Valerie French (1923) (26 page)

The Egyptian fought like a beast that will stave off Death, without the slightest result. The inexorable grip grew slowly tighter and tighter. The pain in his spine became an agony, which no manner of screams could express. What was so frightful was that he could not scream— because he could not breathe. The pressure upon his windpipe was preventing him. Here he perceived that it was necessary that he should fill his lungs. It had been necessary for a long, long time. It was becoming vital—
vital
. He must breathe, instantly— or die. His head was bursting, like a skin that is stretched too tight. The blood was heaving, pounding against the back of his eyes. His lungs were delivering an ultimatum. The agony in his spine was not consistent with life. Something warm was running out of his ears. The inside of his head had fetched loose and was flapping like canvas in the wind, and the wind was roaring. The stars had slipped and were rushing earthward in a mad swirl ...

Anthony, who had always understood that compression of the windpipe induced insensibility, was beginning to wonder whether Egyptians were abnormally built, when his victim's knees sagged and he collapsed upon the sand.

Anthony stepped over the body and up to Valerie's side.

The girl stared at the huddle with frightened eyes.

"Dead?" she whispered.

Anthony shook his head.

"To-morrow," he said, "Douglas will have a stiff neck. Possibly, his throat will be sore. And, if he identifies me, he'll want to enter my service at a nominal wage. But I don't think we'll have him."

Valerie tried to laugh, and burst into tears...

As they were nearing the hotel—

"You do everything well," she said.

"Even violence?"

"Yes, everything. You always did. Gods do, I suppose."

"Valerie, Valerie."

The girl turned and caught him by the arm.

"I take it back," she said. "You're not a god. If you were, you wouldn't love me. That's your only fault. That you can waste your time on a— No. Don't stop me, lad. I want you to know how I feel. I want you to know that I realize that we're playing parts— that I'm playing the part of a queen, in a pasteboard crown, while you're playing the part of my man, to do me pleasure. You're my lord, really. You know you are. But if you don't know it, I do. The first time I ever saw you, you were my lord. The royalty in you just crooked its finger, and I had to come. I masked it as best I could, because I'm a woman. But I had to come.... I'd seen you, and that was enough. I was your slave." She lifted her eyes and looked at the rising moon. "So I am now. It is my glory.... I lost my balance once, and trod it under my feet. I might as well have kicked against a marble wall. I was your slave.... How d'you think a slave feels, when her lord makes much of her? I'll tell you. It makes her very happy and very proud, and it turns her love into an adoration. But how d'you think a slave feels, when her lord kneels at her feet ... humbles himself to do her honour ... gives up his titles and estate, because he will not use what she has not? I'll tell you, because I know. She feels as though her heart would break, Anthony ... and, sometimes, she wishes to God that they had never met...."

There was a long silence.

At length the girl sighed and lowered her eyes. The cold, searching wind of self-reproach had died down. When she spoke again, the wild note in her voice had become wistful.

"I don't know why I keep thinking of old times to-night. But you and I stood like this once, together ... one perfect night ... my birthday, a year ago. You told me a fairy tale ... a tale of a frog, poor fellow, who was in love with a princess...."

"I take it, I was the frog," said Anthony.

"That's right. And he thought that, if the princess were to kiss him, he’d turn into a prince."

"That wasn't very original," said Anthony. "The idea of Beauty bracing herself to kiss a repulsive Beast has almost the standing of a proverb."

As he spoke the words, the girl's brain plunged.

Beauty bracing herself
....

The cap fitted. It was her very plight.

The curious persistence with which the fairy tale had thrust into her mind was suddenly explained, its moral immeasurably reinforced. The Sphinx—
the oracle had spoken
, just as the night before— — It occurred to Valerie that she had done the creature wrong. The evil that had befallen her was not its fault. Besides, no evil had befallen her. She had been miraculously preserved.... Indubitably, she had been right. Her first impression had been right The Sphinx was interested.
And— it— had— pointed her— the way
....

Anthony was speaking— from a great way off. His voice was sounding ridiculously minute.

"What happened?" he was saying. "Did the princess eventually kiss him?"

"Yes," said Valerie faintly. "And—
and he turned into a prince
."

AN HOUR had gone by— the happiest hour that Anthony had ever known.

Fearful lest her recent experience should prey upon her mind, the man had laid himself out, cost what it might, to lift up his lady's heart. He had his reward. Before he knew where he was, her heart had caught his and lifted it clean into Paradise.

The two sat in her room, talking familiarly of bygone days. He could not remember them.
It did not matter
. She made him free of her memory, invited his curiosity, rallied his eagerness.

For the first time since their compact, they had exchanged
rôles
. The man was natural, and the woman was playing a part. Valerie was pretending that she did not care....

Perched sideways upon a table, the slim white fingers of one hand resting upon her hip, those of the other keeping a cigarette, her back straight as an arrow, the girl was a sight to make the angels shout. Every precious bit of her was remembering Nature. The sun and the rain might have dressed her wonderful hair, berries have bled the scarlet of her mouth, violets and stars conjured the magic of her eyes. Her voice was birds' music; the smell of her, the faint scent of blossoms upon a summer's night. Fresh, lithe, glowing, she was embodying most exquisitely that very nonesuch of quality, that precious offset to decay, seldom of this world, never of any other, red, quivering vitality itself. The spring of her movement, the course of the blood in her veins, the clean breath of her body— these unseen mysteries were patent as the day. The wild thing was out of the forest: Eve was in Eden.

Sitting there, on the table, pausing now and again to shudder over a sip of brandy and soda— medicine, which he had prescribed— Valerie gave the impression of a wild thing that knew no fear. Once, she burst into song— flung out a snatch of a lullaby, which he had used to love....

Little wonder that, looking upon her, the man's heart burned within him. The queen had put off her crown.

If the queen had put off her crown, the soldier was not upon parade.

Seated on the arm of a chair, his pipe between his white teeth, Anthony Lyveden was looking like a young god, refreshed— some god of the woods and streams, whom a man might take for a shepherd of high degree. The light of laughter hung in his fine, grey eyes. His firm well-shaped mouth had taken a happy curve. The eager tilt of his chin, his heightened colour, the fresh brilliance of his tone told that the porter had laid aside his pack. Care had slipped down from his pillion. The pony was out of the pit.

Valerie saw this, and the sight gladdened her eyes. She began to forget that she was playing a part. Pretence slid into Reality. If Reason flung out an arm, Nature brushed it aside. That blessed, happy look was worth anything—
anything
. Besides, she—
she did not care ... any more
. At least ... How
could
she care, when
the boy had come out to play
? At the thought that it was she who had coaxed him, a smile of unutterable tenderness swept into her face....

Anthony saw it and, smiling, praised God.

An overwhelming desire to do more came flooding into Valerie's heart. She was giving, doing nothing— nothing, and he deserved so much. She wanted to honour her darling, to whom honour was due. She wanted to exalt her lover, as no man had ever been exalted before. Before his excellence, words failed her. She felt inarticulate. Yet, express herself somehow, she must. She must make him realize how incredibly dear he was. Her king had no idea— no conception how much he meant. The impulse to open his eyes became irresistible. Her ecstasy, his merit simply had to be expressed.

Valerie slipped off the table, fell on her knees and put her arms round his neck....

Instantly, the happy look faded.

Before her horrified gaze, the quiet, resolute mien stole into place.

In a flash, the boy was gone, and the soldier was on parade.

The strain had come back.

For a second, the girl peered at him, wide-eyed, speechless with dismay.

Then the dam burst, and her heart lifted up its voice.

"Anthony! Don't go back! My sweet, my darling, don't be on guard any more! I've seen you relaxed, my precious, I've seen you relaxed. I've seen you at ease— off duty, and I can't let you go. I never knew— never realized what it meant to you, and I hadn't the faintest notion of what it meant to me. It means everything, Anthony— everything in the world. What's your memory to me?
Nothing
! D'you hear? D'you understand?
Nothing
! I think I must have been mad to want it back. It's you, I want, my darling, you, you,
you
! When I see you happy like that, I simply don't care. I couldn't care if your memory
never
came back. The present's so dazzling that the past pales by its side— fades into insignificance. All these wretched weeks I've wrestled and fought with a shadow— a rotten ghost. And because you've loved me with a love I don't deserve, you've wrestled and fought, too. And now the ghost's laid. Smashed— broken for ever. It can't ever rise again. I don't know whether to laugh or cry when I see what a fool I've been. And you must try and forgive me, darling lad. They say Love's blind, and that's been the trouble with me. But now I can see. You've shown me. You've come off duty and shown me your blessed self. Oh, Anthony, Anthony, smile as you did just now. Look into my eyes and smile. Show me you know it's true that your memory doesn't count. Don't think I'm acting. I'm not. I mean what I say. If I were acting, how could I talk like this? I tell you, it doesn't count, darling. It'll never count any more. I don't care what you remember or what you forget. If you want to make me happy, do as I say. Smile— look— be as you were just now. Remember the barrier's gone, and that you and I are together, overlooking the rolling world. Look back at the last half-hour and see how happy I've been. I broke into song just now. Why d'you think I did that? Because I just had to sing— out of pure joy. Does that look as if I was caring about your memory? Oh, Anthony, my darling, my heart, blot out the last two months, and start again. Forget that they've ever been— except the last half-hour. Not that you haven't been wonderful, because you have. You've played the squire as it's never been played before. But now you've spoiled it all and shown me the king ... my king ... my glorious, happy boy, with a crown on his head and a look in his blessed eyes that I can't do without, my darling ... that I can't do without any more."

Breathless, panting, she stopped— with her heart in her mouth.

The resolute look was fading. The boy— the boy was coming ... coming back ... tentatively ... venturing out to play
.

Spellbound, she watched the wonder steal into his eyes.

Hardly daring to breathe, she watched him trying to realize that his dream was true.

The thing seemed too big for him.

A half-perplexed, half-frightened look displaced the wonder ... He put a hand to his head.... Then, the wonder returned, stronger and clearer than before. The boy was beginning to smile... Little by little, that blessed, happy look was coming back....

Suddenly, he seemed to hesitate.

Then, very gently, he put up a boyish hand and touched her hair.

Valerie thrilled to her core.

Again, for a moment, he hesitated.

Then, with a shy smile, he began to take out the pins....

Valerie could have burst into tears of pure joy. Her cup was full. She had beaten the fairy tale. The frog had become a prince.

With a leaping heart, she bowed her beautiful head and suffered his gentle fingers...

When her glorious hair was all loosened, Valerie lifted her head and shook her fragrant treasure about her shoulders.

The boy gazed at it with rapture; the king was beholding his kingdom: the hunter was on his knees.

"I always wanted to see it down," he whispered, "always. The first time I ever saw you— in the door of
The Leather Bottel
, you had no hat on. I remember thinking, then, how much I’d love to see it tumbled about your shoulders.... And now, my dream's come true."

His eyes turned from the glory to meet his wife's.

Valerie was staring at him, with parted lips.

The light in her wonderful eyes was supernatural.

Anthony started.

"What is it, Valerie? What have I said? What— "

He stopped short and clapped a hand to his mouth....

Presently, he stood up and lifted her to her feet.

With his arms about her, he smiled into her eyes.

"'For you shall find it,'" he whispered, "'after many days.'"

The End