CHAPTER V

Now, the High Priest’s Palace was situated about half a mile from the Temple, the grounds of the one meeting the other. The park surrounding the Palace was a very noble one, and spread far out into the suburbs at the back, whilst at the front it consisted chiefly of gardens and a fine avenue.

It was customary every day at noon for the poor of the city to come here for a meal, and by means of tickets to take away what was specified for those unable to attend themselves.

So it was that some time after eleven, dressed in becoming poverty, Marigold set out, taking no children certainly, nor yet an empty stomach, but a mischievous untrained heart, looking for fun and excitement.

The day was so beautiful, the breeze so fresh, that it brought more than the usual colour to her cheeks, and more than the usual light to her eyes; or perhaps the episode of the earlier morning still lingered in her mind, for why should Marigold so often stop to frown, and then move on again laughing.

“Frightened of a man! and such a little wizened-looking thing,” said she. “I believe he wasn’t much bigger than myself. And his eyes were as expressionless as those of an ox, and his voice like an old tin kettle. It was seeing him so unexpectedly that frightened me, in that big gloomy archway with the red creepers.”

She forgot that seeing him had made her laugh till the expressionless ox eyes turned on her. As she turned in one of the sidegates of the park, she met many poor and wretched-looking creatures going in the same direction as herself, and, seeing some of the coarser faces and the deep dirt that surrounded them, she began to wish she had never come, yet persevered from reasons unintelligible even to herself.

“Wealth isn’t such a disagreeable thing after all,” thought she. “I wonder, if I’d tried being agreeable to him from the Princess side of me, if it would have been easier. But a Princess must be so highly respectable, and a beggar needn’t be.”

At last, with many others in close proximity, she came at the large side door leading to the public dining-hall, and was allowed to pass in, for none were denied admittance.

Once in, she put a little butterfly handkerchief, that had mercifully been scented, up to her nose, for, though the large rooms were well ventilated, the very poor bring a somewhat different odour from the rich, and the smell of food mixed with strong breath was less than pleasant. Poor Marigold! had she been a simple romance-seeker she would have fled there and then, for this was grim reality; yet she never thought to turn back--not even when they set her down beside an old man who appeared to be suffering from a severe cold.

As for the food--that was naturally beyond her. Everything was orderly, yet here the art of politeness had certainly not been brought to a fine point.

One man helped himself to potatoes with his fork, then passed the dish to her, meat being already provided, so much on a plate. Thus the first course passed, untouched by Marigold, who every moment began to feel greater distaste and in an utterly false position.

The pudding was of plain boiled suet containing currants and raisins, and was very good, had its surroundings been more appetising--indeed, everything was good and suitable to the company eating it, but Marigold was not of the company.

Now, it was customary for the High Priest to occasionally visit the dining-rooms during meal-times, and it chanced that to-day he paid one of his visits. He brought with him a guest--a friend who had lately come to stay with him, and, as it was not usual for the people to make any demonstration when the High Priest entered, Marigold was unconscious of his presence till they were almost opposite where she sat.

Then, looking across over the heads of those opposite, she saw both him and her acquaintance of the early morning--and the three pairs of eyes met instantaneously.

Now, on Lucifram there was not much diversity of tongues so far as foreign lands were concerned, because they had never exactly had a Tower of Babel, but there were two distinct languages spoken for all that--one by the rich, one by the poor. The High Priest and his friend were talking familiarly enough, but the wolfish eyes and empty stomachs didn’t understand, didn’t care, so long as their appetites were satisfied, which was really very sensible of them.

Now, for the second time that day was Marigold caught in a position altogether distasteful to her. Had her companions been clean and respectable, like the ideal charwoman she had set up for herself, she might not have cared at all. But alas! the poor of our imagination, and the poor of reality, are so totally unalike! Many of the riff-raff were gathered here. Till now she had not understood the meaning of the word. But at least she herself was clean and beautiful--as beautiful as the atmosphere allowed, and no respectable ugliness hung about her hat. Those round her had not noticed her appearance--if asked, they would probably have preferred a little more dirt for actual beauty. Such is the strength of custom.

“There is a little girl I met last night,” said the High Priest in a lower voice to his companion, presuming that Marigold, being poor, could not understand.

“Ah! and I met the same little girl this morning,” replied the tin-voiced man in a peculiarly soft tone. “Only, poor women are like rich ones in the matter of dress--they like a frequent change. I only recognise her by her extremely colourless eyes.”

“Last night she came and begged gold of me. I was astonished and displeased that any one so young could be so bold at begging.”

Marigold sat and listened; it scarcely seemed to her they were speaking of herself--she heard as a rather interested third person might, with an occasional deeper prick.

She noticed a sudden interest come into the other’s eye--as again he looked across at her, his mouth smiling, his eyes not troubling to.

“Asked gold of you? Ah! I forgot. Your position makes it quite respectable for her to do so.”

“Oh, quite. It was not on those grounds I objected. Though I believe she is not the one to have discriminated as to whom she asked. Any man catching her eye would have been met with the same request.”

“I hardly agree with you--hardly agree with you. Why did she want gold?”

“The old tale--mother dead--father drunk--a large family.”

“There are none here beside her to-day, I notice.”

“Now you mention it, I notice also. Pierman, just step across to the young girl yonder with red hair, and tell her I wish to speak to her when the meal is over.”

Marigold noticed the smile had travelled for a moment to the other’s eyes--then, as if it never had been there, it vanished.

She received the message calmly--once in a day to have shown the white feather, or even a vestige of it, was quite enough for her. She laughed to herself, enjoying the situation--a certain something running riot in her blood. She with such a saintly face--and prayers night and morning.

The High Priest had retired to the upper end of the hall; soon grace was said, and the satisfied crowd prepared to depart in order. Then Pierman, the attendant, came once more and conducted Marigold away from that part of the building altogether, through baize doors and long stone corridors, till the smell of dinner and diners had disappeared through open windows and doorways, and only what was spotlessly clean and beautiful met the eye and nose.

Then, when they came to the large library, Pierman withdrew. Marigold found herself in a vast chamber with wide open windows opening on grass-covered cloisters. Two secretaries sat writing at oaken tables, matching the panelled walls. Eaglestone was going over a list of engagements with his superior; the guest stood a little apart, a cigar between his teeth. The fragrance was particularly delicious, and she noticed the curious red glow at the end of the stump; also on his long white finger she noticed a blood-red ring. Again the persistent eyes sought hers, and this time Marigold drew up her head and looked back at him--and, because he smiled very pleasantly, she smiled too. Then, and not till then, did he remove the cigar definitely from his mouth.

“You will object to this pernicious habit?”

“No--please don’t. Remember I have been in the poor people’s dining-hall, and it positively reeked of typhoid.”

Her voice was low, but there was a sparkle in it. The curious eyes seemed to hold her like a doll in the centre of a target, yet Marigold stuck to her ground, and the good people would have thought the something running in her blood was very, very bad, and the bad people would have misunderstood it too.

“You must not let the High Priest hear you speak so. These dinners are his pet charity.”

“Ah! and a very gracious charity too, sir,” and she clasped her hands in a certain mocking humility and looked up at him. “We who are very poor, only know how gracious.”

“You enjoyed the roast beef and suet pudding?”

“Indeed, I was very hungry. But the old man next to me would use his fork to the potatoes instead of a spoon, and the man with a wooden leg on the other side--oh! he was worse. He had a cold, and he has given it to me--I _feel_ he has.”

And Marigold sneezed from sheer naughtiness, and everybody in the room looked up, and everybody smiled--and then the High Priest came forward with the stately walk that she could imitate so well.

“My child, I wish to speak to you,” said he, and laid his hand solemnly upon her shoulder. This she had never been prepared for. In connection with herself she had always looked upon him as a man--and--and--here he was acting the priest. In her astonishment and silent laughter, she quite forgot to appreciate the condescension, yet with a miraculous suddenness liked him sincerely for his way of speaking.

Acting, which was no acting, came as usual to her assistance.

Never humblest, shyest beggar girl looked more sweet than she, as she glanced up at him.

“I’ve brought your holiness the change back out of six loaves of bread. The children thank you very much for them.”

“I said you were to keep the change. Why have you not brought the children here to-day?”

“I thought only the grown-up people came to the dinner. I thought one had bread tickets for the children.”

“Only the very young ones. Those over eight come here; they have a table to themselves.”

“All mine are under eight.”

“How many are there?”

“We have--six. Five with the baby.”

“And you--how old are you?”

What indignities the poor must undergo!

“I--I really don’t know how old I am. Mother lost the birth certificate, and father knows nothing at all--he never did.”

Then the guest laughed, and the High Priest followed suit.

“You mean you don’t intend to tell us?” said the former.

“I mean I really don’t know.”

“You are in an enviable position for a woman. Now, can you tell us your address?”

She looked at the High Priest. He was certainly easier to deal with than his companion, but he also seemed to expect this information.

“We live in a very poor part, your holiness. Father’s drinking has brought us to it. We were quite respectable at one time.”

“Still, I should like your address. I think if you were put under suitable care you would promise better things than a beggar girl. It is a disgrace you should be one.” Here he glanced at the fine old clock between two windows, and continued more hurriedly: “Give me your address, and I will see what can be done for you.”

Marigold went a trifle pale. Like most people who don’t scheme deeply, and like some who do, her plans seemed just now rather shaky, but she answered at random, and recklessly: “3 Mouse Court, Midget Lane.”

The High Priest was about to copy it, when his companion interrupted him by a laugh.

“There is no such lane or court in the city,” said he. “The little girl has made a mistake.”

And here Alphonso looked at her, and his face took on the hard look that was habitual to it, and with much excuse.

“You understand, of course, to whom you are speaking?”

Tears were in her eyes.

“Yes, indeed. I live No. 5 Friar’s Court, just outside the Temple Close.”

“Thank you!” Then he rang a bell, and she was dismissed.