Viviette Part 13

Viviette was the first to see him. She had dressed early for dinner, and, as the late June afternoon had turned out fine, was taking her problem out to air on the terrace when she came upon him standing at the door of his armoury. His hair was wet and matted, his eyes bloodshot, his clothes dripping, and he himself splashed with mud from head to foot. He trembled all over, shaken by a great terror. The case of pistols had gone. Who had taken them? Had the loaded pistol been discovered?

As Viviette appeared, robed in deep blue chiffon that seemed torn from the deep blue evening sky, and looking, in the man's maddened eyes, magically beautiful, he held out imploring hands.

"Come in for a moment. For the love of G.o.d come in for a moment."

He stepped back invitingly. She hesitated for a second on the threshold, and then followed him down the dim gallery, past the screen where all the swords and helmets lay scattered on the table. He looked at her haggardly, and she met his gaze with kind eyes in which there was no mockery. No. Nothing had happened, he told himself; otherwise she would shrink from him as from something accursed.

"My G.o.d, if you knew how I love you!" he said hoa.r.s.ely. "My G.o.d, if you only knew!"

His suffering racked her heart. All her pity melted over him. She laid her caressing fingers on his arm.

"Oh, my poor d.i.c.k!" she said.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He held out imploring hands.]

The touch, the choke in her voice, brought about Viviette's downfall.

Perhaps she meant it to do so. Who can tell? What woman ever knows? In a flash his arms were around her and his kisses, a wild, primitive man's kisses, were on her lips, her eyes, her cheeks. Her face was crushed against the rough wet tweed of his coat, and its odour, raw and coa.r.s.e, was in her nostrils. She drooped, intoxicated, gasping for breath in his unheeding giant's grip, but she made no effort to escape. As he held her a thrill, agonising and delicious, swept through her, and she raised her lips involuntarily to his and closed her eyes. At last he released her, mangled, tousled, her very self a draggled piece of chiffon like the night-blue frock, soiled with wet and mud.

"Forgive me," he said, "I had no right. Least of all now. G.o.d knows what is to become of me. But whatever happens, you know that I love you."

She had her hands clasped before her face. She could not look at him.

"Yes, I know," she murmured.

In another moment he had gone, leaving Viviette, who had entered the room a girl, transformed into a woman with the first s.h.i.+ver of pa.s.sion in her veins.

d.i.c.k, vaguely conscious of damp and dirt, went up to his bedroom. The sight of his evening things spread out on the bed reminded him that it was nearly dinner-time. Mechanically he washed and dressed. As he was buckling on his ready-made white tie--his clumsy fingers, in spite of many lessons from Viviette, had never learned the trick of tying a bow--a maid brought him a message. Mr. Austin's compliments and would he see Mr. Austin for a few moments in Mr. Austin's room. The words were like the dreaded tap on the shoulder of the hunted criminal.

"I'll come at once," he said.

He found Austin sitting on the chair by his desk, resting his chin on his elbow. He did not stir as d.i.c.k entered.

"You want to speak to me?"

"Yes," said Austin. "Will you sit down?"

"I'll stand," said d.i.c.k impatiently. "What have you to say to me?"

"I believe you have expressed your desire to leave England and earn your living in a new country. Is that so?"

The brothers' eyes met. d.i.c.k saw that the loaded pistol had been discovered, and read no love, no pity, only condemnation in the hard gaze. Austin was p.r.o.nouncing sentence.

"Yes," he replied sullenly.

"I happen," said Austin, "to know of an excellent opportunity. Lord Overton, whom you have met, wants a man to take charge of his timber forests in Vancouver. The salary is 700 a year. I wired to Lord Overton asking for the appointment on your behalf. This is his answer."

d.i.c.k took the telegram and read it with muddled head. Austin had lost no time.

"You see, it fits in admirably. You can start by the night mail. Your sudden departure needs no other explanation to the household than this telegram. I hope you understand."

"I understand," said d.i.c.k bitterly. A sudden memory of words that Viviette had used the day before occurred to him. "I understand. This is to get me out of the way. 'David put Uriah in the forefront of the battle.' Vancouver is the forefront."

"Don't you think we had better avoid all unprofitable discussion?"

Austin rose and confronted him. "I expect you to accept this offer and my conditions."

"And if I refuse?" asked d.i.c.k, with rising anger. "What dare you threaten me with?"

Austin raised a deprecatory hand.

"Do you suppose I'm going to threaten you? I simply expect you not to refuse. Your conscience must tell you that I have the right to do so.

Doesn't it?"

d.i.c.k glowered sullenly at the wall and tugged his great moustache.

"You force me to touch on things I should have liked to keep hidden,"

said Austin. "Very well." He took a sc.r.a.p of crumpled paper from the desk. "Do you recognise this? It formed the wad of the pistol that was in _your_ hand."

d.i.c.k started back a pace. "You're wrong," he gasped. "It was _your_ pistol that was loaded."

"No. Yours. The cap missed fire, or I should have been a dead man--murdered by my brother."

"Stop," cried d.i.c.k. "Not murdered. No, no, not murdered. It was in fair fight. I gave you the choice. When I thought I had the unloaded one I called on you to fire. Why the devil didn't you? I wanted you to fire. I was mad for you to fire. I wanted to be killed there and then. No one can say I s.h.i.+rked it. I gave you your chance."

"That's nothing to do with it," said Austin sternly. "When you fired you meant murder. Your face meant killing. And supposing I had fired--and killed you! Good G.o.d! I would sooner you had killed me than burdened my soul with your death. It would have been less cowardly. Yes, cowardly.

The conditions were not even. To me it was trivial fooling. To you, deadly earnest. Are you not man enough to see that I have the right to exact some penalty?"

d.i.c.k remained silent for a few moments, while the powers of light and darkness struggled together in his soul. At last he said in a low voice, hanging his head:

"I'll accept your terms."

"You leave by the night mail for Witherby."

"Very well."

"There's another point," said Austin. "The most important point of all.

You will not speak alone to Viviette before you start."

d.i.c.k turned with an angry flash,

"What?"

"You will not speak to Viviette alone. When you are gone--for there is no need for you to come back here before you sail--you will not write to her. You will go absolutely and utterly out of her life."

d.i.c.k broke into harsh, furious laughter.

"And leave her to you? I might have known that the lawyer would have had me in the trap. But this time you've over-reached yourself. I'll never give her up. Do you hear me? Never--never--never! I would go through the horror of to-day a thousand times--day by day until I die, rather than give her up to you. You shall not take this last thing from me--this hope of winning her--as you have taken everything else. You have supplanted me since first you learned to speak. It has been Esau and Jacob--"

"Or Cain and Abel," said Austin.