Storm Music (1934)

by Dornford Yates

I could not but laugh at the picture her words conjured up. The thought of Madame Olave riding astride to Plumage and lying in wait until dawn for Bugle and Rush was enough to make a mute grin on a snowy day.

  "Well, then," said my lady, "why argue? I don't do this as a rule, but it isn't every day I fall foul of people like Pharaoh and Pharaoh's crowd. The time's out of joint, my dear John; and if I'm to help to reduce it, I've got to step out of my beat. And here we are. Don't look. I'm going to get off."

  As she gave me the reins ready to dismount I had the maddest impulse to throw myself off my horse and take her into my arms, for her charm was so natural and eager that our fellowship seemed that of playmates, and my clumsy efforts to patrol some great adventure which she and I were pursuing hand in hand.

  As I pulled myself together—

  "You're trembling, John. Are you cold?"

  "No," said I. "I'm dreaming. You know how dogs shake and quiver when they're dreaming some curious dream."

  "What are you dreaming?" said Helena.

  "That you and I have ridden up through the forest to the castle to which you belong; that the dawn's coming up, like the frost on a glass of cold water, to wake the workaday world; that you're standing there with Sabre, looking at me and smiling, with the long grass soaking your stockings with one of your hands in a pocket and the other one up to your hair."

  Her smile deepened into a laugh. "Am I so unreal?"

  "Oh, no. You're wonderfully real. But all the rest is fantastic— the hour, the setting, our having the world to ourselves. And you've done it all, Helena. You've made the magic, created the atmosphere. When you go, it's going to go, too ... It's terribly hard to explain," I concluded feebly enough; "but I think you've a power you don't know of, and that's the truth."

  "I shall have to be careful," said Helena. "And now I think you've talked enough in your sleep. Shall I wire to your cousin as usual?"

  "If you please."

  "Till a quarter to eight, then. Goodbye."

  I watched till the shadows veiled her and then rode back to the farm.

  It was twelve hours later that I opened a door of the Rolls and regarded the petrol gauge. This was disconcerting. There was fuel enough for us to do our patrol, but if our quarry appeared there was not enough fuel for pursuit. There was nothing for it. Before we did anything else, we must drive to some petrol-pump. For a long time I hesitated, considering whether or no I should not go out forthwith and fetch it alone. But in the end I decided that, though it was most inconvenient, I had not sufficient warrant for breaking my promise not to leave Plumage by day. Helena, too, would know to which of the petrol stations it would be wisest to go, and she could wait somewhere with Sabre while I drew up to the pump.

  I therefore contented myself with cleaning and oiling the engine, while Axel was polishing the coachwork, which he had already washed with the greatest care.

  When these rites were over I drove the car on to the apron in front of the house; for the evening promised, as usual, to be very fine, and in this way the car was all ready, and when the time came we should have but to leave our saddles and take our seats.

  Then I washed my hands and sat down to write to my cousin; but he never had his letter, for before I had written a page the farmer's wife came smiling to serve my tea.

  Chapter 9

  WHAT that good woman thought of Helena will hardly go into words. All her talk was of the Countess— of her wisdom and understanding of her lively beauty and charm, and since she had seen her christened, she had memories by the hundred to illustrate all she said.

  That day she spoke of Helena's excellent rule, which was lighter than that of her father and yet most just. She could strike, too, if need be— if a lesson had to be taught. A year ago from a distance, she had seen a man in the meadows ill-using a horse.

  "I can see her now," said the dame. "It seemed that her face was frozen, and when she spoke her voice was as cold as death. By her orders the bell was rung to summon the hands, and she waited in silence on the apron, with my man standing beside her and knowing no more than did I what the matter might be. There she sat on her grey, till all that could be spared had come in. Then she pointed with her whip to the man that had done the mischief and bade him stand out.

  "Very quietly, then, she recounted what she had seen. And when she had done, she turned to my man and asked him whether the knave was worth keeping or whether his work was poor. My husband gave her the truth— that the man was a decent workman and, up to then, had given no cause for complaint. When he had spoken, she turned to the man concerned.

  " 'I will have no cruelty,' she said. 'You will either be flogged or dismissed. You may take your choice.'

  "The man chose to be flogged.

  " 'Very well,' said my lady, and gives my husband her whip. 'Flog him now,' she says, 'and soundly, before them all,' and with that she turned and rode off by the way she had come.

  "And the man was horsed and flogged.

  "But ever since then she will always look for that man and speak him kindly, and ask if he is happy and how the world goes for him, lest he should think his offence is not purged and forgotten."

  And she told me tales of her childhood, and how sometimes now she would stay for two nights at Plumage and live the life of the farm, as though she were weary of Yorick and all its state.

  Of the Count, however, the woman said nothing at all.

  That evening I strolled in the meadows until it was time to change, and I shall always remember the stillness that hung like a mantle about the meadows and woods. Not that the air was heavy. There was no sign of thunder; the sky was clear. Yet the calm was that which sometimes precedes the tempest— a strange, unnatural condition that was not peace.

  When I rode into sight of Yorick that evening I saw that a flag had been hoisted on one of the towers. I could not see the device, for the breeze had fallen to nothing, and the bunting was lying lifeless against the staff.

  NO flag had been flying on Tuesday, when Geoffrey and I had visited Yorick for lunch, but I supposed that today was some festival which it was the custom to honour throughout the land.

  My supposition was wrong.

  As I was ushered into the library, Helena rose from a table to take my hand.

  "My brother's arrived." she said. "He's only been here twenty minutes, and, as he's brought a friend with him I've had to put off dinner till half-past eight. But that's nothing. What really matters is that he's rather a handful." With a gesture of discomposure she pushed back her lovely hair. "Come and sit down." she added, "and I'll explain what I mean."

  I took my seat beside her on a sofa that faced a fireplace which must have been eight feet square.

  "John," she continued. "I ought to have told you before, but I thought that he'd give me more notice. I'd only time to send the car to the station to meet his train."

  Remembering what she had told me of other guests

  "And his friend?" said I.

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  "Oh. the usual sort, I suppose. I haven't even seen him. Never mind. The point is this. Valentine must know nothing of what is afoot. He doesn't know of the gold, and he must not know. He mustn't know about young Florin, except that he's dead. I've told him I've lent you Plumage— you and your cousin, of course: that your cousin painted our uncle is reason enough. But what makes things difficult is this. He is the Count of Yorick, and, as such, when he's here in the castle he has absolute say. I simply do not count. I can't countermand his orders, but he can countermand mine. I can stand up to him in private— I have, tonight. But if he gets going in public, I've simply got to withdraw. What he says goes in Yorick, because he's the Count. It's a survival, of course. But Yorick is a survival of bygone days.

  "My father did what he could. He left me 'the contents of the castle' and everything else that he had, except the estate. He hadn't the power to leave that away from his son and heir. And so I've a definite hold on Valentine which he most deeply resents. But I gi
ve him a big allowance, and we get along fairly well. Happily Yorick bores him, and he never stays here very long. But sometimes when he is here the knowledge that he is all-powerful goes to his head.

  "I'm bound to tell you all this. He'll probably be quite all right; but if he should show off this evening you'll understand. As I say, I've not seen his friend. If he's no good, I'll soon have him out of the place. But whatever he's like, remember that he is my brother's guest."

  "I'll be very careful." I said. "If it comes to the worst, I can always take my leave."

  "It won't come to that, but I simply had to prepare you. I nearly stopped you coming; and then I felt I'd like you ... to help me out."

  I was so pleased when she said this that I had no answer to make, for it seemed she was turning to me, a thing which up to this moment she never had done. But I had a premonition of trouble.

  Then we talked of other things and wondered how Geoffrey and Barley were getting on and whether Rush and Bugle would give us our chance tonight. There seemed to be no reason for cancelling the plans we had made. As soon as dinner was over, Helena would withdraw: and, once she was gone, I could very well ask for my horse.

  Presently cocktails were served.

  Five minutes later the castle clock chimed the half-hour.

  Half-past eight.

  It was twenty minutes to nine when we heard a burst of laughter, and the library doors were opened by the servant that stood without.

  Then the Count came in, still laughing, with his arm about Pharaoh's shoulders and a challenging look in his eyes.

  How Helena knew that it was Pharaoh, I cannot tell. I had, of course, described him as best I could; but many men are fair, with protruding eyes. Be that as it may, she knew him the instant she saw his face, for I felt her stiffen beside me before she got to her feet. For Pharaoh himself, I can only say that his address was as perfect as mine was mean. He might have been invited to meet me that summer eve.

  The Count of Yorick was speaking. "Helena, this is Captain Faning."

  Pharaoh came to her quickly and took her hand. As he looked into her eyes, he spoke very low.

  "What a good thing I missed Mr. Spencer. Had I hit him, I should have discarded my ace of trumps."

  Before she could answer, he laid his left hand on my arm.

  "Mr. Spencer and I," he said, turning, "have met before. In fact, I left his cousin at Salzburg— in excellent health. He was very busy when I saw him. I think he was seeking some object— I find all his work delightful— he takes such pains."

  What immediately followed I cannot clearly remember, because, I suppose, my wits were all over the place.

  I know that I stood like some convict, listening to the formality of judgment and finding the grave occasion a hideous dream. I know that Helena introduced me, and that I shook hands with the Count— a very good-looking boy, with an overbearing manner and the signs of drink in his face. And I know that while Pharaoh was speaking he kept a hand under his jacket upon his hip. He might have spared the gesture; my pistol was in the Rolls.

  All the time my brain was rampant, darting hither and thither, as a beast accustomed to freedom that has been clapped into a cage.

  In a flash we had been confounded, and Pharaoh had the ball at his feet. My cousin and Barley were at Salzburg, but Pharaoh was here in the castle, the guest of the Count. And Dewdrop was here as his servant, and Bugle and Rush were at hand. Though the castle was full of servants, the Countess was powerless as long as her brother was there: besides, my life was forfeit if Helena lifted a hand. If she sought to disillusion her brother, Pharaoh had only to whisper the secret his sister kept. As for direct action, we had not the faintest chance: Pharaoh, with Dewdrop behind him, held havoc, so to speak, in the slips.

  That nothing might be wanting to seal our discomfiture—

  "My sister tells me you're at Plumage." said the Count. "I hope you've got all you want. I was sent there to shake off measles, and I've never liked the place since."

  Before I could answer—

  "Where's Plumage?" said Pharaoh quietly.

  The Count told him exactly, whilst I stood dumb.

  "Very attractive," said Pharaoh, and tossed his cocktail off. "May I speak to my servant a minute?"

  The fellow's audacity shook me. For some reason I did not fear him; but his monstrous impertinence hit me over the heart.

  His intention was clear. Whilst we dined, Dewdrop would seek Rush and Bugle, and the two would be waiting at Plumage when I returned.

  And Helena and I could do nothing. I heard the Count send for "Captain Faning's servant." Before he arrived, however, the doors were opened again and a butler entered the room.

  "My lady is served."

  As we passed through the hall the curtains of an archway were parted, and Dewdrop appeared. Helena saw him, as I did, and quickened her pace. Instinctively I did the same; but Pharaoh was waiting for Dewdrop, and his host was waiting for Pharaoh, before he passed on himself.

  My lady and I were within the dining-room. Except for the servants we had the room to ourselves.

  I heard her speak to the butler.

  "Ask the Count to begin," she said. Then she turned to me. "Come,'' she breathed.

  In a flash she was out on the ramparts, with me behind. There she turned to the left and ran like the wind.

  The door of a tower was open, and Helena whipped inside. She fled upstairs and into the pleasantest bedroom I ever saw. As I followed her in, she pressed a key into my hand.

  "There's a door behind that curtain." Whilst I was unlocking this she twitched a coat from a cupboard and rushed to the painted table on which were combs and brushes and all things that women use.

  "Have you any money, John?''

  "About fifty pounds," said I

  "Good."

  Without waiting to fasten her coat, she thrust some things into her pockets and picked up a pair of shoes. As she came to the door she gave these into my hand. Then she threw one look round and slipped out of the room.

  "Lock it behind us, John." I did so thankfully.

  A short stone stairway brought us into a little hall which was very dimly lighted and was shut by three massive doors.

  "The right-hand one," said Helena. "Quick. That's a master key."

  We now encountered a flight of winding steps, and I think that I must have fallen if she had not held me up, for the place was as dark as pitch and, while I could find no handhold, the steps were worn.

  At the foot of this flight we came to another door, but I could not see to unlock it, so Helena took the key.

  And then we were out in some passage, and there on our right was a postern that gave to the outside world. But Helena turned instead to a very much smaller door, sunk deep in the wall.

  A man was coming. I could hear his steps on the stone. He was out of sight, round some corner, but he was not twelve paces away.

  HELENA'S fingers were shaking as she fitted the master key. The lock was stiff and defied the efforts she made. As I put out my hand I heard the man stop and swear. Then he turned on his heel and began to retrace his steps.

  An instant later the door was locked behind us and we were alone in the dark.

  Helena was trembling, and I put my arm about her and held her close.

  "Reaction," she murmured. "I'll be all right directly. You see, we're safe for the moment. I— I'd like to sit down."

  With my arm about her we sat ourselves down on a step.

  I glanced at my watch— and could hardly believe its tale; but as I stared the castle clock confirmed this. Only five minutes had passed since the Count of Yorick and Pharaoh had entered the library.

  "I'm all right now," breathed Helena, lifting her head.

  I let her go, and she sat back against the wall.

  "Listen, John. We couldn't have crossed the drawbridge without being seen. And that would have been ruination. But now we've just disappeared. The doors that were open are open, and the doors that were locked a
re locked. But we have vanished. This stairway leads to a grating in the wall of the moat. It's just above the water. Directly below it, under the water and therefore out of sight, is a footbridge of stone. That leads across the moat to another grating set in the opposite wall. The gratings are barred— not locked— and each of them's barred on this side. The farther grating admits to an old brick tunnel that will lead us under the meadows and into the woods." She got to her feet. "And now we must go. We've not a moment to lose. The ramparts don't overlook this part of the moat, and we simply must get to Plumage before Bugle and Rush."

  A question rose to my lips, but I left it there.

  "When I've opened the grating," I said, "you must let me cross. Then I'll open the other grating and come back for you. It's no good our both getting wet, and I can change."

  "Very well, John."

  Carefully we descended the stair, which was very damp.

  The water was cold and the iron of the gratings was rusted and very harsh but the footbridge gave good foothold and our passage was made with an ease for which I had not dared hope. Since the water came up to my loins, I made Helena lie across my shoulders and carried her over like that. As I set her on her feet in the tunnel I heard the Count calling her name.

  "Helena! Helena!"

  I hauled myself out of the water to stand by her side.

  The tunnel seemed without end. It was dark and damp and noisome and ran uphill, and I was more than thankful when after five or six minutes I saw the faint light of the evening and found the air more fresh. The mouth of the tunnel was masked by a riot of under- growth, but when we were clear of this screen I saw at once that we stood due north of the castle, a biscuit's throw from the meadows from which it rose.

  We pushed on breathlessly ...

  We had covered half the distance when Helena caught my arm and stopped in her tracks.

  Somebody was whistling— not very far away, whistling as though to bring a dog to his heels ...

  Then we heard Pharaoh's voice.

  "Good dog." he cried. "Good dog."

  The man was out in the meadows, somewhere between the bridge and the Plumage ride. In a flash I saw what had happened. Sabre had left the castle, and Pharaoh had seen him go. The porter, no doubt, had told him that that was the Countess' dog, and the fellow had guessed in an instant that Sabre's instinct was leading him to his mistress, wherever she was, and so he had followed Sabre, but had lost him because it was dark ...