Anthony Lyveden Part 41

The flame of the inquiry scorched Peter Every's ears.

Dropping the map and getting uncertainly upon his feet, he demanded aggrievedly to be told what on earth was the matter....

On trying subsequently coherently to recall what had happened in the next five minutes, he found his memory pardonably confused.

Valerie had taken him by the shoulders and shaken him like a rat: she had hurled at his head an unending stream of questions--all about Lyveden, and, when he had hesitated, had shaken him again; when he had tried to protest, she had put her hand over his mouth; when she had clearly exhausted his memory, she had announced that they would go up to Town the next day, and that on Sunday morning, sun, rain, or snow, he would motor her down to where Lyveden dwelt; then she had said she was sorry she'd shaken him, smiled him a maddening smile, told him, with a rare blush, that Anthony Lyveden was "the most wonderful man in the world," kissed him between the eyes, and then darted out of the room, calling for Lady Touchstone....

Sitting that night upon the edge of his bed, with his hands in his pockets and a pipe in his mouth, staring moodily upon the carpet, Peter had thought ruefully upon his shattered fortune.

"Blinkin' fine week-end," he muttered, "I don't think. I roll up for a hunt an' a dart at the most priceless girl that ever was foaled, an' I lose the one an' am roped in to help the other to another cove." He laughed bitterly. "'Minds me of a drama-play. S'pose I'm cast for the peris.h.i.+n' strong man wot 'ides 'is bleedin' 'eart." He flung out a dramatic arm. "'Reenunciation, 'Erbert, 'ath its reeward.' (Loud and prolonged cheers.) Well, well...." He rose to his feet and stretched luxuriously. "It's all the same in a hundred years, and so long as she's happy..." And with that little candle of truly handsome philosophy Mr. Peter Every lighted himself to bed.

Upon the following Sunday, at a quarter before midday, he set Miss French down upon the London road at the spot at which he and Joan had met Lyveden a fortnight before.

"I'll wait till you've seen if he's in," he said, nodding towards the cottage. "If he is, I'll come back in an hour. That do?"

Valerie smiled and nodded. She was just twittering. Then she flung her veil back over her shoulder and stepped off the road on to the wasted track....

It was a beautiful day--a handful of sweet-smelling hours filched by Winter out of the wallet of Spring. The wet earth seemed drenched with perfume; the winds kept holy-day; the sun, like a giant surprisedly refreshed, beamed with benevolence.

Her knocking upon the door of the cottage evoking no answer, Miss French decided to try the back.

The venture was fruitful.

There upon the red-brick pavement stood a small snow-white dog, whom Major Anthony Lyveden, seated upon a soap-box, was towelling vigorously.

Between the fuss of the operation and the amicable wrangle which it induced, neither of the parties heard the lady's approach. For a moment she stood spellbound. Then she turned and waved her arm to Every, sitting still in the car fifty odd paces away. Intelligently the latter waved back....

As Valerie turned, there was a scrabble of paws. Followed a sharp exclamation, and the next moment Patch was leaping frantically to lick her face, while Anthony Lyveden, who had risen to his feet, was staring at her and recoiling, towel in hand, as if he had perceived an apparition.

For the two, who had shared big moments, it was the most tremendous of all. Upon a sudden impulse that black king Fate had flung his warder up. Instantly the barriers of Time and Distance had been swept away, and Love, Shame, Fear, and a whole host of Emotions had come swarming pell-mell back into the lists--a surging, leaderless mob, thirsty to flesh their swords, quarrelling amongst themselves....

Sit you there by the king, sirs, if you will watch the tourney. Climb up into his pavilion; make his grim equerries give place. I will answer for their black looks. And the king will laugh at their discomfiture. His jester for the length of my tale, I can twist the tyrant about my little finger.

See, then, the wrangling press take order of battle. Observe the clamorous throng split into two rival companies, each of them captained by Love, with Hope and Shame on one side, and Fear and Mistrust upon the other. These six are the most notable; the rest you shall discover for yourselves, when issue is joined. One other knight only I beg you will remark--him in the cold grey harness, knee to knee with Mistrust, whose device is a broken bough, sirs, whom there is none to counter upon the opposite side.... That is no one of the Emotions, but something less honest--a free-lance, gentlemen, that has ridden unasked to the jousting and cares for neither cause, but, because he will grind his own axe, ranged against Valerie. There is a fell influence behind that vizor that will play a big part this February day.

When Valerie French looked upon her lost lover, she could have wept for joy. The sight of him, indeed, rendered her inarticulate, and, before she had found her voice, came Shyness to tie up her tongue. This is important, because her sudden inability to speak upset everything.

For a month after she had known the man faithful and herself for a fool. Miss French had constantly rehea.r.s.ed this meeting. Then, when she had almost lost hope that it would ever take place, the rehearsals had lost their savour.... Forty hours ago they had been revived and conducted feverishly by day and night. She had a score of entrances, and humble opening lines to suit them all. Before Anthony could speak, she would have disarmed him by kneeling in the dust. The most submissive sentences her love could utter were to be laid at his feet--calls which, if his love were yet alive, must wake some echoes.

Too honest, however, to make a play-actress, Valerie had reckoned without stage-fright....

Lyveden was the first to recover.

"Why, Miss--Valerie," he said, "where have you sprung from?" He came to her smiling and put out his hand. "I can see by your face that I'm forgiven. I'm so glad. I hate to be at variance." Mechanically Valerie laid her hand in his. "I've got such a wonderful job here," he went on easily. "Are you just pa.s.sing? Or have I time to tell you about it?"

"I'd--I'd love to hear," stammered the girl.

Things were going all wrong. There had been nothing like this in any of her scenes.

"I'm restoring an estate," said Anthony. "When you knew me, I was a footman. Now I'm something between a forester, a landscape-gardener, and a roadman. This"--he lifted an indicating arm--"this belongs to a Colonel Winchester. It's been let go for over a hundred years, and he and I and a few others are working to pull it round. It's just fascinating."

Valerie nodded.

"I'm glad you're happy," she said, and wondered whether that was the moment to speak her unspoken lines. Surely a better opening would present itself. Now that they could not come first, it seemed so awkward to thrust them in without any introduction. While she hesitated, the chance pa.s.sed.

"I'm sure you are. Would you care to see something of the park? I'd like you to. It'll make it easier for you to understand what we're up against and what an amazing attraction there is in the work." Together they left the cottage and made for the track. "If we go down here for a bit, you'll get an idea of the condition of things, and then I'll show you some of the work we've done. Of course it goes slow. Five thousand acres aren't reclaimed in a day. You see...."

The steady, even tone flowed with a surprising ease. Anthony could hardly believe his ears. How on earth he was able to talk so naturally he could not divine. He was, of course, putting up a tremendous fight.

The sudden appearance of Valerie had fairly staggered him. Then instinctively he had pulled himself together, and, with his head still singing from the blow, striven dazedly to ward her off. The great thing, he felt, was to keep talking....

Ever since his dismissal he had fought unceasingly to thrust the lady out of his mind: latterly his efforts had met with a halting success.

Now, not only was all this labour utterly lost, but he was faced with a peril more terrifying than death. The prospect of being haled once more unto Pisgah, the h.e.l.l of viewing once again that exquisite land of promise unfulfilled, loomed big with torment. He simply could not suffer it all again. The path, no doubt, would be made more specious than ever. Oh, indubitably. And the whips which were waiting at the end of it would have become scorpions.... Anthony had braced himself for an immense resistance.

The devil of it was, he loved the girl so desperately that resistance pure and simple would be of no avail. He knew he could never hope to parry the thrusts those beautiful eyes, that gentle voice, were there to offer him. Once before he had tried, and failed signally. It was plain that his only chance of safety lay in attack. He must press her tirelessly. The great thing was to keep talking....

Thank G.o.d, there was a subject to hand. Gramarye made a wonderful topic, inviting, inexhaustible. Her blessed woods and streams, her poor blurred avenues, her crumbling roads, the piteous havoc of the proud estate stood him in splendid stead. Anthony found himself not only talking, but waxing enthusiastic. The queer conceit that Gramarye had responded to his cry for help filled him with exultation. Out of his grateful mouth her praise came bubbling....

Settling himself in his saddle with a slow smile, the Knight of the Broken Bough laid on more l.u.s.tily than before.

It was Patch who unwittingly put a spoke in the latter's wheel.

Miss French's reappearance had affected the dog powerfully. One October day he had known her for Anthony's darling, and as such had become her va.s.sal. He had since seen no reason to withdraw his fealty.

As we have seen, at her coming he had leaped for joy. Occasion and personage, however, deserved more honour than that. Ever since the three had begun their ramble, he had been scouring the undergrowth for an offering meet to be laid at the lady's s.h.i.+ning feet. It was the way of his heart.

Not until Miss French and Lyveden were standing beside a tottering bridge, and the latter was pointing the traces of a vista which once had gladdened all eyes with its sweetness, but was now itself blind, did the little squire happen upon a treasure worthy in his sight to be bestowed. At this juncture, however, a particularly unsavoury smell attracted his straining nostrils.... A moment later what was, despite the ravages of decomposition, still recognizable as the corpse of a large black bird was deposited with every circ.u.mstance of cheerful devotion immediately at Valerie's feet.

To ignore such a gift was impossible. Its nature and condition saw to that. To accept it was equally out of the question. But tacitly to reject such a love-token needed a harder heart than Valerie's or, for the matter of that, than Anthony's, either.

Miss French gave a queer little cry of mingled distaste and appreciation, and Anthony hesitated, lost the thread of his discourse, and stopped.

"How very sweet of you, Patch! No, I mustn't touch it because I'm not allowed dead birds. But I do thank you." She patted the panting head.

"Look. Here's a stone I'll throw for you--down into the brook. I'm sure it'll be good for you to wash your mouth." She flung the pebble, and the dog went flying. Valerie turned to Lyveden with a glowing face. "Don't think I'm fis.h.i.+ng for another dead bird, but I wish I could feel you'd forgiven me as truly as Patch. Oh, Anthony, I just can't tell you how deadly ashamed I feel, how----"

"My dear girl, you mustn't talk like this. I knew there was some misunderstanding--I didn't know what--and I----"

"I thought you cared for Anne Alison."

"Oh, Valerie...." The wistful reproach of his tone, the sad-faced ghost of a protesting smile hovering about his lips, brought tears to Valerie's eyes. "Well, well.... I'm so glad I'm cleared in your eyes.

I'd 've hated you to go through life thinking that I--was like that...." Suddenly he caught at her arm and pointed to the ramshackle bridge. "There's another instance of the rot we're out to stop.

Another winter, and that bridge 'd be in the stream, damming it at the deepest and narrowest point. Result, the water's diverted and spreads all over the road, trying to find another way into its channel. No road can stand that, of course. Gradually----"

"Tell me more of yourself," said Valerie.

Anthony let go her arm and put a hand to his head.

"Myself?" he said slowly. "Well, this is my life. I live in the cottage, you know--very simply. It was a wonderful stroke of luck--getting the job. I saw it in the Agony Column."

"Before or after you'd given notice?"