Tom Blake was talking to Carolan in his stilted way; in every tone of his voice, in every glance.he expressed his admiration.He had got the land; he had got a grant from the government. There was more money to be made in this new country than in the old. One day and that day not far distant he might be a rich man. Marcus talked to Esther, their heads close together. He was tired of a criminal's life; he had seen a chance to escape it, escape it for ever. Could he not expiate his sins of the past by leading an exemplary life? Eventually he would get his ticket of leave; a ticket of leave man was all but free. And if he worked hard, became a respectable, honest citizen ... why, what did this country need to exploit its riches as much as respectable, honest citizens? He had practised deceit, God knew, to get to this; but could he not work out his salvation?
Oh, he could! He could! Miss Mealy Mouth clasped her hands, and her eyes adored him. Margery laughed into her glass. She thought she loved him for his strivings towards the right; but she loved him for his merry blue eyes, and the movements of his hands, and the softness of his voice and the things he said, and the way he could caress a woman with a smile or a word. Did she not see that he was playing her off against Carolan, just as Carolan was playing off this other fellow against him? And all the time they wanted one another, were made for one another.
James put his head round the door; he jerked his head towards Carolan.
"She's wanted upstairs... sharp!" Carolan stood up, a hostess no longer, a servant, a convict servant.
"Goodbye," she said, all gracious again.
"I shall see you again soon, I hope.”
Tom Blake rose to his feet and took the hand she offered. He looked as if he would have bowed had he not felt that he would appear ridiculous so doing. Marcus looked on superciliously.
"Goodbye," said Carolan, and her eyes flicked him hastily.
Marcus stood up. He bowed ironically.
"Such a pity you have to go when we were enjoying ourselves so much!”
She moved towards the door, gracious as a queen. A pity she hadn't a train to sweep instead of that faded old yellow!
When she had gone there seemed no longer any point in continuing the party. The men left. Esther went back to her sink. Margery started to scold her; she felt rather ashamed of herself and had to take it out of someone.
Carolan went slowly upstairs. She felt strung up, full of sadness and cynicism, thinking: First I loved a coward; then I loved a rogue. My own fault for loving the wrong people. Poor Everard, he had had a mission in life; he had had a family; they were too strong for him. And Marcus? Marcus had had bad luck and the cruelty of life was too strong for him, so he became a schemer and a rogue and a philanderer and a prostitute. I loved the wrong people.
She tapped at Mrs. Masterman's door. There was no answer, so she went in. The room was empty.
A voice called: "In here please!”
It was Mr. Masterman in the toilet-room.
Her colour heightened, a certain fear rising within her, she went through.
He was standing with his back to the door, and he was holding something in his hands. He did not turn. It seemed that he did not want to look at her.
"This coat of mine," he said.
"I have spilt some wine on it. My wife tells me that you remove stains from her garments most satisfactorily ...”
She approached. She took the coat from him.
"I will do my best," she said, and she could not prevent a cold dignity from creeping into her voice.
Thank you," he said.
She took the coat, and as she took it she lifted her face and looked at him; he was looking at her. There was a trace of interest in his eyes.
She felt the blush deepen in her cheeks. He had noticed her then! Even he! He was interested in her ... mildly of course. It was funny. It made her want to laugh, and she had need of laughter. She smiled at him shyly.
He said: "Do you think you will be able to remove the stain? It is a good coat.”
She said again: "I will do my best.”
"That... that is good of you.”
"I will sponge it first and see what happens. Velvet is not easy to treat.”
"I should imagine it was more difficult than... than...”
He was bashful, bashful as a schoolboy. What was this power she had inherited from her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother, the power that could make cold Mr. Masterman bashful as a schoolboy? But it could not win Marcus's fidelity, nor give Everard courage; those were what she had wanted from those two.
What did she care for this man! But she needed to laugh, and she could laugh at him.
She laid the coat out on a table, and touched the stain with a finger.
She had a sudden suspicion that he might have spilt the wine purposely, because he wished for this interview with her. That would be like him, calculating. He was attracted by her; did she not know the signs? She thought of that sickly woman, his wife, locking the door, having the key pushed under it. There was a certain balm in teasing him, this cold, unemotional man who was suddenly not quite so cold, not quite so emotionless.
He said: "You are happier than you expected you would be?”
"Yes, thank you.”
"You must have suffered a good deal.”
She lifted her face to his, and the tears were in her eyes. They were real tears; they were born of anger and self-pity; but they were very effective, more so than tears of sorrow would have been, and in any case he was a novice in his knowledge of women and would not know the difference.
He quickly looked away from her, and said slowly: "If... if it is any satisfaction to you, I should like you to know that I believe in your innocence.”
"Thank you," she said, and smiled through her tears.
Lucille Masterman said: "I am tired now, Carolan. It is not a very exciting book, is it! I am sure your voice is tired too. Draw the blinds; the sun hurts my eyes. Do you find this sun overbearing too?
Thank heaven March will soon be out. How I look forward to the winter!
Not that I shall be able to entertain much; I simply have not the strength.”
Carolan closed the book. In the last weeks her status in this house had risen considerably. In the kitchen they regarded her with awe: she was not there often now. She still slept in the basement with the others, but she was not required to do any of those menial tasks which she loathed. Sometimes she polished the glasses. Mrs. Masterman said: "See that they come shining to the table, Carolan. You know what these people are ... they have simply no idea ..." Carolan this, Carolan that; and once, Carolan, my dear. And all due to that cunning she had learnt from Marcus. She had been sympathetic to Lucille, had listened to her talk with obvious interest; she had invented a disease which had killed her grandmother; it was something like the one from which Lucille imagined herself to be suffering. And now, she put away the clothes, she sewed them not that she liked sewing; but she preferred it to peeling potatoes and washing floors. She read aloud to Mrs. Masterman; she kept her engagement book; she waited at table.
Visitors said: "What a good-looking girl, and so refined! My dear, you were lucky." And Mrs. Masterman would sigh and say: "Oh, it was Gunnar... you know he's so clever, and of course he always gets what he wants." She had grown from a lower to an upper servant. Mrs.
Masterman depended on her.
"Carolan, where did I put those pills? Carolan, pour out my medicine; you know just how much water. Carolan, spray a little perfume on my handkerchief, and lay it across my forehead. You can have no idea how my head aches. Pull the curtains and read to me. I find it so soothing." She was not unkind by any means. She was rarely out of temper, and she could always be lulled into sweetness by a discussion on her health or on England. She had a nostalgia for England that was in itself a sickness. She said: "It hurts me here to think of it." And she would touch her heart and wipe away a few tears.