“I… I cannot say,” stammered Carolan.
“You cannot say! And why can you not say? Tell me that.”
She was silent.
“You have been sworn to secrecy, is that it?”
She nodded.
“It would be better if you told me now, you know.”
“I cannot tell.”
He looked down at her, livid with fury; not because Kitty had left him now, but because Carolan was in league with Kitty against him.
He gripped her by the shoulder and tore her nightgown. She was very small, he noticed, such a child.
“Look you here, Carrie, I will have no more disobedience in this house. You will tell me where your mother has gone, or I will whip you myself. Will you tell me ?”
But she knew she must not tell … not yet. They would not have gone far enough yet. She must wait a while, a whole day at least. Then he could never find them and bring them back. Mamma had married the squire because of her, Carolan; she had gathered that much; now it was her painful duty to save Mamma from the squire. So she pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head.
“You admit you know then?” he said, and she had known it, there was a pleading note in his voice: he wanted her to say she did not know; he wanted to put his great face close to hers and kiss her and say: “You are completely my daughter now, little Carrie.” But she knelt on her bed, her hands clasped behind her back, her face white and frightened, but her lips pressed firmly together. She was going to be silent for Kitty, and she would not speak to him.
“Very well,” he said cruelly, ‘we shall see whether you will speak or not. Margaret!” he roared, and Margaret, who had heard the commotion and had been awake for a long time, came in.
“Go to my bedroom, Margaret, and bring my riding crop. I will not have disobedience from my children.”
Margaret hesitated and wished she had pretended to be asleep. But he roared at her again: “Go! Or you will be the next. God Dammed, am I to be thwarted in my own house?” Margaret went, and he pushed Carolan on to the bed.
“Now, Carrie,” he said almost wheedlingly, ‘you tell your father what happened this afternoon. Where did she take you, eh? Eh, Carrie?”
Carolan said nothing. He bent down and gave her a stinging blow about her ear. He lifted her by her hair and pulled her up.
Her lips quivered.
“Are you coming to your senses, Carrie? Are you going to tell me?”
Carolan could only shake her head.
He threw her face downwards on to the bed and began to slap her body with his great hands. Carolan cried out, and he laughed.
“I will teach you, my girl!” he said.
“I will teach you!” Margaret came back and stood trembling on the threshold, the crop in her hand. He snatched it from her, and with it poised in his hand, stood staring down at the quivering body of the child.
“Dammit!” he cried.
“What do I want with this? I have strength enough in my hands to deal with the brat.” And he picked her up and shook her, and he saw that her eyes were tightly shut and that tears were squeezing themselves through her closed lids. Emotions mingled in his mind.
Then he saw Jennifer. She was looking in at the door, and her mouth was working. She had been at the gin bottle again, and she was laughing because he had beaten the child.
He picked up the crop and went towards her; she ran, her arms stretched out before her, into her room. He stood in the doorway, laughing at her. Then he looked over his shoulder at Carolan who lay still on the bed, her nightdress in ribbons about her bruised body, a sob shaking her now and then.
How loyal the child was! Loyal to that slut of a mother. And nothing for him but defiance.
“Carrie!” he said.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Then we will hear whether you persist in your folly or not.”
But he would not beat her again. He was the beaten one, not she. He had to get out or he would be petting her, telling her he did not mean that after all, and that whatever she had done mattered not, because he loved her.
He went to his bedroom, but not to sleep. And in the morning he sent for Mrs. West.
The child had to be whipped last night,” he said, and though he felt her disapproving eyes upon him; he did not resent that. He warmed to Mrs. West. He said, almost apologetically: “I was upset myself. Perhaps I laid it on a bit too strongly… But I will have no more disobedience in this house. Go to her. And take her something tasty to eat… And see that she is all right.”
In the evening of that day he sent for Carolan. She came to him, her head high, defiant.
By God, he thought, is she asking for another whipping? But how he admired her! She had something in her that Kitty had not had, nor perhaps Bess either.
“Well, Madam Carolan!” he said, with an attempt at lightness.
“Well?”
“Well what? Have I not told you to use some respect when addressing me? Did I not tell you to call me Father? You had better do so, unless you so like the feel of my hands about you that you are asking for more of what you had last night.”
She was frightened, he saw with satisfaction.
“You are not my father,” she told him boldly enough.
“So why should I call you such?”
“Look here, Carrie,” he said.
“I am your father. You had better tell me immediately who has said I am not.”
“My mother has said it. And I will tell you now what I would not tell you last night… She has gone away with my father.”
His face went white, then hideously purple.
“Ah!” he said at length.
“And Madam Carolan knew, and would not tell, eh?”
“No,” she said, “I would not tell.”
“For fear I should have gone after them?”
She nodded.
Brave little girl! Bold and defiant and disobedient. His eyes were filling with mawkish tears. Why was she not his daughter! He would have given anything to know she was.
“You need not have feared that, girl.”
“Oh!”
“And you might have saved yourself a whipping. Carrie, come here, girl. It did not please me to whip you like that. How do you feel?” He looked at his hands.
“They are big and clumsy, eh, Carrie?” He took her hand, and laughed comparing them.
She said: “I did not mind. It is all over now.”
Queer position. Am I asking pardon of Kitty’s bastard? It looked to him as if he were; he did not understand himself. Then,” he said, ‘we will forget last night, Carrie, eh? I was in a foul temper.”
“Of course,” she said.
“I know.” And she smiled, and when she smiled she was the image of Bessie … more Bessie than Kitty.
“And it does not hurt much now. Mrs. West was very kind.”
“Good for West!” he said.
“We will have a ride together tomorrow. Not West and II’ He roared with laughter at the thought, and put out a great hand and pinched Carolan’s cheek.
“These two, Carrie. Squire and his daughter, eh?” There was nothing sullen about her. She was adorable, this child. Kitty had left her; that made her solely his. After that Carolan’s life slipped on smoothly enough. She saw more of the squire; they rode together almost every day. He was eager to make up for that beating, and he tried to do so in lots of ways which on account of their very clumsiness were endearing. He was like a father to her; indulgent, though violent enough when crossed, and afterwards almost pathetically sorry for his violence. She avoided him when she possibly could, but when she could not she tried very hard to be fond of him, and after a time she began to find his companionship tolerable, even amusing.
Often she dreamed of joining her father and mother in London, because she was sure that that was what she was going to do one day. She waited for the promised letter which was to be enclosed in one for Mrs. West, and she was disappointed for weeks, but eventually it came.
She took it to her room and read it through many times. Her mother had given an address in London but she said it would not be possible for them to have Carolan with them just yet. They had their way to make and prospects at the moment were not very rosy; they would prefer their daughter to wait until they had a home to offer her which would be as luxurious as the one she would have to leave to come to them.