Here Comes a Candle (33 page)

She caught Sarah
’
s anxiously questioning eye and picked up a new ear of co
rn
while she faced another fact. Sarah needed her. No getting away from that. It was her own presence, always there, always loving, always the same, that had brought the child through the stresses and strains of the journey. Occupation might be important, but her own constant presence was equally so. Sarah adored Jonathan, but—the journey had proved it—she could do without him. So—there it was. Kate smiled wryly to herself, remembering the incredible proposition he had made that night—it seemed a lifetime ago. But though so much had happened, nothing, in fact, had changed. His suggestion of a
ménage
a trois with Sarah for the third member could never be anything but outrageous. She must hold fast to that; never give way to the little devil inside her that asked: what difference did it make? What reputation had she to lose? Because that was not the point: she had Jonathan to think of, and, still more, Sarah.

The ear of co
rn
broke in her hands, and Sarah dropped her own to look at her in anxious surprise.

“
Goodness, look how clumsy I am! I shall let you finish, honey, while I watch.
”
She had come to her decision as her hands betrayed her. She and Sarah would go and live in Jonathan
’
s remote cottage, but he would never visit them.

Never? It was a hard word. Something in her rebelled against it. It was all so unfair. Arabella had left her husband. What did she deserve? She picked up a long green co
rn
leaf and began systematically, stripping it into sections. That was not the point. Jonathan was married to Arabella. She remembered—now, of all times must she remember?—her father
’
s voice, discussing an aristocratic divorce, pushed through the House of Lords.
“
Whom God hath joined,
”
he had quoted,
“
let no man put asunder.
”

It was a
l
l absurdity anyway. Massachusetts was Jonathan
’
s life, and—divorce in Massachusetts? But Sarah had finished. She picked up the shining, sweating ears.
“
Splendid. Now let
’
s go indoors and see how your mother is.
”

Wonderful How Sarah had lost her terror of her mother. Kate would never understand how it had happened, but it was the crowning mercy of the journey. When she told Jonathan—she pulled herself up short. She was going to tell Jonathan Penrose as little as possible. Perhaps, even, the question would never arise. At the time, she had discounted Manningham
’
s suggestion that Jonathan would have been enraged by her unexplained disappearance. She had taken it, she supposed, for granted that he would understand what had happened, would realize that inevitably she would put Sarah first. But—he had surprised her painfully enough before. Suppose he failed, too, in this. Suppose she were to find herself dismissed at once without discussion.

No good pretending it was not possible. She understood Jonathan well enough now to recognize that his instinctive distrust of women (and could you blame him for it?) left him all too ready to believe the worst, even of her. Odd, but not entirely so, to find herself thinking about Othello. Had
he
had a mother, ever, or sisters? He had certainly, like Jonathan in his seafaring days, lived a life mainly free from female contact. A cold shiver ran down her spine. What was Jonathan thinking now? But at least—she was making now a conscious effort to pull herself together—I
’
m no Desdemona. If he tries to dismiss me, I
’
ll make him see that Sarah has to come first. And she needs me.

Kate made, as best she could, a game of the rest of the morning. They cooked their co
rn
early, and took up a tray to Arabella, who still proclaimed herself very ill indeed. Then, the kitchen tidied, Kate said,
“
Shall we rest outdoors, love?
”
And out they went to a patch of shade under a huge butternut tree, where she could lie and dream her unhappy dreams while Sarah
“
rested
”
by chasing the multicolored butterflies that played like wind-borne jewels in the sunshine.

Their halcyon time was not disturbed till the shadows of the trees were lengthening and a cool breeze had blown up from the crevasse by which the house stood. The evening birds were beginning to sing and the crickets were in full chorus. Kate felt a batswing of anxiety brush her consciousness. What was keeping Manningham so long?

She rose.
“
Time to go in, love, and think what it
’
s to be for supper. Ham and eggs, do you
think
? Or, maybe, eggs and ham?
”
Of course, Sarah never reacted to this kind of simple verbal joke in words, but, as always, a delighted smile showed that she had taken it. Really, speech was not all that important.

Arabella was up at last.
“
Where in the world have you been?
”
And then, seeing their arms full of clean linen:
“
You might have told me you were washing!
”

“
I
’
m sorry.
”
Kate made herself take it coolly.

“
And my bed needs making.
”

This was too much. Kate turned to look at her.
“
Does it?
”
she said.

It was lucky that Manningham came in, just then, from the stable yard, but evident at once that he, too, was in the worst of tempers.
“
Of all the slugs, that horse is the worst.
”
He threw hat and riding gloves on the kitchen table.
“
And the only carriage I could get liable to fall to bits any moment. I thought
I’
d never get here. And then—to have to stable the brute myself. And, my God, the heat: it
’
s insupportable,
”

“
But what
’
s the news?
”
Arabella wasted no time on sympathy.

“
Bad. The town
’
s in a panic. At last reports, the English were at Nottingham—it
’
s barely thirty miles from Washington. There are all kinds of rumors, of course, and not much organization that I can see
...
General Ross might have a walkover if he quit fooling around and attacked.
”

“
A walkover!
”
Arabella shuddered.
“
But what about us? Did you get the letter?
”

“
Of course I did.
”
A furious glance reminded her of Kate
’
s presence.
“
I
’
ll tell you about it after supper. Thank God for the sight of food.
”

Kate, who had had everything ready,
h
ad been busy frying eggs as he talked, and now put lavish helpings onto four plates. They ate for the most part in silence, and then Arabella and Manningham withdrew to the front of the house, leaving Kate and Sarah to wash the dishes. Kate could hear their voices raised in furious argument. Whatever the letter Manningham had received might be, it had not been good news. What then? It must have been from Jonathan. Could he have refused to ransom Sarah? It seemed impossible. And yet, what else could those furious unintelligible voices mean?

Idiot that she was; she had been so sure Jonathan would pay up, that Manningham
’
s return tonight would mean the end of the affair. She had let herself spend the day in dangerous relaxation, enjoying the improvement
in Sarah, when she should have been planning ahead for just such a crisis as this.

Quick, as always, to sense her mood, Sarah was looking at her anxiously. She put away the last plate.
“
Come, love, it
’
s not quite bedtime yet. Let
’
s go out into the garden. I
’
ve thought of a new game.
”
Not a very nice one. But if they went quietly out the back way, and crept around to the front of the house, they had a fair chance of overhearing what Manningham and Arabella were saying so angrily, in the big front drawing room.

She had her hand on the latch of the back door when Manningham
’
s voice stopped her.
“
No, Mrs. Crosto
n
.
”
His tone was regretful. His hand held a pistol.
“
This is the end
of the road, I
’
m afraid. No—don
’
t move. Remember: if I am compelled to kill you, I shall have to get rid of the witness.
”
A tiny jerk of the head indicated Sarah, who had got down from her chair and was watching, wide-eyed. Mercifully, Kate thought, the pistol itself almost certainly meant nothing to her.

“
That
’
s right.
”
He recognized her silence as that of defeat.
“
I don
’
t at all like violence,
”
he went on.
“
You can rely on me to avoid it at all costs—or almost. So—do as you are told and no harm will come to you. Or to the child. Sit down, Kate, and put your hands on the table. I have to talk to you.
”

“
Talk!
”
But she kept her voice as calm as possible, for fear of alarming Sarah, and sat down obediently with her hands where he could see them on the table.

“
We don
’
t want trouble, you see.
”
He actually sounded apologetic.
“
Well, I don
’
t, anyway. I suppose you heard us arguing in there. Arabella wants an accident
...
”
Fantastically, he was explaining to her.
“
Well—figure it for yourself—it could happen so easily in a strange house. The well
...
that steep flight of stairs
...
anything. But I won
’
t have that. Of course I won
’
t.
”
Was he trying to convince himself, or her?
“
I still hope it will all work out for the best. I
’
ll try to come back for you. When it
’
s all settled. I promise I will. I
’
ll do everything I can. Only, you see, I
’
ve got to have the money. I can
’
t go back to
Eng
l
and otherwise. You
’
ve got to see; right now, it
’
s hopeless. It
’
s all Penrose
’
s fault, God damn him!
”

“
Quietly!
”
She made herself say it coolly, for Sarah
’
s sake. The child had settled herself on a chair by the table and was sitting there, listening to everything he said, her hands busy with that old, strange habit of arranging a line of spoons and forks across the table. It was a bad sign.
She had not done it since she had been ill.
“
Don
’
t forget the child.
”

“
I’
m not. I
’
m not forgetting anything, Kate. But what can I do? I must have money.
”
For him, it explained and excused everything.

“
Yes.
”
The longer he talks, she thought, the longer I have to plan.
“
I see,
”
she said, while her brain raced, searching for a thread of hope. She was consumed with rage—at herself. To have been caught like this...

But she must keep him talking.
“
Do I gather,
”
she made it light,
“
that Mr. Penrose has not come through with the money?
”

“
No, damn it.
”
Rage outran discretion.
“
Writes me as cool as you please, that we shall have it when Sarah is safe back with him. A likely story!
”

“
He gave you his word?
”
Why had she never thought of this?

“
Naturally. And what
’
s that worth? The word of a Yankee? That
’
s what I
’
ve been trying to explain to that obstinate woman in there. Give him Sarah, and it
’
s good-by to everything. No, no; I
’
m too old a bird to be caught with that kind of chaff.
”

It was absurd: it was disaster. If Arabella could not convince him that Jonathan
’
s word was sound as the Bank of England, what hope had she? But she must try just the same.
“
You
’
re crazy,
”
she said.
“
You don
’
t understand
...”

“
These cursed Americans? Thank you, Kate, I
think
I understand them a little too well. Fight us with one hand and feed us with the other! Float loans against us and then buy our own bills at discount as investments? What kind of honorable thinking is that? And then you expect
me to trust the word of a twisting New Englander! You know as well as I do that the Yankees are famous for sharp practice, even here where the most
flag
rant cheat
’
s called the best bargain.
”

“
But Jonathan
’
s not like that! You must believe me.
”
In her eage
rn
ess to convince him she hardly noticed that he was moving slowly nearer.
“
I promise you, if you have it in his writing, you might as well have the Bank of England notes in your pocket.
”

“
Thank you,
”
dryly.
“
But that
’
s what I
’
d rather have.
”
And then, on a different note,
“
What
’
s that confounded child doing now?
”