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Even in his present holiday mood this promiscuity was too much for Mahony. He regretted not having accepted Devines offer of a buggy; and half-way to his destination dismounted, and covered the rest of the distance on foot.
* * * * *
The last to leave the ship were Jerry, Tilly and Emmy. Emmy, looking lovely as ever in her deep, becoming mourning, broke down over the parting and cried bitterly. Mary and Richard too would have liked to take the girl with them; both as a companion for Mary, and in order that foreign travel might give a fitting polish to Johns eldest daughter. But Lizzie vehemently opposed the plan. Nor was Emmys own heart in it. For, since Johns death, she had taken upon herself the entire charge of her little brother, heaping on his infant head all the love that had once been her fathers. Hence she could not tear herself away.
Long prepared for some such emergency, Mary took control. Dispatching the groom at a gallop for the doctor, she mixed a soothing-draught for Lizzie (See to her first, was Johns whispered request) and gave John the strongest opiate she dared. The children were put in the carriage, and sent to Ultima Thule. Then, as Richard had directed, Mary cleared the sickroom of superfluous furniture; while Emmy bore a note to Miss Julia Marys sole confidante. And faithful to a promise, Miss Julia was back with Emmy inside an hour. Without her aid she at once saw to Lizzie, and brought the servants to their senses without this sane, calm presence, Mary did not know how she would have managed, John from the start obstinately refusing to let her out of his sight. Or for that matter without Emmy either . . . Emmy was her right hand. Nimble, yet light-footed as a cat; tireless; brave; Emmy now proved her mettle. Nothing was beneath her: she performed the most menial duties of the sickroom with a kind of fiery, inner gratitude. And, these done, would sit still as a mouse, a scrap of needlework in her hand, just waiting for the chance of springing up afresh. Her young face grew thin and peaked, and the life went out of her step; but she never complained, or sought to obtrude her own feelings. Only one person knew what she was suffering. It was on Auntie Julias neck that she had had her single breakdown, and wept out her youthful passion of love and despair.
Good God! Is one to go blind and dumb because a fool is under ones roof?
Mary next enumerated the long line of housekeepers who had wandered in their day through Johns establishment. In at one door, and out at the next!
Fy, matey, fy! What ud our missis say?
Chapter V
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Besides he is perfectly well able to control it if he chooses. Zara was so caustic that Mary hurriedly made a diversion by inviting her upstairs. And curiosity to hear a detailed account of the interview with John got the better of Zaras patent reluctance to leave the two men alone together.
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A great spider! . . . thats what the woman is, if you want my opinion, cried Mahony angrily. But what could I do? Besides, at heart, Im one with him. There are crises in a mans life that are best fought through alone.
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What a farce the whole thing had been! . . . from beginning to end. The congratulations he had had to smirk a response to on his friends marriage, his friends good fortune. Then old Longs flowery periods, which would have well befitted a dewy damsel of eighteen, but bordered on the ludicrous when applied to Tilly, who would never see forty again, and had been through all this before. Henry Ocock giving away his mature stepmother and her money-bags, his fathers money-bags, those bags that should by rights have descended to HIS son: in spite of his sleek suavity, it was not hard to imagine the wrath that burned behind Henrys chalky face and boot-button eyes. He was ageing, was Henry; white hairs showed in his jetty beard and the creasing of his lids made him look foxier than ever. But so it was with all of them. Those he had left young were now middle-aged the middle-aged had grown old. Like Henrys, their faces had not improved in the process. Time seemed to show up the vacancy that had once been overlaid by rounded cheeks and a smooth forehead. Or else the ugly traits in a nature, ousting the good, had been bitten in as by an etchers acid. He wondered what secrets his own phiz held, for those who had eyes to see. The failures and defeats his prime had been spent in enduring had each left its special mark, in the shape of hollow, or droop, or wrinkle? Oh, his return to this hated place called up bitter memories from their graves: raised one obscene ghost after another, for his haunting. Here, he was to have garnered the miraculous fortune that would lift him for ever out of the mud of poverty; here had dreamt the marriage that was to be like no other on earth; here turned back, with a big heart, to the profession that should ensure him ease and renown even the cutting himself loose, when everything else had miscarried, was to have heralded the millennium. No! ones past simply did not bear thinking about. Looking back was wormwood and a wound. It meant remembering all the chances you had not taken; the gaudy soap-bubble schemes that had puffed out at a breath; meant an inward writhing at the toll of the years flown by, empty of achievement at the way in which you had let him get the better of you. Time, which led down and down, with a descent ever steeper and more rapid, till it landed you . . . in who knew what Avernus? Nervously Mahony unclasped his bag and rummaged a book from its depths. To lose himself in anothers thoughts was the one anodyne left him.
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TILLY! Mary looked up from her sewing the two women sat on the verandah of Tillys house in Ballarat, where Mary was visiting in reproof and surprise at a speech so unlike her friend. It was not the first either; Tilly often wore a mopy, world-weary air nowadays, which did not sit naturally on her. Each child that lives is just itself, added Mary. Thats why one loves it so.
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At sight of it Mahony had a shock of surprise that thrilled surprise that England holds for those of her sons who journey back, no matter whence, across the bleak and windy desert of the seas. Quite so lovely as this, one had not dared to remember the homeland. There it lay, stretched like an emerald belt against its drab background, and was as grateful to sun-tired eyes as a draught of mountain water to a climbers parched throat. Not a rood of this earth looked barren or unkempt: veritable lawns ran down to the brink of the cliffs; hedges ruled bosky lines about the meadows; the villages were bowers of trees English trees. Even the rain had favoured him: his first glimpse of all this beauty was caught at its freshest, grass and foliage having emerged from the clouds as if new painted in greenness.
Buddlecombe was all a-twitter and agog: the affair was discussed over counters by tradesmen and goodwives; at mahogany dinner-tables; in the oaken settles of inns. Every one knew to a T everything that had happened . . . and a good deal more: were for and against the two doctors in their feud. Tis aanyway little bettern bootchers a hoald tlot of un, thus Raby, the town crier, summed up the matter to his cronies of the Buddlecombe Arms. Buut if us was caalves, tis the haand us knows as us ud raather die by.