Blue Aloes Part 36

"Those gaunt sides are covered with beauty, and hundreds of people make their living from them."

"Africa is wonderful," sighed April, and suddenly the weight of her burden returned.

"Africa's all right, if it weren't for the people in it," he retorted moodily.

The hotel proved to be a picturesque building perched on rising ground above lovely gardens. Some of its countless windows looked over the town to the sea; but most of them seemed to be peered into by the relentless granite eyes of the mountain. April's first act was to draw the blinds of her room.

"That mountain will sit upon my heart and crush me into my grave if I stay here long," she thought, and felt despairing. Bellew had engaged rooms for her, boldly inscribing the name of "Lady Diana Vernilands" in the big ledger, while she stood by, acquiescing in, if not contributing to the lie. Afterwards he went away to superintend the unloading of his luggage. It appeared that his three immense trunks contained much valuable gla.s.s and china for the Governor's wife, and he was taking no risks concerning their safety.

Although making only a short stay, and in spite of the glum looks of the porters, he had everything carried carefully up to his room on the fourth floor. Glum looks were wasted on the bland Bellew, who lived by the motto "_Je m'en fiche de tout le monde_," and who on his own confession would have liked Africa to himself.

No word concerning the tragedy had yet pa.s.sed between him and April, but she knew that something was impending, and that she would probably do as he told her, for he seemed in the strange circ.u.mstances to occupy the position of sole executor to Diana's will. On going down to lunch she found that he had engaged a small table for them both, but was not there himself. What pleased her less was that as regards company she might just as well have been back on board the _Clarendon Castle_.

Almost every one of her fellow-pa.s.sengers was scattered around the multiplicity of small tables. It would seem as if the "Mount Nelson"

was the only hotel in the town, although she remembered quite a number of others in the Directory. Even Vereker Sarle was there. Far down the long room she saw him sitting with two other men: one of them, d.i.c.k Nichols, looking very much at home; the other a distinguished, saturnine man with an English air to him, in spite of being burnt as black as the ace of spades. She was aware that Sarle saw her, and had a trembling fear that he might join her. It was almost a relief when Bellew came in towards the end of the meal, for she knew he would prove an effective barrier. He looked hot and weary, and explained that he had been obliged to go back down town to attend to some business.

"I think you had better take up your quarters here for a time," he added. She flinched at the prospect.

"But why? It is so public! Everyone off the boat seems to be here, and I shall have to keep on telling lies just because I know them. It seems to me I can't open my mouth without telling a lie, and," she finished desperately, "it makes me sick."

He looked at her coldly. His fine brown eyes could be hard as flint.

"I thought it was a promise--some sort of a compact--to do what was best--_for her_?" he remarked. A little cold wave of the sea seemed to creep over her soul, and she could see her hands trembling as she dealt with the fruit on her plate.

"Very well," she acquiesced tonelessly, at last; "if you think it best.

How long am I to stay?"

"Until next week's mail-boat sails," he said slowly. "I have been down to see if I could get you a berth on this week's, but she is full up."

"You want me to return to England?" There was desperate resistance in her voice now. She had not realized until that moment how much she wished to stay.

"It is not what _I_ want: it is for her," he insisted ruthlessly. "You must go to her father and explain everything. Letters are no good."

She was silent, but her eyes were wretched. She wanted to stay in Africa.

"After all, it is your share of the payment for folly," he pursued relentlessly. That was too much for her temper.

"And yours?" she flashed back.

His face did not change, but his voice became very gentle.

"Don't worry. I too am paying."

She would have given much to recall her fierce retort then, for after all, it was true that she was not the only one hit. This man too was suffering under his mask. He had loved Diana, and that his love was the direct cause of the tragedy must make his wretchedness the more acute. With an impulse of pity and understanding she put out her hand to him across the table, but instead of taking it he pa.s.sed her a little dish of salted almonds. Mortified, she looked up in time to see Sarle and his friends going by, and was left wondering how much they had witnessed, and whether Bellew had meant to snub or spare her. The whole thing was a miserable mix-up, and it almost seemed to her as if Diana had as usual got the best of it, for at any rate she was out of the deceit and discomfort.

She thought so still more when the women surrounded her in the lounge, and drew her in among them to take coffee. They were all as merry as magpies, and seemed to have clean forgotten the tragedy of the ship except in so far as it lent a thrill to conversation. Several who were going on the next day to different parts of the country pressed her to visit them at their homes. Mrs. Stanislaw came up with her claws sheathed in silk and a strange woman in tow, and murmuring: "I _must_ introduce Mrs. Janis. She is anxious to know all you can tell her of poor Miss Poole," stood smiling with a feline delight in the encounter.

April turned from her bitter face to the other woman, an elaborately-dressed shrew with a domineering hook to her nose, and had the thankful feeling of a mouse who has just missed by a hair's breadth the click of the trap on its nose.

"I'm afraid I can give you no more information than is already available," she said distantly.

"It seems to be a most shameful affair," complained Mrs. Janis; "and the wretched girl apparently has no relatives one can write to."

"None," stated April firmly and gratefully. She could well imagine how this lady with a grievance would treat the feelings of relations.

"Perhaps Captain Bellew might know of someone," purred Mrs. Stanislaw.

"You had better ask him." It was April's turn to smile, though wryly enough. "He will deal with you without the gloves," she thought, and turned away from them.

The lounge was a pleasant place, with French windows leading into the garden; deep chairs and palms were scattered everywhere, and it smelled fragrantly of coffee and cigars. Groups of men and women cl.u.s.tered about the small tables, smoking and talking. One corner was fenced off by a little counter, from behind which a distinguished-looking waiter dispensed c.o.c.ktails and liqueurs with the air of a duke bestowing decorations. This was Leon, who knew the pet drinks and secret sins of everyone in South Africa, but whose discreet eyes told nothing. The knowledge he possessed of men, women, and things would have made a fascinating volume, but no one had been able to unseal his lips. He hardly ever spoke, simply mixing the drinks and indicating with his hand the tables to which they should be carried. April was in the presence of a personage without being aware of it. Neither did she know until much later that this pleasant lounge was one of the princ.i.p.al gossip centres of the country. In its smoky atmosphere many a fair reputation has withered away, many a great name been tarnished for ever. As for the baby scandals that are born there, have legs and arms and wings stuck on to them and are sent anteloping or flying all over the country, their name is legion!

Bellew had left her immediately after lunch. He said that he had an appointment with an old friend of his mother's, and should be leaving to stay with her for several days before continuing his journey. April had, in fact, from her seat in the lounge seen him come out of the lift into the hall accompanied by a little bent old lady, and watched them drive away together in a taxi. Thereafter she breathed more freely, and a longing to be in the open air out of this smoke-laden atmosphere moved her to extricate herself from the chattering crowd of women and make her way to the veranda. It was cool and fresh there under the stone porticoes, with veils of green creepers hanging between her and the blazing sunshine and colour of the garden. She sat down, and, as is always the way with a woman in moments of silence and beauty, her thoughts immediately cl.u.s.tered about the image of the man she loved.

What was Vereker Sarle thinking of her? Would he go from the Cape to his home up north without trying to see her again? While she pondered these things he walked out through one of the tall French windows and came towards her, followed by his dark, saturnine friend. They approached like men sure of a welcome, Sarle smiling in his disarmingly boyish fashion, the other man smiling too: but with a difference.

There was some quality of sardonic amus.e.m.e.nt and curiosity in his glance that arrested April's instant attention.

"I warned you that it is hard to shake off your friends in this country," said Sarle gaily. "May we come and sit with you for a little while? Sir Ronald tells me that you and he are quite old friends."

Her heart gave a leap. Instantly she understood the sardonic amus.e.m.e.nt of the stranger's demeanour. If any other man than Sarle had been there she would have thrown up the sponge. But she could not bear to have the truth stripped and exposed there before him. It was too brutal. If he must know, he should know in a less cruel manner than that. She faced the new-comer squarely, her features frozen to an outward composure.

"This is a very pleasant surprise, Lady Di!" he said easily, while his eyes expressed the utmost amus.e.m.e.nt. "It must be nearly two years since we met?"

"Oh, surely much longer than that?" she answered, and her smile was almost as mocking as his. They stood taking each other's measure whilst Sarle dragged forward some chairs. A faint admiration came into the man's face. She was a fraud, and he knew that she knew that he knew it, but he had also to acknowledge that there was fine metal in her even for an adventuress. As a duellist at least she seemed worthy of his steel. Besides, in her gown of faint lilac and her orchid-laden hat she was a very entrancing vision. The duel might be picturesque as well as piquant.

"I trust you left Lord Vernilands well?" he inquired politely. She dug desperately in her mind for a moment. It seemed foolishly important to be truthful, even though this man knew she was acting a lie.

"He is never very well in the winter," she answered, without any apparent interlude for thought. Sir Ronald was even more pleased with her.

"That is so," he agreed. "I remember when I left Bethwick that autumn he was just in for his annual bout of bronchitis."

The two men sat down, and, with her permission, smoked. Sarle had placed his chair where he could look full at her, missing no shade of expression on her face. His frank warm eyes enfolded her in a gaze of trust and devotion that was as patent to the other man as to her.

There was no peace for her in that gaze; things were too desperate for that; but it nerved her resolution to fence to the death with this polished gamester. She had her back to the wall, and resolved to die fighting rather than make an ignominious surrender before the man she loved.

Sarle looked from one to the other contentedly. For once his far-seeing veld eyes played him false.

"I am so glad you two are friends," he said. Then, addressing April, "Odd that we shouldn't have discovered it before, for, you know, Kenna is my best friend, as well as my ranching partner."

PART III

They sat talking for close on two hours, and at the end of that time April rose with a laugh on her lips and many a light and airy reason why she could not stay. It was too hot, she must rest a little, she had unpacking to do. Even after rising from her chair she lingered as if regretful to go, but they could not persuade her to stay and have tea with them. Presently she sauntered off slowly, leaving a promise that she would dine with them that evening. She did not know why she promised. As she walked away, sauntering, because her feet seemed as lead-laden as her heart, she told herself that it would be better to go and dine with the sharks in Table Bay than sit down again with Ronald Kenna. In her room she lay exhausted and very still for a long time, with the feeling that she had escaped from a red-hot gridiron. She looked in her mirror on entering, expecting to see a vision of Medusa, hair hanging in streaks, eyes distraught, and deep ruts in the cheeks; but her face was charming and composed, and a fixed smile curved her mouth. She shuddered at her own image.

"Lies deform and obscure the soul," she thought, "yet my face bears no mark of the lies I have told this afternoon, nor the h.e.l.l my spirit has pa.s.sed through!"

Only when she removed her hat something strange arrested her attention, something that might have been a feather or a flake of snow lying on her luminous black hair just where it grew low in a widow's peak at the centre of her forehead. She made to brush it lightly away, but it stayed, for it was not a feather at all, but a lock of her own hair that had turned white. A little gift from Ronald Kenna!

He had played with her as a cat plays with a mouse before killing it.

True, he had not killed her, nor (which would have been the same thing) exposed her mercilessly before Vereker Sarle's eyes. But he had made her pay for his clemency. Probably the cleverness with which she slipped out of the corners into which she was hedged, her skill in darting from under his menacing paw, roused his admiration as well as his sporting instinct. It must have been a great game for him, but hers were the breathless emotions of the helpless mouse whose heart goes pit-a-pat in the fear of being gobbled up the next moment.