Storm Music (1934) (13 page)

"PERHAPS you think I'm bluffing. Let me tell you what happened tonight. I wanted a car— badly, and I took the first that came by. Well, that was against the law. By taking that car I offended law and order— two inconvenient gods. They therefore had to be sidetracked. ... What is left of that car is lying on its side in a gully two miles from where we sit. For all I know, it's still burning— with the man it belonged to inside."

This recital was dreadful enough, but Pharaoh lent it a horror that made my blood run cold. I knew it was true— every word. He had murdered an innocent stranger with considerably less compunction than I would have felt about shooting an injured horse. Yet the crime gained in the telling he painted the face of Murder and tired her head. Inhumanity stared from his eyes and rode on his awful voice. The chill of death loaded his accents; the iron of them was frozen, bruising the ears they entered and setting the teeth on edge. But two things they could not do. They could not shake Helena's courage or whip the infinite scorn from her beautiful face.

"Are you seeking to frighten us?" she said.

Pharaoh sat back.

"No," he said, smiling. "Only to open your eyes. Never mind. Would you care to say where you took him? The Count, I mean."

"I must refer you to your powers of deduction. You seem to believe in them."

"As you please," said Pharaoh coolly. "In any event, I'm not at all sure that I want him; he's rather a two-edged sword." He glanced at his watch. "Dear, dear, a quarter to two. It's far too late to discuss my mission tonight. If you'll promise me one or two things— well, I dare say your room is ready"— he raised his eyes to the ceiling— "and the room above yours."

"You insolent swine!" I roared. "If you think—"

The sentence ended in a manner which I should like to forget. It is no good concealing the truth. I yelped with pain, leaped from my seat on the table and swung about, smarting and furious, to face Dewdrop's levelled pistol, some three feet away.

The Jew had pricked my buttock with the blade of his knife.

I hesitated, trembling with rage and desperately weighing the chances of an immediate attack. Fire upon me they dared not. To do so would cost them their hopes and most likely their lives, and they must be shown that blackmail was not to be our portion.

HELENA'S arm was about my shoulders, and her cool, slim hand on my wrist.

"Not that way, my darling, I beg you. Let me play the hand."

"I entirely agree," said Pharaoh. "You're much too mutton-fisted. But you mustn't become abusive: that's really all Dewdrop meant."

The blood surged in my temples. To be baited so was more galling than any knife. But at last discretion prevailed.

"All right," I said thickly. "You play it. I'll manage to bide my time."

The clasp on my shoulders tightened, but that was all.

"What terms," said Helena quietly, "do you suggest?"

"Your word that you will do nothing before midday; that at that hour you two will be here, to take up the same positions you now lay down; that you will give no orders and make no sort of statement which might correct the impression that I am your guest. In a word, I desire your parole— the parole of you both."

There was a moment's silence. Then: "I give it," said Helena quietly.

"And Mr. Spencer?" said Pharaoh. Before I could speak:

"I pledge his word," said Helena.

"That's good enough," said Pharaoh. "Allow me to wish you good-night." He bowed and turned to the door. "Come, Dewdrop," he said.

As in a dream I watched the two retreating with never a backward glance.

As the door closed behind them, Helena put a hand to her head.

"Oh, John!" she said faintly. "I'm afraid I'm—"

The sentence petered out. I was just able to catch her before she fell.

And there I stood, shaken and helpless, pledged to report to a butcher in ten hours' time, with my darling limp in my arms and the blood that Dewdrop had drawn running down my leg.

HALF an hour had gone by, and I was sitting, brooding, on the side of my bed. I was clad in the Count's pyjamas and was wearing his dressing-gown. I had cleansed myself in the bathroom and staunched my wound. This, of course, was nothing, but because it was deep, it had bled a deal more freely than I had supposed. It certainly ached a little, but I was more hungry than hurt. I needed food very badly, to help me, body and soul. Sleep was out of the question. Besides, I did not feel tired.

Someone was knocking— tapping but not on the door.

As I started up the sound ceased.

It had come from the direction of the bathroom. Perhaps, if I waited . . .

The tapping began again.

For a moment I stood still, listening; and then I was proving the panelling close to the bathroom door. The sound came from behind the woodwork.

In vain I sought for some handle while little bursts of tapping demanded an answer that I was not ready to give.

Suddenly I thought of the bathroom. This, like the bedroom, was panelled and there, sure enough, a key was declaring a cupboard sunk in the wall. The moment I opened this I knew that someone beneath it was knocking upon its floor.

The cupboard ran to the left, but its recesses were dark. I therefore rapped in answer and hastened to find my torch. As soon as I brought this to bear, I saw the bolts of a trap which was sunk in the floor of the cupboard, six feet from the door.

In an instant I had it open, and there was a curling staircase of polished oak, and Helena, wrapped in a dressing gown, sitting on one of the stairs. Beside her was standing Sabre, fairly snuffing excitement and ready to leap. The sight of him made me wonder where he had been. I had not set eyes on the dog for more than two hours.

"Thank God." says Helena. "I thought you must be asleep. And now take Sabre, my dear, and tell him to watch your door, and then come down."

The watch was soon set, for Sabre was very wise; and thirty seconds later I entered my lady's room.

On the hearth a fire was burning, and the constant leap of the flames was dispensing what light there was. Walls and ceiling were faintly giving this back, and gold and glass and silver were winking out of the shadows that veiled the room. At first I saw all things darkly; then substance grew out of the shadows to charm the eye— the lovely head of a bedstead, the delicate column that stood for a standard lamp, the elegant curves of a table and the style of a great bergere. A long flash declared a pier-glass and a bright patch of painted woodwork a chest of drawers. And in the midst stood Helena, straight and slim and smiling, her dressing gown swathing her beauty from ankles to throat. The gown was pink, I remember, all flowered with tiny posies, and she was wearing pink slippers which looked absurdly small.

She pointed to a table standing close to the hearth, laid for one only, but bearing enough for three.

"Open the wine, my darling. I'll cut the chicken up."

As I filled her glass:

"We mustn't eat much," I whispered. "If we do, they'll know I've been here."

"Let them know," said Helena quickly. "What do I care? What does it matter, John? What does anything matter now?"

I shook my head.

"This matters, Nell. Compared with this, the forester's cottage and all was a Sunday School show. Don't think I'm prudish; I'm not. I'm only too glad of a good excuse to be here. You see, I'm a man, and I love you— from throat to foot. But no one must ever know it. If we stood on the steps of a scaffold I'd say the same."

I saw her fingers tighten about the stem of her glass. Then:

"You're right," she said. "I'm getting my values wrong. Never mind. Sabre can cover your tracks. I'll leave a plate on the floor, and they'll think I gave him a meal."

"And the wine you upset," said I. "I'll wet the carpet with water before I go."

Absurdly enough, this arrangement comforted me. The fragments of propriety that remained were scarcely worth taking up; all the same ...

SO we broke our fast together and shared her glass. Whilst we were eating and drinking we hardly exchanged a word, and when we had done I carried the table away and moved her chair to the blaze.

"Cigarettes," she said. "In the china box by the bed."

For five minutes we smoked in silence, regarding the leaping flames. Then I threw down my cigarette and got to my feet.

"Interlude," I said quietly. "And now, if you please, my darling. I want you to go to bed. We've got a hard day coming and we've left a hard day behind. It's no good our talking tonight. I shall be on the ramparts at nine, but I hope that you won't appear till eleven o'clock."

She did not seem to hear me, but after a moment or two she rose to her feet.

"John," she said, "do you love me?" I caught her hand and put it up to my lips.

"You know that I love you," I said, "far more than life."

"I wonder," she said. "That's terribly easy to say."

"Why, Nell, what's the matter?" I whispered.

She shook her beautiful head.

"Nothing's the matter. I only wondered . . . You see, I love you— blindly. There's nothing else in my world. Reputation, Yorick, Valentine— compared with you they're so many idle words. And I naturally can't help wondering whether you love me as much. It doesn't matter, you know. I neither ask nor expect it. But sometimes I wonder, my darling, whether you do."

"Give me your hands," I said, "your beautiful hands." She dropped her cigarette and gave me her other hand. "And now your eyes." She lifted her gaze to mine. "I can't define the word 'love,' but when you look troubled, Nell, it tears my heart. Pharaoh's getting at you through me— we both know that. Well, I can't curse the day I met you, but I wish to God that he'd got me at Annabel, Nell— that day when Rush jogged his arm, and he hit the mirror instead."

Her arms were about my neck, and. her breath on my lips.

"No, no. Take it back. Don't say such terrible things. Oh, John, my precious, my darling." For a moment she clung to me desperately. Then she snatched a note from her pocket and thrust it into my hand. "You say you love me. Then take this note to your cousin and save me from something that frightens me more than death. You can go by the footbridge and tunnel— that key I gave to Florin was Valentine's master key. But you must go before it's light. If you're seen coming back it won't matter because you'll be coming back."

"But Nell, how can I? I'm on parole, my darling. We've passed our word."

"How could I help it? I was fainting. For more than a minute my head had been going round. And who have I passed it to? To a fiend— a butcher, that's trying to smash my life. And how am I breaking my word? Listen. This note's to warn your cousin that Valentine must not return. We never told Barley to keep him, so when he comes to they'll naturally let him go."

"It's 'taking action,' Nell. You swore you wouldn't do that."

"If you love me, you'll do it, John. Call it breaking my word, if you please, and think the less of me for it— but do as I say. I haven't mentioned Pharaoh. I haven't breathed a word of the plight we're in. But if it comes out that I laid hands on my brother— well, I'll just be ruined for life. Open the note and read it. Here— give it to me." She seized it and tore it open. "Listen to this. 'For the love of God keep Valentine with you. Use any violence you like. He must not return to the castle, and no one on earth must know that he is with you. For the love of Christ don't fail me.'"

"BUT why write to Geoffrey, Nell? I could tell Barley to tell him. and—"

"No. no. You don't understand. It's too serious for that. I don't think you know what I've done in abducting the Count. You must give this note to your cousin— into his hands."

"But, Nell, that's out of the question. Geoffrey won't be back till 7 o'clock."

"What does that matter, John? We're free till noon." She stuffed the sheet into its envelope and thrust this again upon me. "Take it. I beg and pray you, and give it into his hand. You talk of my reputation. In this affair far more than my name is at stake. If they knew what I'd done, my own servants would use me as a leper. They all took the oath that I took, and it's never been broken. John, since Yorick was built. I had to do it, John— you know that I had; but if anyone ever finds out, there's an end of me."

"Pharaoh knows, my darling."

"What can he prove? Nothing. But if Valentine and he get together, I haven't a chance. And Pharaoh would be on to Mona within the hour."

"But, Nell—my God I can't leave you."

"Why not? I'm perfectly safe. And if your cousin's punctual, you can be back by eight. I'll send a horse to meet you at the mouth of the entrance drive. You see, you alone can help me. I can't send the note by a servant, and yet it must go."

For a moment I stood irresolute. Then:

"All right." I said. "I'll take it. But—"

'Thank God, my darling." She threw herself into my arms. "Now I do know that you love me. Don't think I don't know what I'm asking. I—"

"I'm not going to wait for Geoffrey. The moment—"

"You must—you must. You must wait and see him read it— and bring me back his promise to do as I say. Don't you see, you must wait for Geoffrey, in case my brother wakes up before he arrives?"

"I'll bet he doesn't." said I. "But what if he does? I've only got to tell Barley to—"

"No, no. You mustn't tell Barley. He mustn't know."

"But he knows already, Nell."

"Not this—and he mustn't know it. But your cousin will understand." Her arms were tight about me, and her eager, parted lips were two inches from mine. "Oh, John, my darling, do it. Do as I say. Go down and give him the note and see for yourself that he reads it— and then come back." She laid her cheek against mine. "Think it's a whim, if you like. Write me down as unbalanced— as making a fuss about something that doesn't count. But I think you must see that I'm troubled; and you said that when I looked troubled ... it tore your heart." She brushed my cheek with her lips, and threw back her head. "Ask what you like of me after— I'll give it with all my heart. We'll live or die together— just as you say. But we're going to live— I know it. We're going to come out of this pass. But I mustn't be stained, my darling— I don't want your wife to be stained with a blemish that won't come off."