Greygallows (9 page)

'You are teasing me,' I said. 'Do you think that
kind or courteous?'

He started.

'No,' he said earnestly. 'It was most unkind, and unjust as well. You don't know ... you can have no idea ... Kindness is so rare, and I seem to be so deficient in it ...'

'Only to people like myself,' I said. 'Your tenderness, perhaps, is all expended on scullery maids and pickpockets, so that you have none left for honest, law-abiding—'

'Honesty is no virtue when you have all you need or want,' he interrupted, with a flash of his dark eyes. 'Is the mother who steals a loaf of bread for her starving child less virtuous than a pampered lady who spends hundreds a year on hothouse flowers?'

The argument would have waxed hotter—with me on the losing side—so I was glad to see we had arrived. It was a pretty little house near the river, a doll's house, sparkling with fresh paint and polished windows. I was well disposed toward the owner before we entered the house, and the first sight of her dispelled the last remnants of the prejudice I had built up from hearing her mentioned so reverently by Mr. Beam.

Mrs. Scott wore a black gown, but its somber colour was relieved by a white apron, ruffled demurely, and by crisp white frills around the cap that framed a face as rosy and cheerful as a child's. I could see no resemblance between mother and son, but there was much affection. She ran to him with a little cry of pleasure, and he swept her clean off the floor till her little feet dangled and gave her a great smacking kiss that made her round cheeks glow even redder.

'Shameful!' she exclaimed, as soon as she could catch her breath. 'Put me down at once, sir! Miss Cartwright will think us both quite mad.'

It was impossible not to smile back at her; the pretty pink face beaming at me over Jonathan's broad shoulder—for he had not obeyed her command to set her down—seemed to light up the little cubbyhole of a hallway.

We had tea in a parlor as diminutive and dainty as its owner; the whole house was doll-sized, and the servant was a child who carried heavy trays and whisked chairs about with a cheerful goodwill that belied her size. Obviously she adored her mistress and found Jonathan the most amusing creature in the world; his slightest comment, even a casual remark about the weather, produced a subdued tinkle of laughter.

I was completely at ease with my hostess after five minutes, though I found it hard to reconcile this cheerful woman with the heroine of Mr. Beam's tragic love story. After the little maid had left I commented on her willingness and on the excellent care she gave the house.

'My aunt is always complaining about her servants,' I added, with a world-weary sigh. 'It is difficult to get good ones, they are so often dishonest and lazy.'

A slight shadow crossed Mrs. Scott's face, but she only smiled and said nothing. Jonathan answered me.

'Servants are usually dishonest and lazy when they are treated as if they were. Little Lisa has good cause to laugh and be grateful. If you had seen her when she came here—'

'Jonathan—' his mother began.

'Mother! I know you do not like to have your kindness mentioned, but I will give you your due.' Jonathan turned to me. 'Lisa's brother was one of those muddy sweeps you saw today. He was twelve when he was killed by a carelessly driven coach, and he was supporting three younger sisters on his pitiful pay. "Support" is perhaps too broad a term; when Lisa came here she looked like a skeleton with skin stretched tightly over it.'

'She is a workhouse child?' I exclaimed. 'That pretty, bright—'

'She was not pretty and bright when I found her. She and the two younger ones were curled up like starving kittens in a box under some stairs. They were naked except for the mud that coated them. They had sores—'

'Jonathan!' I saw then why Mrs. Scott had her son's respect as well as his love; her tone would have stopped a howling mob. 'You are upsetting Miss Cartwright,' she went on, more gently. 'And, so long as we are complimenting one another, you must have your due. It was Jonathan who saw the boy struck, Miss Cartwright, and who tried to save him. He lived long enough to tell Jonathan of the girls; and my son carried them here. Like so many good acts, it brought its own reward. Lisa is my faithful little helper, I do not know how I would manage without her, and her younger sister is doing well with a friend of mine.'

'You said—you said three sisters,' I muttered.

'We were not able to save the youngest,' Jonathan said expressionlessly. 'She was only four years old.'

The biscuit I was nibbling tasted sour. I put it down on my plate; and Mrs. Scott, who had been
watching me, leaned forward and patted my hand. After all, there was a resemblance between mother and son; they had the same eyes, deep and dark and full of feeling.

'It is too bad of Jonathan to distress you,' she said gently. 'But if there are more of us who feel as you feel about the miseries of this unhappy nation, perhaps one day we can cure its ills.'

'We? What can a woman do to cure a nation's ills?' I said bitterly, remembering my troubles. 'We cannot even rule our own lives.'

'That, too, will change one day, if we work for it.' Mrs. Scott leaned back in her chair. Her face had lost its childlike charm; it was the face of a prophetess, quietly inspired. 'Change does not come of itself; it must be earned, and fought for.'

'Are you—forgive me—one of the reformers I hear about?' I asked.

Mrs. Scott's sternness dissolved in a sputter of laughter.

'I don't look like a crusader, do I? Women had nothing to do with the Crusades, my dear; we are far too sensible for such wasteful extravagance! If you remember your history—'

'But I don't,' I said meekly. 'We only read little excerpts from history books, the parts that were morally improving. How did you learn so much?'

Mrs. Scott flushed prettily.

'I read a great deal,' she said. 'We women may not go to universities, or study with well-educated tutors, but books are open to all. After Jonathan's father died—really, there was nothing else for me to do to fill my time. I could not busy myself with embroidery and visits, they bored me so. Now you will think me a bluestocking!'

'I think you are a darling,' I said impulsively. 'But you are clever, and I am not.'

'When I first began to study for myself, I thought I was very stupid! The mind must be trained by exercise, like the body. But even the great Socrates maintained that women should be educated as men are, since they have the same capacities.'

I glanced at Jonathan and saw that he was beaming proudly. He caught my eye and flushed—I knew now where he had inherited that easily roused blood—and drew his watch from his pocket.

'We must go. I promised Mr. Beam to return his ward by five.'

The sun was still shining when we came out of the house, but the air seemed very cold. When the door closed I felt the strangest pang; it was as if I were being shut out—no, not out, shut m, into a cold, dreary prison.

'She likes you,' Jonathan said, settling down opposite me. 'I could tell.' My headache was back, worse than ever. I felt oddly desolate and cold, and
my whole body ached___I snapped back at him
like a virago.

'I am so glad she approves. I see now where you derive your radical ideas!'

Jonathan's face whitened as if I had struck him.

'And that is all you can say, after hearing her?'

I shrugged, and winced; the slightest movement hurt, and the pain only increased my insane anger.

'Your dreadful tales of poverty are very moving, but you can hardly expect me to take them seriously.'

Jonathan's lips tightened. Throwing open the
window, he put his head out and shouted at James, who was waiting for orders. The coach started off.

'Do close the window,' I said angrily. 'It is freezing cold.'

'The day is mild, in fact,' Jonathan retorted. 'I have directed your coachman to take a different route back to the office. You may find the sights more interesting than those you saw when we came.'

I leaned back in the corner and pulled my cloak about me. I huddled down inside it, shivering, and Jonathan's angry face relaxed a little as he watched me.

'How can you?' he burst out suddenly.

'How can I do what? Resist your mother's charm?'

'No. You cannot hurt me there. I know her worth too well; and so do you, despite your rudeness. Don't you know what they have been doing, in Mr. Beam's office, while we were sent away to amuse ourselves like children? Will you let them pack you away and deliver you, in a tidy box, as if you were a doll? Or—or do you
want
to marry him?'

I was so surprised I almost forgot my aching head and limbs that felt as if weighted with lead.

'It is no concern of yours whom I marry.'

'No,' Jonathan said bitterly. 'I am a poor clerk; I have no title and no beauty. Whereas he ... don't you know the sort of man he is? Has no one told you of his past?'

Now I felt ill in earnest. I had no need to question him; my widened eyes and increased pallor did that for me, and he was only too willing to talk.

'He killed a man,' Jonathan said. 'He was sent down from the university for that, in his youth. Oh, it was a duel, of course—one of our brutal, acceptable customs. But the other man had never fought, never been trained in the use of arms, and Clare knew it when he challenged him. He could have wounded the boy, or disarmed him. He is a first-rate swordsman. But it seems that the boy's sister—'

'Stop it,' I cried. 'Stop, I will not listen!'

All at once the stench from the open window struck me like a blow in the face. I turned my head. I thought for a moment that I had fallen asleep and was in the grip of a nightmare.

Jonathan's hand closed over mine with bruising force. His face was transformed, his eyes were glittering feverishly.

'Look well,' he said. 'You laughed, once, when I spoke of this. Perhaps the reality will not seem so amusing.'

The street was so narrow there was scarcely room for the coach to pass. It was unpaved; the wheels squelched through mud and slush and the accumulated refuse of centuries, releasing miasmic gases that made the head swim. The blackened, ancient houses leaned crazily on their rotting foundations, their upper stories almost meeting. The rays of the setting sun, which shone with a lurid red light through the narrow gap above, had brought the dreadful inhabitants of these hovels out into the air.

They clustered in the dark slits of doorways like maggots. Swathed in tattered rags like bundles of refuse, they watched us pass, and their faces might have been stamped out of a single mold—pasty
white, except where they were disfigured by scars and sores.

One woman, sprawled on a stoop, held a half-empty bottle. Her face, at least, was cheerful, but her idiot grin was even uglier than the hatred transfiguring the other faces. Her bodice was open to the waist; a naked infant hung at one breast. As we passed by, the child lost its hold and fell, rolling in the foul gutter; the mother laughed and raised the bottle high, so that the liquid spilled from her gaping mouth and dribbled down into her bosom.

Then a face was thrust up against mine, obscuring the woman's terrible laughter. It was a man's face, bearded and filthy, the mouth open in a shout that showed rotten stumps of teeth. His voice was hoarse and broken; it shouted words I did not know, but which needed no translation; the tone carried the meaning enough.

I have a dim recollection of Jonathan's hand thrusting the screaming face away, and closing the window, and that is all I recall, until I came to my senses to find that the coach had stopped and Jonathan was holding me in his arms. My face lay against his breast, and his hand was on my cheek.

'Burning hot' I heard him mutter. 'My poor little love ... I didn't know ...'

'Where are we?' I mumbled.

'At Mr. Beam's. Lucy, why didn't you tell me you were ill? I would never ... Only a moment, my darling, I will find your aunt ... a doctor...'

I was too dizzy and spent to remonstrate; and he was too distraught to be sensible. If he had stopped to think he would have left me in the coach while he went to fetch my aunt. Instead, he scooped me up into his arms and ran up the stairs with me,
bursting into Mr. Beam's office like a wild bull. I heard a great explosion of voices and then saw my aunt's face bending over me. Her concern appeared genuine, but I was not deceived; a dying girl is worth nothing in the marriage market.

'In heaven's name, you young blackguard,' she exclaimed. 'What have you done to her?'

It was typical of my aunt that she should blame my illness on the person closest at hand, and poor Jonathan was so overcome by remorse that he had not sense enough to deny the ridiculous charge. Still squeezed in my arms, I heard his agitated voice babbling about Seven Dials and his efforts to arouse my social conscience. I muttered fretfully, but no one heard me. Then I cried out in earnest as hard hands grasped me and tore me away from Jonathan's arms. The rough handling shook me awake; huddled in an armchair I saw more clearly.

My aunt was kneeling at my side and Mr. Beam, like an animated thundercloud, glowered impartially on all. The center of the stage was held by Jonathan and Clare. It was Clare who had taken me from Jonathan, and now he confronted the younger man in an icy rage that quite transformed his handsome face. He looked like a devil. Jonathan, shriveling in the consciousness of his own guilt, cowered before him.

I had doubted Jonathan's story of the duel, but I could not do so any longer. Clare's expression was all the proof I needed. I knew what was going to happen; I knew I must prevent it, somehow, but I could not seem to move.