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

Thirty years old, I’d say,” she answered.

“Old enough to have trained your hands to keep off property which does not belong to them.”

“Twenty-four. That’s no lie, and it surprises you. I do not wonder at that, for it is not the number of years that leave their mark upon the face, but the contents of them.”

The shop door opened to admit Darrell. He stared at the pair of them for a moment; then advanced into the shop.

“Why, Marcus!”

“Darrell… my old friend!” They clasped hands.

“I was not expecting you,” said Darrell.

“A chance call, that is all. Your charming daughter and I have been making each other’s acquaintance. But I for one should be glad of a more formal introduction.”

“Why yes,” said Darrell, still looking a trifle dazed.

“My daughter, Carolan. Carolan, Mr. Marcus Markham.”

“You did not say you knew my father,” said Carolan with an angry glint in her eyes.

“I was coming to that,” he told her; his smile was broad and yet secret.

“You did not give me much time, you know.”

“Well, come in! Come in!” said Darrell.

“I did want to buy a ring I see there. A gold ring, is it not? And of good workmanship? Perhaps Miss Carolan will serve me.”

“Certainly I will,” said Carolan. Darrell said: “You will eat with us? What is there, Carolan?”

“Boiled mutton with caper sauce … but not ready for half an hour.”

“You will stay, Marcus?”

Marcus let his eyes rest on Carolan.

“Wild horses would not drag me away, Darrell my friend! But pray do not disturb yourself about this little matter of the ring. Go on in; take off your boots; take off your coat. Miss Carolan and I will settle about the ring.”

Darrell said: “As you will,” and went in.

Carolan looked up into the man’s face.

“Why did you not tell me you were a friend of my father?”

“I did not think you would believe me.”

Tell me, are you a thief?”

The stealing of your handkerchief was my only lapse.”

“But that makes you a thief!”

“Indeed it does. Shall you denounce me?”

“How can I… for such a paltry thing?” She began to laugh.

“I suppose you think I am a foolish creature.”

“I think you are a charming creature.”

“And a spitfire! You said that.”

“Such an honest little spitfire! No, my dear, you were angry in a good cause… I like you for it.”

“Well then, shall we forget the whole stupid business?”

“Forget it! I shall never forget my first meeting with you. Instead we will say that the stormy beginning of our friendship is over. There is a trite saying that sunshine is brighter after the storm, but like most trite sayings it is true.”

“I am sorry for jumping to conclusions. What did you think when I asked you to turn out your pockets? And you a guest, a friend of my father’s!”

“I thought it fun.”

Did you think it fun to steal my handkerchief?”

“Certainly fun with a smack of danger in it. Men have hanged by the neck for stealing a handkerchief!”

“I see. I am, you notice, from the country. London ways are very new to me.”

“You are the sweeter for that.”

“You wish to see a ring… was this it?”

“It was. Slip it on your finger that I may see the effect.”

“There! It is attractive, is it not?”

“Delightfully so, there.”

She put her head on one side, surveying it, wondering about the person for whom he was buying it; his wife, his sweetheart? I would not care to be either, thought Carolan, remembering the warmth of his merry eyes as they smiled into hers. A gay man, a man fond of the pleasures of life … and yet very different from the squire. Not furtive; not sly; not lecherous; just amorous and eager and merry and very gallant. She liked him, in spite of the fact that he had made her feel foolish.

He took the ring and put it into his pocket.

“I will settle with your father.”

She bowed her head.

“And now shall we go inside?”

“I would prefer to look around here with you. Who knows, I might see something else that attracts me.”

“Then I must call my father, for I have the dinner to attend to.”

“Then let us go and find your father.”

They went into the shop parlour. Darrell was sitting in an armchair; he had removed his boots and wore soft down-at-heel slippers. His feet, like his hands, were misshapen, had become so, Carolan knew, during that tragic period of his life which he was forever trying to forget.

“Father, here is your friend,” said Carolan.

“Now I must go to the kitchen to see how Millie is getting on.”

In the kitchen she absently lifted the lid of the stew-pot and sniffed the appetizing smell which rushed out. She was thinking of the man in the parlour. He had aroused in her a longing not for him, but for Everard.

Kitty had heard that there was a visitor. She came down resplendent in black velvet: it was low cut, too magnificent. Carolan thought it incongruous for the shop parlour as she came in carrying the steaming dish of mutton.

She listened to Kitty’s talking to Marcus Markham.

“So you have already met my little daughter? She thought you were a customer an ordinary customer. Do you think she is like me? Tell me that.”

“No,” said Marcus, ‘not greatly like you, though there is a resemblance.”

“Rejoice, Carolan, you are only a little like met” “Nay, Ma’am, that would assuredly not be a matter for rejoicing in the ordinary way, but may I say that your daughter has beauty of a different kind?”

“Marcus! Flatterer!”

It was a little foolish, thought Carolan. Why could Mamma not resign herself to growing old! She had Darrell; he was, she was fond of saying, her true love. Why must she always be seeking for stupid compliments which did not mean anything! She felt a little angry, not only with Kitty but with Mr. Markham. Everard would not pay such stupid compliments. But Everard was different from all others; there was no one quite like Everard there never had been and never would be. Soon, soon there must be a letter.

They sat round the table, and Darrell served the mutton.

“How silent is Miss Carolan,” said Marcus.

“Ah!” said Darrell.

“Dreaming of Everard, I’ll be bound. Eh, daughter?”

“Everard?” said Marcus lightly.

“Is it permitted to ask who this most lucky person is who so occupies Miss Carolan’s thoughts?”

The man she is going to marry … very soon!” said Darrell, and he said it firmly, almost as though he had chosen him for his daughter and was determined that she should marry him, if he had to drive her to the altar.

“I might have known,” said Marcus, ‘that such a prize would be quickly appropriated.”

“He is a parson!” said Kitty.

“And the marriage,” put in Darrell, ‘is to take place in a few weeks’ time .We are expecting Everard to call here soon… in a week or so. Then he will have the arrangements for the wedding complete.”

“I sigh with envy!”

“La! Sir!” put in Kitty.

“You should not find it so difficult to persuade a girl to marry you!”

“You mistake me, Ma’am. I am full of envy, not for Bridegroom Tom, Dick or Harry, but only for Bridegroom Everard.”

Kitty lay back in her chair, her fingers curled lovingly about her glass.

“In my days men were different. They did not envy long; they took what they wanted.”

Carolan’s heart was beating wildly; an angry flush came into her cheeks.There were times when she felt really angry with Mamma.

“It is a good thing then,” she said tartly, ‘that men have changed. Nowadays we are not taken; we decide!”

“Bravo!” cried Marcus. He lifted his glass. To the modern generation! The march towards civilization is slow but steady. Each generation is a little less savage than the last’ “I like savages,” said Kitty.

“But you are a pagan,” said Marcus, caressingly.

“I like pagans, and I must confess I am not over-fond of parsons. Not do I think our Carolan will make an ideal parson’s wife; she has too much of me in her.”