Читать книгу The Raft - Coningsby Dawson - Страница 9

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Barrington did everything on a large scale—he knew he was going to be a big man. He arranged his surroundings with an eye to his expanding future. It was so when he bought his house at Topbury.

It had more rooms than he could furnish—more than a young married couple could comfortably occupy. But he intended to spend his entire life there, hanging the walls with memories and associations of affection. It would be none too large for a growing family. That was Barrington all over; he planned and looked ahead.

The house stood high in the north of London; it was one of twenty in a terrace—all with porches and areas in front, and long walled gardens at the back. To-day the octopus suburbs, throwing out tentacles of small mean dwellings, have crept across the broad views and strangled the rural aspect. But when Nan and Barrington went to live there, they looked out from their back-windows uninterrupted across the Vale of Holloway to Gospel Oak and the Heath at Hampstead. The approach to Topbury Terrace was through quiet fields where sheep were grazing. The oldest inhabitants still talked of a group of shops as Topbury Village. Many of the roads were private; traffic was kept back by gates or posts planted across them.

The house was a hundred years old, spacious and lofty. It had the sturdy look of Eighteenth Century handiwork. Though standing in a terrace, it retained its own personality and seemed to hold itself aloof from its neighbors. Once link-boys had stood before its doors and coaches had rumbled through Islington Village out from London, bringing its master home from routs and functions. Probably he was a portly merchant, accompanied by a dame who wore patches.

Adjoining its bedrooms were powder-cupboards; its lower windows were heavily grated against attack. All the entries were massively screened and bolted. It seemed to boast its privacy. In the garden were pear-trees, a mulberry and a cedar. At the bottom of the garden was a stable with stalls for three horses.

At first Nan was rather awed—she did not know what to do with it. Many of the rooms remained unfurnished. That was to be done slowly, by picking up old and rare articles—pictures and tapestries as they could afford them, a piece here and a piece there: this was to be their hobby. She was frightened by so much emptiness, and clung to her husband, puzzled and proud. Then, gradually, she began to understand: they were planning for the future greatness which they were to share. She was no longer frightened; she was glad.

There was one room in which they often sat. Sometimes they would visit it separately and surprise one another. When they entered, they became strangely bashful and childlike—it was holy ground. They left all their cruder ambitions on the threshold. They stopped talking or conversed in whispers, holding hands. It was on a halfstory, between the first floor and the second, and looked into the garden. Up the wall outside a magnolia clambered; against its window a laburnum tapped and shed its golden tassels. Everything was waiting for someone who was some day coming. A high guard stood about the hearth to prevent someone, when he began to toddle, from falling into the fire and getting burnt. A little bed was ready—a bed so tiny that you could lift it with one hand. On the floor toys lay scattered. Everything had been thought out for his reception long before he warned them of his coming. To bring home new toys and leave them there for Nan to discover was one of Barrington’s absurd ways of telling her how much he loved her.

It was in that room that they kissed after their first quarrel. It was there she told him that the little hands were being fashioned that were to be held so fast in theirs.

And he came one bright February morning, when crocuses were standing bravely above the turf and a warm spring wind was blowing. Nan hugged him to her breast, smiling and crying—she was so glad he was a man. They called him Peter—after the house his father said, because the house was Peterish and old-fashioned. William was sure to be contracted to Bill or Billy; one Billy was enough in any family——

It was shortly after the birth of Peter that Jehane caught her man. It was said that she married him on the rebound, for she never ceased loving Barrington. She did it more to get off the raft, and to show that she could do it, than for anything.

Captain Bobbie Spashett had seen her portrait in a friend’s house. He was under orders to sail for India. He had six weeks in which to make her acquaintance, do his courting and get over the wedding. He proved himself a man of energy, managing the business with a soldier’s dash. Then he sailed for India, promising to send for her when he was settled. Unfortunately, before the year was out, he died in action.

In February, almost on the anniversary of Peter’s birth, his daughter came into the world. Jehane named her Glory, because of the distinguished nature of her father’s death.

When Captain Spashett’s affairs came to be settled, it was found that he had left his widow something less than a thousand pounds from all sources.

Then Jehane discovered that, in stepping off the raft, she had not reached the land. She went to live with her parents.