Текст книги "Beyond The Blue Mountains"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 36 страниц)

“So!” said Margaret slowly.

“You have taken Everard!” And then Carolan had known that she was indeed a child, for she had not understood that Margaret’s seeming indifference meant that her love for Everard was greater than it had ever been before.

Margaret had burst out passionately: “How could you! How could you, Carolan! It was my ball; it was to have been the night of my betrothal. And you took him, and you went out and everyone noticed you had gone, and when you came in… people said “Poor Margaret!”

Poor Margaret indeed, for what could Carolan do now to help her? What could she ever have done, loving Everard? For was it not for Everard to decide?

Now here was misery. They were all against her Margaret, Mrs. Orland, Mr. Orland not the squire. He watched her with a queer brooding smile on his lips, and she began to be frightened of the squire.

What wretchedness! To have hurt Margaret like this Margaret, who had almost always been kind to her. What unhappiness to see Margaret growing thin and wan each day because of her.

Mrs. Orland said: “My dear Carolan, I must talk very seriously to you. It would be tragedy for you to marry Everard. You are old enough now to know that the squire is not your father. How could an Orland and one who has given his life to the church -marry a woman who was born as you were born? It would be as though he condoned immorality. It would kill the career he has planned for himself; one day he would reproach you if you married him.”

Could that be so? She did not know. She asked Everard.

“I would never reproach you,” said Everard. He was young and very earnest, very earnestly in love, very earnest about his career too. Marry Carolan he must, for his need of her was sinful; he would never forget her as long as he lived, and only by marriage and the getting of children could he be Christian. He could not talk of this to his mother, nor to anyone. But thus it was. And yet… why had she to be born in that sadly immoral way? Why had she to have a wanton for a mother? Would she have been Carolan if she had not? Would she have had that wild quality, that queer fascination, from which he could not escape? His mother said: “But, Everard, think, my darling, think!” He said: “Mother, I love Carolan … I must marry Carolan. I could never love anyone else.”

His father said: “You have a duty, my son, to God and the church. Such a marriage would be pollution. Is the girl suited to be the wife of a parson?”

“She is suitable to be my wife!” said Everard.

“The obstinacy of youth!” wailed Mrs. Orland.

“After all we have done for you …”

But Everard knew that, had he not been bewitched, he would not have chosen Carolan. They were right when they said Margaret was the wife for him. Docile, religious-minded, gentle, loving was Margaret. Sweetly pretty, without that wild beauty of Carolan’s which was hardly beauty at all. He knew, and he was wise and serious in all things except in love. But how could a man be wise, loving Carolan.

“I must marry Carolan, Mother, I must!” Mrs. Orland loved her son dearly; he was all her life, for her husband she had never loved. So she set about saving Everard from the disaster of marriage with Carolan, and she set about it wisely.

“I would not wish to spoil your chance of happiness, dear boy. I would want only to make sure of it. You are very young yet; Carolan is even younger. Why, only yesterday she was a baby in the nursery. I am very fond of Carolan; she is a wild, sweet child. But, darling, haste in all things is inadvisable; in marriage it may well prove disastrous. Will you do one little thing for me, darling?”

Everard kissed his mother’s hand. He loved her deeply, and the strong sense of chivalry in his nature made him long to protect her from any unhappiness he might cause her by this consuming passion for Carolan.

“I will do anything except give up Carolan and that I cannot do!”

“I would not ask that. I begin to see how you love the child. It is only your happiness that I think of.”

“You are an angel, Mother.” His face was alight with happiness, so that he looked just a boy again.

“Listen, darling,” she said.

“You have your new living; go to it. There will be plenty of work for you to do. Go to it for three months. Do not see Carolan during that time.”

“Not see her…”

“You could write, my darling… Believe me, it is wise…”

And eventually he had agreed to do that.

“Three months? What is three months, Carolan?”

An eternity! said Carolan to herself.

She let him go. And he had gone fifty miles away to the new living, and he wrote to her often and told her of the events of his day.

With Everard gone, and Margaret pining, and the strange secret silence of the squire, life was grey indeed.

Charles came home. A big man of twenty-two, very like his father, causing a flutter among the females of the countryside. He too watched Carolan with something of the secret silence of the squire. From under his heavy lidded eyes he watched her, and there were traces of that childhood cruelty about his mouth.

Once he found her in the stables grooming her horse, and he stood leaning against the door watching her.

“Damn it, Carolan,” he said, for he used oaths like the squire, ‘you have grown quickly!”

“Naturally,” she said, “I am older.”

“And good to look at too!”

She was silent, wishing him gone.

“Everard evidently thought so,” he added.

She was still silent.

“You are a sullen devil, Carolan! Have you no welcome for your … for your … what am I, Carolan? I am not your brother, am I? I do not mind that though, do you?”

“I do not mind in the least,” said Carolan coolly.

“Why should you? Do you still bear grudges for past offences?”

“I dislike you intensely, just as I always did, if that is what you mean.”

“Hoity-toity!” he said.

“What a little Miss she is. I could make you like me, Carolan.”

“You would set yourself an impossible task.”

“Would I? Would I?” He pushed through the half-door.

“Not impossible at all, Miss Carolan. By God, you have a damned pretty face! And cheeky too. But I always liked a bit of cheek.”

“Stand back!” ordered Carolan.

“I am not a child of five now to be teased by you.”

“Oh, no, not five. Almost a wife, eh, Miss Carolan? Almost the parson’s wife! Still, is that going to stop you having a little fun?”

“Fun? Do you think dallying with you would ever be fun for me? I assure you it would be far from that in fact quite the most unpleasant thing that had ever happened to me.”

“Good God, Carolan! Do you think I will stand for that?”

“Stand for what you will. I want nothing of you!”

He caught her suddenly.

“Little prude! Are you such a prude with Everard, I wonder?”

She kicked his legs angrily, and he released her.

“What a spitfire!” He grimaced, for she had hurt him. and all the desire to kiss her had vanished momentarily; he would have liked to hit her. He almost did, but the thought of the squire’s anger if he heard of this reminded him that he needed money from the squire, and he had to sing small for a while.

He said: “Do you imagine that you are so very attractive that you can kick and still be kissed?”

“You are ridiculous! Conceited fool, that is you, and always was!”

“By God, there are those who are only too pleased to kiss me.”

There are those doubtless, but you probably have to pay them well.”

She walked past him arrogantly, her chin up, her eyes flashing her contempt. But her heart quailed a little at the expression in his eyes; it reminded her of the squire’s eyes.

So there was Charles, a hateful presence in the house; and that scene in the stables had brought home a sudden and horrible realization. She would not face it, for quite a long time; but she did eventually. She dreamed once that the squire gave her a horse for her birthday as indeed he had many years ago and they went riding together, and he said: “Kiss me for my present, Carrie!” And he seized her, and he had two heads, and one was his own and the other Charles’s, and he would not let her go. She awoke from that dream, screaming, and then she could no longer hide the truth from herself.

Sometimes at mealtimes she would watch the big hands of the squire, peeling a peach, cracking a nut; sometimes she would find his eyes fixed upon her.

She would wake suddenly in the night and think she heard footsteps in the corridor outside her door. Once she thought she heard the door handle turned. Her door was locked; she had long ago taken to locking her door.

Panic grew on her. She was afraid to be alone, afraid of his coming on her suddenly, afraid to sleep, afraid to be off her guard, afraid to ride out in case he rode after her. The squire was a great shadow over her life, and beside it was the smaller shadow of Charles. Terrified she was. Nervous and pale. The storm was gathering; one day it would break. Something frightful was going to happen to her if she stayed … something inevitable and inescapable.

She could write to Everard, but it was only three weeks ago that he had given his word to his mother that he would not see her for three months. She was terribly frightened and lonely and inexperienced, bewildered by the passion she aroused in the men around her.

She sought for escape. There was only one way of escape she would go to her father and mother in London. She would write to Everard from London. It was simple it was the only solution. All that was needed was a little courage. So, late one night, she packed a small bag and crept out of the house; all through the night she walked, and early next morning reached Exeter and caught the London coach.

“Are you going far?” asked the merchant’s wife.

“To London! It is a long way to go alone.”

“I am going to my father and mother,” said Carolan.

“Ah! You have been on a visit to the country then?”

“Yes. On a visit.”

“And you are looking forward to joining your parents, I can see.”

“Very much.”

The merchants wife decided to keep a watchful eye on the child during the journey, for the melancholy young man who had drunk too freely at luncheon was casting many a speculative glance in the young traveller’s direction.

“I am surprised,” said the woman disapprovingly, ‘that you arc allowed to travel alone.”

“I had to come,” lied Carolan glibly, for she had made up the story lest she should need one, and could not but congratulate herself on her foresight in having prepared it.

“My aunt was taken sick, so she could not accompany me. I can take care of myself.”

“You may believe so,” retorted the merchant’s wife, and noted that her own husband was more than a little interested in the child. She resolved with redoubled fervour to see that the girl came to no mischief during the journey.

So much for the first day, but as they left Honiton behind them Carolan wondered whether she had not been a little impulsive. Her parents would be delighted to receive her of course, but perhaps they would have liked to prepare for her in advance. If only she could have gone to Everard I Surely, had she told him what she feared from the squire and Charles, he would have been glad to receive her! But how could a young parson take a girl into his household? He would have to dispatch her at once, and what good would it be to go to him if it were only that he might send her away? And where could he send her but to his mother, and was his mother really a friend of hers?

She had done the only possible thing then in coming to her mother; and once there she would write to Everard and explain everything to him, and by and by he would come for her and there would be a wedding, and she would go to that home which Everard had prepared for her. She felt gloriously wise, very competent to manage her own affairs; and by the time they reached Dorchester her spirits had risen, and her gaiety both amused and delighted her fellow travellers. She was very sure of herself, believing all her difficulties to be over; she was intoxicated with the success of her venture, and she took a wicked delight in inventing stories of her home and her past life for the entertainment of the inquisitive merchant’s wife. It was exciting to feel that at sixteen one could make great decisions and possessed the wit to carry them through.

She enjoyed the journey. The thrill of crossing Bagshot Heath … even in the morning! She almost wished it was twilight, and the heath full of terrors. She was sure if a highwayman attempted to get her little bit of money she would manage to fool him. But it was absurd to think of highwaymen at eight o’clock of the morning, with the sun brilliant and not yet too hot. By afternoon they would be at the Oxford Arms and the journey done; she would say goodbye to all these people who had been her constant companions for the last few days. This night she would spend under her parents’ roof. And the first thing she would do would be to dispatch a letter to Everard, telling him what she had done; and, who knew, Everard might decide he could not wait the stipulated three months, and come for her right away. They would be married in London from her father’s house.

“We are passing Turnham Green,” said one of the travellers, startling her out of her dreams.

It was afternoon when the coach trundled into the yard at the Oxford Arms. It was strange, thought Carolan, how people on a journey were somehow different from the same people at the journey’s end. There they had sat, these people, making idle conversation through the long days, over meals in communal dining-rooms; but when the coach unloaded and they stepped out on to the cobbles of the yard, looking about them for their friends, they were like butterflies emerging from the chrysalis stage. The melancholy young man, who had scarcely spoken throughout the entire journey, was greeting a friend; he was no longer melancholy but voluble, talking of lousy beds and dratted inns and the slowness of the coach. The merchant’s wife was being greeted affectionately by her sister, and seemed to have forgotten Carolan’s existence. But with Carolan the process was reversed. The gay butterfly crept back to her chrysalis. There was no one to meet Carolan, and indeed how could there be? But so childishly had she believed the charming fables she had told the merchant’s wife, that she had almost expected her father’s carriage to be waiting for her. So now she stood there, forlorn, cramped from the long hours in the coach, hungry and alone.

The merchant’s wife saw Carolan, and stopped her chatter. Carolan said quickly: “My father has not yet arrived; something must have occurred to delay him.”

The merchant’s wife looked faintly perturbed, but Carolan saw with relief that her affairs had ceased to be of paramount importance to the good woman, who was eager to be gone with her husband and sister.

“I shall take a little refreshment while I wait,” said Carolan.

“It may be that he has left a note for me at the inn.”

The merchant’s wife kissed her affectionately.

Take care of yourself, my child! And while you are waiting for your father do not talk to strangers; that is most unwise in London Town. And do not forget, my dear, if ever you should be Clapham way, you must bring your family to see us.”

The invitation was vague, for the girl was attractive and the merchant had a roving eye; and even the kindest of women must give thought to these matters.

“You are very kind!” said Carolan, for so the woman was, though old-fashioned and over-cautious and sentimental and middle-aged.

Carolan went into the inn. It was cool in the parlour. She sat in a deep window-seat, and looked about” her at the gleaming brass over the open fireplace. The pleasurable excitement was returning. She would engage some vehicle to take her to her parents’ house; it would be quite simple. In the glass on the sideboard she caught a glimpse of herself, small head held high, eyes a-sparkle. This was adventure as she loved it; she wished that Everard was here to enjoy it with her.

A serving maid came in, buxom and pretty, with ribbons in her gown and a mob-cap on her fluffy hair. Carolan asked for refreshment. It would have to be bread and cheese with a glass of ale to wash it down, said the maid, for that was the best the inn could offer in between meals. Carolan could think of nothing better, since all she needed was a little light refreshment before she set out to find her parents’ house. She would inquire about a conveyance later.

When the maid had disappeared, a woman came into the parlour and sat down in one of the chairs near Carolan. Carolan scarcely noticed her, so deep was she in her own thoughts, and when the maid returned with the food and drink, she took the little velvet purse from the pocket of her cloak, paid her, and wondered whether to ask then about the best way to get to her mother’s house; but before she could speak, the newcomer had engaged the maid’s attention and was asking for a glass of ale.

There was plenty of time, thought Carolan, and meanwhile the bread and cheese were delicious and she was hungry; the ale was cool and refreshing, and she was thirsty.

“A warm day,” said the woman, and Carolan noticed that the maid had slipped out and they were alone.

“Very warm,” agreed Carolan, ‘but the ale is cool!”

“Ah! Indeed.” She was a tall woman with white hair, very dark eyes and a pleasant smile. Carolan warmed to her, for there was something in the very vastness of the City that chilled her, and it was good to discover so soon that its people were friendly.

“You travelled by the coach, my dear, did you not?”

Carolan nodded.

“And you have come far?”

“From Exeter.”

The woman smiled.

That is a long journey for one so young… and forgive me if I say it… so beautiful.”

“Oh!” said Carolan, protesting but well pleased.

“You flatter!”

“Not II Have you looked in the glass recently? There is one!”

The maid came in with the ale. The woman paid and sat back in her chair sipping the beverage.

“As you say, it is cool enough!”

The maid left them. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly, and every now and then Carolan could hear distant voices crying wares. It was indeed pleasant in the old inn parlour, with the adventure well-nigh over and so successfully carried out, and the glass on the sideboard showing Carolan her reflection and assuring her that though the woman had exaggerated a little, there was some truth in her words.

A smile appeared about the woman’s mouth as she watched the girl’s smiling at her own reflection.

“You are visiting relations?”

“I am going home… to my parents …”

“Ah! Then you know London well?”

“No. I have been living in the country__not with my parents.

Now I have come home to them.”

“They were to be here to meet you perhaps?”

“Oh, no … It is a surprise visit. They will not be here to meet me.”

The woman watched her speculatively.

“You have a lucky face,” she said.

“A lucky face?”

“Indeed you have! As soon as my eyes fell on you, I knew good fortune awaited you.”

“But how could you know that?”

“There are some of us to whom such knowledge comes.”

“Do you mean… you are a fortuneteller?”

“Oh, come! Do I look that sort? A lady does not call herself a fortuneteller; that suggests a gipsy, does it not, one who must have her palm crossed with silver before she will ply her trade?”

Hot blood rushed into Carolan’s face.

“I am very sorry… I should have known.”

The woman threw back her head and laughed. Her teeth flashed. Carolan caught a glimpse of gold earrings.

“Bless you, my dear,” said the woman, “I did not mean to embarrass you. In a measure you are right; nature does not discriminate when she bestows her gifts. I can see into the future; only… I do not ply my accomplishment as a trade.”

“I… see…”

“Ah! But not so clearly as I see a wonderful fortune for you!”

Carolan was breathless, eager, lips parted, eyes shining; her hood fell back from her glowing hair.

“You can see that for me?”

There is mystery about you.”

Carolan blushed; she was sure the woman knew that she had run away.

“Are you by any chance going to join your lover?”

Carolan was silent. Very soon of course she would join Everard; perhaps it would be sooner than she expected.

“You are running away from your home,” went on the woman, her dark eyes shining with prophecy. I see you are greatly loved.”

“You are indeed clever!” said Carolan.

“I will tell you what I will do. I will read your palm; that will tell me more than your face. Come and sit nearer me, my dear. No! I will join you on the window seat.”

Wonderful things could happen to you if you were bold and took from life what you wanted; that was what Carolan was learning. How much older she was now than the girl who had left Haredon but a few days ago! How much wiser than Margaret who would never undertake such an adventure! The kindness of people! The merchant’s wife who had befriended her; this lady, who, for no payment at all, would tell her fortune, and just because she had a lucky face!

She sat on the window seat beside Carolan. She smelt of musk.

“Give me your palm, my dear. There! Why, what a little hand! A pretty little hand; and scarcely any hard work has this little hand been forced to do. Perhaps it has gripped a pair of reins, eh? Ah! You lived quietly in the country, did you not? And a little pet among those with whom you lived. There is much love in your life, child. And in the country you met your lover.” A very long thin finger touched Carolan’s palm.

“And there was some disagreement, eh, some little bit of trouble? Disapproval of the match from those who loved you and wanted to keep you with them a little longer?”

Carolan was red and white by turns, for surely she was in the presence of a seer! So it was all written there, was it? Everything that had happened to her.

The woman’s fingers closed about her hand.

“Never fear, all will be well. Very soon you will be a wife. Do not be dissuaded from true romance. It is a headstrong little girl you are fond of your own way. Am I not right? Already you know something of the charm those green eyes hold. Well, well, that is natural. One thing, my dear, do not be so ready to trust those around you. I think perhaps you are over-trusting.”

Carolan’s eyes were dreamy. It was true, absolutely true. How readily she had trusted Charles at the first show of friendship. How innocently had she believed in the fatherly affection of the squire! London was indeed an enchanting place; how glad she was that she had come! How wise she had been!

“Thank you!” she murmured.

“Thank you!”

The lady’s laughter rang out and echoed in the rafters of the inn parlour.

“Do not thank me, my child. Thank fate that gave you you beauty and your charm.”

“You should not say such things,” protested Carolan, longing for the lady to repeat them.

“They are not really true.”

“So you doubt my word ?”

“Oh… no… no! I know you are speaking the truth… about what is happening, but__’ “Ah! So modest? Or not so modest, eh? Which is it?”

And the keen black eyes seemed to look right through Carolan, making her blush for very shame.

“But, my child,” said the lady, ‘you must not think I am laughing at you. If I laugh it is because there is something beautiful about youth and innocence. How I hope that your dearest wish will be granted! Come, I will see what I can do to give you that wish. Give me your hand. See! I will hold your wrist lightly, thus. Now close your eyes. Keep them fast shut until I say you may open them. Now wish. Just repeat the wish over to yourself-not aloud. None but yourself must know your dearest wish. There! Have you said it to yourself? Then say it again. Your dearest wish. Open your eyes. Perhaps now it will come.”

Carolan opened her eyes. She was still saying to herself: “Let Everard come at once to me in London. Let him leave everything and come!”

“Your wish will come true,” said her kind friend.

“I know your wish will come true.”

“You are so kind to me, I do not know how to thank you!”

“It is not I who am kind it is life. And I do not like thanks.”

She drained off her ale.

“You are going?” said Carolan, disappointed.

“I must be on my way. Goodbye, my child, and one word more before I go. Guard that impulsive nature of yours. Do not be so ready to trust. Remember that, will you, my dear, and little can go wrong with you, for you have a high good spirit, and it is such as you that Life loves. But remember not too trustful!”

“I will remember,” said Carolan.

“And you are right, wonderfully right. I shall never forget you.”

“No, my dear, I do not think you will. Our meeting must have been ordained. I feel it here.” She touched her bosom, and a smile that was oddly mischievous sat upon her face.

She went out, and Carolan saw her make her stately way past the window. She did not look in though, and Carolan remembered that she was hungry, and sat back to enjoy her bread and cheese. Life was wonderful. Very soon she would be married to Everard, for had she not wished that he would leave everything and come to her, and was not her wish to be granted? And in the meantime she was to enjoy this adventure of getting to her own dear Mamma and the father she would surely love. Would it be possible to hire a carriage to take her to the house? She wondered how much a carriage would cost. She would ask the landlord or one of the ostlers what would be best. And she would go now, for she was eager to see her mother and her father.

She drew on the hood of her cloak and went to the mirror on the sideboard to pat the tendrils of hair at her temple.

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 …?”