The cardinal replaced the receiver and turned to his hostess.
"I am so very much obliged. I think few people would have been so nice about such an intrusion."
André tried not to tremble and managed to laugh.
"You have nothing," she said uncertainly, "to thank me for."
His Eminence bowed and passed out.
Fifteen minutes later Mrs. Winchester was in a hired car, hammering over the road to Napery Green.
Luck was with her, manifestly.
By an extraordinary accident she had been apprised of the enemy's orders of the day.
For an hour from half-past six, while Anthony would be at Bell Hammer, Valerie would be out of the way ... for an hour....
Feverishly she consulted her wrist-watch for the fiftieth time....
If it took half an hour to get from Bell Hammer to Southampton, it presumably took half an hour to get from Southampton to Bell Hammer. She would be there, then, by twenty-five minutes to seven. Very good. But before she approached the house, she must be certain that Valerie French had left. With luck— more luck, she would pass her upon the road....
She put her head out of a window and cried to the young mechanic not to drive so fast.
Bell Hammer stood back from the road. So much the map said. How far back, she could not tell. But she could not drive up to the house. Lady Touchstone was there, and Plague... She would have to leave the car and walk from the road. And if the house stood well back, that would take time. She had known drives a mile long....
André thrust out her head and told the young mechanic to increase his pace.
The light was failing now. Two days ago summer time had come to an untoward end. But the evening was warm and dry, and the air was as soft as silk.
The car snarled through a village, and André peered at the map. By holding this close to the window, she could just identify her road. She decided that the echoing hamlet was Blue Sleeves. And Blue Sleeves lay four miles from Napery Green....
André put up the map and kept her eyes glued to the shadowy road ahead.
At Napery Green they would have to turn to the left. Then, if the map was honest, Bell Hammer was standing about a mile away— a mile and a half, perhaps....
André determined to inquire at Napery Green.
As they ran into the village, she peered at her watch.
Half-past six.
The driver slowed up for instructions, and André got out.
She was back in a moment.
"There's a lodge on the left of the road about a mile farther on. Don't drive in. Drive past— about twenty yards."
The mechanic nodded.
Hitherto, since leaving Southampton, the roads had been theirs; but now they were on the highway which runs from Brooch to Bloodstock and carries its share of traffic on summer afternoons.
Three char-à-bancs went raving— lumbering arks of wassail, noisy, affectionate; a racing car stole by, muttering thunder; bicyclists flitted like ghosts; and presently a landaulette passed. But the chauffeur was smoking. Valerie was not there....
The tall gates were open, and there was a light in the lodge.
André descended and told the man to wait.
"Pull up a little more. A car may be coming out. I shan't be long— about a quarter of an hour."
The youth glanced at his watch. Then—
"Or right," he said sulkily. "A quartervanour."
André hesitated.
Then she opened her bag. By the light of a lamp she picked out a five-pound note.
"I might be longer than I think. But, whatever happens, stay here until I come." She folded the note and tore it clean in two. "There's half a fiver. If you want the other half, do as I say."
She left the fellow staring and stepped to the tall gates. For a second she stood peering. Then she flashed by the lodge and into the drive.
It was dark indeed now, and she could not see ahead. The avenue might have been endless. She sped up the smooth roadway, impatient for a view of her goal....
Suddenly the beam of a searchlight shot out of the darkness in front of her, raking the park on her right, swinging her way. In an instant she was bathed in brilliance— blinded... Then the beam swung on past and away.
For a moment the girl stood spellbound, watching the unearthly shaft sweep, like some fatal, ruthless blade, over the sleeping pastures, stripping the night naked....
Then the pulse of an engine fell upon her ears.
A car was coming. Plainly the drive went curling up to the house, and the car had been rounding a bend. Its headlights ...
Valerie! It was she, of course. It was Valerie leaving for Southampton to—
With a shock, André remembered that the car was coming her way. And she was full in its path. Any second that merciless beam would betray her as surely no poacher was ever betrayed before. She darted behind an elm not an instant too soon.
The shaft of light swung round, and the car with it. In a moment the avenue had become a blazing, sonorous choir.
Her back pressed close against the sheltering trunk, the girl felt dazed, terrified.... The narrowness of her escape, the abrupt rout of that darkness on which she leaned, the sudden overthrow of silence, rammed home the villainy of her adventure. She was lurking— a thief in the night. Her plunging senses snatched at the parable. That fearful, resonant glare was Doom, approaching his prey. She had thought to avoid it, but now it had altered its course. It was coming straight for her. She could hear— feel its advance. In a second it would crash into her elm. She awaited the shock dully....
Then the squall passed, and she was left sick and shaken, leaning against her bulwark with her knees sagging and her chin on her breast....
After a minute or two she lifted her head.
Then she stood upright and wiped the sweat from her brow.
"Of all the painful fools," she muttered, with a tremulous laugh. "If I'm going to get cold feet, I'd better clear out." She dabbed her face with a handkerchief and felt for her puff. "Heavens alive, what have I got to fear? Besides, my nerve's the only thing I've got. Without it, I'm done. With it..." She powdered her face thoughtfully. "Well, I've got away with a lot since I was foaled."
The storm had cleared the air.
André felt better than she had felt for hours.
When she stepped back into the roadway, the thief had slunk out of sight. In his stead, a cool-headed musketeer smiled, tilted his chin and presently cocked his extremely expensive hat.
Had André known that the car which had just swept by was carrying two people, whose names she had never heard— Captain and Mrs. Pleydell, friends of the house— that Valerie, who had returned unexpectedly early, had used a road which was not shown on her map, that Cardinal Forest and his niece were at that very moment shaking the dust of Southampton off their tires, I doubt if her nerve would have responded so handsomely to the spur of her will. What is quite certain is that she would not have wasted a valuable ten minutes upon a deliberate reconnaissance of the curtilage of the mansion.
Be that as it may, the stable-clock was striking the hour of seven when the girl glided on to the terrace at the back of the house.
A window was open here— open wide. From the garden below you could look right into the room. This was a library— you could see the books ranged orderly upon the walls. More. There was some one there. Some one was sitting, smoking, in a deep chair.... They seemed to be reading....
The other windows were black. Only upon the first floor a faint radiance about the sides of two rectangles argued drawn curtains with a light behind.
André stole over the flags, holding her breath....
Three yards from the library window her foot struck some object which moved— went rolling and making a dull sound. It was a terrier's toy— a piece of rubber cast in the shape of a bone.
Instantly came the scuttle of paws upon parquet, and André fell back against the wall.
Patch appeared upon the terrace, prick
-eared, suspicious. For a full minute he stood, staring out into the night, listening, motionless. Then he turned slowly and re-entered the room....
With a hammering heart, André crept very close.
She could hear the fire now— the soft hiss of logs and the lick and flutter of flame.
As she bent forward, a page flicked.
"Come in, Mrs. Winchester," said Plague, quietly enough.
André's heart gave one tremendous bound.
Then she stepped forward and over the window-sill.
The dog started to meet her, but the knight never moved. The latter's back was turned and he was at ease in a chair, with a cigar in his mouth and an open book upon his knee. By his shoulder a delicate pillar of bronze was distributing the light of three lamps hung from its capital.
After a cursory inspection of the girl, the terrier turned away. He knew who it was.
For a moment André stood still, finger to lip.
Then—
"How did you know?" she breathed.
"I heard you a moment ago. They telephoned just now to say you were on your way."
"Who?"
"Agents in my employ. As you've had Lyveden watched, so I've watched you. What are you here for?"
"I want to see him again."
Sir Andrew frowned. Then he laid down his book and rose to his feet.
"You can't do that," he said firmly. "There are"— he swallowed vehemently— "most powerful reasons why you and he should not meet."
André stared.
"What are they? If you mean I'm married— well, that's my affair. If you mean that he's engaged—"
"I don't," said Plague shortly. "As reasons go, those two are pretty sound. But mine are sounder still. I'm sorry," he added kindly. "If I could have stopped you coming, I would have done so."
"You like me," said André suddenly. "Why?"
Sir Andrew blinked thoughtfully.
Then—
"You're bold and downright," he said. "That may or may not be why. But I like you well enough to wish you, at least, no ill. Therefore go as you came. You can't see Lyveden, and you mustn't be found. I shall say nothing."
André took her seat upon the arm of a chair.
"I want to see him," she said.
Sir Andrew's face took on a darker shade.
"Don't be a fool," he snapped. "I may like courage, but bravado I loathe. You're out of order. I'm trying to get you back."
"Listen," said André. "That night, at your house, I struck him. I cursed him for an outsider, and then, when he begged my pardon, I slashed him across the face. You're wise. I expect you know why I did those things.... But he doesn't look for motives which don't appear. He thinks me a howling cad, and I— I don't like that."
"If that's why you came," said Plague, "I'll put that right. You know and can trust me. I say, I'll put that right. And now take an old man's counsel and go your way. You mayn't 've won so much, but you haven't lost. And that's as well, for you can't afford to lose."
"You forget I'm out to win," was the cool reply. "Let me see him, and I'll go."
The knight stamped upon the floor. Then he hurled his cigar into the grate and set his teeth.
"Can you appreciate," he hissed, "that you are not in a position to dictate? That this is Miss French's house? That you have not been admitted, but have 'gained admission' thereto? That I can ring that bell and have you shown out? That scandal and ignominy are preparing to spring upon your shoulders?"
"I came to see Major Lyveden. If he refuses to see me, I'll go like a lamb. I was foolish to come like this. I ought to have gone to the door and rung the bell."
"So should burglars. But they don't— for obvious reasons."
The girl rose to her feet.
"You think," she said coldly, "that—"
"I know," said Plague. "Why bandy words with me?"
"Then ring that bell," flashed André. "Send word to Major Lyveden that I am here. If he declines to see me, I'll go as I came."
With a frightful effort, the giant controlled his voice.
"Madam," he said, taking his watch from his pocket. "I give you two minutes in which to leave this house. If when that time has expired you are still here, I shall write to your husband to-night, relating this visit of yours and requesting him to restrain you from molesting Major Lyveden again."
André went very white.
"Write and be damned," she said. "And now will you ring that bell?"
In a way the request was needless, for here the door was opened, and Valerie French and the Cardinal entered the room.
Valerie was speaking.
"Don't thank me, Uncle John. I'm in your debt. The smell of that air! I'll bet that's something Italy hasn't got. Nemi must be very lovely, but the breath of the New Forest"— here she perceived Mrs. Winchester, and paused— "is the scent Time uses when he wants to pretend he's young. Let me introduce my uncle, Cardinal Forest— Miss Strongi'th'arm— Sir Andrew Plague."
Her self-command took every one by the throat.
Sir Andrew, whose nerve was his pride, felt like a private-schoolboy and almost stood upon one leg. His Eminence, for whom the name "Strongi'th'arm" had been like an evil spirit besetting his darling's sleep, put a hand to his head and, with a fumbling brain, strove to accept the reports which his eyes and ears were offering. As for André, the feeling of inferiority which Valerie always inspired became positively painful. A meek lady-in-waiting, whom the queen had surprised in the act of trying on the crown, would have been less discomfited.
Before the silence could settle, Valerie put out her hand.
"I'd no idea you were coming," she said, with a quiet smile. "Of course you'll stay to dinner, if not the night. Now that I come to think of it, I saw a car by the lodge." She turned to the men. "Uncle John, you know your room. Sir Andrew, it's time to dress. André and I are not going to change to-night, so we'll give you twenty minutes' start."
The Cardinal girt up his loins and turned to the knight.
"It sounds as if we weren't wanted," he said, with a grave smile. "She doesn't mean it, of course. For one thing, we're too decorative. But let's go— just to teach her a lesson."
"Non docent, sed discunt," said Plague, and followed him out— unsteadily.
Patch, who had run to greet Valerie, watched the retiring lawyer and then returned to the hearth.
As the door closed, Valerie touched the other upon the arm.
"Come and sit down by the fire."
André shivered. Then she lifted her head.
"I must go," she said abruptly, holding her eyes upon the ground. "I beg your pardon, and— I'm much obliged."
"What for?"
"For covering my retreat. It's not a thing the— the enemy often does."
She turned to the window.
"Am I your enemy?" said Valerie.
"You have no choice. I'm an outlaw. I've been— warned off."
"Why do you talk like this— like an escaped convict? And if you were, you know I’d harbour you, as you would me. You've never let me down."
"That's not my fault," said André, facing about. "It's Andrew Plague's. Three weeks ago he stopped me, and he's stopped me to-night. I should hang on to him," she added, with a bitter laugh. "He's a dog in a million. A thief doesn't stand an earthly when he's around."
"What," said Valerie, "do you mean?"
"Why d'you think," said André, "I left my car in the road? Because I didn't want your household to know I was here. I didn't come in by the door, you know. Thieves don't. I came in by the window. And I knew you were out. To be frank, I never dreamed you’d be back so soon.... And then, having 'effected my entrance,' I met the dog. I was doing my best to bluff him when you arrived." She spread out her hands and set her head on one side. "So, you see, you're perfectly right— I've not let you down. I've done my level best to, and I'd got a jolly long way, when that excellent dog chipped in and cramped my style."
"I wish to Heaven," said Valerie, "I had your pluc
k." The other started. "If I were a man, I think I should be mad about you. Your courage is dazzling. You set it above pride, above safety, above success. And, because you do, all these things, as they say, are added unto you. And always will be...." She turned to the grate and spread her hands to the blaze. "What did you come for?"
"What do thieves come for?"
"To steal, I suppose," said Valerie.
"That's right. I came to steal. I came to see him."
"I don't call that stealing," said Valerie, ringing the bell by her side. "If I wanted to see Richard Winchester, I shouldn't ask you."
André laughed.
"You won't strike, will you?" she said. "I've bared my shoulders and put the whip in your hand. I've done it before. But you won't strike. I suppose I'm too rotten— too low ... even for that ... leprous."
A servant entered, and Valerie turned her head.
"Ask Major Lyveden to come here."
The man bowed and withdrew.
"What are you doing?" cried André, hoarsely, panic-stricken.
"I'm pleasing myself. Don't go. You came unasked. Now I request you to stay. I have the right, I think. You've given it me." She glanced at a clock. "Dinner's at eight— in thirty-five minutes' time."
With that, she smiled very steadily, stepped to the door and passed out.
Only the great can do great things as great things should be done. But then Valerie French was a great lady.
As for André, the girl felt rather cheaper and much more frightened than she had ever felt in her life.
Valerie French (1923) Page 21
