by Jean Plaidy
Excited like this she was certainly pretty, as pretty as Margaret perhaps, but in a different way. She was staring at her dress, for the pearl and turquoise brooch which the squire had given her on her last birthday was not there. Her fingers flew to her dress in dismay; she could not believe the mirror was telling the truth. The brooch had gone. She began to ask herself if she had put it on that morning. Had she left it in the inn on the other side of Bagshot Heath? But no. Distinctly she remembered she had the brooch pinned in her dress when she came into this parlour.
Well, she had lost it; she must.resign herself to that. Did it matter? Every time she put it on she thought of the squire’s hot fingers fastening it at her neck, as he had done on the day he had given it to her. But though she was young she was no fool. The lady had come very close to her when she had made her wish. She had felt her close while she murmured the wish over and over again to herself. Oh, how wicked she was to think such evil thoughts of one who had been so kind I But, wicked as she was, she was feeling in the pocket of her cloak to make sure that she still had her purse.
The purse had gone … had disappeared as surely as the brooch!
Hot anger burned in Carolan’s cheeks. Not for the loss of her brooch and her purse … oh, no, that was a loss certainly, but there was something that went deeper than that. Oh, the wickedness! To say such things! The deceit! The pretence! The hypocrisy!
I’d have her beaten! Carolan said to herself furiously. I’d have her jailed, sent to Newgate! I’d have her hanged! The wicked old thief!
Carolan ran out into the yard. She was young and fleet, and the woman had been neither. Eagerly Carolan looked about her, but there was no sign of her quarry. Out in the street people glanced curiously at her, noting her flaming face. If I catch her, thought Carolan, oh … if I catch her! She thought she had a glimpse of her, and started to run, but even before she had collided with an old woman selling bunches of lavender, she realized she had been mistaken.
“Look where you are going, lady!” scolded the lavender woman, and then seeing Carolan’s good clothes she held out her wares and chanted: “Sweet blooming lavender, lady. Won’t you buy my sweet blooming lavender…?”
Carolan looked into the seamed face before her, ugly from the pox, and lined with cares.
“I have no money,” she said.
“I have just been robbed of my purse.”
With some, that might have been an excuse not to buy. but one does not sell lavender outside the Oxford Arms day in and day out without learning something of human nature; and here was a young face, a young and lovely face with wonderful green eyes that flashed anger and pity together, and a tremulous mouth that had not yet learned to give the ready lie to a pestering street crier.
“A bad business, lady,” said the woman.
“I hope you’ll not be incommoded…”
“And my brooch,” said Carolan.
“My brooch and my purse … by a creature who said she would tell my fortune and take nothing for it.”
“Why, bless you, lady, it is few there are that gives and take nothing in this world.”
“Indeed, it seems so,” agreed Carolan, and hated the teller of fortunes afresh, for she longed now to give a coin to this poor old woman.
“I am on my way to my parents’ house,” she said, ‘and as I have been staying in the country for a long time. I have never seen the house in which they live. I shall have to walk there. Please, could you tell me the way? It is Grape Street that I wish to go to.” The woman was silent for a moment while she sniffed her lavender. Then her eyes rested on Carolan’s dress and cloak and the good shoes she wore.
“Grape Street, did you say? Grape Street?
“Tis not so very far, but are you sure it was Grape Street?”
“Quite sure,” said Carolan.
“Well, then, you walk straight on till you get to Holborn. Then I think mayhap you would do better to ask again.
“Tis one of the streets that run behind Holborn. Not so far to walk, if you have the feet for walking. And lady, are you new to London?” Carolan, chastened by recent experiences, said humbly that she had never set foot in the city before in her life. There are more rogues to be met in London in one half-hour than in a year in your country towns, lady. Be careful who you should ask the way.”
“Thank you,” said Carolan.
“Thank you.” The woman looked after her. as she went up the street, scratched her pock-marked brow, shrugged her shoulders, giggled a little, and murmured: “Grape Street, eh? Grape Street!” And then, seeing a likely customer, forgot the unusual sight of a well-dressed young girl from the country asking the way to Grape Street, and sang out in a high quavering voice: “Will you buy my sweet blooming lavender …?”
Carolan hurried on, looking about her eagerly. Here was a lively spectacle on which to feast the eyes people everywhere; gay people and sad people, some who talked incessantly, some who were silent, some who shrieked with laughter, some who mumbled to themselves. Everywhere there were people; they thronged the street, jostling one another, so that unless one was young and determined to have a share in it oneself, one was pushed out into the dirty carriage-way. At street corners were whining beggars, their diseased and dirty flesh visible through their rags. Street vendors peered into Carolan’s face as she hurried along. Would she buy a China orange, an apple? Would she buy a ballad, muffins, some branches of lavender? Down narrow side streets she caught glimpses of stalls and even greater crowds of people. She heard the shrill voice of the cheap-jack on the corner; carriages rattled over the cobbles and what haughty, elegant passengers they contained! Never had Carolan seen such clothes, such brilliant colours, such sumptuous cloth. A gentleman, riding by in his carriage, gazed appraisingly at her through his eyeglass; he made as if to stop the carriage, and Carolan hastened on in alarm. But the gentleman was too languid to give chase; when Carolan turned, she saw the tail end of his carriage disappearing in the stream of traffic. Ladies holding nosegays to their faces went by in their carriages; disdainful and very, very elegant were those ladies; some, less elegant, walked the pavement, generally, Carolan noticed, with an escort, lifting their skirts that they might not trail among the dirt, taking care not to touch those who passed by them. Exciting, exhilarating scene! Carolan had never witnessed anything like it Noise all round her; conversation mingling with the vendors’ cries and the sound of carriage.wheels. And thus she came into Holborn. Now she must ask again for Grape Street, and decided to follow the advice of the lavender woman; so with the greatest of care she selected, for her look of honesty, an old woman who was selling papers of pins. Carolan blushed to see how hope leaped into her eyes as she approached her. The woman sang out:
Three rows a penny pins Short whites and middilings.
Hastily Carolan explained: “I have not come to buy; I have no money. My purse has just been stolen … Could you tell me where to find Grape Street?”
“Off with you!” said the woman.
“Off with you!”
“But. please… I only want to know…”
The woman turned away, grumbling about the tricks of the well-to-do who must torment a poor, nay, starving woman.
Carolan was so hurt she could have burst into tears. She caught at the woman’s ragged sleeve, but she was turned upon with such ferocity that she desisted immediately and walked on. She felt frightened now, a stranger in a strange city. It was difficult to understand the speech of these people; they were all that she desisted in such a hurry, except those who quizzed her with their speculative glances and frightened her more than those who ignored her. She must find Grape Street and her parents quickly.
Somewhere a clock struck four, and out of Hatton Garden a flying pieman came running. There were only a few pieces of baked plum pudding left in his basket.
“A piece for a penny,” he called as he ran.
“Buy, buy, buy!”
He had a kind face, Carolan saw, and she was getting desperate. She ran be
side him for a second or two.
“Please,” she panted, “I cannot buy, but please could you tell me where is Grape Street?”
He stopped. His eyes, she noticed, were brown and full of laughter, and into them crept that puzzled look which she had seen in those of the lavender woman.
“Why, lady,” he said, “Grape Street is not so far, but are you sure you mean Grape Street?”
“Quite sure,” Carolan told him.
“Well then, if you are quite sure it is Grape Street that you are after, you go down this turning and you take the first on the left, and then take the second turning on the right. Then you will find yourself in Grape Street… if it is Grape Street you want.”
“Thank you!” she said. Thank you!”
He stood looking after her, as the lavender seller had done. Carolan hurried along. Now she was in a narrow street with tall, dingy houses on either side. She took the turn to the left and was in an even narrower street. The stench from the gutters was appalling; she hurried on. Surely she could not be far from her parents, but this was so different from her imaginings. She had pictured a charming house by the river with a garden extending to the water’s edge, from which it would be thrilling to watch the ships and barges pass by; and here she was, hurrying past alleys in which dark shadows seemed to lurk, while through grimy windows unfriendly faces peered at her with half-hearted curiosity.
Someone was walking very close behind her. She turned to look, and there was a man, a young man not much taller than herself, with a face which, though far from handsome, was attractive. He had the brightest, merriest blue eyes she had ever seen; they showed up startlingly in his brown face.
“Could you spare a penny, lady?”
His voice was the most surprising thing about him; it was cultured, even charming; and it seemed to her a very sad state of affairs that such a man as he apparently was should be reduced to begging in the streets of London. She had never been able to hide her feelings.
He looked straight into her face and some of the merriness left his eyes.
She said: “I am sorry I have nothing to give. I have had my purse stolen.”
“Your purse!” he said. That is bad. And did you see the thief?”
“Indeed I saw her, but I did not know her for a thief until too late.”
“New to London Town, that is you, lady!” His eyes darted from the fine lace at her throat to the good leather of her shoes.
“You are bound somewhere?”
“To my family in Grape Street. Perhaps you can tell me if I am near?”
“Grape Street! You cannot mean Grape Street … but if you do, it is just around the corner.”
He leaned towards her and touched her sleeve as he pointed the way.
“Thank you,” she said.
“What part of Grape Street were you after, lady?”
“Number sixty.”
“Ah!” he said, and his eyes were merry again.
“It is number sixty then! You cannot miss it-the number is plain over the door.” And he seemed consumed with some joke of his own.
“Good day to you, lady.”
He bowed rather mockingly, she thought; he swaggered along the street, and was soon out of sight.
As she turned to follow his directions, a man approached her. He was tall and spare of figure, and as he came nearer he slackened his pace. She was suddenly afraid. She looked about her at the deserted street; the man with the merry eyes had already disappeared.
“Forgive me,” said the newcomer, his eyes taking in every detail of her appearance, ‘but are you aware that the man who just approached has made off with your handkerchief?”
She stared at the man. His face was very white, and the skin seemed to be drawn too tightly across his sharp features so that they gave the impression of trying to burst through it. He had the face of a dead man, Carolan thought, apart from his eyes, which were dark and alert strange, excited and inquisitive eyes. She thought fearfully, What now, I wonder?
“You have lost a handkerchief, I believe?” he insisted.
She stepped back a pace, suspecting some trap. She felt in the pocket of her gown.
“I have,” she said.
“He took it.”
“You saw him?”
“One looks for these things in this part of the town.”
Then why did you wait to tell me until it is too late to retrieve it?” she demanded.
She did not realize it, but all the time they were speaking she was stepping backwards, putting distance between herself and the man.
“It would have been unwise to try to retrieve it. Think yourself fortunate that it was merely a handkerchief. These streets ate as full of thieves as a warren is of rabbits. They work together; it is not always wise to raise a hue and cry in these streets. You have got off lightly. Would you allow me to help you?”
She was suddenly angry. She had felt so sorry for the man with the merry blue eyes, and he had known it and laughed at her for it! Were there none but thieves and rogues in this wicked place? Humiliation and anger made her forget her fear of the newcomer; besides, his respectable garments of black that were a little shiny, suggested honesty in some odd way.
“I am looking for Grape Street,” she said, “My parents live there, and I am visiting them.”
“Your parents live in Grape Street!” he repeated as though stupefied.
“That is what I said. I wonder if that rogue who stole my handkerchief directed me truly.”
“Tell me,” he said, ‘where in Grape Street your parents live.”
“The number is sixty.”
“Sixty! Let me see. I believe that is the secondhand shop, is it not?”
The dark eyes searched her face eagerly. Strange eyes -beautiful eyes in an unbeautiful face; that was what made them look so incongruous.
“Secondhand shop! My mother did not say…”
He spoke slowly.as though checking over the items in his mind.
“You have never been to London before, have you? You have come on a visit from the country; you are visiting your parents. And it is your mother who lives in the secondhand shop at number sixty Grape Street.”
It was kind of him to express such interest, but she had been robbed twice in a very short time, and she was in no mood to trust a living soul.
“When I saw you,” he said, “I was of the opinion that it was some prank that had brought you here. You are not dressed for these streets, if you will allow me to say so. That makes you very conspicuous.”
“It is far from a prank,” said Carolan.
“I have been in this wicked place little more than an hour, and already I have lost my purse, my brooch and a lace handkerchief.”
“That is because you have doubtless acted unwisely. Will you allow me to walk with you to number sixty Grape Street? I am sure I can protect you from further annoyance.”
She hesitated.
“If you would feel happier, I would walk in front and you could follow. I understand that you are not inclined to trust strangers, and that means that you have acquired some wisdom in the last hour.”
She was sorry for her seeming churlishness; she was absolutely certain that this man was no pickpocket.
“If you would show me the way, I should be most grateful,” she murmured.
“And please do not walk in front.”
He walked beside her, so that he was nearer the road to protect her from splashes of mud and filth if any vehicle came along the street. He kept a certain distance between them, as though he were trying to inspire her with confidence in him.
“Would you think me impertinent if I asked you your name?”
“Indeed no! It is Carolan Haredon.”
He seemed to be searching a list of names in his mind.
“Carolan Haredon,” he repeated.
“Let me see, I believe it is a Mr. and Mrs. Grey who keep the secondhand shop.”
“My… mother is Mrs. Grey,” said Carolan quickly.
> “I see … I see…” Odd, the impression he gave of making a mental note of information!
But Carolan was too bewildered by all that had happened to give more than a passing thought to him. Her mother in a secondhand shop! Had she changed? She thought of Kitty … in her boudoir with Therese to dress her, and Sambo to sit at her feet… That Kitty … in a secondhand shop!
“My name,” the man beside her was saying, ‘is Jonathan Crew, at your service. And here is Grape Street… and see, there is number sixty!”
Number sixty was a small dark shop, and in its window and doorway hung garments of all descriptions. It was dingy and depressing, thought Carolan; her heart sank, and with her first glimpse went all the pretty pictures she had built up in her imagination. She stepped down into the dark interior of the shop, and Mr. Jonathan Crew followed her.
Almost immediately a door opened and a man appeared. He was the man she had seen in the wood.
“Father!” she cried.
He stared at her, without recognition.
“It is Carolan… your daughter,” she said.
“Is my mother here?”
“Carolan!” A smile broke out on the man’s face.
“Why… little Carolan! So it is!”
He took her face between his hands; her hood fell back, and her reddish hair gleamed even in the darkness of the shop. There were tears in the man’s eyes. He held her against him as though he loved her very dearly. He said: “Little daughter! Little daughter!” Then: “Kitty!” he called.
“Kitty!”
And all this time Jonathan Crew stood close to a bunch of old coats hanging in the doorway, and watched them.
Kitty came into the shop; she had put on a good deal of weight, and had changed subtly. She was the same beautiful Kitty, but the hair, without the ministrations of Therese, was untidy. She wore a pink frock with fine lace on it. but the pink material and the lace were none too clean. She saw Carolan. and screamed with delight.
“My darling child. My own darling child!”
Carolan ran to Kitty, and they embraced.
“Mamma, I could not stay away longer.”