A Woman's Burden Part 21

"Had better come to an end--so I think. You will observe, Mrs. Darrow, that hitherto I have treated you with scrupulous politeness, and I demand the same in return. Whether I go or stay is a matter of complete indifference to me, but I decline absolutely to put up with impertinence from you. Any further interference with my private affairs, and I complain to Mr. Barton--either that, or you behave properly to me, and I remain till the end of the month, as you wish. I don't think that leaves much room for misunderstanding, Mrs. Darrow. At least, there is no need to continue this very undignified wrangling."

And Miriam, with her head in the air, walked out of the room.

"Miss Crane, come back!--I insist--I command!" screeched Mrs. Darrow, like an angry parrot.

But Miriam paid no heed, and the worsted one was constrained to take refuge in tears.

"To be treated so in my own house!" she wept, "and by one of the lower orders, too! Bad woman--and red-haired minx that she is!"

But all Mrs. Darrow's expletives could not alter the situation. If she turned Miriam out of the house, as she would have dearly loved to do, there would be trouble with her uncle; and if, on the other hand, she kept her for the month, she would have to treat her civilly, since Miss Crane did not--as she put it--know her place; the word "place" being construed by Mrs. Darrow to mean a capacity for swallowing meekly as much of her bullying and bad temper as she might choose to indulge in.

And as for this Miriam showed no kind of apt.i.tude, she perforce had to make up her mind to the inevitable. So she went to bed, and dosed herself with a wondrous mixture of the combined "bromides," and brooded over her wrongs. She was a spiteful and malicious woman, with an element of hysteria thrown in, and she would freely have given a year of her life to do Miriam an injury. For the next few days she kept a cat-like watch on her. Possessed of a trifle more brain power she might have been dangerous. But, as it was, she inclined more to that peculiar cla.s.s of cantankerous and neurotic female for whom the ducking-stool was surely designed.

Meanwhile, Miriam anxiously awaited a reply from Jabez. Two days before Christmas she received it. A dirty envelope, containing an even more dirty half-sheet of paper, was thrust into her hand by Mrs. Darrow herself, who, noting the particularly soiled appearance of it, immediately became suspicious. On the paper was scribbled a curt announcement from the writer that he would be at Lesser Thorpe on Christmas Eve at ten o'clock. Miriam was to meet him in the churchyard at that time, or, as he put it, "it'll be worse for you and me!"

There was no help for it, the appointment must be kept, though how she was to manage to get out at such an hour she did not know. When the night came, it was fine and frosty, although snow had been falling heavily during the day. She decided to put a bold face on it, and about nine o'clock presented herself to Mrs. Darrow in her hat and cloak.

"With your permission," she said briefly, "I am just going to run over and see Mrs. Parsley."

"Why on earth should you want to see Mrs. Parsley at this hour?"

"Well, the truth is, I have received a very important letter from London, and I want to consult her."

She felt half inclined to refuse, but remembering that Mrs. Parsley was a close friend of Miriam's, and had, moreover, anything but a soft tongue, she thought better of it, and consented. But she firmly believed her governess had some very different object for her errand, and determined to follow her.

"You can go," she said rudely, resuming her book.

"Thank you," replied Miriam, too grateful at receiving permission to be punctilious about the tone in which it was given. Then she went out.

As soon as the gate clashed after her, Mrs. Darrow put on her cloak, and followed swiftly.

The sky was clear of clouds, and though there was no moon, the frosty twinkle of the stars threw a steely light on the mask of snow covering the earth. Through the cold luminosity of this white world Miriam glided like a shadow, and after her stole Mrs. Darrow. There was no wind, no sound of any human voice. They two might have been the only denizens of that frozen landscape.

Resolved to give some colourable pretext in accordance with the excuse she had made, Miriam went straight from Pine Cottage to the Vicarage, at which Mrs. Darrow was not a little disconcerted, not to say incensed.

She asked herself whether after all the girl might not have spoken the truth.

"But I'll wait and see you home, my young lady," she decided. "It is not Mrs. Parsley alone you are after at this hour, I'll be bound."

For a long time she waited, and waiting nursed her wrath. Several of the villagers pa.s.sed along the road, more or less merry in honour of the festive season. But Mrs. Darrow was well hidden in the shadow, and they did not see her. When ten clanged from the square tower of the church, she was getting very tired of it, and had almost made up her mind to go home. She was nearly frozen, and there seemed to be no chance of catching Miriam in any mischief. But fate was kinder to her than she deserved, for hardly had the last boom of the hour died in the frosty air, when Miriam suddenly emerged from the Vicarage gate, and crossed the white road into the churchyard.

"Ah!" murmured Mrs. Darrow, with a thrill of pleasure, "so you are up to something after all, my lady!"

She hugged herself with malicious glee that she had at length got Miriam under her thumb, and darting across the road, followed stealthily in her wake. On the white surface of the snow she saw the girl's black figure turn the corner of the church. If discovered, she could always say that she had been alarmed by Miriam's long absence, and had come to look for her. But Mrs. Darrow had no intention of being discovered. There was too much at stake for that.

Keeping well in the shadow of the church walls, the widow stumbled over the tombstones ankle deep in the snow, turned the corner, and crept along the chancel wall under the great rose-window. Then the murmur of two voices struck on her ear, and she slipped behind a b.u.t.tress where she could both see and hear. The friendly snow m.u.f.fled her tread, and the deep shadows lent their aid in concealing her, and Mrs. Darrow found herself in an excellent position for the work she had in hand. Now at last she felt that Miriam was delivered up to her, and she rejoiced accordingly.

There, but a few yards away, stood two figures. The one was Miriam, the other that of a tall man, whose features Mrs. Darrow could not discern.

But she gathered that he was ragged and unkempt, and, from the way he kept looking over his shoulder, evidently apprehensive. Miriam had her hand on his arm, and was speaking hurriedly and low, but in that rarified atmosphere Mrs. Darrow had no difficulty in following every word.

"Oh, Jabez, why _did_ you come here--it is _so_ dangerous."

"No more dangerous than it is in London," growled the man. "Besides, no one bothers about me now."

"You are mistaken--Mr. Barton does for one."

"Barton!--what, the chap who took you up? What does he know of me?"

"Everything."

"You told him then!"

"No. But that night, weak and ill as I was, somehow he seemed to exert a power over me which I couldn't resist, and I told him your real name but nothing more, Jabez; I swear, nothing more!"

"You fool--what more need you tell him. That was quite enough to put him on my track anyway."

"G.o.d forgive me, yes!" wept Miriam, wringing her hands. "I know--he employed some man to find out all about you. Oh, Jabez, that is why it is so mad for you to be here, for I fear he knows the truth!"

"Who was the man?"

"I don't know his name. Barton calls him 'The Shadow'--he is a tall, dark, lean man, with a deep voice."

Jabez started.

"I've seen him. I know--he comes to Mother Mandarin's, but I have never spoken to him. The old hag knows his name right enough, but she keeps it mighty dark. So he has been hunting me down, has he?"

"Yes, yes--but he is friendly to you, Jabez. It was he who told me to advise you against coming here. That was why I wrote to you."

The man stamped impatiently.

"Now look here, Miriam, if that Barton of yours crosses my path, I'll slip a knife into him straight, so I tell you!"

"Jabez, don't--don't say it. Keep away, and I'm sure he won't harm you."

"Then why does he set this man on my track?"

"Only to gain power over me. He knows how afraid I am, lest--lest anything should happen to you, but I would do anything or suffer anything rather than you should come to harm. And so, knowing what he knows, he is able to force me to obey him. And, besides that, Jabez, I have an enemy in the person of this Mrs. Darrow, whose little boy I am teaching. She has dismissed me, and, if by any chance, she came to know my past, and my connection with you--well, I am afraid to say what might happen. You see how foolish you have been to come here!"

"So you are dismissed! Well, I'm sorry for that I thought you were well provided for. I can't help you. But I won't bother you. I'm going off to America, to make a fresh start--that's really why I came down here. I want some money, Miriam."

"I can only give you twenty pounds," said the girl, feeling in her pocket "Here it is in gold. I knew you would want some."

"Lord, is that all?"

"Yes, Jabez. It is every pound that I have--it is the remains of the cheque Mr. Barton gave me to buy my outfit when I came here."

"Well, I'll take it, but it's little enough," he grumbled, slipping the purse into his pocket "I suppose I'll get to America somehow."

"Oh, dear, do take care of yourself--perhaps I shall never see you again. I feel so terribly alone, Jabez, and when you are gone----"

She burst into tears almost uncontrollable.