CHAPTER VIII
A SUDDEN BLOW
Anne found herself the first to enter the drawing room that night beforedinner. It was still early, barely half-past seven. The theatricals wereto begin at nine.
She had her unopened letters with her, and she sat down to peruse them byan open window. The evening sun poured full upon her in fiery splendour.She leaned her head against the woodwork, a little wearied.
She opened the first letter mechanically. Her thoughts were wandering.Without much interest she withdrew it from the envelope, saw it to beunimportant, and returned it after the briefest inspection. The next wasof the same order, and received a similar treatment. The third and lastshe held for several seconds in her hand, and finally opened with obviousreluctance. It was from a doctor in the asylum in which her husband hadbeen placed. Slowly her eyes travelled along the page.
When she turned it at length her hands were shaking, shaking so muchthat the paper rattled and quivered like a living thing. The writingended on the further page, but before her eyes reached the signature theletter had fallen from her grasp. Anne, the calm, the self-contained, thestately, sat huddled in her chair--a trembling, stricken woman, with herhands pressed tightly over her eyes, as if to shut out some dread vision.
In the silence that followed someone entered the room with a light,cat-like tread, and approached the window against which she sat. But sooverwhelmed was she for the moment that she was unaware of any presencetill Nap's voice spoke to her, and she started to find him close to her,within reach of her hand.
She lifted her white face then, while mechanically she groped for theletter. It had fallen to the ground. He picked it up.
"What is it?" he said, and she thought his voice sounded harsh. "You havehad bad news?"
She held out her hand for the letter. "No, it is good. I--am a littletired, that's all."
"That is not all," he said, and she heard the dogged note in hisvoice that she had come to know as the signal of indomitableresolution. He sat down on the window seat close to her, stillkeeping the letter in his hand.
She made a little hopeless gesture and sat silent, striving forcomposure. She knew that during the seconds that followed, his eyes neverstirred from her face. It was his old trick of making her feel thecompulsion of his will. Often before she had resisted it. To-night shewas taken at a disadvantage. He had caught her unarmed. She waspowerless.
She turned her head at last and spoke. "You may read that letter," shesaid.
The thin lips smiled contemptuously for an instant. "I have read italready," he said.
She started slightly, meeting his eyes. "You have read it?"
"In your face," he told her coolly. "It contains news of the man you callyour husband. It is to say he is better--and--coming--home."
He spoke the last words as though he were actually reading them one byone in her tragic eyes.
"It is an experiment," she whispered. "He wishes it himself, it seems,and they think the change might prove beneficial. He is decidedlybetter--marvellously so. And he has expressed the desire to see me. Ofcourse"--she faltered a little--"I should not be--alone with him. Therewould be an attendant. But--but you mustn't think I am afraid. It wasn'tthat. Only--only--I did not expect it. It has come rather suddenly. I amnot so easily upset as a rule."
She spoke hurriedly, almost as though she were pleading with him tounderstand and to pardon her weakness.
But her words quivered into silence. Nap said nothing whatever. Hesat motionless, the letter still in his hand, his eyes unswervinglyfixed upon her,
That sphinx-like stare became unbearable at last. She gathered herstrength and rose.
"You came upon me at an unlucky moment," she said. "Please forget it."
He still stared at her stonily without moving or speaking. Something thatwas almost fear gripped her. The very stillness of the man was in afashion intimidating.
She stood before him, erect, and at least outwardly calm. "May I have myletter?" she said.
The words were a distinct command, and after a very decided pause heresponded to it. He rose with a quick, lithe movement, and handed her theletter with a brief bow.
An instant later, while she still waited for him to speak, he turned onhis heel and left her.
Very soon after, Mrs. Errol came in, and then one after another those whowere staying in the house for the entertainment. But Anne had commandedherself by that time. No one noticed anything unusual in her demeanour.
Nap was absent from the dinner--table. Someone said that he wassuperintending some slight alteration on the stage. It was so ordinary anoccurrence for him to fail to appear at a meal that no one was surprised.Only Anne covered a deep uneasiness beneath her resolute serenity ofmanner. She could not forget that basilisk stare. It haunted her almostto the exclusion of everything else. She had no thought to spare for theletter regarding her husband. She could only think of Nap. What had thatstare concealed? She felt that if she could have got past those baffling,challenging eyes she would have seen something terrible.
Yet when she met him again she wondered if after all she had disquietedherself for nought. He was standing at the stage-entrance to themarquee, discussing some matter with one of the curtain-pullers when shearrived. He stood aside for her to pass, and she went by quickly,avoiding his eyes.
She kept out of his way studiously till her turn came, then perforce shehad to meet him again, for he was stationed close to the opening on tothe stage through which she had to pass. For the moment there was no oneelse at hand, and she felt her heart beat thick and fast as she waitedbeside him for her cue.
He did not speak to her, did not, she fancied, even look at her; butafter a few dumb seconds his hand came out to hers and held it in aclose, sinewy grip. Her own was nerveless, cold as ice. She could nothave withdrawn it had she wished. But she did not wish. That action ofhis had a strange effect upon her, subtly calming her reawakened doubts.She felt that he meant to reassure her, and she suffered herself to bereassured.
Later, she marvelled at the ingenuity that had so successfully blindedher, marvelled at herself for having been so blinded, marvelled most ofall at the self-restraint that could so shackle and smother the fiercepassion that ran like liquid fire in every vein as to make her fancy thatit had ceased to be.
When her turn came at length she collected herself and left himwith a smile.
She went through her part very creditably, but she was unspeakablythankful when it was over.
"You are tired, Lady Carfax," Lucas murmured, when at length she foundher way to the seat beside him that he had been reserving for her.
"A little," she admitted.
And then suddenly the impulse to tell him the primary cause of hertrouble came upon her irresistibly. She leaned towards him and spokeunder cover of the orchestra.
"Mr. Errol, I have had news of--my husband. He wants to come home. No, heis not well yet, but decidedly better, well enough to be at liberty inthe charge of an attendant. And so--and so--"
The whispered words failed. She became silent, waiting for the steadysympathy for which she knew she would never wait in vain.
But he did not speak at once. It almost seemed as if he were at a loss.It almost seemed as if he realised too fully for speech that leadenweight of despair which had for a space so terribly overwhelmed her.
And then at last his voice came to her, slow and gentle, yet with a vitalnote in it that was like a bugle-call to her tired spirit. "Stick to it,Lady Carfax! You'll win out. You're through the worst already."
Desperately, as one half-ashamed, she answered him. "I wish with all myheart I could think so. But--I am still asking myself if--if there is noway of escape."
He turned his head in the dim light and looked at her, and shame stabbedher deeper still. Yet she would not recall the words. It was better thathe should know, better that he should not deem her any greater orworthier than she was.
Then, "Thank you for telling me," he said very simply. "But you'll winout a
ll the same. I have always known that you were on the winning side."
The words touched her in a fashion not wholly accountable. Her eyesfilled with sudden tears.
"What makes you have such faith in me?" she said.
The light was too dim for her so see his face, but she knew that he wassmiling as he made reply.
"That's just one of the things I can't explain," he said. "But I thinkGod made you for a spar for drowning men to cling to."
She smiled with him in spite of the tears. "May the spar never failyou!" she said.
"I am not afraid," he answered very steadily.
The Knave of Diamonds Page 30
