Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  There is good anchorage out of the tidal current at Scaletta, some few miles below Messina, on the Sicilian side, and towards this well-known water the Erinna led the way, followed at a short distance by the Lancashire Lass.

  Logotheti and Baraka watched her, and the girl recognised Van Torp on the bridge of his yacht, without even using glasses, for she had eyes like an eagle’s, and the American millionaire stood alone at one end of the bridge looking towards her.

  Logotheti had told her that Kralinsky was on board, and that she should see him as soon as both yachts could anchor. He explained that it was an unforeseen coincidence, and that Mr. Van Torp must have taken him on board somewhere on the previous day. To the Greek’s surprise, Baraka showed no outward sign of emotion. He had promised to take her to the man, and had said that he was near at hand; that the meeting should take place sooner than had been intended hardly surprised her, because she had been so perfectly sure that it was near. Her only preoccupation now was about her appearance in her ready-made serge and blouse, when she had meant to show herself to Kralinsky in the glory of a beautiful and expensive Feringhi dress.

  But Logotheti explained that even the richest Feringhi ladies often wore little blue serge frocks on yachts, and told her to watch the Lancashire Lass with her glasses, as there were three very great Feringhi ladies on board, and she might see one, and be reassured; and presently she saw Lady Maud walking alone on the promenade deck, in clothes very like her own, excepting that they were black instead of dark blue. So Baraka was satisfied, but she never took her eyes from the following yacht, for she hoped that Kralinsky would come out and show himself.

  All at once he was there, taking off his white cap to Lady Maud, and they stood still facing each other, and talking.

  ‘I see him,’ Baraka said in a low voice, without lowering her glasses. ‘It is he.’

  Logotheti, who had been much absorbed in thinking about his coming interview with Margaret, raised his glasses too, for he was curious to see the man at last. He had known Leven for years, though never intimately, as he knew a vast number of people in London, and he was struck at once by the resemblance in size, build, and complexion.

  ‘He is fatter than he was, and paler,’ Baraka said quietly, ‘but it is he. He is speaking earnestly with the beautiful woman in black. I can see well. He likes her, but she does not like him. I think she is telling him so. I am glad. But she is more beautiful than Baraka, even in those poor clothes. When he sees me, he will deny me, because he likes the beautiful woman in black. I will tell Spiro to be ready. It is a pity, but I see there will be no other way. It is his portion and mine. It is a great pity, for I have been happy with you.’

  Instead of any look of anger, Logotheti now saw an expression of profound resignation in her lovely young features. If he had been less anxious about his own affairs, he would have smiled at her simplicity.

  ‘When we are on that ship you will let me talk with him a little apart from the rest, and Spiro shall go behind him and wait, looking at me. If he denies me, I will make a sign, and Spiro shall shoot him, and then kill me. It will be very easy and quick.’

  ‘And what will become of Spiro?’ inquired Logotheti gravely.

  ‘I do not know,’ Baraka said quietly. ‘Perhaps he will lose his head. How can I tell? But he is a good servant, and will obey me. Afterwards it will not matter, for he is really a Musulman, and will go at once to paradise if he dies, because he has killed a Christian.’

  ‘But you are a Musulman, and he is to kill you also. What about that?’

  ‘I am only a woman,’ answered Baraka with supreme indifference. ‘Now I will call Spiro and tell him what he is to do. He has a good revolver.’

  Logotheti let her clap her hands and send the steward for her man, and she rose when he appeared and made him follow her a little way along the deck. The interview did not last long. She handed him her glasses and made him look carefully at the intended victim; then she apparently repeated her brief instructions again, pointing here and there to the deck at her feet, to show him how they were to stand; after which she turned quietly, came back to Logotheti’s side, and sat down again.

  ‘He understands,’ she said. ‘It will be quite easy.’

  But Logotheti, looking past her as she came forward, had met Spiro’s eyes; and he felt not even the slightest anxiety for Kralinsky’s safety, nor for Baraka’s. He was still wondering what he should say to Margaret, but while he tried to think it over, his eyes dwelt on the noble little profile of the slender Asiatic girl at his side; and it occurred to him that, although she had worn man’s clothes and done things that few women would dare to do, for the one purpose of her life, she would much rather die than show herself on the stage in a very low dress before thousands of people and sing to them, and take money for doing it; and he remembered a time, not much more than two years past, when the mere thought had driven the idea of marrying the Primadonna quite out of his head for a while, and that, after all, it had been her physical attraction that had overcome the prejudice, making him say that he was as much in love with the Cordova as he had been with Margaret Donne, that ‘very nice English girl.’ For men are changeable creatures after they think they have changed themselves to suit their tastes or their ideals, and the original man in them, good or bad, fine or coarse, generally comes back in the great moments.

  At a distance, Logotheti had supposed that he could somehow account to the Diva for the position in which he had foolishly placed himself, because he had done nothing and said nothing that he would have been ashamed of before her, if she knew the whole truth; and he fancied that even if they quarrelled she would make up with him before long, and marry him in the end. He had a good opinion of himself as a desirable husband; and with reason, since he had been persecuted for years with offers of excellent marriages from mothers of high degree who had daughters to dispose of. And beneath that conviction there lurked, in spite of him, the less worthy thought, that singers and actresses were generally less squeamish than women of the world about the little entanglements of their intended husbands.

  But now, at the very moment of meeting Margaret, he knew that if he found her very angry with him, he would simply listen to what she had to say, make a humble apology, state the truth coldly, and return to his own yacht with Baraka, under her very eyes, and in full sight of Lady Maud and Mrs. Rushmore. Besides, he felt tolerably sure that when Spiro failed to carry out the young Tartar girl’s murderous instructions, she would forget all about the oath she had sworn by the ‘inviolable water of the Styx’ and try to kill him with her own hands, so that it would be necessary to take her away abruptly, and even forcibly.

  Matters did not turn out as he expected, however, after the two yachts stopped their engines in the quiet waters off Scaletta, under the Sicilian mountains.

  Before the Erinna had quite lost her way, Logotheti had his naphtha launch puffing alongside, and he got into it with Baraka and Spiro, and the Lancashire Lass had barely time to lower her ladder, while still moving slowly, before the visitors were there.

  Baraka bade Logotheti go up first, and trod daintily on the grated steps as she followed him. The chief mate and chief steward were waiting at the gangway. The mate saluted; the steward led the visitors to the main saloon, ushered them in, and shut the door. Spiro was left outside, of course.

  Lady Maud was there, sitting in an easy-chair in the farthest corner. She nodded to Logotheti, but did not rise, and paid no more attention to Baraka than if she had not existed.

  Mr. Van Torp shook hands coldly with Logotheti; Baraka walked directly to Kralinsky, and then stood stone-still before him, gazing up steadily into his eyes.

  Neither Margaret nor Mrs. Rushmore was to be seen. Van Torp and Logotheti both watched the other two, looking from one face to the other. Kralinsky, with his eye-glass in his eye, surveyed the lovely young barbarian unmoved, and the silence lasted half a minute. Then she spoke in her own language and Kralinsky answered her, and only Logothet
i understood what they said to each other. Probably it did not occur to Kralinsky that the Greek knew Tartar.

  ‘You are not Ivan. You are fatter, and you have not his eyes.’

  Logotheti drew a long breath.

  ‘No,’ answered Kralinsky. ‘I am Yuryi, his brother. I never saw you, but he told me of you.’

  ‘Where is Ivan?’

  ‘Dead.’

  The proud little head was bowed down for a moment and Baraka did not speak till several seconds had passed. Then she looked up again suddenly. Her dark eyes were quite dry.

  ‘How long?’

  ‘More than four months.’

  ‘You know it?’

  ‘I was with him and buried him.’

  ‘It is enough.’

  She turned, her head high, and went to the door, and no one hindered her from going out.

  ‘Monsieur Logotheti!’ Lady Maud called him, and the Greek crossed the saloon and stood by her. ‘He is not the man, I see,’ she said, with a vague doubt in her voice.

  ‘No.’

  Van Torp was speaking with Kralinsky in low tones. Lady Maud spoke to Logotheti again, after an instant, in which she drew a painful breath and grew paler.

  ‘Miss Donne knows that you are on board,’ she said, ‘but she wishes me to say that she will not see you, and that she considers her engagement at an end, after what you have done.’

  Logotheti did not hesitate.

  ‘Will you kindly give a message to Miss Donne from me?’ he asked.

  ‘That quite depends on what it is,’ Lady Maud answered coldly.

  She felt that she herself had got something near a death-wound, but she would not break down.

  ‘I beg you to tell Miss Donne that I yield to her decision,’ said Logotheti with dignity. ‘We are not suited to each other, and it is better that we should part. But I cannot accept as the cause of our parting the fact that I have given my protection to a young girl whom I have extricated from great trouble and have treated, and still treat, precisely as I should have treated Miss Donne if she had been my guest. Will you tell her that?’

  ‘I will tell her that.’

  ‘Thank you. Good-morning.’

  ‘Good-morning,’ said Lady Maud icily.

  He turned and went towards the door, but stopped to speak to Van Torp.

  ‘This gentleman,’ he said, ’is not the man my guest was anxious to find, though he is strikingly like him. I have to thank you for giving her an opportunity of satisfying herself. Good-morning.’

  Mr. Van Torp was extremely grateful to Logotheti for having ruined himself in Margaret’s eyes, and would in any case have seen him to the gangway, but he was also very anxious to know what Kralinsky and Baraka had said to each other in Tartar. He therefore opened the door for the Greek, followed him out and shut it behind him. Baraka and Spiro had disappeared; they were already in the launch, waiting.

  ‘Now what did they say, if it isn’t a rude question?’ asked the American.

  Logotheti repeated the short conversation almost word for word.

  ‘He said that his name was Yuryi,’ he concluded.

  ‘That is George in English.’

  ‘Oh, he’s George, is he? And what’s his dead brother’s name again, please?’

  ‘Ivan. That is John. Before we part, Van Torp, I may as well tell you that my engagement with Miss Donne is at an end. She was good enough to inform me of her decision through Lady Maud. One thing more, please. I wish you to know, as between man and man, that I have treated Baraka as I would my own sister since I got her out of prison, and I beg that you won’t encourage any disagreeable talk about her.’

  ‘Well, now,’ said the American slowly, ‘I’m glad to hear you say that, just in that way. I guess it’ll be all right about any remarks on board my ship, now you’ve spoken.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Logotheti, moving towards the gangway.

  They shook hands with some cordiality, and Logotheti ran down the steps like a sailor, without laying his hand on the man-rope, stepped on board his launch, and was off in a moment.

  ‘Good-bye! good-bye, Miss Barrack, and good luck to you!’ cried Van Torp, waving his cap.

  Logotheti translated his words to Baraka, who looked back with a grateful smile, as if she had not just heard that the man she had risked her life to find in two continents had been dead four months.

  ‘It was his portion,’ she said gravely, when she was alone with Logotheti on the Erinna, and the chain was coming in fast.

  Van Torp went back to the main saloon and found Lady Maud and Kralinsky there. She was apparently about to leave the Count, for she was coming towards the door, and her eyes were dark and angry.

  ‘Rufus,’ she said, ‘this man is my husband, and insists that I should take him back. I will not. Will you kindly have me put ashore before you start again? My things are ready now.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ answered Mr. Van Torp, digging his large thumbs into his waistcoat pockets, ‘there’s a mistake. He’s not your husband.’

  ‘He is, indeed!’ cried Lady Maud, in a tone her friend never forgot.

  ‘I am Boris Leven,’ said Kralinsky in an authoritative tone, and coming forward almost defiantly. ‘Then why did you tell the Tartar girl that your name was George?’ asked Mr. Van Torp, unmoved.

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘You’ve evidently forgotten. That Greek gentleman speaks Tartar better than you. I wonder where you learned it! He’s just told me you said your name was George.’

  ‘My name is George Boris,’ answered Kralinsky, less confidently.

  He was not a coward, but he had never been face to face with Van Torp when he meant business, and the terrible American cowed him.

  ‘My husband’s name is only Boris — nothing else,’ said Lady Maud.

  ‘Well, this isn’t your husband; this is George, whoever he is, and if you don’t believe it, I’m going to give you an object-lesson.’

  Thereupon Mr. Van Torp pressed the button of a bell in the bulk-head near the door, which he opened, and he stood looking out. A steward came at once.

  ‘Send me Stemp,’ said Van Torp in a low voice, as he stepped outside.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And, see here, send six sailors with him.’

  ‘Six, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Big fellows who can handle a man.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Mr. Van Torp went in again and shut the door. Kralinsky disdained flight, and was looking out of a window. Lady Maud had sat down again. For the first time in her life she felt weak.

  In less than one minute the door opened and Stemp appeared, impassive and respectful. Behind him was the boatswain, a huge Northumbrian, and five young seamen in perfectly new guernseys, with fair quiet faces.

  ‘Stemp.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Take that man somewhere and shave him. Leave his moustache on.’ Van Torp pointed to Kralinsky.

  For once in his life Stemp gasped for breath. Kralinsky turned a greenish white, and seemed paralysed with rage.

  ‘Take his beard off, sir, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Leave his moustache. Here, men,’ added Van Torp, ‘take that fellow outside and hold him down in a chair while Stemp shaves him. See?’ The boatswain looked doubtful. ‘He’s pretending to be somebody he’s not,’ said Van Torp, ‘on my ship, and I want to see his face. It’s mutiny if you don’t obey orders!’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ responded the boatswain cheerfully, for he rather liked the job since there was a good reason for it.

  But instead of going about his business gently, the Northumbrian giant suddenly dashed past Van Torp in a flash, and jumped and hurled himself head foremost at Kralinsky’s legs, exactly as if he were diving. In the Count’s violent fall the revolver he had drawn was thrown from his hand and went off in the air. The boatswain had seen it in time. The big man struggled a little, but the five seamen held him fast and carried him out kicking.

  ‘Stemp.’

&n
bsp; The valet was preparing to follow the prisoner, and was quite calm again.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘If he won’t sit still to be shaved, cut his head off.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Van Torp’s eyes were awful to see. He had never been so angry in his life. He turned and saw Lady Maud pressing her handkerchief to her right temple. The ball had grazed it, though it had certainly not been meant for her.

  ‘Rufus!’ she cried in great distress, ‘what have you done?’

  ‘The question is what he’s done to you,’ answered Van Torp. ‘I believe the blackguard has shot you!’

  ‘It’s nothing. Thank God it hit me! It was meant for you.’

  Van Torp’s rage instantly turned into tender care, and he insisted on examining the wound, which was slight but would leave a scar. By a miracle the ball had grazed the angle of the temple without going near the temporal artery, and scarcely singeing the thick brown hair.

  Van Torp rang and sent for water and absorbent cotton, and made a very neat dressing, over which Lady Maud tied her big veil. Just as this was done, Stemp appeared at the door.

  ‘It’s ready, sir, if you would like to come and see. I’ve not scratched him once, sir.’

  ‘All right.’ Van Torp turned to Lady Maud. ‘Do you feel faint? Lean on my arm.’

  But she would not, and she walked bravely, holding herself so straight that she looked much taller than he, though she felt as if she were going to execution.

  A moment later she uttered a loud cry and clung to Van Torp’s shoulder with both hands. But as for him, he said only two words.

  ‘You hellhound!’

  The man was not Boris Leven.

  “The man was not Boris Leven.”

  The eyes, the upper part of the face, the hair, even the flowing moustaches were his, but not the small retreating chin crossed by the sharp, thin scar of a sword-cut long healed.

  ‘I know who you are,’ said Van Torp, surveying him gravely. ‘You’re Long-legged Levi’s brother, that disappeared before he did. I remember that scar.’