Chapter 8

tess—Judith,orDeborah,orJael.HehadlastseenthebabysprawlingonthekneesofMissAbbott,shiningandnaked,withtwentymilesofviewbehindhim,andhisfatherkneelingbyhisfeet.Andthatremembrance,togetherwithHarriet,andthedarkness,andthepooridiot,andthesilentrain,filledhimwithsorrowandwiththeexpectationofsorrowtocome. Monterianohadlongdisappeared,andhecouldseenothingbuttheoccasionalwetstemofanolive,whichtheirlampilluminedastheypassedit.Theytravelledquickly,forthisdriverdidnotcarehowfasthewenttothestation,andwoulddashdowneachinclineandscuttleperilouslyroundthecurves. “Lookhere,Harriet,”hesaidatlast,“IfeelbadIwanttoseethebaby.” “Hush!” “Idon’tmindifIdowakehimup.Iwanttoseehim.I’veasmuchrightinhimasyou.” Harrietgavein.Butitwastoodarkforhimtoseethechild’sface.“Waitaminute,”hewhispered,andbeforeshecouldstophimhehadlitamatchundertheshelterofherumbrella.“Buthe’sawake!”heexclaimed.Thematchwentout. “Goodicklequietboysey,then.” Philipwinced.“Hisface,doyouknow,struckmeasallwrong.” “Allwrong?” “Allpuckeredqueerly.” “Ofcourse—withtheshadows—youcouldn’tseehim.” “Well,holdhimupagain.”Shedidso.Helitanothermatch.Itwentoutquickly,butnotbeforehehadseenthatthebabywascrying. “Nonsense,”saidHarrietsharply.“Weshouldhearhimifhecried.” “No,he’scryinghardIthoughtsobefore,andI’mcertainnow.” Harriettouchedthechild’sface.Itwasbathedintears.“Oh,thenightair,Isuppose,”shesaid,“orperhapsthewetoftherain.” “Isay,youhaven’thurtit,orhelditthewrongway,oranythingitistoouncanny—cryingandnonoise.Whydidn’tyougetPerfettatocarryittothehotelinsteadofmuddlingwiththemessenger?It’samarvelheunderstoodaboutthenote.” “Oh,heunderstands.”Andhecouldfeelhershudder.“Hetriedtocarrythebaby—” “ButwhynotGinoorPerfetta?” “Philip,don’ttalk.MustIsayitagain?Don’ttalk.Thebabywantstosleep.”Shecroonedharshlyastheydescended,andnowandthenshewipedupthetearswhichwelledinexhaustiblyfromthelittleeyes.Philiplookedaway,winkingattimeshimself.Itwasasiftheyweretravellingwiththewholeworld’ssorrow,asifallthemystery,allthepersistencyofwoeweregatheredtoasinglefount.Theroadswerenowcoatedwithmud,andthecarriagewentmorequietlybutnotlessswiftly,slidingbylongzigzagsintothenight.Heknewthelandmarksprettywell:herewasthecrossroadtoPoggibonsiandthelastviewofMonteriano,iftheyhadlight,wouldbefromhere.Soontheyoughttocometothatlittlewoodwherevioletsweresoplentifulinspring.Hewishedtheweatherhadnotchangeditwasnotcold,buttheairwasextraordinarilydamp.Itcouldnotbegoodforthechild. “Isupposehebreathes,andallthatsortofthing?”hesaid. “Ofcourse,”saidHarriet,inanangrywhisper.“You’vestartedhimagain.I’mcertainhewasasleep.Idowishyouwouldn’ttalkitmakesmesonervous.” “I’mnervoustoo.Iwishhe’dscream.It’stoouncanny.PoorGino!I’mterriblysorryforGino.” “Areyou?” “Becausehe’sweak—likemostofus.Hedoesn’tknowwhathewants.Hedoesn’tgripontolife.ButIlikethatman,andI’msorryforhim.” Naturallyenoughshemadenoanswer. “Youdespisehim,Harriet,andyoudespiseme.Butyoudousnogoodbyit.Wefoolswantsomeonetosetusonourfeet.SupposeareallydecentwomanhadsetupGino—IbelieveCarolineAbbottmighthavedoneit—mightn’thehavebeenanotherman?” “Philip,”sheinterrupted,withanattemptatnonchalance,“doyouhappentohavethosematcheshandy?Wemightaswelllookatthebabyagainifyouhave.” Thefirstmatchblewoutimmediately.Sodidthesecond.Hesuggestedthattheyshouldstopthecarriageandborrowthelampfromthedriver. “Oh,Idon’twantallthatbother.Tryagain.” Theyenteredthelittlewoodashetriedtostrikethethirdmatch.Atlastitcaught.Harrietpoisedtheumbrellarightly,andforafullquarterminutetheycontemplatedthefacethattrembledinthelightofthetremblingflame.Thentherewasashoutandacrash.Theywerelyinginthemudindarkness.Thecarriagehadoverturned. Philipwasagooddealhurt.Hesatupandrockedhimselftoandfro,holdinghisarm.Hecouldjustmakeouttheoutlineofthecarriageabovehim,andtheoutlinesofthecarriagecushionsandoftheirluggageuponthegreyroad.Theaccidenthadtakenplaceinthewood,whereitwasevendarkerthanintheopen. “Areyouallright?”hemanagedtosay.Harrietwasscreaming,thehorsewaskicking,thedriverwascursingsomeotherman. Harriet’sscreamsbecamecoherent.“Thebaby—thebaby—itslipped—it’sgonefrommyarms—Istoleit!” “Godhelpme!”saidPhilip.Acoldcirclecameroundhismouth,and,hefainted. Whenherecovereditwasstillthesameconfusion.Thehorsewaskicking,thebabyhadnotbeenfound,andHarrietstillscreamedlikeamaniac,“Istoleit!Istoleit!Istoleit!Itslippedoutofmyarms!” “Keepstill!”hecommandedthedriver.“Letnoonemove.Wemaytreadonit.Keepstill.” Foramomenttheyallobeyedhim.Hebegantocrawlthroughthemud,touchingfirstthis,thenthat,graspingthecushionsbymistake,listeningforthefaintestwhisperthatmightguidehim.Hetriedtolightamatch,holdingtheboxinhisteethandstrikingatitwiththeuninjuredhand.Atlasthesucceeded,andthelightfelluponthebundlewhichhewasseeking. Ithadrolledofftheroadintothewoodalittleway,andhadfallenacrossagreatrut.Sotinyitwasthathaditfallenlengthwaysitwouldhavedisappeared,andhemightneverhavefoundit. “Istoleit!Iandtheidiot—noonewasthere.”Sheburstoutlaughing. Hesatdownandlaiditonhisknee.Thenhetriedtocleansethefacefromthemudandtherainandthetears.Hisarm,hesupposed,wasbroken,buthecouldstillmoveitalittle,andforthemomentheforgotallpain.Hewaslistening—notforacry,butforthetickofaheartortheslightesttremorofbreath. “Whereareyou?”calledavoice.ItwasMissAbbott,againstwhosecarriagetheyhadcollided.Shehadrelitoneofthelamps,andwaspickingherwaytowardshim. “Silence!”hecalledagain,andagaintheyobeyed.Heshookthebundlehebreathedintoitheopenedhiscoatandpresseditagainsthim.Thenhelistened,andheardnothingbuttherainandthepantinghorses,andHarriet,whowassomewherechucklingtoherselfinthedark. MissAbbottapproached,andtookitgentlyfromhim.Thefacewasalreadychilly,butthankstoPhilipitwasnolongerwet.Norwoulditagainbewettedbyanytear.