Brother of Daphne

by Dornford Yates

  After waiting a minute or two to compose ourselves and settle finally our plan of action, we followed gaily in Berry’s wake.

  I was just saying in a clear voice that, perhaps, it was rather soon after lunch to bathe again, when we came upon them the other side of a large rock. One and all they sprawled easily on the sand in the hot sunshine, as if care were a thing of the past – forgotten, never known. This was no more than I had expected of them. All of us hate to be caught bending. Berry especially. That artist was busily fashioning a miniature rampart of sand. He looked up at my greeting, and rose to his feet.

  I introduced them all to the Mermaid.

  “We made friends at lunch,” I explained, “over the lobsters.”

  Jonah winced.

  “And then, as we wanted a walk, we thought we’d come along to fetch you back to tea.”

  There was a polite murmur of appreciation.

  “I must say,” I went on, “it is glorious. I almost wish I’d given up my lunch, too.”

  The Mermaid stiffened, but none of the others noticed the error. I felt myself colouring like a fool.

  “Aren’t you going to bathe again?” said Berry.

  There was the note of eagerness in his voice, and I saw a vision of Berry in my clothes striding triumphantly homewards.

  “I don’t think so,” I said carelessly. “Rather too soon after lunch. But I’m going to take off my coat and sit down in the sun.”

  After all, he couldn’t do much with a coat.

  The Mermaid was already seated between Daphne and Jill, talking vivaciously. Jonah pretended to be asleep. After a furtive glance at the top of the cliff, Berry resumed his building operations with awful deliberation.

  After a while: “Well, if you aren’t going to bathe any more, aren’t you going to dress?” said I.

  “And leave this beauty spot?” said Berry. “Shame, shame on you, brother! Go your ways if you will. ‘Then wander forth the sons of Belial.’ You’ll just be in time. But leave us here in peace. I have almost evolved a post-futurist picture which will revolutionize the artistic world. I shall call it ‘The Passing of a Bathe: a Fantasy.’ It will present to the minds of all who have not seen it, what they would have rejected for lunch if they had. To get the true effect, no one must see it.”

  “But if some one does?”

  “I shall have already left the country.”

  This was too much for Daphne, and she asked Jonah to come and help her to get some mussels. They walked away together.

  “What on earth does she want mussels for?” said I.

  “The garden paths,” said Berry. “Our cobbles aren’t wearing at all well.”

  I turned to the Mermaid. She was chattering away to Jill, with her back towards me. Over her shoulder, Jill’s grey eyes regarded me wistfully. I made a rapid calculation. Yes, the porter ought to have arrived by now. I had told him to keep out of sight till I called him.

  I waited until Daphne and Jonah came strolling back empty-handed. They had forgotten about the mussels. Daphne’s brows were knitted, and Jonah was looking ruefully at the sun. It was getting on for half–past three. One could guess that much.

  I rose and picked up my coat.

  “I say, aren’t you ever going to dress any more?” I said.

  Daphne swallowed before replying, and with the tail of my eye I saw Berry start and wreck six inches of architecture. Then: “Presently,” said my big sister. “You two go on and order a big tea at the farm, and by the time it’s ready—”

  “You can’t have tea like that,” I said. “There’ll be a row.”

  In the dead silence that followed this remark, the Mermaid rose and brushed the sand from her dress.

  I went up to Daphne and kissed her.

  “Don’t think I’m not proud of you, darling, and Jill looks lovely, too, but they wouldn’t stand it, you know.”

  No one stirred except the Mermaid, and she, obedient to the instructions I had given her, strolled naturally enough towards the path up the cliff. The other four were looking at me straitly – I could feel their gaze – wondering whether, whether I knew.

  I shaded my eyes with my hand and stared seawards.

  “Do dress,” I said absently.

  “We shall dress when we want to,” said Daphne sharply.

  I turned to see the Mermaiden reach the path. A good start is everything.

  “If you really mean that,” I said slowly, “I’ll send your other clothes back again.” Then I raised my voice:

  “Porter!” I cried.

  “Sir!” came from above us.

  “Behold, now—”

  I let the rest of the quotation go, as I wanted to rejoin the mermaid, looking as she had last seen me. Berry said afterwards that Jonah gained on me while the sand lasted, but the loose stones at the foot of the path were my salvation.

  As I passed the porter, I told him to say that a square meal would be awaiting them at the farm. We ordered it generously enough, but, despite our hunger, the Mermaid and I decided to have our own tea at the hotel. Thither we set out to walk through the fields. Suddenly she stopped as we were crossing a deep lane.

  “I don’t know why you’re here,” she said.

  “Try and think, Mermaid.”

  “You’d better go and have another bathe.”

  “Now, Mermaid, you know—”

  “Afterwards you’ll be wishing you had given up your tea, if you don’t.”

  “I knew we should have this,” I said.

  “Well, it wasn’t very polite of you, was it?”

  “It wouldn’t have been.”

  She eyed me scornfully for a moment. Then: “I’m disappointed in you,” she said.

  “You’ll be more so in a moment,” said I.

  “Why?”

  “You’re not going to have a change, after all.”

  “Don’t say you’re going to make—”

  “Love to you? Yes, I am.”

  She looked me up and down for a moment.

  “And this is the man,” she said slowly – “this is the man—”

  “Who said he was not in love with you, and that he didn’t want never to leave your side again. Yes, it is. I might have known better than to say a thing like that. All the same, it wasn’t meant for a challenge, Mermaiden.” She looked at me with a mischievous smile. “And now—”

  I broke off and took her small, brown hand. Up went the dark eyebrows.

  “I shouldn’t like you to think that I thought you wanted to kiss me,” she said.

  “I think nothing,” said I. “But one thing I know.”

  “And that is?”

  “That it would be a crime if I didn’t. The very stones would cry out.”

  “I don’t think they would.”

  “I’m afraid they might,” said I.

  3: When it was Dark

  Daphne pointed suddenly to the stile.

  “This is it,” she said. “We get over here and go across the meadow, and there’s the wood beyond the gate that we’ve got to – to – what’s the word?”

  “Encompass?” I hazarded.

  “Skirt?” said Jonah.

  “Skirt – thank you – till we come upon the cart track.”

  “And then?” said I.

  “Then we’re all right,” she said defiantly.

  “Which means, that about two hours from now we shall, with a fine disregard for the highest traditions of British pugilism, strike the high road below the belt of firs, a good six miles from the roof-tree we should never have left. God forgive you.”

  “Am I,” said Berry, “am I to understand in cold blood that, reckoning three miles to the league, some four leagues lie directly between me and the muffins?”

  “You are,” said I.

  “To think that my wife is a bag,” he said wearily.

  It was an autumn afternoon in the county of Devon. There were we staying at a retired farmhouse, fleeting the time carelessly, simply, healthily.

 
Sickened by forty-eight hours of continuous rain, we had fastened greedily upon the chance which a glorious October day at length offered, and had set out, complete with sandwiches, for one of the longer walks. Daphne constituted herself guide. We never asked her to. But as such we just accepted her. We were quite passive in the matter.

  Going, she had guided us with a careless confidence which shamed suspicion. But coming back, she had early displayed unmistakable signs of hesitation and anxiety. Thereafter she had plunged desperately, with the result that at three o’clock we found ourselves reduced to a swine-herd who had been drinking. The latter detailed to us four several routes, and assured us that it was utterly impossible to miss any one of them.

  To put it quite shortly, he was mistaken.

  Within half an hour we had missed them all.

  Lost on a heath (which I have every reason to suppose was blasted) in a strange county, and not a soul in sight. That was the position.

  We plodded in silence across the meadow.

  “Didn’t say anything about a bog, did he?” said Berry, drawing his left leg out of some mire with a noise that made me shudder. Jill slid a warm arm into mine, and broke into long laughter.

  “Don’t encourage the fool,” said Daphne.

  We skirted the wood successfully to find that there never could have been a cart track.

  Berry leaned against a wall of stones.

  “What a picture,” he said ecstatically. “The setting sun, the little band, the matron and the maid, mist rising, shadows falling – subject for next year’s Academy, ‘The Walkers.’”

  “Idiot!” said Daphne shortly.

  “Do I hear aright?” said Berry.

  “I said ‘idiot.’”

  Berry covered his face with his hat, and begged us to excuse his emotion. Daphne stamped her foot.

  “I have an idea,” said I.

  “If it’s one of your usual ones, we don’t want it,” said Daphne.

  “Thank you, dear. We are undoubtedly lost. No, that is not my idea. But, as a would-have-been boy-scout, I recognize in this spot a natural camping place. That water is close at hand, we know from Scout Berry. Jonah can take the first watch, Berry the second, Jonah the third, and – and so on. My own energy I shall reserve for the dog watch.”

  “Oh, stop him, somebody,” wailed Daphne.

  “I said dog watch, dear, not stopwatch. Before we bivouac I will scale yon beetling mount if peradventure I may perceive one that will point us homeward. Scout Berry!”

  “Sir,” said Berry.

  “You know your duties!”

  “I do that, sir.”

  “’Tis well. If the worst comes to the worst, kill the women out of hand, or with your own hand – I don’t care which. Age before honesty, you know.”

  With that I left them, and turned to climb the hill which rose sharply on our right, its side dotted with furze bushes, and its crest hidden by a clump of trees.

  Five minutes later I was back among them again.

  “Well,” said Daphne eagerly, “you haven’t been right to the top, have you?”

  “Oh, no. I only came back to say that when I said ‘Age before honesty’ just now, I really meant ‘Death before dishonour,’ you know,” and I turned up the bank again.

  I regret to say that Berry and Jonah thought it decent to attempt to stone my retreating figure. Ten minutes’ walking brought me to a clearing on the top, which afforded a magnificent view. Hill and dale, woodland and pasture, stone wall and hedgerow, as far as I could see. The sinking sun was lighting gloriously the autumn livery of the woods, and, far in the distance, I could see the silver streak of the river flowing to the village on whose skirts stood the house that was our bourne.

  When I returned to the camp to find them gone I was rather bored.

  The note that they had left made it worse:

  “Regret compelled retire owing to serious outflanking movement on part of the Blues. Sorry, but that’s the worst of being picket. The natural intuition which characterizes all BSS will enable you to discern our route. So long.”

  Although I tried four times – mainly because Jonah had my matches – I was unable to discern their route. At last I came down to shouting, but only succeeded in arousing the curiosity of three cows and a well-nourished ram. The latter was so well nourished that when he had stamped for the second time, I thought it prudent to get over the wall. I did so with about four seconds to spare. Nothing daunted, the winning animal took a short run and butted the wall with surprising vigour. When three large stones had fallen for seven runs, I offered up a short prayer that Berry & Co. might return to look for me, and hastened to put two more walls between us.

  I suppose it was the river that I saw in the distance, from the summit of that fair hill…

  Three and a half hours later I came upon the first signs of animal life as opposed to vegetable – since the ram.

  Up hill, down dale, along roads, along imitation roads, along future roads, along past roads, across moors I had tramped doggedly, blindly, and rather angrily. If I had had one match – only one match – it would have been different.

  Yes, it was a dog-cart. And through the gloom I could distinctly see the shape of some one sitting in it, holding the reins.

  I quickened my steps.

  “I say, have you got a match?”

  A girl’s voice.

  “That’s about the worst thing you could have said.” said I.

  “Why?”

  “Because a match is the one thing I’ve been wanting for the last four hours.”

  “Sorry. Swear for me, will you?”

  “Certainly, madam. What sort of an oath would you like? We have a very large assortment in stock – fresh lot in only this afternoon. Let me see. Now, I’ve got a very nice thing in oaths—”

  “I want a round one.”

  “Round? Certainly. And the usual black, I presume. We have been doing rather a lot in the way of blue oaths lately. No? Damn. How do you like that, madam?”

  “That’ll do.”

  “Much obliged to you, madam. Sign, please. Nothing else I can show you? Nothing in the curse line?”

  “No, thanks. Good day.”

  There was a pause. Presently: “I said ‘good day,’” said the girl.

  “Yes,” said I; “but, then, we were only playing.”

  “Oh, were you?”

  “Anyway, you haven’t paid yet,” I said desperately.

  “How much do you want? It was a very common oath.”

  “I’ve plenty more, if you like. For instance—”

  “Hush! Not before the mare. What’s your price?”

  “The privilege of accompanying you on foot till we can get a light. You can’t drive at more than a walking pace on this road without lamps. And it’s not right for you to be alone.”

  “You are very good. But are you going my way?”

  “I’ve not the faintest idea.”

  “Are you lost, then?”

  “Hopelessly. Have been for hours.”

  “Where do you want to get to?”

  “A farmhouse three miles out of Lorn.”

  “Which side of Lorn?”

  “Well, if I’m the same side of Lorn as I was at one o’clock this afternoon, it’s the other side.”

  “Well, but aren’t you?”

  “My dear girl, I don’t know.”

  She laughed. “Well, I’m going to Lorn, anyway,” she said, “so come along.”

  “Heaven will reward you,” said I, and climbed into the cart.

  “You’d better drive.”

  I took the reins. We had to go very slowly, for it was one of the imitation roads, and when we were not scaling an ascent that positively beetled, we were going down a descent which I was glad it was too dark to see. After a minute or two, I took the near wheel eighteen inches up the bank.

  “Sorry,” said the girl, as she disengaged herself from my neck and arms and resumed her seat, “but it was your fault for taki
ng it up the bank.”

  “I know. I hope you weren’t frightened. I’m awfully sorry.”

  “You drive rather well, considering.”

  “Steady the Buffs. Considering what?”

  “Considering it’s your first shot.”

  In silence I gave her the reins.

  “After that,” I said icily, “after that there is no more to be said. Was it for this that, at the age of four, I was borne by two reluctant goats along the Hastings strand? Pardon me, those last six words comprise an iambic line – a fact which is itself the best evidence of my agitation. It is a little winning way I have. Most criminals when charged make no reply. When I am arrested, I shall protest in anapaests. As I was saying, was it for this–?”

  “Stop, stop,” she said, laughing; “you drive all right – beautifully.”

  I took the reins again.

  It was getting very cold, and I put the rug carefully about her.

  “You’re very good,” she said, “but wait.”

  I felt her hand on my knee.

  “Oh, you haven’t got any of it.”

  She would have untucked it again if I hadn’t caught her wrist.

  “That’s all right,” I said. “I’m not allowed rugs.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “My dear, doctor’s orders. The last thing the great Harley Street specialist said to me, as I pushed the two pounds two shillings beneath the current number of The Lancet, was, ‘Now, mind, no rugs. Eat and drink what you like. Smoke in moderation, and get up as late as you please. But no rugs.’”

  As the wrist felt unconvinced, I slipped it through my arm, where it lay comfortably enough.

  “Do you often do this sort of thing?” I said presently.

  “Get late coming home and have no lights? Not often.”

  “I’m glad of that – I’m sure it’s very dangerous. Good whips like myself aren’t as common as blackberries. And so few tramps one meets nowadays can drive really well.”