“ ‘England,’ “ quoted Nicholas Edmonds slowly, and with a sort of sombre dignity not unfitted to the words, “ ‘is a great and powerful nation, foremost in human progress, enemy of despotism, the only safe refuge for the exile in Europe, friend of the oppressed.’ “
“My, that’s handsome,” the American girl said, “and I guess it’s true,” she added generously. “Is there any more to it?”
“There is,” Nicholas Edmonds said, “And they were words which took on a curious significance in the last war. ‘But,’ Garibaldi went on, ‘if ever England should be so circumstanced as to require the help of an ally, cursed be that Italian who would not step forward with me in her defence.’ Many Italians still believe that the curse of Garibaldi followed them throughout the war, and that because of their ignoring his advice to posterity, Italy lost while England won.”
“You don’t say!” exclaimed the American girl again, but a little puzzledly this time because, as a devotee of the art of the film, she naturally thought the Americans had won the war. “Well, now I shall be even more interested in seeing Naples.” And she smiled at Nicholas Edmonds with that air of friendly courtesy which is peculiar to the Americans when information is given—even if it is given ungraciously.
Leonie, who had observed this scene with amusement and listened to the quotation with genuine feeling, still did not lose sight of the fact that something more than carefree pleasure was to be her portion that day.
She made no attempt to keep Claire in sight until the moment of disembarkation came, for she was anxious to avoid an appearance of anything more deliberate than a tiresome determination to share Claire’s sight-seeing.
Consequently, she was alone when Mr. Pembridge, making his way slowly through the people on deck, sought her out, as she stood by the ship’s rail, alternately watching the view ahead or the varied crowd around her.
“Ah, here you are!” He seemed pleased, and triumphant, to have found her. “I thought I might not catch you in time. I’m going to manage to go ashore, after all, for a short while, and if we get a fast car, I think we can manage Pompeii.”
“P-Pompeii?” stammered Leonie, who had completely forgotten her previous request. “But—do you mean Mr. Stour is not going ashore, then?”
“Mr. Stour?” The Senior Surgeon looked taken aback and not particularly pleased. “I suppose he is. In fact, I’m sure he is. He made a special point of it, and he has the whole time free.”
“But I thought you couldn’t both be away at once?”
“On this particular occasion, I arranged it,” Mr. Pembridge said, and she realized suddenly, from the dryness of his tone, that he was not specially gratified by her reception of his news.
“I’m terribly sorry!” She was agitated and showed it. “But I couldn’t possibly come. I mean”—at the faintly haughty look which came over his face, she groped for something more gracious—”I appreciate your kindness, but—but I’m going with Claire and Mr. Stour. It’s all arranged. We shall be together the whole of the time.”
“In that case, please don’t worry,” Mr. Pembridge said, politely but coolly. “I hope you enjoy yourself.”
And he turned away and left her—no doubt to find someone who would more truly appreciate the compliment of being taken ashore by the Senior Surgeon.
Leonie could have cried with vexation, for nothing would have delighted her more than to spend the day in Mr. Pembridge’s company. To her surprise, she realized that now. But instead, she had to hold herself ready to catch the exact moment when Claire and Kingsley Stour went ashore, and firmly attach her unwanted self to them.
When the time came, it was even more embarrassing and shame-making than she had expected. Claire had said nothing more to her, and undoubtedly she and Kingsley Stour had intended to slip off without discussing the matter further.
But Leonie, who kept an eagle eye on disembarking passengers, hurried up to join them at the very last moment, exclaiming with rather overdone heartiness, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Thank goodness I just caught you. I was beginning to think I’d have to go alone.”
Neither of them managed to say a word, and he at least looked little short of disgusted, but Leonie went on talking eagerly, as though all her life she had studied the technique of forcing herself on people who did not want her.
She hated every moment of it. And she quite hated herself, too, even though she knew she was playing this horrid ro1e in the best of causes. But what really made her long to creep away and hide her head was that suddenly she realized Mr. Pembridge was standing quite near, and was a surprised and contemptuous witness of this unedifying scene.
After that her eloquence failed. But she went ashore with Claire and Kingsley Stour—though in a silence that could be felt. There were many happenings that day which Leonie was to remember afterwards with feeling, but none of them equalled in sheer embarrassment that first half-hour after they stepped ashore.
Very much more like ill-assorted tourists than friends, they made their way to the Castel Nuovo, the thirteenth-century castle where the Kings of Anjou and Aragon once held court, and gazed dutifully at the triumphal arch, and the famous Baron’s Hall.
At this point, Leonie—who had never before experienced the sensation of being unwanted—nearly gave up. But, almost at the same moment, evidently Kingsley Stour decided to make the best of it. He had a sense of humor, she knew, and perhaps that was what came to his aid now. At any rate, he suddenly became his good-natured, amusing self, and very much the Assistant Surgeon, who happened to have two of the most charming passengers with him.
After that, it was quite amazingly easy. They lunched together at an amusing restaurant near the San Carlo Opera House, and ate the famous vermicelli alle vongole—served with tomatoes and shellfish which is a specialty of the town.
Then by car they drove out at a tremendous rate along the autostrada to Pompeii and Herculaneum, there to wander among the miraculously preserved remains of the twin towns which were highly-civilized communities when Roman legions still policed a far less advanced Britain.
Time was running short when they returned to Naples itself. But Kingsley Stour insisted on taking the girls for coffee to a wonderfully situated hotel on the hills at the back of the town. Here were indeed some of the most beautiful views of all, and here also they found several of their fellow passengers.
In the square in front of the hotel various hired cars were parked, and everyone seemed to be having a last drink, or going up to the roof-garden to take a last look at Naples and the Bay.
Claire, suddenly tired, decided against climbing to the roof-garden. But the Assistant Surgeon—his good humor and friendliness now completely restored—insisted on taking Leonie up there.
Undoubtedly the view was something to take one’s breath away, and Leonie was vexed that she had not brought her camera with her.
“It’s difficult to capture much on a small film,” her companion told her consolingly. “But—wait a moment—I left mine with Claire. I’ll run down and fetch it now.”
She had no time to protest before he had turned and already disappeared through the narrow doorway which admitted one to the roof. At the same time, an elderly woman whom Leonie thought she recognized as a companion on the Capricorna, spoke to her and asked about various landmarks.
From her newly acquired knowledge, Leonie explained as fully as she could, and for several minutes her interest was captured. Then suddenly, to her surprise and disquiet, there sounded from the wharf where the Capricorna rode the long, warning note of a distant siren.
“Why,” she exclaimed, “that must be the warning for passengers to go aboard! I’d no idea we had left it so late. We must go.”
“Must you?” Her companion smiled sympathetically. “Well, thank you so much for your information.”
“But—aren’t you coming too? Aren’t you a passenger on the Capricorna?”
“No.” The other woman shook her head. “I’m a tourist in
the town. I’m on my own because my husband decided—”
But all Leonie’s courtesy could not keep her to hear what the lady’s husband had decided. Glancing round, she realized to her dismay that there was no one else she recognized on the roof by now. And bidding her companion a hasty goodbye, she hurried down.
There were a few moments of maddening delay when she found that the door at the bottom of the stairs would not open, someone having apparently slipped the bolt by accident on the other side. But after some banging and shaking, she managed to attract attention, and a smiling waiter came to release her.
Thoroughly agitated by now, Leonie hurried through the lounge, not seeing anyone she knew, and feeling the more terrified because of it. She emerged breathless on to the terrace at the front of the hotel—and here she stopped dead. For not only did the whole place look extraordinarily empty and deserted, but in front of her stretched the dusty square without one car in sight.
“The cars!” Leonie exclaimed, turning frantically to a solitary waiter who was going from table to table emptying ash-trays.
“Si, signorina.” He smiled agreeably but uncomprehendingly.
“The cars! Automobile!” In her desperation, she even remembered the Italian word.
“Si, signorina. Soon,” he assured her. “All take people to ship. In half an hour perhaps return.”
“But that’s too late.” Leonie almost wrung her hands. “I want one now. Automobile now—pronto!”
He smiled and shrugged.
“Ship leave, then automobile return,” he explained kindly. “Ship leave soon,” he assured her.
And, as though to add point to his final statement, from the wharf there came again the long, last, warning sound of the Capricorna’s siren.
CHAPTER FIVE
To Leonie, the next ten minutes were exactly like something out of the worst kind of nightmare. In her few words of Italian, and her slightly more serviceable French, she strove to convince the waiter, the hotel porter and finally the manager of the hotel himself that she must—she simply must—have a car to take her to the ship.
The manager understood English, and also the immensity of her predicament, and immediately began to telephone in person, twirling the dial with the utmost good humor and shouting with every conceivable degree of eloquence to unseen garage proprietors who were presumably at the other end of the wire.
But, as though some malignant fate ruled all Leonie’s affairs that day, no car was forthcoming. Unable to bear the suspense of watching the scene at the telephone any longer, Leonie went out distractedly once more on to the veranda, to watch for the possible appearance of a private car, with an owner who might pity her desperate plight and drive her to the ship.
The square, however, remained still, sunny, dusty and empty. And after a few minutes, Leonie, overcome by her position, actually sank down on the steps of the veranda and buried her face in her hands.
It was so humiliating—so maddening, as well as so truly terrifying, and she told herself bitterly that no one with even a grain of efficiency and good sense would have become involved in such a crisis.
She had no idea how long a great ship like the Capricorna might wait for one insignificant passenger. Was there even, she wondered, a way of checking that she had not returned? Surely Claire would report that
she was missing. Unless—
How, in any case, had the whole thing happened? But this was not the most urgent question of the moment. Far more important was to know whether—granted the miracle of a car in the next few minutes—there was still time to reach the ship. And if not, what then? What did one do? Was there a British Consul to whom one could appeal? And could he, in any case?—
With a long-drawn toot from a motor-horn and the shriek of skidding wheels, a dilapidated open car came tearing into the square and drew up with spine-jolting abruptness before the hotel. And, even as Leonie sprang to her feet, out stepped Mr. Pembridge, looking cool and collected, but quite extraordinarily angry.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Get in, you little idiot! You’ve been holding up the whole ship.”
“I know—it wasn’t my fault—I was left behind—” Gasping, almost in tears of relief, she tried to explain. But he was not waiting for anything of that sort. Instead, he almost pushed her into the car, got in after her, and, with another terrific jerk, off they started again, just as the waiter, the porter and the hotel manager came running out on to the veranda, to wave congratulatory farewells, like supers at the end of a scene in an opera.
The car went so fast, and with such an incredible disregard for all the laws of safety, that Leonie attempted no further explanations. The breath was almost shaken out of her, anyway, as they flew along the dusty road, bumping up and down over ruts and taking corners on two wheels.
If Mr. Pembridge had looked less forbidding, she might have clung to him. But, as it was, she just shut her eyes, clung to the side of the car, and hoped she would see her mother again one day, but rather doubted it.
After an astonishingly short but nightmare drive— completely in keeping with everything else which had happened during the last half-hour—they arrived at the ship. And, shepherded by a grim-looking Mr. Pembridge, she walked up the gangway, feeling very shaky at the knees, and trying not to mind that a good many of the passengers lining the ship’s rail laughed and cheered at the sight of her.
She endeavored to look as though she took it all as light-heartedly as they did, but she felt certain that the official view of her escapade was anything but one of amusement.
“Th-thank you for coming to fetch me.” She felt bound to express some sort of gratitude to Mr. Pembridge, as he prepared to leave her at the head of the main stairway. “It really wasn’t my fault—”
“It never is,” Mr. Pembridge told her drily. “But it’s damned inconvenient every time a thoughtless passenger puts us in that position. There very nearly wasn’t time to go and fetch you—and then what do you suppose would have happened?”
“I can’t imagine,” Leonie said, and she spoke almost as curtly as he did, because she was tired of being blamed for a harrowing misfortune. “All I know is that my companions went off without me—I’ve no idea why—and there simply was no car to get me to the boat.”
“Is that so?” Mr. Pembridge eyed her thoughtfully rather than sympathetically. And all at once she knew he was recalling the scene earlier in the day when she had forced herself on a reluctant Claire and Kingsley Stour.
Leonie flushed, though she tried very hard not to.
“Perhaps,” Mr. Pembridge said gravely, “it would be better another time to make sure that you choose companions who value your company too highly to make the mistake of not noticing when you are missing.” Then he went away and left her, with the air of a man who had important duties from which he had already been too long diverted by trifles.
Feeling very sore and angry, Leonie went to her cabin, and was only half mollified when an anxious and almost tearful Claire rushed to embrace her and cry, “Oh, Leonie, what happened? Where were you? I didn’t know what to do. I thought they would sail without you, only Mr. Pembridge made such a fuss and declared he would fetch you himself. And of course they couldn’t very well go without the Senior Surgeon.”
“He—did that?” Her anger with Mr. Pembridge abated a little. But only a little.
“Yes, indeed!” Claire had evidently been impressed by the scene. “He was quite quiet about it, but terrifically authoritative. Otherwise I don’t think anything could have been done Where were you, darling?”
“Where do you think I was?” demanded Leonie crossly, because her nerves were badly frayed by now. “At the hotel where you and that smooth-tongued Kingsley Stour left me flat, of course.”
“Oh, Leonie, we didn’t!” Claire’s cheeks went quite pale, and her eyes were big and dark with horror. “Dear, we thought you were in the car with the Manleys. Someone assured us you were, or of course we would never
have gone.”
“Kingsley Stour knew I was on the roof,” Leonie insisted. “He had left me there when he went to get his camera.”
“But when he got downstairs everyone was saying it was time we left, and someone told him you had followed him down almost immediately—”
“Who told him?” Leonie asked stubbornly.
“I don’t know. But we—he was sure of it.”
Leonie looked straight at her pretty companion, and saw nothing but candor and concern in her face.
“All right,” she said more gently. “I’m perfectly sure you didn’t leave me on purpose. But he knew I was there all right, and I don’t believe any of his stories about being assured by someone unnamed that I had already gone in one of the other cars.”
“Oh, Leonie, you mustn’t think such things of Kingsley!”
“But I do,” Leonie replied quietly. “And the door at the bottom of the stairs leading from the roof had been bolted, too.”
“By whom?” Claire looked bewildered.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Leonie said grimly. Claire stared at her.
“You mean—you can’t mean that you think Kingsley did it! Deliberately. So that you should be left behind and miss the boat. Why should he, anyway?”
Leonie saw that she had over-reached herself, unless she meant to admit far more knowledge to Claire than would be wise.
“He doesn’t like me,” she said slowly. “He was perfectly mad at my coming ashore with you both—”
“But that was no more than passing annoyance,” Claire protested. “If you want to know, we rather liked the idea of going off on our own and, just for once, maybe we weren’t anxious to have even you with us. But there was no lasting resentment about that—”
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