking her up and talking to her so kindly. Then she would have a long imaginary conversation with Everard, and picture his face so clearly and hear his voice so distinctly that all fear would leave her. They were friends, she and Everard, and it was extremely exciting to have a friend who was so much older than oneself. It did not matter about being ugly. Her hair had kept its reddish tinge; her eyes had stayed green. Jennifer was for ever saying: “Green eyes for greedy guts! I do declare you grow uglier every day.” Charles took up the refrain: “Greedy guts! Greedy guts!” It was not a very pleasant name. But when she said to Everard: “Everard, how ugly am I? As ugly as old witch Hethers?” Everard had laughed.
“Silly! You are not ugly at all; you are all right as good as most.”
“As good as Margaret?”
“Oh, better than Margaret!” and Margaret, fair-haired, blue-eyed Margaret was the prettiest person Carolan had ever known except Mamma, of course, who was lovely as a picture. But then Everard hated Margaret because she would try to talk to him and be with him; so that was why he thought her ugly, just as Jennifer thought Carolan was ugly, because she did not like her.
What exciting days birthdays were. She imagined what they would all give her; a dress of lace and ribbons from Mamma, because one always thought of lace and ribbons when one thought of Mamma. From Everard a riding whip to be used when she rode Margaret’s pony. From Margaret a saddle of heavenly-smelling leather. She could not lie abed when so many beautiful gifts were awaiting her. She sprang out and danced to the window. What a lovely morning, with an April sun that was so beautiful because it had remained hidden so long, and an April freshness in the air, and the blossom just beginning on the fruit trees, and the daffodils under the oaks, and the birds wild with excitement because it was Carolan’s birthday!
She stood, her head on one side, listening.
“Carolan.” sang the birds.
“Car-o-lan!”
“Here I ami’ she cried.
“Did you know it was my birthday?”
She pressed her nose against the glass, laughing. Then she danced to the cold water jug, poured out some water into the basin, and washed.
When she was dressed, she opened the door and looked out into the corridor. There was no sound from either Margaret’s or Jennifer’s room. She stood uncertainly in the corridor. If Jennifer heard her about so early, there would be trouble. She grimaced at Jennifer’s door and tiptoed past it. Down the flights of stairs she went, to Mamma’s room. How rich it seemed down here, compared with the shabby nursery quarters. Here was her mother’s door, with Therese’s next to it. She turned the handle and stood on the threshold, looking in. Mamma was sleeping, her fair hair in disorder on the pillow. Carolan tiptoed into the room and stood by the bed, watching. Mamma’s lashes were long and gold coloured, and her full lips were parted. Carolan stood for some minutes, watching; then she whispered: “Mamma, I am here.”
Kitty opened her eyes. She had not altered very much in four years; she preserved her beauty with the greatest care, and Therese, with her skin lotions and tonics, was a wonder. True, she had put on flesh, but as Therese assured her, it was in the places where it was well to put it.
“Carolan,” said Kitty drowsily.
Carolan leaped onto the bed and knelt there.
“Mamma, do you know what today is?”
“Tell me, darling.”
“Oh, Mamma, do you not know?”
“I am so sleepy yet, Carolan. Kick off your shoes, darling, and come in.”
So Carolan kicked off her shoes and came in; she snuggled close to her mother.
“Shall I tell you then?”
Yes, tell me.”
“It is my birthday. I am nine years old today.”
Kitty held the small body closer. Nine years ago that she had suffered so deeply. Nine years of humiliations from George Haredon. She put her lips against Carolan’s cheek, and Carolan lay still, contented. Kitty lay still too, thinking of the wonder of her first love. Had I married Darrell, thought Kitty lazily, I would have been a true and faithful wife to him. I have always been searching for someone like Darrell that is it. Now she was wishing she had been a better mother to the little girl lying beside her. She would see more of the child from now on; she would look more closely into the nursery life of Carolan. Was Jennifer Jay cruel to her? She had never asked Carolan that question, for if Carolan said Yes, what could she, Kitty, do about it? George paid his children’s governess; he would be the one to decide whether she should go or stay. How she hated George Haredon.
Ah! If only Darrell had not gone to Exeter! If they had gone to London together and married, there would still be this dear little Carolan and how they would have loved her, both of them!
Am I to blame ? Kitty asked herself.
Carolan’s little body was quivering with excitement. Her birthday, of course, Kitty thought in panic, and I forgot. She will be expecting me to have remembered. Peg always used to remind her of Carolan’s birthday, but Peg had married one of the farm labourers two years ago, and left Haredon. Then Dolly had taken it upon herself to remind her, but six months back Dolly had run away with a gipsy whose band had made their camp nearby. And how could she tell this little daughter that she, her mother, had relied upon two of the lower servants to remind her of this great and important day.
Kitty resorted to subterfuge, for subterfuge came easily to her.
“Carolan, I am very unhappy about your present. It is not ready, darling. They have disappointed me.”
“Mamma, when will it be ready? Tomorrow?”
“I hope so, darling.”
Carolan squealed: “Then it will be like another birthday tomorrow, Mamma!”
What a sweet child she was! Kitty’s eyes filled with tears. She stroked the unruly hair with the red in it; she kissed the smooth childish brow.