Read Online The Pandervils by Gerald Bullet - Free Book Online Page A

whole story of Willy, so far as he knew it, repeated itself in his mind in a series of little bright pictures; and behind these pictures moved the drama, as Egg’s fancy conceived it, of Willy’s love story, beginning with that critical Sunday morning when a translated Jinny Randall walked up the aisle of the church, and ending with the secret passionate farewells of lovers who were never to meet again. Between that first scene and this last there came numerous homely memories that for Egg were more significant: of Willy, red-facedand eager-eyed, earnestly polishing his boots and gaiters before setting out to pay his respects to Jinny; of Willy plastering down his hair with water in front of the bedroom mirror; of one evening especially when Willy swore wild oaths—all but wept—because at the last moment his braces broke; and of Willy plucking at one’s sleeve in church, generously ready, naively eager, to share the ecstasy of seeing Jinny first appear. These visions flashed by, these echoes sounded, and- Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, miss! Enticing my poor boy. Sly tricks. Sent him to his death. No better than a whore, as God’s my judge … Such fragments as these he found recently written on his mind, and coming upon the vilest of them he suddenly—minutes after the words had been spoken —broke out with a passionate cry:
    â€˜Mother! Mother!’
    Mrs Pandervil turned on him quickly—in anger, maybe, but still more in surprise. Her eyes pierced a question at him.
    â€˜Mother, you’ve said enough. You’ve said too much. I think … I think you’ve lost your senses.’
    â€˜Hold your tongue, child! How dare you speak to your mother so!’
    Egg heard himself shouting: ‘I’m not a child and I won’t hold my tongue. Willy promised I’d stand by her, and I will. She’s not what you say.’ He moved half-blindly towards the girl and held out a hand to her. ‘Come along. I’ll take you back home.’
    Staring dazedly up at him, Jinny answered: ‘I can’t go home. I daren’t. They’ve turned me out.’ She rose slowly to her feet. ‘But of course I can’t stay here either.’
    â€˜No, that you can’t,’ declared Mrs Pandervil. ‘The very idea!’
    Egg detected a subtle change in his mother’s voice, but he could not spare eyes for her, being vigilant to see any new sign on the face of Jinny. And, indeed, at that very moment, a spasm of pain twisted the girl’s lips, blanched her cheeks, made her dark eloquent eyes stare wildly like those of a tortured animal. She swayed, and, stretching out a hand to steady herself, fell into Egg’s arms.
    â€˜She’s fainted,’ gasped the boy.
    Mrs Pandervil opened the door. ‘We must carry her upstairs, to Flisher’s room. Ah, the disgrace of it! The wickedness!’
    â€˜I’m not fainted,’ murmured Jinny. ‘I can walk. Let me go.’
    She leaned heavily on Egg’s arm; Mrs Pandervil supported her on the other side. ‘Poor deary, the pains are on her. Steady now, and we’ll put you to bed.’
    â€˜Let me carry her, Mother. She’s no weight.’
    He lifted the girl from the ground, and with her arms clinging round his neck he felt Willy’s strength flowing in his veins and rippling in his muscles. The burden was a heavy one, but he supported it with ease, his mind fixed on the task yet able to afford hospitality still to all manner of random thoughts. His step was confident, careful;his heart joyous. Jinny, her head sinking on his shoulder, moaned in pain; but he mounted the stairs exultantly, conscious of his mother hovering in the rear, and half-conscious of the fancy that it was Willy himself he was carrying in his arms. When, after a long journey, a crowded little interval of time, he at last laid down his precious burden on the bed, he heard the voice of Mrs