‘She’s twenty-one. And a girl of twenty-one is a bigger idiot in matters of that kind, my dear Cyril, than a girl of seventeen; and I can’t say more than that. Besides, no woman’s ever old enough to use her reason when it’s a question of love.’ One of the many things that Ethel and I have in common is the profound scorn in which she holds her own sex. Indeed, I have noticed that nearly all nice women despise their sex as a whole. Perhaps that is what makes them nice. ‘No,’ she went on, ‘I’ve done the only possible thing: I’ve pretended gently to encourage it. Elsa is quite under the impression that this party has been arranged solely for the benefit of herself and Eric.’
‘Whereas in reality – ’
‘Exactly. As I said just now, there’s only one possible hope and that is to shock her out of this infatuation before it get too deep a hold. And hence, my dear Cyril, the De Ravels.’
I swung my pince-nez meditatively on their cord. The bluebells were quite forgotten by now. In front of us the little stream was tumbling over its rocky bed in a way in which I, straight from London, would normally have found most refreshing; as things were, I scarcely heard it.
‘Rather playing with fire, isn’t it, Ethel?’
‘Deliberately. I’m banking entirely on the fire bursting out and consuming Eric with it.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
‘Then we must take still sterner measures,’ Ethel replied with positive grimness. ‘I tell you, Cyril, I’d stick at nothing to save Elsa from that man, although I’ve no direct responsibility for her, only a moral one. She’s the daughter of the greatest friend I ever had (you never knew her, she was at school with me); both her parents are dead, and she has no near relatives; legally, the child’s now her own mistress; I’ve simply installed myself in loco parentis. I may have usurped the position, but even if I wasn’t so fond of Elsa herself I should feel it my duty to her mother to hang onto it like death. And I don’t mind telling you in confidence, Cyril, that I’d rather strangle Eric with my own hands if I could than see him trap Elsa into a sordid marriage.’ Prophetic words, which afterwards I had only too good cause to remember.
‘Exactly; precisely,’ I soothed, for Ethel had been getting uncomfortably dramatic, and I detest the introduction of drama into any situation with which I am concerned. ‘So Mrs de Ravel, smitten with jealousy of Eric’s attentions to Miss Verity, is to draw back the sheep into her own fold again so effectually that Miss Verity’s eyes will be opened and she will be able to throw off these beginnings of infatuation?’
‘Something like that,’ Ethel agreed, more calmly. ‘As you can imagine if you know anything about her at all, Sylvia de Ravel isn’t the sort of woman ever to let anything go, human or otherwise, of which she’s once established possession. In my opinion Eric made a mistake there. Sylvia isn’t a person who can be picked up, toyed with for a time, and then dropped, according to Eric’s usual charming ways. He caught her, and she was probably difficult to catch; but he caught a Tartar when he did so. Well, now he’s going to pay with Elsa for his mistake.’
‘And De Ravel? I understand he’s the only person who still remains ignorant of that affair. Supposing he gets wind of it?’
Ethel looked at me squarely. ‘Cyril, I don’t care if he does. And I don’t care what happens afterwards, either. All I care about is getting Elsa away from Eric.’ It has been well said that women are the unscrupulous sex. In this matter I judged that Ethel had absolutely no scruples at all.
‘I see. And Miss Scott-Davies? What part is she to play in this Machiavellian scheme?’
‘Armorel? Oh, I just asked her to balance the numbers. Though I thought it would do no harm to show Elsa what sort of a family she’d be marrying into. Besides, there’s no love lost between Armorel and Eric, you know.’
‘Really? I understood they were brought up together, since Armorel’s parents died when she was a small child. I thought they looked on each other as brother and sister.’
‘Exactly,’ said Ethel, with unusual cynicism. ‘Anyhow, you can take it from me that there isn’t any love lost between them. It’s a matter of money, I think,’ she added indifferently.
‘Armorel’s parents hadn’t any, and though Mr Scott-Davies practically adopted her he didn’t mention her in his will, with the vague idea that Eric would provide. I believe Armorel’s feeling is that Eric doesn’t provide enough.’
‘So you merely asked her to make the numbers even. In other words, presumably, to balance me. Am I to assume that I have any part in the plot, then, besides that of your advisor?’
‘Yes, Cyril, you are,’ Ethel smiled. ‘You’re cast for the part of second walking gentleman.’
‘At Minton Deeps I usually prefer to be a lying gentleman,’ I replied humorously, for I usually try to season even the most serious conversation with such small quips. ‘When I think of the sun on your bracken…Still, on this occasion perhaps I’ll forego my rug and laziness. So what do you require of your second walking gentleman?’
‘I want you to do your best to distract Elsa’s attention from Eric,’ Ethel replied more earnestly. ‘Show a preference for her company, get her to go out for walks with you, take her out in your car, show her little attentions; she’ll appreciate them from a man so much older than herself.’
‘Come, Ethel,’ I had to protest. ‘Only sixteen years older, when all’s said; and just as young, perhaps, in spirit.’
‘Anyhow, she’ll appreciate them. In fact, Cyril,’ Ethel added with another smile, ‘while my chief plot is simmering up to boiling-point, you’ve got to fill up the time in cutting Eric out of Elsa’s affections. After all, you shouldn’t find it so difficult. There’s no doubt which is the better man of the two, if only the poor girl’s eyes can be made to see it.’
‘You mean,’ I said dubiously, ‘that I’m to encourage Miss Verity to entertain expectations of affection from me and then, as soon as Scott-Davies has been removed from her horizon, disappoint her?’
‘Oh,’ said Ethel carelessly, ‘till Eric really has been removed from it, we can leave the horizon to look after itself. In the meantime we’ve got to save the child from herself; and I appeal to you, Cyril, not only as one of my oldest and dearest friends, but as one of the few men I can rely on with enough understanding and sympathy to rescue Elsa from as horrible a danger as ever threatened an unsuspecting girl.’
‘You make me feel just like a knight-errant, Ethel,’ I said lightly, for in her earnestness she was again showing signs of becoming distressingly dramatic.
My little jest had the effect of checking her symptoms. ‘Well, you’ll be doing a better job of work than any of those old things ever did,’ she laughed.
‘A Paladin in Pince-nez,’ I said gaily. ‘Very well, Ethel, you may count on me to help you to the full extent of my powers of deceiving innocent girlhood.’ I maintained my light tone while I gave my promise, for to tell the truth I was feeling more than a little touched both by the peril in which Miss Verity stood and the fidelity of Ethel in her resolute attempts to avert it; and I feared that she might divine it.
chapter two
During the next few days matters proceeded more or less as might have been expected, while this incongruously assorted party shook down together. That is to say Eric and Armorel were continually arranging new forms of sport, aided by John Hillyard, and trying to induce the rest of us to take part in them. De Ravel played a good deal of tennis with them, but only when his wife was free to sit by the court and watch (Mrs de Ravel disliked sport in all its forms, and took no part in the Scott-Davies’ activities), and so did Miss Verity, though she was naturally not such a good player as the others. I joined in one or two sets at first, just for the appearance of the thing, but I am an indifferent performer at the best of times; and when I discovered that Scott-Davies was trying to make a butt of me I firmly refused to touch a racket again. A man owes it to himself to draw the line somewhere.
Minton Deeps is within a few miles of the coast, and in spite o
f the fact that it has a swimming pool in the stream at the bottom of the valley, bathing parties to the sea were organized. Personally I did not go on them. I am not a strong swimmer, and sea bathing has never appealed to me. Nor do I play golf. Here I had thought that Miss Verity and I had a common bond, for she did not play either, whereas Eric was what they call a plus-man. With diabolical ingenuity, however, Eric persuaded Miss Verity to let him teach her the game, and on this plea succeeded in carrying her off on two occasions to the neighbouring links for the whole day in spite of all my attempts to prevent it. Nevertheless on the whole I was not ill-pleased with the results of these days. Several times Miss Verity came out for walks with me (I rather suspected that Ethel had a hand in this), and once I was able to carry her off right under Eric’s nose. His remarks as I lifted my hat in mocking farewell were a pattern of what a gentleman’s should not be.
Such was our life on the surface during those days. Beneath that surface who can say what cross-currents were gradually gaining strength to sweep the party on to its final catastrophe? Inevitably most of the intrigue was hidden from an onlooker such as myself, but nobody but her husband could have failed to notice the immense efforts Mrs de Ravel was making to deal with her erring swain. She treated poor little bewildered Elsa Verity with a contemptuous and lazy rudeness which at times quite took my breath away. If Eric had had a spark of affection for the girl he would have hotly resented it aloud and condemned the consequences; as it was he merely grinned. I began to dislike the fellow more and more, if that were possible. What passed between the two of them in private no else can say; but one thing was quite certain: Eric’s pursuit of Miss Verity showed no diminution. It seemed as if Ethel’s ingenious plan was to fail after all. I was more sorry than I can say, for our walks together, and the trustful, pleased way in which she received my attentions and my conversation were beginning to endear the girl herself to me altogether apart from her money.
It was on the evening of the occasion when I had carried her off from under Eric Scott-Davies’ nose that a most unpleasant incident occurred. To my surprise, after dinner Scott-Davies linked his arm through mine in the most familiar way immediately after we had had coffee, which was served that night in the garden in front of the house, and said in his boisterous voice: ‘Come for a stroll, Pinkie, old boy. I want you to tell me all about your wicked little stamp collection, the bits you didn’t let on about this afternoon, what?’
This was an allusion to my hobby of philately, a subject on which I had discoursed for a time to Miss Verity during our walk that afternoon and to which she had made a somewhat unfortunate allusion at dinner. Eric had professed to find food for considerable amusement in so ordinary a matter, and though Elsa had been forced in mere politeness to smile at his absurd gibes I could see how she blamed herself for being the innocent cause of them; I had of course ignored them completely, at the same time sending a smile to Miss Verity of private understanding.
I may say here that my name is Pinkerton, Cyril Pinkerton, but Eric Scott-Davies insists, to my annoyance, in addressing and referring to me as Pinkie, even in the presence of complete strangers. He usually goes on to say that he does so out of compliment to my eyes, which he professes (quite untruthfully) to have red rims to them, thus turning the slight astigmatism from which I am unfortunate enough to suffer into a vulgar joke. A most ill-mannered, boorish fellow.
It was useless for me to protest that I had no wish at all to go for a stroll with Eric, for grasping my arm firmly he drew me with him almost by force. I am not a man of large physique, nor have I ever considered it necessary to be so; but in the grasp of a loutish fellow such as Scott-Davies one has the misfortune of being helpless. To have struggled would have been worse than ineffective, it would have been undignified. I submitted, with a scornful little laugh, and allowed him to lead me through the little strip of front garden, down the steps, and along the grassy track which leads across the front of the house down the valley.
As soon as we were out of sight and earshot of the others he released me, remarking at the same time in mocking tones: ‘Thought you’d rather I said it alone than in front of the others, Pinkie.’
‘Said what?’ I asked, breathing a trifle rapidly perhaps, for though I had scrupulously concealed it I was more than a little annoyed at having been manhandled in this way.
‘What I’ve got to say. And that is, keep off the grass!’ He thrust his hands in his pockets and literally towered over me. His big, rather sallow face above his white shirt front hung above me with a most irritating expression of amusement in which there was nevertheless as well more than a hint of menace.
‘I don’t understand you,’ I said impatiently. ‘If you’ve really anything to say, kindly say it in plain English.’
‘All right, little man,’ he grinned, ‘if you want it plain you shall have it plain: the next time you go for a walk with Elsa when I happen to want her, I’ll chuck you in the swimming pool – and you’ll be lucky to get off with that. Got me?’
I admit it was foolish of me to be nettled. One should remember that Eric is a vulgar boor, and that the ordinary standards of civilized intercourse between gentlemen simply do not apply to him. Nevertheless there were so many things about this speech of his that I found offensive – the impertinence to myself, the calm use of Miss Verity’s Christian name, the still calmer assumption that he had a claim on her whenever he cared to exercise it, his presumption in daring to threaten me with actual physical violence – that I felt myself go hot with anger.
Even so I kept, I hope, my dignity. ‘I think Eric,’ I said quietly, ‘that you must have had too much to drink.’
He had the insolence to laugh. ‘Oh, Lord, you are funny when you’re cross, Pinkie. You look just like a white rabbit in – ’
I had no wish to hear any more insults. I simply turned on my heel and began to walk back to the house.
But the oaf had not finished. He caught me by the sleeve, and though still grinning the threat was still more obvious in his great round face. ‘Don’t imagine for a minute I’m not serious, Pinkie. I promise you I am. I’ve noticed you hanging round Elsa ever since we came, and you’ve got to stop it.’
‘Indeed?’ I said coldly, though perhaps it was a mistake to answer the fellow at all. ‘And by whose orders, may I ask?’
‘Certainly, old chap. Mine. Elsa was asked down here to meet me, not you; and that’s just what she’s going to do in future.’
‘I should prefer to hear that from Miss Verity’s lips,’ I replied shortly.
‘Oh, you could if you wanted to; you’ve only to ask her. And it’s about as near her lips as ever you’ll get,’ Eric said coarsely. ‘Anybody but you would have realized by now how stiff you bore her. Good Lord, Pinkie on the love path! I’ve always said it’d be a scream. You should hear Elsa imitating you, old boy. Funniest thing I ever heard. Ask her to do it when you’re there once.’
I think it is to my credit that, boiling though my blood was at this vulgar and clumsy lie, I yet retained complete control over myself. ‘Kindly release my arm, please,’ was all I said.
Eric did so. ‘All right. You can run along now.’
I did not run. I walked.
‘But don’t forget what I told you,’ the fellow called after me. ‘It’s a promise.’
I simply took no notice.
Eric followed close behind me, and to preserve the appearances I allowed him to catch me up just before we joined the others in the garden. It was a wonderful June night, warm and scented; and though dusk had already fallen I could make out the pale pink of Elsa Verity’s frock where the little group was sitting under a big beech tree.
Eric went straight up to her. ‘Coming for a stroll, Elsa?’ he asked her casually.
As if the big fellow actually exercised some hypnotic spell over her Miss Verity rose without a word.
I interposed. ‘I’m sorry, Eric. I promised Miss Verity to show her the stream by moonlight this evening myself. Can I get you
a wrap of any kind, Miss Verity?’ It was time that Eric was put in his place once and for all. I am not the sort of man with whom one can take liberties of that sort.
Miss Verity hesitated, and Eric chipped in. ‘You’ve lost the bet this time, Pinkie. I promised to show Elsa the stream by moonlight, too, and what’s more she promised to look at it when I showed her.’
It was impossible to stand there brawling in front of the others, and I cut the matter short. ‘Perhaps when you’re in a fit state to do so, Eric, Miss Verity will allow you to keep your promise. Shall we go now, Miss Verity?’ And I offered her my arm.
Still the timid girl hesitated, knowing no doubt that she must offend one of us by her decision and reluctant to do so, and in the end it was Ethel who disposed of what might have developed into an ugly scene.
‘Of course,’ she said briskly. ‘Run along with Mr Pinkerton, Elsa. Eric, come and talk to me for once. I’ve hardly had a word from you since you came.’
Not even Eric could gainsay that, but it was with a very bad grace that he lumbered off to a chair beside his hostess. A few feet away I caught a green glimpse of feline amusement from the eyes of Mrs de Ravel, so malicious that for a second it positively startled me; it was for all the world like a cat gloating over another cat playing for a moment or two with it’s own mouse. If ever I had imagined that Mrs de Ravel had abandoned her lover to her rival, I was very completely disillusioned.
Miss Verity was silent as we walked together through the meadows down to the wooded stream. There was nothing unusual in this, for she was always inclined to silence in my company, being no doubt a little overawed, always eager to listen to whatever I might have to say, but speaking little herself beyond prettily encouraging me with a timid question or two from time to time. On this occasion, however, I felt it only right to reassure her in regard to the scene through which we had just passed, though I was careful to remember Ethel’s words and said nothing directly derogatory to Eric Scott-Davies.
The Second Shot Page 3
