by A. J. Cronin
The night was fresh, the air soothing to her cheek, the unseen flowers more fragrant from the dew, and, hidden by the darkness, she moved down the road at a free and rapid pace. Although she did not immediately question the causes of this lightness of her mood, the throb of the coming springtime was stirring her, moving her as she had been moved by the budding lilac tree, and the nature of her present journey was filling her unconsciously with happiness. But, as she drew near to Wellhall Road she seemed to apprehend dimly the reason of her present cheerfulness, and gradually her steps slowed, and she became confronted by a sudden thought. What right had she to inflict herself upon a busy man who had patients waiting at his house? who was doubtless tired from a hard day’s work; further, if it were indeed he who had sent the grapes, what impertinence on her part to refuse them! She was stabbed by the thought that her mission was a ruse, a subterfuge invented by her evasive mind to enable her to see him and, while her father’s abusive words again rose before her like a judgment, she began to feel how unnecessary it was, now that Nessie appeared to be improving, for her to visit Dr Renwick as she proposed. By some strange association of season, or was it of her sensations, her mind flew back to another springtime, and she realised that when she had known Denis in the past he had followed her, pursued her ardently; but now, and she blushed painfully in the darkness, it was she who actually wished to thrust her unworthy presence upon a man who had no desire to see her.
By this time she had reached his house and, on the opposite side of the road, she stopped, rather dejectedly, and surveyed it, considering in her mind the tasteful decorations, the exquisite picture which had compelled her rapt attention. No! she would not go in, but merely watch the house for a moment under cover of the darkness and fill it with his presence, just as in the future she would come to this same spot, and vision him again in that rich room when he had left the town for good.
As she stood there she heard the quick crisp chatter of a horse’s trot, saw two high yellow lights gleam in the obscurity and, before she could move away, the doctor’s gig came whirling to his house. Drawing back into the shadow of the wall she observed the pleasant bustle at the door, heard the pawing of the horse, the jingle of its harness, then Renwick’s firm voice, which shook her by its nearness, saying to his man:
‘I shan’t be out again to-night, Dick; at least I hope not! Good night to you!’
‘Good night to you, sir. Hope you won’t be disturbed,’ she heard the groom reply, and clambering back into his seat he drove off to the adjoining stable. With eyes that strained through the blackness she followed Renwick’s dim figure to the porch, then, as the door was suddenly flung open and he was silhouetted against the brilliant light within, she saw him vividly. For a moment he turned and surveyed the darkness, looking directly towards her. Although she knew herself to be invisible to him, she trembled as though he had discovered her and would retrace his steps and demand to know the reason of her prying presence at this hour. But he did not return. After a last look at the night he went into his house, closing the door behind him, leaving the darkness unrelieved.
For a moment she remained still, overcome by her thoughts, then she stirred and began to move back towards her home, drooping a little, stealing quietly through the streets, as though some pervading realisation weighed her with a sense of infamy. She knew that she, Mary Brodie, outcast, the despoiled virgin, the mother of a dead and nameless child, loved again, but was herself unloved.
Chapter Eight
Sunday afternoon still held for Brodie the indulgence of an afternoon repose, for although he rose late and did not dine until two, custom died hard with him, and the blank hours of three until five found him invariably in his shirt-sleeves and upon his back upon the sofa. It was not, however, the parlour sofa, but the couch within the kitchen upon which he rested; the other room was still hallowed to Nessie’s studies, which were pursued on this day of rest with an intensity equal to that of week days, and he considered that it was a sacrifice on his part savouring of the heroic to have suggested, and carried into effect, this transference of his repose to a less dignified settee.
On this Sunday the hot July sun had made him feel drowsy and, having seen his younger daughter begin upon her work, exhorting her the more strongly in the face of the nearness of the great day of examination next week, he now laid himself down with the air of one who must not be disturbed and allowed the drone of a fly upon the window to lull him into sleep.
It was, as he had just impressed upon Nessie, the last lap of the race, and whilst he snored, in the happy consciousness of having done his part towards success by relinquishing the parlour, she addressed herself, with a slightly feverish mind, towards her final perusal of the third book of Euclid. Her face was flushed from the heat inside the parlour, and a buzzing of insects, like that which had sent Brodie so comfortably to sleep, annoyed her and distracted her mind from its intent purpose. She had never been quite sure of her geometry, and now, with the examination coming off in a few days’ time, her deficiencies in this subject had intimidated her, and impelled her to rush once more through the entire third book. She knotted her brow and moved her lips as she again began to cram the eighth proposition into her brain but, despite her concentration, the words upon the page wavered, the diagrams became blurred, and the lines ran into strange fantastic shapes, not unlike the eccentric figures which had lately filled her troubled dreams and tormented her at nights in her sleep. The axis of the angle to the vertical was the co-efficient of – no, no, what was she talking about – that was perfect nonsense! She must stick into it better than that, or the Latta would slip out of this pocket of hers where it so safely reposed, and run away like a white mouse that would quickly nibble up all these golden sovereigns like so much cheese. How hot it was! And how her head ached! Her English was excellent, Latin perfect, French quite good, algebra splendid – yes, she was a clever girl, everybody said so, and indeed the examiners for the Bursary would realise it the moment they set eyes upon her. When she had made her way proudly and confidently to school on the day of an examination she had, in the consciousness of her eminence, always felt that people whispered to one another, saying: ‘That’s Nessie Brodie! She’s the cleverest scholar in the Academy; she’ll come out first in this test as sure as her name’s Brodie.’ Perhaps the professors at the University would put their heads together and talk like that, at least they would do so after they had read her papers. They must do so! – or her father would want to know the reason of it, indeed, if they failed to recognise who she was and to give her the first place he would knock their heads together for them like so many coconuts. Coconuts! Matt had promised to bring her some when he had left for India and she had wanted a monkey and a parrot, too, but he had somehow forgotten about them, and now that he had gone off with that terrible woman he would never remember about a wee thing like Nessie Brodie. Had he married Nancy? She did not know; but Nancy was wicked, even if Matt had put a ring on her finger, and not like Mary, who was good and kind to her. Yet Mary was not married, although she had somehow had a baby which was dead and never mentioned by anyone. Mary never spoke of it, but had a sadness about her face as though there was something on her mind that she could never forget Mary was always running after her, giving her soup and eggs and milk, cuddling her and telling her not to work so hard. Mary wanted her to win the Latta, but in a reasonable way, and simply to prevent her from being hurt by their father. Her dear sister would cry if she did not win it – and yet she need not cry. If she failed it would be a wonderful idea never to tell Mary, to let the years run on and never say a single word about it. What was she thinking of? There must be no failing! If she was not sitting high up in that first place – ‘at the top of the class’ – as her father had always called it, she herself would have to take the consequences. ‘I’ll wring that thin neck of yours if you let anybody beat ye – and after the way I’ve coached ye on for’t’ – that was what he was always dinning into her ears between his spells of p
etting and wheedling. He had big hands!
The axis of the angle to the vertical – really it was the height of absurdity that she should be doing this on such a hot day, and on the Sabbath day too, when she might have been at the Bible Class with the white frock and the pink sash that Mamma had made for her. But that was worn out or grown out of now; she was getting a big girl. Yet Mamma had always liked her to go to Sunday School with kid gloves and her face washed after dinner. ‘Lad and lass, kiss and cas’, Nessie’s in the Bible Class.’ She was not in it now though, but working hard, ever so hard at her lessons – ‘ Yes, father, I’m stickin’ in hard. What I’m doin’, I’m doin’ weel.’ Mamma had liked her to please father, but Mamma was dead. She had no mother and Mary had no baby! Mamma and Mary’s baby were together sitting on a cloud, waving to her, and singing: ‘ Nessie Brodie’s going to win the Latta.’ She wanted to join in the chorus with all her might, but something tightened her throat and restrained her. Lately she had not been so sure of herself. No! it was a big thing for a girl, and a Brodie at that, to win the Latta. A big thing and a difficult thing! She had been sure of it at first, so much so that at one time the heap of golden guineas had lain piled upon her plate for everyone to see and admire. But now a dreadful, secret doubt was creeping into her mind as to whether she could do it. No one knew about it – that was a comfort – and no one would ever know. ‘Yes, father, I’m getting on splendid – couldn’t be better. That Grierson hasn’t got a chance. I’m the stumbling block. The Latta’s mine already.’ He was pleased at that, rubbing his hands together and smiling at her approvingly – and it was fine for her to feel that she was pleasing him! She would hide everything so cleverly and carefully that he would never see that she was not sure of herself. She had her own ways of doing things, the clever girl that she was! She was inside her own mind, now, creeping about the passages of her brain, admiring, congratulating herself, seeing her very thoughts flow with a marvellous rippling fluency, watching them delightedly as they flashed past like brilliant, rushing waves of scintillating light
At last she started suddenly, her eyes lost their vacancy, her face its smooth, unruffled placidity and, as she rubbed her brows with her hand and looked at the clock, she murmured, confusedly: ‘Good sakes! what have I been thinking about? Have I been asleep or what? There’s an hour gone and I can’t mind a thing about it!’ She shook her head with annoyance at her own weakness, at the loss of this precious hour, and was once more about to apply herself to the Book of Euclid when the door opened quietly and her sister came into the room.
‘Here’s a glass of milk for you, dear,’ whispered Mary, tiptoeing up to the table. ‘Father’s asleep now, so I thought I might bring you this. It’s cold as can be. I’ve had the jug in running water for an hour.’
Nessie took the glass from her sister and began to sip it in an absent fashion.
‘It’s cool as cool,’ she replied, after a moment ‘It’s as good as ice-cream on a day like this. Did you ever feel it so close?’
Mary pressed her palm lightly against her sister’s cheek.
‘You’re hot!’ she murmured. ‘Will you not take a half an hour off and come out in the air with me?’
‘And what would happen to me if he woke up and found I had gone out?’ queried Nessie, with a sharp look. ‘You know you would get it worse than me, too! No! I’ll stay where I am. This milk is cooling me fine. Besides, I’ve got all this book to get through before Friday.’
‘How is the headache now?’ said Mary after a pause, during which she contemplated the other with some anxiety.
‘Just the same! It doesn’t feel like a headache now. It’s more a numbness.’
‘Would you like me to put on some more cold water and vinegar cloths for you?’
‘Never mind, Mary! I don’t think they do much good. I’ll be better after next Saturday when I’ve got the exam over. That’s the only thing that’ll cure it.’
‘Is there nothing you can think of that you’d like?’
‘No! There’s nothing I fancy at all. It’s real kind of you though, Mary. You’ve been wonderful to me, and you’ve had to put up with so much yourself. But I could never have done without you.’
‘I’ve done nothing,’ replied Mary sadly. ‘I would like to have done much more. I wish I could have stopped you from going up for the Bursary, but it was impossible! I didn’t want you to take it.’
‘Don’t say that!’ cried Nessie quickly. ‘You know I must go up for it. I’ve thought of nothing else for the last six months, and if I had to draw back now it would fair break my heart, I must take it’
‘Do you really want to go on with it?’ asked Mary doubtfully.
‘Just think how I’ve worked,’ replied Nessie with some emotion; ‘just think how I’ve been made to work. Am I going to let all that go for nothing? I should hope not. I’m so set on it myself now that I couldn’t hold back if I was to try. I feel it now like something that’s gripping me and drawing me on.’
Mary gazed at the nervous eagerness in her sister’s eyes, and, in an attempt to soothe the other, murmured consolingly:
‘It’ll not be long till it’s over now, anyway, Nessie! Don’t fret yourself too much about it. Let the work go easy for a day or two.’
‘How can you talk like that,’ exclaimed Nessie petulantly. ‘You know I’ve got all this ground to get over – and it’s most important too. This third book is not right into my head yet. I must get it in. I’ve – I’ve got to drive it in like a nail so that it will stay in and never come out. I might get a question on this very thing that you’re telling me to leave alone.’
‘Hush, Nessie, dear! Don’t excite yourself,’ pleaded Mary.
‘It’s enough to make anybody excited,’ cried the other wildly. ‘Here am I working the brains out of myself and you would think that all I had to do was to walk up to that university and ask for the Latta and come home with it in my hand like a stick of toffee. It’s not like that at all. I tell you.’
‘Wheesht, Nessie! Be calm, pettie,’ soothed Mary. ‘Don’t upset yourself, I didn’t mean anything like that.’
‘You did so!’ returned Nessie agitatedly. ‘Everybody thinks the same thing. They think it’s that easy for me because I’m so clever. They don’t know the work and the toil that I’ve been forced to put in. It’s been enough to drive me out of my mind.’
‘I know though, dear,’ replied Mary softly, stroking the other’s brow. ‘I know all about it and how you’ve been kept at it! Don’t worry yourself though. You’re getting tired and anxious. You used to be ever so confident about it. Never mind if you don’t win the miserable Bursary. What does it matter!’
Nessie, however, was so strung up that no attitude her sister could have adopted would have pleased her, and now she burst into tears.
‘What does it matter,’ she sobbed hysterically. ‘That’s a good one, that is, for me that’s set my very heart on winning it. And to call the good hundred sovereigns that I’ll get “miserable” is enough to discourage anybody. Don’t you know what father’ll do to me if I don’t win it? He’ll kill me.’
‘He’ll not do that, Nessie,’ replied Mary steadily. ‘I’m here now and I’ll protect you from any fear of that. I’ll be there when you get the result and if he tries to lay a finger on you it’ll be the worse for him.’
‘What could you do?’ cried Nessie. ‘You talk as if it was better for you to stand up to father than for me to win the Latta.’
Mary did not reply to this ungracious speech but stood silent, soothing Nessie by gentle movements of her hands, until at last the other’s sobs ceased and, drying her eyes, she remarked with a sudden composure:
‘I don’t know what we’re goin’ on about, running round in a circle like that. We’ve been talkin’ nonsense. Of course I’ll win the Latta and that’s the end of it!’
‘That’s right, dear,’ returned Mary, happy to see the other more tranquil. ‘I know you will. Have you got on well to-day?’
‘You know I’ll say nothing,’ answered Mary, looking at her sister perplexedly, considering with some degree of wonder this sudden change in her manner and disposition. Did Nessie really think that she would succeed, or was this attitude assumed to conceal a deeper and more secret fear that she might fail? Thinking anxiously of the immediate future that lay before her sister, Mary said slowly:
‘You’ll be sure to let me know the result before father, won’t you, Nessie? Let me know whenever it comes out’
‘Of course I will,’ replied the other with a continuance of the same manner, but directing her eyes from her sister and looking sideways out of the window. ‘We’ll not know till a fortnight after the examination.’
‘You’re sure now,’ insisted Mary. ‘Say that we’ll open the letter together.’
‘Yes! Yes!’ cried Nessie fretfully. ‘Have I not told you that I would long ago. You can open it yourself for all I care. I’ve promised you and I’ll not break my word. You should be letting me get on instead of harping on about that.’