Текст книги "Beyond The Blue Mountains"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 36 страниц)

“You are a sweet daughter for a man to have, Carolan.”

Then you are pleased!”

“We will have a talk. I can see you have the makings of a business woman! ‘ He went to the shop door and locked it.

“But, Father…” she began.

There will be no more customers today,” he said.

“I think you are very tired.”

He smiled his slow sweet smile.

“A drink and a rest would be very welcome, I admit.”

They went through into the parlour.

“Ah!” said Kitty. There you are, my love. And have you done good business? And would you like a drink? We have had a visitor today… Carolan and I. He is quite a presentable young man, that. Carolan, a drink for me too; I declare my throat is as “A visitor?” said Barrett slowly.

“Mr. Crew,” said Carolan.

“He just came to inquire how I was after yesterday’s excitement.”

Kitty smiled slyly, and Carolan felt she wanted to escape from her sad father and slyly smiling mother.

Darrell twirled his ale round and round in the tankard.

“Carolan,” he said, as though choosing his words carefully.

‘business is complicated. Odd as it may seem to you, those old clothes are more important to the business of the shop itself than the jewellery. But my main business is not done in the shop; I do not sell much over the counter. This is how I do my business my chief business, you understand I meet a man who wants something; I try to get it for nun. Do you understand? It is not a matter of showing goods in a shop window. This is not so much a shop as a storeroom. That door you have discovered; I would rather have it covered. Listen, Carolan, I will tell you something. This is a very poor neighbourhood in which we live; it is a dangerous neighbourhood. Beyond that door is a flight of stairs which leads down to a basement room; and in this room I keep my more valuable stock. You understand? A man may come into the shop to ask the price of a secondhand coat, but he may be a burglar spying out the land. I would rather people did not know of that door. That is why I have kept it covered with those old clothes.”

“I see.” said Carolan humbly, ‘that I have been rather foolish. Oh, Father, why do you not tell me that I am an ignorant girl from the country who, because she knows so little, thinks she knows much!”

He put his hands over hers.

“You are sweet,” he said, ‘and I love your solicitude. But this business is too involved for you to understand in a few weeks. While you are here I want you and your mother to enjoy yourselves. I am going to plan some excursions for you. Do not worry yourself about dull commerce!”

“I am sorry. Father.”

“Bless you,” he said.

“God bless you and keep you out of harm all the days of your life!”

A week passed, and it was a full one for Carolan. When her father went out on business she insisted on looking after the shop; it was now as she had first seen it, the old clothes huddled in the doorway, the door to the storage basement concealed by musty coats. Carolan did not think of altering it now. She understood that her father was no ordinary shopkeeper; he was known in the coffee and chocolate houses of the town as an enterprising merchant. If a rich man wanted an ornament for his wife, sweetheart, mother or daughter, he would get into touch with Darrell, and Darrell would do his best to procure what was wanted. He told Carolan that he had started in this humble shop, and because he wished to save quickly that he might retire to the country at the earliest possible moment, lie did not see why he should take more expensive premises. He liked, too, to keep up the business of selling old clothes. The poor in the neighbourhood knew they could get what they wanted at a fair price from his shop.

“One day,” he said.

“I may take you along to the coffee house with me.” Then he added quickly, as though his pride and common sense were having a struggle from which common sense came out triumphant: “Not That would be foolish; though I should have liked to show them my daughter.”

She went through Kitty’s wardrobe with her. and helped to make alterations. They sat for hours together in the little par-lout while Kitty talked, chiefly of the day when they would retire to the country and she would have her. own house. She would not be house-proud like her Aunt Harriet; she would be no goddess of the still-room. No! But she would entertain, and there would be servants to wait on her and her guests, and a full larder always. Therese should come back and set about the task of resuscitating her beauty.

On one occasion Darrell hired a cabriolet and they all drove round London. Then they had a picnic on Hampstead Heath and took a trip to the Bald Faced Stag in Epping Forest. It was all delightful and full of interest the best way of making the days pass quickly while one waited for news of a lover.

“You are very good to me.” Carolan told Darrell.

“But is not all this very expensive?”

“It may be,” answered Darrell. ‘but a visit from a daughter can be a most special occasion. I shall tell you now, I am planning a visit to the playhouse, and then of course we must all go to Ranelagh … or do Vauxhall Gardens appeal to you more?”

Carolan put her arms round his neck and kissed him. which made him flush with pleasure. He. who was undemonstrative himself, loved such gestures in his wife and daughter.

Jonathan Crew came to the shop often. He would sit in the parlour and talk to Kitty and Carolan. A most interesting man, he was, and how well he knew London! There was no place one could mention without his knowing a good deal about it; and in his quiet, unimpassioned way, he was a vivid talker.

“Has it struck you,” said Kitty one day, ‘that Mr. Crew has a good deal of leisure?”

“It had not until you mentioned it,” replied Carolan.

“Mamma, why do you look so full of wisdom?”

“For this reason, my dear. The hours of a clerk are very long. Does a clerk get so much leisure for visiting ladies?”

“He has explained; he comes here when sent out on some commission.”

“Ah!” laughed Kitty.

“I was not born yesterday!”

“Oh, Mamma, why must you see intrigue in the most ordinary things!”

“Intrigue? I? My dear, I would have you know that I am a few years older than you are. I have lived; why, I could tell you … but no matter. It is an extraordinary thing to me, if not to you. that Mr. Crew has so much time on his hands. Has he the air of a clerk, think you? Those eyes of his do they look as if they have stared at rows of figures? Does he look as if he has spent long hours on an office stool?”

“The elbows of his coat were very shiny, I noticed!”

“La! What a baby it is! What could be easier, for one with means at his command, than to acquire the shiny-elbowed coat of a clerk! I have a theory; suppose he came here to explore these parts. He might be a most important person! You laugh. Carolan. but do you or do you not know more of the world than I?”

“I do not dream, as you do, Mamma.”

“Stuff and nonsense! It might well be that he belongs to the quality and poses as poor Mr. Jonathan Crew in order that he might make our acquaintance.”

“Why ever should he do that, Mamma?”

“Kitty patted her hair.

“Because, my child, he may be tired of sycophants; he may want friends for his own sake. My dear, you are not without attractions.”

Carolan laughed, but Kitty only smiled. She had her own private thoughts on the matter, and these she would not admit to anyone.

Carolan was in the parlour one day when the shop door bell rang. It was morning; her mother was still a-bed, and Darrell had gone out for an hour or so, he said. Millie was working in the kitchen.

Carolan went into the shop. A man was standing there. He had his back towards her. and, as she approached with a bright “Good morning’, he turned and she was looking into a pair of blue eyes that twinkled merrily. She had seen them before, and they must have made a vast impression on her, for she recognized them at once as belonging to the man who had stolen her handkerchief.

“Good morning,” he said, and she knew that he recognized her. for a look of embarrassment passed quickly over his face. He added quickly: “I came to see Mr. Grey.”

She answered: “He is out; I will attend to you. What is it?”

Now the embarrassment had left him; he was mischievous, amused.

“That is very kind of you.”

“Not kind at all. I am here to serve my father’s customers. What is it you want?”

His eyes went round the shop and fell on some oddments of jewellery lying in a tray.

“A ring,” he said.

“A ring for a lady…”

He moved towards the tray, but she was before him. She put her hands over the tray and faced him squarely.

“Please touch nothing! I might tell you that I recognize you. You stole a handkerchief of mine some days back.”

He laughed. He had good white teeth, and though his face was far from handsome, it was attractive.

“You think that extremely funny, I gather,” said Carolan coldly.

“I find it extremely gratifying that you should know me again.”

“I should have thought it would be merely embarrassing … for a thief I’ “Will you believe me,” he said, ‘if I tell you that that was my one and only lapse?”

“No!”

“But you are cruel!”

“I hope I am not a fool.”

“Do I look like a common thief?”

“I do not know how a common thief should look. I only know you are one.”

“You are brutal…”

“Do you think an honest man would be tempted to steal a girl’s handkerchief just because it was a pleasant and dainty affair?”

“He might because she was a pleasant and dainty affair!”

She flushed angrily.

“Sir! You are offensive.”

“My manners are rough, but my heart is soft,” he said.

“I assure you the theft of the handkerchief was my only lapse.”

“Then you had better return it.”

He looked sad.

“No!” she cried.

“You have doubtless disposed of it to a fellow criminal! I should be obliged if you will leave this shop, but not before you have turned out your pockets to show me that you are taking none of my father’s goods with you.”

“What a spitfire you are! But a fine daughter to your father, I’ll be bound.”

“I shall very certainly not allow him to be robbed under my nose.”

“And it is such a charming nose!”

Turn out your pockets, sir!”

“And if I say no, what then, lady?” He stretched out his arm. Feel those muscles; feel those biceps! I’ll warrant you have nothing like it.”

“Do not dare to touch me.”

“Certainly I would not presume to touch your ladyship.”

“Then turn out your pockets.”

“Before you make me ?”

“I am not joking. I warn you that sooner or later you will end up in Newgate.”

“Ah, who can be sure that that evil fate does not await him!”

“An honest man can. Now. pray. sir. turn out your pockets and be gone.”

He thrust his hands into his pockets. He began laying out the contents on a small table: a clasp knife, a leather purse, a bandanna handkerchief. As he did so he looked at her puckishly, as though consumed with some private mirth which, try as he might, he could not repress.

“You say that an honest man need not fear the dark shadow of Newgate.” he said.

“Never be too sure of that! Newgate is an octopus; it stretches out ugly tentacles to catch the unwary.”

To catch the dishonest,” she said.

“Hurry.”

“I would like to talk of that one lapse.”

“But I am not interested.”

“It is a mistake not to be interested in your fellow men.”

“It is a mistake to listen to the tales of robbers.”

“You are harsh. Sad that such harshness should exist behind that lovely face of yours!”

“Do not think that your absurd flattery moves me in the least.”

“Flattery? It is not flattery. Come, do you ever use your mirror?”

She began to laugh suddenly.

“You are amused?”

“Enormously. You speak the language of thieves: those very words were said to me by a cheat in an inn parlour just before she relieved me of my purse.”

“A purse is a purse. A handkerchief is a very different matter.”

“I see no difference.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I have preserved that handkerchief, that I look at it often and think of you?”

“No,” said Carolan.

“Pray take up your things and be gone.”

The next time we meet I shall convince you.”

There will be no next time.”

“Do not be sure of that.”

“I am absolutely sure.”

“It is never wise to be sure of anything in this world. How old are you?”

“A most impertinent question which I shall certainly not answer.”

“Not yet seventeen, I’ll warrant. Do you know how old I am?” She looked at his face now, for there was in him an irrepressible charm which, in spite of distrust, she could not ignore. She saw that his face was as brown as a berry, and wrinkled, but not with age; his teeth were good; and his smile and his merry eyes made a pleasant thing of his rather ugly face.

Thirty years old, I’d say,” she answered.

“Old enough to have trained your hands to keep off property which does not belong to them.”

“Twenty-four. That’s no lie, and it surprises you. I do not wonder at that, for it is not the number of years that leave their mark upon the face, but the contents of them.”

The shop door opened to admit Darrell. He stared at the pair of them for a moment; then advanced into the shop.

“Why, Marcus!”

“Darrell… my old friend!” They clasped hands.

“I was not expecting you,” said Darrell.

“A chance call, that is all. Your charming daughter and I have been making each other’s acquaintance. But I for one should be glad of a more formal introduction.”

“Why yes,” said Darrell, still looking a trifle dazed.

“My daughter, Carolan. Carolan, Mr. Marcus Markham.”

“You did not say you knew my father,” said Carolan with an angry glint in her eyes.

“I was coming to that,” he told her; his smile was broad and yet secret.

“You did not give me much time, you know.”

“Well, come in! Come in!” said Darrell.

“I did want to buy a ring I see there. A gold ring, is it not? And of good workmanship? Perhaps Miss Carolan will serve me.”

“Certainly I will,” said Carolan. Darrell said: “You will eat with us? What is there, Carolan?”

“Boiled mutton with caper sauce … but not ready for half an hour.”

“You will stay, Marcus?”

Marcus let his eyes rest on Carolan.

“Wild horses would not drag me away, Darrell my friend! But pray do not disturb yourself about this little matter of the ring. Go on in; take off your boots; take off your coat. Miss Carolan and I will settle about the ring.”

Darrell said: “As you will,” and went in.

Carolan looked up into the man’s face.

“Why did you not tell me you were a friend of my father?”

“I did not think you would believe me.”

Tell me, are you a thief?”

The stealing of your handkerchief was my only lapse.”

“But that makes you a thief!”

“Indeed it does. Shall you denounce me?”

“How can I… for such a paltry thing?” She began to laugh.

“I suppose you think I am a foolish creature.”

“I think you are a charming creature.”

“And a spitfire! You said that.”

“Such an honest little spitfire! No, my dear, you were angry in a good cause… I like you for it.”

“Well then, shall we forget the whole stupid business?”

“Forget it! I shall never forget my first meeting with you. Instead we will say that the stormy beginning of our friendship is over. There is a trite saying that sunshine is brighter after the storm, but like most trite sayings it is true.”

“I am sorry for jumping to conclusions. What did you think when I asked you to turn out your pockets? And you a guest, a friend of my father’s!”

“I thought it fun.”

Did you think it fun to steal my handkerchief?”

“Certainly fun with a smack of danger in it. Men have hanged by the neck for stealing a handkerchief!”

“I see. I am, you notice, from the country. London ways are very new to me.”

“You are the sweeter for that.”

“You wish to see a ring… was this it?”

“It was. Slip it on your finger that I may see the effect.”

“There! It is attractive, is it not?”

“Delightfully so, there.”

She put her head on one side, surveying it, wondering about the person for whom he was buying it; his wife, his sweetheart? I would not care to be either, thought Carolan, remembering the warmth of his merry eyes as they smiled into hers. A gay man, a man fond of the pleasures of life … and yet very different from the squire. Not furtive; not sly; not lecherous; just amorous and eager and merry and very gallant. She liked him, in spite of the fact that he had made her feel foolish.

He took the ring and put it into his pocket.

“I will settle with your father.”

She bowed her head.

“And now shall we go inside?”

“I would prefer to look around here with you. Who knows, I might see something else that attracts me.”

“Then I must call my father, for I have the dinner to attend to.”

“Then let us go and find your father.”

They went into the shop parlour. Darrell was sitting in an armchair; he had removed his boots and wore soft down-at-heel slippers. His feet, like his hands, were misshapen, had become so, Carolan knew, during that tragic period of his life which he was forever trying to forget.

“Father, here is your friend,” said Carolan.

“Now I must go to the kitchen to see how Millie is getting on.”

In the kitchen she absently lifted the lid of the stew-pot and sniffed the appetizing smell which rushed out. She was thinking of the man in the parlour. He had aroused in her a longing not for him, but for Everard.

Kitty had heard that there was a visitor. She came down resplendent in black velvet: it was low cut, too magnificent. Carolan thought it incongruous for the shop parlour as she came in carrying the steaming dish of mutton.

She listened to Kitty’s talking to Marcus Markham.

“So you have already met my little daughter? She thought you were a customer an ordinary customer. Do you think she is like me? Tell me that.”

“No,” said Marcus, ‘not greatly like you, though there is a resemblance.”

“Rejoice, Carolan, you are only a little like met” “Nay, Ma’am, that would assuredly not be a matter for rejoicing in the ordinary way, but may I say that your daughter has beauty of a different kind?”

“Marcus! Flatterer!”

It was a little foolish, thought Carolan. Why could Mamma not resign herself to growing old! She had Darrell; he was, she was fond of saying, her true love. Why must she always be seeking for stupid compliments which did not mean anything! She felt a little angry, not only with Kitty but with Mr. Markham. Everard would not pay such stupid compliments. But Everard was different from all others; there was no one quite like Everard there never had been and never would be. Soon, soon there must be a letter.

They sat round the table, and Darrell served the mutton.

“How silent is Miss Carolan,” said Marcus.

“Ah!” said Darrell.

“Dreaming of Everard, I’ll be bound. Eh, daughter?”

“Everard?” said Marcus lightly.

“Is it permitted to ask who this most lucky person is who so occupies Miss Carolan’s thoughts?”

The man she is going to marry … very soon!” said Darrell, and he said it firmly, almost as though he had chosen him for his daughter and was determined that she should marry him, if he had to drive her to the altar.

“I might have known,” said Marcus, ‘that such a prize would be quickly appropriated.”

“He is a parson!” said Kitty.

“And the marriage,” put in Darrell, ‘is to take place in a few weeks’ time .We are expecting Everard to call here soon… in a week or so. Then he will have the arrangements for the wedding complete.”

“I sigh with envy!”

“La! Sir!” put in Kitty.

“You should not find it so difficult to persuade a girl to marry you!”

“You mistake me, Ma’am. I am full of envy, not for Bridegroom Tom, Dick or Harry, but only for Bridegroom Everard.”

Kitty lay back in her chair, her fingers curled lovingly about her glass.

“In my days men were different. They did not envy long; they took what they wanted.”

Carolan’s heart was beating wildly; an angry flush came into her cheeks.There were times when she felt really angry with Mamma.

“It is a good thing then,” she said tartly, ‘that men have changed. Nowadays we are not taken; we decide!”

“Bravo!” cried Marcus. He lifted his glass. To the modern generation! The march towards civilization is slow but steady. Each generation is a little less savage than the last’ “I like savages,” said Kitty.

“But you are a pagan,” said Marcus, caressingly.

“I like pagans, and I must confess I am not over-fond of parsons. Not do I think our Carolan will make an ideal parson’s wife; she has too much of me in her.”

“You know nothing of the matter, Kitty,” said Darrell sternly, and Kitty pouted at being so spoken to. Angry lights leaped into her eyes. She to know nothing! She who had been loved by many, married to a lascivious brute who had however provided her with a comfortable home; she who had left that home to run away to squalor with Darrell, and had taught him how to make love and be happy! He was her true love, of course, but there were times when his unworldliness drove her well-nigh crazy. They had this attractive daughter who had rashly betrothed herself to a parson; there were better fish in the sea than parsons. And a man who came to the shop in the course of business might well be rich a merchant or a nobleman. Who was Marcus Markham? She had never thought very much of him until now. When they had come to live at the shop, he had come into their life: or about that time Kitty was not sure. How could she be sure of unimportant details! Darrell never talked about him much; the few idle questions she had asked had never been really answered. She had thought Jonathan Crew might be posing as a clerk, but Marcus Markham had an air which Jonathan Crew would never have. The burning question of the moment was Who was Marcus Markham?

“Mr. Markham,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes demurely, ‘do you agree that I am an ignoramus?”

Marcus flashed a smile at Carolan.

“Certainly not! You exude wisdom. But one thing I am absolutely certain of in whatever generation Miss Carolan had lived, she would choose and not be chosen.”

“Thank you for that!” said Carolan.

Kitty shrugged her shoulders.

“And what have you been doing recently, Mr. Markham?” she inquired turning the conversation.

“Have you been to the races lately?”

Darrell stirred uneasily in his chair.

“I must explain,” said Kitty to Carolan, ‘that I suspect Mr. Markham of being a gay dog. He is a regular gad-about. He does not mean us to know that, but it slips out. He has been here, there and everywhere!”

“It seems to me,” said Carolan, ‘that Mr. Markham is a somewhat mysterious gentleman.”

“There is no mystery whatever,” said Marcus.

“I am glad of it,” retorted Carolan.

“I do not believe that,” put in Kitty.

“I believe he is a gentleman of fashion… when he is not wandering about Grape Street.”

“Oh,” said Carolan, ‘do you spend your time wandering about Grape Street?”

“Why not? An interesting neighbourhood, is it not?”

“If you have a taste for squalor and poverty, yes,” said Carolan.

Odd, she was thinking, how both he and Jonathan Crew had said they found the neighbourhood interesting. Darrell said: “Marcus came in to buy a ring.”

“Ah!” said Kitty.

“For a lady friend, I’ll be bound!”

“If she will accept it!”

“You see, Carolan, I was right when I said he was a gay dog.” Marcus grinned at Carolan.

“In some society it is necessary to be a gay dog. In other society it is only necessary to be oneself.”

“But,” said Carolan, “the two might add up to the same thing.”

“You are a cyme!”

“Is one a cynic for stating what one believes to be true?” She was trying hard to dislike him, as she felt she ought. He was too bold; he was flirtatious, and with every flicker of his eyes he was telling her that he found her desirable.

“Carolan,” cut in Kitty, ‘you must not take him too seriously. He is trying to impress you with his wickedness. Nowadays to be wicked is a greater asset than to be good.”

“But, Mamma, you said a little while back that it was in your generation that pagans flourished.”

“I am not clever like the rest of you! You tie me in knots. But then I will say this it was not always thought necessary for a woman to be clever.”

Darrell said: “Marcus, come with me to the storeroom. I have something to show you there.”

The two men departed, and Carolan began to gather up the dishes. She paused suddenly and said: “Mamma, who is that man ?”

“That is what I would like to know. He has an air, has he not?”

“I am not sure that I like his airs.”

“No?” said Kitty, oddly piqued and not knowing why.

“One would not expect you to you who have a fancy for parsons!”

“What I meant, Mamma, was why does he come here? Is he one of the rich merchants for whom my father procures goods to sell?”

“That would be most likely,” said Kitty. Carolan went into the kitchen and washed up with Millie. Then she went upstairs and changed her morning gown for one of grey merino with a green belt and green silk at the neck and throat. Her hair was sleek and shining.

“My darling,” said Kitty when she returned to the parlour, “I am parched with thirst; what about making some tea? Doubtless the men would join us.”

“Are they still talking business?”

“They must be. They have been shut up in the basement for an age! I do declare there is no gallantry left in men these days; I have been sitting here for ages waiting for them to come.”

“Mamma! You are a very naughty woman. Why do you think my father works so hard, is so eager to do business? For you, of course! That you may leave this place at the earliest possible moment, that you may have comfort, that you may have the life to which you are suited! And then you accuse him of lack of gallantry because he shuts himself away with a client to talk business. Is it not more gallant, more loving, to try to give you what you want, than to smirk and bow over your hands and say stupid things that have no real meaning?”

“La! How you bully me! And doubtless think me a stupid old woman to boot. Now I must say “Of course, of course, wise Carolan!” And you are right, and I am a foolish old woman … though not really old … not old for a long, long time. And, my dear, I’ll whisper something you look most enchanting! You put me in the shade with Marcus, did you not? I do not like being put in the shade… but as it is my own daughter who does it, perhaps I do not care so much. You liked Marcus, did you not. my child? Oh, do not protest! I saw that you liked him. And how he liked you! How his eyes danced to contemplate you!”

“Oh, Mamma, please! Do you not see that he would make his eyes dance for anything in petticoats?”

“But they danced more brightly for these petticoats, my dear Carolan. How do we know who he is?”

Carolan sighed.

“It is funny! A man only has to appear in Grape Street to be endowed with mystery, with romance, with intrigue. Who is he? What is his business here? Mamma, have you found another nobleman who, tired of the sycophancy of his friends, seeks real friendship in Grape Street?”

“You have a lively tongue, Carolan.”

“But not nearly so lively as your imagination! Now Mamma, let us stop this foolish talk. Mr. Markham is a client of my father’s nothing more. Nor could he ever be to me, however merrily he should make his eyes to dance. Please remember I am engaged to marry Everard.”

“Oh …but a parson!”

Carolan stamped her foot angrily.

“Yes! A parson! And please say no more. Is it not an honourable calling?”

“I would not have dared to stamp my foot at my mother, Carolan!”

Carolan stooped and kissed the soft cheek of her mother.

“But this, dear Mamma, is a new age, and I am far removed from the paragons of your generation, remember.”

“You tease me. Why should I be teased?”

“Because you are an old darling, and it is no use trying to pretend you’re a cross patch. And now I shall prepare the tea.”

Kitty called through the door: “Carolan, you are in love with that parson, are you not?”

“I am indeed.”

Then you shall marry him!”

“Generous of you, Mamma,” chuckled Carolan, ‘but did not your friend Marcus tell you that I would decide for myself? That was a point on which he happened to be right.”

“Wayward child! What a handful you are.”

Carolan came in with the tray.

“I will go and call the men,” she said, and she went through to the shop. The door behind the coats was open, and beyond it was a flight of stone stairs; she went down these.

“Father!” she called.

At the bottom of the steps was a door, and, as she called, this was opened abruptly. Her father appeared; he shut the door behind him as though there were a wild beast in there instead of Marcus.

Tea is prepared, Father,” she said.

He smiled indulgently.

“Not for us, Carolan; we have to go out.”

He stood at the door, watching her mount the stairs.

They are not coming,” she told Kitty.

“It is business.”

“It is always business!” said Kitty, tossing her head.

“But never mind, we can get along well without them.”

Kitty talked. She described the sort of house she would have when they left the shop. She talked of the dresses she would have and those which now filled her wardrobe. Did Carolan think her black velvet could do with a slightly lower neckline? Did her chocolate brown sweep the floor too much?

They heard the men go out through the shop.

“I should have thought Marcus could have called farewell,” said Kitty, pouting.

“He is a strange man,” put in Carolan pensively.

“Strange indeed. He does not belong to these streets, that I’ll swear; he is here to amuse himself.”

“What an odd way he has of amusing himself then!”

“Gentlemen get tired of the old ways of amusing themselves. The faro table, racing, betting, even love affairs can pall. At any rate a new setting is needed.”

“You think he is here to find a new setting for a love affair?”

“Carolan, how you pull me up. I said no such thing. He is here for novelty; that I could swear to! He is no more of this world of sordid streets and trading than … than … I am. It would not surprise me to hear he was a friend of the Prince himself!”

Carolan laughed, but Kitty turned away from her to pursue a dream. The Prince was being entertained at her house and paying such attention to his hostess that everyone remarked upon it. Why not? Was it not known that it was the matronly charms which he ardently admired?

The shop door bell rang.

They have remembered it is tea-time!” said Kitty. They could not have got much farther than the end of the street.”