A clock began to strike. One, two, three, four … right up to seven. She opened the parlour door and looked in at the shop. Light flickered through the shutters and fell on a pair of brass candlesticks; they glittered brightly among that hotchpotch of articles. Chairs and carpets, chinaware and silver, oddments of furniture, usually broken and decrepit; and everywhere old clothes. The striking, she saw, had come from a grandfather clock in one corner of the shop.
Carolan thought indulgently of her parents. She was beginning to suspect that her father was no shrewd business man. Why did he not arrange his goods more attractively? That confidence, which she had lost owing to her encounter with two thieves during her first hour or so in London, was returning. While she was awaiting Everard she would look after these two dear simple parents of hers. Oh, she could imagine them with their shop! No doubt her mother went through the stock and kept the most attractive articles for herself; and her father, poor sad man, would not say her nay. Oh, they needed looking after, these two parents of hers! Mamma was a child at heart … and Father? Terrible things had happened to him. His gentle expression and his smile were like a mask he drew down closely over his features lest you should read there what he did not wish you to. Kitty would never read anything she did not want to; but Carolan would read the truth if he as much as lifted that mask for a moment. And he was afraid that she would, poor darling.
She looked up at the bell over the door, which would warn her father of the approach of a customer; that was well enough. But why did he hang garments outside the door, in a place which was as full of thieves as a warren was of rabbits? Carolan clicked her tongue indulgently; he had probably lost lots of things that way, and most likely did not know it!
She heard a movement in the shop parlour, and turning, saw her father entering the room.
“Good morning!” she said.
“Good morning, Carolan! Is this a little tour of exploration?”
“Yes. I thought I would get breakfast for you and Mamma.”
“That is a kind thought, but your mother does not open her eyes until midday; I shall have mine now, because I have to go out this morning on important business.”
“You were going to get it yourself then?”
“Ah.” He had a very charming smile.
“I am a handy man, daughter.” He looked down at his hands, and she followed his gaze. They were gnarled hands, and one of the fingers of his right hand was missing. They seemed to be telling her so much, those hands; they made her want to weep.
There was a very tender note in her voice when she said: “You will sit down this morning, and I will get your breakfast.”
“It is difficult to work in a strange kitchen.”
“I shall discover very soon where things are kept.”
“How would it be, Carolan, if we got it together?”
“Excellent!”
He led the way. The kitchen was stone-floored and untidy. He watched her survey it with a faint pucker on her brows.
“Carolan,” he said, ‘you are like your mother … though different. I wish…”
“Well, Father, what is it you wish?”
That I could have given you riches and luxury. And Carolan, but for this thing which happened to me, I could have given you both comfort. Behold me, Carolan,.a most unfortunate man!”
She laid a hand on his shoulders.
“We are here now… all three of us together. That is good.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, ‘it is good; but it will not be for long, Carolan, for your lover will come for you.”
She turned away from his incomprehensible eyes.
“He will come for me, yes, but when we are married we shall see you often.”
“That,” he said, ‘will be delightful. Here is cold bacon and bread; a little pickled onion and ale. How does that appeal to you, Carolan?”
“Admirably. I am hungry. London air evidently agrees with me.”
He cut the bacon into slices: she cut the bread; and when they were seated at the table, she said: “It is exciting getting to know your father when you are a grownup person. I do not suppose that happens to many people.”
“Fortunately, no,” he answered.
“I might say “Unfortunately, no!” Just think! Had you known me when I was one, two, three, four, five, you might have had to punish me now and then.”
“I cannot imagine myself punishing you.”
“I was a very wayward child.”
“All the same, you and I would have come to an understanding about your waywardness.” He looked down at his hands again. How very sensitive he was about them! she thought tenderly.
“No, Carolan,” he went on, “I think it was well you spent your childhood in a fine old place like Haredon. I could never have given you so much luxury.”
“I was not very happy there. I should have been happier with you and my mother.”
She watched the colour come into his face.
“Ah!” he said, very eagerly.
“You would have preferred me as a father, to Squire Haredon?”
It was her turn to flush, remembering the presents, hearing the slurring voice— “Now, Carrie, give me a kiss. By God, you are your mother all over again! Take all and give nothing.” Not the voice of a father! It was horrible.
“I hated Squire Haredon. You I could have loved.”
He said: “I’ll remember that, Carolan. I’ll remember it.” His heart was beating violently; it would be so good to tell her everything, not all at once of course, but gradually. Odd how he had wanted to talk! He had tried to talk to Kitty. He had told her a little, but she cried and said it was horrible, and he could not bear to make her cry, even though she would have forgotten it all by the morning. With Carolan it would have been different; she would have seen with him; she would have felt with him -humiliation, hunger, torture, desperation. He could not forget what had happened to him, and sometimes he craved to talk as a man will crave for drink. There she sat before him, with her small charming face so vital more so than Kitty’s had ever been and those wonderful green eyes that would flash in anger and sympathy simultaneously; the anger would be for his tormentors, the sympathy for him. No! Talking to Carolan would be a luxury he must deny himself.
He said: “Have you written to your lover yet?”
“No. I intend to do so today.”
He said: “Do so now; and I will take the letter and see that it is dispatched at once.”
He found her writing materials, cleared a space for her on the table, and went out to prepare for a journey, leaving her to write.
Carolan sat at the table and conjured up a picture of Everard, and then began.
Dearest Everard, No doubt you will be surprised to hear from me that I have left Haredon. I found it impossible to stay there. Charles and the squire made it impossible. Please understand me: there seemed but one thing to do, and that to get away quickly; there seemed to be one place to go to, and that the house of my parents. So I am here, dearest Everard, as you will see, at number sixty Grape Street. My father is very, very kind, and my mother is glad to see me. They have the oddest shop, and I hope to help them, but I also hope that it will not be long before you come for me or tell me to come to you. I think of you continually, Everard, and if you should think it was wrong of me to leave Haredon so hastily, please try to understand that I could not stay; I can explain more fully when we meet. My father is going to take this letter and dispatch it for me; he is ready to go out now. Darling Everard, it is only one month since you said au revoir to me; it seems like one year. Two months seems an age. I am longing to see you, darling.
Your ever constant Carolan.
It took a long time to write the letter. She wanted to show him, without actually asking him to do so, that he must break his promise to his mother because her need of him was urgent.
When she read the letter through it sounded cold; it did not adequately express her feelings. She would have written another, had she not known that her father was ready, waiting to go out.