Beggars May Sing Read online

  "I'm not asking for your friendship," he fold her. "After all, I'm a man of a certain age, and you're just a girl."

  "You should have thought of that before," she retorted, not in the least crushed.

  He gave a short laugh. "Well, don't you think that your attitude is a little provincial?"

  "I am provincial," she replied.

  He was nonplussed. She was too quick and too clearsighted, this child. "Other things apart," he said suavely, "if you continue to keep up this game, you will only succeed in making us both conspicuous. You don't want to draw attention to the position. I presume."

  "That's true," she admitted,

  "You were foolish enough running to Julie like any silly little schoolgirl that night, without having to let the whole house know as well," he said, pressing home his advantage. "I told you before, Julie and I understand one another. She was the wrong person for you to have gone to, my dear."

  "Would you rather I'd gone to Mark?" she flashed.

  He looked disturbed, then smiled slowly. "I know you wouldn't care to do that. Men don't appreciate tales of that kind. It makes it rather awkward for them. Besides, how do you know you weren't mistaken?"

  She was silent, biting her lip miserably. She missed a step and stumbled.

  "Steady!" he said, and tightened his grip, then continued reassuringly, "Let's forget 'all about it. You know you're in a false position over the whole affair. Besides, I'm sure you don't want to make things difficult for Julie."

  "No."

  "Well then, let's call a truce. You be nice to me, and I'll be nice to you."

  "Nice?"

  "You must use the word as you mean it. But I think we understand each other now. You'll stop being a foolish little girl with me?"

  "If you leave me alone," Gina said uncertainly, as the record stopped and their dance came to an end, but he only gave her his flashing smile, and went off to help Julie choose another record.

  Gina went and sat down beside Mark by the fire. "Do you never dance at all?" she asked him.

  He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I'm really not able to, you know."

  "But people who are only slightly lame very often can," she persisted.

  "I find it makes me too tired, and in the end gives me 'a certain amount of pain, so it's scarcely worth while," he told her.

  "But you're coming to the Pratts' dance, aren't you?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Nor the charity ball?"

  He shook his head. "I've taken a ticket; that's all they want."

  "Oh, how mean!" cried Gina indignantly. "I think it's perfectly absurd the way you keep out of everything 'and let yourself get elderly and avuncular just because you have a mouldy leg."

  "Do you think I'm elderly and avuncular?"

  "Of course I don't. But you try hard enough to make me," she said impatiently.

  "I must mend my ways then. How shall I start?"

  "Well, why don't you come to the Hospital Ball as you've got a ticket? Hang it all, Mark, you send us all and pay for everything, and don't have any of the fun."

  "But what would be the fun of going to a ball when you can't dance?" he protested weakly.

  "Don't you like sitting out? I think it's half the fun," she said frankly.

  "Would you sit out with me if I came?" he asked her.

  "Of course I would," she said. "I'd sit out every dance with you if it gave you any pleasure. Only you'd be so horribly bored."

  "Oh, Gina, you charming child!" he said with a smile. "All right, I'll come if you really want me to."

  III

  The fun was in full swing at Clevelands when Julie's party arrived on Boxing Night. The big frozen lake was already crowded, and the air rang with voices and laughter and the sound of skates cutting ice. Lanterns hung from the branches of trees like glowing fruit, and some of the skaters carried torches. A band from Eastcliff had been engaged to play, and they struck up a waltz as Gina excitedly put on her skates.

  "Doesn't it look thrilling?" she cried to Mark, standing beside her, the collar of his overcoat turned up to his ears and a muffler round his neck. It was bitterly cold. "I've never been to such a grand ice-party. Quick, Evan, hurry up with your skates."

  "Come on, then, I'm ready," Evan answered, and helped her on to the ice. "Can you waltz?"

  "I used to be able to. Let me find my feet first."

  It was soon evident to both men that she was an excellent performer, and Mark stood and watched her thin pliant body twisting and turning with ease, assuming a natural grace which was lacking in skaters with prettier figures than Gina,

  "It's marvellous! Come on, Evan, I'm all right!" she cried, and held out her hands.

  Mark watched the scene with a sudden unwonted sense of bitterness. It was hard to be out of things at thirty-five, and he reflected that Gina had been quite right when she had accused him of becoming avuncular, but it seemed to him inevitable that this should be so, since he had now acquired and was practically supporting a complete family, and it meant hard, unrelaxed work to keep them all. While Julie might conceivably marry Victor Swann or any other man in the near future, Sebastian and Gina would be unsolved problems for several years to come. He refused at the moment to consider the prospect of Gina herself marrying, although Julie had always made it plain enough that this was the only possible solution for her, and he had an idea that when the time came, his sister would not be over scrupulous in choosing a husband for the girl. Sebastian of course was a genuine responsibility. He showed so little promise of ever making a way for himself. He was far too dependent on other people and other people's money to ever shift for himself, but Gina—

  He became aware of her at that moment standing at Nancy's cocktail bar. She was balancing herself awkwardly on her skates, and Evan had thrown one arm around her in support. Their young glowing faces were alive with a mutual enjoyment, as much of each other's company as of the carnival itself. They were happy, and so obviously at ease with each other that Mark wondered with a certain dismay if Julie's plans showed signs of coming to a head sooner than she had hoped.

  He walked away in search of Philippa, who, exhausted by her tumbles, was drinking steaming coffee over one of the braziers.

  "This sort of thing may be all right for the very young," she said, making room beside her for Mark, "but once you've reached my age, tumbles hurt."

  He was silent, and glancing 'at him, she thought he looked weary and rather sad. He was only the same age as herself, but tonight he looked infinitely older.

  "Don't mind me, my dear," she said quickly. "I was only joking."

  "No. You're quite right," he said then. He patted his lame leg. "Gina was going for me only the other day because I kept out of. things. She said I was becoming avuncular. That stamps one, doesn't it?"

  "Ah, Gina." Philippa nodded thoughtfully, then added shrewdly, "You never thought much about it until that little girl grew up, did you?"

  "No, perhaps I didn't."

  "And yet Gina strikes me as being less of her generation than most. I mean she wouldn't really mind if she never went to dances, or frivoled about in a youthful way. She deals much more in personalities than in good times. She gives me the impression that she is far more in need of steady affection than parties, and I don't think she's ever had very much."

  He looked at her quickly. "That's what I've always rather felt myself," he agreed. "She's capable, I think, of giving a lot, and she doesn't get very much."

  "Julie doesn't care for her, does she?"

  He shrugged his shoulders. "Unfortunately, no. She's much fonder of Sebastian."

  "I suppose that's natural. Julie is entirely a man's woman really. She's possessive, you know."

  "Yes, I know. Things are rather difficult for the child."

  "She'll probably marry, and that will solve all your troubles," she said lightly, but watching him with interest.

  "That's all women seem to think of!" he said so violently that she smiled. "It's Julie's on
ly plan for the girl, and has even sunk into Gina's mind as well. She told me a little while ago that she must marry as quickly as possible to take herself off my hands. It's a monstrous attitude! Now the boy is a problem. He has no stability and no definite purpose in life at all except living at other people's expense."

  "Oh, Mark!" said Philippa over her coffee-cup, and laughed softly.

  On the ice they were playing follow-my-leader, headed by Victor, who had proceeded to organize this party as he had so often organized winter-sports parties in Switzerland. That was his strong suit and, as far as it went, was successful. He was unflagging in his efforts to keep things going, and he was generous in taking round the indifferent performers if they happened to be young, female and charming.

  Follow-my-leader over, they began playing fox-and-geese, with Victor as "fox." This proved a great success. There were many screams as a "gosling" was caught and detached from the long string, and a certain amount of tumbles.

  Now Gina was the tail, and quite suddenly the thing, for her, ceased to be a game. She was only conscious of being pursued by Victor, and at all costs she must avoid being caught. She began to be afraid, and she clutched Sebastian's coat desperately, hanging on to him with grim determination as they swung suddenly out this way and that, trying to elude the "fox." She felt as she so often had out hunting. She was sick with fear of falling, sick with fear of being caught. In anticipation she felt Victor's muscular arms imprisoning her, carrying her off to unknown horrors, and suddenly she was aware of him bearing down on her. She screamed, let go of Sebastian's coat, and turned to escape.

  She heard Victor's voice, shouting, "Hey! That's not fair! You mustn't separate!" as he started to pursue her, and in her panic she crossed her skates. The bobbing lanterns spun before her eyes like myriads of burning oranges, and the ice rose shimmering to meet her as she felt her feet shoot from under her, and fell backwards.

  CHAPTER IX

  I

  IT was Victor who carried her across the ice.

  Mark ceased suddenly in his conversation with Philippa to say, "Hullo! Someone's got hurt. I thought that game was getting a bit rough."

  They went over to the spot where a knot of people had gathered, and Mark saw who it was. Victor had laid Gina's small body on the snow, and was now kneeling beside her, chafing her hands. Someone brought some water, and he began to force it between her teeth.

  Mark pushed his way through the crowd and knelt clown beside her. "What happened?" he asked anxiously.

  "I don't know." Victor looked puzzled. "She broke away at the last minute and got her skates crossed or something. Can't think why she did it. She must have fallen on the back of her head. She'll be all right in a minute." He gave her a little more water, and she began to come round.

  The first person she saw was Victor bending over her, and Mark watched a look of pure fright come into her eyes.

  "Oh! I was caught!" she said.

  He slipped an arm under her shoulders, drawing her away from Swann. "It was only a game, Gina," he said gently. "You just fell down on your head. Do you feel better?"

  She sat up, supported by Mark, and felt the back of her head gingerly.

  "Ow!" she exclaimed.

  Sebastian appeared with a cup of coffee, and she drank it, looking apologetically over the rim of the cup.

  "I'm awfully sorry," she said. "Do go on skating. I'm quite all right."

  People began to talk in relieved voices, and presently they dispersed and the band struck up a waltz.

  "All right. Gina?" asked Julie behind her.

  "Yes. thanks. Do go away, all of you." She was beginning to feel she wanted to cry.

  Mark nodded to Victor, who took Julie on to the ice. The Careys went back to the coffee-stall, and Gina was left with Mark and Sebastian.

  "This young lady seems always in trouble," said a fresh voice, and Gina looked up and smiled feebly at Sir Charles Napier. "I think you had better come up to the house and rest." he said kindly.

  "I think it would really be best if I get her home and to bed," Mark said with a smile.

  "Perhaps it would on the whole." Sir Charles agreed, and whispered to Gina, as she was helped to her feet, "I'll send you over some fruit tomorrow to make up."

  "What an old pet he is," Gina said, and she began to walk towards their car, supported on each side by Mark and Sebastian.

  "I wonder if you ought to sec a doctor," Mark said, tucking a rug round her in the car.

  "Oh no. It's only a crack on the head," said Gina, and burst into tears.

  "Oh. Gina! As bad as all that?" Mark asked, and sat down beside her. He took off her beret, and stroked her hair soothingly. "I wonder if I ought to take her along to a doctor?" he said to Sebastian.

  "Don't you worry," Sebastian replied comfortably, settling himself in the back of the car. "It's a good sign when Ginny cries. She's relieving her feelings. Something frightened her, I think. She'll stop in a minute."

  She had begun to stop already, and accepted Mark's proffered handkerchief gratefully. "Sorry," she said. "I'm all right now, really, Mark. Let's get home."

  He looked at her tear-stained face a little curiously.

  "Would you like Julie to come with us—or Philippa?" he asked her, still a little doubtful.

  "No, I'd much rather have you and Sebastian," she said, and snuggled down beside him.

  He smiled, reassured, and backing the car out of its line, started for home.

  II

  Gina lay in bed, staring at her little tree. Mark had given it to her for Christmas, and it stood by itself on the mantelpiece, spreading its fragile branches, a lovely delicate trifle of fine blown glass.

  It was five o'clock of the next afternoon, and Julie had just left her. Julie had been unusually gracious, for the Napiers had both called informally to inquire for Gina, and relations between Clevelands and the Barn House were at last established. Gina lay staring at Mark's tree, and thinking over her stepmother's words.

  Julie, sitting gracefully on the side of the bed, had glanced round the room, her shrewd gaze taking in Gina's small collection of offerings. There was Sir Charles' basket of hot-house peaches and grapes, which she had herself just brought upstairs, and a great bunch of chrysanthemums from Evan out of his mother's greenhouse, their bronze mop-heads very like Gina's own. Less pleasing perhaps was the sight of an unopened box of chocolates from Victor, and last of all a small case of crystallized fruit, especially procured, Julie knew, that morning by Mark, who had motored into Eastcliff for the purpose.

  "What a lot of fuss for a little bump on the head," she said with a smile. "Beginning to be spoilt by men already, aren't you, Gina?"

  "I know—it is absurd. I'm quite all right really," Gina said apologetically. She knew that Julie would not be pleased that Mark and Victor had paid her any attention.

  Julie's regard rested last of all and longest on her brother's gift, and finally came back to Evan's flowers.

  "You like this young man, don't you?" she said, picking up his card and holding it delicately between her white fingers.

  "Who? Evan? Yes, I like him very much," Gina replied, and felt herself blushing as her stepmother's dark eyes rested suddenly on her face.

  "He's been running after you a lot of late," Julie went on deliberately. "I used to think he was fond of the little Pratt girl, but—you were always friends, weren't you?"

  Gina nodded, feeling puzzled.

  "He's a charming young man, and when the old people are gone, of course he will be very comfortably off, and own that nice old house as well. I'm glad you like him so much, Gina." Julie paused suggestively, and Gina said bluntly:

  "Do you want me to marry Evan, Julie?"

  Julie spread out her hands in a little deprecatory gesture. "My dear—has he asked you?" she said with faint reproof.

  "No."

  "Well, then, there's no need to discuss such an indefinite proposition, is there? But, Gina, remember this—" Julie glanced swiftly at her stepd
aughter—"Mark can't keep you for ever, and you will be twenty in a couple of months."

  She- rose unhurriedly, dropped Evan's card into Gina's lap, and with a pleasant smile crossed the room to the door. "You're getting up in time for dinner, aren't you, dear? Take things easily and don't hurry. You must be well for the Pratts' dance."

  So Gina lay and considered, and of the whole conversation only one sentence stood out clearly—"Mark can't keep you for ever. . . ."

  No hint could have been more plain, and she felt her cheeks grow hot as she imagined Mark and Julie talking her over between them, speculating upon the chances of an early marriage for her, anxious for her future to be settled as soon as possible. She felt particularly resentful towards Mark, for he at least had assumed a very different attitude, and she had already come to regard him as something of an ally and a refuge when life became too complicated. She couldn't help liking him in spite of her sense of obligation towards him. He had always been so kind and never stressed her dependence on him more than he could help.

  Gina turned her pillow over and thumped it impatiently. A person who was so natural to cry upon couldn't be an enemy, she reflected unhappily. There were so few people to whom you could reveal your weaker self with impunity, that this fact alone must form a bond between them.

  She glanced at Evan's card lying on the eiderdown where Julie had dropped it, and read again the message scrawled above his name: "Take care of the poor head and make sure of being fit for New Year's Eve—I'm having at least eight dances with you."

  She smiled. Dear Evan! What a darling he was! She thought of his young golden beauty and lay very still. If he should ask her, it shouldn't be difficult to be in love with Evan. If he should ask her. . . .

  She came downstairs early, and found Sebastian at the piano.

  "Hullo, Ginny! How do you feel?" he 'asked.

  "Oh, not too bad. A bit tender in the skull," she answered, and swung herself into her favourite position on the piano. "Everyone bright and happy down here?"