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Authors: Dornford Yates

Valerie French (1923) (10 page)

BOOK: Valerie French (1923)
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From the very first day Hamlet had taken for granted Sir Andrew's goodwill and had proceeded to bask in it. That there was no goodwill to bask in did not occur to him. He basked contentedly— and presently had his reward. The goodwill was induced.

On the morning after his arrival he had, visited the K.C. in his bedroom and had removed one of his slippers at the moment at which the knight, who was at his worst before breakfast, was proposing to insert his foot. Sir Andrew, whom the intrusion had rendered speechless, watched the asportation as a man in a dream. Then he let out a squeal of fury and launched his remaining slipper at Hamlet with the might of a maniac. The terrier sprang upon it in ecstasy and, after shaking it as if it were a rat, placed one paw upon it and sought to detach the tongue with his teeth.... For movement and uproar, the pursuit of a native by a rogue-elephant upon enclosed premises must pale beside the racket of the next five minutes. The household, unable to conceive what was happening, and terrified to go and see, huddled together downstairs: Jonathan, splashing in a distant bathroom, heard nothing at all: and Hamlet, as full of beans as an egg is of meat, decided that as an exponent of horseplay Sir Andrew more nearly approached perfection than anyone he had ever seen. Indeed, after leaving the ravening knight jammed between his bedstead and the floor, and conveying one of the slippers to the library, there to dismember it undisturbed, he determined to repeat so highly successful a visit the following day. Since Sir Andrew slept with his door open, he was able to do this— and did it, with the acme of ease...

At the end of a week the horseplay had been suspended and a compromise reached. Thereafter between seven and eight every morning the Sealyham slept luxuriously upon Sir Andrew's bed. By the time a fortnight had passed, the knight reviled Hamlet if the latter was late....

Of such was life in Kensington Palace Gardens. From being a nightmare, it had become a cheerful masque. The old situations cropped up— frequently, but they were always saved.

It was upon the evening of the day upon which he had broken his bell that Sir Andrew laid down the paper and stared into the dusk.

Dinner was over, and the knight was reclining, as was his wont, upon a mighty sofa eminently adapted and, in fact, specially constructed to accommodate his tremendous frame. From behind him a table lamp threw a convenient light directly into his lap. On the floor by his side reposed a silver ash-tray and a cup of cold tea. Opposite, writing at a great table, sat Jonathan Wood. A second table lamp illumined at once his labours and the bowl of his pipe and, when he bent lower than usual, threw his clean-cut profile into sharp relief. For the rest, the room was in darkness. Without an open French window a small white sentinel sat peering down into the garden, motionless, vigilant. Hamlet loved the terrace. It added cubits to his stature....

Suddenly the secretary looked up.

"I quite forgot to ask, sir, how you got on at the dentist's."

Sir Andrew's stare slid into a scowl.

"I didn't," he said.

"But didn't you— "

"I never saw the brute," said Sir Andrew savagely. "He— he was engaged."

Jonathan frowned.

"I was afraid he might be," he said. "You must let me ring up next time and make an appointment."

For a moment the other said nothing.

Then—

"Telephone to-morrow morning," he said shortly, regarding the end of his cigar.

"I will," said Jonathan. "When would you like to go?"

"It's not a question of going," replied Sir Andrew. "I want a name and address. A woman preceded me— probably took my turn, the graceless shrew. Find out who she is."

Jonathan thought very fast.

"I hope..." he said tentatively.

"Then don't," snapped Sir Andrew. "Do as you're told instead."

"Very good, sir."

There was nothing else to be said, but Jonathan was far from easy. He scented trouble. That the lady had crossed Sir Andrew was perfectly clear. Probably there had been a scene. What worried him was that the knight's curiosity was never idle. He had some reason for wanting to know her name. Jonathan hoped very much that he was not contemplating a renewal of hostilities....

The terrace growing chill beneath him, Hamlet rose to his feet and entered the room. For a moment he stood as if uncertain: then, with an apologetic look at his governors, he selected the deepest chair, leaped into its arms, and lay as still as death. The strained look in his eyes betrayed his concern lest he should be commanded to seek less luxurious quarters, and when he perceived that Sir Andrew was frowning in his direction, he gave himself up for lost and, laying back velvety ears, started to wag his tail in the hope of charming aside the dreaded sentence.

His fears were groundless.

"Has it ever occurred to you," said Sir Andrew Plague, "that if that dog could speak he could tell you who you are?"

Jonathan sat back in his chair and laid down his pen.

"No, sir," he said. "It hasn't. Why should he? I only found him by chance."

"You found him beside you when— when you recovered consciousness."

"I know. But he had no connection— "

"He was your dog."

Jonathan started.

"I never thought of that," he said slowly.

"That," said Sir Andrew explosively, "is because you don't use your brain. Because you deliberately reduce yourself to the level of the congenital idiot. Ugh.... You were in evil case, and so was he. You were dying of hunger, and so was he. You were foul and beastly, so was he. He was your dog."

Jonathan crossed to the chair, picked up Hamlet, sat down and set the terrier upon his knee.

"I wonder," he said, "that never occurred to me." Sir Andrew snorted. "Of course you're right ... of course. There's not a shadow of doubt." He looked into the bright brown eyes. "You know— everything." The Sealyham licked his nose. "You know what happened to me ... how I came to be starving ... how— " He broke off and turned to Sir Andrew. "Think of the way he stuck to me," he said suddenly. "I had to carry him that night. He couldn't walk. He must have— "

"Of course he did," said the knight. "You'd fed him before: he expected you to feed him again— the gluttonous brute. And don't go and get maudlin about it, or you can leave the room."

Jonathan laughed.

"You hear?" he said, pulling the terrier's ears. "You're not faithful at all. You're just a gluttonous brute."

"And a damned ugly one," added Sir Andrew.

"In fact," said Jonathan, smiling, "I can't imagine why we let you sleep on our beds."

Sir Andrew turned a rich plum colour. Then he picked up his cup and drank deep and violently....

As he replaced the vessel—

"How long," he demanded, "are you going on like this?"

"Like what, sir?" said Jonathan.

"Masquerading."

Jonathan raised his eyebrows.

"I'm very happy," he said.

"That," rejoined Sir Andrew, "is beside the point. You can't go through life in a domino."

"I see no reason— "

"Well, I do," snapped the other. "You're guilty of
suggestio falsi
, and I'm abetting you. Not that I care about that," he added fiercely. "My back's broad enough— and to spare. But it's— it's out of order."

"So long as you don't mind, sir, I’d rather stay as I am."

"Under an assumed name?"

Jonathan shrugged his shoulders.

"If I knew who I was," he said, "and deliberately concealed my identity, that would be one thing. But I'm doing nothing of the kind. I'm hiding nothing. I've nothing to hide. I don't know who I am, and I don't care."

"Others may," said his patron. "Supposing you're married?"

"I've thought of that," said his secretary, "and, frankly, the idea frightens me to death."

"I dare say it does," said Sir Andrew. "But what of that?"

"Well, sir, you see..."

Jonathan hesitated.

"Proceed," said Sir Andrew mercilessly.

Jonathan set down the Sealyham and crossed his legs.

"I don't think I
can
be married," he said desperately.

"Why?"

"I know so little of women."

"That's no argument."

Jonathan laughed.

"Well," he said, "if I am, surely it's better that I should stick to my domino until my memory returns."

"Why?"

"Well, sir, supposing a girl was suddenly produced to you, and you were bluntly informed that she was your wife...."

"I should take appropriate action."

"So, I hope, should I. But it'd be fearfully awkward— for both of us."

"Why?"

Jonathan decided to plunge.

"Well, I shouldn't— shouldn't love her, you know."

Sir Andrew let out a squeal of agony.

"Ugh!" he raged. "Ugh, you maundering fool!" He covered his eyes and waved the other away. "Didn't you undertake to mend your ways? Didn't you swear you’d eschew all sickly sentiment? Ugh, you make my gorge rise! Love? A poet's licence! A libertine's excuse! Besides, you might. You're fool enough, Heaven knows."

"Have a care, sir," cried Jonathan, laughing. "Don't drive the gods too far."

Sir Andrew sat up and looked at him.

"D'you want the sack?" he demanded.

"I do not," said Jonathan.

"Then hold your tongue," roared the other. "And don't squirt venom at me."

"I only said— "

"You made a most vulgar suggestion. You implied that my mind was diseased— that that disgusting emotion to which you just now referred could infect my reason."

"I'm perfectly sure," said his secretary, "that the woman you delighted to honour would have to—"

"She’d have to change her sex," was the grim reply. "Only to-day I was subjected to the grossest insult at a woman's hands." Jonathan repressed a start. "A most respectable-looking female proved to be a harridan of the very worst type. For no reason whatever she reviled me."

"Reviled you?"

"Reviled me," said Sir Andrew, rising. "Most foully. Omitting no circumstance of indignity. I tell you, I was amazed. She actually accused me of brawling."

Jonathan swallowed,

"She can't have known—"

"Oh, yes, she did! She defined it most accurately. She even referred to a leading case on the subject."

"But what had you done, sir?"

"'Done,' you fool? Nothing. She heard me correct a cabman. The swine demanded compensation, alleging that I'd broken his springs. I rebuked the man— naturally. Then I passed into that swab of a dentist's waiting-room, to be pounced upon by this— this scold." The lawyer began to stride up and down the room. His secretary, who had a pretty good idea of Sir Andrew's methods of reproof of cabmen and entrance into rooms, began to see daylight. "At first," continued the latter, warming, as he went on, "I could hardly believe my ears. Then, so soon as I could speak, I demurred.... My protests were interrupted, infamously perverted and ignored. When I sought to point out that my rights to the user of the room were co-equal with hers she made ready to swoon. Of common decency I let the point go, to be told I was 'a menace to society.'"

"'A menace...'"

"The vixen's words," said Sir Andrew. "You could have knocked me down. I tell you, Wood, it was a perfectly hellish business. Indeed, I can only think that, presumably mad with pain, the creature resented my intrusion and lost her balance. Mercifully, I kept my head and, at the expense of my dignity, calmed her before— before I left. She actually wandered towards the end. Poor woman, it was most distressing. She seemed to think I had emerged from a public-house."

With a fearful effort Jonathan subdued an impulse to yell with laughter. Wholly absorbed in his outrageous retrospection, the K.C. proceeded, frowning.

"Yes. The more I think of it, the more satisfied I am that she was temporarily deranged. Indeed, she referred to the house as 'a place of mental affliction.' Therefore I blame myself.... Not that I replied to her abuse. That course, as I have indicated, was denied me. But I should have humoured her, Wood.... She spoke of bull-rings and confessionals— in the same breath. Of course I was taken by surprise. And instinctively I strove to defend myself against what I fairly considered to be an unprovoked and provocative assault. Did I tell you she styled me a brute?"

"No, sir"— incredulously;

"She did," said Sir Andrew, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Twice. I tell you the woman was possessed— like the Gadarene swine."

"And, to judge," said Jonathan, eager to encourage this lenient view of the affair, "to judge from her behaviour, by the same tenants. Only, last time it was a place they ran violently down."

Sir Andrew laughed. Then he knitted his brows.

"Be that as it may," he said, "her frenzy took the form of vituperation. And I feel that, as she was unattended and, so far as I know, I am the only being who witnessed her— her humiliation, it would be becoming if— er— if I inquired after her health."

"Coals of fire," said Jonathan, stroking his chin.

"Er— perhaps. You see, I have no wish to be thought unsympathetic. I should like it to be understood that I bear her no ill will. I should like her to realize that if my manner was somewhat— er— stilted, that was due to my failure to appreciate her plight.... I— er— I feel— er...."

To interrupt Sir Andrew was, speaking generally, to invite, if not personal violence, at any rate execration of a very unpleasant sort. Here, however, it would have been plainly brutal to do anything else. He who was never at a loss for an expression was searching desperately for words.

"I'll find out her name to-morrow," said Jonathan Wood.

He retired that night, blessing the anonymous lady and all her works. Whatever her shortcomings, she had proved herself a red herring of conspicuous merit....

WHEN, two days later, Sir Andrew, who was standing in a cool drawing-room, awaiting his hostess's appearance, perspiring with great freedom and savagely asking himself why the devil he had come, perceived a large photograph of his secretary handsomely framed and sharing a Louis XV table with a blotter and a Lowestoft bowl full of roses, he stood as though rooted to the floor. Then he went backward, caught his foot against an ebony stool, lost his balance and, with a rattling oath, fell into the miniature palmarium which had till then been 'camouflaging' the hearth.

BOOK: Valerie French (1923)
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