Kitabı oku: «Captain Desmond, V.C.», sayfa 18

CHAPTER XXVI.
STAND TO YOUR GUNS

"It is so that a woman loves who is worthy of heroes."

– R. L. S.

Wyndham, returning to the bungalow soon after ten o'clock, found it readjusted to its new conditions. Frank Olliver had returned to her empty home; and Desmond, at his own request, had had his camp-bed made up in the study, that he might in no way disturb his wife. She herself had retired early, without going in to him again. Honor noted and wondered at the omission; but since Evelyn had said nothing about her short interview with Theo, she forbore to question her or press her unduly at the start.

When Paul arrived Desmond was sound asleep, wearied out with pain of body and mind; while Honor moved noiselessly to and fro, setting in readiness all that might be wanted before morning. Paul came armed with Mackay's permission to remain on duty for the night, taking what little rest he required on the drawing-room sofa, and Honor could not withhold a smile at his satisfaction.

"I believe you're jealous!" she said. "You want to oust me, and have him all to yourself!"

"You are right," he answered frankly; and going over to the bed, stood looking upon his friend in an unspeakable content, that even anxiety was powerless to annul.

For all that, it was late before Honor managed to leave her patient, and slip away into the bare room where Harry Denvil lay awaiting the dawn.

Save for the long scar across his face, no suggestion of that last desperate fight was visible; and in the presence of the Great Silence, her own turmoil of heart and brain was stilled as at the touch of a reassuring hand. She knelt a long while beside the Boy. It pleased her to believe that he was in some way aware of her companionship; that perhaps he was even glad of it – glad that she should feel no lightest shrinking from the temple that had enshrined the brave jewel of his soul.

Arrived in her own room, she found Parbutti huddled on the ground, in a state of damp and voluble distress. She could not bring herself to dismiss the old woman at once; though her heart cried out for solitude, and weariness seemed suddenly to dissolve her very bones. She saw now that her love had deepened and strengthened during Desmond's absence, as great love is apt to do; and the shock of his return, coupled with the scant possibility of her own escape, had tried her fortitude more severely than she knew.

She submitted in silence to the exchanging of her tea-gown for a white wrapper, and to the loosening of her hair, Parbutti crooning over her ceaselessly the while.

"Now I will soothe your Honour's head till weariness be forgotten, O my Miss Sahib, daughter of my heart! Sleep without dreams, my life; and have no fear for the Captain Sahib, who is surely favoured of the gods by reason of his great courage."

While her tongue ran on, the wrinkled hands moved skilfully over the girl's head and neck, fingering each separate nerve, and stilling the throbbing pulses by that mystery of touch, which we of the West are just beginning to acquire, but which is a common heritage in the East.

"Go now, Parbutti," Honor commanded at length. "Thy fingers be miracle-workers. It is enough."

And as Parbutti departed, praising the gods, Honor leaned her chin upon her hands, and frankly confronted the decision that must be arrived at before morning.

To her inner consciousness it seemed wrong and impossible to fulfil her promise and remain; while to all outward appearance it seemed equally wrong and impossible to go. She could not see clearly. She could only feel intensely; and her paramount feeling at the moment was that God asked of her more than human nature could achieve.

The man's weakness and dependence awakened in her the strongest, the divinest element of a woman's love, and with it the longing to uphold and help him to the utmost limit of her power. It was this intensity of longing which convinced her that, at all costs, she must go. Yet at the first thought of Evelyn her invincible arguments fell back like a defeated battalion.

If she had sought the Frontier in the hope of coming into touch with life's stern realities, her hope had been terribly fulfilled.

"Dear God, what ought I to do?" she murmured on a note of passionate appeal. But no answer came out of the stillness; and sheer human need was too strong upon her for prayer.

Rising impulsively, she went over to the wide-flung door that led into the back verandah, and rolled up the "chick," flooding the room with light; for a full moon rode high in the heavens, eclipsing the fire of the stars. She stepped out into the verandah, and passed to the far end, that looked across a strip of rocky desolation to the hills.

The whole world slept in silver, its radiance intensified by patches of blue-black shadow; and with sudden distinctness her night journey of a year ago came back to her mind. What an immeasurable way she had travelled since then! And how far removed was the buoyant-hearted girl of that March morning from the woman who rebelled with all her soul against the cup of bitterness, even while she drank it to the dregs!

Deliberately she tried to gather into herself something of the night's colossal calm, to wrest from the starved scrub of the desert a portion of its patience, its astounding perseverance; to stifle her craving for clear unprejudiced human counsel.

By a natural impulse her thought turned to Mrs Conolly, who alone possessed both will and power to satisfy her need. To speak of her own trouble was a thing outside the pale of possibility. Death itself were preferable. But to consult her friend as to what would really be best for Evelyn was quite another matter. She would go and see Mrs Conolly before breakfast and be ruled by her unfailing wisdom.

Having arrived at one practical decision, her mind grew calmer. She went back to her room, lowered the "chick" and knelt for a long while beside her bed – a white, gracious figure, half-veiled by a dusky curtain of hair.

Habit woke her before seven; and she dressed briskly, heartened by a sense of something definite to be done. A sound of many feet and hushed voices told her that Wyndham and the Pioneer officers had arrived. Chaplains were rare on the Border in those days; and Wyndham was to read the service, as he did on most occasions, Sundays included.

When Honor came out into the hall she found the chick rolled up and the verandah a blaze of full-dress uniforms. No man plays out his last act with more of pomp and circumstance than a soldier; and there is a singular fitness in this emphasis on the dignity rather than the tragedy of death.

The girl remained standing afar off, watching the scene, whose brilliance was heightened by an untempered April sun.

A group of officers, moving aside, revealed two scarlet rows of Pioneers; and beyond them Paul's squadron, striking a deeper note of blue and gold. The band was drawn up ready to start. Slanting rays flashed cheerfully from the brass of trumpets, cornets, bassoons; from the silver fittings of flutes; from the gold on scarlet tunics. And in the midst of this ordered brilliance stood the gun-carriage, grey and austere, its human burden hidden under the folds of the English flag. Behind the gun-carriage the Boy's charger waited, with an air of uncomplaining weariness, the boots hanging reversed over the empty saddle.

With an aching lump in her throat Honor turned away. At that moment the shuddering vibrations of muffled drums ushered in the "Dead March" and each note fell on her heart like a blow.

In passing the study door she paused irresolute, battling with that refractory heart of hers, which refused to sit quiet in its chains. It argued now that, after all, she was his nurse; she had every right to go in and see that all was well with him. But conscience and the hammering of her pulses warned her that the greater right was – to refrain; and straightening herself briskly, she went out through the back verandah to Mrs Conolly's bungalow.

She had not been gone twenty minutes when Evelyn crept into the study, so softly that her husband was not aware of her presence till her fingers rested upon his hand.

He started, and took hold of them.

"That you?" he said gently. "Good-morning."

There was no life in his tone; and its apathy – so incredible a quality in him – gave her courage.

"Theo," she whispered, kneeling down by him, "is it any good trying to speak to you now? Will you believe that – I am ever so sorry? I have been miserable all night; and I am not frightened any more, – see!" In token of sincerity she caressed his empty coat-sleeve. "Will you please – forgive me? Will you?"

"With all my heart, Ladybird," he answered quietly. "But it's no use speaking. A thing like that can't be explained away. It is simply wiped off the slate – you understand?" And almost before the words were out she had kissed him.

Then she slid down into a sitting position, one arm flung lightly across the rug that covered him.

In that instant the thunder of three successive volleys shook the house; and heart-stirring trumpet-notes sounded the Last Post. With a small shudder Evelyn shrank closer to her husband, resting her head against his chair; and Desmond lay watching her in silent wonderment at the tangle of moods and graces which, for lack of a truer word, must needs be called her character. He wondered also how much might have been averted if she had come to him thus yesterday instead of to-day. Impossible to guess. He could only wrench his thoughts away from the forbidden subject; and try to beat down the strong new yearning that possessed him, by occasionally stroking his wife's hair.

It is when we most crave for bread that life has this ironical trick of presenting us with a stone.

Honor, in the meanwhile, had reached Mrs Conolly's bungalow. She found her in the drawing-room arranging flower-vases, and equipped for her morning ride.

"Honor? You? How delightful!" Then catching a clearer view of the girl's face: "My dear – what is it?"

Honor smiled.

"I am afraid you were going out," she said, evading the question.

"Certainly I was; but I am not going now. It is evident that you want me."

"Yes – I want you."

Mrs Jim called out an order to the waiting sais; and followed Honor, who had gone over to the mantelpiece, and buried her face in the cool fragrance of a cluster of Gloire de Dijons.

Mrs Conolly took her gently by the arm.

"I can't have you looking like that, my child," she said. "Your eyes are like saucers, with indigo shadows under them. Did you sleep a wink last night?"

"Not many winks; that's why I am here."

"I see. You must be cruelly anxious about Captain Desmond, as we all are; but I will not believe that the worst can happen."

"No – oh no!" Honor spoke as if she were beating off an enemy. "But the trouble that kept me awake was – Evelyn."

"Ah! Is the strain going to be too much for her? Come to the sofa, dear, and tell me the whole difficulty."

Honor hesitated. She had her own reasons for wishing to avoid Mrs Conolly's too sympathetic scrutiny.

"You sit down," she said. "I feel too restless. I would rather speak first." And with a hint of inward perplexity Mrs Conolly obeyed.

"It's like this," Honor began, resting an arm on the mantelpiece and not looking directly at her friend, "Dr Mackay has asked me to take entire charge of Theo for the present. He spoke rather strongly, – rather cruelly, about not leaving him in Evelyn's hands. I think he wanted to force my consent; and for the moment I could not refuse. But this is Evelyn's first big chance of rising above herself; and if I step in and do everything I take it right out of her hands. This seems to me so unfair that I have been seriously wondering whether I ought not to – go right away till the worst is over." And she reiterated the arguments she had already put before Theo, as much in the hope of convincing herself as her friend.

Mrs Conolly, watching her with an increasing thoughtfulness, divined some deeper complication beneath her unusual insistence on the wrong point of view; and awaited the sure revelation that would come when it would come.

"You see, don't you," Honor concluded, in a beseeching tone, "that it is not easy to make out what is really best, what is right to be done? And Evelyn's uncertainty makes things still more difficult. One moment I feel almost sure she would 'find herself' if I were not always at her elbow; and the next I feel as if it would be criminal to leave her unsupported for five minutes at a time like this."

"That last comes nearer the truth than anything you have said yet," was Mrs Jim's unhesitating verdict. "Frankly, Honor, I agree with Dr Mackay; and I must really plead with you to leave off splitting straws about your 'Evelyn,' and to think of Captain Desmond – and Captain Desmond only. Surely you care more for him, and for what comes to him, than your line of argument seems to imply?"

Honor drew herself up as if she had been struck. The appeal was so unlooked for, the implication so unendurable, that for an instant she lost her balance. A slow colour crept into her cheeks, a colour drawn from the deepest wells of feeling; and while she stood blankly wondering how she might best remedy her mistake, Mrs Conolly's voice again came to her ears.

"Indeed, my child, you spoke truth just now," she said slowly, a fresh significance in her tone. "It must be very hard for you to make out what is right."

Honor threw up her head with a gesture of defiance.

"Why should you suddenly say that?" she demanded, almost angrily. But the instant her eyes met those of her friend the unnameable truth flashed between them clear as speech and with a stifled sound Honor hid her face in her hands.

Followed a tense silence; then Mrs Conolly came to her and put an arm round her. But the girl stiffened under the touch of sympathy implying mutual knowledge of that which belonged only to herself and God.

"How could I dream that you would guess?" she murmured, without uncovering her face – "that you would even imagine such a thing to be possible?"

"My dearest," the other answered gently, "I am old enough to know that, where the human heart is concerned, all things are possible."

"But I can't endure that you should know; that you should – think ill of me."

"You know me very little, Honor, if you can dream of that for a moment. Come and sit down. No need to hold aloof from me now."

Honor submitted to be led to the sofa, and drawn down close beside her friend. The whole thing seemed to have become an incredible nightmare.

"Listen to me, my child," Mrs Conolly began, the inexpressible note of mother-love sounding in her voice. "I want you to realise, once for all, how I regard this matter. I think you know how much I have loved and admired you, and I do so now – more than ever. An overwhelming trouble has come upon you, by no will of your own; and you are evidently going to meet it with a high-minded courage altogether worthy of your father's daughter."

Honor shivered.

"Don't speak of father," she entreated. "Only – now that you understand, tell me – tell me – what must I do?"

The passionate appeal coming from this girl – apt rather to err in the direction of independence – stirred Mrs Jim's big heart to its depths.

"You will abide by my decision?" she asked.

"Yes; I am ready to do anything for – either of them."

"Bravely spoken, my dear. In that case I can only say, 'Stand to your guns.' You have promised to take over charge of Captain Desmond, and a soldier's daughter should not dream of deserting her post. Mind you, I would not give such advice to ninety-nine girls out of a hundred in your position. The risk would be too serious; and I only dare give it to you because I am sure of you, Honor. I quite realise why you feel you ought to go. But your own feelings must simply be ignored. Your one hope lies in starving them to death, if possible. Give Evelyn her chance by all means, but I can't allow you to desert Captain Desmond on her account. You must be at hand to protect him, and uphold her, in case of failure. In plain English, you must consent to be a mere prop – putting yourself in the background and leaving her to reap the reward. It is the eternal sacrifice of the strong for the weak. You are one of the strong; and in your case there is no shirking the penalty without an imputation that could never be coupled with the name of Meredith."

Honor looked up at that with a characteristic tilt of her chin, and Mrs Conolly's face softened to a smile.

"Am I counselling cruelly hard things, dear?" she asked tenderly.

"No, indeed. If you were soft and sympathetic, I should go away at once. You have shown me quite clearly what is required of me. It will not be – easy. But one can do no less than go through with it – in silence."

Mrs Conolly sat looking at the girl for a few seconds. Then:

"My dear, I am very proud of you," she said with quiet sincerity. "I can see that you have drawn freely on a Strength beyond your own. Just take victory for granted; and do your simple human duty to a sick man who is in great need of you, and whose fortune or misfortune is a matter of real concern to many others besides those near and dear to him. I know I am not exaggerating when I say that if any serious harm came to Captain Desmond it would be a calamity felt not only by his regiment, but by more than half the Frontier Force. He has the 'genius to be loved,' that is perhaps the highest form of genius – "

"I know – I know. Don't talk about him, please."

"Ah! but that is part of your hard programme, Honor. You must learn to talk of him, and to let others talk of him. Only you must banish him altogether out of your own thoughts. You see the difference?"

"Yes; I see the difference."

"The essence of danger lies there, and too few people recognise it. I believe that half the emotional catastrophes of life might be traced back to want of self-control in the region of thought. The world's real conquerors are those who 'hold in quietness their land of the spirit'; and you have the power to be one of them if you choose."

"I do choose," Honor answered in a low level voice, looking straight before her.

"Then the thing is as good as done." She rose on the words, and drew Honor to her feet. "There; I think I have said hard things enough for one day."

Honor looked very straightly into the elder woman's strong plain face.

"I know you don't expect me to thank you," she said; "we understand each other too well for that. And we will never speak of this again, please. It is dead and buried from to-day."

"Of course. That is why I have spoken rather fully this morning. But be sure you will be constantly in my thoughts, and – in my prayers."

Then she took possession of the girl, holding her closely for a long while; and when they moved apart tears stood in her eyes, though she was a woman little given to that luxury.

"This has been a great blow to me, dear," she said. "I had such high hopes for you. I had even thought of Major Wyndham."

Honor smiled wearily.

"It was perverse of me. I suppose it ought to have been – Paul."

"I wish it had been, with all my heart; and I confess I am puzzled about you two. How has he come to be 'Paul' within this last fortnight?"

"It is simply that we have made a compact. He knows now that he can never be anything more than – Paul – the truest friend a woman ever had."

"Poor fellow! So there are two of you wasted!"

"Is any real love ever wasted?" Honor asked so simply that Mrs Conolly kissed her again.

"My child, you put me to shame. It is clearly I who must learn from you. Now, go home; and God be with you as He very surely will."

Then with her head uplifted and her spirit braced to unflinching endurance, Honor Meredith went out into the blue and gold of the morning.

CHAPTER XXVII.
THE EXECRABLE UNKNOWN

 
"Doubting things go wrong,
Often hurts more than to be sure they do."
 

– Shakespeare.

Honor found Evelyn in a state of chastened happiness, buttering toast for Theo's breakfast, which stood ready on a tray at her side.

"Would you like to take this in yourself?" she said, as she completed her task. "I think he would be pleased. He was asking where you were."

The suggestion was so graciously proffered that Honor deposited a light kiss on the coiled floss silk of Evelyn's hair as she bent above the table. Then she took up the tray, and went on into the study.

She entered, and set it down without speaking; and Desmond, who was lying back with closed eyes, roused himself at the sound.

"Thank you, little woman," he said. Then, with a start, "Ah, Honor, – it's you. Very kind of you to trouble. Good-morning."

The contrast in his tone and manner was apparent, even in so few words; and Honor was puzzled.

"I hope you got some sleep last night," she said, "after that cruel thirty-six hours."

"More or less, thanks. But I had a good deal to say to Paul. You and he seem to have become very close friends while I have been away."

"We have; permanently, I am glad to say. I should have come in to you when I got up, but I was sure he would have done everything you could want before leaving."

"He did; and he'll be back the minute he's through with his work. He is an incomparable nurse; and with him at hand, I shall not need to – trespass on so much of your time, after all."

Honor bit her lip and tingled in every nerve, less at the actual words than at the manner of their utterance – a mingling of embarrassment and schooled politeness, which set her at arm's length, checked spontaneity, and brought her down from the heights with the speed of a dropped stone.

"It is not a question of trespassing on my time," she said, and in spite of herself a hint of constraint invaded her voice. "But I have no wish to deprive Paul of his privilege and right. You can settle it with Dr Mackay between you. Now, it's time you ate your breakfast. Can you manage by yourself? Shall I send Evelyn to help you?"

"No, thanks; I can manage all right."

He knew quite well he could do nothing of the sort; but his one need was to be alone.

"Very well. I shall be busy this morning with mail letters. Evelyn will sit with you till Paul comes; and Frank is sure to be round during the day. I pointed out to you yesterday that there were plenty of – others able and willing to see after you."

Before he could remonstrate she was gone. He drew in his breath sharply, between set teeth, and struck the arm of his chair with jarring force.

"I have hurt her – clumsy brute that I am. And I must do worse before the day's out. But the sooner it's over the better."

It was his invariable attitude towards a distasteful duty; and he decided not to let slip a second opportunity. Weak and unaided, he made what shift he could to deal with the intricacies of breakfast, choking back his irritability when he found himself grasping empty air in place of the teapot handle, sending the sugar-tongs clattering to the floor, and deluging his saucer by pouring the milk outside the cup. For the moment, to this man of independent spirit, these trivial indignities seemed more unendurable than the loss of his subaltern, the intrusive shadow threatening his self-respect, or the fear of blindness, that lay upon his heart cold and heavy as a corpse.

And on the other side of the door, Honor stood alone in the drawing-room, trying to regain some measure of calmness before returning to the breakfast-table.

Red-hot resentment fired her from head to foot. Resentment against what, against whom? she asked herself blankly, and in the same breath turned her back upon the answer. Chiefly against herself, no doubt, for her inglorious descent from the pinnacle of stoicism, to which she had climbed barely an hour ago. It seemed that Love, coming late to these two, had come as a refiner's fire, to "torment their hearts, till it should have unfolded the capacities of their spirits." For Love, like Wisdom, is justified of all her children.

Breakfast, followed by details of housekeeping, reinstated common-sense. After all, since she had resolved to remain in the background, Theo had simplified affairs by consigning her to her destined position. She could quite well keep her promise to Dr Mackay, and superintend all matters of moment, without spending much time in the sick-room. Evelyn had agreed to accept her share of the nursing; and, as she had said, there were others, whose right was beyond her own.

Shortly after tiffin, Wyndham arrived with Rajinder Singh; and finding them together in the drawing-room – after the short interview permitted by Paul – Honor took the opportunity of fulfilling a request made by Theo on the previous evening.

"I have to write to Mrs Denvil," she said to Paul. "Would the Sirdar mind giving me a few details about the fighting on the 17th?"

Paul glanced approvingly at the old Sikh, who stood beside him, a princely figure of a man, in the magnificent mufti affected by the native cavalry officer – a long coat of peach-coloured brocade, and a turban of the same tint.

"Mind? He needs very little encouragement to enlarge on Theo's share in the proceedings."

"I would like to hear all he can tell me about that," she answered on a low note of fervour.

"You could follow him, I suppose?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"You hear, Ressaldar Sahib." Paul turned to his companion. "The Miss Sahib desires full news of the attack and engagement on Tuesday morning, that she may write of it to England."

The man's eyes gleamed under his shaggy brows, and he launched into the story, nothing loth; his eloquence rising as he warmed to the congenial theme.

Paul Wyndham stepped back a few paces into a patch of shadow, the better to watch Honor Meredith at his ease. She had balanced herself lightly on the arm of a chair; and now leaned a little forward, her lips just parted in the eagerness of anticipation. A turquoise medallion on a fine gold chain made a single incident of colour on the habitual ivory tint of her gown; threads of burnished copper glinted among the coils of her hair; and the loyal loving soul of her shone like a light through the seriousness of her eyes.

And as he watched, hope – that dies harder than any quality of the heart – rose up in him and prevailed. A day must come when this execrable unknown would no longer stand between them; when she would come to him of her own accord, as she had promised; – and he could wait for years, without impatience, on the bare chance of such a consummation.

But at this point a growing change in her riveted his attention – a change such as only the eyes of a lover could detect and interpret aright. She sat almost facing him; and at the first had looked towards him, from time to time, certain of his sympathy with the interest that held her. But before five minutes were out he had been forgotten as though he were not; and by how all else about her was forgotten also. Not her spirit only, but her whole heart glowed in her eyes; and Paul Wyndham, standing watchful and silent in the shadow, became abruptly aware that the execrable unknown – whom he had been hating for the past fortnight with all the strength of a strong nature – was the man he loved better than anything else on earth.

The Ressaldar was nearing the crowning-point of his story now. Honor listened spellbound as he told her of the breathless rush up that rugged incline, and of the sight that greeted them after scaling the mighty staircase of rock.

"None save the fleetest among us could keep pace with the Captain Sahib, wounded as he was," the Sikh was saying, when Wyndham, with a hideous jar, came back to reality. "But God gave me strength, though I have fifty years well told, so that I came not far behind; and even as Denvil Sahib fell, with his face to the earth, at the Captain Sahib's feet, he turned upon the Afridi devils like a lion among wolves, and smote three of them to hell before a man could say, 'It lightens.' Yet came there one pig of a coward behind him, Miss Sahib. Only, by God's mercy, I also was there, to give him such greeting as he deserved with my Persian sword, that hath passed from father to son these hundred and fifty years, and hath never done better work than in averting the hand of death from my Captain Sahib Bahadur, whom God will make Jungi-Lat-Sahib²⁹ before the end of his days! For myself I am an old man, and of a truth I covet no higher honour than this that hath befallen me, in rendering twice, without merit, such good service to the Border. Nay, but who am I that I should speak thus? Hath not the Miss Sahib herself rendered a like service? May your honour live long, and be the mother of heroes!"

Rajinder Singh bowed low on the words, which brought the girl to her feet and crimsoned her clear skin from chin to brow. By a deft question she turned the tide of talk into a less embarrassing channel; and Paul Wyndham, pulling himself together with an effort, went noiselessly out of the room.

Passing through the hall, he sought the comparative privacy of the back verandah, which was apt to be deserted at this time of day. Here he confronted the discovery that tortured him – denied it; wrestled with it; and finally owned himself beaten by it. There was no evading the witness of his own eyes; and in that moment it seemed to him that he had reached the limit of endurance. Then a sudden question stabbed him. How far was Theo responsible for that which had come about? Was he, even remotely, to blame?

Had any living soul dared to breathe such questions in his hearing Wyndham would have knocked the words down his throat, and several teeth along with them, man of peace though he was. But the very depth of his feeling for Desmond made him the more clear-eyed and stern in judgment; and the intolerable doubt, uprising like a mist before his inner vision, held him motionless, forgetful of place and time; till footsteps roused him, and he turned to find Honor coming towards him.

"Why, Paul," she said, "what brings you here? I have been looking for you everywhere. I thought you had gone to him. Evelyn says he is alone, and he wants you."