Home > Authors Index > L. T. Meade > Good Luck > This page
Good Luck, a fiction by L. T. Meade |
||
Chapter 10 |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER X When Alison arrived at the Clays' the fun was in full swing. The house was crowded--not only the long sitting room, but the little hall, and a good way up the stairs. A stage had been erected at one end of the sitting room; on this stage now the actors were disporting themselves. As Alison had not arrived in time for supper, no one took any notice of her when she appeared. She found that it was quite impossible to hope to get a corner, either to sit or stand, in the room where the acting was going on. She had, therefore, to content herself with leaning up against the wall in the passage, and now and then bending forward so as to see the one person about whom she was the least interested--Jim himself. The play was a very poor affair, and consisted of several short scenes acted in the style of charades, with impromptu conversations, which mostly consisted of coarse jests and innuendoes; but the loud laughter of the spectators assured Alison that this style of thing was quite up to their level. She felt rather sickened at Jim's taking part in anything so commonplace; but her love for him, which grew daily, gave her a certain sense of rest and happiness at even being in his vicinity. He did not know she was there, but that mattered little or nothing. When the play was over he would come out and see her, and then everything would be smooth and delightful. She forgot to be jealous of Louisa; she even forgot the fact that a few short weeks ago she had been publicly accused of theft; she only knew that she wore her best frock; she was only conscious that she looked her best and brightest, that when Jim's eyes did rest upon her he could not but acknowledge her charm; she was only well aware that it was Christmas Eve, and that all the world was rejoicing. She stood, therefore, in the crowded hall with a smiling face, her hands lightly, clasped in front of her, her thoughts full of peace, and yet stimulated to a certain excited joy. Between the acts people began to go in and out of the large sitting room, and on these occasions Alison was jostled about a good bit. She was quite pushed up against the stairs, and had some difficulty in keeping her balance. She saw a man stare at her with a very coarse sort of admiration. She did not know the man, and she shrank from his gaze; but the next moment she saw him speaking to a girl who she knew belonged to Shaw's establishment. The girl's reply came distinctly to her ears. "Yes, I suppose she is pretty enough," she said. "We always spoke of her as genteel at Shaw's. Oh, you want to know her name, Mr. Manners? Her name is Alison Reed. She left Shaw's because she stole a five-pound note. It was awfully good of him not to prosecute her." "That girl a thief!" said the man who was addressed as Manners. "I don't believe it." "Oh, but she is! She was in such a fright that she left the shop the very day she was accused. That shows guilt--don't it, now?" Alison could not hear Manners' reply, but after a time, the sharp voice of the girl again reached her ears. "They do say as Jim Hardy, our foreman, was sweet on her, but of course he has given her up now; he is all agog for Louisa Clay, the girl he is acting with to-night. They say they are sweethearts, and they'll be married early in the year. It is a very good match for him, for Louisa has lots of money and----" The speakers moved on, and Alison could not catch another word. She had gained a comfortable position for herself now, and was leaning firmly against the wall. The words which had reached her she fully and completely realized. She was accustomed to being considered a thief; she always would be considered a thief until that five-pound note was found. It was very painful, it was bitter to be singled out in that way, to have attention drawn to her as such a character; but the words which related to Jim she absolutely laughed at. Was not Jim her own faithful lover? Would he not see her home to-night, believing in her fully and entirely? Oh, yes. Whatever the world at large thought of her, she was good enough for Jim. Yes, yes. She would promise to be his to-night, she would not wait until next Tuesday. What was the good of pushing happiness away when it came so close? A cup full of such luck was not offered to every girl. She would drink it up; she would enjoy it to the full. Then envious and malicious tongues would have to be quiet, for she would prove by her engagement that Jim, at least, believed in her. She drew up her head proudly as this thought came to her. The next act in the noisy little play was just beginning, and those who cared for seats in the room were pushing forward; the crowd in the passage was therefore less oppressive. Alison moved forward a step or two, and stood in such a position that she was partly sheltered by a curtain. She had scarcely done so before, to her great astonishment, Hardy and Louisa came out. They stood together for a moment or two in the comparatively deserted passage. Other characters occupied the stage for the time being, and Louisa was glad to get into the comparatively fresh air to cool herself. "Oh, aint it hot?" she said. "Fan me," she added, offering Jim a huge fan gaudily painted in many colors. She unfurled it as she spoke, and put it into his hand. "Make a breeze o' some sort," she said; "do, or I'll faint!" Jim looked pleased and excited. He was fantastically dressed in the stage costume in which he had shortly to appear. Alison, partly sheltered by the curtain, could see well without being seen herself. "The play is going splendid, Jim," said Louisa. "I'm ever so pleased." "I am glad of that," replied Jim. "I thought you would be. Well, I do feel a happy girl to-night." "And when is it to be?" said Jim, bending down and looking earnestly into her face. She flushed when he spoke to her, and immediately lowered her eyes. "I aint made up my mind quite yet," she said. "But you will?" he replied, in a voice full of solicitude. "I don't know. Would it please you if I did?" "I needn't say that it would," was the reply. "I think it would make me real happy." "Well, ef I thought that----" Louisa took her fan out of Jim Hardy's hand and began to toy with it in a somewhat affected manner. Then her expression changed to one of absolute passion. "I don't think there is anything in heaven above, or the earth beneath, I wouldn't do, Jim Hardy, even to please you for half an hour; to please you is the light of life to me. So, if you wish it, let it be--there! I can't say any more, can I?" "You can't; you have said enough," he replied gravely. "There is our call," he added; "we must go back. Are you cooler now?" "Much cooler, thanks to you." The call came a second time. Louisa hurried forward; Jim followed her. Neither of them noticed the listening girl behind the curtain. The next moment loud cheers filled the room as Hardy and Louisa took their places side by side in the front of the stage. Alison waited until the great uproar had subsided, then she slipped into the dressing room where she had gone on her arrival, put on her hat and jacket steadily and calmly, and went home. She had no intention now of waiting for Jim. She never meant to wait for Jim any more. He was false as no man had ever been false before. She would forget him, she would drive him out of her life. He had dared to come and talk of marriage to her when he really loved another girl; he had dared to give her words of tenderness when his heart was with Louisa Clay. "It is all over," whispered Alison quite quietly under her breath. She wondered, in a dull sort of fashion, why she felt so quiet; why she did not suffer a great deal more; why the sense of disappointment and cruel desertion did not break her heart. She was sure that by and by her heart would awaken, and pain--terrible, intense pain would be her portion; but just now she felt quiet and stunned. She was glad of this. It was Christmas Eve, but Jim was not walking home with her. The Christmas present she had hoped for was not to be hers. Well, never mind, to-morrow would be Christmas Day. Jim was invited to dinner, to that good dinner which Grannie had no right to buy, but which Grannie had bought to give the children one last happy day. Alison herself had made the cake and had frosted it, and Alison herself had stirred the pudding, and had thought of Jim's face as it would look when he sat with the children round the family board. He would never sit there now; she must never see him again. She would write to him the moment she got in, and then, having put him out of her life once and for ever, she would help Grannie to keep the Merry Christmas. She walked up the weary number of steps to the flat on the fifth floor. She found the key under the mat, and then went in. Grannie had left everything ready for her. Grannie had thought of a betrothed maiden who would enter the little house with the air of a queen who had come suddenly into her kingdom. Grannie, who was sound asleep at this moment, had no idea that Despair itself was coming home in the last hours just before the blessed Christmas broke. Alison opened the door very softly, and, going into the kitchen, took down her writing portfolio from a little shelf where she generally kept it, and wrote a short letter to Jim. "Dear Jim: I have made up my mind, and in this letter you will get your final answer. I will not marry anybody until I am cleared of this trouble about the five-pound note; and whether I am cleared or not, I shall never marry you, for I don't love you. I found out to-night it was all a mistake, and what I thought was love was not. I don't love you, Jim, and I never wish to see you again. Please don't come to dinner to-morrow, and please don't ever try to see me. This is final. I don't love you; that is your answer. Having signed the letter in a very firm hand, Alison put it into an envelope, addressed and stamped it. She then went out and dropped it into a pillar-box near by. Jim would get it on Christmas morning. _ |
||