To Leeward Part 23

earning a franc by ferrying a pa.s.senger, just like one of themselves--for, of course he was paid for it; it amused him, because he was crazy, poveretto! And sometimes he was heard singing outlandish songs to himself in the heat of the day as he paddled about under the cliffs.

The time had sped quickly since Batis...o...b.. had left the Carantoni villa, and it was now the first week in August. Madame de Charleroi had stayed nearly a week longer than she had intended, but at last had gone back to Pegli, to Marcantonio's great regret, and to Leonora's unspeakable relief. So long as Diana was in the house Leonora had been obliged to steal occasions, few and far between, when she could safely go down to the rocks and signal to the shabby man with the green oars to come and take her off. Many and long and hot were the days when he pulled his poor crazy craft about from dawn to dark, without catching a sight of the strong lithe figure that he loved. But come when she would, at morning, noon, or night, he was always there, ready to take her and to slip off at a quick stroke to one of the many green caves that line the sh.o.r.e; and there, for an hour or two, or as long as she might safely stay, they spent happy moments together, the happier for being few, forbidden, and somewhat dangerous.

As for the danger, though, there was not much of it. It would have been hard, indeed, to recognise in the ill-clad boatman, with his stubbly beard, and seedy cap of brown knitted wool, the fine gentleman whom the natives stopped to look at in the street. Leonora, if any one had met her on the landing, would have said she had taken the first pa.s.sing fisherman to row her about among the caves, and no one would have suspected anything; and she used to laugh as she watched the progress of his beard, knowing that each day made the disguise more complete.

Her own boat had given her some anxiety at first, but she had made Marcantonio lend the whole equipage to a friend further down the bay, telling him it was too hot to be on the water at present. And when Diana was at last gone, she had most of the day to herself; for Marcantonio was perpetually busy with letters, or trying horses, or going to Naples.

He always found his wife extremely charming when he had been away all day, or shut up in his rooms, and preternaturally contradictory and capricious when he was with her for long together, and he concluded that she preferred a certain amount of solitude, and humoured her accordingly. Never hearing of Batis...o...b.., he supposed he had left the neighbourhood for parts unknown, and though he regretted not having had an opportunity of shooting him, he knew in his heart that Diana's advice had been good, and that it was best so. Now and then, when he thought of Julius too long, he grew angry and paced quickly up and down his room; but on the whole life was easy and pleasant enough, and his beloved Leonora was the most charming of women, not half so capricious as some of the wives of his friends.

How long this state of things might have continued it is impossible to say, if a disturbing element had not been introduced. But the disturbing element is seldom far to seek in such cases, and in due time it came.

There was a man in the service of the Marchesa Carantoni,--the same whom Batis...o...b.. had employed to take his things to Sorrento, and then to convey the note to Leonora,--and the man's name was Temistocle, as arrant a knave as ever opened palm for bribe. Carantoni had taken him in Rome when he married, because he needed another man, and the fellow's face was familiar to him. He had seen him in good houses, and had noticed his extraordinary adroitness in waiting. The man's character was not altogether satisfactory. He had received no recommendation from his last place, but Marcantonio took him on trial and brought him to Sorrento.

Temistocle had exceedingly sharp eyes, and Temistocle had an exceedingly smooth tongue; he was understood among the servants to have made economies, and his tastes were somewhat luxurious. He found Sorrento hot and dull, and he cast about for something refreshing and amusing.

To take sea-baths had always been his chiefest ambition. It sounded well to be able to say he had taken a course of sea-bathing. But the thing was by no means easy at Sorrento. He could not bathe from his master's landing, and it was a long distance to go round by the lanes to reach another descent. At last, however, he discovered that he could climb over the little point of rocks at the foot of the Carantoni villa, and reach a small cove, where, in complete seclusion, he might enjoy himself as he pleased. Accordingly, when he had finished serving the midday breakfast he used to make a practice of going down to bathe. In his little cove he hid his clothes carefully among the rocks and crept into the water under the deep shadow of the overhanging cliff. He could not swim a stroke, but he could sit just so that the water came up to his chin, and his round black bullet head lay on the surface like a floating football, scarcely visible to any one pa.s.sing outside in the sun. From this position it amused Temistocle to watch the boats and the fishermen for an hour or two, enjoying the idea that they never dreamed of his presence.

It chanced often, as he sat in the water, that Julius, in his outlandish costume, paddled his old boat past Temistocle's retreat; and the sharp eyes of the Roman servant were not long in discovering that the fisherman was no fisherman at all. It was the easier to recognise Batis...o...b.., as the man saw him when his beard was only a few days old.

From that day Temistocle watched his opportunity to descend when the boat with the green oars had just pa.s.sed, and would be out of the way for some time.

There was never the smallest doubt in his mind of Batis...o...b..'s intention in thus disguising himself. The incident of the parcel, which he had carefully opened and examined, Batis...o...b..'s sudden departure, and Leonora's simultaneous indisposition, all combined in his mind into one harmonious whole, from which he proposed to himself to extract at least a reasonable amount of money.

One day he was rewarded for his pains. The boat pa.s.sed very near to the mouth of his water-den, skirting the rocks at a great pace. He just saw that Leonora was seated in the stern, and he incontinently ducked his black head, and kept under water till he thought he must have drowned.

When at last he was obliged from sheer suffocation to bring his mouth to the air, they were gone, and Temistocle sprang out of the water like some dark evil genius of a low order, awaiting evolution into the advanced condition of complete devildom. He was not long in dressing, and in a few minutes he had got back to the landing, clambering quickly over the rocks, and hurting himself, in his haste, at every step.

After that, he became more irregular in his habits, lurking in secret places till he saw Leonora going toward the descent at the end of the garden, and presently following her at a safe distance. He ascertained, as he had expected, that Batis...o...b.. spent his whole time within hail of the landing, in the boat with the green oars, and that Leonora went down and signalled to him, whenever she had a chance. Temistocle was so delighted with the skill of the arrangement that for a long time he could not prevail upon himself to interrupt it, even for the sake of the bribe that must inevitably follow. But, one day, he needed money, and he did not want to encroach upon his purse of savings, for he was a miserly wretch as well as a knave. He had seen something pretty in the way of a silk cap, which a stray pedlar had brought with other things, and he thought he should enjoy bargaining for it the next time the pedlar came with his wares. He knew that he should probably bargain for an hour and then not buy it after all,--but nevertheless he might be weak, and then he should like to feel that he had got the thing out of his betters by his own skill, instead of squandering money from his h.o.a.rd. He seldom indulged in the luxury of buying what he fancied, but when he did he generally made some one else pay for it. There was a certain refinement of miserliness about him.

At first he imagined that it might be best to drop some hint to his mistress, just enough to frighten her into paying for his silence. But his calmer reflection told him that he would be thereby killing the goose that laid the golden eggs. Batis...o...b..'s ingenuity would make some change in the arrangements and he would have to begin all over again.

Evidently the best thing was to make his master pay, and let the lovers go quietly on their course, so that he could at any time produce evidence of his veracity. He watched his opportunity. Marcantonio often inquired whether the signora were in the house, or were gone out. If she was out he supposed she had gone into the garden or to pay visits; he never disturbed her arrangements, knowing how much she enjoyed being perfectly free, and feeling sure she would not get into mischief. She made a point of calling on everybody, telling him afterwards where she had been, and the two or three hours she spent with Julius escaped notice in her clever account of the spending of the day. Now and then she would say she had been down to the rocks, in case her husband should ever take it into his head to go and find her there, and she was quite sure that by this time Julius was changed beyond recognition.

Temistocle had not long to wait. One day in August, Marcantonio chanced to inquire of him where the marchesa might be. Temistocle was prepared; with the utmost gravity and respect he dealt his blow, speaking as though he were saying the most natural thing in the world.

"I suppose," he said, "that her excellency is gone out in the boat with the Signor Batis...o...b..." He p.r.o.nounced all the letters of the name, as though it had been Italian; but it was unmistakable. Marcantonio turned upon him in amazement.

"Animal!" he exclaimed, "are you drunk?"

"I, eccellenza?" cried Temistocle in hurt tones. "I drunk? Heaven forbid."

"Then you are crazy," remarked Marcantonio, more and more astonished.

"The Signor Batis...o...b.. is no longer here."

"Pardon me, eccellenza," retorted the servant respectfully. "I imagined that your excellency knew. The Signor Batis...o...b.. comes every day, and takes the Signora Marchesa out in a boat. He is become a very strange signore, for he dresses like a fisherman, and has let his beard grow as long as this--so," the man explained, holding his hand a few inches from his face. "Mi maraviglio, io!" he exclaimed, casting his eyes to the ground.

Marcantonio was speechless with amazement and horror, and turned his back upon the servant. A man less thoroughly a gentleman in every sense would have fallen upon Temistocle and beaten him, then and there. By a great effort, Marcantonio collected himself, and turned again.

"You have not to make any remarks upon the appearance of the Signor Batis...o...b..," he said briefly. "Basta!"

Temistocle had nothing left but to bow and leave the room. He did not understand his master in the least; he was just like a foreigner, he thought.

But Marcantonio dropped into an arm-chair, the moment he was alone, as though all the strength and life were suddenly gone from him. He could not in the least realise the extent of the revelation contained in Temistocle's words. He did not know what to do, and for the moment it did not even strike him that there was anything to be done. In the course of half an hour he grew calmer and began to review the situation.

He remembered distinctly every word of Diana's concerning the trouble when Batis...o...b.. was in the house. Diana had said very distinctly that Julius had insulted Leonora--and Diana always spoke the truth.

Marcantonio had not asked her what the insult had been. He could not bring himself to do it, and he did not want to know anything more. He would have cheerfully fought with Batis...o...b.. on the strength of his sister's a.s.sertion, but she had dissuaded him, and now he was sorry for it.

The servant had spoken with an air of conviction, as though he thought it quite natural, and only wondered at Batis...o...b..'s strange appearance.

There could not be any doubt about it, at all.

A new sensation took possession of Marcantonio--an utterly new pa.s.sion, which he did not recognise as part of himself. He was jealous. He did not, he would not, understand the truth, but he would prevent his wife from ever seeing Julius Batis...o...b.. again, and then he would go in search of him and wreak his vengeance without stint. At the same time he hoped he might avoid a scene with Leonora. He was brave enough to fight the man, but he shrank from telling his wife what he knew. It seemed so brutal and uncourteous, and altogether contrary to his principles.

But, after all, he ought to ascertain whether Temistocle were right--whether Julius really disguised himself. He would go and see.

No, he could not do that! He could not play the spy upon his wife--it was low, ign.o.ble, unworthy. He would find some other way. His brain swam and it seemed too much for him. He grasped the arm of the chair and rose to his feet in pure desperation, feeling that he must get out of the way into his own rooms for a while, lest any one should see him in his present state.

In the hall Marcantonio paused a moment, holding his hand to his head, as though it hurt him, and as he waited the door opened, and Leonora faced him, beaming with light, and life, and happiness. Marcantonio looked at her one instant, and tried to speak; he would have said something courteous, from force of habit. But the words choked him, and losing all control of himself he turned and fled up the stairs, leaving his wife staring in blank amazement.

Poor fellow! she thought, he had probably got a touch of the sun. She hastened to her room and sent to inquire if the signore were ill, and if she might come to him. They brought back word that he was dressing, and that nothing was the matter. Then Leonora felt a cold chill descend to her heart, the dreadful presentiment of a real terror, not far distant.

But when she met her husband in the evening at dinner, she did not dare to refer to his strange behaviour in the hall.

During dinner he talked much as usual, except that he did not laugh at all, and seemed very grave. There was a preternatural calm about him that increased Leonora's fears. She knew him so little that she could not be sure what he would do, whether anything had really occurred, or whether he were subject to fits of insanity. He had looked like a madman in the afternoon.

When they were alone, he offered her his arm, and led her out into the air, and they sat down side by side in deep chairs. Marcantonio leisurely lighted a cigarette, and puffed a few minutes in silence.

"Leonora," he said at last, "I have heard a curious thing, and I must tell you immediately." His voice was even and cold; his whole manner was different from anything she remembered in her experience of him; he was more imposing, altogether more of a man and stronger. Leonora trembled violently, knowing instinctively that he had discovered something. She did not speak, but let him continue.

"I chanced to inquire if you were at home this afternoon, and the man said he supposed you were gone out in the boat with Mr. Batis...o...b.., as you did every day. Is it true? The man who told me said it as though it were quite natural, as though every one in the house knew it except myself."

Leonora was dumb for a moment. The accusation came so suddenly that she was taken off her guard, besides being thoroughly frightened at her husband's terrible calmness, so unlike his manner under ordinary circ.u.mstances. She lay back in her low chair and tried to collect her thoughts.

"The man had also observed," continued Marcantonio, turning his keen dark eyes upon her, "that Monsieur Batis...o...b.. had a beard, and was dressed like a fisherman. Altogether, it was extremely curious."

Marcantonio and his sister always spoke the truth. Batis...o...b.. never lied in his life to save himself, but could do it boldly when it was absolutely necessary to save some one else. He had no principle about it, except that cowards told lies, and men did not,--that was the way he put it. He was not afraid of anything himself, but for a woman he would perjure himself by all the oaths in Christendom. It was his idea of chivalry to women, and could not altogether be blamed. But Leonora by a long apprenticeship to a very worldly mother, and owing to the singular confusion of her ideas, had acquired a moral obliquity which she defended to herself on the ground that the ultimate results she obtained were intended to be good. The telling of untruths, she argued, was in itself neither good nor bad; the consequences alone deserved to be considered. But as the consequences of lies are not easily cast up into totals of good and bad from the starting point, it sometimes occurred that she got herself into trouble. However, she was not hampered by prejudice, and she was a very clever woman, much cleverer than the great majority, and she was just now in a very hard position. In a few minutes she had made up her mind, and she answered Marcantonio fluently enough.

"Why," said she calmly, "should I not go out with Mr. Batis...o...b.. when I please? If he chooses to dress like a fisherman, I suppose he has the right."

Marcantonio was rather staggered at her sudden confession. He had expected a denial; but there she sat as calmly as possible, telling him to his face that it was all true. However, he was not likely to lose his nerve again now that he was face to face with the difficulty.

"It appears to me, Leonora," he said, "that when I have turned a man out of my house for insulting you, it is sufficient reason"--

"For insulting me?" exclaimed Leonora in well-feigned astonishment. "Mr.

Batis...o...b.. never insulted me! You must be dreaming." She laughed a small dry laugh. But Marcantonio was not so easily put off.

"My sister," said he, "told me that Batis...o...b.. insulted you in her hearing. I have always known my sister to speak the truth. Perhaps you will explain."

"What explanation do you want? You sent Mr. Batis...o...b.. out of the house on the pretence that I was ill. Of course Diana made you do it,--I do not know how, nor what she said. You must talk it over with her. She was probably sick of him, and wanted him out of the way."

Leonora spoke scornfully, and almost brutally, and Marcantonio's blood began to grow hot.

"That is absurd," he said instantly. "Perhaps Monsieur Batis...o...b.. would not object to being confronted with me for five minutes?"

"I am sure he would not object," said Leonora, without hesitation. She was quite certain of her lover's courage, at all events. She knew he would face anybody.