Beyond The Blue Mountains - Plaidy Jean (читать книги бесплатно полностью без регистрации сокращений .txt) 📗

Hastily Carolan explained: “I have not come to buy; I have no money. My purse has just been stolen … Could you tell me where to find Grape Street?”

“Off with you!” said the woman.

“Off with you!”

“But. please… I only want to know…”

The woman turned away, grumbling about the tricks of the well-to-do who must torment a poor, nay, starving woman.

Carolan was so hurt she could have burst into tears. She caught at the woman’s ragged sleeve, but she was turned upon with such ferocity that she desisted immediately and walked on. She felt frightened now, a stranger in a strange city. It was difficult to understand the speech of these people; they were all that she desisted in such a hurry, except those who quizzed her with their speculative glances and frightened her more than those who ignored her. She must find Grape Street and her parents quickly.

Somewhere a clock struck four, and out of Hatton Garden a flying pieman came running. There were only a few pieces of baked plum pudding left in his basket.

“A piece for a penny,” he called as he ran.

“Buy, buy, buy!”

He had a kind face, Carolan saw, and she was getting desperate. She ran beside him for a second or two.

“Please,” she panted, “I cannot buy, but please could you tell me where is Grape Street?”

He stopped. His eyes, she noticed, were brown and full of laughter, and into them crept that puzzled look which she had seen in those of the lavender woman.

“Why, lady,” he said, “Grape Street is not so far, but are you sure you mean Grape Street?”

“Quite sure,” Carolan told him.

“Well then, if you are quite sure it is Grape Street that you are after, you go down this turning and you take the first on the left, and then take the second turning on the right. Then you will find yourself in Grape Street… if it is Grape Street you want.”

“Thank you!” she said. Thank you!”

He stood looking after her, as the lavender seller had done. Carolan hurried along. Now she was in a narrow street with tall, dingy houses on either side. She took the turn to the left and was in an even narrower street. The stench from the gutters was appalling; she hurried on. Surely she could not be far from her parents, but this was so different from her imaginings. She had pictured a charming house by the river with a garden extending to the water’s edge, from which it would be thrilling to watch the ships and barges pass by; and here she was, hurrying past alleys in which dark shadows seemed to lurk, while through grimy windows unfriendly faces peered at her with half-hearted curiosity.

Someone was walking very close behind her. She turned to look, and there was a man, a young man not much taller than herself, with a face which, though far from handsome, was attractive. He had the brightest, merriest blue eyes she had ever seen; they showed up startlingly in his brown face.

“Could you spare a penny, lady?”

His voice was the most surprising thing about him; it was cultured, even charming; and it seemed to her a very sad state of affairs that such a man as he apparently was should be reduced to begging in the streets of London. She had never been able to hide her feelings.

He looked straight into her face and some of the merriness left his eyes.

She said: “I am sorry I have nothing to give. I have had my purse stolen.”

“Your purse!” he said. That is bad. And did you see the thief?”

“Indeed I saw her, but I did not know her for a thief until too late.”

“New to London Town, that is you, lady!” His eyes darted from the fine lace at her throat to the good leather of her shoes.

“You are bound somewhere?”

“To my family in Grape Street. Perhaps you can tell me if I am near?”

“Grape Street! You cannot mean Grape Street … but if you do, it is just around the corner.”

He leaned towards her and touched her sleeve as he pointed the way.

“Thank you,” she said.

“What part of Grape Street were you after, lady?”

“Number sixty.”

“Ah!” he said, and his eyes were merry again.

“It is number sixty then! You cannot miss it-the number is plain over the door.” And he seemed consumed with some joke of his own.

“Good day to you, lady.”

He bowed rather mockingly, she thought; he swaggered along the street, and was soon out of sight.

As she turned to follow his directions, a man approached her. He was tall and spare of figure, and as he came nearer he slackened his pace. She was suddenly afraid. She looked about her at the deserted street; the man with the merry eyes had already disappeared.

“Forgive me,” said the newcomer, his eyes taking in every detail of her appearance, ‘but are you aware that the man who just approached has made off with your handkerchief?”

She stared at the man. His face was very white, and the skin seemed to be drawn too tightly across his sharp features so that they gave the impression of trying to burst through it. He had the face of a dead man, Carolan thought, apart from his eyes, which were dark and alert strange, excited and inquisitive eyes. She thought fearfully, What now, I wonder?

“You have lost a handkerchief, I believe?” he insisted.

She stepped back a pace, suspecting some trap. She felt in the pocket of her gown.

“I have,” she said.

“He took it.”

“You saw him?”

“One looks for these things in this part of the town.”

Then why did you wait to tell me until it is too late to retrieve it?” she demanded.

She did not realize it, but all the time they were speaking she was stepping backwards, putting distance between herself and the man.

“It would have been unwise to try to retrieve it. Think yourself fortunate that it was merely a handkerchief. These streets ate as full of thieves as a warren is of rabbits. They work together; it is not always wise to raise a hue and cry in these streets. You have got off lightly. Would you allow me to help you?”

She was suddenly angry. She had felt so sorry for the man with the merry blue eyes, and he had known it and laughed at her for it! Were there none but thieves and rogues in this wicked place? Humiliation and anger made her forget her fear of the newcomer; besides, his respectable garments of black that were a little shiny, suggested honesty in some odd way.

“I am looking for Grape Street,” she said, “My parents live there, and I am visiting them.”

“Your parents live in Grape Street!” he repeated as though stupefied.

“That is what I said. I wonder if that rogue who stole my handkerchief directed me truly.”

“Tell me,” he said, ‘where in Grape Street your parents live.”

“The number is sixty.”

“Sixty! Let me see. I believe that is the secondhand shop, is it not?”

The dark eyes searched her face eagerly. Strange eyes -beautiful eyes in an unbeautiful face; that was what made them look so incongruous.

“Secondhand shop! My mother did not say…”

He spoke slowly.as though checking over the items in his mind.

“You have never been to London before, have you? You have come on a visit from the country; you are visiting your parents. And it is your mother who lives in the secondhand shop at number sixty Grape Street.”

It was kind of him to express such interest, but she had been robbed twice in a very short time, and she was in no mood to trust a living soul.

“When I saw you,” he said, “I was of the opinion that it was some prank that had brought you here. You are not dressed for these streets, if you will allow me to say so. That makes you very conspicuous.”

“It is far from a prank,” said Carolan.

“I have been in this wicked place little more than an hour, and already I have lost my purse, my brooch and a lace handkerchief.”

“That is because you have doubtless acted unwisely. Will you allow me to walk with you to number sixty Grape Street? I am sure I can protect you from further annoyance.”