Lady Cassandra Part 29

"That's nothing to what I can do, if I choose! Better be careful!

Captain Peignton, do _you_ want to come? You're engaged, of course, and engaged men used to wish to be with their _fiancees_, but that's all changed since they began to play golf. I'm a bride of six months, and my husband vowed before hundreds of witnesses to cherish me all his life, and you see how he scowls if I ask him to spare me an hour!

Teresa, be warned by me, and break it off unless he gives up golf. I hate and detest golf. Golf has ruined my life. We'll look after you, Teresa dear, don't worry! We'll have chicken and mayonnaise, and fruit and lemonade, and Ca.s.sandra and I will dry your tears."

"But I'm coming; I want to come!" Peignton a.s.sured her. "It's too hot for golf, and a picnic would be good fun if we can find a spot where there's some air, and not too much undergrowth. I like to eat at a picnic, not to be eaten myself. I was up half a dozen times last night anointing myself with ammonia."

"I know a place. I spotted it a week ago. Just beyond Queensdom, the cliff shelves steeply and leaves a patch of shade open to all the air there is. It's quite a short walk,--a mile or a mile and a half; the servants can leave the baskets, and come back for their own lunch, and in the afternoon we'll sleep, Ca.s.sandra and I, and discuss the iniquities of husbands, while you two go off on your lone, and come back to us for tea... What it is to be engaged!"

Teresa smiled happily, Martin raised his eyes to the ceiling in tragic self-vindication.

"_Who_ is always holding forth on the necessity of exercise? _Who_ is always warning me against the danger of a sedentary life? _Who_ insisted upon a house near to golf links? _Who_ goads me every night of her life to arrange a match for the next day?"

"I do," cried Grizel. "Of course. It's my duty. And then I'm furious when you go. Of course again. Any wife is. Do you expect me to be _pleased_?"

"It would seem a natural inference.--If you really mean what you say."

"I _do_ mean it. I want you to have everything you like; I'm a monster of unselfishness over night, but to sit still in the morning, watching you dressing yourself up, polishing your clubs, starting off grinning from ear to ear, so happy to go off without me, and to feel pleased at the time--no! that's beyond me!" Grizel declared vigorously. "I'm human, my good man. Don't expect me to act like an angel."

Bernard Raynor glanced across at his wife and laughed; his slow, complaisant laugh.

"You must be a full-blown angel, Ca.s.s. What? Never gives _you_ any qualms! Wait a bit, Mrs Beverley, and you'll find it comes easy enough. In another year you'll be thankful to be rid of him. Deadly mistake to hang together all the time! Go your own way, and allow the other to do the same; that's the sure tip for matrimony. Then you jog on contentedly, and avoid spars."

The blue, shallow eyes roved round the table, complacently seeking approval; complacently unconscious of the artificiality of the smiles vouchsafed. Ca.s.sandra held her head high, disdaining a reply. Grizel hugged a glorious certainty that there would be no "jogging" for her.

Storms perchance, half-serious, half-pretence, clearing the atmosphere, and opening the way for a glorious "make up"; but a "jog,"--never!

never! Teresa mentally condemned both, and reflected how much more wisely she herself would manage _her_ husband. From the beginning there should be a fair arrangement--so much time for sport, so much for home.

One would not want a man pottering round all the time.

Grizel's good-humour returned with characteristic speed, nevertheless conversation still flagged. An atmosphere of strain lay over the little company, and silenced the usual merry banter. Dane and Ca.s.sandra had not looked at each other since the first greeting. They had agreed to the proposal of the picnic out of polite necessity, but to each the prospect was drearily unwelcome. A _partie carree_ afforded no opportunities for the talks _a deux_, which were the only things for which they cared. Ca.s.sandra saw herself sitting on the cliff-side watching the two figures walk away side by side until they disappeared round the headland. What would they do when they were alone together, with no onlookers but the seagulls swirling overhead? Would he take her in his arms, would his calmness disappear, and his eyes grow dark with love and longing? Would they sit entwined together, beatifically content, asking from the wealth of the universe nothing more than this,--to be together, to be alone? Never in her life had Ca.s.sandra experienced that sensation, yet she could imagine it with mysterious, with horrible distinctness. She could project herself into Teresa's place, and feel the tingling current of joy. And she must sit afar off in the shade, and pretend to sleep...

At ten o'clock the two men started off for the golf links, but it was not until noon that the picnic party followed suit. As there was no new ground to explore, and as the eating of lunch seemed to be the _raison d'etre_ of the excursion, it was plainly foolish to start until the luncheon hour approached. The servants had gone on in advance to unpack the hampers, and after the walk cross the bare, unshaded fields, it was a refreshment to sit down in the cool patch of shade, and taste the refreshing sea breeze. Immediately in front the cliff curved sharply inland, so that the lap of blue waters surrounded two sides of the little platform. Marking the farther side of the narrow bay, a white headland jutted into the sea, and the sharp glare of the sun intensified each colour in its turn, blue sea, bluer sky, white cliff, crowned by a tangle of green. Inland, to the rear of the headland, lay fields of oats and barley, interspersed with patches of yellow groundsel, and the blaze of myriad poppies.

Ca.s.sandra's colour-loving eyes dwelt lingeringly upon the scene. There was not a human creature in sight; a few white-sailed yachts alone broke the surface of the waters. The soft lap of the waves added to the impression of rest and peace. She lay drinking in the beauty of it, while the final preparations for the meal were being made. In her mind was no prevision that in future years that scene was to be a.s.sociated in her mind with an extremity of pain and fear, with the dawning of a joy that hurt more sharply than pain. She was conscious only of rest to her tired limbs, of satisfaction to her craving for beauty, acutely conscious of Dane Peignton's presence, as he stood talking to Teresa, helping her to arrange the cushioned seats. For the rest, she was weary and discouraged, and oh! overpoweringly lonely! But nowadays she always felt lonely...

The servants p.r.o.nounced all ready, and retraced their way across the field path. Grizel made a tour of inspection and gave a favourable verdict.

"It looks--scrum! Why are stray meals always so much more attractive than proper ones, and why are men so stupid that they can't understand that they are? That's one of the many distinctions between the s.e.xes.

All women adore picnics. All men--don't! Why?"

"Perhaps," Dane volunteered, seating himself in front of the cloth, in response to a gesture of invitation, "perhaps because--they have longer legs."

"Well, you must tuck them up somehow. They can't take up the _whole_ side!" Grizel objected, sinking down in a compact little ma.s.s in which her own legs apparently ceased to exist. "Let me see. Where do we begin? Savoury eggs, chicken mayonnaise. We'll start on the eggs as a _hors d'oeuvre_, and dull the first fierceness of our appet.i.tes before getting on to the real business.--I hope everyone is hungry. Let's be polite, and eat very slowly to make it last out. It's such a blank feeling at a picnic when the feed's over,--like a wedding when the bride has gone. When we've done, the gulls shall have their turn. _Do_ gulls eat mayonnaise?"

Ca.s.sandra was conscious of a certain effort in the light babble. She suspected that Grizel was forcing herself to talk, to ease the strain, which like a low rumble of thunder had underlain the peace of the last week. In the midst of her own pain, she felt a pang of regret for her hostess,--a pang of compunction for her own shortcomings. If only Bernard would be induced to return home! but as long as fine weather and good play were his portion, no persuasion would be of any avail. There was nothing for it but to set her teeth and endure, and--incidentally!-- to make things as little trying as possible for other people. She sent a smile across the table to cheer Grizel's heart.

"I'm too lazy to be hungry. It seems a waste of time to eat, instead of peacefully feeding one's mind on the beauty of it all. All the same these eggs are mighty good. I wonder how often before tea we shall refer to a painted sail upon a painted ocean."

"Yes, but _try_ not!" Grizel pleaded earnestly. She was relieved to see Peignton help himself to a second egg, and consume it with relish; relieved to see Teresa carefully sifting sugar into her lemonade. Such simple, homely acts seemed to keep at bay the creeping dread. It was so easy for Grizel to be happy, to banish fear, and plant hope in its place. She was as quick to pounce upon signs of good, as most people are upon menaces of evil, and Ca.s.sandra's smile was sufficient to send her spirits racing upwards. She ate and she talked; few people can do the two things at one time with out neglecting one or the other, but Grizel came triumphantly through the ordeal, keeping her listeners in a gentle ripple of laughter, and demanding nothing of them but an occasional word of response. Then in the middle of a complicated sentence she stopped, and looked sharply at her friend.

"What's the matter?"

Ca.s.sandra rose with a hasty movement, struggled to speak, and pointed to her throat. "A... bone... Don't!"

The "Don't" was accompanied by a gesture of the arm, as though to thrust away any offer of help. She walked away a few yards' distance and stood facing the sea, while her companions looked at one another, sympathetic but calm.

"A bone! In the salad. The _Wretch_! I'll give her notice to-night.

_Poor_ dear!"

"It's horrid swallowing a bone. I did it once. It was rabbit. Mother was quite frightened."

Peignton said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the white figure outlined against the blue, on the shoulders which rose and fell. He filled a tumbler with water and sat waiting, gla.s.s in hand. A moment pa.s.sed, the upheave of the shoulders became more p.r.o.nounced, he rose swiftly and walked to Ca.s.sandra's side.

She stepped away from him as he approached, waving him away, but he had seen her face and kept steadily on.

"Drink this. Gulp it! It will carry it down."

The waving fingers spilled half of the liquid, he steadied it with his own hand, while she gulped, and panted, and gulped again, and struggled choking away. The drink had not dislodged the bone, it had served only to hinder the sharpened breath.

Peignton hurried back to the table and seized a lump of bread. Grizel and Teresa stared wide-eyed, and silent. Even in the moment which it had taken to go and to come, Ca.s.sandra's face had taken a deeper hue; the damp stood on her forehead, but she made a gallant effort at composure, standing with her back resolutely turned to her companions, so that they might be spared the sight of her struggles.

"I've brought you some bread. That moves it often when water fails.

Chew it for a moment, then gulp it whole. As big a piece as you can.

It's a wretched feeling, but it will pa.s.s. A big bite now!... Swallow it whole."

She s.n.a.t.c.hed it from him, crammed it in her mouth, struggled with a force that was frightening to see, choked and retched, and staggered against his arm. The bone had not moved.

From behind came a murmur of consternation. Grizel and Teresa swept forward, calling out confused instructions.

"More water!"

"Kneel down; bend your head!... Ma.s.sage your throat. Press downwards!

More bread; gulp _hard_!"

Ca.s.sandra faced them suddenly, her lips curved back from her teeth. She struggled to speak, but the hoa.r.s.e sounds had no coherence, her eyes rolled from one face to the other, and on each as she looked there fell the dawning of mortal fear. They had read the terror in Ca.s.sandra's eyes, the next moment they saw it afresh in the sudden violent breakdown of her composure. She no longer avoided them, but came nearer, stretching out her hands in appeal. Her face was red and mottled, and strangely, horribly changed.

Grizel was white as paper, but she kept her composure better than the girl by her side, and spoke in calm, level tones.

"Ca.s.sandra, try, _try_ to be quiet! You make things worse by rushing about. We _will_ help you. It will be all right. Try pushing something down... Here's the handle of my fan. Try that. Hard! Push it well down. Oh, don't, don't give up!"

For after one desperate trial Ca.s.sandra had sent the fan spinning into s.p.a.ce over the edge of the cliff. For a moment in her desperation she looked inclined to follow herself, and Dane quickly moved his position so as to stand between her and danger.

How many moments had elapsed since they had been happily seated on the gra.s.s? So few,--so pitifully few, yet enough to wreck the exquisite machine of life! Not alone to Ca.s.sandra herself, but also to the anguished onlookers, came now the realisation that this accident was no trifling happening of a moment, but a grim battle between life and death. The bone was a long one, lodged in such a manner that to attempt to move it by the usual means was but to accelerate the process of suffocation.

Ca.s.sandra was being suffocated; moment by moment the inhalations of breath became more difficult, her strength was weakening beneath the strain, but still she struggled and fought, and raised wild arms to the sky, while moment by moment, youth, beauty, and charm fell away from the blackening face, leaving behind nothing but a mask of torture and despair.

Both the women were weeping, but they were unconscious of their tears.

At that moment existence meant nothing more than an anguished realisation of helplessness. Theirs was the most lacerating trial of life,--the torture of looking on helplessly, and watching a fellow-creature done to death.

Then suddenly the scene changed. Ca.s.sandra's limbs gave way, and she fell to the ground, and as she fell Peignton fell after her, and knelt by her side. To the onlookers the man's face was as unrecognisable as that of the woman; in both was the same terror, the same despair, almost it appeared, the same suffering. It was a voice which they had never heard before, which spoke now, uttering wild appealing words:

"Ca.s.sandra--Darling! Oh, my precious, what can I do for you?... G.o.d show me what to do! Oh, my G.o.d, to standby and see this... I'd give my soul... It can't be.--It can't. It's not possible!... Ca.s.sandra, _try_, try! For my sake, for my sake, darling... How am I to live..."