Rodmoor (6 page)

Slowly the dawn came up upon the trees and roofs of Oakguard. With a wan grey light it filled the pallid squares of the windows. With a livid grey light it made definite and ghastly every hollow and every wrinkle in that patient watcher’s face.

Travelling far up in the sky, a long line of
marsh-fowl
with outstretched necks sought the remoter
solitudes
of the fens. In the river marshes the sedge-birds uttered their harsh twitterings while, gathered in flocks above the sand-dunes, the sea-gulls screamed to the
inflowing
tide their hunger for its drifted refuse.

Wearily, at last, Helen Renshaw closed her eyes and it was the first streak of sunshine that Rodmoor had known for many days which, several hours later, kissed her white forehead—and the grey hairs that lay
disordered
across it—softly, gently, tenderly, as it might have kissed the forehead of the dead.

A
DRIAN SORIO sat opposite his friend over a warm brightly burning fire.

Baltazar Stork was a slight frail man of so delicate and dainty an appearance that many people were betrayed into behaving towards him as gently and considerately as if he had been a girl. This, though a compliment to his fragility, was bad policy in those who practised it, for Baltazar was an egoist of inflexible temper and under his velvet glove carried a hand of steel.

The room in which the two friends conversed was
furnished
in exquisite and characteristic taste. Old prints, few in number and rare in quality, adorned its walls. Precious pieces of china, invaluable statuettes in
pottery
and metal, stood charmingly arranged, with due space round each, in every corner. On either side of the mantelpiece was a Meissen-ware figure of engaging aspect and Watteau-like design, while in the centre, in the place where a clock is usually to be found, was a piece of statuary of ravishing delicacy and grace
representing
the escape of Syrinx from the hands of Pan.

The most remarkable picture in the room, attracting the attention at once of all who entered, was a dark, richly coloured, oval-shaped portrait—a portrait of a young man in a Venetian cloak, with a broad, smooth forehead, heavy-lidded penetrating eyes, and pouting
disdainful mouth. This picture, said to have been painted under the influence of Giorgione by that
incomparable
artist’s best loved friend, passed for a portrait of Eugenio Flambard, the favourite secretary of the
Republic
’s most famous ambassador during his residence at the Papal Court.

The majority of these treasures had been picked up by Baltazar during certain prolonged holidays in
various
parts of the Continent. This, however, was several years ago before the collapse of the investment, or whatever it was, which he inherited from Herman
Renshaw
.

Since that time he had been more or less dependent upon Brand, a dependence which nothing but his happy relations with Brand’s mother and sister and his
unfailing
urbanity could have made tolerable.

“Adrian, you old villain, why didn’t you tell me you’d seen Philippa. Brand informed me yesterday that you’ve seen her twice. This isn’t the kind of thing that pleases me at all. I don’t approve of these clandestine meetings. Do you hear me, you old reprobate? You don’t think it’s very nice, do you, for me to learn by accident—by a sort of wretched accident—of an event like this? If you
must
be at these little games you might at least be open about them. Besides, I have a brotherly interest in Philippa. I don’t want to have her innocence corrupted by an old satyr like you.”

Sorio contented himself by murmuring the word “Rats.”

“It’s all very well for you to cry ‘Rats!’ in that tone,” went on the other. “The truth is, this affair is going to become serious. You don’t suppose for a
moment
, do you, that your Nance is going to lie down, as
they say, and let my extraordinary sister walk over her?”

Adrian got up from his seat and began pacing up and down the little room.

“It’s absurd,” he muttered, “it’s all absurd. I feel as if the whole thing were a kind of devilish dream. Yes, the whole thing! It’s all because I’ve got nothing to do but walk up and down these damned sands!”

Baltazar watched him with a serene smile, his soft chin supported by his feminine fingers and his fair, curly head tilted a little on one side.

“But you know, mon enfant,” he threw in with a teasing caress in his voice, “you know very well you’re the last person to talk of work. It was work that did for you in America. You don’t want to start
that
over again, do you?”

Adrian stood still and glared at him.

“Do you think I’m going to let
that
—as you call it—finish me forever? My life’s only begun. In
London
it was different. By God! I wish I’d stayed in London! Nance feels just the same. I know she does. She’ll have to get something, too, or we shall both go mad. It’s this cursed sea of yours! I’ve a good mind to marry her, out of hand, and clear off. We’d find something—somewhere—anywhere—to keep body and soul together.”

“Why did you come to us at all, my dear, if you find us so dreadful?” laughed Baltazar, bending down to tie his shoe-string and pull up more tightly one of his silk socks.

Adrian made no answer but continued his ferocious pacing of the room.

“You’ll knock something over if you’re not careful,”
protested his friend, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re the most troublesome fellow. You accept a person’s offer and make no end of a fuss over it, and then a couple of weeks later you roar like a bull and send us all to the devil. What’s the matter with us? What’s the matter with the place? Why can’t you and your precious Nance behave like ordinary people and make love to one another and be happy? She’s got all her time to herself and you’ve got all your time to yourself. Why can’t you enjoy yourselves and collect seaweed or starfish or something?”

Adrian paused in his savage prowl for the second time.

“It’s your confounded sea that’s at the bottom of it,” he shouted. “It gets on her nerves and it gets on mine. Little Linda was perfectly right to be scared of it.”

“I fancied,” drawled the other, selecting a cigarette from an enamelled box and turning up the lamp, “you found little Linda’s fears rather engaging than
otherwise
.

“It works upon us,” Sorio went on, heedless of the interruption, “it works upon us in some damnable kind of way! Nance says she hears it in her sleep. I’m sure
I
do. I hear it without a moment’s cessation. Listen to the thing now—
shish
,
shish
,
shish, shish!
Why can’t it make some other noise? Why can’t it stop altogether? It makes me long for the whole damned farce to end. It annoys me, Tassar, it annoys me!”

“Sorry you find the elements so trying, Adriano,” replied the other languidly, “but I really don’t know what I can do to help you—I can only advise you to
keep out of Philippa’s way. She’s an element more troublesome than any of them.”

“Tassar!” shouted the enraged man in a burst of fury, “if you don’t stop dragging Philippa in, I’ll murder you! What’s Philippa to me? I
hate
her—do you hear? I hate the very sound of her name!”

“Her name?” murmured Stork, meditatively, “her name? Oh, I think you’re quite wrong to hate that. Her name suggests all sorts of interesting things. Her name has quite a historic sound. It’s mediæval in colour and Greek in form. It makes me think of
Euripides
.”

“This whole damned Rodmoor of yours,” moaned Adrian, “gets too much for me. Where on earth else, could a man find it so hard to collect his thoughts and look at things as they are? There’s something here which works upon the mind, Tassar, something which works upon the mind.”

“What’s working on
your
mind, my friend,” laughed Baltazar Stork, “is not anything so vague as dreams or anything so simple as the sea. It’s just the quite
definite
but somewhat complicated business of managing two love affairs at the same time! I’m sorry for you, little Adrian, I’m extremely sorry for you. It’s a
situation
not unknown in the history of the world, in fact, it might be called quite common. But I’m afraid that doesn’t make it any pleasanter for you. However, it can be dealt with, with a little skill, Adrian, with just a little skill!”

The man accused in this teasing manner turned
furiously
round, an angry outburst of blind protest
trembling
on his tongue. At that moment there was a low knock at the outer door. Baltazar jumped to his feet.
“That must be Raughty,” he cried. “I begged him to come round to-night. I so longed for you to meet him.” He hastened out and admitted the visitor with a cordial welcome. After a momentary pause and a good deal of shuffling—for Dr. Raughty was careful to wear not only an overcoat but also goloshes and even gaiters when the weather was inclement—the two men entered the room and Stork began an elaborate
introduction
.

“Dr. Fingal Raughty,” he said, “Mr. Adria—” but to his astonishment Sorio intervened, “The Doctor and I have already become quite well acquainted,” he remarked, shaking the visitor vigorously by the hand. “I’m afraid I wasn’t as polite as I ought to have been on that occasion,” he went on, speaking in an unnaturally loud voice and with a forced laugh, “but the
Doctor
will forgive me. The Doctor I’m sure will make
allowances
.”

Dr. Raughty gave him a quick glance, at once friendly and ironical, and then he turned to Stork. “Mother Lorman’s dead,” he remarked with a little sigh, “dead at last. She was ninety-seven and had thirty grandchildren. She gurgled in her throat at the last with a noise like a nightingale when its voice breaks in June. I prefer deaths of this kind to any other, but they’re all pitiful.”

“Nance tells me you were present at old Doorm’s death, Doctor,” said Adrian while their host moved off to the kitchen to secure glasses and refreshment.

The Doctor nodded. “I measured that fellow’s skull,” he remarked gravely. “It was asymmetrical and very curiously so. The interesting thing is that there exists in this part of the coast a definite tradition
of malformed skulls. They recur in nearly all the old families. Brand Renshaw is a splendid example.
His
skull ought to be given to a museum. It is beautiful, quite beautiful, in the anterior lobes.”

Baltazar returned carrying a tray. The eyes of Dr. Raughty gleamed with a mellow warmth. “
Nutmeg
,” he remarked, approaching the tray and
touching
every object upon it lightly and reverently. “Nutmeg, lemon, hot water, gin—
and
brandy! It’s an admirable choice and profoundly adapted to the
occasion
. May I put the hot water on the hob until we’re ready for it?”

While Baltazar once more withdrew from the scene, Dr. Raughty remarked, gravely and irritably, to Sorio that it was a mistake to substitute brandy for rum. “He does it because he can’t get the best rum, but it’s a ridiculous thing to do.
Any
rum is better than no rum when it’s a question of punch-making. Are you with me in this, Mr. Sorio?”

Adrian expressed such complete and emphatic
agreement
that for the moment the Doctor seemed almost
embarrassed
.

On Baltazar’s return to the room, however, he
hazarded
another suggestion. “What about having the kettle itself brought in here?”

Stork looked at him without speaking and placed on the table a small plate of macaroons. The Doctor glanced whimsically at Sorio and, helping himself from the little plate, muttered in a low voice after he had nibbled the edge of a biscuit, “Yes, these seem
perfectly
up to par to-day.”

The three men had scarcely settled themselves down
in their respective chairs around the fire than Adrian began speaking hurriedly and nervously.

“I have an extraordinary feeling,” he said, “that this evening is full of fatal significance: I suppose it’s nothing to either of you, but it seems to me as though this damned
shish, shish, shish, shish
of the sea were nearer and louder than usual. Doctor, you don’t mind my talking freely to you? I like you, though I was rude to you the other day—but that’s nothing—” he waved his hand, “that’s what any fool might fall into who didn’t know you. I feel I know you now. That word about the rum—forgive me, Tassar!—and the kettle—yes, particularly about the kettle—hit me to the heart. I love you, Doctor Raughty. I announce to you that my feeling at this moment amounts to love—yes, actually to love!

“But that’s not what I wanted to say.” He thrust his hands deep into his pockets, stretched his legs straight out, let his chin sink upon his chest and glared at them with sombre excitement. “I feel to-night,” he went on, “as though some great event were portending. No, no! What am I saying? Not an event. Event isn’t the word. Event’s a silly expression, isn’t it, Doctor,—isn’t it—dear, noble-looking man? For you do look noble, you know, Doctor, as you drink that punch—though to say the truth your nose isn’t quite straight as I see it from here, and there are funny blotches on your face. No, not there.
There!
Don’t you see them, Tassar? Blotches—curious purply blotches.”

While this outburst proceeded Mr. Stork fidgeted
uneasily
in his chair. Though sufficiently accustomed to
Sorio’s eccentricities and well aware of his medical friend’s profound pathological interest in all rare types, there was something so outrageous about this particular tirade that it offended what was a very dominant instinct in him, his sense, namely, of social decency and good breeding. Possibly in a measure
because
of the “bar sinister” over his own origin, but much more because of the nicety of his aesthetic taste, anything approaching a social fiasco or
faux pas
always annoyed him excessively. Fortunately,
however
, on this occasion nothing could have surpassed the sweetness with which Adrian’s wild phrases were
received
by the person addressed.

“One would think you’d drunk half the punch
already
, Sorio,” Baltazar murmured at last. “What’s come over you to-night? I don’t think I’ve ever known you quite like this.”

“Remind me to tell you something, Mr. Sorio, when you’ve finished what you have to say,” remarked Dr. Raughty.

“Listen, you two!” Adrian began again, sitting erect, his hands on the arms of his chair. “There’s a reason for this feeling of mine that there’s something fatal on the wind to-night. There’s a reason for it.”

“Tell us as near as you can,” said Dr. Raughty, “what exactly it is that you’re talking about.”

Adrian fixed upon him a gloomy, puzzled frown.

“Do you suppose,” he said slowly, “that it’s for nothing that we three are together here in hearing of that—”