Poppy Part 66

She was that lovely thing, a close woman.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

The quay at the Point was crowded with people to see the sailing of the _Tunis_. The English Government had chartered the vessel specially to take Sir Evelyn Carson, his men, stores, horses, guns, mining and agricultural machinery, and all the other quant.i.ties of things needed in the great business of opening up and civilising the latest possession of the Empire--to Borapota.

The sailing of the ship was, of course, an event of great public interest, but Sir Evelyn had, at the last moment, provided a further and electrifying sensation by being quietly married that morning to the distinguished African auth.o.r.ess, _Eve Destiny_; and his wife was accompanying him to Borapota on the _Tunis_.

Durban considered itself badly treated in not having been invited _en ma.s.se_ to witness the ceremony; also, in being cheated of introspective discussion of the match, by having no faintest prenotion of it. But it was not to be done out of at least a parting glimpse of the princ.i.p.als in this unexpected _denouement_. And so it happened that the quay was crowded, for the fashionable world had come down like the a.s.syrians, and everyone with the slimmest claim to the acquaintance of Carson or his wife made occasion to visit the _Tunis_ before the hour of sailing. The rest of the world was obliged to be content with lining the docks and blackening the Breakwater.

Just after twelve, with the tide at full, preliminary sirens and scrunching of chains began to be heard, and word was given for people to leave the _Tunis_. That was a sign for everyone to come on deck, and the curious watchers ash.o.r.e got a chance at last of seeing the special object of their curiosity. She appeared in the companionway door, smiling, with her hand through the arm of her great friend, Mrs. Portal; behind were a little group of men with Eve Carson towering in their midst.

Lady Carson was still wearing the gown she had been married in, and she looked vividly beautiful. Shimmering leaf-green draperies swept the decks, under a long coat of pale-grey velvet, and her poem face was shadowed by a plumed, grey hat. Her husband thought that she looked like the incarnation of Ireland--and than the beauty of _that_ imagination could no further go.

She and Clem Portal, alone together for the first time in all that busy, eventful day, walked a little apart to make their farewells, and the eyes of the men followed them, resting naturally on the vivid glowing woman in the shimmering green-and-grey. Her husband's were the only eyes that did not follow her. He had given her one deep, long glance at the altar; and since then had not looked her way. His tanned face wore the impa.s.sive, almost cataleptic expression that men a.s.sume when they wish to conceal deep emotion from the eyes of the world. But he walked as one whom the G.o.ds have chosen to honour. Bramham strongly suspected him of suffering from what is known among men as--a swagger in the blood!

"I expect he feels tall enough to pull the sky down to-day," was the loyal fellow's thought, and he smiled affectionately and put an arm on Karri's shoulder.

Clem and Poppy walked along the deck together. They did not say much.

Only, under cover of a big, grey velvet sleeve, and a stole of delicate lace Clem wore, their hands were tightly clasped together. The Portals would be gone from Africa before Eve Carson's five years' work in Borapota was over; and where, or when, the two women would meet again was a matter that lay upon the knees of the G.o.ds. Neither wished to let one word of regret mar the gladness of the day; but each knew how deeply the other felt the parting.

"Oh, Clem!" Poppy said at last, with something like a sob in her voice.

"It is all so wonderful--to be out of the 'tangled wild' at last, with the clear, open land before us! Can it be true? I have had so many blows in the face, and I am so undeserving of this great happiness--_can it be true_?"

"Chance is more just than we are!" Clem softly quoted. "Poppy, before we part I must tell you something ... about my name--_Loraine_. Bill wants me to tell you ... and he says _you will know why_. It is my own name, dear--but I have never allowed anyone to call me by it but Bill. When people love each other very much _you know_--they give each other little secret gifts that no one else must know of--this was one of mine to Bill. All the world can call me Clem--but _Loraine_ was only for him.

Others came to know of it by accident, but I never gave anyone the right to call me by that name but Bill----"

Poppy held the little brown, thin hand more tightly.

"I know, I know, darling," she fervently said. She could not at this time tell Clem how much else she knew--all that Carson had told her of the secret love he had borne for Clem for many years; but she had no feeling of bitterness now, or anger concerning that love. Clem went on, a little hurriedly, for time was flying:

"I had another reason too--under my mask I am dreadfully superst.i.tious and primitive. All the Loraines in my ancestral history have lost those whom they loved--in some tragic way. I am afraid of history. Oh, Poppy!

when one loves ... when one loves ... one is afraid of _everything_."

She turned white and began to tremble. "How _fearful_ one is! I have been so fearful always for Bill ... that I have never even dared show _him_ how much I care. I always think if I am silent, silent, silent ...

never bragging, never telling of my soul's idolatry, G.o.d will be merciful to me." She was trembling like a leaf, and stammering with pallid lips--this calm, well-masked, self-possessed woman of the world.

Never before had any woman's eyes seen past the barriers into the inmost chapel of Clem Portal's heart. And Poppy, overwhelmed, could only tenderly say:

"Dear Clem ... thank you.... G.o.d bless you!" Bramham bustled up.

"We've got to clear out, Mrs. Portal ... they're going to haul up the gangway!" He turned to Poppy. "And the siren is hooting us out of your paradise. Well, Lady Carson! the world will expect wonderful things from your pen up in the silences of Borapota!"

She smiled at him with radiant, misty eyes.

"Let it expect. I shall never be able to write any more, Charlie. I can never do anything again but live. I know how to _live_."

The others joined them then, and the whole group moved gangwaywards, individual remarks swamped in general farewells, jests, laughter, good wishes. All were ash.o.r.e at last, leaving Poppy and Carson standing alone, side by side, with the keen winter sunlight bright upon them.

When they could no longer recognise friendly faces to wave to, they turned and looked at each other. Catalepsy disappeared from Carson's face--it grew boyish, ardent, gay.

"'The Lord is debonair, Let sinners not despair,'"

said he, and they smiled into each other's eyes.

And so their ship swept out to sea.

Ash.o.r.e, one or two acrid things were said. In a little detached group, of which Mrs. Gruyere, Mrs. Lace, and Cora de Grey were the central figures, Brookfield thought it interesting to say:

"There's a rumour that she's as wicked as her books--if so, Carson is not to be envied."

Cora de Grey, who was sometimes also called _Cobra_ de Grey, bit into him swiftly:

"If she's wicked, she's clever beyond the cleverness of any woman, for none of her men friends have ever given her away."

"Her _men_ friends--that's a new story!" retorted the surprised Brookfield.

"Oh, no; quite an old story amongst married women," said Cora, with her Karoo smile. "When a woman is _really_ wicked, some renegade will always tell his dearest friend, or his wife, and then--short shrift for _her_."

Brookfield retired.

Mrs. Gruyere said:

"It's a scandal that he didn't marry May Mappin. And I _know_ Charles Bramham was in love with _her_. What will he do now, I wonder?"

Mrs. Gruyere's voice was so penetrating that it often reached the ears of her victims. Bramham, coming up, answered her cheerfully.

"Oh, haven't you heard?" said he, grinning. "My dear Mrs. Haybittel is arriving from Paris to pay Durban a visit. Everyone is sure to make her as comfortable as they can--for fear she should make them as uncomfortable as _she_ can. She says she's bringing out twelve trunks full of French gowns."

This was terrible news for Mrs. Gruyere, who only feared two things on earth--French gowns and the malicious pen of Mrs. Haybittel. But she preserved a brave front.

"Let us hope that she has had her face enamelled to wear with them," was her last barb.

Driving home, Clem said to her husband:

"Will they be happy, think you, Billy-Bill?" And he, with the deep wisdom vouchsafed only to true lovers, answered her:

"Happy? Of course not! But they will count unhappiness with each other the best that Life can give."

FINISH.