She Fell Among Thieves (3 page)

His luck was clean out. Before I could make any answer –

‘How d’you do, Mr Chandos,’ said a voice. ‘My mother was telling us about you and how you nearly killed Wright. I see you’ve made friends with Gaston. My name is Virginia Brooch.’

We shook hands easily, while Gaston strolled on to the terrace, perhaps to seek the composure I hope he found.

The girl had very fair hair, and her close-set eyes were blue. Her features were clean and she was not unattractive, but her manner was inclined to be hearty, not to say rough. For her age she was too well-covered – soon to be fat.

Whilst we were talking together, the secretary and chaplain appeared. These I had met at tea. My hostess had dubbed them fools, and I must confess that the looks and the demeanour of the priest argued a vacant mind. The secretary might have been wise, but his manner was so subdued as to offer no clue. His name was Acorn and that of the priest was Below.

As Gaston returned from the terrace, Vanity Fair came floating into the room. And with her came light. As though some switch had been turned, her blazing personality lit up the atmosphere. Her laughter, her dulcet voice, the flash of her ready wit took hold of the listless scene and fairly shook it into a lively masque. Father Below was grinning. Acorn grew almost gay; Gaston recovered his balance and Virginia began to shout. For myself, I frankly confess I was carried away. I enjoyed the masque very much – and entirely failed to perceive that it was not a masque at all, but a puppet-show. Vanity Fair was as finished a puppet-mistress, as ever was born.

Dinner was served – in a room such as I had heard of, but never seen. The floor was of marble, in the midst of which a lovely refectory table stood on a precious rug. The walls were hung with Gobelin tapestry and a little fountain was dancing in the fireplace of chiselled stone. Four glorious chandeliers were shedding candlelight, and the chairs were no chairs, but stalls – that had come out of some cathedral and had been built and carved to the glory of God. Music was being discoursed by a hidden orchestra, footmen were standing like statues against the walls, but, as was proper, the eye was most held by the board, the polish of which was so high that the sparkle of glass and silver was matched by the flash of the oak.

Here I may say that the chandeliers were all of solid silver and had hung in a palace in Moscow until they came to Jezreel: that more than six hundred candles went to the lighting of that room: that the servants were shod with rubber, so that they made no sound: that the band which was making the music was sitting up in a loft which the tapestry hid.

As the fish appeared –

‘Tell me,’ said Vanity Fair, ‘what does anyone think of my chauffeur – the new man, Wright?’

Her words seemed to fill up my cup. Talk of doing business with pleasure…

‘I can’t say I like him,’ said Gaston, taking a trout.

‘You wouldn’t,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘He doesn’t use scent.’

There was a dreadful silence which I very nearly disgraced.

Then –

‘I should say he was a gentleman,’ said Virginia. ‘He’s very polite. What do you think, Mr Chandos?’

‘There’s no doubt about it,’ said I. ‘But times are hard, you know, and a chauffeur’s job is better than walking the streets.’

‘I do not agree,’ said Gaston. ‘I would rather walk the streets than accept a servant’s post.’

‘We were talking of gentlemen,’ said Vanity Fair.

Had I been the Count, I should have left the table and then the house: but Gaston only looked very black and drained his glass.

I began to feel rather dazed…two bombs in one minute are apt to shake a man up…not bricks – bombs…

My hostess turned to Acorn.

‘And what do you think?’

‘My opinion is valueless, madam.’

‘True,’ said Vanity Fair, and turned to the priest.

The chaplain blew out his cheeks.

‘The man is expert,’ he said. ‘He mended my braces admirably.’

Before we could laugh –

‘That’s really why I engaged him,’ flashed Vanity Fair. ‘And I very much want him to look at your spinal cord. I know that’s out of alignment. Bent at birth, I should say. Have some more trout, Mr Chandos. I’m going to take another and miss the meat.’

The meal proceeded.

Hare after hare was started by Vanity Fair, and though I was spared, the efforts of the others to course it were derided with merciless wit. She simply dug the pit-falls and then kicked her victims in, omitting no circumstances of insult, yet all the time displaying the utmost good will. It was an extraordinary business. Here was a queen usurping the functions of court-jester, and doing his job far better because her wit was so rare. In a way it was rather shameful, because, except for Gaston, her victims could hardly hit back, but with it all, she was gracious, and, though bad form is offensive, she never once offended my eyes or ears.

Presently she returned to Mansel.

‘I pay Wright five pounds a week. Does anyone think he’s worth it?’

‘Jean doesn’t like him,’ said Gaston.

‘That’s in his favour. Jean is a lazy fool, who would be a knave. His efforts to rob me are really beneath contempt. Anything else?’

‘He minds his own business,’ said Virginia.

‘Which shows that you don’t,’ said her mother. ‘How do you know?’

‘From Suzanne,’ said the girl. ‘He never opens his mouth in the servants’ hall.’

‘He can’t talk French,’ said Gaston.

‘What of that?’ said Vanity Fair. ‘More than one of the staff can speak English. I don’t suppose he’s ashamed of his mother tongue.’

‘I’m not,’ cried Gaston, furiously.

‘Then why be so painfully English?’ said Vanity Fair. ‘Anywhere outside Paris they’d know you were French.’ She turned to me. ‘Would you be content to speak French as he speaks English?’

‘I should be very thankful,’ said I.

This was true. His grammar was very sound.

‘I said “content”, Mr Chandos,’ said Vanity Fair.

‘Yes,’ I said stoutly, ‘I would.’

‘Liar,’ says she. ‘And don’t try to save his face. He knows how to do it a great deal better than you. Where did you see Wright last?’

The shock could not have been greater, if she had picked up a hammer and hit me between the eyes.

I seemed to hear Mansel speaking.

Both our lives may depend on your never having seen him before.

It was too late now. She had a sow by the ear. Unless I could make it the wrong one…

My brain was out of action, but instinct caught up the reins.

I heard myself make answer.

‘At a village in Wales. I’ve been trying to remember ever since I saw his face: and now you’ve jogged my memory.’ I put a hand to my eyes. ‘I stopped there one evening for petrol and he was standing close to the petrol-pump. I remember he helped the mechanic to get the top off my tank.’

‘Was your servant with you?’

I shook my head.

‘I was alone,’ I said. ‘It must be two years ago.’

‘What was the name of the village?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said I. ‘I was going north from Brecknock.’

‘Was he a chauffeur then?’

I opened my eyes.

‘Certainly,’ said I. ‘He was wearing a chauffeur’s clothes. I don’t remember any car.’

‘Did Wright know you?’

‘No,’ said I. ‘I asked him. I told him I was certain I’d seen him before. But he didn’t seem to know me. I’ll try him again tomorrow.’

‘Don’t do that. Let him be.’

‘As you please,’ said I. ‘But how on earth did you guess that I’d seen him before?’

Vanity Fair vouchsafed me a dazzling smile.

‘There are more things in Jezreel, Mr Chandos, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’

If I laughed, it was not in my heart. Indeed, I was at my wit’s end, for I knew as well as did she that the instant dinner was over,
Vanity Fair was going to send for Mansel to check the truth of my words
. Unless, before he was summoned, Mansel could be apprised of what I had said, Vanity Fair was going to catch him clean out.

As a man in a dream, I helped myself to some dish.

Mansel would have saved the game somehow, but I was beaten and hopeless and could only dwell upon the ruin which I had wrought.

And then a merciful Fate played into my hands.

As a servant made to offer me gravy, Virginia bounced in her stall and touched his arm. The boat slipped off the salver and into my lap.

The confusion that followed was hideous.

The unfortunate servant was trembling: Virginia screamed her dismay: the butler came running with napkins: and Vanity Fair sat glowering in a silence far more scathing than any words.

‘It was nobody’s fault,’ said I: ‘but if you’ll excuse me, I think I must go and change.’

With my thighs still smoking, I hurried out of the room…

Bell, as luck would have it, was in my suite.

As I tore off my clothes –

‘Run some water,’ I said, ‘and lay out clean things.’

Then I seized a pencil and paper and scrawled a note, reciting exactly the tale I had told to Vanity Fair.

Bell was ready and waiting before I had done.

As I folded the paper –

‘Find Captain Mansel at once. Ask him for a gallon of petrol in which you can souse my clothes. And give him this note: it’s vital: and he’s to read it at once.’

Though I made what haste I could, Bell was back with the spirit before I had done.

‘All right?’ said I.

‘Quite all right, sir.’

I could have thrown up my hat.

Some pudding was being served, as I entered the dining-room…

I found the atmosphere sultry. Virginia was halfway to tears, and Vanity Fair was plainly seething with wrath. But I was exalted. I could, I think, have moved mountains, and after a little Vanity Fair was laughing and Virginia had asked me to use her Christian name.

And then the meal was over, and the ladies rose to their feet.

‘Don’t sit too long,’ said my hostess. ‘My daughter has no use for women: neither have I.’ She turned to the door. As she passed the butler, ‘It may be too late,’ she said, ‘but I want to see Wright.’

Of such, and worse, was the kingdom of Vanity Fair. She despised and mistrusted her fellows: to declare such scorn and suspicion was her delight: in her eyes of steel, tails were made to be twisted and necks, if need be, to be wrung: she was a ruffler born, whose swordsmanship was so brilliant that no one dared call her out: she revelled in intrigue: power was the breath of her life: she was fearless, unconscionable, charming and deadly shrewd: she would go all lengths – for a whim: to herself, as to everyone else, her will was law. The woman was mediaeval – born out of time: and she kept to herself at Jezreel because the days were modern and she could not do as she pleased without her gates. This limitation must have vexed her – Catharine de Medici cooped in a market-town: still even small fry can be hustled and teased and watched: for want of a duchy to harass and towns to sack, Vanity Fair was playing a game of chess – against herself, of course: her household made her the men, and the board was Jezreel. And now, for the very first time, somebody else had taken a hand in the game…

I wondered how long it would be before she found out that she was being opposed. It occurred to me with a shock that she must never find out. If she did…

As I switched out my light, some clock chimed half-past eleven. As though inspired by its music, an owl cried twice.

I lay back on my pillows, thinking.

She must not find out…

She almost
had
found out about three hours ago…

I wondered what Mansel was thinking. I wished he could have been there at dinner, to see for himself how damnably clever she was…the infinite pains she had taken to put me at ease, to appoint me her gossip to dip in the dish of her gibes…and then, without any warning, the point at my throat…

I lay there, wakeful and pensive, savouring the fine, sweet air with which the great chamber was quick. Now and again a wandering breath would flicker about my temples or flirt with the crimson valance above my head; but these were outlaw zephyrs, for all the winds were still. Somewhere without, a sluice was roaring gently, like Bottom’s sucking-dove.

As I turned at length to my slumber, I heard the clock chime again.

A quarter to twelve.

And then I was sitting upright, and every nerve in my body had leapt to life – for again, when the chime was over, some owl had cried twice. And that was not natural.

On my knees at an open window, I studied the night.

The scene was memorable. A fine moon sailed in the sky, to fill the valley with magic and lend the mountains a standing not to be found by day: my eyes were no longer masters of what they saw: Mystery, orbed and sceptred, was holding her shining court, and all things, high and low, were wearing her levée dress: the stage was black with witchcraft: enchantment was in the air.

And something else.

After, perhaps, five minutes, I saw a definite movement…down in the meadows…some seventy yards from the foot of the terrace steps. With my eyes on the spot, I waited, but not for long. Again I saw the movement, nearer the house. Someone was stealthily approaching, passing from shadow to shadow, so as to move unseen.

At the last I saw him plainly, a giant of a man, with the stride of one that spends his life in the mountains and on his feet. Then the wall of the terrace hid him, and I saw his figure no more.

Had I been a guest at Jezreel, and nothing more, I should, I suppose, have gone to seek some servant and tell him what I had seen: it would, of course, have been my duty – to Vanity Fair. But I was more than a guest, and if thieves were to break in and steal, it was no business of mine. What was more, I was very sure that the man I had seen was no thief, but that he had announced his presence – by using the cry of an owl…that he was, in short, one of the pieces upon the board of Jezreel.

For more than an hour I watched, but he never came back: and though I would have waited, the strong air fought against me, and after a while I knew that I could not trust my eyes.

And so I went to my bed – to sleep the sun into the sky.