Thirty seconds later I was explaining things to an open-mouthed girl in the arbour. As I finished, I heard the car coming round from the garage.
“Come along, dear.” I glanced at my watch. “With any luck we shall just catch the seven-ten on to Whinnerley. Remember, you’re terribly upset and simply frantic about your jewellery, especially the tiara Uncle George gave you. Do you think you could cry? I should have to kiss you then.”
Again the faint smile.
The next minute we were in the car, rushing down the avenue. There was the white banner, hanging very still now, for the faint breeze had died with the day. As we approached the lodge gates I leaned forward and looked across her – she was on my right – looked away over the park to where the sun had set. The sky was flaming.
“Sic transit,” said I.
“Goodbye, backwater,” said she.
Her voice was not unsteady, but there was that in her tone that made me look at her. Her lashes were wet.
As the car swung out of the gates, our hands touched. I took hers in mine and held it. Then I started. It was the left hand, but there was no ring upon its fingers. I tightened my hold. So we sat for two minutes or more. Then:
“Do you think they would see?” I said, glancing at the chauffeur and groom.
“I’m afraid they might. But—”
“But what, darling?”
“It wouldn’t matter very much if they did, would it?”
We reached the station simultaneously with the seven-ten. As the groom opened the door –
“Come along, dear.” I handed her out. Turning to the servant, “Bring the bag and the dressing-case,” I added. “Quick!”
“Yes, sir.”
A small boy waved an implement and uttered a feeble protest about tickets, but we thrust past him on to the platform. There I looked round wildly.
“Where’s Delphine?” I cried.
“I don’t believe she’s come,” wailed my companion.
I turned to the groom.
“You’d better go back,” I said. “Put those things down and go back to the car, in case we miss her ladyship’s maid. Don’t let her go off in the wagonette.”
“Very good, sir.”
He put the luggage on a seat and ran back to the exit. Exactly opposite to where we were standing was a first-class carriage…
As the guard’s whistle was blown: “Have you got my bag, Peter?” said a plaintive voice.
“Yes, m’dear,” and Sir Peter and Lady Tagel passed down the platform. We watched them greedily.
The train began to move.
“The last lap,” said Berry. “Courage, my travel-stained comrades. Where was it we broke down? Oh, yes, Croxtan Gruff. Such a sweet name, so full of promise, so—”
Then he took his head in and pulled up the window.
“Fancy you two being in the next carriage all the time,” said Daphne. “I expect Boy’s introduced himself, Julia dear. Yes, I thought so. Still for what it’s worth, my brother – Lady Julia Lory.”
Which is why she’s ‘my lady’. Though she always says it isn’t.
10: Pride Goeth Before
“Who is Silvia? What is she?
That all her swains commend her.
Holy, fair, and wise is she;
The heaven such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.”
The song and its melody floated out into the night, away and over the sleeping countryside. In no way breaking the silence; rising up out of it, rather. It was as if Nature dreamed as she lay sleeping, a dream clear-cut, melodious. Over all the moon hung full, turning the world to silver. Never had music so fairy a setting.
“Then to Sylvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.”
Half past eleven o’clock of a fine moonlit night, and I was alone with the car all among the Carinthian Alps. It was for Fladstadt that I was making. That was the Bairlings’ nearest town. Their place, St Martin, lay twenty odd miles from Fladstadt. But in the town people would show me the way. At St Martin I should find Daphne and the others, newly come from Vienna this afternoon. Friends of Jonah’s, the Bairlings. None of us others knew them.
At ten o’clock in the morning I had slid out of Trieste, reckoning to reach Fladstadt in twelve hours. And, till I lost my way, I had come well. I had lost it at half past nine and only discovered that I had lost it an hour later. It was too late to turn back then. I tried to get on and across by byroads – always a dangerous game. Just when I was getting desperate I had chanced on a signpost pointing to the town I sought. The next moment one of the tyres had gone.
The puncture I did not mind. The car had detachable wheels, and one was all ready, waiting to be used. But when I found that I had no jack… Better men than I would have sworn. The imperturbable Jonah would have stamped about the road. As for Berry, with no one there to suffer his satire, suppressed enmity would have brought about a collapse. He would probably have lost his memory.
There was nothing for it, but to drive slowly forward on the flat tyre. When I came to a village I could rouse an innkeeper, and if the place did not boast a jack, at least sturdy peasants should raise the car with a stout pole. Accordingly, I had gone on.
For the first five miles I had not lighted on so much as a barn. Then suddenly I had swung round a bend of the road to see a great white mansion right ahead of me. The house stood solitary by the roadside, dark woods rising steep behind. No light came from its windows. Turreted, white-walled, dark-roofed in the moonlight, it might have been the outpost of some fairy town. The building stood upon the left-hand side of the way, and, as I drew slowly alongside, wondering if I dared knock upon its gates for assistance, I found that house and road curled to the left together. Round the bend I had crept, close to the white façade. As I turned, I saw a light above me, shining out over a low balcony of stone. I had stopped the car and the engine, and stepped on tiptoe to the other side of the road. From there I could see the ceiling of a tall, first floor room, whose wide, open windows led on to the balcony. I saw no figure, no shadow. For a minute or two I had heard no sound. Then, with no warning, had come an exquisite touching of keys and a girl’s voice…
“To her let us garlands bring.”
The melody faded and ceased. The refrain melted into the silence. For a moment I stood still, my eyes on the balcony above. Then I slipped noiselessly to the car, picked up a rug from the back seat and laid it, folded small, on the edge of the car’s back. Half on the padded leather and half on the cape hood, strapped tight, I laid it. Standing upon this perilous perch, I was just able to lay my fingers upon the cold edge of the balcony’s floor. With an effort I could grasp one of the stone balusters. An idea occurred to me, and I got carefully down. One of the luggage carrier’s straps was six feet long. I had it loose in a moment. A minute later and I had wheedled it round the baluster I could clutch. Buckled, it made a loop three feet in length that would have supported a bullock. I was about to soar, when I remembered the car. I jumped down once more, turned the key of the switch, and slipped it into my pocket. No one could steal her now. The next second I had my foot in the thong.
I sat on the coping, looking into the room. Broad and lofty it was, its walls hung with a fair blue paper. A handsome tapestry, looped up a little on one side, masked the tall double doors, and in the far corner stood a great tiled stove for burning wood. From the ceiling was hanging a basin of alabaster – an electric fitting, really. The powerful light of its hidden lamps spread, softened, all about the chamber. The blue walls bore a few reproductions of famous pictures. Meisonnier seemed in high favour, while Sir Joshua’s Nellie O’Brien surveyed the salon with her quiet, steady gaze. A great bowl of fresh flowers stood on the grand piano.
The girl herself was sitting half on the edge of an old gate table in the middle of the room. The toe of one rosy
slipper touched the polished boards, and her other foot swung gently to and fro. One of her short sleeves she had pushed up to the shoulder and was looking critically at a scratch, which showed red, high up on her round, white arm. A simple evening frock of old rose colour, dainty old gold slippers to keep her feet. Her skin was wonderfully white, her hair dark and brown. This was cut straight across her forehead in French fashion, and then brought down and away over the ears. Her face was towards me, as she examined her arm. I could see she was very pretty.
“Don’t you think you ought to apologize?” she said suddenly.
Her words took me by surprise. For a moment I did not answer.
“Eh?” she said, looking up.
“Yes,” I said, “I do. Fact is, I haven’t any, and the gardens are all shut now.”
“Any what?” she said, letting the sleeve slip back into its place.
“Garlands, Silvia.”
She smiled for an instant. Then:
“How dare you come up like this?”
“I wanted to see what Silvia was like.”
She stifled a little yawn.
“You heard me say she was holy, fair and wise.”
“And excelling, I know. But the second verse asks, ‘Is she kind as she is fair?’”
“Well?”
“I came up to see if she was.”
“And is she?”
“I don’t think she is quite.”
“Can you get down all right?”
“In fact, I’m sure she isn’t,” I said. “But then—”
“What?”
“She’d have to be most awfully kind to be that, Silvia. Goodbye.”
“I say,” said Silvia.
“Yes?” I said, with one leg over the balustrade.
“As you’re here, if you would like to come in and sit down for a little – I mean, I don’t want to seem inhospitable.”
“I knew it,” said I. “I knew she was, really. Goodbye, Silvia. Thank you very, very much all the same. I’ve found out what I wanted to know.”
I slipped over the coping and set my foot in the thong. There was a rustle of silk and a quick step on the balcony. Then two soft hands took hold of my wrists. I looked up at the big eyes, the face white in the moonlight, the dark, straight-cut hair.
“Wait!” she said. “Who are you and where do you come from?”
“My name’s Valentine,” said I. “I am a gentleman of Verona.”
The small mouth twitched.
“Be serious,” she said.
I told her my name and spoke of my run from Trieste, adding that I sought Fladstadt and St Martin. She heard me in silence. Then:
“Are you tired?” she said quietly.
“A little.”
“Then I tell you that you may come in and rest for a while. Yes, and talk to me. Presently you can go on. I will show you the way.”
She let go my wrists and stood up, clasping her hands behind her head.
“You’re very hospit—”
“It isn’t a question of hospitality or anything else,” she said slowly. “I just tell you that you may come in if you want to.”
I gazed at the slim, straight figure, the bare bent arms, the soft white throat. Then I drew myself up and bestrode the coping.
“Of course,” I said, “this is a dream. In reality I am fast asleep in the car. Possibly I have met with an accident and am still unconscious. Yet your hands felt warm…”
“And your wrists very cold, sir. Come along in and sit down. Even if you are dreaming I suppose you’ll be able to drink some coffee if I give it you.”
“If you give it me.”
I drew up the thong and followed her into the room. She motioned me to sit in a deep chair and put cigarettes by my side. Then she lighted the lamps that were set beneath two little silver coffee pots, standing on a tray on the gate table. I watched her in silence. When the lamps were burning, she turned and seated herself on the table as I had seen her first. She regarded me curiously, swinging that little right leg.
“I shouldn’t have liked you to think me unkind,” she said, with a grave smile.
I rose to my feet.
“Silvia,” I said.
“Sir.”
“I do not know what to say. Yet I want to say something. I think you are very gentle, Silvia. If I were old, I think the sight of you would make me feel young again, and if Shakespeare had known you, I think he would have written more sonnets and fewer plays.”
Silvia spread out deprecating white arms and bowed low.
“I doubt it,” she said. “But I know he would have given me a cigarette.”
“I beg your pardon,” said I, handing her the box.
When I had given her a light, she turned again to the coffee.
“It ought to be hot enough now, I think. D’you mind using my cup? I don’t take sugar.”
“It will be a privilege, Silvia.”
“Milk?”
“Please.”
The hot café-au-lait was very grateful. Despite the season, my long drive through the mountain air had left me a little cold. I took my seat on an arm of the deep chair. Outside, somewhere close at hand, a clock struck twelve.
“The witching hour,” said I. “How is it you’re not in bed and asleep, Silvia?”
“Sleep! What with the noise of passing cars?”
“I forgot,” said I. “The continuous roar of the traffic here must be very trying. The congestion between here and Villach is a disgrace. I met three carts in the last forty odd miles myself. Can’t something be done about it?”
“–and the curiosity of cold-wristed burglars – By the way, I can’t get over your climbing up like that, you know. It’s all right, as it happens, and I’m rather glad you did, but this might have been a bedroom or – or anything.”
“Or a bathroom. Of course it might. But then, you see, you very seldom find a piano in the bathroom nowadays, Silvia. Incidentally, what a sweet room this is.”
“Do you like my pictures?”
“Awfully. Especially the one on the gate table.”
My lady blew smoke out of a faint smile. Then:
“If it comes to that, there’s rather a good one on the arm of your chair,” she said.
“Yes. By the same artist, too. But the one on the table knocks it. That’ll be hung on the line year after year.”
“What line?”
“At the Academy of Hearts. I beg your pardon, my dear. It slipped out.”
Silvia threw back her dainty head and laughed merrily.
Presently:
“But the one on the table’s damaged,” she said. “Didn’t you see the scratch?”
“And the one on the chair wants cleaning badly. In its present state they wouldn’t hang it anywhere except at Pentonville. But the scratch. How did you get it?”
“Ah! That was the Marquis. We were by the window, and when you slipped that strap round, he jumped like anything. He was in my arms, you see.”
“I’m awfully sorry; but do you often embrace nobles, and how do you say goodbye to dukes? I mean to say, I haven’t got my patent with me, and my coronet’s in the store – I mean, strong room; but anyone who doesn’t know me will tell you – Besides, I never scratch.”
“The Marquis is a Blue Persian.”
“These foreign titles,” I murmured scornfully.
“Don’t be patronizing,” said Silvia. “You know where Pride goes. Besides, I’ve met some very nice counts.”
I leaned forward. “I know. So’ve I. Barons, too. The last I struck’s doing seven years now. But you’re English, Silvia. English, d’you hear? I’ll bet they’re all over you out here. I know them. I’m a fool, but I don’t like to think of your – I mean, I’d rather be an English – er—”
“Burglar?”
We both laughed, and I got up. “Silvia,” I said, “tell me the best way to Fladstadt and turn me out while there is yet time.”
“What do you mean?”
“This.
I’ve already been in love with you for a quarter of an hour. In another ten minutes I shall be sitting at your feet. Half an hour later—”
“You will be just running into Fladstadt. It’s straight on. You can’t miss the way.”
“And St Martin? Have you ever heard of it?”
She puckered her brows.
“Isn’t that where some English people have a place? People called – er – Waring, is it?”
“Bairling,” said I.
“Bairling. That’s it. Let’s see. I’m afraid it’s some miles from Fladstadt.”
“Twenty, I’m told.”
“About that.”
“And this is how far?”
“From Fladstadt? About twenty-three.”
I groaned. “Forty-three miles to go, and a flat tyre,” I said. “How far’s the next village?”
“Why?”
“I want to get another wheel on.”
“If you like to wait here a little longer, my brother’ll be back with the car. He’s on the way from Fladstadt now. That’s why I’m sitting up. He’ll give you a jack.”
“You’re awfully good, Silvia. But have you forgotten what I said?”
“About sitting at my feet? No, but I don’t think you meant it. If I did, I should have rung long ago.”
“Thank you,” said I.
“Of course,” she went on; “you’re only a burglar, but you are – English.”
“Yes, Silvia. I mightn’t have been, though.”
“You mean, I didn’t know whether you were English or not, till after you’d climbed up? Nor I did. But one of the men’s up, and there’s a bell push under the flap of the table.”
She slipped a hand behind her. “I’m touching it now,” she added.
“I wondered why you didn’t sit in a chair,” I said, with a slow smile. A deep flush stole over the girl’s features. For a moment she looked at me with no laughter in her eyes. Then she slipped off the table and moved across the room to an open bureau. She seemed to look for something. Then she strolled back to the table and took her seat on its edge once more.
“Is that a car coming?” she said suddenly, her dark eyes on the floor.
I listened.
“I don’t think so,” I said, and stepped out on to the balcony.
Brother of Daphne Page 16
