Chapter XI
One evening in the late autumn Merle was sitting at home waiting for her husband. He had been away for several weeks, so it was only natural that she should make a little festivity of his return. The lamps were lit in all the rooms, wood fires were crackling in all the stoves, the cook was busy with his favourite dishes, and little Louise, now five years old, had on her blue velvet frock. She was sitting on the floor, nursing two dolls, and chattering to them. “Mind you’re a good girl now, Josephine. Your grandpa will be here directly.” Merle looked in through the kitchen door: “Have you brought up the claret, Bertha? That’s right. You’d better put it near the stove to warm.” Then she went round all the rooms again. The two youngest children were in bed—was there anything more to be done?
It would be an hour at least before he could be here, yet she could not help listening all the time for the sound of wheels. But she had not finished yet. She hurried up to the bathroom, turned on the hot water, undressed, and put on an oilskin cap to keep her hair dry, and soon she was splashing about with soap and sponge. Why not make herself as attractive as she could, even if things did look dark for them just now?
A little stream of talk went on in her brain. Strange that one’s body could be so great a pleasure to another. Here he kissed you—and here—and here—and often he seemed beside himself with joy. And do you remember—that time? You held back and were cold often—perhaps too often—is it too late now? Ah! he has other things to think of now. The time is gone by when you could be comfort enough to him in all troubles. But is it quite gone by? Oh yes; last time he came home, he hardly seemed to notice that we had a new little girl, that he had never seen before. Well, no doubt it must be so. He did not complain, and he was calm and quiet, but his mind was full of a whole world of serious things, a world where there was no room for wife and children. Will it be the same this evening again? Will he notice that you have dressed so carefully to please him? Will it be a joy to him any more to feel his arms around you?
She stood in front of the big, white-framed mirror, and looked critically at herself. No, she was no longer young as she had been. The red in her cheeks had faded a little these last few years, and there were one or two wrinkles that could not be hidden. But her eyebrows—he had loved to kiss them once—they were surely much as before. And involuntarily she bent towards the glass, and stroked the dark growth above her eyes as if it were his hand caressing her.
She came down at last, dressed in a loose blue dress with a broad lace collar and blond lace in the wide sleeves. And not to seem too much dressed, she had put on a red-flowered apron to give herself a housewifely look.
It was past seven now. Louise came whimpering to her, and Merle sank down in a chair by the window, and took the child on her lap, and waited.
The sound of wheels in the night may mean the approach of fate itself. Some decision, some final word that casts us down in a moment from wealth to ruin—who knows? Peer had been to England now, trying to come to some arrangement with the Company. Sh!—was that not wheels? She rose, trembling, and listened.
No, it had passed on.
It was eight o’clock now, time for Louise to go to bed; and Merle began undressing her. Soon the child was lying in her little white bed, with a doll on either side. “Give Papa a tiss,” she babbled, “and give him my love. And Mama, do you think he’ll let me come into his bed for a bit tomorrow morning?”