“About her father? Why not?”
“Very good,” said Herrick. “And then?”
I got to my feet.
“I’m going to suggest that she stays here. It’s clear that Brief isn’t safe. If she is to come by her rights, we’ve got to get Percy down. And we’ve stolen a march on him – if she doesn’t go back. You see, he’ll think that his bullies carried her off. There’s nothing to show that they failed. And they’re not likely to tell him – from what you say.”
Herrick stared and stared.
At length —
“Young man,” he said, “if you go on like this, you’ll be translated or something, before your time. Such wisdom is not of this world. Talk about taking Time by the forelock… Why, if you go on like this, the poor old chap’ll be bald.”
This was absurd, and I said so. One day your brain will work, and the next it will not. The astonishing luck I had had, had whetted my wits, and I saw the obvious plainly, instead of passing it by. But I could see nothing more. And I had an uneasy feeling that we were going too fast. Before we had entered the field, we had proved our utmost suspicions, had misled Percy Virgil and won the charge of the lady whom we had hoped to help – a handsome enough beginning, as anyone must have allowed. But peer as I would, I could not see how to go on. And the fairest advantage is useless unless you can follow it up.
Here Brenda came to say that our breakfast was served, and Herrick took occasion to tell her that no one must know that Lady Elizabeth Virgil was now at the farm.
“She has said so already,” said Brenda. “No one will know.”
“D’you think she’s all right?” said I. “I mean, she was shaken up.”
Brenda smiled.
“You need have no fear,” she said. “Mother gave her one of her simples, and when she wakes she will be perfectly well.” She hesitated. “But Mother says that she will not know how she came here and will remember nothing that happened after her fall.”
“Good God,” said I. And then, “But how can she tell?”
“From the look in her eyes,” said Brenda. “She walked and talked, but she was not keeping a copy of what went on. That part of her brain was not working, so Mother says.” She smiled again. “But that is of no account. You can show her your copy, you see – and I will tell her that she may believe what it says.”
We had finished lunch, but Lady Elizabeth Virgil was still asleep, so, since we were both of us tired, Herrick withdrew to his chamber and I went down to the meadows, to take some rest.
The spot was peaceful. A gentle stream was lacing the sunlit fields, which neighbouring woods made into a private park: oak and elm and chestnut rose from the springing turf, and cows were contentedly grazing the clean-cut shadows they threw: on the hither side of the water, three well-grown limes were spreading a fragrant tent, and there I lay down, to consider the comfortable prospect and relish the agreeable music the birds and the insects made.
And after a few minutes I fell asleep.
I afterwards found I had slept for an hour and a half, but when I sat up with a start – for I had meant only to doze, so that I might be in attendance directly my lady came down – there she was sitting before me and waiting for me to wake up.
“Good Lord,” said I. “Where’s Brenda? I told her to let me know the moment you waked.”
Lady Elizabeth smiled.
“I overruled your orders,” she said.
She had changed her clothes and was wearing a full-skirted frock which fell perhaps three inches below her knees. This was of fair, white linen, embroidered in red; and I afterwards found that it was the dress of the country and came out of Brenda’s drawer.
I begged her to excuse me a moment and stepped to the stream. There I laved my face and my hands, and then came back better fitted to tell my tale.
I took my seat before her and waited for her to begin.
“I’m told I can trust you,” she said. “How do I come to be here, instead of at Brief?”
I took a deep breath. Though I had hoped she was wrong, it seemed painfully clear that Brenda’s mother was right.
“I asked you,” I said. “I asked you to let me bring you. And when I had told you why, you gave your consent.”
Lady Elizabeth frowned.
“What was the reason you gave me? You see, I can remember nothing from the moment I took my toss. That’s sometimes the way of concussion. Did you pick me up?”
“It’s a curious story,” said I. “May I tell it in my own way? And I’ll answer what questions you like as soon as I’ve done.”
“That’s fair enough. Will you give me a cigarette?”
I did as she asked, and then I told her my tale, beginning from where we had sighted the closed and numberless car and ending with Herrick’s account of its occupants’ consternation on finding their victim gone. She never interrupted me once, but sat very still with her beautiful eyes on my face, and she showed no emotion at all, except that once or twice she knitted her brows.
When I had done, she lifted her head to the sky.
“I should like to thank you,” she said, “before I say anything else. But for you…” A tremor ran through her. “That change of marked clothes sounds ugly. I was to be passed off as somebody else. Never mind. I’m very grateful. I think you’ve probably saved far more than my life.”
“That’s my good fortune,” said I. “I just had the luck to be there.”
“I don’t admit that. However… How do you happen to know my cousin?”
“I don’t,” said I. “I only know him by sight. We were both in the same hotel about three weeks ago. In England, that was. And one doesn’t forget his face.”
“How did you know who I was?”
“I knew you existed,” I said, “and I thought that you lived at Brief, and so the moment I saw you I guessed who you were.”
She nodded, as though satisfied. Then she drew up her little feet and laced her delicate fingers about her knees.
“And now for the omnibus question – why were you and your friend on my father’s estate…at four o’clock in the morning…taking care not to be seen?”
I put a hand to my head. Tremendous fences were coming: if I was to clear them all, they must not be rushed.
“We were there,” I said, “to try and discover some place from which we could watch the castle without being seen.”
“Why did you want to watch the castle?”
“Because I had reason to think that between the Count and your cousin your life was – well, not too easy…not what it ought to be.”
Her eyes on the blowing meadows, Lady Elizabeth Virgil lifted her delicate chin.
“I want to be fair,” she said quietly. “But don’t sail too close to the wind. I’d like to hear you out, but you can’t expect me to listen to – sheer impertinence.”
“I know,” I said, flushing: “I’m sorry. But will you please believe that I came from England on purpose to do what I’ve done today? I didn’t know that your cousin would go so far. But I knew that he might. I knew that you stood in his way, and I knew that he and his father—”
“His father? His father’s dead.”
I got to my knees and put out my hands for hers.
“Take hold of them, please,” I said. “I’m going to give you a shock.”
Her eyes never left my eyes, but she did as I said.
“A year ago last April, your father died in my arms. He was the Count of Brief. The man you call father is your uncle, and your cousin his only son.”
Eyes shut, head back, her underlip caught in her teeth, she held to my hands as though she would never let go, and her breath was whistling in her nostrils and the blood was out of her face.
“What…proof…have…you…of these things?”
“I will go and get it,” I said.
“No, no. Don’t leave me just yet. After all, I’ve had proof enough ever since I could think for myself. Why didn’t my mother live?”
“
My mother died young,” I said. “I was two years old.”
“As I was.” She covered her face with her hands and bowed her head. “Will you tell me about – my father?”
“He was very gentle,” I said. “I had no money then, and neither had he. We lived and worked together for nearly two years, and he never once complained of his bitter fate. I never knew his story until the night he died.”
“Did he charge you to come and tell me?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I saw your cousin… No one could see your cousin and not be sure that he was a dangerous man. And I knew that you stood in his way – that, but for you, he would one day be Count of Brief. By then my luck had changed, and I had money to spend and nothing to do. So I came to see for myself. If I’d found you safe and happy, I should have kept my counsel and gone away.”
“You say that – that this man is my uncle, and not my father at all: that he is Percy’s father…”
“Yes,” said I.
“I can well believe it,” she said. “But then you say that this man is not Count of Brief.”
“He never was,” said I. “He was and is Count Ferdinand, the younger twin. He dispossessed your father twenty-two years ago.”
She drew in her breath.
“Does my cousin know this?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said I. “That’s the kind of secret which a man not only keeps but does his best to forget.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
Then —
“Will you show me the proof you spoke of? When you say that this man is my uncle, I know that’s true. I mean, it explains – everything. But I cannot realize that he is not the Count of Brief. And what of my mother? Wasn’t he married to her?”
I got to my feet.
“Your father’s statement,” I said, “will make everything plain.” I hesitated. “Only please don’t hope for too much. It’ll prove what I’ve told you: but it wouldn’t cut much ice in a Court of Law.”
“I don’t care about that. I want to be sure myself.”
“So you shall be,” said I, and made my way to the house.
On the stairs I met Herrick and told him what I had done.
“Good God,” says he. “You could teach a bull to rush in. And how did she take the news?”
“Wonderfully well,” said I. “Will you appear in about a quarter of an hour?”
“I shall wait till I’m sent for,” said Herrick. “And then I shall probably hide. There’s a lot of the gazelle in my nature. And I’m shy of attending an inquest with which I have nothing to do.”
“I had to open it,” said I.
“I know. I know. But then you’re – exceptional. If you found that the Pope was a Mormon, you wouldn’t rest till you’d seen him and had it out.”
Three minutes later I faced my lady again.
“There are the papers,” I said. “One is your father’s statement, which he had written and signed. The other is mine, which sets out what he told me before he died. Both of these are copies. The originals lie at my bank.”
She read them through twice over. Then she folded the sheets and lifted her head.
“I’ve no doubt now,” she said quietly.
“I’m glad of that,” said I. “I had nothing to go on, and yet I knew it was true. Your father was incapable of lying. I can’t put it better than that.”
With a sudden movement she clapped her hands to her temples and pushed back her excellent hair.
“My God,” she cried. “My God, how he must have suffered. Sent down into hell by the man he was trying to save. Sent down for good – forever. Sentenced to death – for life… And what of the man who did it?” Her eyes were aflame. “What of that double-traitor that saved his body by losing his brother’s soul?”
“I’ll go all lengths,” said I, “to help you to bring him down.”
The flame in her eyes died down to the softest glow.
“‘What’s Hecuba to him?’” she said quietly.
“I don’t know,” said I, and put a hand to my head. “I think history’s repeating itself.”
“And what does that mean?”
“That I want to serve you – that’s all: and I’ve wanted to from the moment I saw your face. And I’m not alone. I know I can count on Herrick – he’s with me here: he knew your father and mother before you were born. And then I can count on my servant – he owes your cousin a grudge.”
Lady Elizabeth glanced at the watch on her wrist. “There’s so much I want to say and so much I want to be told. But time’s getting on, and if I’m to go back to the castle—”
“I beg that you won’t,” said I. “If you do, you’ll throw away a very good card. Your cousin arranged your abduction, and now you have disappeared – according to plan. Why show him that his plan has miscarried?”
Finger to lip, my lady sat very still.
“That’s sound,” she said. “But it’s awfully inconvenient. You’ll have to lend me some money to buy some clothes.”
“You must know I’d love to,” I said. “I’m only so very thankful you’re taking this line.”
“What line?”
“Of letting me help. I mean, I’m an utter stranger, and you’re – the Countess of Brief.”
“If it comes to that, I am an utter stranger, and you’re Richard Exon Esquire.”
“That’s absurd,” said I. “Besides, it’s a question of sex. A man—”
“I wish I could remember what happened after my fall. I can’t think how I consented to let you carry me off.”
“You did,” said I. “I swear it.”
“You must have been very persuasive. I’d never seen you before and I didn’t know anything then.”
“I think it was written,” said I. “Fate sent me to Brief this morning – this day of all days, and when I had put a spoke in your cousin’s wheel, Fate impelled you to grant my – unusual request.”
“Then Fate impelled you to make it: and Fate has directed you to take up my cause.”
“Not at all,” said I. “I’ve got a will of my own.”
“And so have I. Fate brought you to Brief this morning – no doubt about that. But that is as much as she did. What you and I did thereafter, we did of our own free will. I don’t know why we did it because my memory’s gone. And I’m sorry for that, for I’d very much like to know why we did as we did. Of course I can’t answer for you. You may make a practice of making ‘unusual requests’. But it isn’t my way to grant them – to men I don’t know.”
“I’ve told you I—”
“I know. I don’t value your opinion. As a man of action you’re splendid. You really are. But motives are rather beyond you – you wouldn’t know one if you saw it, and that’s the truth.” I suppose I looked crestfallen, for she laughed and laid a hand on my arm. “And I like you for that. Oh, and try to forget you’re a stranger. Let’s say we made friends this morning…in the dream that I can’t recapture: though you’re not clear about it, I’m practically certain we did.”
I thought of her sitting in the bracken, with her dark hair tumbled about her beautiful face, and of how she had said “I’ll trust you” – with her steady eyes upon mine.
“I’d like to believe that,” I said. “And so I shall, if you do.”
Lady Elizabeth set her chin in the air.
“You speak as though we’d both had concussion. Or is your memory short?”
“No, it isn’t,” said I, and got up. “But I can’t get away from the feeling that this morning oughtn’t to count, because your memory’s gone. It’s difficult to explain. But we did make friends all right – without any ceremony, as children do.”
“That’s better,” she said. She put up her hands and I drew her up to her feet. “You see, if you’re to finance me, you’ve simply got to forget that I am the Countess of Brief.”
I broke out at that.
“You’re Elizabeth Virgil to me – a
nd will be, as long as I live.”
A glorious smile swept into her precious face.
“That’s more like it,” she said. “And now you shall give me some tea. And I’d like to meet Mr Herrick and hear if my mother was half as sweet as she looked.”
We were, I suppose, some twenty yards from the house, when, happening to glance to the east, I saw a flash in the distance between the trees. One flash – that was all. But, as I saw it, I think that my heart stood still.
I knew what it was – that glitter, and whence it came. It was the screen of some car reflecting the afternoon sun: and it came from the road of approach that led to the farm.
4: We Make an Enemy
There is at Raven a window, twelve feet from the farm’s front door. Masked by one of its curtains, I watched a car approach and sweep to the foot of the steps. On the other side of the window, Herrick was standing still, with his back to the wall.
In the car were four men. Two were strangers to me, one seemed faintly familiar, and Percy Virgil himself had the driving-wheel.
I shot a glance at Herrick and wondered what was to come.
Virgil switched off his engine and wiped his sinister face. Then he followed his fellows out of the car.
I heard the front door opened before they had reached the steps.
Then —
“Good evening, Brenda,” said Virgil. “I’m afraid I’ve some serious news. My cousin’s been taken – kidnapped.”
Brenda snapped at her cue.
“The Lady Elizabeth? Kidnapped?”
“It’s true enough, I’m afraid. Her horse came in without her – this morning, at six o’clock. At first we thought she’d been thrown, but it’s worse than that. We found clear signs of a struggle in one of the rides.”
I heard Brenda draw in her breath.
Then —
“But who would—”
“That,” said Percy, “is what we want to find out. This is a sergeant of police, with one of his men.” He turned to the strangers. “This girl is Brenda Revoke.”
The sergeant stepped forward.
“We are seeking to trace two strangers lately seen near Brief in a fine, grey car.” He jerked his head at the man whom I thought I knew. “This blacksmith saw them in Gola four days ago. And other people have seen them this side of Brief.”
She Painted Her Face Page 6
