Читать книгу: «A Humble Enterprise», страница 9
CHAPTER XVII
"YOU NEED NOT EXPECT ME BACK"
Harry Oxenham, pipe in mouth, stood at the open garden gate. Mary stood on the step of the front door. Conscious of guilt, they greeted him with more than usual cordiality.
"And so you have really come, after all, my dear old boy," his sister cried, with her arms about his neck. "This is good of you! A piece of luck that I never expected!"
"Yes, I've come. Awfully glad to get into clean air, out of those stinking streets. How are the kids? Why didn't you let me come last night?"
"Oh, the kids are as right as possible. You won't know them, they have grown so. Of course they are in bed and asleep, or they would be pulling you down between them."
She was hoping the tiresome brats wouldn't begin to talk of Jenny the first thing in the morning, and he was anxiously peering over her shoulder.
"Why did you stop me yesterday, Polly?"
"Oh, for reasons – never mind now, as long as you are here. Come in and have some supper. You must be hungry and tired after your long journey. Did you bring me some fish? Oh, thanks. It will be a treat, after weeks of Murray cod."
He followed her across the hall into the dining-room, where half the table was spread with a tempting meal. He looked around; there was no one there. He looked at Mary, and he thought she blushed.
"Where is Miss Liddon?" he inquired coolly. "Has she gone to bed?"
This time Mary blushed unmistakably. She exchanged a faltering glance with her husband, who sidled out of the room; then she rallied her dignity, and quietly replied that Miss Liddon was not with her.
"She was here two days ago," said Tony darkly.
"How do you know that?"
"Never mind how I know it. Only I do, for a certainty."
"Not from me; I have told nobody. If she has been writing to you," – Mrs. Oxenham, gentle woman that she was, flared up at the thought – "all I can say is that I am shockingly deceived in her."
"She never wrote to me in her life. But that's neither here nor there. The fact remains that she was in this house two days ago, and is out of it now. What have you done with her?"
There was an irritating abruptness in his tone and manner, and his sister threw up her head with a haughty gesture.
"I? Is she a child, that anybody should do anything with her? She has some relations living in the town, and has gone to stay with them."
"When did she go?"
"Oh, my dear Tony, you are too absurd! And I don't choose to be catechised in this fashion. Miss Liddon is nothing to you."
"That's all you know about it. When did she go, Mary?"
He looked hard at her, and she at him, and she held her breath for a moment, trying to grasp the situation.
"She went this morning."
"And knew that I was coming to-night?"
"How can I tell? I did not think it necessary to talk about it to her."
"You mean you kept it from her? And that you contrived that she should go to her relations – having put me off to give you time to do it – so as to have her out of my way. I know about those relations. They have snubbed and spurned her in her struggles, like the cads they are, and she can't endure them."
"They have been exceedingly attentive to her, and had asked her to visit them a dozen times. They proposed to-day themselves."
"I have it from her sister. And also that she was expecting to stay on here. It was in a letter, dated two days ago. I read it. Mary, it seems to me that you have behaved abominably. You simply turned her out."
"Tony, I will not allow you to talk to me like that. And just let me ask you one question: – Supposing I did, what in the world can it matter to you?"
"Well, I came up on purpose to see her, that's all."
"Oh! You are very complimentary to us. But you don't mean that, of course. You! A man in your position can't possibly have any concern with a girl in hers; at least, you have no business to have any."
"That's worthy of Maude, Polly. In fact, the very words she said to me yesterday."
"Maude? What does she know about it? Tony, you are talking riddles. I can't understand you in the least."
"Oh, Maude knows. So does my father. But he doesn't say those insulting things. He says I have made a wise choice – as I know I have – and has given us his consent and blessing in advance. Do you understand now?"
She understood, and was momentarily stunned. Not Lady Louisa, after all, but this little no-account tea-room girl! It was a heavy shock. She dropped into a chair, flung herself back in it, and ejaculated, "Well!" – adding with a long breath, "And she never gave me the least hint of it all this time!"
"She couldn't very well, seeing that she hasn't the faintest idea of such a thing herself – to the best of my knowledge."
"Then" – eagerly – "you have not spoken yet?"
"I am going to speak as soon as I can find her. And you are not going to prevent me, though you may think you are."
He poured out some whisky, and began to survey the dishes on the table. He was very angry, and consequently calm.
"Where's Harry?" he inquired. "I ordered the new buggy yesterday. I want to tell him about it. Harry, where are you?"
Harry came in, sheepish, but blustering, and was delighted to go into the buggy question without delay. They sat down to supper, and the men discussed business matters throughout the meal. Then Mr. Oxenham faint-heartedly proposed a smoke.
"No, thank you," said Anthony. "I'm off to bed. Same room, Mary?"
"Yes, dear." She followed him into the hall. "Aren't you going to say good-night to me, Tony?"
He kissed her coldly in silence.
"I did not know," she whispered. "It is so sudden – so unexpected. We will talk it over to-morrow, Tony."
"There's nothing to talk over," said he. And he marched off.
Mrs. Oxenham went to bed and cried. Then she thought deeply for a long time. Then she woke her husband up to talk to him.
"After all," she said, "it might have been worse. Some men, gentlemen of the highest class, marry barmaids and actresses – the vulgarest creatures. And Jenny isn't vulgar. However unsuitable she may be in other ways, personally she is a lady. That's one comfort. And – and it's very noble of him, don't you think?"
She got up early in the morning, and wrote to Jenny.
"Dear Child, —
"My brother came last night, and was in a great way to find you gone. Ask your aunt to be good enough to spare you again to us, for I want you to help me to entertain him. We are talking of a picnic to the ranges, and could not manage that without you. I am sending Dickson with the buggy. Come back with him, and your aunt can have you later.
"Your affectionate friend,"Mary Oxenham."
This note was delivered at the bank at breakfast time, with the message that the man was waiting for an answer. Jenny took it to her room, read it, and penned the following reply with a violently shaking hand: —
"Dear Mrs. Oxenham, —
"Thank you very much for your kindness in wishing me to return to you, but I think I ought not to prolong my holiday further, now that I am quite strong again. I am sure they must be badly wanting me at home, and I have decided to go back to-morrow, with some friends of my aunt's who happen to be going down. I could not leave her to-day, as I have but just come, and the time is so short. I am very sorry you should have had the trouble of sending the buggy for nothing. Please accept my grateful thanks for all your kindness, which I shall never forget, and believe me, —
"Yours sincerely,"Jenny Liddon."
Anthony at Wandooyamba was restless and surly. Mary had always been his ally in everything, and these devoted ones are the people we have no compunction about punishing severely when they do happen inadvertently to offend us. He would not forgive her for sending Jenny away.
"Can you lend me a horse, Harry?" was the first thing he said on coming down to breakfast – before he had even noticed the children, whom he had not seen for so long.
"A dozen, my dear fellow, if you want them," said Harry.
"Thank you. I only want one."
Mary leaned over the table and whispered to him, "Wait a little. She is coming back to-day."
"Have you sent for her?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
She nodded.
He shook his head. "She will know what she was turned out for, and she won't come back."
"She will – she will," said Mary, who devoutly hoped it. "Wait till Dickson returns, at any rate."
Dickson had a wife and family in the township, and when he found that he had not to drive the young lady to Wandooyamba, he concluded that he need not hurry home, but might take his ease in his own house, as he was accustomed to do on the day of rest; so he pocketed Jenny's letter until the evening. When he then delivered it – at past six o'clock – he was very much surprised and offended at being taken to task for presuming to exercise his own judgment in the matter. He little knew what the consequences had been to Mr. Churchill's temper and his mistress's peace of mind. Tony was a handful that day, and sincerely did Mary regret having tried to play Providence to him.
She went to church with her family – to her own little bush church which her own money maintained; the parson, ritual, and general affairs of which were wholly under her direction – hoping to find the lovers together on her return. In the afternoon they all walked for miles on the track of the expected buggy, and walked back again, casting wistful looks behind them. Then Dickson came leisurely ambling home – they saw him from the verandah sitting in solitary state – and Jenny's letter was delivered and the suspense ended.
Mary tore it open, read it with distress, almost with tears, and handed it to her brother. He perused it with a grim smile, put it into his pocket, and ordered a horse to be saddled immediately.
"What, at this hour?" she cried.
"I have wasted too many," he answered stiffly. "Good-night. You need not expect me back again."
CHAPTER XVIII
JENNY IS TREATED LIKE A LADY
That night the Rogersons went to church in a body, as usual, for they were a churchy family. Mrs. Rogerson was that power in the congregation which only a self-asserting, middle-aged, highly-respectable female of pronounced religious views can be, and fully recognised her responsibilities as such; knew that she was expected to set an example, and believed that the parochial machine would certainly get out of gear if she did not keep a constant eye upon it. Alice and Clementine were both in the choir, and particularly indispensable to it of an evening, when anthems were performed. Mr. Rogerson carried round the plate and counted the money in the vestry – most important function and functionary of them all. When the early tea was disposed of, and the table prepared for the substantial supper which was the concluding ceremony of the day, whereat the minister and several leading church members assisted, the family put on their best bonnets, and brushed their hats, and went forth to their devotions, leaving a godless young clerk, with a cigar and a novel, to keep guard over the bank's treasure in their absence.
Leaving also Jenny – not with the young bank-clerk, who was invisible, but on a sofa in the hot drawing-room upstairs, complaining of a headache, which she had legitimately come by through exciting her little soul over Mrs. Oxenham's letter and the perplexing questions that it raised. They had urged her to go to church, that she might hear the anthem and see how well they did things, but her intense craving to be alone to think gave her strength to resist their importunities. She was provided with Drummond's Natural Law and a smelling-bottle, and left in peace.
Just as the church bells were silenced by the striking of the town clock, Mr. Churchill reached the principal hotel; and he quickly unpacked the small valise he had carried on his saddle, washed and brushed, and fortified himself with whisky and a biscuit, in lieu of his lost dinner, which he had not time to think of now. And at about the moment when Clementine began her solo in the anthem he rang the bell at the bank door. Somebody, he knew, would be upon the premises, and he was prepared to explain the object of his visit to any whom it might concern.
The young clerk thought of burglars, and was at first reluctant, but, on recognising the untimely caller, admitted the great man, and did what in him lay to be obliging. Jenny heard the ring and the little stir in the hall, but took no notice. She was entirely absorbed in wondering why Mrs. Oxenham wanted to throw her at Mr. Churchill's head to-day, after taking such extreme measures to remove her from him yesterday; and why Mr. Churchill, supposed to be engaged to Lady Louisa, should be in "a great way" because he had not found at Wandooyamba the girl of whom he had taken no notice while they were both in town and he was at liberty to interview her at any time. She was lying all along on a sofa, with her arms thrown up and her hands under her head. Her little figure was clad in a white gown – a costume insisted on by Mrs. Oxenham in this midsummer weather. The light from the window beside her touched her chestnut hair and her pure skin and her bright eyes, that were fixed in deep abstraction upon the wall. If she had posed to look her prettiest, she could not have succeeded better.
A heavy step came up the stairs, and she did not stir, for she had no thought of burglars. Not until it slackened and paused at the open door of the drawing-room, threatening an intrusion upon her precious hour of peace, did she turn her head apprehensively. When she saw who it was that stood there, looking at her, she bounded to her feet as if she had been shot.
"Oh – h – h!" she breathed almost inaudibly.
"Miss Liddon, I am so glad to find you at home."
He was as sober as one could desire that a gentleman should be, but probably it was whisky on an empty stomach which made him bold at a time when most men are liable to be daunted; for, seeing her standing there, trembling, cowering, but visibly glowing from head to foot, he made up his mind that then and there would he settle the great question between them. No, not there. As he took his resolution, he remembered how short the evening service is, though it may not seem so to the persons taking part in it, and how horrible it would be to be disturbed in the middle of his proposal by the Rogersons and the parson and half a dozen gossips of the township coming in. So he said to Jenny, holding her hand very firmly, "As you wouldn't come to Wandooyamba, I have been obliged to come to you. I have something of great importance to say to you; and I want to know if you will come out for a little walk on the hills with me? It is not very hot now."
Jenny's colour deepened, and her tremblings increased. She withdrew her hand. "There is no one here," she said.
"But there will be soon. And I have a great deal to tell you – I want to be free to talk. Come out for a walk. Your aunt won't object when she knows it is I who am with you. Go and put your hat on – quick."
She hesitated still. "It is not – not anything the matter? Not anybody ill? Nothing wrong at home?"
"No, no! Make haste and get ready, or they will be back before we can get away."
She ran off to her room, and there stood still for a minute, clenching her hands and drawing long breaths that shook her little frame. Thoughts raced too fast to be followed, but if she could not think she could feel. If she could not understand him she was sure she could trust him; his sister's endorsement of his proceedings was a guarantee of that. She put on her hat, snatched up a pair of gloves, and returned to him speechless.
"You don't want gloves," he said, and took them from her, and laid them on a table on the landing. They went downstairs, and the young clerk let them out of the iron-lined door.
"You can tell Mrs. Rogerson that I will bring Miss Liddon home safely," said Anthony, with the air of a lawful guardian. It was nearly eight o'clock, and daylight was fading fast. He had an idea that there would be a moon, which would make a walk on the hills delicious, forgetting that the moon was not due for another hour and a half. Jenny had no ideas upon the subject; she left all to him.
Immediately behind the township the rocky ranges began to rise and to break like waves into little valleys and gorges that were as lonely as a desert island, though so near the haunts of men. He knew all their ins and outs, and in his own mind had marked the group of boulders where he and Jenny would sit while he asked her to marry him. He had found it years before, when out on a picnic; it had wattle-feathered rock on three sides of it, and in front the ground fell into a ravine that opened the whole way to the sunset. Two quiet streets, a lane, and a rather weary mountain path led to this airy solitude, and one could reach it with steady walking in a little over half-an-hour. One might have thought it would certainly be occupied or invaded on a Sunday night, with so many wanderers abroad, but as a fact the townspeople cared nothing for the beautiful scenery at their doors, and did not go into the ranges from year's end to year's end. Anthony knew that, and chanced finding his eyrie untenanted.
Through the streets where 'Arry and 'Arriet were strolling on the footpaths and flirting over their garden gates, he led his spell-bound companion, chatting commonplaces by the way.
"You know that I have been absent from town?" he said.
She replied that she had not known it till the other day.
"Yes, for several weeks. And I had no idea you were here all this time. Of course I got no letters at sea."
"The sea must have been delicious in the hot weather," remarked Jenny, thinking of her sufferings during the Cup season in the stifling air of Little Collins Street.
"No, it wasn't. At least, I did not enjoy it. I daresay the sea was right enough; I might have enjoyed it in other company."
"But I thought your company – Mrs. Oxenham told me – "
"What did Mrs. Oxenham tell you?" But he divined what it was. "That there was a lady on board whom I was specially interested in?"
"She thought you were engaged to her."
"Oh, did she? People have no business to think about those matters; they ought to know, before they talk. That lady was just about the last woman in the world to suit me. And they bored me to death – the whole lot of them."
Jenny's heart leaped in her breast, but still she did not dare to ask herself what his words and his visit portended. They had begun to climb the mountain pathway, a devious and stony track through wattle bushes and gum saplings, and it had grown almost too dark to see his face.
"Have we not gone far enough?" she asked him, pausing.
"It is the scrub that shuts the light out," he said quickly. "And there will be a moon directly. Just a little further, and we shall get the breeze from the top. Does it tire you? Let me help you up."
He offered his arm, but she declined it. She was not tired, but nervous about being out so late and so far from home.
"Not with me," he said; and added, "There's nothing clandestine about it. Mrs. Rogerson knows – at any rate, she will when I take you home – and so does Mary."
"Does Mrs. Oxenham know that I am walking here with you?" she was impelled to inquire, breathlessly.
"Most certainly she does."
Jenny climbed on blindly, with her head spinning round. Presently they reached the top, and the cool air blew in their faces. The town, the inhabited world, was behind them, cut off by a granite wall and the obliteration of the track in the gloom of night; in front the ravine stretched away to the pale saffron of the west, and, looking in that direction, it did not seem that day was over yet.
"Now I must find you a place to sit and rest yourself," said Anthony. "Take my hand over these rough stones."
Her hand shook, and so did his; his voice had begun to sound a little breathless, like hers. His exultation was mounting to his head, and something like terror was making her heart quake. "Ought I to have allowed him? Ought I to have done it?" she was asking herself. But it was too late for such questions now, and all doubts were settled within the next five minutes.
"Here," he said. "This is the place. A flat stone to sit on, and the sloping rock to lean against. Generally the rocks slope the wrong way, but this slants back at the right angle exactly. Sit down here; you must be tired after that climb. I will fan you with a wattle branch." He began to break off boughs, while she sat down, because her knees trembled so that it was difficult to stand. "Isn't this a charming view? At sunset it is magnificent, when the tops of the ranges turn pink and then indigo, like velvet. Can you hear the trickle of the creek down there? It seems miles below us, in that depth of shadow, doesn't it? And that humming sound – listen! It is a waterfall. What is the noise like? Oh, I know – like a railway train in the distance. And the wind in the gum leaves – can't you shut your eyes and imagine that is the sea? Do you remember that night on the St Kilda pier, when you were so frightened? You are not afraid of me now, Jenny?"
He flung himself on the ground beside her, and tossed his hat away.
"Yes, I am," she said, springing to her feet, and turning eastward towards the town. "And I must go home, Mr. Churchill; it is not right for me to be out here at this hour. You should not have brought me. It is not treating me like – like a lady," she burst out, in a tone of reproach and distress which reminded him that he had not yet given her proper notice of his intentions.
He sprang upright in an instant, and caught her arm, and, before she knew it, had both his arms around her.
"Don't you understand?" he exclaimed, in a deep voice. "I thought you did – I thought Sarah would have told you. And my coming in this way – my dragging you up here, to get you to myself – and Mary's letter – oh, my poor little woman, you didn't think I was making an amusement of it, did you? That's not treating me like a gentleman, Jenny."
"But you can't – "
"I can – I do. I want you to marry me, Jenny – there it is; and you can't misunderstand now. And, what's more, all my family know it, too, and my father says he's glad, and told me to tell you that he says so. And Mary is awfully sorry that she sent you away yesterday. And you —you won't say 'No'? It may be cheek and impudence to mention it, but I've seen it in your dear little eyes a score of times."
"Oh, what have you seen?" she asked, gasping, laughing, crying, thrilling, all dazed and overwhelmed in this sea of joy.
"This," he answered, stooping his head and putting a hand under her chin. "Take off your hat, Jenny, so that I can kiss you comfortably."
