At that moment (he had heard no footsteps) the latch was raised and Elizabeth entered. With a shamefaced grin Andrews drew back his foot, but Elizabeth had noticed nothing. He could see that she brought news. There was an excited flush on her face and her eyes sparkled.
“News,” she said, “such news. Can you guess?” She put the basket down on the table and stood watching him with hands on hips.
He could not wait to hear the news however. Minutes, since she had left him, had taken on an exaggerated value. “Forgive me,” he implored, “I was a fool and a brute. You were right. Be patient and try to teach me your holiness.”
“Oh that,” she said and with the words brushed the whole angry past to Lethe. “But I’ve news.” Her eyes sparkled. “We’ve won. Wasn’t I right to stay here?”
The relief, the sudden cessation of anxiety and double fear, was too much for Andrews to believe. “Not caught?” he asked.
“No, but soon. They are on the run—and away from here. That man, what did you call him, Cockney Harry has been seen near Chichester. And those men, who were acquitted, they are locked up again on a charge of smuggling. Only the half wit has escaped.”
“But I don’t understand. They were released. Why should they be running?”
“Ah, there’s the triumph. Fresh evidence. They can’t try them again for murder, but smuggling’s another matter.” Elizabeth too must have been afraid, for with excited relief she piled the words on one another. “They’ve found their ship.”
Andrews took a step forward. “Carlyon,” he whispered, his voice dry with anxiety, a mad unreasoning anxiety for Carlyon’s safety.
“They’ll catch him soon.” Her easy, careless confidence jarred on him.
“The Good Chance,” he said softly. “He loved the ship. Now I’ve robbed him of it.” He was silent for a moment picturing Carlyon and how he would receive the news. It would not be with tears or any loud grief. He knew that. He could see the rather too prominent chin jerked upwards, the low and too receding brow furrowed in puzzlement, while the brain sought some way of retrieving the devastating loss. Next, he knew, would come anger and the thought of revenge—punishment Carlyon would call it.
Elizabeth’s voice, the triumph gone, recalled his thoughts. “I’m sorry,” she said. He looked up and seeing her standing there so soon robbed of the exhilaration of her news a pity and tenderness quite alien to desire filled him. He wanted to touch her, but only as one would touch a child who was sad at some pleasure taken away. What after all was his friendship for Carlyon compared with this? Love Carlyon who dared to threaten this—child? Hate him rather.
“I’m heavy footed,” Elizabeth said. “I forgot that you’d been friends.”
“No, no,” he protested. “But this news is not good for us. Carlyon will be desperate. He wouldn’t harm a woman, but now that he’s lost his ship he’ll have no authority except his strength. I know Joe.”
“But the man at Chichester …”
“One of them only. It may be a blind to decoy the officers away. Remember they meant to come here tonight. And look—it’s not as light as it was half an hour ago.” He walked to the door and looked out. The down was golden in sunlight, but a shadow veiled its base and insidiously advanced even as he watched.
“Come away from the door,” Elizabeth said in a voice that trembled very slightly.
“No danger,” Andrews replied. “They wouldn’t trust to a shot. If it missed we’d be warned. No, they’ll try and creep up when it’s dark. How long before the dark?”
“Two hours, perhaps, if we are lucky.”
“There’s no luck where I am,” Andrews said, looking out of the door. “There’s a wind driving clouds towards the sun. It will be dark long before two hours have passed.”
He walked slowly back and stood still in the centre of the room, watching Elizabeth but making no attempt to go to her. “Listen,” he said, “it’s possible that these men will get me.” He spoke dully and apprehensively. “I’ve always left things too late, so I want to tell you now that I love you as I’ve never loved anyone or anything in the world before. Even myself. I was a blind fool this afternoon to quarrel in these few certain hours. I’m sorry. I think I’m beginning to understand. I’ll ask for you only when we’re married and that as a favour which I don’t deserve. You were right. You are holy. I don’t see how I can ever touch you without soiling you a little, but, my God,” his voice became vehement and he took a step towards her, “I’ll serve you, how I’ll serve you.”
With some idea of teaching death and darkness how to bear her likeness, he shut his eyes and held within his mind her image as she listened to him speak, chin raised, a slight flush upon her face, eyes flinching a little at the pain of happiness. He heard her answer him, words dropping with a soft, tender, cooling touch, into the heat of his brain.
“And I want you to know,” she said, “that I’ve loved you or known it ever since I found
