She Painted Her Face

by Dornford Yates

  “We have two pistols,” I said.

  “Then carry them, please – from now on. I mean what I say. It may have occurred to you that this countryside favours outrage – of any kind.”

  With that, we sat down to tea, and, half an hour later, I drove the Rolls to Gabble, with Winter sitting beside me and the police in the back of the car.

  So, for the second time, meat came out of the eater that wonderful day. A scoundrel had arranged an abduction, and we had carried off the very prize we desired: and a Judas had come upon us, to fall into the pit he had digged and to turn to esteem the suspicion under which he had meant us to lie. But when Winter heard what had happened whilst he was safe in the kitchen, discussing his tea, he put his head in his hands and would not be comforted.

  It was strange to sit down to supper with Lady Elizabeth taking the head of the board, but she seemed so glad to be with us and fell so naturally into the ways we kept that, for my part, I soon forgot how she came to be there and began to accept a relation which seemed too fair to be true. I had scarcely had to do with a woman for more than three years, and now I was sitting down with one who, Herrick declared, had stepped out of the picture-books. “I warn you,” he said, “she’s not real. Whilst you were getting down from that tree, the fauns picked up the Countess and left a nymph in her stead. Look at those orbs… She’s heard that exquisite flourish that we have no ears to hear, the fanfare with which the firmament honours the rising sun; and the echo is there in her eyes, a shred of eternity held in a peerless fee. And Percy laid hands upon her. Well, well… What’s bred in the bone. Only Percy seems to begin where his father leaves off. And if I were either of them, I give you my word I should be afraid to die. Why, they’ll get a civic reception when they go down to Hell.”

  Enough is as good as a feast, and after supper that evening we spoke of the past and present, but left the future alone. My lady told us her story – a grim corroboration of the statement her father had made. She could not remember the time when her cousin had not been at Brief. It was his home as much as hers, and though she was given precedence, he was used as the son of the house. The Count had done much for him, but little or nothing for her, and again and again she had had to fight for her rights. But for these, she would have been gone, to make her own life, for the House of Brief was divided against itself. She hated the Count and her cousin: they hated her back: and the Count was afraid of Percy, and Percy despised the Count.

  By the terms of her mother’s Will, she received one thousand a year. This income the Count had received until she was twenty-one, and when she had come of age he had done his best to retain the half for himself: but she had gone to the lawyers and forced his hand. Since then he had continually complained that he could not meet the expenses to which he was put, while Percy and he were always at variance – the former demanding money or money’s worth, and the latter declaring with oaths that he had not the wherewithal to maintain the estate.

  Her mother’s Will also directed that when she was twenty-one she was to be given possession of all of her mother’s jewels, and these, she told us frankly, were very valuable.

  “And where are they?” said Herrick.

  “In England. They were being cleaned and reset when my mother was killed, and ever since then they’ve lain in the jeweller’s safe. I could have had them out three years ago: but what was the good? Besides, I was afraid to have them: they might have been stolen – by someone within the house. Times without number they’ve urged me to have them out: Percy offered to get them at last and actually wrote out a letter for me to sign, authorizing the jewellers to hand them over to him. ‘Thanks very much,’ I said, ‘but I’d rather they stayed where they were. But I’ll lend you five pounds to go on with, if that’s any good.’ For once he had no answer – he couldn’t get round the truth. That was six weeks ago…”

  A sudden apprehension stabbed at my mind.

  “Oh, my God,” I cried, “I’ll lay a monkey they’re gone.”

  Lady Elizabeth started, and Herrick frowned.

  “Why d’you say that?” said the former.

  Shamefacedly, I told her of Inskip – the ‘very big’ diamond-merchant, whose company Virgil was keeping when first I had seen his face.

  “But he’d never dare,” she cried, flushing. “I mean, if he’d forged my hand—”

  “–he would have,” said Herrick, rising, “a very pressing reason for putting you out of the way.”

  There was a deathly silence – which I employed in cursing my reckless tongue.

  Lady Elizabeth sighed.

  “That’s right,” she said, slowly: “that’s right. You know, it’s painfully clear that he is his father’s son.”

  The next day I drove her to Salzburg – a very long way: but shop any nearer she dared not, because she was too well known. Brenda came with us to help her, because she had so much to buy, and in view of the miles before us, Herrick was more than content to be left behind.

  For most, of the way I drove, and she sat by my side, and before we got back that night I think I had told her all that ever I did. It was a dull enough record, but have it she would, “because,” said she, “for two years you played the part which I should have played – you cared for my poor father, and I cannot know enough of the man who did that.”

  “Honours were even,” said I. “We were both of us down on our luck, and if I befriended him, he befriended me.”

  “Who paid for his – his funeral?”

  “Damn it,” I said, “he’d have done the same for me.”

  “Did you put a memorial up?”

  “Yes” said I. “But I’d inherited then.”

  “What did you have cut upon the stone?”

  “Rudolph Elbert Virgil.”

  She caught her breath.

  “I’m so thankful. Anything else?”

  “A line from St Luke: But now he is comforted.”

  There was a long silence. Four or five miles went by before she turned from the landscape to speak very low.

  “May I call you Richard?” she said. “And will you please drop my style?”

  We held the first of our councils the following day – by the side of the stream in the meadows, before eleven o’clock.

  Nature was blithe about us: the sun, a merry monarch, delighted a radiant sky, and mountain, forest and pasture lifted up grateful heads: a dulcet madrigal rode on the willing air – the sweet bird’s note, the murmur of passing bees, the low of a cow and the ring of a whetted scythe: and the flowers of the field did jubilant sacrifice, dispensing the simple fragrance they keep for midsummer days.

  I said what I had to say first – by Elizabeth’s wish.

  “To my way of thinking we’ve only one object in view, and that is to expose the man who for twenty-two years has passed as the Count of Brief. If we can bring this about, we shall kill two birds with one stone – we shall not only bring him down but put Elizabeth up in her proper place.

  “I know nothing of the law of the land, but if I did, I’d advise that we left it alone. We should never get home by that road. And it’s no good writing round, proclaiming the truth, for no one would ever believe us and he might take action against us – for libel or something like that. The only way to expose him is to make him expose himself – admit officially that what we allege is true. And that he will never do, unless we can force his hand. If we can hold above him some threat sufficiently grim, the man will do as we wish. But it’s got to be a hell of a threat, to make a man cut his own throat.

  “What we need is some information from which we can forge a weapon which we can use. And that will be hard to come by. It might not have been so hard twenty years ago: but the sources we might have turned to have almost certainly failed. Still, we’re not in the hopeless position of not knowing where to begin, because we have one clue, which, if we can follow it up, may lead us straight to a source which is still alive.

  “It is, I think, a promising clue, because it concerns a
secret of whose existence the Head of the House should know. And Elizabeth knows of its existence: but her uncle does not… She knows of its existence, I say: she does not yet know what it is: but she knows where it is – roughly.

  “The great tower of Brief – the great tower. There is a doorway there which no one would ever find. You must go up, counting your steps. And when you have…

  “I am not disheartened by the words ‘which no one would ever find’, because I believe them to mean ‘which no one would ever notice, unless he was told where to look’ – and we have been told where to look.

  “Now how we are to look for a doorway within the great tower of Brief, I have honestly no idea: Elizabeth can only say whether that can be done: but, if it can be done, I suggest that we should do it, before we do anything else – because, to be still more honest, I don’t know what else we can do.

  “One thing more. Elizabeth may not like the line I suggest. The secret, whatever it is, has been most jealously guarded for hundreds of years. It may be something that no outsider should know. And if she’s the slightest feeling against our doing our utmost to find it out – well, she knows that she’s only to say so for me to drop this line and never touch it again.”

  “My dear,” said Elizabeth, quietly, “my father tried to give it to you. It may be that you can use it – those were his words. Do you think I would revoke his bequest? Why, he never even charged you to tell me… Never mind. Of course you’re right. That doorway’s our only chance. I’ve no idea what is behind it – no more than you. But I think it may lead to something which, as you put it, will give us the weapon we need. As for looking for the doorway – we’ll have to be careful, of course, but that shouldn’t be very hard. As a rule Brief sleeps very sound, and if I like to return when Brief is asleep …” She held up a Yale key. “That’s my key. It will let us into the turret which leads to my rooms. My rooms give to a landing, and the landing will lead to the tower. And nobody lives there now. The rooms are just as they were when my grandfather died: but they are not occupied. It’s rather a pity, really: except for the stairs between, they make a delightful suite.”

  “What does it consist of?” said Herrick. “I never saw it, you know.”

  “Two sitting-rooms, bedroom and bathroom. Why do you ask?”

  “I was wondering if they’d suit us,” said Herrick. “Just for forty-eight hours, you know. I mean, this search will take time. And it would be so very convenient to be on the spot.”

  I stared at him open-mouthed, but Elizabeth threw up her head and began to laugh.

  “You’re true to type,” she said. “The jester’s counsel was nearly always the best. And why shouldn’t Brenda come, too? She can look after us all and wait upon me.”

  Though the tower was unoccupied, its apartments were aired and dusted twice in the week. Every Monday and Thursday these things were done, and since the day was Sunday, we determined to take possession the following night. In this way for fifty-two hours we should have the tower to ourselves. We could easily take enough food to last us this time, and since there was water laid on, there seemed to be no reason why Brenda should not make tea whenever we pleased. We could rest in comparative comfort and, thanks to the bathroom, could make our ordinary toilet without any fuss, and, indeed, we should do very well, so far as the flesh was concerned. As for the work to be done, out of fifty-two hours Herrick and I could labour for forty or more – or nearly ten times as long as we could have laboured each night, if we had not made up our minds to stay in the tower. Add to this that to enter and leave would be the most delicate business we had to do, and this we should do once only, instead of ten several times.

  Of course the plan had its drawbacks: by spending the day at Brief, we were bound to be discovered if anyone entered the tower: then again from dawn to dusk we should be cut off, for we could not leave the castle except by dark: but if we were to find our doorway without being found ourselves, I think we might have tried for a year without picking a better way.

  That Sunday afternoon Brenda and Winter were told the most of the truth, for, though I am sure that both would have trusted us blindly and would have done without question whatever we asked, it would have been unfair as unwise to make such demands upon such fidelity.

  Poor Winter would have given his eyes to go with us into the castle in Brenda’s place – if only, I think, on the chance of encountering Percy and laying the fellow out – but I bade him remember that much would depend upon him, for that if we should be surprised or anything else should go wrong, it was he that we should look to, to bring us out of our plight.

  “You see,” I said, “we couldn’t attempt such a show, unless there was someone outside not only who knew where we were but with whom we could keep in touch. All Tuesday and Wednesday I want you to watch the castle – especially, of course, the great tower. I shall signal to you, if I want you, and what I want you to do. We’ll arrange a code later on.”

  Then I told him about the three firs and how, if he steered by them, he would come to the belvedere, and he seemed very much relieved to think he would be within call, instead of, as he had expected, eleven miles off.

  Our slight preparations were made the following day. We bought some torches and knapsacks, and food for two days was put up. Madame Revoke was told that we were going to stay at some hunting lodge, to which her guests of the summer had two or three times repaired, and though she was something surprised that we should travel by night, instead of by day, Lady Elizabeth Virgil could do no wrong in her eyes.

  For the search itself, I could not think what to take. I could hardly believe that we should have to use force: yet things which have lain undisturbed for a number of years are apt to get stiff or clogged as the case may be. In the end, after much reflection, I decided on a mallet and a chisel, some oil and two measuring-rules: if what we found were to show that this rather meagre equipment was not enough, we should have to withdraw – and return with the stuff we required.

  That afternoon we rested, to save our energy for the work to come. And at half-past eleven that night Winter set us down at the mouth of the entrance drive. He was not to return to Raven, but to berth the Rolls where he could in the country beyond the foothills which rose to the south of Brief: and then at dawn he would make his way over those foothills and down to the belvedere. Half an hour later we saw the castle before us, a shadowy mass without form, charged on the sable field of the woods behind.

  So dark was the night that had there been sentries posted about the house they could not have seen us moving five paces away, and since Elizabeth said that no watch was kept, we followed her boldly up to the foot of the pile. Because we were shod with rubber, we made but the slightest sound, and as we came to the walls, I heard the lisp of water which might have been set playing to cover our steps.

  I afterwards learned that a fountain rose on the foothill against which the castle stood: its issue was trapped in a basin beside the source and led from there by pipes all over the house: but the overflow of the basin ran down the side of the hill to feed a considerable conduit which stood in the stable-yard. And this flowed day and night, a heavy stream of water falling into a pool and making the steady rustle which we could hear.

  Elizabeth skirted the walls, and we passed three staircase-turrets, to come to a fourth. And there she stopped, before a door or postern set in its base.

  I, who was next behind her, moved to her side.

  “I want you to pass me,” she breathed, “as soon as I’ve opened the door. Turn to your right up the steps, and wait till I come. I’ll shut the door when you’re in.”

  I passed the word to Brenda, who gave it to Herrick in turn.

  Then Elizabeth used her key – but the door stayed shut.

  In desperation she set her weight to the oak.

  Then she took her key from the latch.

  “My God,” she said. “It’s bolted. What shall we do?”

  “Somewhere close by,” I whispered. “Where we
can talk.”

  She put her hand to her head. Then she nodded and made me a sign to come on.

  She led us away from the turret and presently down some steps. These brought us into a garden, sunk in the slope of the ground, so that while its foot was level with the pastures to which it ran down, its head, where we stood, was twelve feet below the terrace on which the castle was built. We could here converse in safety, provided we spoke pretty low, for the sound of the water, which we could no longer hear, would absorb the hearing of anyone standing above.

  “Listen,” I said. “There must be windows left open a night like this. Isn’t there one I can climb to?”

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “You’d break your neck,” she said. “And if you could get in somewhere, you’d never find your way down to open to us.”

  “Then, what of the tower itself? Isn’t there any way I can get into that? Once inside the tower, I couldn’t go wrong, and its door’s in the courtyard, isn’t it?”

  Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders.

  “There is a window,” she said, “but it’s heavily barred. It’s on the northern side – not very high up. It’s a chance in a million, but one of those bars might be loose. But why should my door be bolted? They’ve all spring-locks, those doors, which no one could ever force.”

  “Your cousin’s done that,” said Herrick, “because he has reason to think that Max has your key. And I don’t suppose he trusts Max…”

  “Come,” said I. “Let’s go and have a look at this window. Somehow or other we’ve simply got to get in.”

  Elizabeth led us back to the castle wall. There she turned to the left, and we followed her as we had come. Then she turned to the right, and we passed the mouth of the archway which led to the small courtyard: and after a little she turned to the right again…