She Painted Her Face

by Dornford Yates

  Madam, I send you our duty – and beg that you will believe that yesterday was a day which we shall never forget. We are well aware that we were only received as friends of the Countess of Brief: but the very great honour remains, and to that you added a kindness which must have touched anyone’s heart.

  Please give Elizabeth my love: and tell her that Raven is gloomy even at noon, because the light of our eyes has gone to Tracery.

  Believe me, Madam,

  Your most obedient servant.

  JOHN HERRICK

  On Saturday the police came to Raven, and we reconstructed for them what had been so nearly a crime.

  As they were leaving —

  “Sirs,” said the sergeant, “one day he will go too far, and will pull up the sluice which will let all our evidence go. And then he will be overwhelmed. To arrest him now would be futile. He bears a very big name, and his word would be taken before yours, in the absence of definite proof.”

  “I entirely agree,” said Herrick. “In fact, I was in two minds whether or no to report this latest affair. You see, we were frightfully tired. Dining out’s all very well, but when the house you’re dining at’s ninety miles off…”

  “Ninety miles?” cried the sergeant.

  “Well, how far is Tracery?” said Herrick. “If you go by Goschen…”

  “Tracery?”

  Herrick surveyed the sergeant in some surprise.

  “Tracery,” he said. “We dined with the Duchess of Whelp.”

  The sergeant appeared to have lost the power of speech. At length —

  “I beg your pardon, my lord. I—”

  “I’m not a lord,” said Herrick.

  The other waved his statement away.

  “I – I had no idea,” he stammered. “If I had known – that first day…” He broke off there and put a hand to his head. “If Her Grace were to learn that one of her friends had been subjected to—”

  “Her Grace,” said Herrick, swiftly, “would also learn how highly the friend in question thought of the police.”

  The sergeant flushed with delight.

  “Your lordship is very good.”

  “Not at all,” said Herrick. “Not at all. And now don’t you rush this business. We both agreed just now that the time wasn’t ripe. And if I am content to wait – well, I’m pretty closely concerned. In fact, may I leave it like this – that before you take any action, you’ll let me know?”

  The sergeant gave his assurance with all his might and, after further civilities, took his leave.

  As we turned to the house —

  “Of such,” said Herrick, quietly, “is the kingdom of earth.”

  On Monday three letters arrived.

  One came from the Duchess of Whelp.

  Dear John Herrick,

  I very much hope that this letter will find you alive. But you were so obvious a victim that I have been kicking myself for letting you go.

  I considered and rejected your suggestion that I should express a desire that Virgil should be at Brief. The man will be there, because he would know no peace if he went away. He will suspect our relation violently. Had I desired his – presence, this suspicion would have been confirmed.

  I don’t care what time you’re invited – be there at four. And stand no rot till I come. From that time on, the contingency will not arise.

  Tell Richard to be his dear self and on no account whatever to try to pretend.

  Elizabeth continues to do me good, but, though she is sweetness itself, I know that her heart is at Raven, with her young men.

  A perusal of those pages of my diary which deal with my visit to Brief in 1912 has been instructive and should prove valuable. All the same, I would give a great deal for some heavier stuff. It is one thing to twist a man’s tail, but it is by no means so easy to break his back.

  Believe me,

  Yours very sincerely,

  Harriet Whelp

  One came from Elizabeth.

  My Dear Richard,

  I have learned quite a lot about you – some things, perhaps, which you do not know yourself. You’ll never guess who from. Parish. His sister was your mother’s maid. And twice he visited Usage, whilst she was there. He remembers you on your pony and your father riding to hounds and the rookery beyond the stables and how everyone worshipped your mother and heaps of things.

  The Duchess is kindness itself and speaks much of you: but I miss you very much and shall be very glad to see you again. But I wish I was going to Raven, instead of to Brief. Looking back on our time there, I see how precious it was. I have never let the world slip before, and if I am never to be allowed to let it slip again, then I do not want to become the Countess of Brief. I hope you are being careful, as you said you would be. If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I should do.

  With my love,

  Elizabeth

  One came by hand from Brief.

  The Count of Brief presents his compliments to Mr John Herrick and begs to express the hope that he and Mr Richard Exon will make it convenient to become his guests tomorrow at six o’clock, to meet the Duchess of Whelp and to remain at Brief during Her Grace’s pleasure.

  Herrick read this aloud, and fingered his chin.

  “Ice for two,” he said shortly. “I suppose it could have been ruder, but the blood you wring out of a stone is usually thin. And when we roll up at four, he’ll go blue in the face. As for Percy the Good, he must be half out of his mind – a victim raised from the dead and two witnesses coming to stay. Let’s send him a wire signed ‘Max Bracher’, asking to be met at the station at half-past three. You know, this play has its points. It may be melodrama, but you must admit that the situation is pregnant – if nothing more.”

  “I’ll be glad when it’s over,” said I. “He’s wicked enough in cold blood, but he’s going to be red-hot with his back to the wall.”

  8: A Stalled Ox and Hatred Therewith

  “How good of you to come early.”

  Herrick and I looked round – from one of the magnificent Bouchers which hung in the hall of Brief.

  Percy Elbert Virgil was standing six paces away.

  “For that,” said Herrick, slowly, “the warmth of our invitation must be our excuse.”

  Virgil raised his eyebrows and took out a cigarette.

  “My uncle will see you later. Till then you must put up with me.”

  “We’ll manage somehow,”’ said Herrick. “I don’t remember you here in 1912.”

  The other frowned.

  “Allow me to warn you,” he said, “not to refer to that visit when my uncle is here. As you probably know, in 1914 his father and wife were both killed and his only brother, my father, met with a hideous fate. And these three terrible blows all fell within twenty-four hours. From that day to this he has never so much as mentioned what went before. For him the past is buried – in holy ground.”

  “Is it indeed?” said Herrick. “I’d no idea. And I don’t think his daughter has. She never said—”

  “His daughter? When did you meet her?”

  The queries flamed. That Herrick had drawn first blood was as clear as day.

  “At Tracery,” said Herrick, calmly. “We dined there on Friday night.”

  Virgil stood still as death.

  Then, as though released from some spell, he turned to a table beside him, struck a match and lighted a cigarette.

  “Well, well,” he said lightly. “And how are you proposing to get me down?”

  The sudden, impudent question hit me between the eyes, but Herrick replied as coolly as if a child had come up and asked him the time.

  “Well, we rather thought of leaving that operation to you.”

  Virgil laughed.

  “I don’t know that I blame you,” he said, and took his seat on the arm of a mighty chair. “It’s rotten to be laughed out of court. Have they found Max yet?”

  “They found him on Tuesday,” said Herrick.

  “Well, that ought to hel
p you,” said Virgil, comfortably.

  “I think it will,” said Herrick, “before we’re through.”

  Virgil regarded the end of his cigarette.

  “You’re to have the same rooms,” he said.

  Herrick raised his eyebrows.

  “That’s very nice. To be honest, I can’t remember—”

  “In the tower,” said Virgil. “The rooms that you had last week.”

  His eyes were not upon Herrick, but full upon me.

  “Last week?” said Herrick, staring.

  “Last week,” said Virgil. “On Wednesday. I wish I had known you were there.”

  “What makes you think that we were? Did somebody leave a pistol in one of the beds?”

  I saw the man tighten his lips.

  Then —

  “Why were you there, Mr Exon?”

  I sighed.

  “Is it any good saying I wasn’t?”

  “None whatever,” said Virgil. “Before leaving you knocked a man down. But you didn’t hit hard enough – you only put him to sleep. And when he woke up, he described you, and Herrick as well.”

  “And yet,” said Herrick, “no summons for assault has been served. You know, I can’t help feeling that if you’d a rag of a case, you’d have gone to the police.”

  This was, of course, most true. To discredit us in their eyes, the man would have sold his soul.

  Virgil fingered his chin —

  “Where were you,” he said, “on Wednesday, at half-past nine?”

  “Elsewhere,” said Herrick, shortly. “Where were you on Friday, at half-past six?”

  “That,” said Virgil, “is easy… Never mind. Let’s look at your rooms.” He got to his feet.

  “Did you bring a servant of sorts? Or are you working alone?”

  “I don’t think he’d suit you,” said Herrick, “if that’s what you mean.”

  “Is that meant to be rude?” said Virgil.

  “Intensely,” said Herrick.

  Virgil sucked in his breath. Then —

  “As your host, I—”

  “What makes you think,” said Herrick, “that you are our host?”

  The other’s eyes burned in his head. Then, with a manifest effort —

  “Come,” he said thickly. “I’ll take you a way that you know.”

  And so he did.

  At the foot of each staircase-turret, there were two doors, one of which gave to the terrace and one to the house. A moment later, therefore, we followed him into the turret which gave to Elizabeth’s suite, climbed the stair and passed through her lovely rooms.

  Though the fellow can scarcely be blamed for ramming down our throats his just suspicion that we had been there before, his casual intrusion into my lady’s apartments made me so angry that I could hardly see straight, and when he paused in her bedroom, to put out his cigarette on an elegant silver tray, I was so much offended that I could have picked up the salver and dashed it against his face.

  He led the way out of her rooms, on to the mighty landing and past the head of the staircase down which I had knocked the servant six days before.

  As we went by, Virgil pointed.

  “A little harder,” he said, “and you would have broken his neck.”

  And then we had entered the tower and were climbing up to the bedroom I knew so well.

  Winter was busy, unpacking. As we came in, he turned, with a shirt in his hands…

  Now Winter, of course, was prepared for some such encounter as this; but Virgil was not: and the sudden, improvised meeting with the valet whom he had oppressed, who must, he knew, be itching to take his revenge, hit our unpleasant companion extremely hard. Indeed, for one or two moments, his self-possession was gone, and he seemed the prey of some nightmare, too grim to be true.

  As a man who comes full on a snake, he started violently back. And then in a flash he was round and was searching my face and Herrick’s with bolting eyes.

  We regarded him coolly enough.

  “I said he wouldn’t suit you,” said Herrick, complacently…

  For an instant I thought that the fellow would launch an attack. As a beast about to spring, he dropped to a crouch and actually lifted his lip. Then he had himself in hand, and had turned about.

  As he crossed to the window —

  “I’m not at all certain,” he said, “that Brief is going to suit him.”

  I addressed myself to Winter.

  “Did you hear that remark?”

  “I did, sir,” said Winter, quietly.

  “Repeat it to Mr Parish, Her Grace’s page.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Virgil stood very still, with his back to the room. When at last he turned, I saw he was very pale.

  “My uncle will receive you,” he said, “in a quarter of an hour.”

  Then he passed to the doorway and left us alone. Two things were now clear, and Herrick at once sat down and wrote the Duchess a note.

  Madam,

  Before we had been here ten minutes, Virgil took care to warn me not to remind his uncle of anything which had happened before he became Count of Brief. This, I submit, goes to show that Virgil is aware of the truth.

  The presence of Winter appeared to shock him so much that I am sure that he regards him not only as a personal enemy, but as a witness, to be used against him, if and when he is charged with the theft of the jewels.

  Yours to command,

  JH

  This note we gave to Winter, to give to Parish at once. Then we washed our hands and made our way back to the hall.

  We were not sent for to go to the Count of Brief. In fact, we did not see him, until he passed through the hall, on his way to receive the Duchess, whose car had entered the drive. This, I suppose, by design – so that Herrick should have no time to awaken such sleeping dogs as the Count desired to let lie.

  I shall never forget his appearance, or how startling to me was his coming across the hall, for, except that he was stouter and, seemingly, younger in years, he might have been his poor brother, come back to life. The voice was the voice of Gering, the eyes were Gering’s eyes, the manner was Gering’s manner, the gait was Gering’s gait – and he had a trick of holding one arm behind him that I had seen Gering use a thousand times.

  If he was ill at ease, he never showed it, but used us both cavalierly, as though to confirm the impression his letter conveyed.

  “Which is which?” he demanded, and gave us no time to reply. “Oh, this must be Herring. The Duchess mentioned your name. If you want anything, ask the steward – he knows the rules of the house. And now you’d better come with me. She will expect to see you upon the steps.”

  With that for welcome, he led the way to the courtyard, as though he were late.

  A little bevy of servants were standing beside the steps – with Bertram, the steward, before them, wand in hand. On the other side were standing Parish and Winter and two waiting-women in black.

  As I came out with Herrick, Parish came forward at once, to pay his respects.

  I put out my hand for his.

  “I’m looking forward,” I said, “to a talk with you.”

  As he took my hand —

  “I shall be honoured, sir, whenever you please.”

  I turned to see the Count staring – and Percy Virgil beside him, poking his head. Then the Count said something in German at which the two of them laughed.

  Herrick’s voice rang out, as the crack of a lash.

  “We know the Duchess’ servants, because we know Tracery. Can you say as much, you two?”

  His words might have been a spell. Everyone in the courtyard seemed suddenly turned to stone. Bertram stood open-mouthed, with a hand halfway to his head, and the others stared straight before them, not seeming to breathe, Only the Count and Virgil turned slowly as red as fire, and at this full-flavoured moment, I heard the crunch of gravel beneath the wheels of a car.