"You do talk in riddles," she said, and pushed back her hair.
"I'm sorry. I'm all to bits. I've rather enjoyed this time."
"Sleeping in the kitchen?"
"Yes," said I. "And fetching fuel and water and watching you make the bread. All that we've done together I've loved it all. You see, I've never had a sister, and being with you like this has— has gone to my head."
"You've behaved very well," said Helena. "If Valentine was like you ... But I can't see him rising at dawn to make water warm for my bath."
"I wish to God," I burst out, "I could do it every day! Can't you see it's my pleasure— my ineffable pride and pleasure to wait upon you? You're— better than any sister."
"How do you know?"
"Instinct!" said I, thickly. "That's how I know. And please don't argue the point, because I can't say any more. I've never been so happy as I have been alone here with you, and never in all my life shall I be so happy again. I told you it was my idyll. And I'm not myself because, when Geoffrey comes, my idyll will go. And I don't want to let it go. I know I'm a fool, but I'm human. Adam and Eve— when they were pushed out of Eden, I'll bet it broke them down. Well, this is my Paradise, and I— don't want to get out."
Helena knitted her brows.
"It was all I could do," she answered, "to get you in. Besides, I can't see—"
"You wouldn't," I cried. "How could you? You've made the best of the business, and because you belong to Nature, you've found it a pleasant game. And you've let me be your playmate— the highest, most shining honour that ever a man was done. But it's not been a game to me, Helena. It's been most real and vivid . . Have you ever seen those glasses that seem to be full of wine? It's really collared water, locked up in the glass. And children pretend to drink it. Well, you've had a glass like that; but my glass was different. It's been a very short drink, but the wine was there the sort of wine you dream of, but never find."
Again I turned to stare at the way to Witchcraft, curling into the greenwood and seeming the very original of all those pretty paths down which Golden Locks and Red Riding Hood and Goody Two Shoes came stepping so naively into the Kingdom of Hearts.
"I'll watch the path," said Helena. "You go on talking, John. We shan't be alone much longer, and when Mr Bohun comes, you'll stop saying these pretty things."
"I mean them," I said slowly.
"I know," said Helena quietly. "That's why I like them so well."
I turned and looked at her.
"I said 'Go on talking,' " said Helena. "I told you I'd watch the path."
With that, she peered through the bracken, sitting up and lifting her chin.
"I can't go on talking," I said. "I'd like to amuse you, but the— the fountain doesn't play after six."
Helena glanced at her wrist.
"It's only ten minutes to— Never mind. There's something I wanted to ask you. The other night when you fell and I helped you up. I think you were faint for a moment, because of your pain. As I helped you, you called me 'Nell.' "
I nodded, with my eyes on her fingers, slim and cool and rosy, planted upon the turf.
"Why did you do that?" said Helena. "You— you drag my secrets out of me," I said desperately.
"All I did was to ask why you called me 'Nell.' "
"Helena, I tell you—"
"I think it's a natural question. But you seem so shy of the answer that I begin to wonder if we are really the friends that I thought we were. I suppose I remind you of someone or other called 'Nell'— that you used to love."
"Good God, no!" I almost shouted. My vehemence startled the baby and brought Sabre up to his feet.
With a hand about Max's shoulders: "Then what on earth is the matter? We've been very happy together, but now—"
"Please leave it there," I pleaded. "I don't want to smash our relation. I don't want—"
Helena seemed to stiffen. Then she sat up very straight.
" 'Smash our relation'?" she said. She shrugged her shoulders. "You've said too much or too little. Either you must explain, or our relation—" She broke off to peer through the fronds. "At last," she said. "Enter Mr. Bohun and Barley— with a suitcase in every hand. What do they think this is? The Majestic Hotel?" She turned a mocking face. "Mind you say goodbye nicely. The train's going off."
I think something snapped within me.
My beautiful dream was over, and now, through misunderstanding, our lovely, precious relation was going to come to an end. If I did not speak out, it was finished. If I did, it was finished, too. But, at least, if I spoke, she would know that my ways were honest, and though I should win her anger, I should not lose her respect. And what did anything matter, once Geoffrey was here? What was our relation worth, when the dream was gone? All the time the train was going...
" 'Put out the light,' " I said quietly, " 'and then put out the light.' First the dream, and then the relation. As Geoffrey's here, you may as well know the truth. My secret— 'Nell' ... I think of you as 'Nell' right deep down in my inmost heart. It's the pretty name I'd call you if we were engaged. You see— I'm mad about you. I love you; I've always loved you, from the moment I met your eyes. I love you walking and riding and sitting here on the grass. I love your head and your shoulders and that tiny vein in your ankle that looks like a thread of blue silk. I love everything about you and all you do. I love your voice and your laughter and the glorious light in your eyes. And I love your shining nature, as I love the smell of your hair and the breath of your lips. And to be with you here like this— well, now perhaps you can see what it's meant to me and why I clung to my secret and why I was handicapped in trying to play your game." I got to my feet. "Goodbye, Nell," I said gently.
I turned to the path and the smiling cottage below.
For a moment I stood, blinking.
Then—
"Have they gone in?" I asked.
"I— I made a mistake," said Helena. "It wasn't them."
I was sitting on the settle in the kitchen, with my head in my hands.
How I got there I do not know, for my case was like that of a man who plunges into some water to drown his cares, only to find that the bed of the river is dry; I doubt if such a man could tell how he got to the bank.
And I do not know how long I sat there, but all of a sudden I knew that I was not alone.
I could smell the faint perfume that Helena used.
As I started up I found she was sitting beside me, looking very grave and gentle, with her precious hands in her lap.
"I tricked you." she said. "I'm sorry. But it was the only way. You are very reticent, John. And very, very humble— and rather blind. Old Florin knew in an instant, and Pharaoh, too."
"KNEW that I loved you?" I cried.
Helena rose to her feet.
"This comes," she said, "of putting me up on a dais. I never was up on a dais where you were concerned. If you stand up, you'll find that I have to look up— to see myself in your eyes."
I stood up, trembling.
"Nell," I said hoarsely. "Nell."
As her fingers flew to her lips I heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door, which was shut.
Nearer and nearer they came ... Someone was standing at the threshold.
Then milk was poured into our pitcher, waiting without on the flags.
As the footsteps receded—
"We must go back to Max," said Helena.
"Not yet," said I. I set my hands on her shoulders and looked her full in the eyes. "That day we lunched at Yorick ... Florin looked at you, and you nodded and looked away. Was he ... asking you ... if you loved me?"
She met my gaze squarely.
"He was asking me if I was to be your wife."
"And you ..."
My brain was reeling.
"I told him what I hoped was the truth."
I was past all speaking.
As I drew her into my arms, her hands went up to my hair.
That the forester's wife might be late had
never entered our heads. We were up betimes the next morning and were ready and waiting for Freda at a quarter to eight. We might have spared our energy, for eight o'clock went by, yet she did not come.
And nine o'clock went by ... and ten . . .
Bad news is trying enough; but when the absence of news is so prolonged that only a fool would continue to hope against hope, it is, I think, a stout heart that will feel no alarm.
There was no longer any doubt in our minds. Somehow or other Pharaoh had put a spoke in our wheel.
We knew neither what had happened nor what to do; we only knew that we had to take some action and take it at once.
At eleven o'clock that Thursday I led the way into the kitchen, took my seat at the table, and opened the map.
"I must leave you, Nell," I said quietly. "There's no other way."
Helena nodded, and a hand went up to her head.
"What will you do, John?"
"I must get a lift at Witchcraft and hire a car where I can." I considered the map. "I should think I'd get one at Sabbot. From there I must drive to Salzburg for all I'm worth." I drew some paper towards me and started to make some notes. "If I leave Sabbot at one, I ought to be at Salzburg by—"
An exclamation from Helena snapped the sentence in two.
I looked up sharply.
There was horror in her beautiful eyes— and these were fast on the paper on which I was making my notes.
"What is it, Nell?" I cried, rising. She clapped her hands to her face. "Oh, John," she wailed, "that paper ..."
For an instant I stared at the sheet— one of a cheap grey packet which, when we had asked her for notepaper, the forester's wife had produced. Then I stepped to my darling and put my arms about her, for the blood was out of her face and I thought she had seen some terror of second sight.
She strove to keep her voice steady. "Listen, John. I think that paper has told me why Geoffrey isn't here. You wrote to him in pencil; the pencil was blunt, and you pressed." She pointed a trembling finger. "There on that sheet's the impression of what you wrote."
This was true. The sheet which I had been using bore the impression of the letter I had written three days before.
"That's very true, my darling. But what of that? No one's been here to—"
"D'you remember our last patrol how, when we parted, I offered to wire to your cousin? And you said yes, and I did. But I wrote out the wire on a pad of writing-paper— and the pencil was blunt."
"You mean—"
"The pad was on the library table. If Pharaoh saw it and read it, it gave him your cousin's address. Supposing he wired the next morning, while we were talking to Freda, here in this room ... Supposing he wired, as I did, using your name ... Supposing he said Return ..."
Return. The word seemed to sear my brain. Return— to Plumage, of course.
The sweat came out on my forehead. I could see them alighting on the apron— to be greeted by Bugle and Rush ...
"I must go at once," I said, and picked up the map.
"To Plumage, John?" I nodded.
"I must get a car somehow and drive there as fast as I can. I can hide the car near the high road and go through the woods to the farm. There's not an instant to lose— we're three days late. God knows where Freda is— I can only hope and pray that she's missed her train."
Together we studied the map.
From Sabbot to Plumage was roughly fifty-five miles.
I glanced at my watch.
"With average luck," said I, "I ought to be there not later than half past three."
"And then," said Helena quietly.
"My sweet, I don't know. I've got to find out something and to act on what I find out. And now for you. You mustn't stay in the cottage; you must spend the day in the forest and keep out of sight. And I'll come back, my darling, as soon as ever I can."
Helena cupped her face in her hands. "Oh, John, must you go?"
"Yes, my sweet." I said quietly. "In view of what may have happened, I can't wait here. We banked on Freda's coming— you know we did. And she's more than three hours overdue. It scares me stiff to leave you alone like this! It frightens me so much that if I knew that Freda'd be here this evening I'd wait till then. But supposing the sun goes down, but she doesn't come ..."
Helena closed her eyes.
"You're right," she said. "You must go. But, oh, for God's sake be careful!"
Chapter 12.
BEFORE I left her installed in the bower from which we had watched for my cousin two evenings before, I carried the cradle thither and all that she and the baby might need that day, and I made her give me her word that, even though Freda should come, she would not enter the cottage if she could avoid so doing by any possible means.
While I spoke she stood very quiet with her eyes on the ground. When I had done:
"Until you come back, you say. And supposing ... you don't ... come back?"
She was close in my arms and her cheek was tight against mine.
"I shall come back, my darling. You see, I've got to, because I belong to you. I mustn't be hurt or taken because I'm your man."
Two minutes later I was treading the path to Witchcraft, and the bracken which veiled my lady was out of my sight.
At half-past six that evening I made the woods behind Plumage, and five minutes later I was lying just clear of their foliage, surveying the back of the farm. The stars had fought against me, and my journey had taken far longer than I had hoped, but now I saw very clearly that all I could do was to watch, for that I must go no closer until it was dark.
From where I now lay there was nothing at all to observe: I therefore re-entered the woods and cautiously moved round their fringe, stopping from time to time to peer at the farm, but all I saw were the farm-hands about their business and a groom that was not Axel cleaning a bit. Still moving south, I came to the sturdy stream which flowed in front of Plumage and watered the meadows beyond: if I was to view the apron this water had to be crossed, but a hundred yards up I found a little footbridge which, since I could see no movement, I ventured to use. I then turned west and followed the water down till I saw before me the bushes that were squiring the last of the trees. A moment later I was parting the undergrowth.
I WAS now not far from the lane which led up to the farm, and for one who was content to observe I could not have been better placed, for while I was over the water and very well hid, I could see the stone bridge and the apron and all the front of the house and could hear every car that was coming a long time before it arrived. But from here I could not have approached as I could from the north, for the stream was an obstacle and the ground to be traversed was very much more exposed.
The apron was empty, and though doors and windows were open, there was no one at all to be seen; but since near two hours must go by before I could leave the woods, I decided to stay where I was till the sun went down.
So I picked a spot in the bushes and settled down to observe.
It was forty minutes later that Bugle came out of the house.
I think that he had been sleeping, for he yawned and stretched and looked about him, as a man that has only just waked. Then he took his seat on a bench by the side of the door and a servant brought out a tankard and set it down by his side.
It was eight o'clock and the light was beginning to fail when I heard the sigh of the Rolls on the road of approach.
A moment later the car swept over the bridge, and Bugle laid down his pipe and got to his feet.
I saw that Dewdrop was driving and that Pharaoh sat by his side.
Pharaoh stayed but two minutes. For that time he spoke to Bugle, who listened with evident interest to what he said. Then he nodded to Dewdrop, who instantly let in his clutch. Bugle stood watching till Pharaoh was out of sight; then he turned on his heel and went into the house.
And that was all.
As I made my way back to the footbridge I tried my best to believe that the visit which I had just witnessed was Pharaoh's evening ca
ll. He had been out scouring the country for news of my lady and me and was now returning to Yorick with empty hands. It was no doubt his practice to visit Plumage like this, to see that Rush and Bugle were doing as they had been told. And yet—
I had crossed the water when I heard the sound of a car. This seemed to come from the farm. I heard the engine started, and as I stood still, listening, I heard her move off in low gear. Almost at once she was stopped. Then another low gear was engaged and she moved again.
The sounds for me were pregnant. I had made them too often myself. Bugle or Rush was withdrawing their car from the coach-house and driving her on to the apron ready for use.
Sure enough, after a moment the car came to rest.
I hastened on desperately.
The light, I have said, was failing, but dusk would not come in for another half hour. Yet to wait so long might well be to throw away a chance that was already passing. . . . Two minutes later I was flat against the trunk of a lime that was standing twelve feet from the window of what had been my bedroom four days before.
One of the lower windows belonged to the primitive bathroom which Geoffrey and I had used; and since this was sure to be empty at this time of day, here was as safe an entry as the faintest of hearts could desire.
I whipped from the lime to the window and swung myself over the sill.
Now had the car left, I should have heard her, for she was by no means silent and the evening was very still; it was therefore clear that the rogues were somewhere at hand, and I wondered if they were at table, for Bugle had not eaten between seven and eight o'clock.
I made bold to open my door, which gave to the hall.
It was half-past eight now, and the hall was dim.
The front door was still wide open, and beyond, on the apron, I could see the rear of the car. Its engine was not running, but it was facing the bridge. I could hear no sound of talking, but I knew that Rush was yet in the sitting room.
Then Bugle, pacing the apron, strolled into and out of my view.
It occurred to me that he was waiting for Rush to finish his meal; then the two would go off together and I should be left. Meanwhile Pharaoh was in action ... I very nearly decided to let the reconnaissance go and return to my car. Unless I did that, there was nothing to do but wait as I had already waited— for more than two hours.
Storm Music (1934) Page 9
