The Buccaneers (22 page)

The game began in earnest, and Lady Churt opened with the supernaturally brilliant hand which often falls to the lot of the novice. The stakes (the observant Robinson noticed) were higher than usual, the players consequently more intent. It was one of those afternoons when thunder invisibly amasses itself behind the blue, and as the sun dropped slowly westward it seemed as though the card-table under the cedar-boughs were overhung by the same feverish hush as the sultry lawns and airless river.

Lady Churt's luck did not hold. Too quickly elated, she dashed ahead toward disaster. Robinson was not long in discovering that she was too emotional for a game based on dissimulation, and no match for such seasoned players as Lady Richard and Lady Richard's brother. Even the other young men had more experience, or at any rate more self-control, than she could muster; and though her purse had evidently been better supplied than she pretended, the time at length came when it was nearly empty.

But at that very moment her luck turned again. Robinson could not believe his eyes. The hand she held could hardly be surpassed; she understood enough of the game to seize her opportunity and fling her last notes into the jack-pot presided over by Teddy de Santos-Dios's glossy smile and supple gestures. There was more money in the jack-pot than Robinson had ever seen on the Runnymede card-table, and a certain breathlessness pervaded the scene, as if the weight of the thundery sky were in the lungs of the players.

Lady Churt threw down her hand, and leaned back with a sparkle of triumph in eyes and lips. But Miles Dawnly, with an almost apologetic gesture, had spread his cards upon the table.

“Begorra! A royal flush—” a young Irish lieutenant gasped out. The groups about the table stared at each other. It was one of those moments which make even seasoned poker-players gasp. For a short interval of perplexity Lady Churt was silent; then the exclamations of the other players brought home to her the shock of her disaster.

“It's the sort of game that fellows write about in their memoirs,” murmured Teddy, almost awestruck; and the lucky winner gave an embarrassed laugh. It was almost incredible to him too.

Lady Churt pushed back her chair, nearly colliding with the attentive Robinson. She tried to laugh. “Well, I've learnt my lesson! Lost Seadown's last copper, as well as my own. Not that he need mind; he's won more than he lent me. But I'm completely ruined—down and out, as I believe you say in the States. I'm afraid you're all too clever for me, and one of the young ladies had better take my place,” she added with a drawn smile.

“Oh, come, Idina, don't lose heart!” exclaimed Lady Richard, deep in the game, and annoyed at the interruption.

“Heart, my dear? I assure you I've never minded parting with that organ. It's losing the shillings and pence that I can't afford.”

Miles Dawnly glanced across the table at Lizzy Elmsworth, who stood beside Hector Robinson, her keen eyes bent on the game. “Come, Miss Elmsworth, if Lady Churt is really deserting us, won't you replace her?”

“Do, Lizzy,” cried Lady Richard; but Lizzy shook her head, declaring that she and her friends were completely ignorant of the game.

“What, even Virginia?” Conchita laughed. “There's no excuse for her, at any rate, for her father is a celebrated poker-player. My respected parent always says he'd rather make Colonel St. George a handsome present than sit down at poker with him.”

Virginia coloured at the challenge, but Lizzy, always quicker at the uptake, intervened before she could answer.

“You seem to have forgotten, Conchita, that girls don't play cards for money in America.”

Lady Churt turned suddenly toward Virginia St. George, who was standing behind her. “No. I understand the game you young ladies play has fewer risks, and requires only two players,” she said, fixing her vivid eyes on the girl's bewildered face. Robinson, who had drawn back a few steps, was still watching her intently. He said to himself that he had never seen a woman so angry, and that certain small viperine heads darting forked tongues behind their glass cases at the Zoo would in future always remind him of Lady Churt.

For a moment Virginia's bewilderment was shared by the others about the table; but Conchita, startled out of her absorption in the game, hastily assumed the air of one who is vainly struggling to repress a burst of ill-timed mirth. “How frightfully funny you are, Idina! I do wish you wouldn't make me laugh so terribly in this hot weather!”

Lady Churt's colour rose angrily. “I'm glad it amuses you to see your friends lose their money,” she said. “But unluckily I can't afford to make the fun last much longer.”

“Oh, nonsense, darling! Of course your luck will turn. It's been miraculous already. Lend her something to go on with, Seadown, do....”

“I'm afraid Seadown can't go on either. I'm sorry to be a spoil-sport, but I must really carry him off. As he forgot to lunch with me today, it's only fair that he should come back to town for dinner.”

Lord Seadown, who had relapsed into an unhappy silence, did not break it in response to this; but Lady Richard once more came to his rescue. “We love your chaff, Idina; and we hope the idea of your carrying off Seadown is only a part of it. You say he was engaged to lunch with you today; but isn't there a mistake about dates? Seedy, in his family character as my brother-in-law, brought me down here for the weekend, and I'm afraid he's got to wait and see me home on Monday. You wouldn't suppose my husband would mind my travelling alone, would you, considering how much he does it himself—or professes to; but as a matter of fact he and my father-in-law, who disagree on so many subjects, are quite agreed that I'm not to have any adventures if they can help it. And so you see ... But sit down again, darling, do. Why should you hurry away? If you'll only stop and dine you'll have an army of heroes to see you back to town; and Seadown's society at dinner.”

The effect of this was to make Lady Churt whiten with anger under her paint. She glanced sharply from Lady Richard to Lord Seadown.

“Yes, do, Idina,” the latter at length found voice to say.

Lady Churt threw back her brilliant head with another laugh. “Thanks a lot for your invitation, Conchita darling—and for yours too, Seadown. It's really rather amusing to be asked to dine in one's own house.... But today I'm afraid I can't. I've got to carry you back to London with me, Seadown, whoever may have brought you here. The fact is”—she turned another of her challenging glances on Virginia St. George—“the fact is, it's time your hostesses found out that you don't go with the house; at least not when I'm not living in it. That ought to have been explained to them, perhaps—”

“Idina ...” Lord Seadown muttered in anguish.

“Oh, I'm not blaming anybody! It's such a natural mistake. Lord Seadown comes down so continually when I'm here,” Lady Churt pursued, her eyes still on Virginia's burning face, “that I suppose he simply forgot the house was let, and went on coming from the mere force of habit. I do hope, Miss St. George, his being here hasn't inconvenienced you? Come along, Seadown, or we'll miss our train; and please excuse yourself to these young ladies, who may think your visits were made on their account—mayn't they?”

A startled silence followed. Even Conchita's ready tongue seemed to fail her. She cast a look of interrogation at her brother-in-law, but his gaze remained obstinately on the ground, and the other young men had discreetly drawn back from the scene of action.

Virginia St. George stood a little way from her friends. Her head was high, her cheeks burning, her blue eyes dark with indignation. Mr. Robinson, intently following the scene, wondered whether it were possible for a young creature to look more proud and beautiful. But in another moment he found himself reversing his judgment; for Mr. Robinson was all for action, and suddenly, swiftly, the other beauty, Virginia's friend and rival, had flung herself into the fray.

“Virginia! What are you waiting for? Don't you see that Lord Seadown has no right to speak till you do? Why don't you tell him at once that he has your permission to announce your engagement?” Lizzy Elmsworth cried with angry fervour.

Mr. Robinson hung upon this dialogue with the breathless absorption of an experienced play-goer discovering the gifts of an unknown actress. “By Jove—by Jove,” he murmured to himself. His talk with Mabel Elmsworth had made clear to him the rivalry he had already suspected between the two beauties, and he could measure the full significance of Lizzy's action.

“By Jove—she knew she hadn't much of a chance with Seadown, and quick as lightning she decided to back up the other girl against the common enemy.” His own admiration, which, like Seadown's, had hitherto wavered between the two beauties, was transferred in a flash, and once for all, to Lizzy. “Gad, she looks like an avenging goddess—I can almost hear the arrow whizzing past! What a party-leader she'd make,” he thought; and added, with inward satisfaction: “Well, she won't be thrown away on this poor nonentity, at all events.”

Virginia St. George still stood uncertain, her blue entreating eyes turned with a sort of terror on Lady Churt.

“Seadown!” the latter repeated with an angry smile.

The sound of his name seemed to rouse the tardy suitor. He lifted his head, and his gaze met Virginia's and detected her tears. He flushed to his pale eyebrows.

“This is all a mistake, a complete mistake. I mean,” he stammered, turning to Virginia, “it's just a joke of Lady Churt's—who's such an old friend of mine that I know she'll want to be the first to congratulate me ... if you'll only tell her that she may.”

He went up to Virginia, and took possession of her trembling hand. Virginia left it in his, but with her other hand she drew Lizzy Elmsworth to her.

“Oh, Lizzy,” she faltered.

Lizzy bestowed on her a kiss of congratulation, and drew back with a little laugh. Mr. Robinson, from his secret observatory, guessed exactly what was passing through her mind. “She's begun to realize that she's thrown away her last hope of Seadown; and very likely she repents her rashness. But the defence of the clan before everything; and I daresay he wasn't the only string to her bow.”

Lady Churt stood staring at the two girls with a hard bright intensity which, as the silence lengthened, made Mr. Robinson conscious of a slight shiver down his spine. At length she too broke into a laugh. “Really—” she said. “Really ...” She was obviously struggling for the appropriate word. She found it in another moment.

“Engaged? Engaged to Seadown? What a delightful surprise! Almost as great a one, I suspect, to Seadown as to Miss St. George herself. Or is it only another of your American jokes—just a way you've invented of keeping Seadown here over Sunday? Well, for my part you're welcome either way....” She paused, and her quick ironic glance travelled from face to face. “But if it's serious, you know—then of course I congratulate you, Seadown. And you too, Miss St. George.” She went up to Virginia, and looked her straight in the eyes. “I congratulate you, my dear, on your cleverness, on your good looks, on your success. But you must excuse me for saying that I know Seadown far too well to congratulate you on having caught him for a husband.”

She held out a gloved hand rattling with bracelets, just touched Virginia's shrinking fingers, and stalked past Lord Seadown without seeming to see him.

“Conchita, darling, how cleverly you've staged the whole business. We must really repeat it the next time there are tableaux vivants at Stafford House.” Her eyes took a rapid survey of the young men. “And now I must be off. Mr. Dawnly, will you see me to my fly?”

Mr. Robinson turned from the group with a faint smile as Miles Dawnly advanced to accompany Lady Churt. “What a tit-bit for Dawnly to carry back to town!” he thought. “Poor woman ... She'll have another try for Seadown, of course—but the game's up, and she probably knows it. I thought she'd have kept her head better. But what fools the cleverest of them can be....” He had the excited sense of having assisted at a self-revelation such as the polite world seldom offers. Every accent of Lady Churt's stinging voice, every lift of her black eyebrows and tremor of her red lips, seemed to bare her before him in her avidity, her disorder, her social arrogance, and her spiritual poverty. The sight curiously re-adjusted Mr. Robinson's sense of values, and his admiration for Lizzy Elmsworth grew with his pity for her routed opponent.

XVIII.

Under the fixed smile of the Folyat Raphael, the Duchess of Tintagel sat at breakfast opposite two of her many daughters, the Ladies Almina Folyat and Gwendolen de Lurey.

When the Duke was present he reserved to himself the right to glance through the morning paper between his cup of tea and his devilled kidneys; but in his absence his mother exercised the privilege, and had the Morning Post placed before her as one of her jealously guarded rights.

She always went straight to the Court Circular, and thence (guided by her mother's heart) to the Fashionable Marriages; and now, after a brief glance at the latter, she threw the journal down with a sudden exclamation.

“Oh, Mamma, what is it?” both daughters cried in alarm. Lady Almina thought wistfully: “Probably somebody else she had hopes of for Ermie or me is engaged,” and Lady Gwendolen de Lurey, who had five children, and an invalid husband with a heavily mortgaged estate, reflected, as she always did when she heard of a projected marriage in high life, that when her own engagement had been announced everyone took it for granted that Colonel de Lurey would inherit within the year the immense fortune of a paralyzed uncle—who after all was still alive. “So there's no use planning in advance,” Lady Gwendolen concluded wearily, glancing at the clock to make sure it was not yet time to take her second girl to the dentist (the children always had to draw lots for the annual visit to the dentist, as it was too expensive to take more than one a year).