The Brother of Daphne Part 47

"Yes, yes. Say you will."

She looked away suddenly over the sunlit park. Then she spoke very slowly.

"I'm trusting you rather a lot, aren't I?" she said.

"Yes," I said quietly.

"But since you make such a point--"

I took her hand. As I raised it, she turned, and we looked each other full in the eyes.

Said I: "This point is a point of honour."

Then I kissed her small, gloved fingers.

A moment later the car swept out of the avenue, under an old gateway and into a fair courtyard, which I seemed to have seen before in the pages of Country Life. The house was beautiful. There it lay, in the hot sunshine, all grey and warm and peaceful--a perfect specimen of the Tudor period, and about its walls a tattered robe of wisteria. It seemed to be smiling in its sleep. As we drove up to the great stone steps, the studded door was opened and a manservant appeared. The car stopped.

"Oh, I'm afraid," whispered my companion.

"Play up," I whispered back. "It's all right."

"No, no. I'm afraid. I don't know what to say to them."

The footman opened the door, and I got out. As I handed her out, her hand was trembling terribly. Suddenly there was a scrambling noise, and a great black and white Newfoundland came bounding down the steps.

When he saw us, he stopped.

"Oh, you darling." said my companion.

The dog looked at her for a moment uncertainly. Then he threw up his head and barked twice, wagging his tail. She put out her hand and stroked his head. The great fellow whined with pleasure. Then he took her hand in his mouth and turned up the steps once more.

"Oh, look!" she cried delightedly. "He's leading me in."

The situation was saved. I followed thankfully. As I entered the hall:

"He has taken to your ladyship," a gentle housekeeper was saying.

"It's not many he welcomes like that."

The woman bowed to me, and turned towards the staircase. Mechanically I took the two letters from the salver the footman was holding out.

Then I thought of something. I looked at the girl. She was half-way up the stairs.

"Er--darling," I said.

She swung round and stopped, flushing furiously. Then:

"Yes, dear?"

I went to where she was standing. The housekeeper was twenty paces away at the top of the stairs. I spoke as carelessly as I could, and in an undertone.

"They will want to unpack your things. Also they will soon know that there is no luggage. Ours, of course, went on to Whinnerley proper.

Say your maid is coming on with it by the next train, and that she will unpack when she comes."

"All right."

I returned to the hall. Not to be outdone by the housekeeper, the footman was most solicitous. He led me to an oak-panelled lavatory, turned on the water, and held a towel ready while I washed. Then he brushed me all over, and flicked the dust from my shoes. With the slightest encouragement, I believe he would have shaved me. Then he led me to the 'reception rooms' in turn. When the tour was over, he brought me cigarettes and asked me if I would like tea served in the garden.

"By all means," I said.

"Tell her ladyship she will find me out of doors."

"Yes, sir."

I pa.s.sed through the dining-room and on to a great lawn. The garden was in exquisite order. Everywhere there was a profusion of flowers, and on all sides beyond a sunk fence lay the great park. Far in a cool glade I saw some deer browsing. On the left, I could see the drive by which we had come. Lazily I traced its line curling away between the trees. Suddenly something red and moving caught my eye. For a moment the trees hid it from view. Then I saw it again--just a flash of red in the avenue--moving towards the house. I watched it curiously. It approached a small gap. The next second there appeared a telegraph boy upon a red bicycle. Thank you. Instinctively I started to head him off. I had to run to do it, but I prayed that no one was looking. We reached the gate house together.

"Telegram?" said I.

He dismounted and gave it to me like a lamb. It was addressed to Maulfry Tower, Winningly Bluff, and it read: Missed train arrive 7.10 Tagel.

"No answer," said I. Then I remembered the cheering children, and gave him a shilling. He thanked me shyly and sped away to the lodge gates.

I turned to see the girl approaching, and went to meet her.

"For him, ginger beer," said I; "for us, tea. For them, when they arrive, the wagonette. They will not send the car for your maid. But, never mind, they have a good time coming. Isn't it all beautiful!"

"Of course," said she, "after this I shall go into a convent--that is, after I have served my term of imprisonment. I can never face the world again."

"Why again?" said I. "You see, my dear, we're not facing it now. If we were, it would be different. But now we're in a backwater. In an hour or two we shall be on the broad stream of Life once more. The current is very strong sometimes. But here there is no current, nor any time, nor action. Only the sun makes shining patches on the water, while now and again dragon-flies dart through the sleepy hum of insect life, like bright thoughts flashing across a reverie. Now, isn't that nice? I really don't know how I do it. But to resume. No one knew of our turning aside--no one will see us return. For us the universe is standing still. And there's the tea. Come, madam wife, sit by my side, and let the world slip; we shall ne'er be younger."

She looked at me critically, bending her brows. Then:

"I should never have married you," she said, "if I had known there was insanity in your family."

Tea was set out under the trees on the lawn, between the house and the drive. On three sides roses and honey-suckle screened the table from view. The fourth lay open to the sinking sun and the park and the distant hills. The footman had been joined by a butler, who bowed at our approach. In silence she poured out the tea. Then:

"Sugar?" she said, without thinking.

"Ahem! Not to--day, thanks, dear. I had mine in the champagne."

"As the footman handed me the cuc.u.mber sandwiches, his hand shook a little. I went on ruthlessly:

"Talking of which, did you notice the detectives?"

"No," she said. "What about them?"

"Wall--eyed, my dear, all of them. Cost me two-and-six extra, but I thought it was worth it. Worries the thieves awfully, you know. They can't tell whether they're watching the fish-slice or the 'Longfellow'.

And all the time they're really counting the marron glaces. It's called 'getting the wall--eye.'"

I stooped to straighten my spat. When I looked up, the servants had disappeared. I glanced through the leaves to see them pa.s.s into the dining--room.

"Gone?" said the girl. I nodded.