Pavane by Keith Roberts Read Free Book Online

Just waiting to be asked... It had to be true. He knew, glowingly, it was true. As he tacked along the street, he started to sing. The watchman loomed from a doorway, a darker shadow, gripping a halberd short. 'You all right, sir?' The voice, penetrating as if from a distance, brought Jesse up short. He gulped, nodded, grinned. 'Yeah. Yeah, sure...' He jerked a thumb behind him. 'Brought a... train down. Strange, Durnovaria The man stood back. His attitude said plainly enough 'One o' they beggars...' He said gruffly, 'Best get along then, sir, don't want to have to run 'ee in. 'Tis well past twelve o' the clock, y'know...' 'On m'way, officer,' said Jesse. 'On m'way...' A dozen steps along the street he turned back. 'Officer... you m-married?' The voice was uncompromising. 'Get along now, sir...' Its owner vanished in blackness. The little town, asleep. Frost glinting on the rooftops, puddles in the road ruts frozen to iron, houses shuttered blind. Somewhere an owl called; or was it the noise of a far-off engine, out there somewhere on the road... The Mermaid was silent, no lights showing. Jesse hammered at the door. Nothing. He knocked louder. A light flickered on across the street. He started to sob for breath. He'd done it all wrong, she wouldn't open. They'd call the watch instead.. But she'd know, she'd know who was knocking, women always knew. He beat at the wood, terrified. 'Margaret...' A shifting glint of yellow; then the door opened with a suddenness that sent him sprawling. He straightened up still breathing hard, trying to focus his eyes. She was standing holding a wrap across her throat, hair tousled. She held a lamp high; then, 'You...!' She shut the door with a thump, snatched the bolt across and turned to face him. She said in a low, furious voice, 'What the devil do you think you're doing?' He backed up. 'I...,' he said, 'I...' He saw her face change. 'Jesse,' she said, 'what's wrong? Are you hurt, what happened?' 'I... sorry,' he said. 'Had to see you, Margaret. Couldn't leave it no more...' 'Hush,' she said. Hissed. 'You'll wake my father, if you haven't done it already. What are you talking about? He leaned on the wall, trying to stop the spinning in his head. 'Five thousand,' he said thickly. 'It's... nothing, Margaret. Not any more. Margaret, I'm... rich, God help me. It don't matter no more...' •What? 'On the roads,' he said desperately. 'The... hauliers' talk. They said you wanted five thousand. Margaret, I can do ten...' A dawning comprehension. And for God's sake, she was starting to laugh. 'Jesse Strange,' she said, shaking her head. 'What are you trying to say?' And it was out, at last. 'I love you, Margaret,' he said simply. 'Reckon I always have. And I... want you to be my wife.' She stopped smiling then, stood quite still and let her eyes close as if suddenly she was very tired. Then she reached forward quietly and took his hand. 'Come on,' she said. 'Just for a little while. Come and sit down.' In the back bar the firelight was dying. She sat by the hearth curled like a cat, watching him, her eyes big in the dimness; and Jesse talked. He told her everything he'd never imagined himself speaking. How he'd wanted her, and hoped, and known it was no use: how he'd waited so many years he'd nearly forgotten a time when she hadn't filled his mind. She stayed still, holding his fingers, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, thinking and brooding. He told her how she'd be mistress of the house and have the gardens, the orchards of cherry plums, the rose terraces, the servants, her drawing account in the bank; how she'd have nothing to do any more ever but be Margaret Strange, his wife. The silence lengthened when he'd finished, till the ticking of the big bar clock sounded loud. She stirred her foot in the warmth of the ashes, wriggling her toes; he gripped her instep softly, spanning it with finger and thumb. 'I do love you, Margaret,' he said. 'I truly do...' She still stayed quiet, staring at