The Curious Quests of Brigadier Ffellowes (27 page)

             
I skirted a pile of soaked paper bags, crammed with filth and garbage, then almost tripped over what might still be live garbage, a ragged body coiled around the far side of the trash mountain on the wet pavement
.
Its bearded mouth was open and moved faintly so I guess it was still alive.

             
Half a block further on, the blurred light of a passing car suddenly showed me a possible shelter, at least of a sort, quite close to me.

             
It was a larger opening, between two narrow houses, each of at least six-story height
.
This opening was not an alley, though quite dark, but had a smooth pavement with a worn, brick walk running down its center. I had heard that a few, old, set-back houses of the 1840 period, or what the English still call "mews," still existed in lower Manhattan, though I'd never seen one. I turned left into this one, hopefully as well as carefully, keeping my left arm up before my eyes and my body bent as well, in case a blow should come out at me suddenly. The rain still fell steadily but at least I was out of that lousy, gale wind.

             
Ahead of me, down the path, I could see a faint light, though it came from one side rather than straight ahead. As I walked slowly and carefully forward, I saw that the little walkway curved to the right around one of the two flanking houses, and that the dim light came from around this corner. Keeping to the exact center of the brick strip, I moved cautiously around the curve, wondering what I would find.

             
There before me was a little house! It was about fifty feet away and the light came from a couple of curtained windows on the ground floor, for it had two floors under a low, peaked roof. There was even a minute garden or at least two tiny plots with some plants in them, one on each side of the front step and guarded by wooden
fencelets
a foot high. I gaped at this refugee from
Grim's
fairy tales in astonishment
.
A thing like this buried in the canyons of lower New York City was indeed a thing to gape at
.

             
My surprise and amusement got a quick ending and a
scary one, too. One corner of my right eye suddenly picked up movement and my head
swivelled
to focus while my knees bent as well. Not ten feet away, in a darker angle of tall building was a metal fence, which I guessed was iron. Against this stood two tall, shrouded figures, silent and yet poised. They made no move, though one must have done so earlier to catch my attention, and simply watched me steadily. They were at least as tall as I am and I'm just under six feet. They made no forward movement, just watched, but in a way that somehow conveyed menace.

             
While the water ran down my hat brim and the moaning of the wind yowled far overhead and the faint noises of intermittent traffic barely pierced the noises of the natural world, I stared at the two silent shapes through the rainy gloom and they stared back at me. The only light, that of the shaded windows, made it possible to see only that two dim figures were watching one. At last, my nerve broke, which, in my own defense, is something it had never done under night attacks in Korea.

             
"I beg your pardon," I called out "I'm afraid I got lost and came in here looking for a phone and directions." I kept my voice from cracking, but it was an effort. The response was startling. One of the two stepped forward instantly, revealing itself as a man my size and also wearing a slouch hat and belted raincoat, a man who held out his right hand in welcome. When he spoke, my tight control of my nerves almost dissolved at the shock.

             
"My dear Parker," said a very familiar voice, "I fear we appeared a bit dangerous. There are folk in your city, and not far off either, whom one would rather not meet at night, eh? Well, Old man, you've found my private digs which is more than anyone else has done, at least so far."

             
"By this time, my rather limp hand was being firmly clasped by that of Donald Ffellowes, lately a Brigadier General of the British Army and, at this range, I could see the glitter of his blue eyes and the grin on his smooth face.

             
"My God, Sir," I stammered, "I thought you stayed in hotels and we all know you like privacy and I assure you that I never, I mean I really am lost and I
..."

             
The Brigadier laughed out loud or rather, gave a deep chuckle. He pointed at the tiny house and said, "I own that place and have for some years. I want your word that you'll tell no one else of it and (here, he paused a second) about anything else, right?" I could do nothing but nod my spinning head in response.

             
"Good man. My wife and I were getting a breath of fresh air and then I was going up town to the club. Come and meet her."

             
Another jolt to my already dazed brain! "My wife!" None of us at the club had ever known Ffellowes was married! He had never so much as mentioned a wife, past or present, any more than he'd mentioned owning a very old house in the labyrinths of lower Manhattan! I'm not a
money-minded person as a rule but I was a bit staggered by another idea. Every surface foot of the Brigadier's property could have been layered in platinum and even then the land itself would have been worth more!

             
As we walked forward together, the second figure never moved to meet us but remained tall and silent in the shadows. Tall indeed. In the bad and angled light and through the screen of falling water, I could see her head was bare and the glint of a copper color. She wore a long cloak, of something dark and almost ankle-length. A ray of light caught the shine of ordinary rubbers and a hint of wooly socks, heavy ones.

             
Ffellowes' hand stopped us both when we were about six feet away from the lady but I am not sure that had I been alone, I would have come even that close. I saw great eyes, lambent and fiery, which seemed to have a luminescence of their own and broad cheekbones. The mouth too was broad but closed and there was another strange feature. The facial skin was not pale but a strange neutral hue and it was not
shining from the rain but somehow, well, dull and
sombre
. But these thoughts came late. Just then, all I could think of were those great, burning eyes, wide apart and fixed on a level with my own or even above my own, in a steady, unwinking stare that was almost hypnotic. They were not the so-called "cat eyes" and had normal pupils but there was a glowing lambency about them, so that even in the murk and shadow, they seemed to glow with a sort of brown heat
.
Imagine a mildly luminous, chocolate milk shake and you'll get some idea how it affected me.

             
Ffellowes' voice shook me out of my paralysis, or, to use a better phrase, in its older and better meaning, Glamour. "This is Jim Parker, Love. You've heard me speak of him often. A good friend, remember?"

             
His wife bowed her head in a way that was both casual and somehow condescending, and even almost disdainful. I was damn glad to be free of those strange, flowing eyes but found myself just a little bit irritated, both at that regal head movement and the failure to even try to shake hands. Grand Duchess meets loathsome peasant to whom she must be polite, was the thought that flickered through my brain at that point
.

             
The Brigadier either saw something he didn't like or used some ESP. One never knew what he was capable of or what he saw. "My dear Parker, my wife's a foreigner. Doesn't grip hands, you know. Just as bad as the British in that respect"

             
Then for the first time, I heard her voice. Never had I heard anything like it before and what with my surprise, the wild evening and this very odd meeting, well, it was really one more shock!

             
"I know very well, My Dear, who Mr. Parker is. He writes those tales for magazines. Those stories about you, he writes and then calls you by a name that is not yours in them, so that no one will ever know your real name or what your real family is." If it were possible to contemplate a
very large cat's purr, mingled with a deep contralto, that would give one a vague idea. My own thought as she spoke conveyed my instant feeling: Lioness Diva; just those two words.

             
Ffellowes (which he will remain, now and in the future) was not a bit embarrassed. He
grinned at me and stepped back just a little, anticipating his wife's next move.

             
She stepped forward, her right hand out now, and I instinctively shook it
.
It was as large as mine, with a smooth
-
palmed, tight-glove, as warm as flesh, though I could feel the edge of the furry backing. Those feelings came later for then I could only stare into the broad-cheeked face and the great, glowing eyes.

             
"You two go on away now, Donald. Take Mr. Parker up to your club and tell him some other histories of your past that he can write about
.
" With that, she nodded to me, her wide, full-lipped mouth pleasant but with no trace of a smile, turned on her heel and headed up the path. In seconds the cottage door of the fabulous little house had opened and shut behind her stately back. I was left with the Brigadier in the shadowed court, frankly struck dumb and trying as hard as I could to keep my mouth tight shut so that it wouldn't fall open and leave me gaping.

             
The Brigadier's chuckle helped somewhat
.
"We'll take her at her word, Parker, Old fellow. Don't look so staggered. Few folk meet my
Phaona
but those who have were all a bit numbed by it Frankly, I am at times myself. She takes one that way and it makes no mind whether it's Manhattan or a remote hamlet in the woods." He turned and led me along the far side of the alley to where a recessed door stood open just enough to show it was a hidden garage. In three minutes we were out on the murky street in his beautiful old
Lagonda
and humming our way uptown.

             
Before we had parked two blocks away from the club's front door, he said only one more thing.

             
"I've known those printed stories of yours since the
first one came out, Parker. Very good, too. As long as you kept my title and real name and rank out of 'em and scramble the dates and areas as you do so neatly, I haven't the slightest objection." His head turned and the blue eyes fixed on mine for just one second only. They were utterly cold and frozen. "You're a gentleman and a man of honor. Please remain so."

             
It took a real effort to get out of the car but I managed it and in five minutes we were alone in a corner of the Club Library.

             
The Brigadier called for hot coffee and when we'd been served he leaned back in his leather chair and looked at me with his old smile.

             
"Parker, I'm going to tell you and you alone, the story of my wife. It should interest you, I think. And I, My dear fellow, will be most intrigued indeed to see how you deal with this tale in one of your charming romances." Again the deep chuckle.

-

             
It was a windy March afternoon in the Club. I had got out of my office a trifle earlier than I
should, simply out of restlessness. Maybe it was a sign of Spring but the gloomy, windy, cold city sure didn't look it
.

             
I wandered into the library with a drink, thinking I might find an entertaining foreign journal or something, just to kill an hour with. I found something better. Much better.

             
The big room was empty except for one reading alcove where a small light illumined a bent-over shape I knew well and had missed for months.

             
"Brigadier!" I let out a joyful yelp. "Where you been, Sir? We were afraid you'd gone abroad for good or something. How are you, anyway?"

             
Brigadier Donald Ffellowes' cold, blue eyes took me
in and I thought or maybe hoped, warmed a bit
.
His smooth reddish face had no lines but it never did and his short-cut, white hair was
neatly
combed as always. He had a pile of battered-looking books next to him and had one open on his lap which he'd just been leafing through.