Storm Music (1934) (2 page)

"I'm most dreadfully sorry." I said. "And if you'll let me help you, we'll bring the blackguards to book. But you see my cousin was right. Florin was nothing to them, but he got in their way."

"Yes." said the girl, "that's clear. The night-watchman got in their way." With a sudden movement she turned. "But you must keep out of this. Can't you go home?"

"I'm not going home," said I, "till I've seen this through."

The girl laid a hand on my arm.

"Don't be foolish," she said. "This quarrel is mine— not yours. Young Florin was not your man. Besides, you can do no good because they've got your number; lift a finger against them and they won't do another thing till they've put you out."

"The point is this," said I. "That you don't want to fight them with me is natural enough. I fancy you're shy of strangers and you know nothing of me. But if I like to take on the brutes, that's my affair. I've given you information which it was right you should have, and that, I frankly admit, is the end of my duty to you; but I owe that dead man a duty, and, by God, I'm going to do it. If you'd seen him dead, as I did, you'd feel the same. I tell you, he called upon me. . . . Why, if I cleared out to England. I'd never sleep sound again." I broke off to mop my face. "My cousin's with me," I added "and so is his man."

There was a little silence.

Then—

"I wish," said the girl, "I could have a word with your cousin. Do you think he could meet me this evening at— at a farm that I know?"

"I'll bring him with me," said I, "wherever you please."

Lady Helena looked away.

"You can come, if you like," she said. "But I want to see him."

Then she took up a large-scale map and showed me the farm. This went by the name of "Plumage" and lay some four miles away, quite by itself.

"At five o'clock then?" says she.

I nodded.

"We shall be there."

"And now," she said, "I must drop you. Do you know where you are?"

I glanced about me.

"Yes," said I; "we're five minutes' walk from St. Jacques'."

"That's right." She peered at the street. "And it seems quiet enough about here." She touched a switch, and the car began to slow down. "Please don't stand still when you're out; start walking at once. And thank you very much for doing your duty to me. And— and don't forget that that's ended."

As I took her slim hand her steady, grey eyes met mine.

"True," said I. "But my duty to Florin remains; and I'm not so sure as I was that he called upon me for vengeance."

"What else?" said the girl.

"He loved his mistress." I said. "As he died, he may have been thinking that she would be short of a man."

And then I was out of the car and was sauntering down the pavement as though I had strolled for an hour.

Except for a crone with a bucket, there seemed to be no one in sight

AS THE Rolls swept over a crossing and on to the Salzburg road—

"I'm almost sure," said Geoffrey, "that we've stolen a march on our friends. They may have been watching the inn, but I can't believe they expected a movement like this. Of course they may stick to Barley, but that I doubt. And in any event he'll give them the slip at Salzburg."

"At Salzburg?" I cried.

"That’s right." said my cousin. "He'll be in that city tonight. Tomorrow he'll come back to Villach, and there we shall pick him up as soon as it's dusk."

"You're taking no chances." said I.

"D'you blame me, John? I mean, the return of your letter was pretty good work. Talk about a riposte. . . . And you may have been seen with my lady; in which case, as she observed, the job, whatever it is, will go by the board, and Pharaoh and Co.'s one idea will be to do you in. She's no damned fool, this grey-eyed goddess of yours. That's probably her American blood. And her Austrian made her stand-offish. These old Austrian families are terribly strict."

"She made amends," said I. "No one could have been more— more gracious."

My cousin laughed.

"Goddesses are gracious," he said. "And now please look behind you and keep your eyes on the road. If there's nothing whatever in sight, in three or four minutes I'm going to turn off to the left."

Five minutes later we were in the depths of a beech wood and the main road was half a mile off.

We now made no more haste, and since my cousin took us a roundabout way it was long past noon when we stole into Annabel.

Geoffrey berthed the car in the shade of some limes which grew fifty yards from the inn, on the opposite side of the way.

"You go in," he said, "and have a look at the rooms. I imagine they're quite all right, but you never can tell."

I left him filling a pipe and walked to "The Reaping Hook."

This was a pleasant inn, standing back from the road. The house was old and well built of stone and oak, and though, I fancy, its custom must have been slight, there was nothing mean about it, within or without. We had supped there some three weeks back and had found the service eager and the kitchen uncommonly good, but, while I had not much doubt that the rooms which the host had to offer would do very well, good board does not warrant good lodging, as every traveller knows.

The day seemed destined to be a day of surprise.

AS I entered the great, stone taproom, it was clear that all was not well. The room was not swept and garnished as when I had seen last, a settle was lying on its back, with its chest disgorging a medley of household stuff, and a sordid stain on a wall led down to a puddle of beer and a broken glass. As I stood, frowning, the maid that had served us so blithely brushed by me, blowsed and sullen, without a word, and when I passed on to the kitchen, in search of the host, I found his wife railing at a scullion, with tears running down her cheeks.

It now seemed clear that some brawl or other had lately disordered the house, and I began to wonder whether the host were absent because he had suffered some hurt. The poor woman's state, however, forbade my questioning her— and, indeed, as soon as she saw me she threw her apron over her head and abandoned herself to her grief. I, therefore, turned to the scullion and asked him where his master might be, but the man seemed dull of comprehension and I had to shake him by the shoulder before at last he muttered that the host was upstairs.

I made my way to the staircase which rose from the hall, and a moment later had gained a fine, broad passage which ran the length of the house. Since the stairs rose again, I was about to go higher, when the door of a room was opened and the maid who had passed me came out, wide-eyed and breathless and trembling, as though some terror or other had teased her and let her go.

Again she would have gone by, but I caught her arm.

"What's the matter?" I cried. "Where's your master?"

She pointed to the room she had left and fled downstairs.

I now began to think that the man must be dead, for he was a mild old fellow and not at all the sort that drinks himself into a fury and puts his household in fear. However, I made up my mind that, having come so far, I had better go on, and I walked to the door and stood listening before I knocked.

FOR a quarter of a minute I listened, but heard no sound, and my hand was raised, ready to knock, when somebody spoke— and before he had spoken three words I knew the answers to the riddles which I had been trying to solve.

I knew why the house was disordered and why I had not been received; I knew why the maid was trembling and why the goodwife was in tears; and I knew that, be they never so pleasing, the rooms at "The Reaping Hook" were not for Geoffrey and me ... for the voice was the voice of Pharaoh, who was speaking pretty fair German and was recommending the landlord to do as he said.

As I stole away from that door I know that my knees were loose. I am not proud of this truth, but I do not think it is surprising, and, if I am to be honest, so often as I remember that my hand was raised, ready to knock, the sweat will start upon my forehead and the palms of my hands grow wet.

I passed down the passage a-tiptoe, as well I might, wondering if ever before two men had been at such pains to avoid the foe, only to choose for their harbor the enemy's camp, for that, of course, was the use to which he was putting the inn. My cousin had chosen the village because it was not too distant, yet out of the way. And so had Pharaoh. It occurred to me suddenly that if Geoffrey and I could be gone without being seen we should at least have won some valuable news.

I was half-way down the stairs, which rose in two flights, and the doorway of the inn was before me, framing a slice of the fore-court ablaze with the midday sun, when there came to my ears the slam of the door of a car. It was not a door of the Rolls, but that of some car in the forecourt, quite close to the inn. I believe that I stopped instinctively, but, almost before I could think, a figure was in the doorway— a little wiry figure— and was heading straight for the stairs.

It was my old friend, Dewdrop.

Now I saw in a flash that unless of the four it was he that had been lying in wait to identify me at Lass, I stood a very fair chance of being no more than suspected as I went by And once I was in the forecourt and clear of the inn ...

I therefore held on my way, and since he was looking down, Dewdrop did not perceive me until he was three steps off. And then our eyes met— for an instant.

His surprise was his undoing.

As plain as though he had said so, I knew that he knew who I was, and the second he spent in staring served my turn. As his fingers flew to his mouth, I hit him under the jaw and leaped for the door.

Now all would have been very well if I had not made one mistake; yet I sometimes think that it was as well that I made it, for the lesson it taught me was such that I never made it again.

I had had the advantage of Dewdrop, for he had been standing below me and I was the heavier man. But the hall below us was flagged, and I was afraid to hit hard lest he should topple backwards and split his skull on the stone. And so, though the blow was heavy, it was not heavy enough. Lay hold of me he could not, for his balance was gone, but as I gained the forecourt his piercing whistle rang out.

My cousin heard it— I saw him. He had his back to the inn, and the bonnet of the Rolls was open and he was making some adjustment, spanner in hand. I saw him look up and round with his pipe in his mouth. For an instant he stared. And then the bonnet was shut, and the spanner was in his pocket and a pistol was in his hand.

Before I could speak—

"Take the wheel," said Geoffrey "and back her the way we came. There's a corner a hundred yards back. Turn her round there and wait. Is that their car?"

"Yes, but—"

"Quick," cried my cousin, and started to stroll to the inn.

What then happened, happened so quickly that no account I can give can render the scene.

As I flung myself into the Rolls I saw Dewdrop, running towards us, stop in his tracks. As Geoffrey fired, the fellow turned and doubled, dodging from side to side; to my amazement my cousin began to give chase.

The engine of the Rolls was running and I let in the clutch. Then I lifted the car towards Geoffrey across the road.

A closed car was standing in the forecourt beside the door of the inn. As Dewdrop whipped behind it, my cousin fired again. Then he turned, to see me waiting six paces away.

Pharaoh was standing in the doorway, with a hand to his hip: as he drew arms, Rush and the other rogue (I learnt later that his name was Bugle) thrust out from behind him and sent him against the jamb.

I had never stopped the Rolls, and as Geoffrey leaped for the step I let her go. In that instant two shots were fired, and a bullet went by my face to splinter the driving mirror, twelve inches away. And then we were flashing through the village, and a dog was barking in a doorway and a woman was standing in a garden, gaping and staring, with a dripping spoon in her hand.

Geoffrey was speaking.

"I'm much obliged, my son. But another time you simply must do as I say. It's you they're after, not me. And now please put her along. I've holed their petrol-tank, so I hardly think they'll start: all the same, I believe in distance. I'm glad to have met your friends, but I didn't like the look in their eyes."

Twenty minutes later we glided out by a by-road on to a grass-grown track; where this curled into a thicket, I drew out the clutch.

"My God!" said Geoffrey, and wiped the sweat from his face. "And after all that trouble to cover our tracks. And now tell me exactly what happened. I've a pretty good idea, but I may as well know."

I told him the truth.

"Colossal," says he. "Colossal. There's no other word. However, there's no harm done— except, of course, that they'll think you're out for blood. They'll never believe that this was an accident. They'll think we trailed them. Funny I never heard Dewdrop come up with the car; he must have backed her out of the yard. That's why he never saw me. Fluke upon fluke. Never mind. That tank should hold them up for twenty-four hours."

"They'll shift their quarters," said I.

"Without a doubt," said Geoffrey. "So we've done 'The Reaping Hook' a very good turn." He pulled out a map. "And now let's see where we are. We ran through a village called Wagen some four miles back."

We were twenty-two miles from Plumage, and the hour was just one o'clock.

My cousin fingered his chin.

"Tea with the goddess," he said, "at five o'clock. What could be better? But I don't want to wait till then. Besides, we must find a lodging." He broke off to stare at the dash. "Oh, hell," he murmured, "why does one do these things?"

"What things?" said I. My cousin sighed.

"You spared little Dewdrop— and damned near cost us our lives."

"I know," I said uneasily. "I— I won't be such a mug again."

"Neither will I." said my cousin violently. He slammed the arm-rest with his hand. "Damn it, I had him cold— and I fired at his feet."

PLUMAGE lay more than two miles from the high road that bounded its meadows and we welcomed the shade of its woods. The lane that served it was little more than a track, and till we rounded the last of a dozen bends we were by no means sure that we had not mistaken our way; then all of a sudden the lane became a view-point, and there was Plumage before us, making as lovely a picture as ever I saw.

As we stole over the old stone bridge and I brought the car to rest. Lady Helena Yorick came out of the house, and, behind her, a great Alsatian, a very beautiful hound.

Here for the first time I saw how truly lovely she was, for now she was standing in a sunshine that raked her from head to toe.

She was dressed for riding astride, in a silk shirt and breeches and boots: her head was bare, and her figure was very slim. She was tall for a woman, and straight, and bore herself very well, yet she seemed very dainty and nothing about her suggested the way of a man. There were lights in her soft black hair and her colour was high, but though she looked very healthy the sun had not touched her skin, which was very white. Her eyes were grave, and her gaze was deep and fearless and very quiet. If her exquisite mouth was proud, her smile was swift, and her eager parted lips were friendly as those of a child: her charm was dazzling.

Indeed, as she stood there, waiting, whilst we climbed out of the car, I remember thinking that the path which young Florin had trodden was not a hard path to tread, and that, though it led to his destruction, many a man would have been content to take it for the sake of the light in her eyes.

I introduced my cousin and the lady gave him her hand.

"I know your work," she said. "You painted my mother's brother six years ago."

Geoffrey put a hand to his head and stared at the sky. Then

"In Philadelphia," he said. "He carried his head as you do and he had the same blue-black hair."

For a moment they spoke of her mother's American home, whilst I caressed the Alsatian and marked the strength and beauty with which the dog was endowed. His name, I soon learned, was Sabre, but though he suffered my kindness, he did not respond, but only regarded me gravely and then glanced up at the lady that filled his eyes.

At length—

"Plumage," said Geoffrey, "deserves its beautiful name. Will you let me paint it one day, when the battle is done?"

Lady Helena laughed.

"I see," she said, "that you have been reading the map."

For a moment I stared. Then "This isn't Yorick?" I cried.

"No," said Geoffrey. "But it's on the Yorick estate. Yorick itself is three miles beyond these woods."

"And six miles from Annabel," said Lady Helena. "Remembering that, Mr. Bohun, do you still propose to stay there?"

"No," said Geoffrey, "we don't. We've— er— changed our minds."

"I'm glad to hear it," said the girl. "Mr. Spencer is rather headstrong, and he doesn't seem to consider that he's rather too young to die."

"That's very true," said Geoffrey. "He's only got one idea. But let me be frank with you. I've only got two myself."

Lady Helena opened her eyes. "May I hear them?" My cousin nodded.

"The first is the same as his: and the second is to save his life."

Lady Helena stood very still Then she turned to the bench on the left of the door.

"Let's thrash this out," she said.

She took her seat in the middle and we sat one on each side.

"You may take it from me," she said, "that this is no ordinary case. I know what these men are out for, and they're not going to stand any rot. Now I really mean that. And I can do nothing to appease them. If it was my jewels, they could have them— young Florin was above rubies. But they are not after my jewels; they're after something which isn't mine to give them and which they will never get.

"Now, how d'you think they feel about Mr. Spencer? They know that he has the power not only to ruin their game, but to send them to prison and death. Of course, I can't answer for them, but if I were in their position, I'll tell you how I should feel. I should not rest until Mr. Spencer was dead. And please remember this isn't England. The country is very wild and hopelessly policed: and if you want to do murder, it's fifty to one on your getting away with the crime."

There was a little silence. Then—

"I'm inclined to agree," said Geoffrey. "If you'd said as much this morning. I should have said you were wrong, for I think the return of his letter was an order for him to clear out. But now the case is altered. Through no fault of his own he's given them reason to think that he means to treat that order with all the contempt it deserves. Now, mark you, it wasn't his fault. We bumped into them again. John walked into their arms."

"My God!" said the girl.

"But, as you see," said Geoffrey, "he also walked out. To tell you the truth, we had the best of the brush. But, I fear that the damage is done. They believe that he's out to get them, and if he leaves the country I give you my word I think they'll follow him out."

Lady Helena stared at the lane by which we had come.

"You say," she said, "that you had the best of the brush."

"We put their car out of action. They won't be able to move for twenty-four hours."

"That's a start worth having. He could be in London tomorrow if you left Salzburg tonight."

My cousin sighed.

"My lady," he said, "for one thing, he wouldn't go: and, for another, it wouldn't be any use. Their finding that letter was deadly: it bore his London address."

"Then what's to be done?"

"He must have his wish," said Geoffrey. "Fate has played into his hands, and the only thing he can do is to stand and fight."

Lady Helena rose.

As Geoffrey and I stood up—

"I'm sorry" she said coldly. "From what Mr. Spencer told me, I fully believed I could count upon your support. He's very young and downright, and he can see nothing but red. But I fully believed you would see that my consent must be given before you took on these men. The man who is dead was my servant, and the men are after my goods. If you stand and fight you will therefore be fighting my battle, and that gives me the clear right to decline your help. And I do decline it, Mr. Bohun. You cannot enter this quarrel without helping me: and I do not desire your assistance. If London's not safe, then leave for Paris tonight. And go to Spain or Norway. Don't try to make me believe that if Mr. Spencer lies low for a month or six weeks, he can't walk down Piccadilly for fear of losing his life."

"I'm damned if I'm going,'' said I.

Lady Helena turned upon me with blazing eyes.

"I beg your pardon."

My blood was up, and I gave her back look for look.

"I said I'm damned if I'm going. And I'll tell you another thing. I'm damned if I'm going to be treated as though I were seven years old. I've sat here and let you argue as if I were a horse or a dog— dispute as to what I should do and where I should go: why I must do this or do that and whether London would suit me or whether I'd do better in Spain. I've seen a good man murdered: because he was your servant, you say that it rests with you what action I take—that I must do as you say, because you've the right to decide. With respect, I deny your right. I say it's a matter for me. Geoffrey says I've no choice but take on these men. I daresay he's right; but, choice or no, I'd have done it— he knows I would. If I'm cramping your style, I'm sorry. If my help is so distasteful—"

"I never said that."

"You said you declined it," I said. "I suppose that means you don't want to be under an obligation. Well, please believe you won t be. This is my show. If it helps you at all I'm happy— you can't mind that. But I don't expect favourable treatment because by the merest chance I happen to be rolling your log."

The girl looked me up and down. Then she turned to Geoffrey.

"Is he often like this?" she said.

"Never," said Geoffrey gravely. "I think he must be annoyed."

Lady Helena did not reply. Instead she stepped to the fountain and stood looking into the basin with one of her hands to her mouth.

For a moment I hesitated. Then I made my way to the farther side of the Rolls.

And there I was sitting, on the running-board, staring on the beauty before me and cursing my unruly tongue, when I heard a step on the pavement and before I could move my lady sat down by my side.

"Where are you staying?" she said.

I swallowed.

"I don't quite know," I answered. "We haven't found anywhere yet. We've looked at one or two inns, but they weren't any good."

The girl gazed into the distance. "I hope you'll stay here."

I could hardly believe my ears. "Here? At Plumage?" I cried.

"I hope so. I can answer for the man and his wife: and you'll have privacy here that you wouldn't get at an inn."

"It's ideal." I heard myself saying. "Simply ideal. We'll be on the spot, yet in hiding. But why— I don't understand."

"If you insist on fighting my battle, the least I can do is to billet you. Don't you agree?"

I turned and looked at her, but though I think she knew it, she did not turn.

"You're very generous." I said. "Twice today I've crossed you, and each time you've—"

"Made it up. "

"Far more than that," said I. "I have my way, and then you— you make me a present."

Slowly she turned till her steady grey eyes met mine.

"What present did I make you this morning?"

"You smiled," I said, "and took me into your car."

Her eyes left mine— to light on the driving mirror, all splintered and starred.

After a long look, they returned to me.

"Was that," she said, nodding, "a present from Annabel?"

"Yes."

Lady Helena Yorick rode up to the farm from the lonely castle.

"And you were driving?"

"I was."

"And you've not had enough?"

I laughed.

"I don't propose to drop in on the brutes again. And you must admit it was the most shocking luck."

"Ill give you that," said the girl. "Tell me exactly what happened. "

When I had told the story, she drew a deep breath.

"If you'd knocked on that door—" She shivered. "May I look at that letter of yours?"

I took it out of my pocket and put it into her hand.

She examined the envelope carefully. Then :

"Have you looked inside," she said, "since you got it back?"

I raised my eyebrows.

"As a matter of fact. I haven't. I never gave it a thought."

She pushed aside the torn edges and drew out the shoemaker's bill. The note on its back was printed and easy to read.

Dear Mr. Spencer,

The gentleman in green had done something which he must have known I should not like. That is why he was being buried. Verbum sap.

Yours very truly
.

We read the words together, her face two inches from mine. Then we turned and looked at each other. But I had no thought for the note. Her hair had stung my temples, and I could only wonder whether she knew how terribly attractive she was.

For a moment she sat very still, with her eyes on the glowing landscape, and her underlip caught in her teeth. So for a long moment. And then she was up and was pushing her hair from her temples as though to be rid of her thoughts.

"Come. Let's talk to your cousin and then we can look at your rooms."

Over her shoulder she threw me a dazzling smile. "To tell you the truth they're ready. If you insisted on staying, I hoped you'd stay here."