Courts of Idleness

by Dornford Yates

  “The Chief of the Police, who had just arrived at the castle, expecting a knighthood, left ten years later without any ears, the golden telephone was disconnected, and the Princess let the palace and took the veil shortly afterwards.

  “The only people well out of it were the beggar who got the trout and the King’s physician, who had repeatedly advised His Majesty that ‘stout was poison’ to a man of his corpulence.”

  Miss Fettering clapped her hands. “I like that,” she said, smiling. “What’s the moral?”

  Broke shook his head. “My tales,” he said, “resemble my cousin Bill – they have no morals.”

  “But I love Mr Fairie.”

  “He is a good chap, isn’t he?” said Broke meditatively. “Very offensive, though.” He looked at her for a moment. Then: “I wonder if you realize what a lovely picture you make,” he said simply.

  “Another fairy tale?” queried Miss Fettering.

  “No. A true one this time.”

  Steady grey eyes met his. Broke regarded them thoughtfully. The thud of a heavy gun broke the silence suddenly. As the echoes rumbled into the hills, Robin stepped to the balustrade. The girl followed him.

  Starra lay all before them, twinkling in the sunshine about the bay, and, beyond, the dancing ocean stretched away till the sky met it.

  “Never knew they fired off guns here,” said Broke. “Never knew they had any to fire.”

  “Do they? Have they?”

  Robin looked sharply at his companion. “Didn’t you hear that one, just this moment?” he said.

  Phyllis Fettering shook her head.

  “I heard a steamer give a long hoot,” she said.

  “Hoot!” cried Broke. “This was a gun. You must have heard it. No steamer has hooted since we’ve been here.”

  “One did a moment ago – just before you got up. Surely you heard it. It must have been that Castle liner.” She indicated the great grey ship riding easily in the bay.

  “The sound I heard was made by a gun,” said Broke positively.

  “If you ask me,” said Phyllis, “I think this is another of your dreams.”

  “But you refuse to share it this time.”

  “You started for Thought without telling me.”

  “If I had told you, would you have come too?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Broke took a small bare hand into his own.

  “Whether you would have or not doesn’t matter now. In future you’ll always be there. That is why I shall go. You are such stuff as dreams are made of, dear. You—”

  The hand slipped from his. Miss Fettering turned suddenly and smiled into his eyes.

  “Anyway,” she said, “I’m not going there with you now, because I’m going back to lunch. But don’t let me take you out of your way. I know the ways of Starra just as well as you know those of Thought, though I’m afraid I haven’t a gallery of throats here.”

  “Three quarters of an hour ago,” said Broke, “a disastrous fire broke out in Bond Street, Past. No attempt was made to subdue the flames. Amongst other buildings the south wing of my gallery was almost completely destroyed.”

  “Oh!” said Phyllis.

  “Yes,” said Broke. “The only portion left standing was a room which had been recently added.”

  For the eleventh time Mrs Fairie placed a florin on impair.

  “It must turn up this time,” she said.

  After a tense moment:

  “Le vingt,” said the croupier.

  “Bill,” said his wife, “‘even’ has turned up twelve times running.”

  “Then put your shirt on odd,” said her husband shortly.

  Betty choked.

  “But I have,” she said in a shaking voice.

  “Do it again,” said Fairie, standing up and covering most of the numbers below twenty-five.

  Betty pinched him savagely. His involuntary cry of pain attracted some attention. A Frenchman on his right was courteously solicitous.

  “A mere nothing,” said Bill gravely. “A sudden brutal assault upon my person. That was all.”

  “Le neuf,” announced the croupier.

  “And I wasn’t on,” wailed Betty. “I can’t stand any more. Let’s go out into the garden. Come, Fay.”

  Rising, the two girls made their way to one of the French windows, Broke and Fairie following them.

  Night comes to Rih as a wizard, wand in hand. And Magic with her. Her very entrance is that of a sorcerer. There is no twilight at all. The shadows lengthen, but Rih knows no dusk. One minute it is yet evening – the quiet hour – and the next, night. In the twinkling of an eye the universe has shed her gay blue gown for one of violet, all glorious within, stiff with the broidery of myriad stars. From being an island, Rih has become an isle. Though there has been a breeze in the daytime, it will fall at sundown, so that from then till cock-crow Nature is very still. Not a leaf of all the foliage trembles, not a flower sways. It is as if a spell had been cast about the island, wrapping everything in the sleep of a fairy tale – an enchantment which only the caress of some destined lover’s lips may unloose.

  The four passed through the starlit garden to the edge of the low cliff, from the foot of which the leisurely lap of the waves rose to meet the languid dream music which was floating out into the darkness from the Casino’s ball-room. The white blossoms of an incense-tree loaded the soft air with perfume.

  Bill Fairie seated himself on the broad stone parapet and lighted a cigarette.

  “I’ll tell you a funny thing,” he said, turning to Robin.

  “No,” said Broke. “Not that. We can stand a good deal, but—”

  “Now then, Polo,” said his cousin, “I shan’t buy those leggings if you aren’t careful, and you’ll have to advertise. Pair gent’s riding-gaiters, size twelve, sell four shillings, or would exchange for fowls.”

  “What were you going to tell us?” said The White Hope, who had joined them unobserved.

  “Ah, there you are,” said Betty. “We wondered where you had got to. I’m afraid the dinner—”

  “Not at all,” said the lawyer. “My digestion improved with every course, but the manner in which rouge persistently defied convention during the twenty minutes which I was so ill-advised as subsequently to spend at the tables was more than I could stomach. It was only your dainty tones that just now lured me from the dudgeon in which I have been labouring for the last half-hour. But let us have the humorous communication promised us by our friend.”

  “Sorry,” said Bill, “but when I said ‘funny’ I meant ‘strange.’ This morning, when we were sitting in the garden of the restaurant on the mountain-top, a gun went off. Deuce of a big gun it was. Echoed like anything. Fettering’ll bear me out. He heard it. You couldn’t help hearing it. The funny thing is that, when I asked what it meant, Betty and Fay swore they hadn’t heard any gun. Said they’d heard the hoot of a steamer. Well, no steamer had whistled for hours. We bad quite a row about it. Fettering and I heard a gun, while the girls both heard the steamer. I confess it beats me.”

  “I heard that gun,” said Robin.

  “There you are,” said Bill excitedly. “I knew—”

  “But Miss Fettering didn’t.” They all stared at him. “We had just the same argument. She insisted that she had heard a long hoot—”

  “That’s right,” cried Betty. “It was a long hoot to begin with, and then the hills took it up. The echoes went on for a long time.”

  “I’ll swear no steamer hooted just then,” said Broke. “I didn’t understand it at the time,” he added slowly, “but your story makes it uncanny.”

  A silence fell upon the little group. Robin tossed the end of his cigarette over the cliff and strolled away into the darkness.

  Betty shivered.

  “I hate anything uncanny,” she said. “I feel afraid, somehow.”

  But the White Hope laughed it off.

  “Remember,” he said, “you were upon an expedition, and alarms and excur
sions always go together.”

  As they strolled back to the Casino, Fairie and the man of law fell behind.

  “Between you and me,” said the former, “was that a gun we heard?”

  The White Hope shook his head.

  “I will wager that no gun has today been fired within a hundred miles of Starra.”

  “Then what d’you make of it?”

  The other shrugged his shoulders.

  “Occasionally Fate writes upon the wall,” he said.

  “You think it was a premonition?”

  “Who can say?” said the lawyer. “I don’t really believe in that sort of thing, but—”

  He hesitated.

  “Go on,” said Bill.

  “Well, if I were you, and I heard that gun again, for instance, just as I was going to enter a lift, I think I should walk down.”

  About this time Robin Broke was standing under a jackaranda tree, looking very hard at Phyllis Fettering.

  “Give me your other hand,” he said unsteadily.

  She gave it him.

  “This morning,” he said, “you told me I mustn’t take you too seriously.” Wondering grey eyes were raised to his. “I don’t want to, dear. I want to take you for better or for worse.”

  The grey eyes fell. Then:

  “I can hardly believe I’m awake,” said Phyllis softly. “Do you mind – er – pinching my left ear?”

  The smell was very unpleasant, and the reek of the fumes made you cough. It was something, however, to have a whole throat to cough with.

  Bill Fairie removed a large slab of mud from the side of his face, and turned to his Adjutant.

  “Robin,” he said, “that was extremely objectionable.”

  “I concur,” said Robin. “It was also extremely dangerous. That gunner chap ought to be more careful.” He turned to the Forward Officer, who was feverishly wiping the lenses of a pair of binoculars with a silk pocket-handkerchief. “Fettering,” he said, “you witnessed that assault?”

  “I did,” said Surrey.

  “Then, for God’s sake, tell your battery to knock that fellow out. He’s no gentleman. Look out! Here’s another.”

  The shell fell to their right, but from the fragments that soared into the air it was clear that a direct hit on the trench had been scored.

  “Gosh!” said the Commanding Officer. “Anyone would think the swine knew we were going to attack.”

  “They probably do,” said Broke bitterly. “They’ve never concentrated on us like this before.”

  His surmise was correct. The enemy was aware of what was toward. Also he knew the precise moment of time which had been appointed and called “zero.” The information was a great help.

  It was light enough to see now. The rain had ceased, but a piercing wind blew steadily. The Vardar wind does not blow in gusts, neither does it rise and fall. For more than a week now one long, continuous, withering blast had swept mercilessly, day and night, across Lake Doiran from the distant snows, laying a bitter curse upon life, turning red blood to ice in the veins, making men silent with pain and beasts indifferent and listless. There is an edge to the Vardar wind that no clothing will turn. Its cold iron enters into the soul.

  The trench lay in the foot-hills below the heights to be assailed. Certain deep ravines running irregularly through No Man’s Land made a formidable bit of country still less easy to negotiate.

  “You’ll have a topping good view from where we’re going,” said Fairie, looking at Fettering and taking out his watch. “Be able to give your fellows a treat for once. Three minutes to the barrage,” he added quietly.

  “Not there yet,” said Broke grimly. “Yes?” This to a signaller who had pushed his way up to the trench.

  “From Major Dudley, sir. Shell fell right on top o’ the trench. Six or seven killed and nine wounded. All ‘A’ squadron, sir. And he’s having the wounded put in a dug-out.”

  “All right.” He turned to the Commanding Officer. “Did you hear what he said, sir?”

  “I did,” said Fairie. “Bad luck or fine shooting. Bit of both, I’m afraid. Doesn’t seem to be going on, though, thank God. What a life!” he added, with a sigh. “Never mind. It’s a poor heart that never rejoices, mes braves. And after it’s all over, Rih, my boy, and a long drink, and a hot sun, and a nimble dollar on old Zero o’ nights, just for luck.” And he slapped his cousin on the back.

  Fettering looked up from his glasses with a smile.

  “D’you remember—”

  The sentence was never finished.

  As he spoke, from the direction of the lake came the long hoot of a big steamer, and the words died on his lips. While the echoes rumbled into the hills, the three men stared at one another.

  “But we’re forty odd miles from the coast,” cried Fettering, “and the lake–” He turned to the signaller by his side. “Did you hear that? “he asked sharply.

  “Yes, sir. Must be a new one, coming from over there.” He nodded in the direction of the lake. “’Eavy gun, too,” he added reflectively.

  A whine rose to a scream, which swelled into the rending tear of some tremendous fabric, culminating in a blinding crash, as a wrecked world staggered to meet the falling sky. The enemy gunner had scored again.

  The remains of the Commanding Officer were identified by his servant, who recognized a fragment of the shirt his master was wearing. It was equally clear that the Forward Officer had been killed instantly. The Adjutant died that evening at the casualty clearing station. He rambled a little at the last.

  “Can’t think why I didn’t ride up,” he muttered. “Might have known I couldn’t reach that bell. Under the wisteria? I know. But I can’t reach, I tell you. I can’t reach. They took the horses away. Poor old regiment. They – Why” – a great smile lighted up the poor quivering features – “the gate’s open – open. Ah!”

  Then he died.

  INTERLUDE

  And the Other Left

  “Anybody would think you were bored to find me here,” said Bill Courtier.

  “Would they? I simply didn’t know you were coming. That’s all.”

  “What’s that to do with it? Why—”

  “Oh, everything. And now, if you don’t mean to go and fish, or anything, do be quiet and let me read.”

  With that, the Hon. Dolly Loan bent her fair head once more over her novel and turned over a page with an aggrieved air. The slight frown hanging about her straight brows suggested concentration, which had been disturbed once and really must not be disturbed again. Courtier started to fill a pipe thoughtfully.

  Hitch a fortnight in Scotland on to the end of a London season, and you will swear by the simple life – till you are once again standing in the hall at the Carlton, considering the advisability of going on to a Night Club. It was the fourth day of August, and Dolly Loan and her companion were sitting on the verandah of the Flows’ shooting-lodge at Yait. Forty-six miles from the nearest post office, all among woods and mountains and broken, scrambling waters, Yait is as retired a pleasance as ever was known. Half its charm lies in its inaccessibility. Once drift into the shelter Yait affords, and people simply cannot get at you. In these stressful days it is, as it were, sanctuary.

  When his old friends, the Flows, had asked Bill Courtier to make one of the small house-party, he had been forced to refuse the invitation. They and he were alike sorry, but it could not be helped. He had promised to go to Dorset only the day before. Then, at the last moment, his prospective hostess had been taken suddenly ill, so he had wired joyfully to the Flows to know if he might come to Yait, after all. The text of his telegram was characteristic.

  Dorset stunt off have you a bed left I have some nerve haven’t I?

  So was their reply.

  No but you can sleep in the stable yes but then you always had.

  Which was how Bill Courtier came to be staying at Yait, and why Dolly Loan was greatly surprised to find him there, when she arrived two days later.

  The two
were old friends. At least, they had known one another pretty intimately for three years. Dolly was twenty-four and pretty enough to figure in one or other of the weekly periodicals more or less frequently. Sometimes she was described as “The Beautiful and Talented Daughter of Lord Merlin,” sometimes as “A Society Favourite.” Once her photograph had been entitled “An English Rose.” And it wasn’t a bad description either. For she was English to the tips of her pointed fingers, and as fresh as a rose, new-opened before the sun is high.

  With eyes half closed, Courtier regarded her meditatively, sitting there, reading with a little air of severity that he did not understand. This was a Dolly that he had not seen before. He was one of the few who had ever beheld her serious; once he had seen her sad. Once, too, in his presence she had flashed out at staid Tag Ewing, a brother-subaltern.

  The three had been sitting together at Ranelagh. Out of mischief Dolly had demanded a cigarette. As soon as it was alight, “I suppose you think I oughtn’t to smoke, Mr Ewing,” she had said mockingly. Very gently, “Not here or now,” he had answered. Dolly had gasped, and then turned on Ewing and rent him for an “impertinent preacher.” The next moment she had flung the cigarette away, caught her offender by the arm and was crying: “I’m sorry, Tag. I know you’re right, and I’m sorry. I’m just a child, Tag, aren’t I?” she added artlessly.

  “Yes,” said Tag solemnly.

  So Courtier had seen her angry. But her demeanour this August afternoon was something quite new. And, since he believed he knew her better than anyone, he could not get over it. Possibly she was tired, for Yait was a hundred odd miles from her father’s lodge in Argyll, and she had not long arrived, after motoring all the way. Possibly. Yet the soft colour of health springing in her cheeks, her easy, upright pose in her chair, her very absorption in her book, gave the lie direct to such a notion. Besides, she had just had a cold bath.

  The eyes that Courtier was watching stole up and away from the page to gaze for a minute over the peaceful glen and the toss of the steep woods beyond. Then the faint frown died, and for an instant the lips moved ever so slightly. The next moment the Hon. Dolly shut her book with a bang.