CHAPTER IX
Christopher continued to visit the Sartins and to find considerable pleasure in Sam"s companionship, who on his few holidays was only too glad to explore the grey river and its innumerable wharfs with Christopher. Sam was already a fair waterman; he at least spent all his scant leisure and scantier pennies in learning that arduous profession.
Once Mr. Aston visited Block D. with Christopher, and lingered behind gossiping to Mrs. Sartin while the boy went to meet Sam, expected home to tea. Sam got nothing out of his mother anent that conversation except the information that Mr. Aston was "a real Christian gentleman, who knew what trouble was, and don"t you make any mistake, but as "ow Mr. Christopher was a lucky young gentleman."
Mr. Aston also found time to visit Sam"s master, though on this occasion he was not accompanied by Christopher, who, indeed, chanced to be on the river with Sam Sartin that afternoon.
It must not be imagined that Christopher had no other friends than the humble Sartins. Besides the Wyatt household, half a dozen families with boys of his age welcomed him gladly enough, but though he was on good terms with these and though not one of the boys could afford to despise him as an antagonist in any sport, yet none of them contrived to have more than a very superficial idea of Christopher Aston. They took to him at once, but he remained just the good-natured, jolly acquaintance of the first day, never more, if never less. Christopher, indeed, though he confessed it to no one, not even to Aymer, felt a little cut off from this pleasant clan, who held the same traditions, the same experiences, and who went through the same training at their various schools, who led indeed a life that differed essentially from Christopher.
He was never conscious of any lack of company. The Astons, old and young, were companions who answered to every need of his energetic mind. He made giant strides in his studies in these days and pa.s.sed beyond the average into the cla.s.s of those of real ability. All his well-earned holidays were spent at Marden, where there was always Patricia as a most admirable playfellow.
It was when Christopher was a little over fifteen and Patricia about the same age that the first definite result of their companionship came about.
On the other side of the lake at Marden Court the high road, sunk between a low wall on one side and the upsloping land on the other, ran directly eastward and westward, joining eventually a second Great Road of historic importance to Christopher Aston. The rough ground beyond the road was covered with low scrub, and dwarf twisted hawthorns, with a plentiful show of molehills. Here and there were groups of Scotch firs, and the crest of the hill was wooded with oaks and beeches and a fringe of larches, with here and there a silvery black poplar.
Christopher and Patricia were fond of this rough land that lay beyond the actual park. In early days it had made a glorious stage for "desert islanders," with the isle-studded lake to bound it, whose further sh.o.r.e for the nonce melted into vague mistiness. Later on, when desert islands were out of fashion, it was still good ground to explore, and through the woods away over the hill one came to a delectable wide-spread country, where uncultivated down mingled with cornfields and stretches of clover, a country bounded by long, s.p.a.cious curving lines of hill and dale, tree-capped ridges and bare contours, with here and there the gash of a chalk pit gleaming white.
Just at a point where a stretch of down-land ran into a little copse, was a small barrow. A round green mound, memento of a forgotten history that was real and visible enough in its own day, as real as the two children of "the Now," with whom the spot was a favourite camping ground.
Patricia, who knew all about barrows from Nevil, used to invent wonderful stories of this one, to which Christopher lent a critical attention, adding here and there a practical touch.
It was he who first suggested exploring the mound, and one day they dragged heavy spades thither and worked hard for an hour or two without great result, when suddenly Patricia began shovelling back her pile of brown earth with feverish haste.
"I don"t like it. It is horrid," she panted in return to Christopher"s protests. The idea of desecration was so strong on her that when her companion still indignantly protested, the black pa.s.sion leapt up to life and she flung round at him.
It was then that Christopher made his discovery. He saw the mad flare in her face and flung his strong arms round her from behind, and held her against him with her hands in his gripped fast to her breast.
"Steady on, Patricia," he said sharply, "don"t get frightened. You aren"t going to get wild this time."
There was no alarm or anger in his voice and a queer, new note of firmness and force. She struggled ineffectually a moment and then came the dangerous quietness that waited a chance.
He could feel her muscles strained and rigid still.
"Patricia," he said quite loudly, "drop it. I won"t have it, do you hear? You _can_ stop if you like now, and you"ve got to."
She bent back her head and looked at him, her child face old and worn and disfigured with her still burning fury. She looked right in his eyes: his met hers steady and hard as flints, and through the blind pa.s.sion of her look he saw her soul leap up, appealing, piteous, and by heaven-taught instinct, he answered that.
"It"s all right, Patricia, you are safe enough. I"m not going to let you make a fool of yourself, my dear; don"t be afraid. Stop thinking.
Look at the dark shadows over there--on the cornfield. They"ll cut that next week."
Little by little he loosed his grasp on her as he felt the tension slacken, and presently she stood free, still dazed and bewildered.
Christopher picked up a spade and whistled.
"All the same, you are right, Patricia," he said thoughtfully, "it does seem a shame to disturb the old Johnny, and creepy too. I"ll fill up."
He continued to work hard, watching her out of the corner of his eye, but talking cheerfully. Presently she took up her spade and made a poor pretence of helping him, but she said nothing till they had done and he suggested a return.
"Do you mind resting a bit, first?"
Her subdued voice called for a scrutinising glance. Then he dropped his spade and flung himself on the gra.s.s by her side. A little wind swept up the downland to them, making the brown benets nod in a friendly fashion. The purple scabious, too, nodded cheerfully.
Patricia picked one and began stroking it with her fingers.
Christopher lay on his back and whistled again softly, watching a lark, as he had watched one five years ago, when a small boy, by the side of the Great Road.
"Christopher, how did you do it?" demanded Patricia abruptly.
"Do what?"
"Stop me."
"I didn"t. You stopped yourself."
"I never have before."
"Then you ought to have. You see you can, if you only will think."
"I _can"t_ think."
"But you did," he insisted, with some reason.
"Because you made me. I"d have been much angrier with anyone else--it was like--like--holding on to a rock, when the water was sucking one away."
"Bosh," said Christopher, sitting upright suddenly.
"Look here, Patricia, it was only that I made you take time to think: no one, even you (he put in rudely enough), could be silly enough to make such a little idiot of yourself if you _thought_ a moment.
Everyone seems to take it for granted you"ll go on being--stupid--or else they are afraid to stop you, and I--well I won"t have it, Patricia, that"s all. You must jolly well learn to stop."
His boyish words were rougher than his voice, just as his real feeling in the matter was deeper than his expression of it, and secretly he was a little proud of his achievement and felt a subtle proprietorship over his companion that was not displeasing.
Patricia slipped her arm in his and leant her golden head against him.
"Christopher, I want to tell you all I can remember about it. I don"t know what anyone else has told you."
"All right, fire away," returned Christopher resignedly.
"The only thing I can remember at all about my father is seeing him get into rages like that with my mother. I can remember him quite well, at all sorts of times; he was very big and fair, and splendid, but always everything I remember ends in that. And I can remember getting in a rage when I was quite little and seeing my mother turn white, and she jumped up and ran out of the room crying out to Renata.
My father was killed hunting when I was six years old and mother died when I was nine years old. Renata was married then, you know, so I came to live with her and Nevil. But always I remembered when I was naughty like that, my mother used to look frightened and go away and our old nurse used to come and scold me and watch me till I could have killed her. Renata, darling Renata, used to talk to me after and make me promise to try and be good, but she, too, was really afraid when I was bad. I suppose they had both had so bad a time with father." She stopped, gazing out at a misty half-understood tragedy, whose very dimness woke a faint echo of terror in her heart, for she was as surely the daughter of the woman who had suffered as of the man who had caused the suffering.
"That"s all," said Patricia, with a sudden movement, "everyone always takes it as part of me. Nevil says I"ll outgrow it. I don"t--and Renata cries."
"And I scold you. Anyhow, it isn"t part of you in my eyes, but just a beastly sort of thing which you let get hold of you, and then it isn"t you at all. It"s all rot inheriting things, though of course, if you _think_ so----" this young philosopher on the much-debated subject shrugged his shoulders.
"But I don"t think so, I don"t want to think so," cried poor Patricia; "it"s just because you don"t think it that you made me feel I can stop it. Oh, Christopher, go on believing I can help it, please."
"But I do. Of course I do. It"s a beastly shame anyone ever suggested anything else to you. Come along home, Patricia, it will be tea-time."
This was the establishing of a covenant between the two. Whether it was from the suggestion or the dominant will of the boy himself, or both causes combined, Patricia began to gather strength against her terrible inheritance and, at all events in Christopher"s presence, actually did gain some show of control over her fits of pa.s.sion.