Anthony Lyveden Part 33

Possibly a satyr in a weak moment might have fallen so low. But Anthony was not a satyr. And deserters are not, as a rule, recommended for the D.S.O. To suggest that he was a counter-jumper was equally ridiculous. He was a most attractive gallant gentleman. This made his behaviour infinitely more discreditable. It was a sordid, demoralizing business....

And that, gentlemen, is what a hot bath will do.

Now look on this picture.

Valerie lay as she had flung herself, face downward upon the bed. Save that one satin slipper had fallen off, she was fully dressed. One bare white arm pillowed her brow, covering her eyes--mercifully. Let us touch that gleaming shoulder. See? It is cold as ice. That little slipperless foot.... Cold as any stone. But then it is the month of December, and she has lain so for two hours. Two hours of agony. She can remember every look those steady grey eyes of Lyveden's have ever given her, and in the last two hours she has remembered them all. Inch by inch she has gone over the playground of their hearts: word by word she has recited their conversations: she has gathered great posies of dead blossoms, because they once smelled so sweet: she has trodden the lanes of Memory to her most grievous wounding, because they are still so dear....

Then there were other times, when Pride had her in a strait-jacket, and the very thought of Anthony made her eyes blaze.

She had been walking herself out of one of these moods, and was tramping rather wearily through the twilight and up the long drive, when the cough of a motor-horn behind her made her start to one side.

The next moment a car flashed past....

It was the local doctor's Renault.

Valerie's heart stood still.

The next moment she was running like a deer....

The car beat her all ends up, and by the time she had reached the steps, the front door was shut. She pealed the bell frantically....

To the footman who answered it--

"What's the matter?" she panted. "Who's ill?"

"Miss Alison, miss. I think it's a broken leg. She an' Mrs. Alison 'ad been to tea with 'er ladys.h.i.+p, an', as she was leavin', she----"

"Don't keep saying 'she,'" snapped Valerie. "Say 'Miss Alison.'

And--and bring me some fresh tea. In the library."

She swept past the bewildered servant and disappeared.

The mills of G.o.d were off.

Twenty-four hours had gone by.

All this time the mills had been grinding steadily, and the grain, which had been awaiting their pleasure for exactly one calendar month, was beginning to disappear. After a while Valerie had come to realize that her pride was to be reduced to powder, and that there was nothing for it but to submit to the process with the best grace she could. Not every woman would have reasoned so wisely: few would have given to their decision such faithful effect. You will please remember that any reduction of her pride seemed to Valerie extraordinarily unjust. That there was stuff other than pride in the grist never occurred to her.

It was the evening, then, of the day after the accident, and the two girls were alone in the pleasant bedroom whither Anne had been carried the day before, and where she was like to spend the next six weeks of her existence. The patient was wearing one of Valerie's night-gowns and looking very nice in it. She was also smoking one of Valerie's cigarettes, and, so resilient is youth, chattering merrily between the puffs.

"Lady Touchstone was wonderful. She knew my leg was broken before I did. Almost before I knew where I was, she had my head in her lap and was telling me to lie quite still and hang on to her hand for all I was worth. 'You'll find it a great help,' she said. 'I know I did. And if you know any bad words, say them.' For all the pain, I couldn't help laughing. And then she told me how she'd broken her leg in the hunting field, and the vicar was the first to get to her, and how she hung on to him and made him feed her with bad language till help arrived. And, when I tried to say I was sorry, she said the butler deserved six months for not having the steps sanded, and asked me, if you and she tried to make me comfortable while I was your guest, if I'd try to forgive you...."

"That's the only possible way to look at it," said Valerie. "It's all our servants' fault, and we're only too thankful to be able----"

"You're very sweet," said Anne wistfully. "But to be saddled with me for six weeks----"

"Hus.h.!.+" said Valerie, with a grave smile. "You promised not to talk like that."

Anne Alison sighed.

"It is unfortunate, though," she said. "I can't think what they'll do at The Shrubbery. If only Anthony hadn't just left.... You knew he'd gone, didn't you?"

Valerie shook her head.

"I knew he was going," she said.

"He left on Monday," said Anne. "We're all heart-broken. He was wonderful to work with, and n.o.body could help liking him. George is desperate about it. Being a man, you see.... Besides, they were a lot together. On the car, I mean. Off duty we never saw much of him. He liked being alone. I think I'm the only one he went for a walk with all the time he was there. And then Betty sent him. He'd never seen the view from The Beacon, so I took him. He was bored stiff, and we got soaked coming home, but he was very nice and polite about it. He always was. And now, I suppose----"

"The Beacon?" said Valerie faintly. "Where--where's The Beacon?"

"I don't know what its real name is," said Anne. "We always call it 'The Beacon.' You must know it. That very high place in Red King Walk, where the cliff goes sheer down...."

Valerie tried to speak, but no words would come. Something seemed to be gripping her by the throat. The walls of the room, too, were closing in, and there was a strange, roaring noise--like that of mills working....

With a terrific effort she fought unconsciousness away....

_Her--their nest then, was, after all, inviolate. He had never taken Anne there. Betty had sent him. And--he had--been bored--stiff...._

It was as if a mine had been sprung beneath the spot upon which had been dumped her emotions of the last two months, blowing some to atoms, bringing to light others that had lain buried. Out of the wrack, joy, shame, fear fell at her feet--and a sentence out of a letter was staring her in the face.

"_His explanation will shame you, of course, but take the lesson to heart._"

"I wonder," she said shakily, "if you could give me Major Lyveden's address."

"I would, like a shot," said Anne heartily, "but he wouldn't leave one."

Again the rumble of those labouring mills came swelling out of the silence into a roar that was thunderous, brain-shaking.... For a moment of time they pounded the understanding mercilessly.... Then, all of a sudden, the machinery stopped.

The corn was ground.

CHAPTER VI

THE COMFORT OF APPLES

Anthony was healthily tired. So much so, in fact, that he was sorely tempted to retire to bed without more ado. On reflecting, however, that at least twenty minutes must elapse before his faithful digestion could also rest from its labours, he lighted a pipe slowly and then--afraid to sit down, lest he should fall asleep--leaned his tired back against a side of the enormous fireplace and folded his arms.

It is probable that the chamber which his eyes surveyed was more than four hundred years old. That it was at once his hall, kitchen, and parlour, is undeniable. One small stout wall contained the front door and the window, a third part of which could be induced to open, but was to-night fast shut. Another hoisted the breakneck staircase which led to the room above. A third stood blank, while the fourth was just wide enough to frame the tremendous fireplace, which, with its two chimney-corners, made up a bay nearly one half the size of the little room it served. The ceiling, itself none too high, was heavy with punis.h.i.+ng beams, so that a tall man must pick and choose his station if he would stand upright; and the floor was of soft red brick, a little sunken in places, but, on the whole, well and truly laid.

A cupboard under the stairs served as a larder and store-room; a flap beneath the window made a firm table; in spite of their age, a Windsor and a basket chair, when called upon, satisfactorily discharged the duties for which they were contrived. A battered foot-bath did more.

In a word, it received platters and knives and forks which needed cleansing, and in due season delivered them cleansed; of a Sunday morning it became a terrier's tub; and upon one afternoon in the week a vessel in which clothes were washed.

Since this was all the furniture, the place looked bare. As a living-room it left much to be desired; but, since Major Anthony Lyveden did not live in it, that did not trouble him. He used the room, certainly--he was using it now; nightly he slept above it--but he lived in the open air.

This was patent from the look of him.