She Painted her Face (22 page)

"Go on," said Old Harry, twinkling.

"Well, the first is this. I hardly like to ask after Elsa's health, but—"

"I believe it to be excellent," said I.

"I'm much obliged," said Herrick. "And that brings me direct to the second. Virgil has been bumped off. Was Elsa in on that deal?"

"No, she wasn't," said I

"Thank you very much," said Herrick. "That's all I wanted to know. Of course, If, upon reflection, you should feel disposed to divulge any further— er— reactions which bear upon the matter in which I believed I was concerned, well, I shan't refuse to listen. But pray don't put yourself out. Besides, I expect you're busy. A murder a day keeps the doctor away. What time are you taking the Count for a drive?"

"Leave him alone," said Old Harry. "If I can wait, so can you. Richard Exon has taken the bit in his teeth— I saw as much the moment he entered the room. And there it can stay, for me— till he's ready to let it drop. He'll take his fences all right. But don't forget this— a man can't say very much when he's got the bit in his teeth."

And there the maid Godolphin came in with my telegram.

"Crawley's case fixed for Friday he counts upon you.—Forsyth."

"Good heavens," I said, and got to my feet.

Caroline stifled a cry, but the Duchess sat perfectly still. As for Herrick...

"I must go to London," I said. "I must leave for Innsbruck at once— at least, as soon as I've packed. I must catch the evening train."

Caroline let out a cry. "Richard I"

"My dear, I've no choice. Six weeks ago the servant I had before Winter was charged with theft. I had always found him honest and I said that I'd swear as much when— ever he stood his trial. And his case has been fixed for Friday. I can't let him down. But I can be back on Sunday." I turned to the Duchess of Whelp. "Will you excuse me, madam? I must make certain arrangements. I shall ask you to see me again before I leave."

"You are excused, Richard Exon." I bowed and went.

Whilst Winter packed, I wrote the best letter I could.

Madam,—

By the time that you read this letter, I am very nearly sure that the 'Count' will have disappeared. Whether he has or has not, you will know the best use to make of these documents. I told him that he would be arrested unless he made himself scarce and that Virgil had 'disappeared' under fear of being charged with the theft of Caroline's jewels. Elsa is 'wanted' by the police; when she knew that I'd found that out, she may have thought it better to find a new place.

Of course, I'm not coming back. It's better so. I mean, there's no more to be done, and as I can neither 'glaze her' nor 'rope myself off,' it wouldn't be fair to her to make matters worse than I have.

Madam, I have so much to thank you for.

Your obedient, affectionate servant,

RICHARD EXON.

With this I enclosed two documents.

One was the statement, endorsed by Lord Ferdinand, and the other the death certificate of Matthew Gering. Then I sealed the envelope up and addressed it to the Duchess of Whelp. And then Winter fetched Parish again, and I gave it into his hand— and made him swear to hold it till ten the following day.

At half-past three I saw the Duchess again.

She spoke to me very kindly and said that my lady had told her of our "most unpleasant experience" the night before and hoped that I was no worse for my struggle to save my life. After that she wished me good luck "in the matters you now have in hand," and said she should look for my coming in four days' time. And when I kissed her hand she lifted me up and held my face against hers and thanked me for "plucking our darling out of the jaws of death."

Then, though I knew my way, she called Godolphin and told her to show me out; and, before I knew where I was, I was passing through the bedroom which Brief reserved for persons of royal descent. Thirty seconds later I stood in the picture gallery.

Caroline turned from a window and came to my side.

"Come here my darling." She put her arm through mine. "You look so tired and shaken, and though God knows you have cause, it isn't like you. And now you're going straight off— to travel day and night to London and back. Oh, I wish I was going with you. I shan't know a moment's rest till I see you again."

"I'm all right," I said somehow. "I'll get a good sleep to-night."

"Will you write me a letter tomorrow? I'd like to hear. Only a little letter— to say that you had a good night I don't want to know anything else-I promised Old Harry I'd ask you no questions at all. But it worries me to see you so unlike yourself, and to think you must make such a journey at such a time."

"I promise I'll write, my darling. But you mustn't worry— really. There's nothing the matter with me. I'm only tired."

With that, I made to glance at my wrist, but she caught my hand.

"I know the time," she said gently. "I'll tell you when you must go. We've ten minutes more together. The Rolls is out on the terrace and your luggage is down."

"Ten minutes more."

MY brain seemed to sway and stagger, as a man that is heavy laden crossing uneven ground. There was so much to be said: yet I could say none of it, because she must not know that this was the end. And yet, how could I leave her without a word? Somehow I must contrive to say one or two things which, when she later remembered, would show her that Richard Exon had been trying to take his leave.

"It— it hurts me to leave you," I said. "And I wouldn't have left you— nothing on earth would have made me— if I didn’t know you were safe. But now I know that, and— well, I gave my word, my darling, and so, you see, I must keep it— at any cost."

Her beautiful fingers tightened upon my wrist

"Of course. Poor Crawley. D'you think they’ll listen to you?"

"I shall try to make them. And now let's talk about you. I do not want you to worry— I shall be all right Now don't forget that my beauty, because I mean what I say. If you feel like fretting, sit at Old Harry's feet. She's wise— she's terribly wise, and she has an understanding which doesn't belong to this world. You told me once that you'd come to lean upon me. Very well. I'm going away. The moment I've gone I want you to lean upon her. If you don't, you'll feel left-when I go off in the Rolls. And I don't want you to feel left."

"How can I feel anything else? Half of me is going to London— the better half."

"You won't, if you stick to her. She's a sort of Rock of Ages. If you don't want me to worry you'll do as I ask."

"Richard, darling, of course I shall lean upon her. And she upon me— until our idol comes back. We're, both of us, silly about you. When I told her about last night the tears ran down her cheeks. 'He's thoroughbred,' she kept saying. 'He was beaten all ends up, and yet he won through— for his great heart wasn't broken— and a thoroughbred's never beaten till you break his heart.' And so you needn't tell me to stick to her. We shall spend our time talking about you, until you come back."

I put a hand to my head. Matters were bad enough, and I seemed to be making them worse.

"You put it too highly," I said slowly. "Don't magnify what I did. I had a chance and I took it, but more than once I nearly did everything in. And you got me out of that well— no doubt about that. Never mind. We can't argue now. But let's— let's both try to pretend it was only a dream, some of it bitter and some unforgettably sweet.

"You know, dreams are like that And if we try hard enough and really make believe, it'll come to seem like one. and we shall ask ourselves if these things really happened, or whether the dying leap of some falling star just brushed our lives with brilliance— and held us up to the peephole of immortality."

"Richard! What are you saying?" Her beautiful brows were knit, and a startled presence looked out of her glorious eyes. "Oh, my dear, I don't like you to go like this. What happened last night has changed you You're not yourself. And since then— Oh, I don't want to know, but I'm sure that something's upset you. You're always so calm and stable: but now Richard Exon's on edge."

The worst was happening: something had to be done.

With a superhuman effort I braced myself for the part which I could not play. Somehow I had to play it— for both our sakes. She simply must not know that this was the end.

I got to my feet and drew her into my arms

"My sweet," I said, "if I seem to you unnatural, that is because I am trying to play a part. I am trying my best to pretend-to make myself believe that I do not mind taking my leave. If you cannot help me to this then my resolution will crack and I shall not go. After all, I've a fine excuse 'I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.' And the man I promised to speak for can go to Hades.

"Now I never realised how much it was going to cost me to keep the promise I made. It is costing me so much that I dare not consider the price, because, if I did, I know that I shouldn't pay it— and yet it's got to be paid if I am to keep my word. So I'm trying to make believe.

"Now, of course, it's utterly hopeless to pretend that I don't mind going and leaving you here. I might as well pretend that I liked being down in that well. So I've made up my mind to pretend that, when I run in to Innsbruck, I'm running out of some dream. After all, it's been rather like one— for me, I mean Raven, Tracery, Brief, and the Duchess of Whelp-and you. Who ever saw anyone like you outside some dream? So I'm going to pretend I've been dreaming— for if I've been dreaming I don't have to leave you behind. My dream, my shining wonder, will always be here— in my heart. There can be no separation No miles can lie between us, because you are not of this world. When I'm crossing the Channel I shall hold you as close In my arms as I'm holding you now. Day and night you'll be with me— always: sleeping and waking, I have my cheek against I yours."

I threw back my head and laughed. "I shall be so rich I shall be almost afraid to come back, because that will mean the rendering up of my dream."

"Dropping shadow for substance," she smiled. "Perhaps you won't like me so well."

Then she laid her head on my chest and I laid my head against hers. And so we stayed, while the merciless sands ran out— and the blood ran with them, out of some holes In my heart.

Some clock struck four, and I felt a tremor run through her before its knell.

Once more I braced myself.

Then I put my hand under her chin and lifted her lovely head.

"Good-bye. Caroline Virgil."

"Good-bye, my love."

I kissed her lips.

Then we let one another go, and I turned and walked out of the gallery, down to the hall.

THE STEAMER which took me from France had berthed, and I was standing amidships, watching my fellow-passengers hasten ashore, when I found a man standing beside me with his hand to his hat.

"Mr. Exon, sir?"

He was a commissionaire, and he had a note in his hand.

'That's right," said I.

He gave me the note at once.

Within was a typewritten sheet.

The Duchess of Whelp presents her compliments to Mr. Richard Exon and begs that, as soon as may be, he will present himself at Tracery, where he will hear of something to his advantage.

With a hammering heart I stared at the messenger.

"How did you know." I said "that I should be coming this way?"

"I didn't, sir," he said simply. There's a man with a note for you at each of the ports. Every boat from France has been met for twenty-four hours."

"No. you don't, sir," said Winter, stoutly. "I don't care what's in the wind. I promised her ladyship I'd make you look after yourself. I 'aven't done nothing so far— because of the look in your eyes. But now that's gone, thank heaven. An' if you won't rest here a day before starting back— well, I've got the Rolls locked and I'll chuck the keys into the sea."

So it came about that nearly four days went by before, after sleeping at Innsbruck. I saw the chimneys of Tracery rising against the blue.

Heavy rain must have fallen the night before, for woods and pastures were green as I had never seen them, and the countryside was glancing before the smile of the. sun.

As twice before, I entered the castle and was immediately conducted to Old Harry.

"Sit down."

I did as she said. "I was right when I said you had taken the bit in your teeth; but it never occurred to me you were going to bolt. Why didn't you come to me and tell me the truth?"

"And ask to be let off— in view of what I had done? Forgive me, madam, but I don't think you'd have done that."

"No, I shouldn't," said Old Harry. "I should have come and demanded the hand of the Countess of Brief."

I started at that, but she took no notice at all. "And if my demand had been questioned, I'll tell you what I should have said. I should have said, 'Look here. That she loves me is nothing, that I love her is less. But I've saved her life twice over and dashed near lost my own, I've made one man cut his throat and I've killed two more; and if you imagine I've done all these parlour tricks to keep her nice and warm for somebody else, then, by Heavens,' I'd have said, 'you've made a mistake in your man.' "

I stood up and folded my arms.

"Madam," I said, "I'll see you. Take it as said. I want Caroline."

Then I asked of Caroline and Herrick, to learn that the latter was at Raven and the former at Brief. Since there was much to be done, Herrick went over to Brief for the whole of each day, assisting my lady as I could never have done, for he was a fine man of business and could speak German without a fault.

And then we came back to myself.

"You must understand this," said the Duchess. "Exactly ten days ago, before ever we left for Brief, Caroline told me plainly that she meant to become your wife. Well, I didn't argue with her, because I approved her choice. The difficulty confronting me was to make Richard Exon— not worthy to be her husband, but eligible to marry the Countess of Brief. Well, I think I can bring it off— but only by your consent. You bear a very good name. And I'm sure you are proud of it. Parish remembers Usage— which was your home. His sister was your mother's maid, and when your mother died she stayed on till the house was sold. It should not have been sold, of course: but your father was killed in action, and, as you know, things went wrong. Very well Now I, too, bear a good name. My family name is Saying; and, though you and I know better, the Almanach de Gotha will tell you that it is royal. And if you will change your name— it's easy enough, by deed poll— and will call yourself Saying Exon from this time on, I think you may very well marry the Countess of Brief. Apart from anything else, it is, as the three of us know, most right and proper that she should bear my name; and in view of all that has happened, it is most right and proper that she should take it from you. But the principal thing is this— that I am very fond of you, Richard, and should derive infinite pleasure from the thought that you and your sons were to bear my name, for I know you will do it honour, and I find it hard to believe that, with such a mother to hear them, your sons will prove unworthy to hand it down."

She hesitated there and put a hand to her eyes. Then she went slowly on

"The workings of Fate are very wonderful. Saying is my own name— When I was married, I took my husband's title, but not his name. And because the name is royal, his sons by me would have borne it. But, you see, I have had no children. And when I come to die, the name will die, too— unless you— you care to humour— a sentimental old fool— "

What I said I cannot remember, because my heart was too full; but I know I was down on my knees and her hands were in mine, as I tried my best to thank her for doing to me what only a king can do.

Then she kissed me on either cheek and told me to ring for wine. "For we must have a drink," she said, "to celebrate this. You seem to like the idea, and, as good John Herrick would say, it suits me down to the socks. The thought of that name going out has given me sleepless nights. But now— all's very well, for if you and Caroline Virgil aren't fit to fly my flag, then my eye is dim and my natural force abated. And that I refuse to believe, for I never wore glasses yet and, though I take it easy, I'm still as strong as a horse."

When the wine was brought, she pledged me and wished me luck, and I tried again to thank her and drank her health. Then she picked up a sheet of paper and put it in my hand.

"Your cake," she said simply. "You can have it now— and can eat it, as soon as you've changed your name."

A marriage has been arranged and will shortly take place between Richard Saying-Exon, late of Usage In Wiltshire and now of Tracery In Austria, and Caroline Virgil, Countess of Brief.

I lifted my head to stare at the Duchess of Whelp.

" 'Now of Tracery,' madam?"

"That's what it says," said Old Harry. "You can cut it out, if you like. But I understand you're short of a residence, and it would give me great pleasure if you were to make this your home." '

After lunch I left for Raven, where I was to stay for three nights, after which I was to return— with the Countess of Brief and Herrick— to settle future arrangements and, generally, "chew the cud." But, before I went, Old Harry made me promise that I would drive straight to Raven and would not visit Brief until the following day.

"You owe John Herrick something. He's been a good friend to you, and he mustn't feel left."

In view of all that had happened, I could not protest: but I could not help thinking that Herrick could hardly "feel left" If I paid my lady a visit before returning to Raven to spend the evening with him. Still, If Old Harry was wilful, I owed her caprice so much that If she had seen fit to direct that the Countess and I should not meet for another ten days, I must have honoured her precept without a word.

So I took my leave and entered the Rolls once more and, driving leisurely, came to Raven at six— to find the homestead fit for a Morlands brush.

As we stole between the two chestnuts and on to the apron beyond, I 6aw that Brenda was standing at the foot of the steps. She must have seen the car coming, along the road of approach.

I brought the Rolls to her side and put out my hand.

"Well, Brenda," I said, "how are you? You see, I've come back."

She took my hand In both hers.

"I am so glad to see you," she said. "Your room is all ready, of course. Mr. Herrick is not back yet. He goes to Brief every day and I doubt if he will be here for another half hour. I think you will sit in the meadows, until he comes."

"You're perfectly right," said I, and got out of the car. "But, first, I must have a drink. Will you go and draw me some beer, while I'm washing my hands?"

Brenda hesitated. Then "You— you won't have a bath, will you? I mean, the water's not hot."

In some surprise:

"I'd like one before dinner," I said. "But why mustn't I have one now?"

"It would take too long," said Brenda. "The meadows are now at their best, but the sun is low."

With that, she was gone.

I do not know what made me do it, but when I had used the bathroom I strolled across the landing and entered the pleasant bedroom I knew was mine.

For a moment I stood looking round. Then I moved to the open windows, commanding the friendly meadows and the sheltering woods beyond. The scene was as rare as lovely, for the sun was going down and the pleasant Georgic was flooded with amber light. All things were throwing shadows as clean and as black as print, slashing the turf with sable and making the vivid green more vivid still. On every side the tapestry of woodland was shot with gold, the stream was afire with splendour— and sitting beside its water was Caroline, Countess of Brief.

Her beautiful head was bare and her eyes were fixed upon the tree-tops as though she were expecting the heaven above to open and make her rich; but for me the heaven had opened-and I seemed to be regarding some idyll that did not belong to earth, but had been sung by Shakespeare to please the gods.

So I looked upon my fortune.

Then I went down to the meadows, to see the light in her eyes.

Nearly an hour went by before Herrick arrived, for which I was very thankful because his car was to take Caroline back.

As we heard the drone of his engine:

"Oh, damn!" said the Countess of Brief. "Now that I've got you back, I don't want to let you go. But you won't go mad again, will you? Remember that the Duchess of Whelp has set her heart on this match, and that, after all that she's done, you can't let her down."

With a sudden movement, I picked her up in my arms.

"Shall I tell you something?" I said.

"Yes, please."

A warm arm slid round my neck.

"To-day I came back to my dream: and as long as my dream will have me, I shall never leave it again. I must go to London later, if only to change my name. But I will not go unless you go with me. Take what companion you like. Take half a dozen women— to shut propriety's mouth. Kick your heels, while I'm doing my business. Only, be there— You see, you are my dream. A week ago I rendered you unto Caesar, and tore my heart. And now Caesar has given you back— has given me back my dream. Well, that's all right; but the wound in my heart will reopen if ever I leave you again. And that, I tell you frankly, I cannot face. When I left you, I knew very well I was leaving my life behind But not until I was gone did I know what it meant to be dead— a dead man having his beings amid a workaday world."

For two or three moments she held my head against hers. Then she let it go and turned to look into my eyes.

"My blessed," she breathed, "I'm so thankful I mean so much. You see, I've given you all. I've no more to give. Heart and soul and body you hold them in your strong hands They're not mine any more. They're at your disposal, Richard. And I ever you ceased to care, the body would wither, for the heart and the soul would die."

I would have answered her, but the words would not come, for I could think of nothing but the look in her glorious eyes. I cannot tell what exquisite language they spoke, but I understood their saying better than any words. I had that day been ennobled by the Duchess of Whelp but now I was exalted in spirit, am a spring seemed to break within m for Joy that Caroline Virgil had come to love me so well.

Then she smiled, and I kissed he mouth and set her down on her feet.

"Shall I tell you something?" she said.

"Yes, please."

"When we got the telephone message to say that you had been stopped and were going to come back, I— I burst into tears."

"My sweet!"

"It was natural enough. But listen. Old Harry called me a fool and then burst into tears herself. We turned to John for comfort John who had been our mainstay and simply kept us going for thirty one hours— and John was standing there, with the tears running down his cheeks. So you see. my darling, I'm not peculiar. There's something about Richard Exon that gets us all under the ribs."

End