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

“Your daughter and her husband and their children would not be ashamed to visit you here,” retorted Carolan.

“I know. I know. But you wait, Carolan, and see the fine house in the country I shall have!”

“I am glad the business is prosperous, Father.”

“You need not worry your head about us, Carolan. Well, when Millie comes, the shop will be opened. You and your mother need not think about it. Listen! I think that is Millie’s step; I will go and let her in.”

Millie was a sandy-haired girl of about Carolan’s age. She had a pale face and closely set eyes; her skin was pock-marked, her mouth perpetually open; she seemed vacant.

“Millie,” said Darrell, ‘this is Miss Carolan, my daughter.”

Millie nodded, without looking at Carolan.

“And now,” said Darrell, “I must be going. Carolan, do not forget what I have said about going out alone.”

“I promise. I shall wait for you to accompany me. Father.”

She kissed him and went to the door of the shop with him. She stood there watching him; as he turned the corner he waved. Carolan went back into the shop. Millie had taken down the shutters now. but it was still gloomy. Strange, thought Carolan, if her father was doing such a prosperous business here. But when he had said that, he had not met her eyes; she had a feeling that things were not as glorious as he would have her believe. When she married Everard they would have her. father and mother to live with them; of perhaps they would give them a little cottage close by. Her father would be happy enough with a little garden in which to grow flowers and vegetables, she was sure. But in the meantime she would make things a little more Comfortable for them here. She went into the kitchen, where Millie was bending over the sink.

“Let us have a real clean-up today,” she said.

“This place is very dirty.” a Millie merely pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes by way of reply.

“Do you not think so?” demanded Carolan, a little irritated.

‘dunno.” said Millie.

“Well,” said Carolan tartly, ‘you can take it from me that it is! Those shelves are full of dust; the floor needs washing. When did you last wash it?”

“I dunno,” said Millie.

“Forget.”

Enthusiasm burned in Carolan’s eyes; she was a crusader; she was going to make this home of her parents fit to live in. They were like children, both of them; and Millie was worse than hopeless. Very slowly the girl was washing the breakfast dishes. There was nothing domesticated about Carolan; that had been Margaret’s forte. How she longed for Margaret’s advice now! She imagined Margaret’s dainty nose wrinkling up at the sight of this kitchen. The kitchen should be made so that even Margaret would approve!

“Good gracious!” she said.

“Do you take all the morning to wash a few dishes? Then it is no wonder that this place is so dirty.”

Millie regarded her from under bushy eyebrows.

“I am going to change all that,” Carolan continued.

“I will help with those dishes, then you can wash the floor and we can… arrange things.” Millie was a most irritating person. If she had been sullen or if she had burst into protests, Carolan would have found her attitude understandable; but the complaints seemed not to touch her at all. Slowly she went on with the dishes.

“Millie!” said Carolan sharply, and caught the girl’s arm. Millie let out a cry and dropped the plate she was about to plunge into the water. The sleeve of her dress was so rotten with sweat and age that even Carolan’s light grasp had torn it, but it was not at the tear that Carolan stared, but at the weal on the flesh beneath it.

“Why…” gasped Carolan.

“Who did that?”

Millie looked at her arm, and then a faint expression crept into her face the first Carolan had seen there and it shocked her that it should be one of fear.

The father,” said Millie.

“Your father did that! You mean he beat you … and that’s why you are so slow? Are you in pain? Why didn’t you tell me … It ought to be dressed … you should have said so.”

Now Carolan’s irritation had melted before the warmth of her pity for Millie and the heat of her indignation towards Millie’s father.

Millie said: “S’nothing. He’s always doing it.”

“You call that nothing! Does it hurt? Of course it must hurt. It ought to be bathed; it’s very dirty.”

So, instead of cleaning out her parents’ house as she had intended, Carolan spent the morning washing and dressing Millie’s arm, making her hot chocolate to drink, and trying, without much success, to get the story of Millie’s life from her. All she discovered was that Millie lived with her family of ten or eleven Millie did not seem altogether sure of the number in one room at the end of Grape Street, and that Millie’s father drank too much gin with results of which this was a good example.

“When he attacks you,” said Carolan, ‘you should hit back. If he is as drunk as you say, he should not be so formidable.”

Millie only stared at Carolan with vacant eyes.

“You should not stay there!” said Carolan.

“Could you not get a job where you could live in?”

“I dunno,” said Millie.

Then you should find out.”

“How?” asked Millie surprisingly, but Carolan really had no suggestion to offer. She said: “I will think of something. And tell your father if he dares to hurt you again I… I…”

Millie waited expressionlessly, but when talking to her, Carolan had discovered that, if a sentence became too complicated to finish, it was possible to trail off without comment from Millie. She did this now, but she was determined nevertheless to add Millie to those people whom she must help during her stay in London.

The morning was speeding up, and Carolan did not notice until later that not once had the shop door bell rang.

At midday she carried a tray upstairs to her mother’s room.

“Come in!” said Kitty sleepily, and Carolan went in.

It was something of a shock, remembering Kitty’s room at Haredon. Then of course there had been Therese to fold up her things. Now, the dress Kitty had worn the previous night lay on the floor, and undergarments were strewn beside it. The room smelt musty.

Carolan said: “You are shutting out the sunshine; I’ll draw the curtains better than that.”

“Don’t open the window, darling,” said Kitty fearfully.

“I do not trust the morning sat.”

“Scarcely morning now, Mammal Did you not hear the clock strike twelve?”

“Did it? I am a lie-abed. And you have brought me a tray; that is nice. Much nicer than that foolish Millie’s bringing it!”

“A cup of chocolate to begin with,” said Carolan.

“Do you like that?”

“I adore chocolate, darling. Bring it here. Hand it to me, there’s a love … But first give me the mirror … Goodness gracious! I do look a sight, do I not?”

She looked old, thought Carolan, untidy; and she had put on so much weight. The lace of her bedgown was draggled, and there were chocolate stains on it. But the voluptuous bosom, showing through the lace, was white as ever. She looked the picture of indolence, the beauty who is ageing, who has fed too well on the sweets of life and shows signs of it in her face.

Kitty grimaced into her mirror.

“How do you find I look, darling? Have I aged much?”

“Scarcely at all, Mamma,” lied Carolan.

“You have put on flesh though.”

“Ah! But in the right places, as Therese used to say! What happened to Therese?”

“I do not know. She went.”

“And poor Sambo?”

“He went too.”

“And that beast, Jennifer?”

“She fell down the stairs one night… dead drunk.”

“Serve her right, the wicked creature! Carolan, there is one thing I always wanted to know. Did she beat you?”

“Sometimes.”

“You should have told me… Why did you not?”

“I do not know,” said Carolan, and thought of Millie and felt inadequate and suddenly humble.