Hatter's Castle

by Арчибальд Джозеф Кронин

  They were nearly at her gate now, and drawing up a short distance away, he said in an odd voice:

  "Well! Here we are back again! It's been very short, hasn't it?”

  "Very short," she echoed as she arose from the seat and descended to the ground.

  “We should have had longer at Markinch," he said stiffly; then, after a pause, "I may not see you again. I suppose I better say good- bye." They looked at each other a long time and from beneath him, her eyes shone with a faintly suppliant light; then he drew off his glove and extended his hand to her, saying in a strained tone,

  "Good-bye."

  Mechanically she took his hand and as she felt within her grasp the firm, cool strength of his fingers, that she had so often admired, that had once soothed her tortured body but would never again do so, these fingers she loved devotedly, her feelings suddenly overcame her and, with a sob, she pressed her warm lips fervently against his hand and kissed it, then fled from him down the road and entered her house.

  For a moment he looked at his hand incredulously, then raised his head, and, regarding her vanishing figure, made as though to leap out of the trap and follow her; but he did not, and after a long stillness, during which he again gazed at his hand, a strange look entered his eyes, he shook his head sadly, and drawing on his glove, he drove slowly down the road.

  IX

  "BRING in some more porridge for your sister!" cried out Brodie to Mary in a loud voice. "You could put this in your eye what you've given her. How do you expect her to work on an empty stomach, and to-day of all days?"

  "But, Father," protested Nessie weakly, "I asked Mary not to give me so much. I'm to have a switched egg. The thought of more porridge sickens me this morning."

  "Tuts, woman! You don't know what's good for ye," replied Brodie. "It's a good job you've got your father to look after ye and see that ye take what's wholesome. Stick into that porridge now! That's the stuff to lie against your ribs and fit ye for what's before ye." And he leant back largely in his chair, surveying with a self-satisfied eye the figure of his younger daughter as, with a faintly trembling spoon, she endeavoured to thrust a few further spoonfuls of porridge between her nervous, unwilling lips. He did not consider that it nauseated her to eat this morning, or that in her anxiety she might have been happier to be left quietly alone, but, in high fettle at the thought that this was the great day, the day of competition for the Latta, he had not departed for the office at his usual hour but remained to sustain and encourage her with his presence. He would, he thought, be a fine one if he could not see his daughter off to take the Latta. Gad! that was not the style of him, though! He had stuck to his task through all these weary months, ay, and seen that she had stuck to hers, with such perfect thoroughness that now he was not the man to spoil the broth for a halfpennyworth of salt. No! He would not go into the office this morning, would not, indeed, go in all day. He would take a whole holiday for the occasion. It was a festival; he had worked for it and, by God! he would enjoy it. A faint grin marked his features at this consideration and) still surveying her with satisfaction, he cried:

  "That's right, woman! Take it steady. There's no need for hurry. Your father's behind ye."

  "Has she not taken enough now, Father?" ventured Mary, her eyes pleading towards him from out her fine-drawn face. "She's maybe too anxious to eat this morning. I've a beaten egg for her here."

  "Take it up, Ness take it up," drawled Brodie, ignoring completely the interruption. "We know what puts the pith into a body. Ye might be downright starved if it wasna for me. I'm not the one to let ye sit through a three hours' examination with nothing inside of ye to stand up to it." He was in his element, reaping the fruits of his labour with her, his vicissitudes forgotten, the stabbing memory of Nancy for the present eased, and, opening his mouth in a broader and more derisive smile, he exclaimed, "Gad! It's joist occurred to me that maybe that snipe o' a Grierson is sittin' at the table, watchin' that whelp o' his stap down his breakfast and wonderin’ what'n all the world he's goin' to make o' himself the day. Ay, it's a rich thought for me." His smile dried up, became bitter. "The Provost o' the Borough, forsooth the fine, easy spokesman o' the town. God! He's lookin' gey small and mean and anxious this mornin', I'll wager." He paused for a moment then, observing that Nessie, who had succeeded in finishing the porridge, was sipping her egg and milk, he cried roughly, as though the bitterness of the thought of Grierson had not quite left him, "Here! Take a scone and butter to that slush if ye will drink it." He glowered at Mary, adding, "Some folks would make a jaw box o' that stomach of yours!" then, returning his glance to Nessie, he continued, in an admonishing tone. "Don't flicker your een like that, woman; you would think that it was a frichtsome business that you were goin' up for to-day, instead o' an easy osey piece of writin' that you've got to do. It's all in your head, waitin' to come out. All that's to do is to take up your pen and write it down. Is that anything to upset ye so that you take a scunner at the good, wholesome porridge?" He reviewed the profound wisdom of his logic blandly, then, as though the absurdity of her nervousness suddenly irritated him, he shot at her questioningly,

  "What the de'il is it you're feared of? Are ye not my daughter? What is there in this and about it all to make ye grue like that?"

  She thought of the lofty examination hall, filled by the scratching of a score of fiercely competitive pens; she saw the silent, black-gowned figure of the examiner upon his rostrum sitting severe and omnipotent like a judge; she saw her own small, bowed insignificant figure writing feverishly but, veiling her gaze, she replied hurriedly:

  "There's nothing I'm afraid of, Father! It's maybe the thought of the journey that's upsetting me a bit. I'm not thinkin' of the Latta at all. They might have posted the result already, for all the good it'll do the others to go up."

  He smiled at her again broadly, exclaiming:

  "That's more like the spirit! That's more like my daughter! We havena put ye through your paces for nothing. Now that I'm showin' you, ye maun step high when you're in the ring." He paused, pleased by his comparison, which combined with his present elation and the excitement of her departure, reminded him vaguely of those days when he had set out for the Cattle Show, and he cried, "You're on show the day, Nessie, and I'm proud of ye. I know before ye go up who'll come back with the red ticket round her neck. My daughter, Nessie Brodie that's the name that'll be on everybody's lips. We're goin' to startle the town between us. By God! They'll look the other way along their noses when they meet me now. We'll show them!" He considered her fondly, almost admiringly, remarking, after

  a moment, "Gad! It fair beats me, when I look at that wee head o' yours and think on all that's in it. Latin and French and mathematics, and heaven knows a' what. And yet it's no bigger than my fist. Ay! It's a true word that good gear gangs in small bulk. It's the quality that counts. It's downright gratify in' for a man to see his own brains comin' out in his daughter; ay, and to be able to give her the opportunity. When I was your age I never had a chance like you."

  He sighed commiseratingly. "No! I would have gone far had I been given the chance, but I had to get out into the world and make my own way. There were no Lattas in those days or I would have lifted the whole jing bang o' them." He lifted his eyes to her and exclaimed in an altered, excited tone, "But it'll be different with you, Nessie. You'll have your chance. I'll see to that. You'll see what I'll do for ye when you've won the Latta. I'll I'll I'll push ye on to the highest ye can go." He banged his fist upon the table and considered her triumphantly, adding, "Are ye not pleased with what I'm doin' for ye?"

  "Yes, Father," she murmured. "I'm I'm real pleased at it all."

  "And I should think so!" he cried. "There's not a man in Levenford would have done what I've done for ye. See that ye don't forget it!

  When ye come back with that Latta don't let it fly to your head. Remember who has done it for you!"

  She glanced at him timidly, as she remarked in a low voice:

  "You're not
expecting me to bring it home to-night, Father? It'll be a good while before the result comes out a fortnight, anyway!"

  As though she had suddenly baulked him of the keen zest of his enjoyment, his look took on a sudden displeasure.

  "Are ye off again on that tack? What's all this goin’ on about results? Do you think I expect ye to bring the money back in a bag? I know it'll come in good time. I know it's for your studies. I'm not just gaspin' for't. But I seem to feel that you Ye gettin' anxious as to whethei you'll get your fingers on it or not."

  "Oh! No, Father," she said hastily, "I'm not thinking about that at all. I was just afraid ye might think I would know for sure tonight."

  "For sure," he repeated slowly; "are ye not 'for sure' already?"

  "Yes! Yes!" she cried. "I'm sure. I'm dead positive about it. I hardly know what I'm saying, I'm so excited at going up to the University."

  "Don't let all this grand excitement run awa' with you," he replied warningly. "Remember you Ye sixteen years old now, and if that's not old enough for you to have some control, then you'll never have it. Don't lose your heid, that's all I say! Have ye got a' things that you need your pen and your nibs and your rubber and what not ?"

  "I get everything I want up there," she answered meekly. "Everything like that is supplied to us."

  "I see! Well, in that case ye canna very well say ye had forgotten your pen." He paused and looked at the clock. "It's gettin' near time for your train. Have ye eaten your fill of everything?"

  She felt her stomach turn uneasily as she whispered:

  "Yes, Father."

  He arose and went over to his pipe rack, remarking complacently:

  "Well, I've done my bit of the business, anyway."

  As he turned his back, Mary moved nearer to her sister, saying in a low tone, close to Nessie's ear:

  "I'll go down to the station with you, Nessie, just to keep you company and see that you get away all right. I'll not worry you by speaking."

  "What's that?" cried Brodie, turning like a flash. He had, unfortunately, heard something of her words. "You'll go down to the station, will ye?" he sneered. "Indeed now! That is verra considerate of ye. You'll do this and you'll do that with your interfering the same sleekit way that your mother used to have. Is Nessie not capable of walkin' a few yards by herself, that you must tie a bit of string round her neck and lead her along?" His sneer became a snarl. "Have I not told ye to leave my Nessie alone? You'll go to no station. You’ll do nothing for her. Shell go down by herself." He turned to Nessie. "You don't want her botherin' you, do you, hinny?"

  Her eyes fell as she faltered, in a faint voice, "No, Father, not if you say it."

  Brodie returned his glance to Mary with a dark insolence.

  "You see!" he cried. "She doesna want ye! Keep out of what doesna concern ye. I'll do all that's wanted. I'll get her things for her myself this morning. Here! Nessie! Where's your hat and coat? I'm goin' to see you to the door." He swelled at the thought of the honour he was conferring upon her as she dumbly indicated the sofa where, brushed, sponged and pressed, lay the worn, blue serge jacket of her, every-day wear the only one she now possessed and her straw hat which now bravely flaunted a new satin band bought by her sister and stitched in place by her devoted fingers. He lifted the coat and hat, handed them to her, assisted her even, in the fullness of his service, to assume the coat so that she now stood, a small, indescribably pathetic figure, clothed and ready for her journey. He patted her upon the shoulder with an extravagant flourish, exclaiming, as though he had dressed her fully with his own hands, "There now! you're all set up for the road. Do ye not think it's a great honour for you that

  I've taken the day off to see you out like this? Come on and I'll take you to the door."

  She was, however, strangely disinclined to move, but remained with her head averted from him, her gaze drawn to Mary's dark and tender eyes, her lower lip drooping slightly, her thin fingers into locked and twisting nervously. The clear skin of her face, denuded of its one-time colour almost to a pale transparency, seemed stretched tightly over the puny framework of her features, its pallor accentuated by the fine-spun sheen of the flaxen hair which, now unplaited invested loosely the small, drawn countenance. She stood inert, realising that the climax of her endeavours was at hand and that she was loath to face it; then, suddenly appearing to forget the presence of her father, she advanced close to Mary and murmured in a low, almost inaudible tone, "I'm not wanting to go, Mary. I've got the band round my brow again. I would rather stay at home." Yet almost in the same breath, as though she were unaware that she had uttered these whispered words, she cried:

  "I'm ready then, Father. I've got everything I want. I'm as right as the mail and ready to stick into it."

  He stared at her, then relaxed slowly.

  "Come on, then, and look sharp about it. What are you moonin' about her for? No more of your silly dawdlin' or you'll miss your train."

  "I'll not miss it, Father," she cried eagerly, breaking away from Mary without looking at her as though she had not heard her sister's last murmur of encouragement or the promise to meet her at the station on her return. "No! No!" she exclaimed. "That wouldn't be like me to do a thing like that. I haven't worked all these six months for nothing. What an idea!" She drew back her narrow shoulders and, demonstrating her willingness by passing him and hastening into the hall, she went to the front door and opened it wide. "I'm away then, Father," she cried loudly and in a fashion something after his own manner. "I'll be back when you see me!"

  "Hold on a minute," he exclaimed, with a frown, lumbering after her. "I said I was goin' to see ye to the door, did I not! What's come over ye that you're rushing like this." He surveyed her for a moment from beneath his heavy eyebrows, then, reassured by the brightness now manifested in her eyes, he cried, "You'll do, though you've got the look on ye as if ye couldna get to that examination quick enough. Away wi' ye, then. I'll warrant ye'll put your back into it. I've got ye just in the right fettle. Ye canna help but win it now."

  He clapped his hands together as though shooing her off, exclaiming, "Off with ye now and put salt on that Grierson's tail."

  "Trust me," she returned lightly. "I'll put so much salt on him that I'll pickle him!"

  "Good enough," he cried delightedly, following her fondly with his eyes as she went out of the gate and down the road. She did not once look back. As he stood at his door watching her slight figure dwindling into the distance, he was filled momentarily by a powerful return of his old, proud, disdainful complacency. Gad! But she was a smarter, was his Nessie! As clever as you make them, with the sharpness of a needle, a sharpness that would prick that big, swollen bladder of a Grierson until the wind rushed out of him like a burst bagpipe. He had primed her well for the event too, made her as keen as a young greyhound to get out of the leash, and when she had left him just now, there had been a gleam in her eye that had fairly warmed him.

  He had done that by his firm handling of the lass, forcing some of his own fire into her blood, filling her with a determination to succeed.

  "Stick into it, Nessie!" That had been his slogan and one which was more than justified! She would walk away with the Latta, putting a hundred miles, or marks, or whatever it might be, between Grierson and herself. Grierson might even be last! With a grim smile at the relish of his thoughts, he slowly turned, sniffed the clear air with an added appreciation from his freedom, mounted the steps and went into the house.

  Inside he halted aimlessly in the hall, losing something of the first flush of his elation in the realisation that, although it was not yet eleven o'clock and he was to-day a free man, he did not quite know what to do with himself; but after a moment he went into the kitchen and gravitated to his chair, where he sat watching Mary out of the corner of his eye, as she went about her morning tasks.

  She made no comment upon his absence from the office and was, as always, quiet and composed, though to-day an added darkness lay in and around the pools of her eyes.
In her manner she gave him no indication of the nature of her inward thoughts. He opened his lips to speak to her, to make some scathing comment upon the disparity between Nessie and herself barbed with a bitter innuendo concerning her past history, but he did not utter the words, knowing that whatever he said would be met by the same impenetrable silence. He would not speak yet! She could, he thought, be as dour as she liked and as quiet as she liked, but he knew what was at the back of her mind in spite of all her assumption of indifference. She was after his Nessie, interfering whenever she could, obstructing his intentions, laying herself out slyly at every turn to defeat his purpose. Let her wait though! He too was waiting and if ever she directly opposed him with Nessie, it would be a sad day for her!

  As, without appearing to observe her, he followed the smooth, graceful movements of his daughter, an association of ideas confronted him suddenly with the memory of another woman whom he had loved as much as he hated this one Nancy, the ultimate object of his waking, yes, even of his dreaming, mind. Now, however, he

  clenched his teeth firmly and shook the obsessing vision of her from his head, determined that nothing should mar the triumph of this day. It was Nessie that he wanted to think of Nessie, his solace who would now be sitting in the train, revolving in her clever brain some of these lessons which he had kept her at so assiduously, or considering, perhaps, the last exhortation he had given her. He had always felt that this would be a great day for him and now he was aware that he must not let himself become depressed, that he must sustain his spirits at that high level to which they had risen earlier in the morning. He would have a drink just to liven him a little.