Chapter VI: Marigold's Liking

"WHAT have you been such a time about?" demanded Mrs. Plunkett one day, when Marigold came in from some shopping. She had been sent by her stepmother. Mrs. Plunkett for days past had not stirred out of the house.

"I met James, and he went round with me,—just for a little walk." Marigold confessed the fact unhesitatingly, for she was a thoroughly truthful girl.

"Oh, he did, did he? A great stupid idle fellow. I wonder how much longer he means to hang about, letting his poor old father support him." Mrs. Plunkett had a vein of common sense, which warned her that it was wisest not to suggest what Marigold might not yet have thought of. "I don't mean to put into her head that Todd wants to marry her," she had said to Plunkett; and the resolution was a wise one, only it made the keeping of Marigold out of Todd's way more difficult.

"It isn't James' fault. He has only waited till he could find something to do here. He doesn't want to go away," said Marigold, with a blush.

"Folks can't always do as they want. I wish to goodness he would go."

"I can't think why you dislike poor James so much, mother."

"I can't abide idleness," said Mrs. Plunkett.

Marigold's eyes travelled round the kitchen, and inwardly she echoed, "I can't abide untidiness and temper!"

Mrs. Plunkett saw the glance, and understood. It jarred her into hasty speech. "Well, I can tell you your father don't mean to have nothing between you and Todd, so you just needn't think it. If you wasn't too young yourself, Todd's got no means to support a wife, and he's too easy-going ever to do it properly; and he's got no business now to think of such a thing!"

The words were hardly uttered, before Mrs. Plunkett regretted them. Marigold made no immediate answer. She stood considering,—as if that which before had been only a shadow, had suddenly taken shape. Then she put down the duster that she held, and said quietly, "James has found work now, and he means to keep to it," and went out of the kitchen.

The subject was not resumed when they again met. Mrs. Plunkett, vexed with her own indiscretion, resolved to say no more: and unfortunately she was ashamed to confess the blunder to her husband, or she might have aroused him to action. But the mischief was done. If Marigold had not before understood Todd's wishes, she understood them now; and the thought of James as her future husband had a definite place in her mind. With the clue supplied by her stepmother, Todd's bearing became unmistakable. Marigold could no longer go on unconsciously; and when Mrs. Plunkett was especially trying, her thoughts flew more swiftly than ever to James Todd's pleasant face. A home with him had so bright a look, by contrast. She would be able to do as she liked, to keep the place so beautifully neat and clean.

Nobody there would ever look cross, and nothing would ever go wrong. James might have been a little unsettled and lazy in the past, but once married he would be so no more. She would keep him up to the mark, and he would work hard, and they would be so happy!

But no woman, however good a wife, has power to change her husband's nature. Divine power alone can do that. It was all very well for James to say now: "I'd do anything for you, Marigold!" Had she been not quite so young, not quite so ignorant of life and of human nature, she must have known that a higher motive is needed to transform a man's life.

One day a message came, asking Marigold to go to tea at St. Philip's Vicarage, with Narcissus. This would be her first sight of Narcissus, since the latter's year of training began, and Marigold was delighted. She wondered if perhaps she might get a little talk alone with her sister. It would be nice to speak to her about James, since at home Marigold scarcely ventured to mention his name.

"I s'pose your father 'll walk back with you," James said beforehand. One way and another, he contrived to see a good deal of Marigold.

"Oh, there's no need. I shan't be late. Mrs. Heavitree won't let me, because she does so dislike girls walking about alone late. Father will be busy."

"You won't get away early, and it's a long stretch. I'll be there, you may be sure. I'll be somewhere about outside."

Marigold hesitated. "I don't think father 'd like it," she said.

"Rubbish! Of course he'd like it. Mrs. Plunkett mayn't, and what then?"

"I don't think I ought to go against her. Mrs. Heavitree says I oughtn't."

"Well, you needn't. You've got nothing to do with the matter. If I just choose to be there, you can't help it."

Marigold's truthful nature rose against this crooked reasoning. She knew that she would be wrong to consent, yet she could not resolve to forbid him. Mrs. Plunkett had been fearfully irritable all day, and Marigold's patience was worn to a shred.

She let the question pass, and asked, "How do you like your work?"

"Oh, I've given that up. It meant a lot more than I expected. I shouldn't have had a moment, morning, noon, nor night. I've a mind now to get something to do with the care of horses. I like horses—always did—and I can manage 'em first rate."

"But you're not likely to get that here," said Marigold, experiencing a sense of disappointment.

"Don't see why not. There's Selby,—if one of his drivers was to fall ill, and give up, why, I might step into his shoes."

"But Selby's men have been with him for years. It isn't in the least likely they should give up."

"Well, they might. Or something else might happen. It's just waiting a while. I'm not come back to the old country, to slave. The old folks are as pleased as can be to have me at home. Of course I could get something to do any day, but it's no manner of use to be impatient. Once I get into the right line, I'll stick to it."

"I'm afraid—people will say—"

"Say what? Out with it."

"They'll say—you don't keep long to anything."

"They won't say that, when they see how long I'll keep to you."

Marigold blushed, and was pleased in spite of herself.

"But I do wish—" she began.

"Wish I'd make haste. Why, so do I. I wish the right thing 'ud turn up this minute. And don't you be afraid but what I'll stick to it then. Maybe I've changed about a pretty good deal; but I promise you that's not going on. I'd do anything for you, Marigold."

Marigold's remonstrances died out. She was so sure that all would be right in the end—or rather, she was so anxious to be sure, that she would not look doubts in the face.

When James said casually, a little later, "Well, what time shall you be leaving the Vicarage to come home?"

She answered without thought, though not without a conscience prick, "Oh, somewhere about seven o'clock. Tea's at five, and I always stay a good two hours there."

The Vicarage nursery was a big low room, with three windows, plenty of cupboards, picture-covered walls, and generally toy-strewn floor.

There were four children, ranging from eight years old to almost babyhood. When Marigold arrived, tea was already laid, with cakes and jam as a treat. The children were eagerly looking out for her, since Marigold was their especial favourite. They liked Narcissus,—"but not so much as Marigold," Minnie the eldest would say, sagely shaking her little head.

Narcissus had no chance of even getting near Marigold, till the welcomes of the little ones were ended; and then Marigold could not but notice how well and happy Narcissus looked—how nice, too, in her neat black dress, and pretty white cap and apron. Quite a colour was in her cheeks, and already she had gained in plumpness. One glance satisfied Marigold that Narcissus had thoroughly fitted into her new life, and that the plan would prove a success.

"I do declare, Narcissus looks the best of you two; and she's always been such a puny thing till now," declared old Nurse, who had known both girls from infancy. "It's the regular living, and regular food, and plenty of fresh air, and plenty to do. That's what it is. Lots of girls that come here get like that."

"Aren't you well, Marigold?" asked Narcissus.

"O yes; only—of course there are worries."

"I know," murmured Narcissus. "I'm glad enough to be out of it all."

"Out of what? Narcissus, you shall tell us," cried Minnie, overhearing.

"Miss Minnie, I'm ashamed of you," said Nurse. "Whatever business is it of yours, I wonder?"

The child subsided, deeply abashed, and Nurse added:

"I advise you both to wait. You shall have a talk together after tea."

"Nurse always says we're little pitchers, you know, 'cause we've got such long ears," declared mischievous Polly, the next small girl; and nobody could help laughing.

Tea was a merry meal—the merriest Marigold had known since she left the Vicarage. When it ended, Mrs. Heavitree came in for a few kind words.

"Now what are you going to do?" she asked. "You and Narcissus will like to be together. Suppose you take your work out into the arbour at the end of the kitchen garden for an hour. Marigold has work with her, of course." Mrs. Heavitree had no notion of idleness; and Marigold, smiling, produced a thimble. "If not, nurse can find something, I dare say, to keep your fingers busy. You can have a nice chat there, undisturbed. Nurse said she would spare Narcissus."

"To be sure I will, ma'am," added Nurse; and the plan was forthwith carried out.