The watchman loomed from a doorway, a darker shadow, gripping a halberd short.
‘You all right, sir?’
The voice, penetrating as if from a distance, brought Jesse up short. He gulped, nodded, grinned. ‘Yeah. Yeah, sure…’ He jerked a thumb behind him. ‘Brought a… train down. Strange, Durnovaria The man stood back. His attitude said plainly enough ‘One o’ they beggars…’ He said gruffly, ‘Best get along then, sir, don’t want to have to run ’ee in. ‘Tis well past twelve o’ the clock, y’know…’
‘On m’way, officer,’ said Jesse. ‘On m’way…’ A dozen steps along the street he turned back. ‘Officer… you m-married?’
The voice was uncompromising. ‘Get along now, sir…’ Its owner vanished in blackness.
The little town, asleep. Frost glinting on the rooftops, puddles in the road ruts frozen to iron, houses shuttered blind. Somewhere an owl called; or was it the noise of a far-off engine, out there somewhere on the road… The Mermaid was silent, no lights showing. Jesse hammered at the door. Nothing. He knocked louder. A light flickered on across the street. He started to sob for breath. He’d done it all wrong, she wouldn’t open. They’d call the watch instead.. But she’d know, she’d know who was knocking, women always knew. He beat at the wood, terrified. ‘Margaret…’
A shifting glint of yellow; then the door opened with a suddenness that sent him sprawling. He straightened up still breathing hard, trying to focus his eyes. She was standing holding a wrap across her throat, hair tousled. She held a lamp high; then, ‘You…!’ She shut the door with a thump, snatched the bolt across and turned to face him. She said in a low, furious voice, ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ He backed up. ‘I…,’ he said, ‘I…’ He saw her face change. ‘Jesse,’ she said, ‘what’s wrong? Are you hurt, what happened?’
‘I… sorry,’ he said. ‘Had to see you, Margaret. Couldn’t leave it no more…’
‘Hush,’ she said. Hissed. ‘You’ll wake my father, if you haven’t done it already. What are you talking about?
He leaned on the wall, trying to stop the spinning in his head. ‘Five thousand,’ he said thickly. ‘It’s… nothing, Margaret. Not any more. Margaret, I’m… rich, God help me. It don’t matter no more…’
What?
‘On the roads,’ he said desperately. ‘The… hauliers’ talk. They said you wanted five thousand. Margaret, I can do ten…’
A dawning comprehension. And for God’s sake, she was starting to laugh. ‘Jesse Strange,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘What are you trying to say?’
And it was out, at last. ‘I love you, Margaret,’ he said simply. ‘Reckon I always have. And I… want you to be my wife.’
She stopped smiling then, stood quite still and let her eyes close as if suddenly she was very tired. Then she reached forward quietly and took his hand. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Just for a little while. Come and sit down.’
In the back bar the firelight was dying. She sat by the hearth curled like a cat, watching him, her eyes big in the dimness; and Jesse talked. He told her everything he’d never imagined himself speaking. How he’d wanted her, and hoped, and known it was no use: how he’d waited so many years he’d nearly forgotten a time when she hadn’t filled his mind. She stayed still, holding his fingers, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, thinking and brooding. He told her how she’d be mistress of the house and have the gardens, the orchards of cherry plums, the rose terraces, the servants, her drawing account in the bank; how she’d have nothing to do any more ever but be Margaret Strange, his wife.
The silence lengthened when he’d finished, till the ticking of the big bar clock sounded loud. She stirred her foot in the warmth of the ashes, wriggling her toes; he gripped her instep softly, spanning it with finger and thumb. ‘I do love you, Margaret,’ he said. ‘I truly do…’
She still stayed quiet, staring at nothing visible, eyes opaque. She’d let the shawl fall off her shoulders; he could see her breasts, the nipples pushing against the flimsiness of the nightdress. She frowned, pursed her mouth, looked back at him. ‘Jesse,’ she said, ‘when I’ve finished talking, will you do something for me? Will you promise?’ Quite suddenly, he was no longer drunk. The whirling and the warmth faded, leaving him shivering. Somewhere he was sure the loco hooted again. ‘Yes, Margaret,’ he said ‘If that’s what you want.’
She came and sat by him. ‘Move up,’ she whispered. ‘You’re taking all the room.’ She saw the shivering; she put her hand inside his jacket, rubbed softly. ‘Stop it,’ she said. ‘Don’t do that, Jesse. Please The spasm passed; she pulled her arm back, flicked at the shawl, gathered her dress round her knees. ‘When I’ve said what I’m going to, will you promise to go away? Very quietly, and not… make trouble for me? Please, Jesse. I did let you in…’
‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, Margaret, that’s all right.’ His voice, talking, sounded like the voice of a stranger. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say; but listening to it meant he could stay close just a little longer. He felt suddenly he knew what it would be like to be given a cigarette just before you were hanged; how every puff would mean another second’s life.
She twined her fingers together, looked down at the carpet. ‘I… want to get this just right,’ she said. ‘I want to… say it properly, Jesse, because I don’t want to hurt you. I… like you too much for that. ‘I… knew about it of course, I’ve known all the time. That was why I let you in. Because I… like you very much, Jesse, and didn’t want to hurt. And now you see I’ve… trusted you, so you mustn’t let me down. I can’t marry you, Jesse, because I don’t love you. I never will. Can you understand that? It’s terribly hard knowing… well, how you feel and all that and still having to say it to you but I’ve got to because it just wouldn’t work. I… knew this was going to happen sometime, I used to lie awake at night thinking about it, thinking all about you, honestly I did, but it wasn’t any good. It just… wouldn’t work, that’s all. So… no. I’m terribly sorry but… no.’
How can a man balance his life on a dream, how can he be such a fool? How can he live, when the dream gets knocked apart…
She saw his face alter and reached for his hand again. ‘Jesse. please… I… think you’ve been terribly sweet waiting all this time and I… know about the money, I know why you said that, I know you just wanted to give me a… good life. It was terribly sweet of you to think like that about me and I… know you’d do it. But it just wouldn’t work… Oh God, isn’t this awful…’
You try to wake from what you know is a dream, and you can’t. Because you’re awake already, this is the dream they call life. You move in the dream and talk, even when something inside you wants to twist and die. He rubbed her knee, feeling the firm smoothness. ‘Margaret,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to rush into anything. Look, in a couple of months I shall be comin’ back through…’