The next morning I woke up with that strange feeling of oppression
which is caused by something unpleasant heard the night before. I soon
remembered what it was, and tried to shake off the recollection of the
talk in the plantation and of Sarah’s vindictive tones. I looked at
her searchingly as she came in demurely to prayers with the cook and
poor little Jane, and I could not help thinking that Tom Parkes, or
“Jim” as the stranger had called him--but then a man of such a
desperate character as they had described him to be would have a dozen
_aliases_--might be excused in preferring the simple little
kitchen-maid Jane to that forbidding-looking shrew. But perhaps, when
he first made love to her, she was young and comparatively fair; and,
if so, he ought not to desert her just because she had grown thin and
hard-looking in doing the wicked things he made her do. What were
those wicked things? I wondered. I had seen Tom Parkes, a
strongly-made thick-set young man, two or three times, and he had
seemed to me to have a stolid but rather good-humored expression; I
should have thought him to be more stupid than wicked, and certainly
not the sort of man to rule with a rod of iron the formidable Sarah.
That very day I had an opportunity of comparing my impression of Tom,
when I thought him a harmless and inoffensive person, with my
impression of him now that I knew him to be a rogue of the most
determined kind. When Haidee and I returned from our walk, we came
into the garden by a side-gate at the back of the house, and had to
pass by the servants’ entrance. Tom Parkes was sitting outside the
door in as easy an attitude as the broken chair he sat on would
permit, eating bread and cheese; while opposite to him stood Jane and
Sarah, both apparently in high good humor. One held a jug, the other a
glass, and they seemed united in the desire to please him by
ministering to his wants, and by a rough kind of humor to which he was
not slow in replying. They were talking about kisses, and I think they
were going to illustrate the subject, when Tom suddenly became aware
of our presence, and, taking his arm from round Jane’s waist, pulled
his cap off apologetically and remained standing until we had gone by.
What a strange contradiction this scene seemed to give to what I had
overheard on the night before! Sarah was scarcely the sort of woman to
exercise great self-control when among her equals; yet here she was,
all laughter and rough gayety, submitting in the best of tempers to
receive a share only, and evidently the smaller share, of Tom’s
attention with her rival Jane! I was rather ashamed of my strong
interest in this low-class love-affair; but Sarah was such an
exceptional woman, and her admirer, from what I had heard, such an
exceptional man, that I could not help puzzling myself as to whether
she had been only acting good humor, or whether the love-affairs of
the uneducated were conducted on different principles from those of
other people.
That evening, after tea, when, my translation finished, the time came
for Guizot, I remembered, with a pang of conscience, that I had left
that nicely-bound book out in the damp all night, forgotten in my
hasty flight. I hurried through the plantation, eager to see whether
it was much injured; but, when I got within a few yards of my nest, I
saw Mr. Rayner there before me, standing with the unlucky volume in
his hand.
If I had been conscience-stricken before, when my guilt was known only
to myself, what did I feel now that it was discovered? I had not the
courage to face him, but turned, and was sneaking back towards the
house, when he called me--
“Miss Christie!”
I might have known I should not escape his sharp eyes and ears. I went
back slowly, murmuring, “Yes, Mr. Rayner,” and blushing with
mortification. It was only a trifle, after all, but it was a most
vexatious one. To Mr. Rayner, to whom I could not explain that I was
too much occupied in listening to a strictly private _tête-à-tête_
to think of his book, it must seem a most reprehensible piece of
carelessness on the part of a responsible member of his household; it
would serve me right if he requested me not to touch any of his books
in future. He was turning over the leaves with his eyes bent on the
book as I came up; but I have since thought that he took a mischievous
pleasure in my discomfiture.
“I am very sorry, Mr. Rayner,” I began, in a low voice which almost
threatened tears; “I brought that book out here to read yesterday
evening, and I--I forgot to take it with me when I went in. I know it
was most inexcusable carelessness--indeed I will never bring one of
the library-books out again.”
“And why not, Miss Christie?” said he, suddenly dispelling my anxiety
by looking up with his usual kindly smile. “I am sure Guizot is dry
enough to stand a little moisture, and, if you were to throw him into
the pond, you would be his only mourner, for nobody takes him off his
shelf but you. But what makes you spoil your young eyes by plodding
through such heavy stuff as this? It is very laudable of you, I know;
but, if you were to bring out a volume of poetry or a novel, that
would run no risk of being forgotten.”
“I am so ignorant,” said I humbly, “and I want some day to be able to
teach girls much older than Haidee, so that I have to read to improve
myself. And I don’t read only dry things. This morning I found time to
read nearly the whole of yesterday’s paper.”
“Well, that was dry enough; there was nothing in it, was there?”
“Yes, there was an account of another murder in Ireland, and a long
article on the present position of the Eastern difficulty, and the
latest details about that big burglary.”
“What burglary?”
“Haven’t you read about it? A large house in Derbyshire, belonging to
Lord Dalston, was broken into last Wednesday, and a quantity of
valuable things stolen. They say they’ve got a clue, but they haven’t
been able to find any of the thieves yet.”
“And they won’t either. They never do, except by a fluke.”
“They say that the robbery must have been most carefully planned, and
that it was most skilfully carried out.”
“They always say that. That is to excuse the utter incompetency of the
police in face of a little daring and dexterity.”
“And they say that it looks like the work of the same hand that
committed several large jewel robberies some years ago.”
“Whose hand was that?”
“Ah, they don’t know! The man was never discovered.”
“That is another newspaper commonplace. To say that the way one ladder
was placed against a window, the window opened and entered, and the
diamonds taken away, looks very like the way another ladder was placed
against another window, and another set of diamonds taken away, sounds
very cute indeed; and to imply that there is only one thief in England
with skill enough to baffle them raises that uncaught thief into a
half divinity whom it is quite excusable in mere human policemen to
fail to catch.”
“Well, I hope they will catch this one, whether he is a half divinity
or not.”
“Why, what harm has the poor thief done you? You have nothing to fear
from diamond-robbers, because you have no diamonds.”
“I believe you have more sympathy with the thieves than with the
policemen,” said I, laughing.
“I have, infinitely more. I have just the same admiration for the
successful diamond-robber that you have for Robin Hood and Jack
Sheppard, and just the same contempt for the policeman that you have
for the Sheriff of Nottingham and Jack’s gaol.”
“Oh, but that is different!” I broke in hotly--for I always put down
“Robin Hood” in confession-books as “my favorite hero,” and I was not
without a weakness for Jack.
“Oh, yes, it is very different, I know!” said Mr. Rayner maliciously.
“Robin Hood wore Lincoln green and carried a picturesque bow and
arrow, while Sheppard’s costume, in colored prints, is enough of
itself to win any woman’s heart. And then the pretty story about Maid
Marian! Jack Sheppard had a sweetheart too, hadn’t he? Some dainty
little lady whose mild reproaches for his crimes proved gentle
incentives to more, and who was never really sorry for her lover’s
sins until he was hanged for them.”
“Well, Mr. Rayner, their very appearance, which you laugh at, shows
them to be superior to the modern burglar.”
“Have you ever seen a modern burglar?”
“No; but I know what they look like. They have fustian caps and long
protruding upper lips, and their eyes are quite close together, and
their lady-loves are like Nancy Sykes.”
“I see. Then you don’t sympathize with a criminal unless he is good
looking, nicely dressed, and in love with a lady of beauty and
refinement?”
“Oh, Mr. Rayner,” I cried, exasperated at having my words misconstrued
in this mischievous manner, “you know I don’t sympathize with
criminals at all! But Robin Hood and Jack Sheppard lived in different
ages, when people were not so enlightened as they are now; and,
besides,” said I, brightening in triumph as a new idea flashed across
me, “I don’t know what the real Robin and Jack did; but the Robin Hood
and Jack Sheppard of the novels and poems that I can’t help liking and
admiring robbed only rich people who could afford to lose some of
their ill-gotten wealth.”
“But all wealth is not ill-gotten,” interposed Mr. Rayner mildly.
“It was then,” I went on hastily--“at least, generally. And Robin Hood
didn’t rob the good rich people, only the bad ones; and most of his
spoil he distributed among the poor, you know,” I finished
triumphantly.
“It won’t do, Miss Christie; I must destroy your edifice of argument
at a blow,” said he, shaking his head mournfully. “I happen to know
something about this Lord Dalston whose house was broken into; and he
is a very bad rich person indeed, much more so than the poor old
abbots whom your favorite Robin Hood treated so roughly. He
ill-treated his mother, stole and squandered his sisters’ fortunes,
neglected his wife, and tried to shut her up in a lunatic asylum,
knocked out in a passion the left eye of one of his own grooms, had
embezzled money before he was twenty-one, and now owes heavy debts to
half the big tradesmen in London. So that he is something like a
thief. Now, if you were to find out that the man who had the chief
hand--for, of course, there were dozens at work over it--in planning
the robbery of this wicked rich man’s property was young,
good-looking, well dressed, a large subscriber to charities, and in
love with a pretty lady-like girl, you ought, if you were logical, to
admire him as much as you do Robin Hood, and more than you do Jack
Sheppard.”
“Oh, Mr. Rayner,” said I, joining in his laughter, “how absurd! But it
is too bad of you to make fun of my logic. I can’t put it properly;
but what I mean is this. In those days the laws were unjust, so that
even good men were forced into defiance of them; but now that the laws
are really, upon the whole, fair, it is only wicked people who disobey
them.”
“Then you don’t like wicked people, Miss Christie?”
“Oh, Mr. Rayner, of course not!” said I, aghast at such a question,
which he asked quite seriously.
“Ah, you must know some before you decide too hastily that you don’t
like them!” said he.
“Know some wicked people, Mr. Rayner?” I gasped.
He nodded gravely; and then I saw that he was amusing himself with my
horror-struck expression.
“You won’t like all of them, any more than you dislike all the good
people you know. But you will find that those you do like beat the
good people hollow.”
“Indeed I am sure I shouldn’t like them at all. I wouldn’t speak to a
wicked person if I could help it.”
“But you can’t. You won’t be able to tell them from the good ones,
except, as I said before, that they are nicer; and by the time you
find out they are wicked you will like them too much to go back.”
It was too bad of Mr. Rayner to tease me like this; but, though I saw
he was enjoying my indignation, I could not help getting indignant.
“You are quite mistaken in me indeed,” I said, trying to keep down my
annoyance. “I can prove it to you by something that happened to me not
very long ago. I knew a person against whom I had heard nothing who
always seemed to me to look good-natured and simple. And then I found
out that he was really a most wicked man; and when I saw him after
that his very face seemed changed to me, to look evil and cunning; and
the sight of him made me shrink.”
I was thinking of Tom Parkes and the change I had seemed to see in him
that morning. Mr. Rayner looked at me keenly while I said this; but I
was not afraid of his finding out whom I meant in such a cautious
statement.
“And what would you do if, in the course of your career as a
governess, you found yourself in a family of whose morals you could
not approve? Would you give them lectures on the error of their ways
and try to convert them all round, Miss Christie?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that!” said I humbly. “If I found myself among
very dreadful people, I should just run away back to my uncle’s house,
where my mother lives, on the first opportunity, without saying
anything to any one till I was gone, and without even writing to say I
was coming, lest my letter should be intercepted. I should be so
horribly afraid of them.”
“Well, child, I hope you will never have to do anything so desperate
as that; but the profession of teaching has its dangers for a
beautiful woman,” he said gravely.
The last words gave a shock to me. I had never heard them applied to
me before, and for a moment I was without an answer. He had been
sitting on my seat, and I had been standing with my back against a
young oak-tree, a few feet from him and nearer to the pond. He got up
and came towards me, when a shrill little cry as from out of the
ground caused him to start. It was the only sound that ever drew forth
such a display of ordinary human weakness from self-possessed Mr.
Rayner. It came from the lips of his baby-daughter Mona, who, ragged,
dirty, and withered-looking as usual, had walked or crawled through
the mud and rushes till she had silently taken her place in the long
grass a little way from us, and who now, seeing her father approach,
had given vent to her extraordinary dislike of him in her usual
undutiful manner.
For one moment I saw in the dusk a look pass over Mr. Rayner’s face
which made me catch my breath; it reminded me instantly of his tone on
that Sunday night when he had caught Sarah in the garden; and, quickly
as it passed and gave place to a light laugh, it had frightened me and
made me long to escape. Mona was an excuse.
“Oh, you naughty little girl to be out so late at night--and without
a hat! Sarah must have forgotten you. Come--I must take you in now. Be
a good girl, and come with me.”
Mona had somehow come to regard me with less animosity than she did
most of the household. So she let me take her in my arms without much
opposition, and gave only one more yell when her father, while wishing
me good-night, shook hands with me and accidentally touched her dirty
little shoe. I took her into the house and gave her to Sarah in the
hall; then I went into the schoolroom to replace the dissipated volume
of Guizot that had been out all night among its more sober brethren,
and then, moved by some spring of vanity, took my candle to the
mantelpiece and looked at myself in the glass above it.
I suppose no girl can hear herself called a beautiful woman for the
first time, no matter by whom, without a slight thrill of
gratification. To be called pretty falls, I suppose, at some time or
other, to the lot of most girls; but the other term implies a higher
measure of attractiveness, and I certainly was not insensible to the
pleasure of hearing it applied to me. I had lived such a very quiet
life with my mother, and had had so few acquaintances, that I had
never known flattery of any kind. The thought that flashed through my
mind as I looked at my dark gray eyes, brighter than usual, and at my
cheeks, flushed with gratified vanity, was--“Does Mr. Laurence Reade
think me--beautiful?”
I was too much absorbed in my vain contemplation of myself, and in the
foolish thoughts to which it gave rise, to notice that I was not alone
in the room. Suddenly I was startled, as I well deserved to be, by a
harsh ironical voice breaking in upon the silence of the room.
“Yes, it’s a pretty face enough now, and you do right to set store by
it, for it won’t last pretty long--not long; in a few years it will be
all lines and wrinkles, and not worth looking at; and you’ll turn away
in disgust from the glass, thinking of how you used to look, and how
the men used to look at you--the fools!”
I had turned, and was looking at Sarah’s hard, cruel face as she
stood, with Mona still in her arms, her eyes flashing scornfully on me
as she hissed out the spiteful words. I felt ashamed of my vanity,
though, after all, it seemed harmless enough; and I felt sorry for
her, for she spoke so bitterly that I was sure she must be thinking of
the changes a few years of anxiety and hard work had wrought in
herself; so I said gently--
“I suppose we women all think more than we ought about our looks
sometimes, Sarah; but, after all, they are a very important matter to
every woman, and make a great deal of difference to her life. You know
you must be glad not to be ugly, Sarah.”
I own this was a little bit of innocent flattery, for I did think her
very ugly--and I thought I had never seen her look so hideous as she
did as she stood there glaring at me--but I was anxious to soothe her
at all hazards, and I was thankful to see that the bait took.
“Handsome is that handsome does,” she said less viciously; and, with a
toss of her head, she left the room.