The Brother of Daphne Page 11

  CHAPTER X

  PRIDE GOETH BEFORE

  "Who is Silvia? What is she?That all her swains commend he.Holy, fair, and wise is she;The heaven such grace did lend her,That she might admired be."

  The song and its melody floated out into the night, away and over thesleeping countryside. In no way breaking the silence; rising up out ofit, rather. It was as if Nature dreamed as she lay sleeping, a dreamclear-cut, melodious. Over all the moon hung full, turning the worldto silver. Never had music so fairy a setting.

  "Then to Sylvia let us sing,That Silvia is excelling,She excels each mortal thingUpon the dull earth dwellingTo her let us garlands bring."

  Half-past eleven o'clock of a fine moonlit night, and I was alone withthe car all among the Carinthian Alps. It was for Fladstadt that I wasmaking. That was the Bairlings' nearest town. Their place, St.Martin, lay twenty odd miles from Fladstadt. But in the town peoplewould show me the way. At St. Martin I should find Daphne and theothers, newly come from Vienna this afternoon. Friends of Jonah's, theBairlings. None of us others knew them.

  At ten o'clock in the morning I had slid out of Trieste, reckoning toreach Fladstadt in twelve hours. And, till I lost my way, I had comewell. I had lost it at half-past nine and only discovered that I hadlost it an hour later. It was too late to turn back then. I tried toget on and across by by-roads--always a dangerous game. Just when Iwas getting desperate I had chanced on a signpost pointing to the townI sought. The next moment one of the tires had gone.

  The puncture I did not mind, The car had detachable wheels, and one wasall ready, waiting to be used. But when I found that I had nojack...Better men than I would have sworn. The imperturbable Jonahwould have stamped about the road. As for Berry, with no one there tosuffer his satire, suppressed enmity would have brought about acollapse. He would probably have lost his memory.

  There was nothing for it, but to drive slowly forward on the flat tire.When I came to a village I could rouse an innkeeper, and if the placedid not boast a jack, at least sturdy peasants should raise the carwith a stout pole. Accordingly, I had gone on.

  For the first five miles I had not lighted on so much as a barn. Thensuddenly I had swung round a bend of the road to see a great whitemansion right ahead of me. The house stood solitary by the roadside,dark woods rising steep behind. No light came from its windows.Turreted, white-walled, dark-roofed in the moonlight, it might havebeen the outpost of some fairy town. The building stood upon theleft-hand side of the way, and, as I drew slowly alongside, wonderingif I dared knock upon its gates for assistance, I found that house androad curled to the left together. Round the bend I had crept, close tothe white facade. As I turned, I saw a light above me, shining outover a low balcony of stone. I had stopped the car and the engine, andstepped on tiptoe to the other side of the road. From there I couldsee the ceiling of a tall, first-floor room, whose wide, open windowsled on to the balcony. I saw no figure, no shadow. For a minute ortwo I had heard no sound. Then, with no warning, had come an exquisitetouching of keys and a girl's voice.

  "To her let us garlands bring."

  The melody faded and ceased. The refrain melted into the silence. Fora moment I stood still, my eyes on the balcony above. Then I slippednoiselessly to the car, picked up a rug from the back seat and laid it,folded small, on the edge of the car's back. Half on the paddedleather and half on the cape hood, strapped tight, I laid it. Standingupon this perilous perch, I was just able to lay my fingers upon thecold edge of the balcony's floor. With an effort I could grasp one ofthe stone balusters. An idea occurred to me, and I got carefully down.One of the luggage-carrier's straps was six feet long. I had it loosein a moment. A minute later and I had wheedled it round the baluster Icould clutch. Buckled, it made a loop three feet in length that wouldhave supported a bullock. I was about to soar, when I remembered thecar. I jumped down once more, turned the key of the switch, andslipped it into my pocket. No one could steal her now. The nextsecond I had my foot in the thong.

  I sat on the coping, looking into the room. Broad and lofty it was,its walls hung with a fair blue paper. A handsome tapestry, looped upa little on one side, masked the tall double doors, and in the farcorner stood a great tiled stove for burning wood. From the ceilingwas hanging a basin of alabaster--an electric fitting, really. Thepowerful light of its hidden lamps spread, softened, all about thechamber. The blue walls bore a few reproductions of famous pictures.Meisonnier seemed in high favour, while Sir Joshua's Nellie O'Briensurveyed the salon with her quiet, steady gaze. A great bowl of freshflowers stood on the grand piano.

  The girl herself was sitting half on the edge of an old gate-table inthe middle of the room. The toe of one rosy slipper touched thepolished boards, and her other foot swung gently to and fro. One ofher short sleeves she had pushed up to the shoulder and was lookingcritically at a scratch, which showed red, high up on her round, whitearm. A simple evening frock of old-rose colour, dainty old goldslippers to keep her feet. Her skin was wonderfully white, her hairdark and brown. This was cut straight across her forehead in Frenchfashion, and then brought down and away over the ears. Her face wastowards me, as she examined her arm. I could see she was very pretty.

  "Don't you think you ought to apologize?" she said suddenly.

  Her words took me by surprise. For a moment I did not answer.

  "Eh?" she said, looking up.

  "Yes," I said, "I do. Fact is, I haven't any, and the gardens are allshut now."

  "Any what?" she said, letting the sleeve slip back into its place.

  "Garlands, Silvia."

  She smiled for an instant. Then:

  "How dare you come up like this?"

  "I wanted to see what Silvia was like."

  She stifled a little yawn.

  "You heard me say she was holy, fair and wise."

  "And excelling, I know. But the second verse asks,

  "Is she kind as she is fair?"

  "Well?"

  "I came up to see if she was."

  "And is she?"

  "I don't think she is quite."

  "Can you get down all right?"

  "In fact, I'm sure she isn't," I said. "But then--"

  "What?"

  "She'd have to be most awfully kind to be that, Silvia. Good-bye."

  "I say," said Silvia.

  "Yes? I said, with one leg over the balustrade.

  "As you're here, if you would like to come in and sit down for alittle--I mean, I don't want to seem inhospitable."

  "I knew it," said I. "I knew she was, really."

  "Goodbye, Silvia. Thank you very, very much all the same. I've foundout what I wanted to know."

  I slipped over the coping and set my foot in the thong. There was arustle of silk and a quick step on the balcony. Then two soft handstook hold of my wrists. I looked up at the big eyes, the face white inthe moonlight, the dark, straight-cut hair.

  "Wait!" she said. "Who are you and where do you come from?"

  "My name's Valentine," said I. "I am a gentleman of Verona."

  The small mouth twitched. "Be serious," she said. I told her my nameand spoke of my run from Trieste, adding that I sought Fladstadt andSt. Martin. She heard me in silence. Then:

  "Are you tired?" she said quietly.

  "A little."

  "Then I tell you that you may come in and rest for a while. Yes, andtalk to me. Presently you can go on. I will show you the way."

  She let go my wrists and stood up, clasping her hands behind her head.

  "You're very hospit--"

  "It isn't a question of hospitality or anything else," she said slowly."I just tell you that you may come in if you want to."

  I gazed at the slim, straight figure, the bare bent arms, the softwhite throat. Then I drew myself up and bestrode the coping.

  "Of course," I said, "this is a dream. In reality I am fast asleep inthe car. Possibly I have met with an accident and am stillunconscious. Y
et your hands felt warm..."

  "And your wrists very cold, sir. Come along in and sit down. Even ifyou are dreaming I suppose you'll be able to drink some coffee if Igive it you."

  "If you give it me."

  I drew up the thong and followed her into the room. She motioned me tosit in a deep chair and put cigarettes by my side. Then she lightedthe lamps that were set beneath two little silver coffee-pots, standingon a tray on the gate-table. I watched her in silence. When the lampswere burning, she turned and seated herself on the table as I had seenher first. She regarded me curiously, swinging that little right leg.

  "I shouldn't have liked you to think me unkind," she said, with a gravesmile.

  I rose to my feet.

  "Silvia," I said.

  "Sir"

  "I do not know what to say. Yet I want to say something. I think youare very gentle, Silvia. If I were old, I think the sight of you wouldmake me feel young again, and if Shakespeare had known you, I think hewould have written more sonnets and fewer plays."

  Silvia spread out deprecating white arms and bowed low.

  "I doubt it," she said. "But I know he would have given me acigarette."

  "I beg your pardon," said I, handing her the box.

  When I had given her a light, she turned again to the coffee.

  "It ought to be hot enough now, I think. D'you mind using my cup? Idon't take sugar."

  "It will be a privilege, Silvia."

  "Milk?"

  "Please."

  The hot cafe-au-lait was very grateful. Despite the season, my longdrive through the mountain air had left me a little cold. I took myseat on an arm of the deep chair. Outside, somewhere close at hand, aclock struck twelve.

  "The witching hour," said I. "How is it you're not in bed and asleep,Silvia?"

  "Sleep! What with the noise of passing cars?"

  "I forgot," said I. "The continuous roar of the traffic here must bevery trying. The congestion between here and Villach is a disgrace. Imet three carts in the last forty odd miles myself. Can't something bedone about it?"

  "-And the curiosity of cold-wristed burglars--By the way, I can't getover your climbing up like that, you know. It's all right, as ithappens, and I'm rather glad you did, but this might have been abedroom or--or anything."

  "Or a bathroom. Of course it might. But then, you see, you veryseldom find a piano in the bathroom nowadays, Silvia. Incidentally,what a sweet room this is."

  "Do you like my pictures?"

  "Awfully. Especially the one on the gate-table."

  My lady blew smoke out of a faint smile. Then:

  "If it comes to that, there's rather a good one on the arm of yourchair," she said.

  "Yes. By the same artist, too. But the one on the table knocks it.That'll be hung on the line year after year."

  "What line?"

  "At the Academy of Hearts. I beg your pardon, my dear. It slippedout."

  Silvia threw back her dainty head and laughed merrily. Presently:

  "But the one on the table's damaged," she said. "Didn't you see thescratch?"

  "And the one on the chair wants cleaning badly. In its present statethey wouldn't hang it anywhere except at Pentonville. But the scratch.How did you get it?"

  "Ah! That was the Marquis. We were by the window, and when youslipped that strap round, he jumped like anything. He was in my arms,you see."

  "I'm awfully sorry; but do you often embrace nobles, and how do you saygood-bye to dukes? I mean to say, I haven't got my patent with me, andmy coronet's in the store--I mean, strong room; but anyone who doesn'tknow me will tell you--Besides, I never scratch."

  "The Marquis is a Blue Persian."

  "These foreign titles," I murmured scornfully.

  "Don't be patronizing," said Silvia. "You know where Pride goes.Besides, I've met some very nice counts."

  I leaned forward. "I know. So've I. Barons, too. The last Istruck's doing seven years now. But you're English, Silvia. English,d'you hear? I'll bet they're all over you out here. I know them. I'ma fool, but I don't like to think of your--I mean, I'd rather be anEnglish--er--"

  "Burglar?"

  We both laughed, and I got up. "Silvia," I said, "tell me the best wayto Fladstadt and turn me out while there is yet time."

  "What do you mean?"

  "This. I've already been in love with you for a quarter of an hour.In another ten minutes I shall be sitting at your feet. Half an hourlater--"

  "You will be just running into Fladstadt. It's straight on. You can'tmiss the way."

  "And St. Martin? Have you ever heard of it?"

  She puckered her brows.

  "Isn't that where some English people have a place? Peoplecalled--er--Waring, is it?"

  "Bairling," said I.

  "Bairling. That's it. Let's see. I'm afraid it's some miles fromFladstadt."

  "Twenty, I'm told."

  "About that."

  "And this is how far?"

  "From Fladstadt? About twenty-three."

  I groaned. "Forty-three miles to go, and a flat tire," I said.

  "Now far's the next village?"

  "Why?"

  "I want to get another wheel on."

  "If you like to wait here a little longer, my brother'll be back withthe car. He's on the way from Fladstadt now. That's why I'm sittingup. He'll give you a jack."

  "You're awfully good, Silvia. But have you forgotten what I said?"

  "About sitting at my feet? No, but I don't think you meant it. If Idid, I should have rung long ago."

  "Thank you," said I.

  "Of course," she went on; "you're only a burglar, but you are--English."

  "Yes, Silvia. I mightn't have been, though."

  "You mean, I didn't know whether you were English or not, till afteryou'd climbed up? Nor I did. But one of the men's up, and there's abell-push under the flap of the table."

  She slipped a hand behind her. "I'm touching it now," she added.

  "I wondered why you didn't sit in a chair," I said, with a slow smile.A deep flush stole over the girl's features. For a moment she lookedat me with no laughter in her eyes. Then she slipped off the table andmoved across the room to an open bureau. She seemed to look forsomething. Then she strolled back to the table and took her seat onits edge once more.

  "Is that a car coming?" she said suddenly, her dark eyes on the floor.

  I listened. "I don't think so," I said, and stepped out on to thebalcony.

  There was no sound at all. It was the dead of night indeed. I glancedover the balustrade at the car. Her headlights burned steadily, makingthe moonlit road ahead more bright.

  "I can hear nothing," I said, coming back into the boudoir.

  "Look," said Silvia, pointing over my shoulder.

  As I turned, something struck me on the cheek. I stooped and picked itup. A piece of flexible cord about five inches long. I swung roundand looked at the girl. On the table a pair of scissors lay by herside.

  "Why have you done this?" I demanded.

  She raised her eyebrows by way of answer and reached for a cigarette.As she lighted it, I saw that her hand was trembling.

  "Silvia, dear, surely you don't think--"

  "Must you go?"

  "It was a poor joke of mine, I know; but--"

  "It was. I don't think a count or a baron would have said such arotten thing."

  Her eyes flashed and she was trembling all over. From being pretty,she had become beautiful.

  "Perhaps not," said I steadily. "But if they had, they would havemeant it, Silvia."

  "As you did."

  I coiled the flexible cord about a finger, loosed it and thrust it intomy pocket.

  "I'll go now," I said, "as I came."

  "Like a thief."

  "Like a thief. You have been wonderfully kind, and I--I have spoiledeverything. Let's try and forget this evening. For you, a car passedin the night, the hum of its engine swelling up, o
nly to fade againinto the silence. For me, I lingered to listen to the words of a song,and when it was done, sped on into the shadows. I wish you hadn't cutthat bell, lass."

  "Why?"

  I walked out on to the balcony and swung myself over the coping.

  "Because then I should have asked if I might kiss you."

  When I had lowered myself on to the seat of the car, I unbuckled thestrap and started to pull it down. But the buckle caught on thebaluster, and I had to stand on my old perch to reach and loosen it. Idid so, balancing myself with one hand on the balcony's door. As thestrap slipped free, there was a burning pain in my fingers. With a cryI tore them away, lost my balance, and fell sideways into the car on tothe back of the front seat. I stood up unsteadily. It hurt me tobreathe rather, and there was a stabbing pain in my right side.

  "Are you hurt?" said a quick voice above me. Dazedly I raised my head.Silvia was leaning over the balcony, one hand to her white throat. Icould hear her quick-coming breath.

  "No," I said slowly, "I'm not. But until you tell me that you know Idid not mean what I said, I will not believe that you did not mean tostand upon my fingers."

  "Are you hurt, lad?"

  "No. Did you hear what I said?"

  Silvia stood up, her hands before her on the coping.

  "You know I didn't."

  Without a word I stepped carefully out of the car. The pain wasintense. It was as if my side was being seared with a hot iron. How Istarted the car I shall never know. The effort brought me to my knees.Somehow I crept into my seat, took out the clutch and put in the firstspeed. I was moving. Mechanically I changed into second, third, andtop. We were going now, but the trees by the wayside seemed to beclosing in on me. The road was really ridiculously narrow. I couldsee a corner coming. The pain was awful. My head began to swim, and Ifelt the near wheel rise on the bank. I wrenched the car round, tookout the clutch and dragged the lever into neutral. As I jammed on thehand-brake, I seemed to see many lights. Then came the noise of ahorn, cries, and the sound of tires tearing at the road. I fellforward and fainted.

  I could smell Daphne. Somewhere at hand was my sister's faint perfume:I opened my eyes.

  "Hullo, Boy!" said Jill, her small, cool hand on my forehead.

  "Better, darling?" said Daphne, brushing my cheek with soft lips.

  "I'm all right," I said, raising myself on my left elbow. Still thestabbing pain in my right side. "Where are we?"

  "In the hall at St. Martin, dear. How did it all happen?"

  "How did I get here?" I asked. "And you--I don't understand."

  "We nearly ran you down, old chap." Berry's voice. "About a quarterof a mile from here, towards Fladstadt. But why were you driving away?"

  I stared at him. "Driving away?" I said slowly. "Then--"

  There were quick steps and the rustling of a dress.

  Then Silvia spoke. "What is it, Bill? Tell me. Who's hurt?"

  "It's all right, m'dear," said the man's voice. "Mrs. Pleydell'sbrother's met with an accident. We found him in the road. Don't makea noise. This is my sister, Mrs. Pleydell."

  "How d'you do?" said Daphne. "My brother seems--"

  "I'm all right," I said suddenly. "I'd lost my way, see? And one ofthe tires went, just as I was passing a big white house on the left. Istopped under a balcony, I think."

  "That's right," said Bill Bairling. "Balcony of Silvia's room."

  "I never knew it was St. Martin, though. I must have cut acrosscountry somehow. Still. Well, there was no jack on the car so Icouldn't do anything. Just as I was getting in again, I heard a noiseabove me and turned. My foot slipped on the step, and I fell on myside. Couple of ribs gone, I think. I tried to get on to Fladstadt.Is the car all right?"

  "And you said you weren't hurt," cried Silvia, sinking on her knees byJill.

  "Was it you who asked me?" I spoke steadily, looking her full in theeyes.

  "Yes," said Silvia.

  "I know I did. But then, you know, I don't always mean what I say."Then the pain surged up once more, and I fainted.

  "Is she kind as she is fair?For beauty lives with kindness.Love doth to her eyes repairTo help him of his blindness,And, being helped, inhabits there."

  The singing was very gentle. Overnight the song had floated into theair, rich, full, vibrant; but now a tender note had crept into therendering, giving the melody a rare sweetness. I listened pleasedly.My side was very sore and stiff. Also my head ached rather.

  "Priceless voice that little girl's got," said Berry in a low voice.

  "Isn't she a dear, too?" said Daphne. "Fancy giving up her ownbedroom, so that we could have the salon next door."

  "I know. But I wish she wouldn't keep on reproaching herself so. If agirl likes to step on to her own balcony, it's not her fault if somefellow underneath falls over himself and breaks a couple of ribs.However. When's the comic leech coming back?"

  "This afternoon," said my sister. "But he'll wake before then. Idon't expect he'll remember much about last night. I'm so thankfulit's not more serious."

  "How soon did he say he'd be up?"

  "Inside a week. It's a clean fracture. Of course, he'll be strappedup for some time. Fancy his going on, though."

  "Must have been temporarily deranged," said my brother-in-law airily."Shock of the fall, I expect."

  "Rubbish!" said his wife. "Just because you'd have lain there, givingdirections about your funeral and saying you forgave people, you thinkanybody's mad for trying to get on. Boy has courage."

  "Only that of his convictions," said Berry. "You forget I've got aclean sheet. My discharge from the Navy was marked 'Amazing'. Theonly stain upon my character is my marriage. As for my escutcheon,I've shaved in it for years."

  "Fool!" said his wife.

  "I shall turn my face to the wall if you're not careful."

  "Don't," said Daphne. "Remember, it's not our house.

  "There was a tap at the door. Then:

  "May I come in?" said Silvia.

  "Of course you may, dear. No. He's still asleep."

  "It's nearly twelve," said Silvia. "Won't you go and rest a little,and let me stay here? You must be so tired. I'll call you the momenthe wakes."

  Daphne hesitated. "It's awfully good of you--"

  "But it isn't. I'd love to."

  "The truth is, she's afraid to trust you, Miss Bairling," said Berry."She thinks you're going to steal his sock-suspenders."

  "Will you leave the room?" said my sister.

  "After you, beloved."

  I could hear Silvia's gentle laughter. Then:

  "I shall come back about one, dear, if you don't send for me before,"said Daphne.

  The next moment I heard the door close, and Silvia seated herself on myleft by the side of the bed. I opened my off eye. I lay in a fair,grey-papered chamber, darkened, for the green shutters were drawn closeabout the open windows. Some of their slides were ajar, letting thebright sunshine slant into the room.

  "There was once," I said, "a fool." A smothered exclamation close tomy left ear. "A fool, who did everything wrong. He lost his way, hisheart, his head, and, last of all, his balance. In that order. Yet hewas proud. But then he was only a fool."

  "But he was--English," she murmured.

  "Yes," I said.

  "And there was another fool," said Silvia. "A much bigger one, really,because, although she never lost her way or her head or her balance,she lost something much more precious. She lost her temper."

  "But not her voice," said I. "And the fools went together to ScotlandYard, and there they found the way and the head and the balance and thetemper. But not the heart, Silvia."

  "Plural," said Silvia, softly. I opened my near eye and turned myhead. The first thing I saw was a rosy arm, lying on the edge of mypillow. Within reach.

  "I say," I whispered. "Is the bell in this room all right?"