CHAPTER IX
RALPH'S WELCOME
"You will show Mistress Atherton into the room below," said Ralph to hisman, "as soon as she comes."
He was sitting on the morning following his arrival in his own chamberupstairs. His table was a mass of papers, account-books, reckonings,reports bearing on his Visitation journey, and he had been working atthem ever since he was dressed; for he had to present himself beforeCromwell in the course of a day or two, and the labour would beenormous.
The room below, opposite that in which he intended to see Beatrice andwhere she had waited herself a few months before while he talked withCromwell and the Archbishop, was now occupied by his collection of plateand vestments, and the key was in his own pocket.
He had heard from his housekeeper on the previous evening that Beatricehad called at the house during the afternoon, and had seemed surprisedto hear that he was to return that night; but she had said very little,it appeared, and had only begged the woman to inform her master that shewould present herself at his house the next morning.
And now Ralph was waiting for her.
He was more ill-at-ease than he had expected to be. The events of theevening before had given him a curious shock; and he cursed the wholebusiness--the snapping of the cord round the bundle, his own action andwords, the outrage that followed, and the death of the fellow that hadthrown the stone--for the body had been rescued by the watch a fewminutes later, a tattered crushed thing, beaten out of all likeness to aman. One of the watch had stepped in to see Ralph as he sat at supper,and had gone again saying the dog deserved it for daring to lift hisvoice against the King and his will.
But above all Ralph repented of his own words. There was no harm insaying such things in the country; but it was foolish and rash to do soin town. Cromwell's men should be silent and discreet, he knew, notstreet-orators; and if he had had time to think he would not havespoken. However the crowd was with him; there was plainly no one of anyimportance there; it was unlikely that Cromwell himself would hear ofthe incident; and perhaps after all no harm was done.
Meanwhile there was Beatrice to reckon with, and Ralph laid down his pena dozen times that morning and rehearsed once more what he would have tosay to her.
He was shrewd enough to know that it was his personality and not hisvirtues or his views that had laid hold of this girl's soul. As it waswith him, so it was with her; each was far enough apart from the otherin all external matters; such things had been left behind a year ago; itwas not an affair of consonant tastes, but of passion. From each therehad looked deep inner eyes; there had been on either side a steady andfearless scrutiny, and then the two souls had leapt together in a brightflame of desire, knowing that each was made for the other. There hadbeen so little love-making, so few speeches after the first meeting ortwo, so few letters exchanged, and fewer embraces. The last veils hadfallen at the fury of Chris's intervention, and they had known then whathad been inevitable all along.
Ralph smiled to himself as he remembered how little he had said or shehad answered; there had been no need to say anything. And then his eyesgrew wide and passionate, and his hands gripped one another fiercely, asthe memory died, and the burning flame of desire flared within him againfrom the deep well he bore in his heart. The world of affairs andexplanations and evasions faded into twilight, and there was but onething left, his love and hers. It was to that that he would appeal.
He sat so a moment longer, and then took up his pen again, though itshook in his hand, and went on with his reckonings.
* * * * *
He was perfectly composed half an hour later as he went downstairs tomeet her. He had finished his line of figures sedately when the manlooked in to say that she was below; and had sat yet a moment longer,trying to remember mechanically what it was he had determined to tellher. Bah! it was trifling and unimportant; words did not affect thequestion; all the wrecked convents in the world could not touch the onefact that lay in fire at his heart. He would say nothing; she wouldunderstand.
In the tiny entrance hall there was a whiff of fragrance where she hadpassed through; and his heart stirred in answer. Then he opened thedoor, stepped through and closed it behind him.
She was standing upright by the hearth, and faced him as he entered. Hewas aware of her blue mantle, her white, jewelled head-dress, one handgripping the mantel-shelf, her pale steady face and bright eyes. Behindthere was the warm rich panelling, and the leaping glow of the woodfire.
She made no movement.
Outside the lane was filled with street noises, the cries of children,the voices of men who went by talking, the rumble of a waggon comingwith the crack of whips and jingle of bells from the river. The wheelscame up and went past into silence again before either spoke or moved.
Then Ralph lifted his hands a little and let them drop, as he stared ather face. From her eyes looked out her will, tense as steel; and his ownshook to meet it.
"Well?" she said at last; and her voice was perfectly steady.
"Beatrice," cried Ralph; and the agony of it tore his heart.
She dropped her hand to her side and still looked at him withoutflinching.
"Beatrice," cried Ralph once more.
"Then you have no more to say--after last night?"
A torrent of thoughts broke loose in his brain, and he tried to snatchone as they fled past--to say one word. His excuses went by him likephantoms; they bewildered and dazed him. Why, there were a thousandthings to say, and each was convincing if he could but say it. The cloudpassed and there were her eyes watching him still.
"Then that is all?" she said.
Again the cloud fell on him; little scenes piteously clear rose beforehim, of the road by Rusper convent, Layton's leering face, a strippedaltar; and for each there was a tale if he could but tell it. And stillthe bright eyes never flinched.
It seemed to him as if she was watching him curiously; her lips wereparted, and her head was a little on one side; her face interested andimpersonal.
"Why, Beatrice--" he cried again.
Then her love shook her like a storm; he had never dreamed she couldlook like that; her mouth shook; he could see her white teeth clenched;and a shiver went over her. He took one step forward, but stopped again,for the black eyes shone through the passion that swayed her, as keenand remorseless as ever.
He dropped on to his knees at the table and buried his face in hishands. He knew nothing now but that he had lost her.
That was her voice speaking now, as steady as her eyes; but he did nothear a word she said. Words were nothing; they were not so much as thosecries from the street, that shrill boy's voice over the way; not so muchas the sighing crackle from the hearth where he had caused a fire to belighted lest she should feel cold.
She was still speaking, but her voice had moved; she was no longer bythe fire. He could feel the warmth of the fire now on his hands. But hedared not move nor look up; there was but one thing left for him--thathe had lost her!
That was her hand on the latch; a breath of cold air stirred his hair;and still she was speaking. He understood a little more now; she knew itall--his doings--what he had said last night--and there was not one wordto say in answer. Her short lashing sentences fell on his defencelesssoul, but all sense was dead, and he watched with a dazed impersonalnesshow each stroke went home, and yet he felt no pain or shame.
She was going now; a picture stirred on the wall by the fire as the windrushed in through the open street door.
* * * * *
Then the door closed.
PART II
THE FALL OF LEWES