CHAPTER XI
THE RETURN TO EARTH
It was nearly two before they reached Bramhurst and drew up before theone ancient inn the place possessed. Upstairs, in a lattice-windowed roomwith sloping floor and bulging ceiling, a room that was full of the scentof honeysuckle, Anne washed away the dust of the road. Turning to themirror on the dressing-table when this was over, she stood a momentwide-eyed, startled. Through her mind there swept again the memory of aday that seemed very far away--a day begun in sunshine and ended instorm, a day when she had looked into the eyes of a white-faced woman inthe glass and had shrunk away in fear. It was a very different visionthat now met her gaze, and yet she had a feeling that there was somethingin it that remained unaltered. Was it in the eyes that shone from a faceso radiant that it might have been the face of a girl?
She could not have said. Only after that one brief glimpse shelooked no more.
Descending, she found Nap waiting for her in the oak-beamed coffee-room.He made her sit facing the open window, looking forth upon hill andforest and shallow winding river.
The stout old English waiter who attended to their wants veryspeedily withdrew.
"He thinks we are on our wedding-trip," said Nap.
She glanced at him sharply.
"Yes, I let him have it so," he returned. "I never destroy a prettyillusion if I can help it."
"What time do we start back?" said Anne, aware of burning cheeks, whichhe was studying with undisguised amusement.
"Would you like some ice?" he suggested.
She laughed, with something of an effort. "Don't be ridiculous, Nap!"
"I am sure you have never done anything so improper in all your lifebefore," he went on. "What must it feel like? P'r'aps you would havepreferred me to explain the situation to him in detail? I will have himin and do it now--if you really think it worth while. I shouldn't myself,but then I seldom suffer from truthfulness in its most acute form. It's atiresome disease, isn't it? One might almost call it dashed inconvenienton an occasion such as this. There is only one remedy that I can suggest,and that is to pretend it's true."
"I am not good at pretending," Anne answered gravely.
He laughed. "Very true, O Queen! Horribly true! But I am, you know, apositive genius in that respect. So I'm going to pretend I'm anEnglishman--of the worthy, thick-headed, bulldog breed. (I am sure youadmire it; you wouldn't be an Englishwoman if you didn't). And you are mydevoted and adorable wife. You needn't look shocked. It's all for thesake of that chap's morals. Do you think I can do it?"
"I don't want you to do it, Nap," she said earnestly.
He dropped the subject instantly. "Your wish is law. There is only oneother person in this world who can command my implicit obedience in thisfashion. So I hope you appreciate your power."
"And that other is Lucas?" said Anne.
He nodded. "Luke the irresistible! Did you ever try to resist him?"
She shook her head with a smile.
"Take my advice then," he said. "Never do! He could whip creation withhis hands tied behind him. Oh, I know you all think him mild-tempered andeasy-going, more like a woman than a man. But you wait till you're hardup against him. Then you'll know what I mean when I tell you he'scolossal." There was a queer ring of passion in his voice as he ended. Itsounded to Anne like the half-stifled cry of a wounded animal.
Because of it she repressed the impulse to ask him what he meant.Nevertheless, after a moment, as if impelled by some hidden force, hecontinued.
"There was a time when I thought of him much as you do. And then one daythere came a reckoning--an almighty big reckoning." He leaned back in hischair and stared upwards, while the grim lines of his mouth tightened."It was down in Arizona. We fought a duel that lasted a day and a night.He was a worse cripple in those days than he is now, but he won out--hewon out." Again came the cynical drawl, covering his actual feelings aswith an impenetrable veil. "I've had a kind of respect for him eversince," he said. "One does, you know."
"One would," said Anne, and again refrained from asking questions.
She was thinking of the complete confidence with which Lucas had spokenof his ascendency over this man.
Finishing luncheon they went out over the common that stretched from thevery door, down the hill-side of short, sun-baked grass, passing betweenmasses of scorched broom, whose bursting pods crackled perpetually in thesunshine, till they came to the green shade of forest trees and the gleamof a running stream.
The whirr of grasshoppers filled the air and the humming of insectsinnumerable. Away in the distance sounded the metal clang of a cow-bell.It was the only definite sound that broke the stillness. The heat wasintense. A dull, copper haze had risen and partially obscured the sun.
Anne stopped on the edge of the stream. Wonderful dragon-flies such asshe had never seen before, peacock, orange and palest green, darted toand fro above the brown water. Nap leaned against a tree close to her andsmoked a cigarette.
She spoke at last without turning. "Am I in fairyland, I wonder?"
"Or the Garden of Eden," suggested Nap.
She laughed a little, and stooping tried to reach a forget-me-not thatgrew on the edge of the water.
"Beware of the serpent!" he warned. "Anyway, don't tumble in!"
She stretched back a hand to him. "Don't let me go!"
His hand closed instantly and firmly upon her wrist. In a moment shedrew back with the flower in her hand, to find his cigarette smoulderingon a tuft of moss. He set his foot upon it without explanation andlighted another.
"Ought we not to be starting back?" she asked.
"It won't be so hot in half-an-hour," he said.
"But how long will it take?"
"It can be done in under three hours. If we start at half-past-four youshould be home well before sunset."
He smiled with the words, and Anne suffered herself to be persuaded.Certainly the shade of the beech trees was infinitely preferable to theglare of the dusty roads, and the slumberous atmosphere made her feelundeniably languorous.
She sat down therefore on the roots of a tree, still watching thedragon-flies flitting above the water.
Nap stripped off his coat and made it into a cushion. "Lean back on this.Yes, really. I'm thankful for the excuse to go without it. How is that?Comfortable?"
She thanked him with a smile. "I mustn't go to sleep."
"Why not?" said Nap. "There is nothing to disturb you. I'm going back tothe inn to order tea before we start."
He was off with the words with that free, agile gait of his that alwaysmade her think of some wild creature of the woods.
She leaned back with a sense of complete well-being and closed hereyes....
When she opened them again it was with a guilty feeling of having beenasleep at a critical juncture. With a start she sat up and lookedaround her. The sun-rays were still slanting through the wood, butdully, as though they shone through a sheet of smoked glass. Thestillness was intense.
A sharp sense of nervousness pricked her. There seemed to be somethingominous in the atmosphere; or was it only in her own heart that itexisted? And where was Nap? Surely he had been gone for a very long time!
She rose stiffly and picked up his coat. At the same instant a shrillwhistle sounded through the wood, and in a moment she saw him comingswiftly towards her.
Quietly she moved to meet him.
He began to speak before he reached her. "I was afraid you would be tiredof waiting and wander about till you got frightened and lost yourself. Doyou ever have hysterics?"
"Never," said Anne firmly.
He took his coat and began to wriggle into it, surveying her meantimewith a smile half-speculative, half-rueful.
"Well, that's a weight off my mind, anyway," he remarked at length."For I have a staggering piece of news for you which I hardly dare toimpart. Oh, it's no good looking at your watch. It's hopelessly late,nearly six o'clock, and in any case I can't get you home to-night.There's no petrol."
"N
ap!" Anne's voice was a curious compound of consternation and relief.Somehow--doubtless it was the effect of thunder in the atmosphere--shehad expected something in the nature of tragedy.
Nap put on his most contrite air. "Do be a brick and take it nicely!" hepleaded. "I know I was an all-fired fool not to see to it for myself. ButI was called away, and so I had to leave it to those dunderheads at thegarage. I only made the discovery when I left you a couple of hours ago.There was just enough left to take me to Rodding, so I pelted off at onceto some motorworks I knew of there, only to find the place was empty.It's a hole of a town. There was some game on, and I couldn't get aconveyance anywhere. So I just put up the motor and came back acrosscountry on foot. I don't see what else I could have done, do you?"
Anne did not for the moment, but she was considering the situation toorapidly to answer him.
"My only consolation," he went on, "is that you have got a change ofraiment, which is more than I have. Oh, yes, I had the sense to think ofthat contingency. Your bag is at the inn here, waiting for you."
"You had better have taken me back with you to Rodding," Anne said.
"Yes, I know. But I expected to be back in half an hour if all went well.It's easy to be wise after the event, isn't it? I've thought of thatmyself since." Nap picked up a twig and bit it viciously. "Anyway, thereis some tea waiting for us. Shall we go back?"
Anne turned beside him. "Then what do you propose to do?"
He glanced at her. "Nothing before morning, I'm afraid. There is novehicle to be had here. I will send someone down to Rodding in themorning for a conveyance. We can take the train from there to Staps,where I can get some petrol. We ought by that means to reach homesometime in the afternoon. It is the only feasible plan, I am afraid;unless you can suggest a better."
He looked at her keenly, still biting at the twig between his teeth.
Anne walked for several seconds in silence. At last, "Would it be quiteimpossible to walk to Rodding now?" she asked.
"Not at all," said Nap. "It is about eight miles through the woods. Weshould be benighted, of course. Also I fancy there is a storm coming up.But if you wish to make the attempt--"
"I was only wondering," she said quietly, "if we could get an eveningtrain to Staps. That, I know, is on the main line. You could put upthere, and I could take the night train to town."
"Oh, quite so," said Nap. "Shall we have tea before we start?"
They had emerged from the wood and were beginning to climb the hill. Theveiled sunlight gave an unreal effect to the landscape. The broom busheslooked ghostly.
Anne gave an uneasy glance around. "I believe you are right about thestorm," she said.
"I generally am right," observed Nap.
They walked on. "I shouldn't like to be benighted in the woods," she saidpresently.
His scoffing smile showed for an instant. "Alone with me too! Mostimproper!"
"I was thinking we might miss the way," Anne returned with dignity. "Iwonder--shall we risk it?"
She turned to him as if consulting him, but Nap's face was to the sky."That is for you to decide," he said. "We might do it. The storm won'tbreak at present."
"It will be violent when it does," she said.
He nodded. "It will."
She quickened her steps instinctively, and he lengthened his stride. Thesmile had ceased to twitch his lips.
"Have you decided?" he asked her suddenly, and his voice soundedalmost stern.
They were nearing the top of the hill. She paused, panting a little."Yes. I will spend the night here."
He gave her a glance of approval. "You are a wise woman."
"I hope so," said Anne. "I must telegraph at once to Dimsdale and tellhim not to expect me."
Nap's glance fell away from her. He said nothing whatever.
The Knave of Diamonds Page 33
