Katharine Tynan - The Story of Bawn
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Katharine Tynan >> The Story of Bawn
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Then Richard Dawson looked at me; and I saw the stupefaction in his
eyes. I looked back at him, a direct glance of hatred, as I put my
finger-tips gingerly on his sleeve.
"So!" he said in a whisper--"so! What a trick for Fate to play me! And I
have been wondering where on earth you had disappeared to. Can you ever
forgive me?"
"Never!" I answered, as I went down the marble staircase side by side
with him.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE BARGAIN
The memory of that long, dragging, magnificent meal is like a nightmare
to me. I loathed it all, the vulgar display of gold plate--I heard
afterwards who it was that Garret Dawson had cheated out of it--the
number of men-servants, the exotic flowers that made the room sickly,
the fruits out of their season.
We are simple people and not accustomed to such banquets; but I was
surprised to see how greedy some of the ladies were over the turtle
soup, the ortolans and truffles, all the fine things which must have
been brought from far off for the dinner. There was an incessant popping
of champagne corks, and I wondered at the frequent refilling of the
glasses. I did not drink wine--my grandmother did not consider it
becoming in a girl--and it seemed the hardest thing in the world to
procure a glass of water, judging by the delay in bringing it when I
asked for it.
Lady Ardaragh sat nearly opposite to us. I noticed that she was very
flushed and her eyes bright, and that she chattered and laughed a great
deal.
I had made up my mind that I would not speak to Richard Dawson, although
I was forced to sit by him, and that was a contact which I found most
detestable. But he would talk to me and sit close to me, and once when I
had turned away from him and addressed Sir Arthur Ardaragh, who was on
the other side of me, I caught my grandmother's eye on me with a look of
appeal.
I wished my godmother had been there. She had been invited to the
dinner, but she would not go nor consent to be civil to the Dawsons. Nor
would she believe that there was anything about Uncle Luke which might
not come into the light of day.
"And if there could be," she said proudly, "I would rather it was told
than go in terror of the Dawsons. I had as lief trust the world as them
any day."
After that glance of my grandmother I did not turn away again from
Richard Dawson, much as I detested his closeness and his breath upon my
cheek. I thought the dinner would never be over. As it went on I could
not but feel that he was making himself and me conspicuous. He drank a
good deal of wine, and the more he drank the more he leant to me and
tried to look into my eyes, so that I felt thoroughly sick and ashamed.
I could have pushed him away with both hands, but that was not possible
in the publicity of a dinner-table. He whispered in my ear, he leant to
me, he behaved as an infatuated lover, and presently it seemed to me
that my fellow-guests smiled here and there and looked significant. Lady
Ardaragh talked more than ever to the blase-looking young lord who was
her neighbour and her colour was heightened. Her witticisms came to me
across the table, or a portion of them, and I thought she was saying
wild, unbecoming things. I was sure I saw Sir Arthur wince when I turned
to him. But it was all too much of a nightmare to myself to be greatly
concerned about the feelings of others, even those I liked very much.
At last the welcome signal was given for the ladies to leave the table.
When we had returned to the drawing-room the smart London ladies flocked
together in a bevy and began chattering like a field of starlings. Their
talk seemed to be altogether of their male acquaintances, whom they
called by their names--Jack and Tom and Reggie and Algy, and so on.
Lady Ardaragh sat down by my grandmother and talked to her in a low
voice. After the excitement of the dinner she seemed to have become pale
and quiet. I could hear that she was talking about her boy, who was a
great pet with Gran. I heard her say that he was growing too fast and
had been languid of late.
Mrs. Dawson came and sat by me. She sighed with quiet satisfaction as
she subsided into her chair.
"It all went off very well, dear," she said, "didn't it? Dawson was very
anxious that it should; and I couldn't eat a bit for thinking of what
would happen if it didn't go off well."
I answered her that it had gone off very well. It was impossible to
dislike her, poor soul; and it was easy to see that she had a wretched
life between her husband who was an intolerant tyrant to her and the
fine folk he liked to see about him now that his money was made, who
were rude and neglectful to her.
"I'm glad you think that, my dear," she said. "Indeed, I think Dawson
looked quite cheerful. And I was very glad to see that you and Rick were
making friends. He's a very good boy, my dear, although he's a bit
wild, having plenty of money and nothing to do but spend it. But he's a
very kind boy to his mother. I assure you, dear, there have been times
when I wouldn't have cared much to live if it hadn't been for my Rick."
It was a pitiful confession for the mistress of all this splendour; and
now that the anxiety and excitement were to some extent over she looked
pale and old and tired.
"I'm very glad you liked Rick," she said, "very glad. It isn't like
those who would care for him for his money." She nodded her head in the
direction of the chattering group. "I should be so glad to see my Rick
married to a nice, innocent, good girl. I haven't been so happy this
many a day as I've been since I've seen you and him making friends."
I could not bear to tell her that I did not like her son and that
nothing on earth would induce me to make friends with him, so I sat
silent and said nothing; and I think it did her good to talk, for she
prattled on in a gentle, monotonous way about her son's childhood and
school-days and of the kindnesses he had done her. Apparently she
thought him the finest, handsomest, best person in the world, and
apparently his father thought likewise, which was a much stranger thing.
She seemed to have no reticence at all, or I had unlocked her heart.
"When Rick is at home," she said, "Dawson is good-tempered, and is often
even kind to me. And Rick knows that, and has promised me not to go away
any more. I should be so glad if he would marry and settle down, and so
would Dawson. There's nothing Dawson wouldn't give him if he'd marry
according to his wishes."
At this moment some of the gentlemen arrived, and the group of ladies
broke up to admit the black coats. One man passed by and came on towards
the end of the room where we were. It was Richard Dawson.
I saw Lady Ardaragh suddenly move her skirt so as to leave a vacant
place on the sofa upon which she was sitting; but he disregarded the
invitation, if such it were, and came on towards us.
I saw him stoop to kiss his mother and the lighting up of the plain,
elderly face, and it came into my mind that however intolerable he was
to me, there must be another side of him for her.
For the remainder of that evening he never left my side, and no one
could dislodge him, to my great vexation. I thought he was doing it only
to annoy me. But I kept close to his mother, so that there was less
chance of his making me conspicuous, none at all of his whispering and
languishing as he had done at the dinner-table.
I could not see how my grandmother was taking it, since she sat at the
same side of the room as I did; but I was glad that Mr. Dawson kept my
grandfather in conversation so that he could not see what was going on,
for I felt sure that however much he might wish to be civil to the
Dawsons, he could not have endured Richard Dawson's attentions to me,
since he was very proud.
I have always been one to act on impulse, and of a sudden it occurred to
me that it might be possible to make Richard Dawson let poor Nora alone.
I suppose it must have been because his mother praised him so much that
I should have thought such a thing possible, for up to this I would have
believed nothing good of him.
And presently we were alone to all intents, for Mrs. Dawson dropped off
to sleep, and the party at the end of the room was playing some noisy
round game in which Lady Ardaragh had joined, and Sir Arthur had taken
her place beside Gran and they were talking together.
"Mr. Dawson," I said suddenly, "there is something I should like to say
to you."
"What is it?"
"Something I should like to ask you."
"Will you come out here on the balcony and ask me what it is? I promise
you I shall do it if it be within my power."
The promise determined me. All the windows were wide open, so that to go
on the balcony was not to be solitary. As I went out with him I noticed
that my grandmother looked after me with an amazed air. Well, I might be
mad to believe good of Richard Dawson on his mother's report, but it was
worth a trial. I went out on the balcony with him; and noticed that he
drew the curtains to after us. It was a thing a gentleman would not have
done and I detested him for it. But there was my poor Nora to be thought
of, so I endured it.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE BLOW FALLS
"Now, what is it?" he asked. "Half of my fortune if you will, fair lady,
so that you forgive that blunder of mine and look kindly on me."
"It is about a girl in whom I am interested--Nora Brady." I felt him
start at my side. "I saw you together in our woods the other day. She is
a good girl. Mr. Dawson, will you let her be and not make her unhappy?"
"Why," he said, "I have never meant to make her unhappy. I'm sorry for
what I did. It was only idle love-making. But she's fond of me, poor
child. And she'd be just as fond of me if I wore a ragged coat and
earned a shilling a day. I've always pleased myself, and I don't like
giving up Nora. By the way, she has rather given up me. She is keeping
out of my way. Her keeping out of my way has been more likely to inflame
me than the other thing. But, if you'll forgive me and be a little kind
to me, I promise you that I won't seek her out."
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"More than I dare tell you at present. But for the present--shake hands
and say you forgive my rudeness in the wood."
I put my hand in his, and felt his lips upon it, but I bore it.
"Then it is a bargain," he said. "We are enemies no longer, and I
promise to let Nora alone. If only the women would always let me alone!
What, are you going back to that hot room? And the May moon in the sky,
the lovers' moon! Stay with me a little while, because I've been a good
boy and promised you what you asked. You could wind me round your little
finger. There's nothing I wouldn't do to please you."
The end of his protestations fell on empty air, for I had lifted the
curtain and re-entered the drawing-room.
When I came in, with Richard Dawson following me, I was annoyed to find
that my grandfather and Mr. Dawson had come into the drawing-room, and
were standing near the fireplace. Both looked round, and I thought my
grandfather's face wore a startled look, while Mr. Dawson's for an
instant beamed excessive gratification.
I hoped that Lord and Lady St. Leger could not think that I tolerated
with any patience the attentions of Richard Dawson. Seeing that they
believed me bound by some childish promise to my cousin Theobald that
was not very likely. And I could not explain to them why I had gone out
on the balcony alone with Richard Dawson.
My memory of the time after that seems to consist of nothing but a
string of Dawsons coming and going. I did not know what to make of it.
Surely the propitiation of the Dawsons did not mean that we should see
so very much of them. They were alone now, their fine friends having
gone back to London, and their being alone involved an intimacy which
need not have been if there were a crowd.
My godmother at this time was much occupied, her cousin, Miss Joan,
having developed a disease which in time was to prove mortal, so she
knew less of how much the Dawsons came and went, though she must have
known it, for I've no doubt the county talked of it. We had been so sure
that we would never admit the Dawsons no matter what any one else did,
nor any persons who were merely rich. We had always been very proud and
exclusive at Aghadoe.
A little while after that dinner at Damerstown Nora confessed to me with
tears that she had stolen out in my absence and had lain in wait for
Richard Dawson.
"And after all, Miss Bawn," she said, "I was punished, for he only
lifted his hat to me and rode away; and I felt as if I must fall in the
track of his horse's feet and implore him to kiss me as he used to. And
he never looked back, Miss Bawn."
"I am glad to hear it," I said, feeling that the words were hard and
cold.
"I don't know what's come over him," poor Nora said miserably, "unless
that, maybe, a good love has come to him at last. I'd just as soon be
dead, Miss Bawn."
Soon after that she began talking of going to America, and I used to
notice that she looked strangely at me. But I never saw what every one
else must have seen; partly, no doubt, because of that old troth between
Theobald and me which I thought my grandparents held to be binding. I
ought to have mentioned in its proper place that there had been no cause
for Theobald's weeks of silence, or but a trifling one, and that his
letters came as of old and were very full of gay doings. I noticed that
he did not talk now so much of coming back as he had done at first; but
at first he had been very lonely for Aghadoe and all of us.
Day by day during that summer the shadow seemed to darken on Lord St.
Leger's face, and my grandmother looked no less harassed. It was,
indeed, cruel to see the faces which had been placid enough, despite the
lines of sorrow, becoming so haggard and careworn. I used to hate to see
them so anxiously polite to Garret Dawson, so willing to sit at his
table and have him at theirs. I noticed, too, that they looked strangely
at me at times; and I found my grandmother in tears more than once. It
hurt me that she should weep at her age.
Another thing I noticed was that they ceased to talk of Theobald; and
when his letters came they would read them without comment, or they
would take my news of him without an eager stretching forth of their
hands for the letter as of old. In those days mysteries seemed to gather
thick and fast about me. And I had my own trouble to bear as well. I
used to think that Captain Cardew would have made short work of it all.
He would have swept away the shadowy terrors. He would have lifted us
all into the daylight. But, alas, he was I knew not where; and his name
was never mentioned in the hearing of Lord and Lady St. Leger.
Then the blow fell. One afternoon Garret Dawson had been to see my
grandfather and talked with him alone; and at dinner my grandmother's
face bore traces of tears, and I noticed that my grandfather's hand
shook so that he spilt his wine. There was not a word spoken, and after
a time the silence got on my nerves, so that I began to dread I knew not
what, and could almost have burst into tears from the tension.
We had dined where we often dined when we were alone, in a little room,
panelled with black oak, which opens off the hall. It is bright enough
when a fire leaps and sparkles in the grate, but it was then too warm
for fires, and the room seemed cheerless even while the white cloth was
on the table and the lit candles made the silver and glass sparkle.
And presently, when Neil Doherty had taken away the cloth and we sat
around the polished black table with nothing on it but a couple of
candles and a decanter of port wine and glasses, the room looked very
sad.
My grandfather tapped with his hand on the table, a thing I have known
him to do when in trouble, and again the tears overflowed my
grandmother's eyes and ran down her cheeks. And I felt that something
was coming.
Then my grandfather cleared his throat, and leaning his face in his hand
so that I should not see it, he said--
"There is something that concerns you, Bawn, which I wish to lay before
you. You have been a good child always, kind and obedient to us. And now
it is in your power to do more for us than ever you have done before."
He paused, and in the silence I heard the rain falling on the gravel
path. It had been threatening all the afternoon. The wind soughed; it
was going to be a wild night.
"Mr. Dawson has been with me this afternoon," he went on. "We talked of
you, Bawn. Bawn, child, Richard Dawson wishes to marry you. Can you
marry him, Bawn? If you can do it Garret Dawson gives up to me on your
wedding-day certain documents which hold in them the disgrace of our
family. We are old, Bawn, and we have loved you and been good to you.
There are some things we could not bear. Child, can you say 'Yes?'"
I felt now as though I had known it all the time. I had a queer memory
of a room in which a man lay imprisoned, the walls of which came closer
and closer every day till they should press him to death. It was a tale
I had read somewhere. So this had been closing in on me all those
months. I was to marry Richard Dawson, I who loved Anthony Cardew with
all my heart and soul.
CHAPTER XXV
THE LOVER
"And Theobald," I asked, after that pause--"what about Theobald?"
"Theobald is young. He has a thousand chances of happiness," answered my
grandfather, somewhat eagerly. "If he could know he would be the first
to sacrifice himself to prevent the disgrace. I tell you, Bawn, that if
Garret Dawson publishes the secret he holds it will kill your
grandmother and me as surely as though he had shot us through the heart.
Child, child, we would have given you the world if we could! Can you do
this much for us?"
I looked at his poor old, twitching, grey face, at his hands that worked
pitifully. I saw my grandmother lift her streaming eyes to Heaven as
though to ask for help. They had been very tender to me, and they were
old. God knows no woman ever shrank more from a lover than I from
Richard Dawson. But, perhaps, if I sacrificed myself, following the
example of our Lord himself, He would take me away from the intolerable
marriage. He would let me save them, and then He would take me to
himself.
"I will marry Richard Dawson," I said quietly.
I saw an immense relief in the poor old faces, although their cloud
barely lifted. They did not thank me. Perhaps they knew I could not have
borne it. I saw them creep closer together as though for comfort, as I
got up and went away to my own room.
I was as glad as I could be of anything that Nora had gone a day or two
earlier to nurse one of her uncle's children who was sick. How could I
have borne her presence about me? To think I had saved her and had
myself fallen into the net! And at least she had loved the man,
incredible as it seemed, while I recoiled from him with loathing,
because I loved another man with my whole heart and soul.
Something within me cried out that it would be a wicked marriage. I fell
on my knees by my bed, but I could not pray. I felt numb and sick. I
stretched my arms out across the little white bed where I had slept so
happily, despite the ghosts. I laid my face upon them and stayed there
in a trance of misery.
I heard my grandmother pause at the door and listen as she went down the
corridor to her bedroom, and I dreaded that she should come in; but,
perhaps, thinking from the silence that I was asleep she went on after
the pause.
I must have fallen asleep in that comfortless position for when I awoke
I was chilled and stiff. There was white moonlight in the room, and I
heard, with a sinking of my heart, the crying of the woman in the
shrubbery. She always came when there was trouble. Well, God knows,
there was trouble enough now, such a coil of trouble for me that death
had been an easy way out of it.
I crept into bed and thought miserably of what Anthony Cardew would
think of me when he should hear of my disgrace. Of course he would not
know why I had married Richard Dawson. He had yielded me up to poor
Theobald as he thought, and instead of Theobald, whom I might have loved
if I had never seen Anthony Cardew--handsome, generous, of honourable
lineage, he would know that I had married Richard Dawson, with his bad
traditions behind him, and himself a wild, careless liver, with many
sins to his account. He would never know how I loathed it. Perhaps he
would even think that I married for money. Even if I were dead, and I
felt I must die of marrying Richard Dawson, he could never think of me
except with contempt and loathing.
The next morning Maureen came with my tea.
"Why are you looking like alabaster on your pillow?" she asked, with
some indignation. "There's good news coming, I tell you. There's good
news coming. See how fine the morning is! I never slept a sweeter sleep,
and it was in my sleep I had word."
I shrank even from Maureen's half-mad eyes. What would she say when she
knew that I was to marry Richard Dawson? She had always loved Theobald
and had looked forward to our marriage. I was afraid of Maureen's eyes.
"I'll toss the cup for you," she said when I had drunk my tea. "There's
a beautiful fortune in it for you, Miss Bawn. I see a wedding-coach and
four horses----"
"Are there plumes on the coach, Maureen?" I asked.
"I'm surprised at you, Miss Bawn." Maureen looked startled and angry.
"Why should there be plumes on the wedding-coach that'll bring yourself
and the fine husband home? I won't be asking who _he'll_ be. And
by-and-by there'll be babies in the nurseries again, and old Maureen'll
be as young as ever she was."
The afternoon of that day I was called down to Richard Dawson, and when
I went to the drawing-room I found him alone.
He took me in his arms and kissed me, and when I shivered under his kiss
it only seemed to make him more ardent. It was a terrible thing to
accept his kisses feeling that cold repulsion; and my whole heart and
soul another man's. If he had been less ardent it might have been more
tolerable. As it was I let him have his will of kissing me till he
suddenly put me away from him.
"You do not return my kisses," he said. "Are you afraid of me, Bawn?"
"I am not used to lovers," I said, turning away my head.
"Ah, I frightened you that day in the wood, my bird," he said, "and I
suffer for it now. What a brute I was! But you can make me different if
you will, Bawn. If you will but love me, my beauty, you can do what you
will with me--make a decent fellow of me. I am not such a bad fellow at
heart. Come, give me a kiss of your own free will. You would not when I
asked you before, but you will now because I am your affianced husband.
Come, kiss me, Bawn."
I kissed him, shrinking all the time, and with a dreary wonder as to
whether it was always going to be like this, and if so, how I was to
endure it.
"Your kiss is as cold as a frog," he said. "But never mind, I wouldn't
give a fig for a woman who was too easily won. The time will come when
you will beg me for kisses. Till then, why, I shall do the love-making
myself."
But presently, seeing I could not endure it, he let me go. It never
seemed to occur to him that my aversion could be for him. He took my
shrinking as maiden modesty, and vowed that he delighted in it, that I
should have been far less desirable if I had not been so coy, and that
he would be happier breaking down my barriers than if there had been
none to break.
Finally he took a little case from his pocket, and out of it he produced
a ring, the beauty of which would have delighted any happy girl. It was
set with an emerald of great size and beauty, of a heart-shape,
surrounded by diamonds, and at the top a true-lovers' knot in diamonds.
He put it on my finger, saying that he had carried it about with him for
a month or more, and that he had paid a pretty price for it. It was an
antique ring and the workmanship very beautiful, not like those made
nowadays.
It occurred to me that he had been very sure of me. But I said nothing
while he put on the ring.
"And how soon will you marry me, Bawn?" he asked. "There is nothing I
will not give you when we are married. I am going to take you away and
show you the beautiful world. There will be nothing you can desire that
will not be yours. Oh, you shall see what a lover I will make! Bawn,
Bawn, you will adore me."
"It is too soon to talk of wedding-days," I said.
"Not too soon for me," he answered. "I can hardly bear to wait. I would
marry you this instant if I could. Will it be in a month's time, Bawn?"
"I could never be ready," I said.
"Not in a month's time! And how do you suppose I am going to endure even
that! I shall talk to Lady St. Leger about it. She will be merciful to
me."
"I could not be ready," I said. "Not under two months. People are not
married in such a hurry. There are so many things to see to."
It was only now that he began to talk of the wedding that I realized
how, somewhere at the back of all the misery and shame, I had had a wild
hope that Heaven might intervene and save me from the marriage. I had
not thought he would be in such a hurry, that he would give me no
loophole of escape. I could have cried out for a long day like any poor
wretch condemned to the gallows.
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