Blue Aloes Part 34

Diana grew crimson and then very pale.

"The scandal . . ." she stammered; "my people . . . you don't know what it would mean to have such a story attached to me."

"It would be better to have it attached to me, of course," April agreed, with an irony that was entirely wasted on Diana.

"You see that, don't you?" she said eagerly. "After all, n.o.body knows your name, and it will soon be forgotten. But mine----"

April could only smile. She saw that pity was entirely wasted here.

Diana was so eminently able to look after herself when it came to the matter of self-preservation.

"And it will only be for another couple of days. After that we shall never see Mrs. Stanislaw or any of this rotten crew of women again."

"You are an optimist," was April's only comment. "After all, it is I who will have to bear the brunt of their insolence tomorrow, whatever name I go under," complained Diana.

"I'm afraid I cannot give you my face as well as my name to help you bear it," said April drily. Unexpectedly the retort pierced, for Diana suddenly burst into tears.

"I know you think me a beast. But I really _am_ thinking more of my father than of myself. He is terribly proud. It would break his heart to hear this story of me being found in a man's cabin. Oh! How could I have done such an awful thing! You think I don't care, but I can tell you I could simply die of shame."

April was softened once more.

"Don't cry, Diana, and don't worry any further. Of course, your name shall never come out. That is quite settled. Come, now, and let me help you into bed. You had far better stay here than face that tigress Stanislaw in her den."

Nevertheless, when she had safely tucked the still weeping and collapsed Diana into her berth, she thought it advisable to make an excursion herself to the den of the tigress, ostensibly to fetch Diana's night-things; in reality to let her know where Diana was spending the night, and that the girl had one woman friend at least to stand by her. Even as she expected, Mrs. Stanislaw was awake and lying in wait, ready to spring. It must have been a disagreeable surprise to see April instead of the victim. The former's manner was all suavity.

"I am sorry to disturb you, but I have come for Miss Poole's things.

She is not at all well, and I have persuaded her to spend the night with me." Tranquilly she began to collect night-wear, slippers, hair and tooth brushes. The tigress, being thoroughly taken back, could do nothing for the moment but breathe heavily and glare. April, with the wisdom of the serpent, made haste to escape before the feline creature regained the use of claw and fang.

But there were worse things to face in the morning. Even though Diana postponed the evil hour by pretending she was ill and having her breakfast in bed, she could not stay in the cabin for ever. Once the first days of seasickness are over there is a rule against people stopping in their berths all day except under doctor's orders, and the stewardesses are very rigid in enforcing this. Besides, the Captain and first officer inspect cabins between ten and eleven A.M., and Diana had no particular yearning to see them again just then.

April went down to breakfast as usual, outwardly composed, but with an eye secretly alert to spy out the land. It did not take her long to discover that all the women were in arms, with their stabbing knives ready for action. Mrs. Stanislaw had evidently not been idle, and the name of "Lady Diana" was already bracketed with that of the April Fool.

To send her entirely to Coventry was rather too drastic treatment for an earl's daughter, but many a cold glance came her way.

"Birds of a feather nest together," was one of the tart observations that fell upon her ears as she pa.s.sed a group of women who only yesterday were fawning upon her. Plainly it was considered a fresh outrage upon womanhood that she should have given the protection of her name and cabin to the heroine of last night's scandal.

She did not mind very much. With a clear conscience on this count at least, she was able to meet their displeasure imperturbably. But she could not help feeling sorry for the real Diana.

That unfortunate creature, on venturing forth to her own cabin, was met by the sight of Mrs. Stanislaw dragging all her possessions into the corridor. It appeared that even for the few remaining days at sea the tigress could not lie down with the black sheep! A sweet and sympathetic soul, who also lived down the same alley and had the same horror of contaminating influence, had therefore offered to take her in. The picturesque incident was being witnessed and silently approved by women in the neighbouring cabins, who, curiously enough, all happened to be busy packing with their doors open, so as not to miss anything.

It must be remembered that most of these people had been persistently flouted, even insulted, by Diana during the voyage. Some of them, matrons with daughters of their own, were really shocked by the "bad example" her behaviour had established. So it was perhaps not to be wondered at that a sort of combined sniff of holiness and self-righteousness went up to Heaven when the culprit came barging down the pa.s.sage, nose in air, and a defiant flush upon her cheek.

Stumbling over the trunks and piles of clothes which littered the place, she managed to gain her room, and close the door behind her with a resounding bang to show how little she cared about any of them. But it was immediately reopened by Mrs. Stanislaw, come to fetch more of her things, and not averse to talking as long as possible over the business. By continually going backwards and forwards for small armfuls of articles, and always leaving the door open, she managed to deprive Diana of all privacy. The latter bore with it for as long as her patience lasted, which was about five minutes. Then she flung out of the room, hoping to find refuge elsewhere. But wherever she went it was the same. In the writing-room everyone bent suddenly over their blotting-pads, and the balmy morning air took on an arctic chill.

Music and conversation faded away when she sauntered into the music saloon. On deck even the sailors looked at her curiously. The story of her indiscretion had penetrated to every corner of the vessel. The miserable girl fetched a book from the library and tried to hide herself behind it, seated in her deck-chair. She soon had that side of the ship to herself.

Later, it was discovered that a lady with whom she was engaged to play off a final in deck quoits had "scratched." The same thing happened with regard to the bridge-drive. The girl who was cast as her opponent in the opening round publicly withdrew her name from the compet.i.tion.

There it was, up on the games notice-board--a girl's name with a black pencil mark drawn through it. All who ran might read, and a good many did run to read. Clearly the April Fool had become the object of the most unanimous taboo ever set in motion on a ship. Her name was mud.

Even the men did not rally to her aid, though she had been popular enough with them before. There are few men who will not crumple up before a phalanx of women with daggers in their hands and feathers in their hair; even as the big-game hunter thinks it no shame to flee before a horde of singing ants! The only two who behaved with natural decency were Bellew and Sarle. The latter appeared utterly unconscious of anything unusual when he came and sat down by the two girls. There might have been a little more deference in his manner to Diana; that was all. As for Bellew, he had not been trained in the diplomatic service for nothing. He possessed to a marked degree the consummate sang-froid that is a natural attribute of aides-de-camp. Nothing could have been more cool than his manner when he joined the group and suggested a game of quoits. The whole world of the ship had its ears c.o.c.ked to listen to these two, and was watching them acutely--with eyes that gazed at the horizon. If only Diana could have comported herself in a rational manner the situation might at least have been decently salvaged, if not carried with triumph. But she had lost her nerve.

Intrepid throughout the voyage in committing every possible folly, now, when a little real courage was needed, she crumpled. The fierce white light of public disapproval withered her. It was pitiful to see the way she went to pieces--to hear her hysterical laughter and foolish remarks.

"For goodness' sake have the courage of your sins! Show some blood!"

was the rebuke April longed to administer together with a sound shaking. But anger was futile, and rebuke out of the question. The only wise thing was to retreat in as good order as possible to the cabin of which Diana now enjoyed sole possession, and there reconsider the position.

"I can't bear it," she whimpered desperately. "I can't stand another two days of it. I tell you I shall go mad."

"Nonsense!" April responded, with a cheerfulness that found no echo in her heart. "You must take a pull on yourself, Diana. As you said last night, you owe these women nothing, and will probably never see them again."

But Diana's lay had changed tune.

"Oh! Won't I? . . . I feel they will haunt me all my days. What is that couplet?--

"He who hath a thousand friends hath not a friend to spare; But he who hath one enemy shall meet him everywhere."

A man said to me yesterday that what is done on the voyage to the Cape is known at Cairo within a week if it is sufficiently scandalous." She wept.

"A blue look-out for me!" thought her listener, dismally imagining the name of April Poole flashing from one end of the great continent to another. Not only at the Cape would she be debarred from earning her living! This impression was confirmed by some of the remarks women made to her later in the day. They were all quite willing to be friendly as long as she was not in the company of the black sheep.

"She might just as well take ship back to England," one said. "No one will employ her as a governess after this. The story will be all over Cape Town within an hour of our arrival."

"You can't live these things down in Africa," said another. "Of course, she might get a job up-country, where people are not particular and only want a kind of servant to look after their children."

It was no use April protesting against the cruelty of condemning a girl for ever because of one indiscretion. Her listeners only looked at her suspiciously. One old Englishwoman, who had lived many years in South Africa, put the case more cynically than kindly:

"Girls who earn their living are not allowed the luxury of indiscretion. If it had been _you_, now----"

"Do you mean that I should have been forgiven by reason of my position?"

"My dear," was the dry reply, "it is the same old sn.o.bbish world wherever you go. What const.i.tutes a crime in one strata of society is only eccentricity in another."

April communicated the gist of this worldly wisdom to Diana, half hoping that it might give the latter courage to disclose herself and perhaps clear them both of any worse indictment than upon the count of foolishness. But it was a futile hope, and nothing came of it except more tears and another wild appeal not to be "given away." All sense of justice had left Diana, or been swamped by the newly-born fear for her family's honour.

Thus the miserable day wore to its close. A steward, no doubt heavily subsidized, spent most of the afternoon carrying notes backwards and forwards between Diana and Bellew. April stayed in her cabin as much as possible, and for the rest was careful to be always near other people, so that Sarle would find no opportunity of giving expression to the things to be seen in his eyes. It was a precarious joy to read those sweet things, but she dared not let him utter them. For when the debacle came at Cape Town, he must have nothing to regret. The moment they were quit of the ship and its scandal she would be relieved of her promise to Diana and able to tell him the truth. If he had spoken no word of love to her before then he would be free as air to go his way without speaking one, while she just slipped away and disappeared, to be seen of him no more. But if he chose not to go his ways----? If when he heard all he still wished to stay? Ah! what a sweet, perilous thought was that! She dared not dwell on it, and yet if she banished it utterly from her mind all the thrill went out of life, and every throb of the engine bringing them nearer land seemed a beat of her heart soon to be silenced for ever.

Evening came at last--an evening of dinner parties and best frocks, with an early commencement of the bridge-drive afterwards. Sarle, several days before, had arranged to have a special small table for four with a special dinner, asking April to be his hostess and choose the other two guests. She, with an instinct that they would be left out in the cold by everyone else, had chosen Diana and Bellew. Now, at the last moment, Diana shirked the ordeal, and from behind her locked door announced in m.u.f.fled tones that she had a headache and was going to bed. So April sent a message to Sarle, giving him the chance of filling the gap if he so wished. When she went down she found him waiting for her with Bellew and d.i.c.k Nichols, the old poker-playing, battle-scarred warrior of the smoke-room, whose acquaintance she was delighted to make. He was a little bit shy at first at sitting down in his worn though spotless white-duck slacks opposite the beautiful girl in black and silver, with straps of amethysts across her satiny shoulders. But she had that gift which is born rather than acquired of setting people at their ease, and she wanted to get the liking of this man who was Sarle's friend. So she beguiled him by the blue of her eyes and the eager interest of her smile, and he opened up like a book of strange stories and pictures under the hand of a child. Listening to the talk, she was transported to that strange region of bush and s.p.a.ces that is far from being enchanted land and yet casts an everlasting spell. She heard lions roar and the shuffling steps of oxen plodding through dust; felt the brazen glare of the sun against her eyes; saw the rain swishing down on gra.s.s that grew taller than a man's head.

She remembered a verse of Percival Gibbon's about the veld:

There's a balm for crippled spirits In the open view Running from your very footsteps Out into the blue, Like a wagon track to heaven Straight 'twixt G.o.d and you.

Both Sarle and Nichols knew that track, she was sure. They were oddly alike, these two veld men, with their gentle ways, their brown muscular hands, and their eyes full of distance. A very different type to the sleek and handsome Bellew, who sat so composed under the many blighting glances cast his way.

"They know about the guile of creatures, but he has made an art of beguiling human beings," thought April, and all the vexation of the day came surging over her, almost spoiling her dinner and the pleasure of the evening. Almost--not quite! When you are "young and very sweet, with the jasmine in your hair," and have only to raise your eyes to see desire of you sitting unashamed in the eyes of the man you love, nothing can quite spoil your gladness of living. All the same, she stuck to the card-room the whole evening, and her resolution to give Sarle no chance of saying anything he might regret. He must have realized it after a time, when she had once or twice eluded his little plots to get her on deck, but he gave no sign. He was a hunter, and could bide his time with patience and serenity.

It was not in her plan that when they parted it should be just where the shadows of a funnel fell, nor that he should leave a swift kiss, in the palm of the hand she tendered him in bidding good-night; yet both of these things came to pa.s.s.

The stewardess who brought her an early cup of tea handed her a letter with the remark:

"It was under your door, m'lady. And please would you like your big trunks from the hold brought here, or will you pack in the baggage-room?"