Part 16 (1/2)

Annie started, and shook her head. 'No, he never did. He gives me things now an' again, an' visits us too, but he's never did nothing that wasn't proper.'

'I'm not talking of anything proper or improper,' said Joseph impatiently. 'All that matters is that he fancies himself in love with you. Did you know of this?'

'No - I don't think - I can't say. He's always very attentive. '

'Listen, child; did you know he was going to ask you for yourself?'

'Oh! Captain Joe - really . . .'

'In marriage, Annie, in marriage. He wants to make you his wife.'

The girl's eyes opened wide in astonishment. 'Mr Coombe wants to marry me?' she exclaimed. 'I can't believe it. Why, he's quite the gentleman.'

'You like that, do you, eh? You like him for it, you're pleased, I can see. You fancy yourself in a lace dress and a flunkey to wait on you. That's it, is it?'

'No, Captain Joe, don't flummox me so - I can't think at all, I can't. I've never given a thought to Mr Coombe.'

'Ha! you say that, do you? Well, you must have been pretty fresh and easy with him to make him talk as he has done. So you're goin' to marry him, then, an' become a fine lady, with a carriage of your own?'

'I never said so.' The girl was nearly in tears. 'Mr Coombe is polite an' kind, but I've never fancied him for a husband. Besides, I don't want to wed yet awhile.'

'Ah! you'll keep him danglin', will 'ee, like a poor fish on the end of a line, until you've made up your mind what material you'll have for a weddin' dress. Then when he hires enough servants to kneel at your feet, you'll give in, eh, and make a present o' yourself to him for all he's done for you?'

'Oh! stop it, Captain Joe, I'll lose my wits in a minute, with you going on at me so.'The tears began to roll down her face. 'Oh! dear - oh! dear, what a fuss an' a pother, I scarce know where I am.'

Seeing her tears, Joseph lost control of himself, and seizing her in his arms he laid her across his knee, and kissed her hungrily and angrily, until her hair broke from its band, and fell about her shoulders, and she lay still, with her face pressed in his shoulder weak and helpless.

'You'd go to him, would you,' whispered Joseph, 'him with his parson's face an' his parson's ways, just for the sake of a pretty dress an' a fine house.You'd go to him without knowin' anythin' of the meaning of love, an' never learnin', an' never carin'.You'd go, where I couldn't hold you like this - and this - and this . . .'

'No - no-' cried Annie. 'You mustn't, oh! Joseph, what's come to me - I love you - yes I do - indeed I do.'

He kissed her again and again, exhausting her, stirring in her a flood of misery and pleasure and emotion that she did not understand. Then he pushed her away from him, and she found she could scarcely stand, and her legs were trembling beneath her, while her heart was throbbing in her breast. Her hands shook as she arranged her dress and her hair, and there was a queer, gnawing pain inside her.

He watched her, his eyes narrowing.

'Well, are ye goin' to tell him you'll be his wife? Run then, don't lose him, he'll be gone unless you'm quick.'

'I don't want to marry him, you know I don't. Why are you trying to make me so miserable?'

'He'll make you a fine husband an' give you a tidy home, with everythin' in the world you need. You'll be a fool to refuse him.'

Poor Annie was ready to burst into tears again.

He kissed her once more, and she leaned against him, unable to walk, unable to do anything but what he asked her. She had no will, no strength left in her, only a wish to be held next him and loved.

'Philip must have his chance fairly,' said Joseph. 'I'm not goin' to sneak in behind his back. This afternoon you'll have to come down with me to the office, and choose between us. You'll have to speak the truth to his face. Do you promise, Annie?'

'Oh! I promise - I promise.'

'Well then, now go along to your dinner, an' don't worry your little head about things. We'll fix it between us.'

So poor Annie stumbled away to her home, filled with emotion and swaying like a sleepwalker after this first experience of physical love, while Joseph tramped across the cliffs with no thought of food or repose, trying to quieten the restless longing that had got the better of him, and which would not rest for all his bidding.

That afternoon the pair of them went down to the gloomy building next door to the Post Office, where Philip lodged.

Annie was left in the hall, while Joseph knocked on the parlour door.

Philip was lying on a hard-backed sofa, with a handkerchief over his face. Joseph smiled. His brother evidently believed in taking care of himself.

Philip flung away his handkerchief and rose to a sitting position, his smooth, sandy hair rumpled for once, his mouth open in surprise.

'Where have you sprung from, Joe, and what did you mean by running away like that this morning? Is anything wrong?'

'I should certainly say there is,' replied Joseph, pulling forward a chair for his own use.

'Look ye, Philip, I'm not agoin' to mince matters, I believed in plain speakin' an' plain dealin'.You can't marry Annie Tabb, the girl belongs to me.'

The brother stared incredulously; then hardly aware what he was doing he drew his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his hands slowly. 'If this is your idea of a joke, Joe, it's in exceedingly poor taste, I'd have you know.'

'Cut out this gentleman stuff, Philip, I've got no time for it. It's not my way to joke about something of such deadly importance, you fool. I tell you I've been courtin' that girl this last fortnight or so, an' I mean to have her, whether you like it or not.'

Every vestige of colour drained from Philip's face. He looked shrunken and wizened, like a fair rat. He clutched at the arm of the sofa, never taking his eyes off his brother's.

'Say that again.'

'I say I'm goin' to have that girl, an' she's promised herself to me. I'm very sorry to break up your happy schemes, old fellow, but I'd no idea that my Annie was your intended. If you'd only be a little more open, an' not so mighty secretive about your affairs, there'd be none of this springin' things on you now. I reckon there's nothin' more that I can say, except the position is an embarra.s.sin' one for both of us, an' the sooner we put an end to it the better.'

Philip sat motionless on the sofa, then he began to speak slowly and softly.

'You d.a.m.ned swine,' he said. 'So that was your idea, was it? To slink behind my back and make love to the woman I wanted for my wife; to deliberately steal her from me . . .'

'Hold fast, brother,' shouted Joseph. 'I never knew until this mornin' when you showed me her likeness that Annie was the girl you had a fancy for. Do I look like a thief?'