She Fell Among Thieves (9 page)

Sign of life there was none, except for some sheep that were feeding a long way off.

Mansel took out his glasses and pointed across the park.

‘D’you see a strip of green there? Halfway up the mountain. It looks like the edge of a plateau. I may be wrong.’

‘It might be,’ said I, gazing. ‘I think it is.’

‘It’s a dell, I think. I can’t see. It looks as if there’s a path…’ He put his glasses away. ‘Come on. We must try and make it. So far as the manor’s concerned, it’s a natural belvedere.’

At once we turned about and retraced our steps. Always skirting the mountains, we hastened round the pleasance, past the cleft and presently over the water that was feeding my lady’s pool. So we came to the bay to which the manor belonged.

The sun was up now and was touching the mountain-tops, so Mansel entered the forest which grew on the mountain-sides. Not to do so would have been folly, for we were now close to the house; but so steep was the slope that, though we held on our course, we were climbing, rather than walking, from that time on. I know no progress more trying than working across a mountain by scrambling from tree to tree, and nearly an hour had gone by before, to our great relief, we encountered a rising path. One glance at the house showed us that this was indeed the path which Mansel had thought that he saw, and five minutes later we stumbled into the dell.

No place could have suited our purpose one half so well.

We could look clean over the house, which was only two hundred yards off, we could watch the farm and the pastures, we could see the bushes that grew at the mouth of the cleft: only the pool was hidden, for that was masked by the point that made one horn of the bay. But we could not be observed. Had we stood close to the edge, we could, of course, have been seen, but, lying there prone, only the birds could see us, for the ground sloped down a little into the dell. Add to this that the coign was as charming as was the pleasance below. The turf was soft and blowing, and, when the sun grew hot, we could, if we pleased, withdraw to the shade of the trees: and there a spring was welling, a very tiny business that lost itself in the forest almost at once, but its water was clear as crystal and meant the world to us, for though we had food and to spare, we had nothing to drink.

There was still no life to be seen about the house, but smoke was now rising from a chimney and cows were leaving a byre which belonged to the farm.

After a careful survey, Mansel gave the glasses to Bell.

‘You take the first watch,’ he said. ‘The moment you see any movement, let me know.’

He pushed himself back from the edge and got to his knees.

‘Come and sit by the water, William, and we’ll see what my mistress says.’

The notes were in French.

That addressed to ‘Lafone’ ran as follows.

Lafone,

I am sending you Jean partly because he has made a fool of himself and partly to take Luis’ place, when Luis is not with you. I have warned him that if he wishes his food to agree with him, he will do all that you tell him and do it well.

Be very careful just now. Mademoiselle must have less freedom, and either Luis or Jean is to keep a constant lookout. You may be visited. If a visitor comes, he must by no means escape. If he does, you and Mademoiselle will leave for Jezreel within the hour.

The girl from Carlos is dead.

Send Luis to me on Monday. He is not to leave before dusk.

In the note addressed to Jean was a smaller envelope, sealed. For this the note accounted.

Jean,

You will escort Lafone, should she leave for Jezreel. Before you leave, you will give the dog this powder, unknown to Mademoiselle. It is quite tasteless – as so many poisons are.

‘Pity Jean can’t see that,’ mused Mansel. ‘He’s much too fat.’

We enjoyed a restful day.

By nine o’clock we had all of us eaten and shaved, and though, of course, we took it in turns to watch, this was a lazy duty and pleasant enough to do.

There was little enough to be seen, and in a way we seemed to be wasting time: but, as Mansel said, the pace I had lately set was a great deal too hot to last.

We saw the girl I had seen return from her bathe. As before, the Great Dane was with her. We saw her feed some pigeons and make her way to the farm. The heat of the day she passed within the house. Jean spent the day at the farm: the condition of his clothes suggested that masonry was now his portion: that he found the work uncongenial was very clear, for, when he came in at mid-day, he kept on inspecting his hands and then throwing them up to heaven as if distraught by their state: but by one o’clock he was on his way back to the farm. It was clear that Lafone was a dragon – with poisoned teeth. We saw a man and three women at work on the farm: and a maid came out to hang clothes at the back of the house. But though once or twice we heard scolding we saw no sign of Lafone.

At four o’clock the girl walked into the meadows towards the sheep. When she had passed the farm, she patted the dog on the shoulder and sent him back to the house. Then she made her way up to the sheep, who seemed to be glad at her coming, as well they might, for she looked very fresh and charming and ‘grace was in all her steps’. After a while she left them to pass on up the pleasance and out of my sight.

As I lowered the glasses –

‘When you’re ready, sir,’ said Bell. ‘It’s just gone four.’

‘Right-oh,’ said I. ‘The lady’s gone round that shoulder.’ I handed over the glasses. ‘Did you have a good sleep?’

‘Lovely, thank you, sir. This is like the old days, this is. And I’d rather be here than down at the Château Jezreel.’

‘By George, you’re right,’ said I, and got to my knees.

‘The Captain’s asleep, sir,’ said Bell.

‘All right.’

Five minutes later I was asleep myself.

Mansel was speaking French.

‘Don’t be afraid. We’re friends.’

As I started up –

‘I’m not afraid,’ cried the girl, with a stamp of her foot. ‘How dare you say such a thing? And what are you doing here? This is my house.’

‘We’re doing no harm,’ said Mansel. ‘We were tired and we went to sleep.’

I had not dared dream that the miniature the glasses had framed could be magnified without loss. Yet it was so.

She was standing just clear of some bushes, through which, though we had not seen it, the path we had used went on. Her head and her arms and her legs were, all of them, bare, and I think she wore next to nothing beneath her white linen dress. On her feet she had string-soled slippers, such as the peasants wear. But had she been robed as a princess, she could not have looked more royal or made a more striking picture against the leaves.

Her face and her limbs were not so much brown as glowing and a bloom I had never seen was becoming her exquisite skin as the dew becomes a lawn at the birth of a summer’s day. Her shining hair was curly and loosely clubbed, and her great blue eyes had the steady fearless look of a being that knows no wrong. Her features were very fine, and her wrists and ankles were slender beyond compare, and her hands were lovely to look at, because their perfection was virtual and not induced.

To say that her air was natural is to say that the sea is wet. Her beauty and grace were those of some lovely creature which, though it is wild, has not yet discovered fear: but her artless manner – her charm was not so much that of a maiden as that of a child. Though she must have been nineteen or twenty, all the sweetness of girlhood dwelled in her glorious eyes, and I remember thinking that so Eve may have appeared, before she was brought to Adam, to be his wife.

‘Why are you tired?’ said the girl, using French, as she had before. ‘And where is your home?’

‘We were up all night,’ said Mansel.

My lady opened her eyes.

‘That is like Luis,’ she said. ‘And then he sleeps by day. But now you must go away, because this is my house.’

‘It’s a very nice house,’ said Mansel. ‘Did you show it to Julie?’

If he drew a bow at a venture, he brought the light of gladness into the great blue eyes.

‘Julie? Is Julie here? I’ve missed her so much. She was to have come for my birthday.’

‘She couldn’t,’ said Mansel. ‘But Julie told us about you, and we’re her friends.’

‘Then of course you can stay.’ She slipped to the turf by his side. ‘I’ll show you my rabbits, if you like. Ulysse is very tame. He eats out of my hand.’

‘I’ve got a rabbit,’ said Mansel, ‘that takes food out of my mouth.’

‘You haven’t! I’d love to see him.’ She laughed delightedly. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Jonathan,’ said Mansel. ‘What’s yours?’

‘Jenny,’ said the girl. ‘That’s English.’

‘Can you speak English?’ said Mansel.

The girl shook her head.

‘Not now. I did in my dreams, though – before I was born.’ In the prettiest way she cupped her chin in her palms and looked up at the sky. ‘
Pussycat, pussycat, where have you been?
’ Triumphantly she lowered her gaze. ‘There. That’s English.’

My wits were out of their depth, but, quick as a flash, Mansel had picked up the ball.

‘
I’ve been to London to see the Queen
,’ he chanted.

Her precious lips parted, her eyes like stars, one little hand to her temples, the girl regarded him.

Then –

‘That’s right,’ she cried. ‘I’d forgotten. How did you know?’

‘Perhaps I dreamed, too,’ said Mansel.

My lady crowed with delight.

‘What fun!’ she cried. ‘Oh, I am glad you came.’

So far I might not have been there, but now her great blue eyes came to rest upon mine. For a moment she regarded me steadily. Then she turned to Mansel and back to me.

‘Who’s that?’ she said.

‘That’s a friend of mine. He’s called William. He’s very nice.’

‘If Julie were here, we could play. I’ve never played. She says you can’t play alone, that you want four or five. I told Lafone – she’s my nurse: but she only got cross. Julie laughed when I told her I had a nurse. But then she wouldn’t believe I was only ten.’

Again my brain staggered, but if the statement shook Mansel, he gave no sign.

‘You look more than ten,’ he said simply.

‘How old are you?’

Before I could think –

‘Thirteen,’ said Mansel quietly.

My lady was counting upon her pointed fingers.

‘You know,’ she said gravely, ‘I don’t think Julie is truthful. She said that she was sixteen, but I’m taller than she.’

‘Tell me some more of your dreams,’ said Mansel.

The girl looked away.

‘I can’t remember,’ she said. ‘I used to, but I’ve forgotten. There was a room that went up – a little room.’

‘
The lift
,’ said Mansel.

Jenny clapped her hands with delight. Then she snuggled close up against him, threw an arm over his shoulders and laid her cheek against his.

‘I do like you, Jonathan,’ she said.

I would have gone, but, when he saw my movement, Mansel made me a sign to stay where I was.

I did not know what to think, but I knew I was near to tears. The girl was, of course, abnormal: that a stone of such quality should be flawed was more than grievous: but the flaw itself was so lovely it rent the heart.

Mansel set an arm about her and picked up her little hand.

‘What’s your other name, Jenny?’

‘I haven’t another’ – abstractedly. ‘Does anyone have two names?’

‘Sometimes they do. Never mind. Would you like us to come again?’

‘Oh, yes, yes, yes. Tomorrow?’

Her head slid on to his shoulder.

‘Perhaps, but listen, my dear. Julie’s never come back, has she?’

The girl shook her curls.

‘But I don’t care now that you’ve come. I don’t want her back.’

‘Do you know why she didn’t come back?’

With her eyes on the tree-tops –

‘Why?’

‘Because Lafone knew about her.’

Jenny sat up, wide-eyed.

‘Are you sure?’ she said.

Mansel nodded.

‘Quite sure.’

‘She did seem cross,’ said Jenny, finger to lip.

‘If she knows about us, she won’t let us come any more.’

The girl looked from Mansel to me with dismay in her face. Then to my great distress she began to cry.

Mansel’s arm was about her and her head was down on his chest. ‘Don’t cry, my darling. Don’t cry. I promise that we’ll come back.’

‘Promise, promise,’ she sobbed.

‘I will, indeed: but I can’t if you tell Lafone.’

She lifted a tearful face.

‘I won’t tell her,’ she said.

‘You must be very careful, Jenny. She mustn’t guess.’

‘I will. But why? Why wouldn’t she let you come back?’

‘I don’t know. But she stopped Julie. Luis went off to tell her she mustn’t come.’

The eyes grew thoughtful.

‘That’s right. Luis went off the next day, after Julie had gone. She only came twice. I thought he went to see granny. He often does.’

‘You see?’ said Mansel. ‘So if you want us to come–’

‘I do, I do.’

‘Then keep our secret,
sweetheart
…’

‘Sweetheart
. That’s English. Why did you call me
sweetheart?’

‘Didn’t anyone call you
sweetheart
in your dreams – before you were born?’

‘Yes, yes. They did. Oh, Jonathan, how did you know?’

‘I’ve dreamed, too,
sweetheart
.’

‘But not about me?’

‘Yes. I have. I’ll tell you one day…’

Gravely he dried her tears: like the child that she was, she suffered him: and I sat by and wished that the earth would suddenly open and swallow me up.

Mansel was frowning.

‘Lafone mustn’t see you’ve been crying.’

He rose and stepped to the spring to soak his handkerchief.

Then he kneeled down and bathed her upturned face…and she smiled…and he smiled back.

‘I do like you, Jonathan,’ she said, and put up her mouth.

Mansel stooped and kissed the beautiful lips.

Then he surveyed his work.

‘No one would know now,’ he said. With a sudden movement he turned again to the spring. ‘Let’s make a cascade, shall we? If we build a little dam there and fill up that pool… Cut me some sticks, William. About six or eight inches long.’