All But Lost: A Novel. Vol. 2 of 3

by G. A. Henty

The cripple lad noticed all this—the first sudden blush at his name, then the coldness of manner and the slighting way in which she spoke of a service which, he remembered well, she had described in such enthusiastic terms not long before. What could this mean? Carry afterwards was rather ashamed of her little fit of petulance, and listened with great interest to the account of Bessy Holl's hopes and plans for the future. Then, after a few words to James, she took her leave.

Very often afterwards James pondered the matter over in his mind, while his fingers almost mechanically worked at his wax flowers. “Why should Carry have blushed so deeply upon hearing Mr. Maynard's name suddenly mentioned, and why should she have spoken so coldly of him when she had formerly been so enthusiastic in his praises as the preserver of her father's life?” All this was utterly beyond James's comprehension. His knowledge of the world was completely confined to what he had learned from books, and he owned with a sigh that his books were of no assistance whatever to him in the present case. All that, after great thought, he arrived at satisfactorily, or rather unsatisfactorily, to himself was, that there was some mystery or other, although of what nature he could not even guess, between Carry Walker and Mr. Maynard.

Carry Walker was a spoilt child. She had managed her father from the day when she was able to climb upon his knee, and insist, with much coaxing certainly and patting of his cheeks, and other pretty ways, but insisting nevertheless, upon having her own way. Very spoilt she had grown up, with no mother to control or check her, and with a father who allowed her to do in every respect as she pleased. Very spoilt had she afterwards been—for all the admiration and flattery she had received during the last two years was enough to have turned the heads of half-a-dozen girls. She had never had a mother's care or advice, or the healthy society of girls of her own age. The chances had been all against her, and she was little to be blamed in that she had grown up somewhat vain and flighty. Carry was indignant all that afternoon, and was angry with herself for being so. During that time she had no opportunity of speaking to her father, and it was not until she eat down to tea that she had an opportunity of doing so.

“I was in at the Holls' this afternoon, father.”

“And how is that unfortunate woman, my dear? Dear me, dear me, I cannot understand why men will neglect their business and go about talking about affairs which don't concern them. I cannot see, Carry, upon my life I cannot, what good can possibly come of it. I told William Holl so. I cautioned him that he would find out his mistake too late. But there, I might as well have talked to the wind. These all but uneducated young fellows have an idea that the whole wisdom of the nation is centred in their heads. All the questions which have occupied and puzzled the wisest men of the nation, who have given their whole attention to them, these young fellows solve in the twinkling of an eye to their own perfect satisfaction. And now what has come of it? He has got transported, and upon my life I don't pity him at all. But there's his poor wife left behind to shift for herself. I am very sorry for her. But for the matter of that, she will do as well without him as with him. He has been a world of trouble to her, and I believe he has done no work at all for the last four or five months; talk, talk, talk, nothing but talk, my dear. It won't keep the pot boiling. Still it is sad for her, for I believe she loves him, idle scamp as he is. I wonder what will become of her?”

“That is just what I am going to tell you, father, when you give me a chance,” Carry, who had been quietly continuing her tea, said. “I am only waiting till you give me an opportunity of slipping in a word. It seems that the gentleman, Evan Holl is with as a servant, has heard of William Holl's sentence to transportation, and of his leaving a wife behind him, and he has offered to pay Bessy's expenses out to join him. It seems that in a year or so he can get a ticket-of-leave, and then she can be with him.”

“That is very good of him, Carry.”

“It is Mr. Maynard, father, the gentleman who picked you up when you slipped down in Knightsbridge that night, you know.”

“You don't say so, Carry? How extraordinary. I remember now John Holl telling me his boy had gone out to service with a gentleman named Maynard, but I didn't know, it never struck me, as being the same. Dear me, what a kind-hearted young man, to be sure.”

Carry was silent a moment, and then said pettishly, “Of course he is very kind-hearted, father; but I think he might have come again. I call it downright rude.”