With that the door was opened and the woman-servant appeared. This, as though by magic; but she must, of course, have been summoned, and I think that a bell-push was lying beneath the quilt. As we got to our feet —
“You are very kind, madam,” said Elizabeth.
“No, I’m not,” said the Duchess, shortly. “As usual, I’m pleasing myself. And don’t look at me like that, unless you want to be kissed. I used to be much admired – some fifty years back. But I never belonged to the class of Helen of Troy.”
I saw Elizabeth stoop, and made my way to the door.
We could not talk freely at table, for never less than three men were constantly in the room. The meal was royally served, and the dishes set before us were fit for a king. All the appointments were flawless, and, ruled by the major-domo, the footmen moved and waited as though their duty had been tirelessly rehearsed.
At these things I shall always wonder, for Elizabeth told me later that months had passed since the Duchess had left her room, while no guest had been entertained for nearly two years. Indeed, I can only submit that they showed forth Old Harry’s dominion as nothing else could have done. The palace was out of commission, its mistress was out of sight: and yet, at a nod from her, the machinery sprang to life, to move with all the precision of practised vigilance.
Coffee was served upon the terrace, above an Italian garden, run to seed. And there we were left to ourselves – and the lizards that stared and darted over the mouldering stone.
“She deserves her fame,” said Elizabeth. “I know no more than you what line she’s going to take: but whatever she does, I haven’t wasted my time, because I have seen and talked with ‘Harriet the Great’.”
(Here let me say that that surname does her justice as can no periods. A few men and women have borne it, since Time was young. If she had had as fair fields, I have no doubt that she would have borne it, too.)
“I wish,” said I, “she was not confined to her bed.”
“She isn’t,” said Elizabeth, swiftly. “She stays there because she likes it. She told me so. She said she had crowded so much into fifty years that she never had time to digest ‘the brilliant burden they held’. And now she is doing that. She goes leisurely through her diaries, considering in detail the play which, because she was leading, she never saw.”
“And she never gets up?”
“Never. She says that the mental exercise keeps her perfectly fit and the more she rests her body, the clearer her brain becomes.”
I felt rather dazed. There were more things at Tracery than were dreamt of in my philosophy.
“Her English,” I said, “is better than that of an English judge.”
Elizabeth nodded.
“And she’s right up to date,” she said. “She’s a wireless set by her bed, and books and papers from England come to her all the time. She has agents in London, New York and Paris, whose only business is to keep her informed. Say Shakespeare’s right and ‘all the world’s a stage’. For fifty years she was playing a leading part. Well, now she sits in a box and watches the play.”
“Talk of yourself, Elizabeth.”
My lady laughed.
“As you saw, she was sweet to me. And her brain’s like mercury. When I came in, ‘Why you and not Brief?’ she said. I gave her the statement at once. She read it through in silence. Then – ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘It seems you are Brief. No need to ask why you’re here, but who opened your eyes?’ I told her all you had done. ‘And here’s a man,’ she said. ‘Don’t let him go. I may or may not help you: but such a man’s little finger is thicker than my old loins.’”
Before I had time to expose this ridiculous estimate, the major-domo was approaching – to give me the shock of my life.
“By your ladyship’s leave, Her Grace will receive Mr Exon without delay.”
Elizabeth smiled and nodded, and, begging her to excuse me, I got to my feet.
Two minutes later I stood before Old Harry, as a sheep before her shearers is dumb.
The piercing eyes held mine, as a magnet the steel.
“Mr Exon, I have formed of you a very pleasant opinion, and I am usually right. But I must request your assurance upon one point. That is that you are aware that you cannot possibly marry the Countess of Brief.”
The bedroom went black about me, and the blood surged into my face. And I felt as though something had taken me by the throat.
Somehow I answered thickly.
“I am well aware of that, madam.”
“Good,” said Old Harry, agreeably. “I thought as much, but I simply had to be sure. And now come here and sit down, and I’ll do the talking until you’ve got your breath.” As I took my seat, her hand went on to my shoulder and held it tight. “Always remember – those things cannot be helped. I loved a commoner once, and he loved me. But there are some bars, Richard Exon, more rigid than those you loosed. So we both of us did our duty. He bowed and went, and I married the Duke of Whelp. And, all things considered, it turned out extremely well… And you are the only person to whom I have ever told that – not because no one else would believe me (though that is a fact), but because I have met no one else for whose sake I felt disposed to open an ancient wound.”
I believe that I thanked her there, but I cannot be sure. I was like a man sunk in deep water, whose senses are out of hand because his soul is possessed by a frantic instinct to rise.
I had harboured no hopes, of course. But, because I was only human, I had made me a dream to play with – a pretty dream. And now, as one takes from a child a toy that may do him harm, the Duchess of Whelp had taken away my dream. Though I knew she was right, the knowledge did me no good. As a child, I could have burst into tears – and very near did. ‘From him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath.’
Old Harry was speaking again.
“I have no other questions. Fate, that great producer, has cast you for one of the parts in this highly intimate play, and I am far too wise to question her choice. Besides, I think it’s a good one – to date you’ve done very well. So I’m going to treat you as an equal – ‘the play’s the thing’.
“Elizabeth, as you know, has invoked my help to dispossess her uncle of the birthright which he stole from her father some twenty-one years ago. Her request is a natural one, for it is her bounden duty to do her best to bring this parricide down. But, while I am generally bound to respond to her call, I am not bound to make a fool of myself. If she likes to wish for the moon and comes crying to me, I have every right in the world to send her empty away. Do you agree, or don’t you? Not that I care a curse, but I may as well know.”
“I agree with you, madam,” said I. “The request must be reasonable.”
“Very good. What is her request? Not to reach her the moon, but to help her uproot a tree which is more than twenty years old. ‘All right,’ say I. ‘It certainly cumbers the earth and it ought to come down. Where are your tools?’” She slapped the quilt with her palm. “Mr Exon, she has no tools. And neither have I.
“You’re a very strong man, Mr Exon. I’d have liked very much to see you break into Brief. But could you with your bare hands uproot a tree which was more than twenty years old?”
“Madam,” said I, “if Elizabeth Virgil asked me, I’d have a hell of a try.”
Old Harry sighed.
“I suppose you would,” she said slowly. “But you know as well as I that you’d make a fool of yourself. And can you fairly require such devotion from me?”
At her words my heart leaped up, for they showed that she had accepted the fact that I was in love and did not propose to deny me such crumbs of comfort as I could pick out of that state.
“Madam,” I said boldly, “‘the play’s the thing’.”
“Perhaps it is. But I’m damned if I’m going on in a knock-about turn. Whelp and Exon, Comics. I’m much obliged, but I’m past the tramp-cyclist stage.”
I threw back my head and laughed till the tear
s came into my eyes.
“That’s better,” said the Duchess of Whelp. “But please observe that I have to debase my coinage to make you smile.”
“Madam,” said I, “I have yet to learn that a sense of humour is depreciatory.”
“Good for you,” said Old Harry. “And now let metaphor go. For me to move in this matter would be to fail: and for me to fail in this matter would bring me into derision, if not contempt.” As I made to protest, she held up a sparkling hand. “I don’t expect you to agree. You’d cheerfully sell my soul to buy your pretty darling an easy hour. But what I say is true, and, though you will not admit it, you know it as well as I. Very well. Now listen to me. I am going to move in this matter, cost what it may. And this, not because I am bound, for nobody can be bound to bring themselves into contempt; but because, if I do not do something, Elizabeth, Countess of Brief, is going to lose her life.”
Before this blunt prediction, the thanksgiving which I had ready, died on my lips: and I think that I must have turned pale, for the Duchess surveyed me grimly and then went straight to the point.
“I seem to have shocked you, Mr Exon.”
“Naturally, madam. I—”
“‘Naturally’ my foot,” snapped Old Harry, and flounced in her bed. “It isn’t natural at all. It you weren’t a fool, Richard Exon, you wouldn’t have to be shown what an infant in arms would remark.”
“Madam,” said I, “you told me not to reflect.”
“I didn’t say ‘Shut your eyes.’ I didn’t say ‘Look through the obvious, as though it didn’t exist’.”
I made no answer to that, and after a pregnant pause the Duchess went on.
“In her cousin’s sight, the removal of Elizabeth was always to be desired. Once he had forged her name, her removal became expedient – I think that’s clear. But in view of what has occurred in the last seven days, her removal is now essential to Percy Virgil’s health. A week ago she could have sent him to prison for seven years: today she can send him to the gallows for the murder of Max. Why? Because she – and nobody else – can switch on that current which makes all evidence live. Motive. Prove the theft of the jewels, and you prove the abduction: prove the abduction and you prove the murder of Max…” The sweat was out on my face, but still Old Harry laid on. “Do you see now, Richard Exon? Have I chipped the scales from your eyes? Now do you see why I deplored your omission to kill that man when you held his life in your hands? Because, the instant he knows that his victim is safe, the dog will return to his vomit and use his utmost endeavours without delay to put your darling to death.”
I can set down the words she spoke, but I cannot present the sinister note she sounded or the dreadful air of conviction she lent to her prophecy. Enough that she shook me so much that, without knowing what I did, I made to get up; but she laid a hand on my arm, to bid me sit still.
“There, there, Richard Exon,” she said; “don’t take it so hard. We are not going to let it happen. Between us, we shall be able to curb the power of the dog. And don’t go and brood on your failure to read sharp practice at sight. My acquaintance with evil is very much wider than yours, and I have known men and women beside whom Percy Virgil is almost a philanthropist. I need hardly say that all were far too clever to run any kind of risk, and that I have nothing to prove what I know to be true. Wilful murder is by no means uncommon in this respectable world, and if, at some given signal, its victims could rise from the dead, you’d be surprised at the number of loving tombstones which their ascent would displace. But that’s by the way. Just don’t lose sight of two things – first, that any day now Virgil is going to turn into a desperate man; and, secondly, that if you come into collision, you must not expect him to keep to the Queensberry rules. Oh, and one thing more. All that has passed so far is between you and me. Elizabeth is to believe that I have come into this business because I desire to honour my ancestress’ bond.”
“May I tell Herrick, madam?”
Old Harry wrinkled her nose.
Then —
“Yes,” she said. “He should know. If he resembled his uncle, he wouldn’t be ‘one of the best ’.”
“Lord Naseby dislikes him,” I said.
“Ça va sans dire. To find favour in Naseby’s eyes, you must be sanctimonious and servile and reap where you have not sown. He demands, but never supplies, and he still has family prayers. But I understand he’s failing.”
“Herrick gives him another three years.”
The Duchess picked up a tablet and made a note.
“I’ll have that checked,” she said, and laughed at the look on my face. “My agents are paid to find out what I want to know. Some people, when they retire, devote themselves to the study of bygone days; each to his taste, of course, but I’ve always preferred a live ass to a decomposed lion. For me, the creation took place some sixty years back, and while I respect the ages that went before, the present is the dunghill on which I shall always scratch.
“And now to business.
“Elizabeth must stay here – no doubt about that. You will return to Raven, to fetch her things. Nothing of hers must be left there, and everyone living at Raven must forget her visit as though it had never been. Very well. Tonight I shall write to Brief.” She picked up a pencilled sheet. “And this is what I shall say.
“I have the pleasure to inform you that the Lady Elizabeth Virgil is now at Tracery, happily none the worse. I am loth to part with her – I wish I had known her before – and since her place is at Brief, she has persuaded me to restore her to you myself. This will entail a visit: but the occasion warrants a breach of the rule I have made, and you may expect us on Tuesday at five o’clock.
“I had invited to stay at Tracery a Mr John Herrick, whose uncle I used to know. He is staying at Raven, by Dever, not far from you. Since I cannot now receive him, I shall be obliged if he and his friend, Mr Exon, may be invited to Brief for the length of my stay.
“Now I think that will do very well.
“You see, Brief can’t refuse to do as I ask: and so we shall all be together within the enemy’s camp. Brief will be ill at ease, because he will have to pretend to be the brother I knew. And Virgil won’t be at his best, not only for reasons we know, but because to entertain Herrick will undoubtedly shorten his life.
“I’ve set the stage, Richard Exon: and on Tuesday at five o’clock, the curtain will rise. But I can’t give out any parts, because I have none to give. The performance will be improvised, but it shouldn’t be dull.”
That I was staggered, I must most frankly confess. At most I had been expecting that the Duchess would give me some orders and, possibly, hint at the line she was going to take. Instead, she had laid before me a vivid line of action – bold, clean-cut and sweeping, to be put into force at once. I think the truth is that my powers of conception were strained. The nut to be cracked was so hard that she had not had time enough to lay any plan: yet there was the plan before me, consummate and unexceptionable.
Old Harry continued slowly.
“We have no choice in this case, but to take the bull by the horns. Sooner or later, Elizabeth must go back: and if Brief is to be unseated, we are not going to bring that off without coming to grips. Besides, a change of air will do my digestion good. And now you be off, young man.” I got to my feet. “See your darling first and send her to me. How long will it take you to get to Raven and back?”
“Madam,” I said, “I can do it in less than five hours.”
The Duchess glanced at the clock, which said it was a quarter past two.
“Then do it in six,” she said, “and dine here at half-past eight. Bring Mr Herrick with you. What are you going to say to that very beautiful girl?”
“Madam,” I said, “I shall quote from the Queen of Sheba. ‘Behold, the half was not told to me’.”
Old Harry smiled. “I like your style,” she said gently. “Partly because you always mean what you say.” She put out her hand for mine.
“Try to loo
k upon her as a picture – a glorious museum-piece. Find her exquisite, Richard: but glaze her – rope yourself off. Start doing that now. It’ll cost you something, of course. But you’ll find it a good investment…before you’re through.”
“Madam,” I said hoarsely, “I’ll engage you never did that.”
The piercing eyes grew sightless.
“I know,” said Old Harry, slowly. “That’s why I hope that you will.”
7: Love Upon the Terrace
The festival held that evening in Tracery’s Medici Room was one of such intimate splendour of matter and mind that, though I subscribed to it, when first I awoke the next morning, I wondered if it was not a dream.
I sat between two Old Masters – on the left of the Duchess of Whelp and the right of the Countess of Brief. Each glowed with the sterling quality of a forgotten age. Lost arts made up their being. Sheer beauty lived with kindness: sheer brilliance beamed with goodwill. And each admiring the other was thus exalted. Their natural royalty was duly served. Powdered footmen in scarlet livery stood behind every chair: gold plate winked upon the table: the choicest fare was perfectly presented.
And there I will leave an event which neither Herrick nor I will ever forget, for that evening we two hobnobbed with the stuff that queens were made of in olden days.
That Herrick found instant favour, I need not say. Indeed, Old Harry and he were as good as a play, for, as I have said before, his address was beyond compare, and I think that each of them whetted the other’s wit.
When dinner was done, Herrick and I were left with orders to ‘join the ladies’ in ten minutes’ time: and when that had gone, we were led to a glorious salon, whose sixteenth-century tapestries filled the eye. These were so very lovely and were so cunningly lighted and cleverly hung that you had the rare illusion that you were not confined by walls, but were standing on some high place, commanding a living landscape of which the depth and detail bewildered sight. (I afterwards learned that they were beyond all price; that they had been woven in Flanders of threads of gold and silver, as well as of silk and wool; and that they had been designed by a master, to please a king.)
She Painted Her Face Page 13
