The Quality of Mercy - By Barry Unsworth Page 0,73

wondered with a kind of indulgent irony whether such an arrangement came under the heading of fair means.

Ashton glanced around him. The moment was propitious. “If you will excuse me for a short while,” he said, “there is someone over there I would like to exchange some words with. An old friend,” he added, smiling at Jane, who had turned in some surprise to look at him.

This left the two of them standing alone together. And alone for the moment they felt themselves to be, in the midst of all the people there. Not far away were long tables loaded with things to eat and drink; there were wine and champagne, pastries and sweetmeats of every sort, pies, tarts, molds, charlottes and betties, trifles and fools, syllabubs and tansys. But thoughts of eating and drinking came to the mind of neither. Kemp’s plans for the evening had not ended here; he knew the house, had visited Bateson on several occasions before, usually to discuss the business of the West India Association or the state of the sugar trade.

“Let us go this way,” he said. Passing below the gallery where the orchestra was playing, one came to a French window that opened onto a covered portico. Here they stood, leaning against the balustrade, looking out over the garden below. The evening air was cool, and Jane was glad of the quilted linen shawl over her shoulders. Somewhere among the trees, undeterred by the voices, the music, the clatter of plates and glasses, a bird she thought might be a nightingale was singing.

It was now that Kemp—not by calculation but by sheer force of feeling and need for her understanding—hit upon the way most likely to secure Jane’s sympathy and approval. Instead of the compliments and close regards that she had been half expecting—standard behavior among the men of her acquaintance, and generally tedious to her—he began to talk about the Durham coal fields and the colliery village of Thorpe and his plans to go there soon and look at the mine, on which he had taken a lease. Within a few days, he told her. He spoke of his ambitions, his wish to build, create, improve the way things were done. He had studied, he had read a great deal about the mining and transport of coal, he already, even before going there, had ideas about how things could be improved.

He kept his eyes on her face as he spoke, and he saw that he had captured her attention, and something more; her expression showed the warmth of interest he had hoped for but not altogether believed he could arouse. He grew in eloquence, carried away by the feeling that she was entering into his designs, sharing them. There was so much that was antiquated and inefficient in the methods of extraction and marketing, so much scope for improvement …

“I think it is a splendid thing for a man to want to do,” she said. With her enthusiasm for action and improvement, her hatred of resignation, Kemp’s words had struck a deep chord in her. He could not have paid her a greater compliment than this, to tell her of these plans, take her into his confidence. He was inviting her approval, her judgment, seemed even to have need of it, not only regarding his intentions in Durham but for himself personally. And he was vividly present to her, with his darkness of coloring, the intensity of his gaze, his habit of occasional sudden gesture. He had lost the slight stiffness of bearing; he leaned toward her as he talked, as if in eagerness to convince her.

“There are so many things closed to women,” she said. “If I were a man, I would like to do something like that, something useful and positive, something to improve the lot of those people who spend their lives toiling in the darkness of the mine.” Her eyes were shining. “It is a noble aim,” she said.

These words brought something of a check to Kemp, who had not much considered this aspect of things. Of course, it was becoming in a woman to harbor such sentiments. “Well, you know,” he said, “increased efficiency is bound to bring benefits to the working people.”

He paused on this, looking at her face, and at this moment she turned a little toward him and the light from the room behind them fell on her more directly. The brows and eyes, the slightly smiling mouth—it was the same face, the