Kitabı oku: «The Dust of Conflict», sayfa 15
XIX – POSITIVE PROOF
HESTER EARLE’S entertainment promised to prove as successful as the other had been, for a clear moon hung low above the hillside when Tony drove Violet Wayne and her mother to Low Wood down the Northrop valley. The night was pleasantly warm, and the murmur of the river which slid in and out of the mist wisps in the hollow beneath the white road rose faintly musical out of the silence. Beyond the long hedgerows the stubble lay steeped in silvery light save where the long shadows lay black as ebony in the wake of the gleaming sheaves. A smell of honeysuckle drifted out from the blackness of a coppice they flitted through, and Tony turned with a little laugh to the girl beside him, while the clip-clop of the hoofs rang amidst the trees.
“I wonder if you and I are thinking of the same thing,” he said. “It happened just about this hour a year ago, and it was such another night.”
His voice had a faint thrill in it, and Violet laughed softly as she glanced at her left hand.
“You were horribly nervous that evening, Tony,” she said. “I don’t think I ever mentioned it, but when you put the ring on it scarred my finger. That might have had a significance with superstitious people.”
Tony glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Mrs. Wayne, who sat behind them, was apparently interested in something her companion was saying.
“I think that was quite natural,” he said lightly. “You see, the situation was disconcertingly novel to me.”
“So you told me!” said the girl with a little laugh. “If I remember, you laid some stress upon the fact. It was also a proof of my credulity that I believed you.”
It was one of Tony’s disadvantages that he was now and then unduly sensitive, for the deception he had been guilty of on the night in question was by comparison trifling. Still, he remembered with unpleasant distinctness another incident of a somewhat similar description, in which it was a little brooch that figured and not an engagement ring, and the red lips he had stooped to were not those of Violet Wayne. Tony could recall their tempting curve, and the gleam in the dark eyes that met his own, as well as the little lodge garden that was very still and shady that drowsy afternoon. It was perhaps the memory of it which made him flick the horse viciously with the whip. Then he felt that his companion’s eyes were fixed upon him.
“The brute is afraid of shadows,” he said.
Violet turned her eyes on him, and there was a curious little smile in them. “I wonder if the complaint is infectious. He goes steadily with me,” she said. “Tony, you haven’t the hands you had.”
Tony flushed visibly, for the moonlight was on his face now they had left the copse behind, and he remembered what had passed between him and the girl in a room at Northrop the night Godfrey Palliser died.
“Well,” he said a trifle dryly, “if you are right it’s due to worry, which, as everybody knows, never did agree with me. While agricultural property brings in what it does just now, keeping everything straight at Northrop isn’t quite so easy as some folks seem to fancy.”
“Still, the sale of that land to the electrical company and the ground rent you are getting from the other concern should simplify it,” said the girl.
“You can’t quite understand these affairs”; and Tony, who raised the whip, let it drop again.
Violet once more looked at him steadily, and her voice was low as she said, “If they were explained to me I think I could, but we will let that pass. What you said a little while ago reminds me of the weeks that followed the night you put that ring on. You had more cause for anxiety – and yet we had no cares then.”
“No,” said Tony. “I will remember those weeks while I live. Nothing could take them away from me.”
“And now there is a difference! A little shadow that dims the brightness. Tony, you feel it, too?”
The man, who did not answer, laid both hands on the reins, for, and he recognized the significance of it, they swung round a bend of the road into sight of Appleby’s inheritance just then. A pile of harsh brickwork rose in front of them, jarring upon the harmonies of the night; there was a ringing of hammers, and their eyes were dazzled by the glare of a great light under which a swarm of bent black figures were toiling. The horse broke into a gallop, the dog-cart jolted furiously, and for five anxious minutes Tony, who set his lips, dragged at the reins. Then, as the startled beast was forced into a trot again, he laughed petulantly.
“You are a little fanciful, Violet,” he said. “I have not been quite up to my usual form lately, and singing at these confounded concerts worries me. Hester will keep me busy, too, and I shall scarcely get a moment near you.”
Now Violet Wayne was seldom troubled by trifling jealousies, but she was a little anxious about Tony, and watched him as she said, “Your duties seemed to consist in entertaining Miss Clavier on the last occasion!”
The color showed in Tony’s forehead, but it was the vague apprehension in his face that astonished his companion, who noticed the sudden tightening of his fingers on the reins. Still, the only answer she caught was an indistinct “Confound the woman!”
Violet made no comment, for she had noticed already that the anxieties Tony had evidently decided on concealing from her were affecting his temper, and when five minutes later they rattled up the Low Wood avenue there was no longer any opportunity for questions. Tony had contrived to arrive just as the entertainment was commencing, and Hester Earle promptly despatched him to the performers’ room.
The long windows were wide open, and the soft night air flowed in with the faint scent of flowers, and a murmur of voices from the specially invited audience Miss Earle had bestowed in the tennis green, which was sunk a few feet on one side below the level of the sweep of lawn. Tennis was not a game she was fond of, and she had pacified the gardener by placing the chair legs on boards. Tony could see the shadowy mass of humanity showing black against a dazzling glare, for the big oxyhydrogen lights he had provided were then blazing in front of the proscenium, which had been extemporized on the verge of the higher level. The path that led to it wound along the edge of a tall shrubbery where colored lights blinked here and there amidst the dusky leaves.
He was never certain afterwards as to whom he talked with or what he said, though he surmised that his observations had not been especially apposite, for some of those about him appeared a trifle astonished, and two of them laughed. Tony was somewhat apt to lose his head when brought face to face with a difficulty, and the fact that Lucy Davidson was sitting a few yards away disconcerted him. A glance at his programme showed him that she was to figure in two pieces of mimicry instead of dancing, and she was dressed simply and tastefully, but while the room was crowded there were only two very young men in her vicinity, and that fact with something in their laughter seemed to differentiate their companion from the rest of the company. Tony, however, fancied that they were favored with scanty encouragement from the girl. She looked at him once, but Tony turned his head away, and it was not until he was about to go out that he felt himself compelled to speak to her.
“The others will take a lead from you, and those young asses are only making the thing more unpleasant for the girl,” said a man he was talking to.
Tony said nothing. He could think of no excuse, but remembering what Violet had mentioned he shrank from the encounter. The good-natured committee-man’s meaning had been perfectly plain to him, and he knew that he could save the girl the unpleasantness of being met with chilly aloofness or undue familiarity. His disposition was also a kindly one, and the decision that she must be left to fight her own battles caused him a little flush of confusion. As it happened, she saw it, and a portentous sparkle showed in her dark eyes. Tony noticed this, and remembered that weak complaisance had once placed him under the thumb of keeper Davidson. He did not mean to repeat the blunder, and his fears made him slightly venomous.
“I think you have met Mr. Anthony Palliser already, Miss Clavier,” said his companion.
Tony knew that every eye in the room was upon him, and that his words would not be lost, but he felt he could not afford to be gracious, and while he hesitated the girl rose up and made him a little curtsey with quiet ironical insolence.
“I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Palliser – once or twice,” she said in a voice that was intended to reach the rest.
Tony stood still a moment fingering his watch chain, and looking down at her with something his masculine companion had never seen there before in his face. It almost suggested vindictive cruelty, but he murmured a conventional word or two that was scarcely audible, and passed on with the slightest of inclinations. There was also a little silence when he went out, and the color faded a trifle in Miss Clavier’s face, leaving her cheeks alone red, while a gleam that implied a good deal crept into her eyes.
Tony, however, sang brilliantly when his turn came a few minutes later. He had at last made a decided stand, and felt a trifle exhilarated by the novelty of it. Still, he was without stability, and it was much against his wishes that, wandering about between the songs after spending some time with Nettie Harding, he met Miss Clavier again. He had just seated himself upon the sloping bank of turf not far from the stage when he became aware that a seat above him was occupied, and glancing round at a sound saw the girl looking down on him. Then he would have turned away, but she stopped him with a little derisive laugh.
“Get up, Tony, and come and sit beside me,” she said.
Tony rose, but noticing that one or two colored lights which hung from the branches of a copper beech above them rendered the seat visible stood still.
“To be frank, I would sooner be excused,” he said. “After the little exhibition in the green-room it’s a trifle difficult to understand why you want me.”
“You deserved it! A word or two wouldn’t have cost you anything, and I wanted you to keep those boys away.”
“One would have fancied that you were quite capable of fighting your own battles.”
The girl made a curious little gesture. “I think you are taking the wrong way,” she said. “Now I don’t want very much from you to-night, but I don’t like being left out in the cold. You see, I am not accustomed to it, and you could have made this evening a good deal pleasanter to me.”
She, however, blundered when she said to-night. Tony’s fears had made him brutal, and it is the terror of the unknown that grows most oppressive. He did not know what she wanted, and it had unfortunately never dawned on him that she might, after all, want very little, and have had no hand in Davidson’s scheme of extortion.
“Your meaning is tolerably plain, but I have been under the screw once,” he said. “Now, I don’t wish to rake up anything that would be painful, but you know just as well as I do that if I posed as an old friend of yours it would strengthen your hand. You will excuse me putting it plainly, but that is just what I don’t intend to do.”
A curious faint smile flickered into his companion’s eyes. “It’s unfortunate you haven’t a little more sense,” she said. “When you should be obstinate you are soft, and when a pleasant word or two would pay you well you bully. Has it ever struck you that I mayn’t be – what you evidently think I am – or have any designs on you?”
Tony still went the wrong way, for it seemed to him that a resolute attitude would at least tend to moderate any claim the girl might contemplate making. “I don’t think I ever worried about the question,” he said. “You see, it’s necessary to be quite frank, and it really wasn’t of any importance to me.”
“Well, I don’t want to argue,” and Miss Clavier laughed. “You told me you were going to be married, but you didn’t tell me who to. Of course, I could find out, but you should feel a little easier when you hear that I haven’t tried to.”
Tony did not believe her, and she recognized it. “I was once driven too hard, but this time I’ll fight,” he said. “Anything you might feel tempted to do to annoy me would most certainly recoil upon yourself.”
“That really isn’t necessary, Tony. Well, one could make a guess. It is the very pretty girl with the blue eyes I saw you talking to. An American, too. They’re generally rich, and, of course, you must have money!”
Tony seized the opportunity of at least starting her on the wrong track. “Money,” he said chillingly, “would be a very small recommendation in Miss Harding’s case.”
“Yes,” said his companion, “I daresay it would. She saw I was lonely, and I think meant to be kind, because she came up and spoke to me. Don’t you think it’s my duty to give her a hint after that?”
“I am not going to stay to be baited,” and Tony slowly straightened himself. “I shall have pleasure in leaving you to your youthful admirers. I see them coming.”
He swung round upon his heel, and Miss Clavier braced herself for an effort, as the result of which the two condescending youths retreated somewhat precipitately with flushed faces. Then she did a thing that would have astonished Tony, for she leaned back in the garden seat and with an abrupt movement passed her handkerchief across her eyes. It was a moment or two later when, looking up at the sound of a footstep, she saw Nettie Harding gravely regarding her, and to her vexation as well as astonishment felt the blood tingle in her cheeks.
“Yes,” said Nettie quietly. “I heard what you told them. They deserved it, and you did it very well. Now, I’ve been talking about nothing for most of two hours, and this place seems nice and quiet. You don’t mind my sitting here with you a little?”
Nettie Harding’s directness was usually assumed, because she found it convenient in England when she had anything delicate to do, and Miss Clavier, who read sympathy in her face, was grateful to her. She also hoped her companion would not notice the moisture on her long dark lashes.
“I am paid for coming here, you understand?” she said. “I dance and mimic people on the stage.”
“Of course!” said Nettie. “Well, my father once peddled oranges on the trains; and they make quite a fuss over people who are on the stage in London, while I don’t think many of them could have done that last piece of yours half as cunningly. Anyway, I haven’t laughed as much since I’ve been in England. If you did it in New York you’d coin money.”
She sat down smiling, and Miss Clavier regarded her out of half-closed eyes. There was nobody very near them, and only two dim colored lights above their heads. Somebody was singing, and a sweet tenor voice floated away into the stillness of the moonlit night. Miss Clavier glanced swiftly round into the shadows of the copper beech that fell blackly athwart the seat.
“You like frankness in your country,” she said. “Now I am, perhaps, going to offend you, but I don’t mind if I do. I saw you talking a good deal to Mr. Tony Palliser at Darsley and here to-night.”
Nettie contrived to hide her astonishment, but she felt that another thread was being placed in her hand.
“Well,” she said, “American young women are permitted to talk to gilt-edge Englishmen, and even to marry them now and then. It really isn’t astonishing.”
“No,” said her companion. “Still, it would be a blunder for an American girl who hadn’t seen many Englishmen to marry Tony Palliser.”
Nettie felt a thrill of pleasurable excitement, and her little show of anger was very well assumed.
“Are you quite sure you ought to talk to me like that?” she said.
“Yes. You will understand what I mean when I tell you that I was Lucy Davidson. I fancied some of the people here would have recognized me, but it seems they haven’t.”
“Oh!” said Nettie sharply, and sat still, wondering what meaning she was to attach to this since she had never heard of Lucy Davidson, until her companion leaned forward a trifle.
“I have told nobody else, but it was not Bernard Appleby who came to meet me at Northrop lodge,” she said.
Nettie’s gasp of astonishment was perfectly genuine this time, for though the story Appleby had told her had been very vague in respect to the part played by Lucy Davidson she had been able to supply the deficiencies in it, and she was sure of her companion now.
“And you let them think – how could you?” she said with flashing eyes.
Miss Clavier was evidently almost as astonished as her listener, but she had committed herself.
“It was too late to do any good by speaking when I heard they suspected him – and I was just a little fond of Tony once,” she said. “Of course, he wasn’t worth it – he never was – and that’s why I tried to warn you. You made me feel you wanted to be kind to me.”
Nettie laughed a little, almost scornfully. “Now, I don’t know if that was nice of you. If you only meant to punish Mr. Palliser it wasn’t.”
Miss Clavier’s face was faintly flushed all over now, but she regarded her companion steadily. “I don’t quite know why I did it – but it wasn’t altogether to make Tony smart,” she said. “It was, at least, a little because I seemed to feel you were too good for him. Oh, I know I have done a good deal of harm – and it’s a change to do the other thing now and then. I don’t want Tony. Any one can have him and welcome – they’ll get a very poor bargain, and I wouldn’t like you to think I meant to pluck him – though that would have been easy.”
“No,” said Nettie, “I did not think that of you. What did you mean to do with him?”
“I don’t know. To amuse myself by watching him wriggle, I think. It was nice to feel I could frighten him horribly. If you had been like the rest, and he had only shown me a little kindness, I fancy I would have let him go. But he couldn’t do the right thing if it would cost him a trifle – he hasn’t it in him; and he made me believe you meant to marry him.”
“No,” said Nettie, with a faint ring in her voice. “The man I’m going to marry is worth – several hundred Tony Pallisers. Still, I’m glad you told me, and you’ll tell me the rest of the story.”
Miss Clavier sat still for at least a minute, and then obeying an impulse told her tale. Her voice was also a little strained as she said, “Clavier was bad – bad all through – and he left me before he died in Melbourne; but though my father never knew it I was married to him all the time. I found the – ‘Madame’ – a disadvantage.”
Then there was silence until a burst of applause greeted the conclusion of the song; and while the two sat in the shadows Nettie Harding laid her hand sympathetically on her companion’s arm.
XX – FOUND GUILTY
TWO or three weeks had passed since the concert on the Low Wood lawn, and Thérèse Clavier had gone back into the obscurity she came from, when Nettie Harding once more stood beside the effigy in Northrop church. It was then late in the afternoon, and the little ancient building was growing shadowy. Hester Earle and Violet Wayne were moving about the aisle with bundles of wheat-ears and streamers of ivy, for the harvest thanksgiving was shortly to be celebrated, while the vicar stood waiting their directions on the chancel steps with a great handful of crimson gladioli.
Nettie, however, noticed none of them. She was lost in reflection, and her eyes were fixed on the grim stone face. She had gazed at it often with a vague sense of comprehension and a feeling that the contemplation of it brought within her grasp the spirit of the chivalrous past. Loyalty, she felt, was the predominative motive in the sculptured face, though it bore the stamp of stress and weariness; and she stood very still struggling with a half-formed resolution as she gazed at it.
Hester’s voice rose softly from the aisle, and there was a patter of feet and swish of draperies, but it was low, as though the girl who made it felt the silence of the place. The door beside the organ was open wide, and Nettie could hear a faint rustle of moving leaves, and the sighing of a little warm wind about the church, while, lifting her head, she caught a brief glimpse of the dusky beech woods and sunlit valley. It was all very still, impressively quiet, and she felt the peace of it; but it was not peace, but something born of strife and yet akin to it her fancy strained after, and once more she seemed to hear the strident crackle of riflery and the shouts of the Sin Verguenza. The green English valley faded, and she saw in place of it the white walls of the Cuban town rise against the dusky indigo. Then once more she could dimly realize the calm that came of a high purpose, and was beyond and greater than the peace of prosperity. She had seen it beneath the stress and weariness in the faces of the marble knight and a living man.
Then with a little swift move of her shoulders she shook off the fancies, and fell to considering the task which it seemed was laid before her. She had made a friend of Bernard Appleby and that meant much with her; while ever since she had heard Miss Clavier’s story the desire to right him had been growing stronger, but she had unpleasant misgivings. She felt the responsibility of breaking the smooth course of other lives almost too great for her, and wondered vaguely whether if she declared the truth in that sheltered land where nothing that was startling or indecorous ever seemed to happen anybody would believe her. She might even have kept silent had Violet Wayne been different, but Nettie already entertained an affection that was largely respectful for her, and determined that if she married Tony Palliser she should at least do so knowing what kind of man he was. Once more, however, her resolution almost failed her, and she glanced at the great glittering angel in the west window with a sense of her presumption in venturing to meddle with the great scheme of destiny. Still, Nettie was daring, and turning suddenly she looked down into the stone face again.
“I think you would understand, and at least you would not be afraid. Well, the man who is very like you shall have his rights,” she said.
The stillness seemed to grow more intense, the calm face more resolute, while the spirit of the dead sculptor’s conception gripped the girl as it had never done before. She felt that her duty was plain before her, and that fears and misgivings must be trampled on. Then there was a step behind her, and she saw Hester looking at her with a little smile.
“Were you talking to the effigy, Nettie?” she said.
“Yes,” said Nettie quietly. “I think I was. There is no reason you shouldn’t laugh if you want to, but I seem to fancy that man understands me. What you will not believe, however, is that he answered me.”
Hester appeared a trifle astonished, but she smiled again. “I saw you turn and look at the figure in the west window,” she said. “Were you holding communion with the angel too?”
“No,” said Nettie with a curious naive gravity. “I’m quite open to admit I don’t know much about angels – I’ve only seen pictures of them. Still, I sometimes think there’s a little of their nature in the hearts of men. That man must have had it, and the Palliser who was killed in Africa had it too. Of course, that’s not the kind of talk you would expect from an American.”
Hester realized by the last trace of irony that Nettie did not desire to pursue the topic, and looking round saw that the vicar had joined them unobserved. He was a quiet man with an ascetic face, but there was a little twinkle in his eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “I admit I overheard. It seems to me that Miss Harding’s attitude is perfectly comprehensible.”
Hester laughed. “That,” she said, “is convincing, coming from you. In the meanwhile I am positively thirsty, and tea will be waiting at Low Wood. You may as well come over with us now since we expect you at dinner.”
It was, however, half an hour later when they left the rectory and walked through the fields to Low Wood with Tony, who had been waiting them. Nettie laughed and talked to the vicar with her usual freedom, but she was also sensible of a quiet resolution. Violet Wayne should know the truth and Appleby’s name be cleared, but she was shrewd, and saw the difficulty of attesting it convincingly. She was also very fair, and decided that Tony must have an opportunity of defending himself or admitting his offence. Now and then she felt her heart throbbing as she wondered whether she would fail at her task, but she shook off her misgivings, and it was only afterwards the vicar guessed at the struggle that went on within his companion.
They were sitting about the little table on the lawn when an opportunity was made for her, and the scene long remained impressed on Nettie’s memory. The old house showed cool and gray between its wrappings of creepers that were flecked with saffron now, while here and there a tendril gleamed warm crimson against the stone. Its long shadow lay black upon the velvet grass, and there were ruddy gleams from the woodlands from which the yellow light was fading beyond the moss-crusted wall. Still, the river shone dazzlingly where it came rippling out of the gloom of a copse, and a long row of windows blinked in the building beside its bank.
Nettie noticed this vacantly, for it was Tony and Violet Wayne she was looking at. The man lay with a curious languid gracefulness in his chair, his straw hat on the back of his head and a smile on his lips, though Nettie fancied that she saw care in his face. Violet sat erect looking down the valley with thoughtful eyes, and though every line of her figure suggested quiet composure it seemed to Nettie that her face was a trifle too colorless, and that her big gray eyes lacked brightness. She could almost fancy that the shadow of care which rested on Tony had touched his sweetheart too. Opposite them sat the vicar, who had, Nettie understood, been a close friend of the Pallisers, and Hester Earle was busy with her spirit kettle close beside him. The latter looked up suddenly.
“I can’t help thinking that the Americans are a somewhat inconsistent people,” she said. “It is only a little while since Nettie fancied herself a torpedo, and yet I found her explaining her sentiments to the marble knight this afternoon.”
“Well,” said Nettie with a little smile, though she could feel her heart beating, “I feel more like a torpedo than ever just now.”
Hester nodded. “That is more or less comprehensible,” she said. “A torpedo is an essentially modern thing stored with potential activities and likely to go off and startle everybody when they least expect it, all of which is characteristically American. The marble knight – and I fancy some people would include the angel – belongs to the past, to the old knightly days when women were worshipped, men believed in saints and guardian angels, and faith wrought miracles.”
The vicar glanced at Nettie as he said, “Extremes meet now and then.”
“Well,” said Nettie, “women are made much of in my country still, even by impecunious Englishmen who claim descent from men who did their share in those days of chivalry. That is, when they have money enough, but just now I’m not going to be too prickly. You haven’t much voice, Hester, but you sing that little jingly song about the fairies quite prettily, and the notion it’s hung upon gets hold of me. I can feel it better in Northrop church than anywhere. You know what I mean. There is very little to keep us out of fairyland. You have but to touch with your finger tips the ivory gate and golden!”
“If Hester understands your meaning I admit that it’s more than I do,” said Tony.
“Still,” said Nettie naively, “I didn’t think you would. You have too many possessions, and, you see, there are limitations in the song. You might knock a long while at those ivory gates before they let you in.”
There was a little laughter, in which Tony joined, and the vicar said, “Excellent! He deserved it. Please don’t stop. Miss Harding.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Hester. “Once Nettie gets started she generally, as she would express it, goes straight through.”
“Yes,” said Nettie, “I quite often do. I’m not in the least afraid, like you, of being thought sentimental. In fact, we are fond of telling people what we think in my country. Still, I’m not sure about those limitations. The gates should open to everybody, even business men and heiresses – but I don’t want to go trespassing while the vicar’s here.”
The vicar nodded. “I claim you as an ally,” he said, “The idea you have taken up is not, however, exactly a novel one.”
“Well,” said Nettie, “what I feel is this. The old loyal spirit is living still – because it belongs to all time and can never die. It’s with us now in these days of steam engines and magazine rifles. Those old-time men wore their labels – the monk’s girdle, the red-cross shield, the palmer’s shell, and some, according to the pictures, the nimbus too; but can’t modern men, even those who play poker, which is a game of nerve as well as chance, and smoke green cigars, be as good as they? Now, I don’t like a man to be ostensibly puritanical and ascetic – unless, of course, he’s a clergyman.”
There was a little laughter, and the vicar shook his head. “I’m afraid they don’t all come under that category,” he said.
“Still, there are men who never did a mean thing or counted the cost when they saw what was expected of them. Can’t one fancy their passing the gates of that fairyland the easier because they are stained with the dust of the strife, and reaching out towards communion with the spirits of those old loyal folk who went before them – they, and the women they believe in?”
There was a moment’s silence. Nettie’s face was a trifle flushed, and a faint gleam showed in Violet Wayne’s gray eyes.
“I think,” said the vicar reflectively, “you might go further and say – with all angels and archangels! We will take it that fairyland is only a symbol.”
Tony, however, laughed indolently. “One would feel tempted to wonder whether there are many men who never did a mean thing.”
