Brandon of the Engineers Part 19

THE RETURN FROM THE FIESTA

The sure-footed mules, braced hard against the weight of the carriage, slid down a steep descent across slippery stones when Clare, who wondered what would happen if the worn-out harness broke, rode into Adexe.

Gleaming white houses rose one above another among feathery palms, with a broad streak of darker green in their midst to mark the shady alameda.

Behind, the dark range towered against the sky; in front lay a foam-fringed beach and the vast blue sweep of dazzling sea. Music came up through the languid murmur of the surf, and the steep streets were filled with people whose clothes made patches of brilliant color. The carriage jolted safely down the hill, and Clare looked about with interest as they turned into the central plaza, where the driver stopped.

"It's a picturesque little town and I'm glad you brought me," she said.

"But what does the fiesta they're holding celebrate?"

"I don't know; the first landing of the Spaniards, perhaps," Kenwardine replied. "Anyhow, it's a popular function, and as everybody in the neighborhood takes part in it, I came with the object of meeting some people I do business with. In fact, I may have to leave you for a time with the wife of a Spaniard whom I know."

When coming down the hillside Clare had noticed a sugar mill and an ugly coaling wharf that ran out into the bay. Two steamers lay not far off, rolling gently on the glittering swell, and several lighters were moored against the wharf. Since she had never heard him speak of coal, she imagined her father's business was with the sugar mill, but he seldom talked to her about such matters and she did not ask. He took her to an old, yellow house, with tarnished bra.s.s rails barring its lower windows and a marble fountain in the patio, where brilliant creepers hung from the balconies. The soft splash of falling water was soothing and the spray cooled the air.

"It is very pretty," Clare said while they waited. "I wish we could make our patio like this."

"We may be able to do so when Brandon and his friends bring us the water," Kenwardine replied with a quick glance at the girl. "Have you seen him recently?"

"Not for three or four weeks," said Clare.

There was nothing to be learned from her face, but Kenwardine noted a hint of coldness in her voice. Next moment, however, a stout lady in a black dress, and a thin, brown-faced Spaniard came down to meet them.

Kenwardine presented Clare, and for a time they sat on a balcony, talking in a mixture of French and Castilian. Then a man came up the outside staircase and took off his hat as he turned to Kenwardine. He had a swarthy skin, but Clare carelessly remarked that the hollows about his eyes were darker than the rest of his face, as if they had been overlooked in a hurried wash, and his bare feet were covered with fine, black dust.

"Don Martin waits you, senor," he said.

Kenwardine excused himself to his hostess, and after promising to return before long went away with the man.

"Who is Don Martin, and does he own the coaling wharf?" Clare asked.

"No," said the Spaniard. "What makes you imagine so?"

"There was some coal-dust on his messenger."

The Spaniard laughed. "Your eyes are as keen as they are bright, senorita, but your father spoke of business and he does not deal in coal. They use it for the engine at the sugar mill."

"Could I follow him to the mill? I would like to see how they extract the sugar from the cane."

"It is not a good day for that; the machinery will not be running," said the Spaniard, who looked at his wife.

"I meant to take you to the cathedral. Everybody goes on the fiesta," the lady broke in.

Clare agreed. She suspected that her father had not gone to the sugar mill, but this did not matter, and she presently left the house with her hostess. The small and rather dark cathedral was crowded, and Clare, who understood very little of what went on, was impressed by the close rows of kneeling figures, while the candles glimmering through the incense, and the music, had their effect. She came out in a thoughtful mood, partly dazzled by the change of light, and it was with something of a shock she stopped to avoid collision with a man at the bottom of the steps. It was Brandon, and she noted that he looked well again, but although they were face to face and he waited with his eyes fixed on her, she turned away and spoke to her companion. d.i.c.k crossed the street with his hand clenched and his face hot, but felt that he had deserved his rebuff. He could not expect Miss Kenwardine to meet him as a friend.

An hour or two later, Kenwardine returned to the house with Richter, the German, and said he found he must drive to a village some distance off to meet an official whom he had expected to see in the town. He doubted if he could get back that night, but a sailing barquillo would take pa.s.sengers to Santa Brigida, and Clare could go home by her. The girl made no objection when she heard that two French ladies, whom she knew, were returning by the boat, and stayed with her hostess when Kenwardine and Richter left. Towards evening the Spaniard came in and stated that the barquillo had sailed earlier than had been announced, but a steam launch was going to Santa Brigida with some friends of his on board and he could get Clare a pa.s.sage if she would sooner go. Senor Kenwardine, he added, might drive home by another road without calling there again.

Half an hour later Clare went with him to the coaling wharf, where a launch lay at some steps. A few people were already on board, and her host left after putting her in charge of a Spanish lady. The girl imagined that he was glad to get rid of her, and thought there was something mysterious about her father's movements. Something he had not expected must have happened, because he would not have brought her if he had known he could not take her home. It was, however, not a long run to Santa Brigida, by sea, and the launch, which had a powerful engine, looked fast.

In another few minutes a man came down the steps and threw off a rope before he jumped on board. Taking off his hat to the pa.s.sengers, he started the engine and sat down at the helm. Clare did not see his face until the launch was gliding away from the wharf, and then hid her annoyance and surprise, for it was Brandon. His eyes rested on her for a moment as he glanced about the boat, but she saw he did not expect recognition. Perhaps she had been wrong when she pa.s.sed him outside the cathedral, but it was now too late to change her att.i.tude.

The water was smooth, the sun had sunk behind the range, and a warm breeze that ruffled the shining surface with silky ripples blew off the sh.o.r.e. The rumble of the surf came in a deep undertone through the throb of the engine, and the launch sped on with a frothy wave curling at her bows. Now and then Clare glanced quickly at the helmsman, who sat with his arm thrown round the tiller. She thought he looked disturbed, and felt sorry, though she told herself that she had done the proper thing.

After a time the launch swung in towards the beach and stopped at a rude landing behind a reef. Houses showed among the trees not far off and Clare thought this was the pueblo of Arenas. Then she was disturbed to see that all her companions were going to land. When the Spanish lady said good-by she got up, with the idea of following the rest, but d.i.c.k stopped her.

"Do you expect Mr. Kenwardine to meet you?" he asked.

"No. I was told the launch was going to Santa Brigida, but didn't know that she was yours."

d.i.c.k eyes twinkled. "I am going to Santa Brigida and the boat is one we use, but my colored fireman refused to leave the fiesta. Now you can't stay at Arenas, and I doubt if you can get a mule to take you home, because they'll all have gone to Adexe. But, if you like, we'll go ash.o.r.e and try."

"You don't think I could find a carriage?" Clare asked irresolutely, seeing that if she now showed herself determined to avoid him, it would be humiliating to be forced to fall back upon his help.

"I don't. Besides, it's some distance to Santa Brigida over a rough, steep road that you'd find very awkward in the dark, while as I can land you in an hour, it seems unnecessary for you to leave the boat here."

"Yes," said Clare, "perhaps it is."

d.i.c.k threw some coal into the furnace, and restarted the launch. The throb of the engine was quicker than before, and when a jet of steam blew away from the escape-pipe Clare imagined that he meant to lose no time.

She glanced at him as he sat at the helm with a moody face; and then away at the black hills that slid past. The silence was embarra.s.sing and she wondered whether he would break it. On the whole, she wanted him to do so, but would give him no help.

"Of course," he said at length, "you needn't talk if you'd sooner not.

But you gave me the cut direct in Adexe, and although I may have deserved it, it hurt."

"I don't see why it should hurt," Clare answered coldly.

"Don't you?" he asked. "Well, you have the right to choose your acquaintances; but I once thought we were pretty good friends and I mightn't have got better if you hadn't taken care of me. That ought to count for something."

Clare blushed, but her eyes sparkled and her glance was steady. "If we are to have an explanation, it must be complete and without reserve. Very well! Why did you change when you were getting better? And why did you hint that I must know you hadn't stolen the plans?"

d.i.c.k studied her with some surprise. He had thought her gentle and trustful, but saw that she burned with imperious anger. It certainly was not acting and contradicted the supposition of her guilt.

"If I did hint anything of the kind, I must have been a bit light-headed,"

he answered awkwardly. "You get morbid fancies when you have fever."

"The fever had nearly gone. You were braver then than you seem to be now."

"I suppose that's true. Sometimes a shock gives you pluck and I got a nasty one as I began to remember things."

Both were silent for the next few moments. Clare's pose was tense and her look strained, but her anger had vanished. d.i.c.k thought she was calmer than himself, but after all, she was, so to speak, on her defense and her part was easier than his. He had forgiven her for robbing him; Kenwardine had forced her to do so, and d.i.c.k regretted he had not hidden his knowledge of the deed she must have hated. It was bodily weakness that had led him to show his suspicion, but he knew that if they were to be friends again no reserve was possible. As Clare had said, the explanation must be complete. It was strange, after what had happened, that he should want her friendship, but he did want it, more than anything else. Yet she must be told plainly what he had thought her. He shrank from the task.

"What did you remember?" Clare asked, forcing herself to look at him.

"That I had the plans in the left, top pocket of my uniform when I reached your house; I felt to see if they were there as I came up the drive," he answered doggedly. "Soon afterward, you slipped as we went down the steps into the garden and in clutching me your hand caught and pulled the pocket open. It was a deep pocket and the papers could not have fallen out."

"So you concluded that I had stolen them!" Clare said in a cold, strained voice, though her face flushed crimson.

"What else could I think?"

Then, though she tried to hide the breakdown, Clare's nerve gave way. She had forced the crisis in order to clear herself, but saw that she could not do so. d.i.c.k's statement was convincing; the papers had been stolen while he was in their house, and she had a horrible suspicion that her father was the thief. It came with a shock, though she had already been tormented by a vague fear of the truth that she had resolutely refused to face. She remembered the men who were at the house on the eventful night.

They were somewhat dissipated young sportsmen and not remarkable for intelligence. None of them was likely to take part in such a plot.

"You must understand what a serious thing you are saying," she faltered, trying to doubt him and finding that she could not.