Read Ebook: Maradick at Forty: A Transition by Walpole Hugh

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 1598 lines and 93776 words, and 32 pages

And so all the scruples, the maidenly modesty and the bashful surprise that surround the love affairs of most of her sex were entirely absent. It seemed to her like the singing of a lark in the sky or the murmur of waves across the sand; something inevitable and perfectly, easily natural. There might be difficulties and troubles, because there were people like Miss Minns in the world, but they would pass away in time, and it would be as though they had never existed.

The only thing that puzzled her a little was Maradick. She did not understand what he was doing there. Was he always coming whenever Tony came? He was old like her father, but she thought he looked pleasant. Certainly not a person to be afraid of, and perhaps even some one to whom one could tell things. She liked his size and his smile and his quiet way of talking. But still it was a nuisance his being there at all. There were quite enough complications already with Miss Minns and father without another elderly person. And why was Tony with him at all? He was an old man, one of those dull, elderly people who might be nice and kind but couldn't possibly be any use as a friend. She tried to get Miss Minns to solve the problem, but that lady murmured something about "Birds of a feather," and that it was always proper to pay calls in twos, which was no use at all.

So Janet gave up Maradick for the present with a sigh and a shake of the head. But she was most blissfully happy. That country that had remained so long without an inhabiter was solitary no longer, her dreams and pictures moved before her now with life and splendour. She went about her day with a light in her eyes, humming a little song, tender and sympathetic with Miss Minns because she, poor thing, could not know how glorious a thing it was, this love!

I do not know whether Miss Minns had her suspicions. She must have noticed Janet's pleasant temper and gaiety, but she said nothing. As to Morelli, there was no telling what he noticed.

He returned to the house after his conversation with Punch in no pleasant humour. Janet had been up since a very early hour; she never could sleep when the sun was bright, and she was very happy. She had a suspicion that Tony would come to-day. It was based on nothing very certain, but she had dreamt that he would; and it was the right kind of day for him to come on, when the sun was so bright and a butterfly had swept through the window like the petal of a white rose blown by the wind.

And so she met her father with a laugh when he came in and led the way gaily to breakfast. But in a moment she saw that something was wrong, and, at the thought that one of his rages was sweeping over him and that she would not be able to escape, her face grew very white and her lips began to tremble.

She knew the symptoms of it. He sat very quietly with his hands crumbling the bread at his side; he was frowning, but very slightly, and he spoke pleasantly about ordinary things. As a rule when he was like this she crept away up to her room and locked her door, but now there seemed no chance of escape.

But she talked gaily and laughed, although her heart was beating so loudly that she thought that he would hear it.

"Miss Minns and I are going to walk over to Tregotha Point this afternoon, father," she said; "there are flowers there and we shall take books. Only I shall be back for tea, and so we shall start early."

He said nothing, but looked at the tablecloth. She looked round the room as though for a means of escape. It was all so cheerful that it seemed to mock her, the red-tiled fireplace, the golden globe of the lamp, the shining strip of blue sky beyond the window.

"Well," he said, looking at her across the table, "talk to me." The look that she knew so well came into his face; there was a little smile at the corners of his mouth and his eyes stared straight in front of him as though he were looking past her into infinite distances.

"Well," he said again, "why don't you talk?"

"I--have nothing to say," she stammered, "we haven't done anything."

And then suddenly the storm broke. He gave a little scream like a wild animal, and, with one push of the hand, the table went over, crashing to the ground. The crockery lay in shattered pieces on the blue carpet. Janet crouched back against the wall, but he came slowly round the table towards her. His back was bent a little and his head stretched forward like an animal about to spring.

She was crying bitterly, with her hands pressed in front of her face.

"Please, father," she said, "I haven't done anything--I didn't know--I haven't done anything."

She said it again and again between her tears. Morelli came over to her. "There was a man," he said between his teeth, "a man whom I saw this morning, and he said things. Oh! if I had him here!" He laughed. "I would kill him, here, with my hands. But you see, you shall never speak to him again, you don't go near him." He spoke with passion.

She did not answer. He shook her shoulder. "Well, speak, can't you?" He took her arm and twisted it, and then, apparently maddened by her immobility and her tears, he struck her with his hand across the face.

He let her sink to the floor in a heap, then for a moment he looked down on her. There was absolute silence in the room, a shaft of light fell through the window, caught a gleaming broken saucer on the floor, lighted the red tiles and sparkled against the farther wall. Janet was sobbing very quietly, crouching on the floor with her head in her hands. He looked at her for a moment and then crept silently from the room.

The stillness and peace and the twittering of a bird at the window brought her to her senses. It had happened so often before that it did not take her long to recover. She got up from her knees and wiped her eyes; she pushed back her hair and put the pins in carefully. Then she felt her cheek where he had struck her. It always happened like that, suddenly, for no reason at all. She knew that it was due to no bitter feeling against herself. Anything that came in his way at the time would suffer, as Miss Minns had learnt. Doubtless she was up in her room now with her door locked.

But this occasion was different from all the others. When it had happened before, quite the worst part of it had been the loneliness. It had seemed such a terribly desolate world, and she had seen infinite, dreary years stretching before her in which she remained, defenceless and without a friend, at the mercy of his temper. But now that her knight had come she did not mind at all. It would not be long before she escaped altogether, and, in any case, he was there to be sorry for her and comfort her. She would, of course, tell him all about it, because she would tell him everything. She felt no anger against her father. He was like that; she knew what it felt like to be angry, she had screamed and stamped and bit when she was a little girl in just that kind of way. She was rather sorry for him, because she knew he was always sorry afterwards. And then it was such a relief that it was over. The worst part of it was that sickening terror at first, when she did not know what he might do.

Later, she took her work and sat in the window. Her thoughts, as indeed was always the case now, were with Tony. She made up stories for him, imagined what he was doing at the moment and what the people were like to whom he was talking. She still felt sure that he would come and see them that afternoon. Then the door opened, and she knew that her father had returned. She did not turn round, but sat with her back to the door, facing the window. She could see a corner of the street with its shining cobbles, a dark clump of houses, a strip of the sky. The noise of the market came distantly up to her, and some cart rattled round the corner very, very faintly; the sound of the mining-stamp swung like a hammer through the air.

She heard him step across the room and stand waiting behind her. She was not afraid of him now; she knew that he had come back to apologise. She hated that as much as the rage, it seemed to hurt just as badly. She bent her head a little lower over her work.

"Janet," he spoke imploringly behind her.

"Father!" She turned and smiled up at him.

He bent down and kissed her. "Janet! dear, I'm so sorry. I really can't think why I was angry. You know I do get impatient sometimes, and that man had made me angry by the things he said."

He stood away from her with his head hanging like a child who was waiting to be punished.

"No, father, please don't." She stood up and looked at him. "You know it is very naughty of you, and after you promised so faithfully last time that you wouldn't get angry like that again. It's no use promising if you never keep it, you know. And then think of all the china you've broken."

"Yes, I know." He shook his head dolefully. "I don't know what it is, my dear. I never seem to get any better. And I don't mean anything, you know. I really don't mean anything."

But she doubted that a little as she looked at him. She knew that, although his rage might pass, he did not forget. She had known him cherish things in his head long after they had passed from the other man's memory, and she had seen him take his revenge. Who was this man who had insulted him? A sudden fear seized her. Supposing . . .

"Father," she said, looking up at him, "who was it said things to you this morning that made you angry?"

"Ah, never mind that now, dear," he said, his lip curling a little. "We will forget. See, I am sorry; you have forgiven me?" He sat down and drew her to him. "Look! I am just like a child. I am angry, and then suddenly it all goes." He stroked her hair with his hand, and bent and kissed her neck. "Where was it that I hit her? Poor darling! There, on the cheek? Poor little cheek! But look! Hit me now hard with your fist. Here on the cheek. I am a brute, a beast."

"No, father," she laughed and pulled herself away from him, "It is nothing! I have forgotten it already. Only, dear me! all the broken china! Such expense!"

"Well, dear, never mind the expense. I have a plan, and we will have a lovely day. We will go into the wood with our lunch and will watch the sea, and I will tell you stories, and will play to you. What! now, won't that be good fun?"

His little yellow face was wreathed in smiles; he hummed a little tune and his feet danced on the floor. He passed his hand through his hair so that it all stood on end. "We'll have such a game," he said.

"Oh! I know!" He laughed at her. "Callers! Why, yes, of course. We shall be here if they come." He chuckled to himself. "I am afraid, my dear, you have been lonely all these years. I ought to have thought of it, to give you companions." Then he added after a little pause, "But he is a nice young fellow, Mr. Gale."

She gave a little sigh of relief; then it was not he who had quarrelled with her father that morning. "That will be splendid. I'll go and get lunch at once." She bent down and kissed him, and then went singing out of the room.

He could, when he liked, be perfectly delightful, and he was going to like that afternoon, she knew. He was the best fun in the world. Poor thing! He would be hungry! He had no breakfast. And he sat in front of the window, smiling and humming a little tune to himself. The sun wrapped his body round with its heat, all the live things in the world were calling to him. He saw in front of him endless stretches of country, alive, shining in the sun. He stared in front of him.

It was market-day, and the market-place was crowded. Janet loved it, and her cheeks were flushed as she passed through the line of booths. As they crossed in front of the tower she saw that some one was leaning over the stall talking to the old fruit woman. Her heart began to beat furiously; he was wearing no cap, and she heard his laugh.

He turned round suddenly as though he knew who it was. The light suddenly flamed in his eyes, and he came forward:

"Good morning, Mr. Morelli," he said.

In all the crowded market-place she was the only thing that he saw. She was dressed in a white muslin with red roses on it, and over her arm was slung the basket with the lunch; her hair escaped in little golden curls from under her broad hat.

But she found that she didn't know what to say. This was a great surprise to her, because when she had thought about him in her room, alone, she had always had a great deal to say, and a great many questions to ask.

But now she stood in the sun and hung her head. Morelli watched them both.

Tony stammered. "Good-morning, Miss Morelli. I--I can't take off my cap because I haven't got one. Isn't it a ripping day?" He held out his hand and she took it, and then they both laughed. The old woman behind them in her red peaked hat screamed, "A-pples and O-ranges! Fine ripe grapes!"

"We're going out for a picnic, father and I," said Janet at last. "We've got lunch in this basket. It's a day that you can't be in doors, simply!"

"Oh! I know," he looked hungrily at the basket, as though he would have loved to have proposed coming as well. "Yes, it's a great day." Then he looked at her and started. She had been crying. She was smiling and laughing, but he could see that she had been crying. The mere thought of it made his blood boil; who had made her cry? He looked quickly at Morelli; was it he? Perhaps it was Miss Minns? or perhaps she wasn't well, but he must know if she were unhappy; he would find out.

"Oh, no," said Morelli, smiling, "we shall be back again by four. We are only going to have lunch. We should be delighted to see you, and your friend." Then they said good-bye, and Tony watched them as they turned out of the market-place. They didn't talk very much as they passed through the town, they had, each of them, their own thoughts. Janet was very happy; he was coming to tea, and they would be able to talk. But how silly she was, she could suddenly think of a hundred things that she would like to have said to him. They turned off the hard white road that ran above the sea and passed along a narrow lane. It was deeply rutted with cart-tracks, and the trees hung so thickly over it that it was quite dark. It wound up the sides of a green hill and then dived suddenly into the heart of a wood. Here there were pine trees, and a broad avenue over which they passed crushing the needles under their feet. The trees met in a green tapestry of colours above their heads, and through it the sun twinkled in golden stars and broad splashes of light. The avenue dwindled into a narrow path, and then suddenly it ended in a round green knoll humped like the back of a camel. The grass was a soft velvety green, and the trees stood like sentinels on every side, but in front they parted and there was a wonderful view. The knoll was at the top of the hill, and you could see straight down, above and beyond the trees of the wood, the sea. To the right there was another clearing, and a little cove of white sand and brown rocks shone in the sun. There was perfect stillness, save for a little breeze that rocked the trees so that they stirred like the breathing of some sleeper.

Janet and her father always came to this place. Afterwards she was to see a great many cities and countries, but this green wood always remained to her the most perfect thing in the world. It was so still that you could, if you held your breath, hear the tiny whisper of the waves across the shingle and the murmur of the mining stamp. It was a wonderful place for whispers; the trees, the sea, the birds, even the flowers seemed to tell secrets, and Janet used to fancy that if she lay there, silently, long enough, she would, like the man in the fairy tale, hear what they were saying. She noticed that she always seemed to hear more when she was with her father. She had gone there sometimes with Miss Minns, and had wondered how she could be so fanciful. Nothing had whispered at all, and Miss Minns had had a headache. But to-day everything seemed to have a new meaning; her meeting with Tony had lent it a colour, an intensity that it had not had before. It was as though they all--the sea, the sky, the trees, the animals--knew that she had got a knight and would like to tell her how glad they were.

Morelli sat perched on the highest peak of the knoll with his legs crossed beneath him. He was at his very best; gay, laughing, throwing the pine needles like a child into the air, singing a little song.

"Come here, my dear, and talk to me." He made way for her beside him. "Everything is singing to-day. There is a bird in a tree above us who has just told me how happy he is. I hope you are happy, my dear."

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet