Here Comes a Candle (25 page)

“
No, puss, I
’
m sorry.
”
It was years since he had used that pet name for her.
“
I
’
ve loved you too well to let you persuade me into bribing an adventurer to ruin you. That
’
s what it means,
f
ace it, Bella; there
’
s no future in this. Come home to Penrose with me and we
’
ll try to help you forget him. Sarah is better, by the way: much better, Mrs. Croston writes. I had meant to tell you I thought you could come home any time you wished.
”
And was this, after all, a solution? Sarah better
...
Arabella home where she belonged
...
and Kate?

But Arabella had flown into one of her sudden rages.

“
Sarah! Nothing but Sarah this and Sarah that! What about me, Jonathan! What kind of a life am I expected to drag out while you dote on her? Banished from my own home—publicly neglected by my husband—an object of sympathy to my friends! Yes—sympathy. I! Arabella Penrose! And now, of all things, you tell me that Mrs. Croston gives permission for me to come home. Mrs. Croston! The common drab of her father
’
s parish. Are you sharing her now with Job and the boy? I suggest you take a hard look at yourself, Jon, before you play the hypocrite with me.
”
And then, frightened by the anger in his face.
“
I
’
m sorry. I shouldn
’
t have said that. But, don
’
t you see, we
’
re no good to each other: we
’
re better parted. Here
’
s our chance: help me take it, for both our sakes. I beg of you, Jon: think again.
”

“
There
’
s nothing to think about.
”
He had had time, as she went on talking, to master the extraordinary wave of rage that had swept through him when she spoke of Kate.
“
Nor anything to say, either. I think I had best leave you before we say anything else we will regret. But believe me, Bella, you
’
ll be grateful to me one day for saving you from this adventurer.
”

“
Grateful!
”
She spat it out.
“
I warn you, Jonathan Penrose, you
’
ll regret this day
’
s work for the rest of your life.
”
Idle threats, poor Arabella, he told himself as he rode out of Boston. He knew enough, by now, about Manningham to be comfortably certain that there was no chance of his going through with the elopement once he knew there was no money in it. The kindest thing he could do was to allow Arabella at least the dignity of privacy for her disappointment. By what he had learned today, Manningham would be leaving for Washington at once and, he was sure, alone. And he, for his part, would leave Arabella alone to bear the first shock of it without even the suggestion of an
“
I told you so.
”
She would send for him soon enough, when she felt the need of him.

But these were surface thoughts. All the time, as he turned his horse along the Penrose road, his mind was echoing with what she had said about Kate.
“
The common drab of her father
’
s parish.
”
And something worse, something he would not remember. It was impossible, all of it. And yet—she had admitted it herself.
“
You
’
ve been talking, of course, to Charles Manningham.
”
He could remember every tone of her voice, all its cold finality. This was something she had been expecting.
“
Time enough to think about dismissing me when Sarah is better.
”

Well, Sarah was better. And he was halfway home to Penrose, with no idea of what he was going to do.
“
Don
’
t play the hypocrite with me.
”
Arabella
’
s voice now. Arabella—Kate. Kate—Arabella. He was
not thinking now but feeling, and it hurt.
“
Don
’
t play the hypocrite with me
...”
Just what game of deception had he been playing with himself? He—Jonathan Penrose, the married man, the father? It was as neither of these that he had been enraged by the story of Kate
’
s past.

So far, he had been pushing his horse unmercifully along the quiet road. Now, hardly noticing, he slackened speed. What was there to go home for but misery? It was all hopeless, horrible, no matter how you looked at it. Except—there was Sarah. Think, he told himself, simply of her: work out what
’
s best for her; forget the rest.

Forget it? Absurd. His hands, still holding the reins, were limp now on
hi
s horse
’
s neck. Somewhere, in a remote
corner
of his mind, he remembered that he had eaten nothing all day. It did not matter, only—he was so tired; tired deep down through mind and bones. It was a relief to give way to exhaustion: to stop thinking, and sit inert, a thing, while the horse plodded along the familiar road to the stable.

It was late when he got to Penrose at last. Old Job, taking the horse, looked at him anxiously but merely said,
“
Miss Sarah
’
s been in the garden all day, Master Jonathan. She
’
s much better.
”

“
Good.
”
Listlessly. He went in the back way and encountered Mrs. Peters in the kitchen.

“
There you are, Mr. Jonathan. I
’
d quite given you up for tonight. Shall I have Prue get you something to eat?
”

“
No, thank you.
”
He was beyond food. It would choke him.

She, too, looked concerned.
“
But you
’
ll take something
after your ride? Some hot punch, perhaps, to warm you? I
’
ll bring it you in the study.
”

He looked chilled to the bone, she told Prue.
“
I hope he
’
s not sickening for something.
”
And in her anxiety, she mixed the punch much stronger than usual.

“
Here, drink this; it will do you good.
”
She had found him, most unusually, sitting in the half dark of his study, doing nothing. While he took his first warming sips, she bustled about, lighting lamp
’
s, drawing curtains, and apologizing the while for not having had things ready.
“
We never thought you
’
d come so late, Mrs. Croston and I.
”

“
Where is Mrs. Croston?
”

“
In her room, I think. It
’
s late, Mr. Jonathan.
”

“
Yes. Yes: I suppose it is. But I must speak to
her just
the same. Ask her to come down, would you, Mrs
.
Peters?
”

“
Of course. But Sarah
’
s wonderfully better. I reckon we can just about quit worrying over her.
”

“
Oh, yes
...
yes, Job told me. But just the same
.
..
”

“
Of course. I
’
ll fetch Her right away.
”

The warm, fierce liquid was having a wonderfully clarifying effect on his mind. What had seemed impossible was now, miraculously, quite simple. Everything fitted into place. It was not—of course it was not—at all what he had expected, had intended for himself. But then, neither had Arabella been. Nothing, he told himself gravely, is what you expect: the secret is to compromise. Compromise. That was what he had been saying all day to his Federalist friends. Compromise
...
make the best of things ... he moved tiredly across the room to the punch bowl and ladled himself another generous helping. Lord, what a long day. And not over yet.

“
You wanted me?
”
She stood in the doorway, quiet as a shadow.

“
Yes. Come in. Close the door. We have to talk, you and I.
”
In his exhausted state, words were tricky things, to be summoned with difficulty, pronounced with care.

“
Tonight? So late?
”
But she shut the door behind her and moved forward into the lamplight. There were dark circles under her eyes, and shadows along her cheekbones
he had never noticed before. If he was exhausted, she looked it.

But he was on fire now to have it over with, settled.
“
Yes, tonight. Sarah
’
s much better, they tell me. Well enough to travel?
”

“
I don
’
t see why not. It might even do her good.
”

“
Admirable.
”
That was a long, hard word. Better keep to short ones.
“
I
’
ve worked it all out, Kate. I know what to do.
”

“
Oh?
”
Was she looking at him with the same kind of irritating anxiety he had noticed in Job and Mrs. Peters?

“
Yes. Now we know where we stand, we can think what to do.
”
But he must go further back: must explain.
“
Arabella asked me to give her money today,
”
he said.
“
A great deal of money. So she could run away with your Charles Man
n
ingham. Comic, is it not?
”

“
My?
”
It was the merest breath and he went on as if he had not heard her.

“
Poor Arabella,
”
he said:
“
No money, no elopement, of course. She
’
ll know in the morning, when he leaves for Washington without her. He
’
s got to go, thank God. So— there it is. She
’
ll want to come here. Away from her kind friends and their sym-sympathy. If I know anything about her. Which I should. And—can
’
t have the two of you under the same roof. Not after what she said today. Not anyway, come to that. Besides, there
’
s Sarah.
”
He took another long drink to clear his head.
“
I wish you
’
d sit down.
”

“
No.
”
It was oddly flat.

“
I wish you would.
”
But he struggled to his feet, put his glass on the chimney piece, and leaned against it for support.
“
I
’
ve got a house,
”
he said.
“
A cottage, rather. Out in the hills near Northampton. It
’
s empty, right now. You
’
ll find it snug enough, you and Sarah. And—it
’
s not too far. I
’
ll visit you whenever I can.
”

“
Oh.
”
A long breath of exquisite relief.
“
Mr. Penrose! Jonathan! You
’
re not going to send me away.
”

“
Send you away? I should rather think not. That
’
s what I
’
m trying to explain. It
’
s all easy now, don
’
t you see? Now I know what you are. It solves everything. Arabella can come home. To her empty house. I
’
ll come to Northampton whenever I can. Say that
’
s what you want, Kate. Darling, ex-
...
exquisite Kate, tell me that
’
s what you want.
”
He was all fire now.
“
Kate!
”
He let go of the chimney piece and took one long step across the room toward her, only to find that somehow she was not there.
“
What
’
s the matter?
”
He turned to face her where she now stood, halfway to the door of the room.
“
You care for me—I feel it, felt it the other night. No use denying it. Besides: why should you? Only be true to me, Kate, and I
’
ll be as good as a husband to you, I promise it.
”

“
As good?
”
She stood very still, very straight, her eyes huge in the tired face.
“
Mr. Penrose, are you by any chance suggesting that I become your mistress?
”

“
Exactly.
”
He was delighted that she had taken his point so fast.
“
What a splendid girl you are, Kate, for calling a spade a spade. I think it
’
s what I first began to love about you. You know—
”
blessed relief to talk to her at last freely, like this.
“
I didn
’
t understand what was happening to me. Not until Arabella told me about you and Manningham. I just thought—how pleasant the house was these days, how happy to come home to. And then, when she told me, I thought, for a while, I
’
d go mad. I never want to go through that again. But it made no difference to my loving you. It just made me understand that I did. What you did, years ago, in England, that
’
s all over. You
’
re different now, aren
’
t you, Kate? Your past shall be your own affair. It
’
s you, now, I care about. And now you must be all mine, mine for always. There
’
ll be talk of course, bound to be, but you won
’
t mind that: why should you? What do we care for the Boston gossips, you and I, if we
’
re happy at Northampton?
”

“
You
’
re serious?
”
Her face was in shadow, but her tone should have warned him.

“
Never more so.
”
He was impervious, just now, to tones of voice.
“
Oh—I know, it must come strangely from me. I
’
ve always had something of a name in Boston for— call it
Puritanism
. Well: women! Who
’
s to understand them? Look at Arabella, so mad for that lady
’
s darling that she
’
d throw away everything she
’
s ever wanted. And
I don
’
t mean me, Kate, she never cared for me; I mean my money, that she married me for. That
’
s why, don
’
t you see, I
’
ve no debt to her, none I can
’
t pay with money. So, we
’
re free, you and I; the past shall be nothing—forgotten: I promise you I
’
ll
never so much as think of it; the future is ours: As for the world, for Boston and my friends there, let them ruin themselves as they please; we
’
ll make our own world, you and I.
”

“
And Sarah?
”
Once again, the ice in her voice should have warned him.

“
Of course. It was for your kindness to her that I first loved you, Kate, loved you before I had any idea, before I understood
...”

“
And what do you understand now? You
’
re offering me
”
—she boggled briefly for a phrase—
“
a love nest, a courtesan
’
s paradise! And proposing that I share it with your daughter. It
’
s beyond belief. And you
...
you would visit us, honor us with your company when you could get away from your wife. The world well lost for love. Mr. Penrose, you make me sick.
”

“
But, Kate—
”
he was shocked almost into sobriety.
“
I don
’
t understand—
”

“
You don
’
t, do you? You make a boast of not understanding women. Well, Mr. Penrose, let me tell you this: even if I was for one minute fool enough to consider accepting your insulting proposition, I
’
d not have it for Sarah. Brought up by your mistress! You must be mad.
”
At all costs she must preserve this warming flame of anger, must not let herself think of the other side of the picture, of all he was ready to sacrifice for her sake. His world, his Boston; she knew what they meant to him. She would not think of that. Instead:
“
Tell me, Mr. Penrose; I think I have to know. What exactly has Charles Manningham told you about me?
”

“
What?—But you admitted it!
”

“
I
’
m beginning to wonder just what, in fact, I admitted. I should have known Charles Manningham better. Come, Mr. Penrose, things have gone too far between us now for mincing matters. You must see, you have to tell me.
”

“
Not Manningham,
”
he managed.
“
Arabella. He told her.
”

“
Yes, of course. But told her what?
”

“
Enough. That you were—oh God! Kate! Don
’
t make me say it to you.
”

“
You must.
”

“
Oh, very well.
”
He picked up his punch glass and drained it.
“
Manningham told Arabella—that you were notorious in your father
’
s parish. That his death, in fact, happened because he found you making
”
—he stopped for a minute, then took it at a gallop—
”
scandalous and unwelcome
a
dvances to Charles Manningham himself.
”

She took a long breath.
“
And you believed that! And, believing it, have left me with your daughter? And now—now you take it further! Now you pay me the compliment of asking me to be your mistress.
”
Her voice told him what kind of a compliment she thought it.
“
I really believe,
”
she went on,
“
the kindest thing I can do is to tell you you
’
ve had t
o
o much to drink. Which is the case. And make my arrangements to leave in the morning. I
’
m sorry about Sarah.
”