9
Joseph was in love. He was more blindly and passionately in love than he had ever been in his life. He could not remember having wanted anyone as he now wanted Annie Tabb of Plyn, just nineteen, and only five years older than his own young daughter. His age made little difference to him.
His marriage with Susan had been the result of a longing to be understood, an unconscious craving to rest his head in her lap and forget his loneliness. In this she had failed him, and perceiving his tenderness unwanted he had loved her casually, carelessly, without feeling, and the last eleven years of their married life he had been no more to her than the bread-winner, and she his housekeeper. Now, all the natural instincts, repressed for so long, were awake once more, and Joseph could neither sleep nor eat for the one thought that tormented him night and day - that he must have Annie, and that nothing in the whole world mattered but this. He worshipped her youth and her beauty, he longed to be able to share this and become part of it. In the old days women and girls had been the same to him, he had thought nothing of their years but only of a certain look in their eye which meant they understood what he was after. Now, all was changed.
The thought of Annie’s innocence and inexperience tormented him. Why had he never understood this before? Joseph did not realize that his fifty years made these qualities so precious, and that twenty years back he would have scorned them as worthless and uninteresting.At thirty he desired Susan, older than himself, to care for his wants. Now at fifty he desired Annie, like a symbol of spent youth in which to recover himself, to turn his back on the spectre of age which lay ahead, and to linger in this fair land of promise by his side.
So while son Christopher toiled in the yard, restless and discontented, aching for some sort of freedom, Joseph the father hung about by a certain garden gate, one moment believing himself in heaven, and the next unwittingly plunged in the depths of despair. There seemed to him no possible reason why a beautiful young thing like Annie Tabb should return his passion, unless it was from sheer concentration and will-power on the part of himself, thought Joseph, as he paced to and fro at the top of the hill - after the child had kept him waiting for nearly three-quarters of an hour, and then when she did appear with a heightened colour and shining eyes, excusing herself, his dark mood instantly vanished and he was certain that it would only be a matter of days before she gave way to him. Often in the evenings now they would stroll across the fields to Polmear Valley, Annie making the excuse at home that she was walking with a girl acquaintance, for she doubted her parents’ approval of this bewildering friendship with Captain Joe, who, for all their difference in age, would scarcely be accepted as a suitable companion by those who remembered his early escapades. She herself had often listened to the shocking tales her aunts told one another, middle-aged married women now, of twenty and thirty years back when Joseph Coombe had run wild in Plyn, and though this bearded widower was respected enough now, she could not help feeling secretly that he was little changed, especially when he looked in her eyes and held up his arms to lift her over a stile. The thought that she was playing with fire, of whose power she was uncertain, thrilled young Miss Annie, and turned her head. What did it matter after all? Folks hadn’t noticed them walking of an evening, and she didn’t care about anything as long as she knew her handsome skipper was waiting for her at the top of the cliff path. All his family had noticed Joseph’s high spirits, but they none of them guessed the reason. Christopher was greatly relieved to see his father made no attempt to question him on when he would go to sea, and Albert, surmising that the Janet Coombe would not be sailing again for some weeks, took the opportunity of slipping away and visiting his brother Charles in camp.
Mary and Martha found their uncle excessively pleasant and agreeable this time, and not nearly as frightening and overbearing as he was generally. Even Katherine forgot her natural awe, and looked upon her father as someone human after all, instead of a tall gruff stranger, who hardly recognized her when he passed her on her way from school.
Joseph scarcely knew himself. He began to dress with greater care, and to take some sort of a pride in his appearance. He noticed with satisfaction that his dark hair was free from grey.
There was a glorious spell of weather at the moment, and he would wake up in the mornings and hear the gulls shouting ‘Annie,’ and the waves calling ‘Annie’ as they broke against the rocks; even the soft summer breezes whispered her name, and the air was full of her.
In a week it would be Whitsun and holiday, and this was the limit of time he had imposed upon himself. On the Saturday before the holiday Joseph had occasion to step into the office of Hogg and Williams (the name had not been changed) to see his brother Philip over some matter of insurance which was due. To his surprise Annie Tabb came out of the door as he was about to walk in. She flushed when she saw him, and would have made her escape, but he barred her way and would not let her pass.
‘Why, whatever are you doin’ in the office?’ he asked jokingly. ‘Thinkin’ of becomin’ a shipowner?’
‘No, Captain Joe,’ she said. ‘And there never was such a man as you for askin’ questions, one way an’ another. I had to go in with a message to Mr Coombe from my mother.’
‘Sakes alive!’ said Joe. ‘So you know brother Philip, do you? And what do you think of him?’
Annie twisted her handkerchief. ‘I consider him a real gentleman, and very agreeable. He’s always polite and attentive, and knows just the sort of things a girl requires. Look, he gave me this bracelet for my birthday.’
Joseph frowned, very much taken aback. ‘How long have you known him?’ he asked, somewhat roughly.
‘Why, deary me, I really forget,’ laughed Annie affectedly. ‘He often comes of a Sunday up to our place and drinks a dish of tea with mother and me. I must have told you that before now, Captain Joe.’
‘That you never have, Miss Annie, I’ll lay my oath on it.’
‘Well, it ain’t such a grand matter for all I can see, Plyn bein’ a smallish place an’ neighbourly. An’ now I must be step-pin’ along back.’
‘Don’t you forget you’m comin’ to the fair with me Monday night?’
‘No - there, I never promised.’
‘I reckon you did, you little flirt.’
‘An’ don’t call me names, or I shan’t speak to you. We’ll see about Monday - I’ll think it over.’
He would have none of this play though, and held out his arm to prevent her.
‘You’ve got to say “Yes” about the fair Monday afore you leave this buildin’.’
‘Oh! Captain Joe, you’re impossible.’
‘Say “Yes” - Annie.’
‘Well, I never did - it’s Christian names now, is it?’
‘Say “Yes” an’ quick about it, or you’ll be late home, I reckon.’
There was a silence for a moment while they both pretended to be angry.
‘Oh! bother you. I’ll come,’ said the girl at length, never having had any intention of refusing, of which Joseph was well aware. So he stepped aside and allowed her to pass, and then walked into his brother’s office, smiling foolishly like a drunkard. Philip was seated at his desk, idle for once, with his hands clasped behind his head, and gazing apparently into space. He too was smiling, but neither brother was aware of the other’s appearance.
‘How do, Joe?’ said one.
‘Well enough, thank ye, Philip,’ replied the other.
‘Weather’s very seasonable. I hope it holds over the holiday. ’
‘Aye, ‘twill be a sore pity if it should come to rain, spoilin’ folks’ enjoyment an’ all.’
Both brothers hoped to end the interview as soon as possible, for they were neither of them at ease in one another’s company.
‘Well, that’s that,’ said Joseph, as he blotted some document, and wiped his inky fingers on his handkerchief. Writing and signing anything was a labour he detested.
Philip scanned it carefully, and placed it away in a drawer
. He glanced at his brother, and grudgingly admitted to himself he had never seen him in better health.
‘What do you find to do with yourself in your spare time, Joe?’ he inquired with some curiosity. ‘Plyn must seem a dull little hole compared to places abroad.’
‘It baint so bad for all that,’ smiled Joseph, ‘an’ I find my hours filled pleasantly enough. You’re the queer one, Philip, a regular dark horse in my opinion. Nobody ever sees you when you’ve shut up the office. D’you still read as much as you did in the old days?’
‘Yes - a pretty fair amount, but I’ve been thinking of other things lately. I’m not so old that I make myself into a hermit, you know. I’m still a comparatively young man.’
Joseph was tickled at this. He remembered the story of Philip’s courting, which he had put out of his mind.
‘I s’pose you’ll be springin’ a marriage on us all, sudden like, one of these days, Philip?’ he laughed.
The brother made no attempt to conceal a smile of satisfaction.
‘Perhaps, Joe - perhaps. In fact I may say it is extremely likely that I shall take the plunge in the near future.’
‘Providin’ the lady is willin’ of course,’ teased Joseph.
‘Providing she is willing, naturally. But I think I can safely say I have no fears on that score.’
‘Well, it’s a wonderful consolation when you’re in love to know that the sentiment is returned,’ pondered Joseph. ‘Though I often consider uncertainty is part of the excitement myself.’
‘What a statement coming from a man of fifty,’ said Philip cuttingly. ‘Haven’t you put all these ideas out of your head yet?’
Joseph laughed.
‘Never make certain of a woman until you’ve got her, Philip,’ he said. ‘There’s all my years’ experience for you, an’ wishin’ you luck.’
‘Oh! nonsense, Joe, things are changed nowadays. It’s position that a woman seeks, and a house and servants; if a man can offer his future wife these things, there’s no need to bother about anything else, she’ll come to him willingly enough.’
‘Think so? I rather doubt it, Philip. There’s mighty little consolation in fine furniture if you’ve a cold bed-companion. Let’s hope you’ll make a good job of it, though I reckon a few lessons from an expert would do you no harm.’
‘It’s evidently impossible for you to rise above coarseness, Joe,’ said Philip. ‘I admit her youth is a very great attraction to me, and her physical appearance is - blinding, to say the least of it. I’m convinced I have only to say the word and she will accept. Besides, I have a certain amount of influence with her family.’
‘When are ye thinkin’ of gettin’ yourself spliced, then?’ asked Joseph.
‘Well, I haven’t actually decided,’ replied Philip coolly. ‘I had thought of speaking my mind after the holiday.’
Joseph visualized the conventional scene. Philip standing in the parlour, very stiff and formal, with the young lady seated in a chair, as prim as butter. A fine Whitsun triumph. While he, Joseph, would be riding a whirlie horse with his girl before him, then carrying her away to the silent cliffs. What was Philip saying?
‘. . . so I am quite certain she will not refuse me. Every girl wishes to better herself, and she’d be a little fool if she turned me down. Here, Joe, I’ve got her likeness here in my desk. Stole if off her mother. I suppose she’s young enough to be your daughter . . .’
Joseph looked over his brother’s shoulder straight into the face of Annie Tabb.
‘Christ Jesus—’
‘Yes - she’s a little beauty, isn’t she? It doesn’t do her justice though. Now if—Why, where on earth . . .’ Philip rose to his feet in astonishment and ran to the door. But Joseph was gone. He was half-way along the street, and already turning the corner and up the hill. He reached the summit just as a girl was about to turn in at her garden gate.
‘Hullo! You again, Captain Joe?’
‘Come here,’ he said unsteadily. ‘You’ll have to be late for your dinner, because I want to talk to you. Come away to the cliff for a minute, I won’t keep you long.’
He was dragging her by the hand. ‘What in the world has come over you?’
He made no answer, but waited until they came to a seat, some distance from the Castle, where he sat her down beside him.
‘My brother Philip has been making love to you,’ he began at once.
Annie started, and shook her head. ‘No, he never did. He gives me things now an’ again, an’ visits us too, but he’s never did nothing that wasn’t proper.’
‘I’m not talking of anything proper or improper,’ said Joseph impatiently. ‘All that matters is that he fancies himself in love with you. Did you know of this?’
‘No - I don’t think - I can’t say. He’s always very attentive. ’
‘Listen, child; did you know he was going to ask you for yourself?’
‘Oh! Captain Joe - really . . .’
‘In marriage, Annie, in marriage. He wants to make you his wife.’
The girl’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. ‘Mr Coombe wants to marry me?’ she exclaimed. ‘I can’t believe it. Why, he’s quite the gentleman.’
‘You like that, do you, eh? You like him for it, you’re pleased, I can see. You fancy yourself in a lace dress and a flunkey to wait on you. That’s it, is it?’
‘No, Captain Joe, don’t flummox me so - I can’t think at all, I can’t. I’ve never given a thought to Mr Coombe.’
‘Ha! you say that, do you? Well, you must have been pretty fresh and easy with him to make him talk as he has done. So you’re goin’ to marry him, then, an’ become a fine lady, with a carriage of your own?’
‘I never said so.’ The girl was nearly in tears. ‘Mr Coombe is polite an’ kind, but I’ve never fancied him for a husband. Besides, I don’t want to wed yet awhile.’
‘Ah! you’ll keep him danglin’, will ’ee, like a poor fish on the end of a line, until you’ve made up your mind what material you’ll have for a weddin’ dress. Then when he hires enough servants to kneel at your feet, you’ll give in, eh, and make a present o’ yourself to him for all he’s done for you?’
‘Oh! stop it, Captain Joe, I’ll lose my wits in a minute, with you going on at me so.’The tears began to roll down her face. ‘Oh! dear - oh! dear, what a fuss an’ a pother, I scarce know where I am.’
Seeing her tears, Joseph lost control of himself, and seizing her in his arms he laid her across his knee, and kissed her hungrily and angrily, until her hair broke from its band, and fell about her shoulders, and she lay still, with her face pressed in his shoulder weak and helpless.
‘You’d go to him, would you,’ whispered Joseph, ‘him with his parson’s face an’ his parson’s ways, just for the sake of a pretty dress an’ a fine house.You’d go to him without knowin’ anythin’ of the meaning of love, an’ never learnin’, an’ never carin’.You’d go, where I couldn’t hold you like this - and this - and this . . .’
‘No - no—’ cried Annie. ‘You mustn’t, oh! Joseph, what’s come to me - I love you - yes I do - indeed I do.’
He kissed her again and again, exhausting her, stirring in her a flood of misery and pleasure and emotion that she did not understand. Then he pushed her away from him, and she found she could scarcely stand, and her legs were trembling beneath her, while her heart was throbbing in her breast. Her hands shook as she arranged her dress and her hair, and there was a queer, gnawing pain inside her.
He watched her, his eyes narrowing.
‘Well, are ye goin’ to tell him you’ll be his wife? Run then, don’t lose him, he’ll be gone unless you’m quick.’
‘I don’t want to marry him, you know I don’t. Why are you trying to make me so miserable?’
‘He’ll make you a fine husband an’ give you a tidy home, with everythin’ in the world you need. You’ll be a fool to refuse him.’
Poor Annie was ready to burst into tears again.
He kissed her once
more, and she leaned against him, unable to walk, unable to do anything but what he asked her. She had no will, no strength left in her, only a wish to be held next him and loved.
‘Philip must have his chance fairly,’ said Joseph. ‘I’m not goin’ to sneak in behind his back. This afternoon you’ll have to come down with me to the office, and choose between us. You’ll have to speak the truth to his face. Do you promise, Annie?’
‘Oh! I promise - I promise.’
‘Well then, now go along to your dinner, an’ don’t worry your little head about things. We’ll fix it between us.’
So poor Annie stumbled away to her home, filled with emotion and swaying like a sleepwalker after this first experience of physical love, while Joseph tramped across the cliffs with no thought of food or repose, trying to quieten the restless longing that had got the better of him, and which would not rest for all his bidding.
That afternoon the pair of them went down to the gloomy building next door to the Post Office, where Philip lodged.
Annie was left in the hall, while Joseph knocked on the parlour door.
Philip was lying on a hard-backed sofa, with a handkerchief over his face. Joseph smiled. His brother evidently believed in taking care of himself.
Philip flung away his handkerchief and rose to a sitting position, his smooth, sandy hair rumpled for once, his mouth open in surprise.
‘Where have you sprung from, Joe, and what did you mean by running away like that this morning? Is anything wrong?’
‘I should certainly say there is,’ replied Joseph, pulling forward a chair for his own use.
‘Look ye, Philip, I’m not agoin’ to mince matters, I believed in plain speakin’ an’ plain dealin’.You can’t marry Annie Tabb, the girl belongs to me.’
The brother stared incredulously; then hardly aware what he was doing he drew his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his hands slowly. ‘If this is your idea of a joke, Joe, it’s in exceedingly poor taste, I’d have you know.’
The Loving Spirit Page 18