“We must be going.” he said, and he roared: “Carolan! Come here, girl. Come and say goodbye to Mrs. Orland, for we are going!”
Mrs. Orland and Everard walked to the gate with them. They stood waving as Carolan and the squire trotted down the lane.
“Bah!” said the squire.
“White-faced milksop of a boy that! A parson in the making!”
He began to laugh derisively, looking at her from under his bushy brows as he did so.
She flushed a little.
“He is not,” she said.
“He is very brave. Why…” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him how once, quite a long time ago, he had fought Charles for locking her in with the dead, and how, ever since Charles had been afraid of Everard. But how could she tell that story without telling of the part Charles had played in it?
“What?” said the squire. But she would not tell; she merely repeated: “He is very brave.”
The squire chortled uneasily.
“Dammed if you are not impressed by his pretty face!”
She said: “He is not pretty, is he?”
“I saw you,” blundered on the squire, ‘playing the coquette there on the lawn. Dammed if you were not flirting with the boy!”
She turned a look so cold upon him that he was faintly alarmed, which was of course absurd. He had given her a magnificent present; she was his daughter; she should be fond of him. He would beat her till she was black and blue if she was not. She had ridden on a little ahead of him, like a queen showing her displeasure. By God, he thought, will she be haughty with me, eh! He spurred his horse until he was level with her; but the delicacy of her child’s profile turned his anger into something he did not understand. Harshness was no way to win these creatures; he had to learn to be soft. For here was Bess and Kitty all over again; he saw it in the tilt of her head. Damn her! If he took the horse away from her she would doubtless toss her head and let it go rather than hear a word said against her friend Everard. They were like that, these female creatures who fascinated him. This was his third chance and he had to learn his lesson. If he wanted their affection and God damn him he would be a lonely man to the end of his days without some affection he had to win it, not stretch out and take it; it had to be given, not grabbed.
“There!” he said, with his voice soft enough to please her.
“You have a silly old man for a father, Carrie that’s what you’re thinking?”
She turned towards him. Here eyes were like green jewels and her brow above them was like ivory. All anger had faded before the softness in his voice. She said indignantly.
“Of course you are not silly!”
“Father!” he said.
“You talk to me as though I am a post. Am I to have no name?”
Now the colour rushed into her face. She knew then, did she. That sly Jennifer had doubtless told her; by God, he would have her out of that nursery. How he wished he had never clapped eyes on the woman.
“Carrie,” he said, ‘why should you not call me Father?” She said: “I will, if you wish.” And he was not at all sure then that she knew.
“Well see that you do in future, and begin now. Come on!”
“Yes … Father.”
“Look here, Carrie, we are friends, you see. I like you, Carrie.” His horse was so close to hers now that he leaned over her and she could feel his breath against her cheek.
“If anything goes wrong up there in the nursery, you come and tell me all about it, understand?”
Two champions in one naming!
Her lips parted and she nodded.
“Thank you… Father I” He roared with laughter. He slapped his thigh. She wished he would not do that; it irritated her strangely. But he was constantly doing it; it meant he was pleased in a particular way.
Lightly she touched the strawberry roan with her heel, and together she and the squire broke into a canter up the slight incline.
“Carrie!” he cried.
“I’ll tell you what we will do! We will pay a call on your Aunt Harriet.”
He was full of fun and mischief. Fun to see old Harry again! Besides, she had a present for the child; she had sent a note over to say so. He would enjoy comparing this young beauty with that dry old spinster, particularly as Harriet did not like the child.
“She has a present for you.”
“Another present!” Carolan brought her mare down to a trot. Those little hands, he thought, who would believe they had such power in them!
He put his face very close to hers to see more clearly the soft texture of her skin, for his eyes were not what they had been.
“Hey, girl,” he said, ‘it will not be a strawberry roan she has for you. What do you think?”
“A Prayer Book.”
“Or a Bible!”
It was good fun to share a joke with your young daughter. Damn it. she was his daughter; she was a seven months child. Had not Kitty had some trouble in rearing her? His daughter! His! There would be trouble for anyone who dared suggest she was not!
Oaklands looked neat and trim, and the blinds had been drawn to shut out the sunshine. Emm from the workhouse opened the door; she was not a bad-looking girl. Possibilities there, the squire had often thought, if one had the time to develop them; he certainly had no time this morning; he was paying a call with his daughter.
Harriet came into the drawing-room.
“Why, George, how delightful of you to call!”
“I am not alone. I have brought someone with me who has a birthday.”
He winked broadly at Harriet, who tried to smile. She did not believe in pampering children. She looked much the same as she had the day Kitty had come to her; there was perhaps a little more grey in her hair; she had never really recovered from the disappointment the squire had given her, though she tried to tell herself that it was a matter for congratulation. George had not improved with the years; he had coarsened visibly, and he had never been a refined man. Once she had caught him kissing Janet in the hall; Janet was the workhouse girl who shared the work with Emm. Disgusting sight!
“Carolan,” roared George, “come and say how do you do to your Aunt Harriet.”
“My gracious!” said Aunt Harriet.
“Whatever has the child been doing? Look at your hair, girl. Look at your hands! I cannot have you in my drawing-room in such a condition.” The squire put out a hand and rumpled the reddish hair.
“This child,” he said, with what Harriet noticed was a fondness almost touching on imbecility, ‘could never be tidy. She was not made that way!” He began to laugh as though it were a great joke.
“Run along, child,” said Harriet severely.
“Find Janet or Emm, and one of them will give you water to wash your hands, and do please comb your hair!”
The child, she thought, was very like her grandmother the same pertness, the same way of twisting a man like George Haredon round her fingers.
“And,” she called after Carolan, ‘tell Emm to bring two glasses and the cowslip wine.” She turned to George, and she was smiling now.
“I know you always like my cowslip wine better than anyone else’s.”
“Ah!” said George.
“Your cowslip wine, Harry no one can touch it!” The woman almost dimpled. He sat down heavily in one of her chairs.
“I hope,” she said severely, ‘that that child is not in danger of being spoiled.”
“Who, little Carrie?”
Harriet frowned in an exasperation from which she could not keep a certain tenderness. Was it not typical of George to call Carolan Carrie, just as he called her Harry! Even now she thought of George as a big-hearted, blundering and misguided boy. The right woman would have made all the difference in the world to George, and she, Harriet, knew full well who that woman was, though she would never whisper it to a soul.