So Disdained (24 page)

I stayed up there for half an hour, but there was very little that I could do. I tore the map out of the
Encyclopædia
and folded it carefully, and I tore out three pages from the "Maps of Europe". Those three are still missing, and one can see the pruned edges in the volumes; I replaced that volume of the
Encyclopædia
, but the others were irreplaceable. And then, having done what I could to lay my amateurish course, I went back to my house.

In the sitting-room the fire had burnt up well, and was throwing great flickering shadows upon the walls and ceiling. I lit the reading-lamp by the piano and busied myself for a time in minor preparations for the flight. I had an old automatic pistol with a few clips of cartridges that I used to carry in the war in case of fire. I got out this thing, saw that the mechanism still worked freely, and slipped it into my pocket. Then I set to looking out warm clothing.

By a quarter to twelve all that was done. There was nothing for it now but to go to bed till Kitter came to call me.

I stood in the middle of the room, and stared around. Lenden would be in the train on his way south from Paris by now, getting on towards Dijon. I could picture him huddled in the corner of a French second-class carriage, nursing his new-found patriotism and the image of his wife, awake and dark-eyed in the night. I could see him in the long pauses of the train in the stations, his long hair ruffled and falling down upon his forehead, rubbing the dew from the window to try and find out how far he had gone upon his way, while the train went "Whew . . ." and a little horn sounded from the rear. I wondered if he was armed. I wondered what story he was going to tell at the Casa Alba.

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I moved over to the piano and sat down, wondering impersonally whether I should live to see him again.

I sat there for a little time before the piano, thinking about the work I'd done in Sussex since the war, and the small noises from the fire made me company, so that I was not quite alone. And then, after a time, I stirred a little on the stool and began to play.

I cannot remember what I played that night. There was almost certainly a strong vein of Chopin, and I dare say I played a little Grieg, because I was in that mood. I may have gone on playing for twenty minutes or so. And then, in a pause, I dropped my hands sharply from the keys and swung round on my seat. There was somebody coming in by my front door.

Long before she came in sight I knew that it was Sheila. She came and stood in the open doorway of my room, and I smiled at her from the music-stool.

"Good evening," I said. "I hope I didn't wake you up by my playing?"

She shook her head. "I wasn't asleep," she said. "I heard you playing, and so I came over."

She moved closer to the fire, and crouched down before it. She had only a coat on over her pyjamas, and bedroom slippers on her bare feet; she had, in some queer way that I am not competent to describe, the appearance of having slept in her hair, and being only recently awake. And because she hadn't got the proper quantity of clothes on, I didn't go over to her, because I was afraid of making her feel awkward, and so we sat at opposite ends of the room, she crouched down before the fire and I on my music-stool. And for a little while we sat like that in silence.

And then she said—"Peter!"—and I went over to her by the fire, and drew up a chair near her.

"Where have you been?" she asked. "I've been trying to find you all evening, but nobody knew where you were."

She paused for a minute, and then she said: "We've made a frightful bloomer over this thing, Peter."

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I nodded. "It was a mistake not to tell him that I'd exposed those plates. But it didn't seem like that at the time, did it?"

She shook her head. "I thought it was the best way then, doing it like you did."

"What's happened to his wife?"

"She's asleep—I think. I put her to bed quite early—about half-past nine. She's quite happy about it now. She thinks he's doing a perfectly splendid thing. Heroic. She's most awfully proud about it all."

I grinned, but there was very little laughter in me at that time. "That's what it is," I said mechanically. "Heroic."

She twisted round and looked up at me puzzled. "It seems so funny," she said. "I didn't know that heroes were like that."

"Nobody ever does," I said.

There was a little silence then, and we sat together there before the fire in the dim light of my room. I had a vague feeling that she oughtn't to be there at all at that time of night, especially in her pyjamas, and that instead of sitting there with my hand upon her shoulder I ought to be packing her off back to the mansion and to bed with a few delicate, well-chosen words. Instead, I did nothing about it, and we sat there till she turned to me again.

"Where do you suppose he is now?"

"In the train," I replied. "Round about Dijon or Macon, or somewhere down that line. So far as I can see, he must be going out by Ventimiglia. That means going through Marseilles; he gets there about nine o'clock to-morrow morning, as I reckon it."

She stared up at me pleadingly. "Isn't there any possible way of getting at him to tell him? What was that you said about going after him to catch him up? Wasn't it any good?"

I didn't want much to tell her about that. I had meant to slip off in the early dawn before she was about and so prevent an explanation, but there was nothing for it now. "I think it may work all right," I said, and smiled down upon her. "Anyway, it's worth trying."

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She twisted round upon the floor and stared up into my face. "What is it? You can't catch him now?"

I hesitated for a moment, and leaned forward and chucked a bit more coal on the fire. "There's only one way of doing it, so far as I can see," I said. "That's by air. His aeroplane's still out there on the down."

"Oh . . ." she said softly. "Do you mean you're going to fly it out there after him?"

Beneath my hand her hair was very soft. Like spun silk. "Why yes," I said simply. "That's the big idea. I've been out there all evening with Kitter, and with Saven from the Red Bear, getting the machine ready. I'm pushing off in her at dawn."

I paused. "According to my reckoning, that'll get me out there just before noon, or about noon. She'll go all the way without a stop, that machine. The real trouble will be at the other end, I'm afraid—after I've landed. I haven't got any papers for myself or for the machine. The machine hasn't got any registration letters. I haven't even got a passport. That means they'll jug me for a cert in Italy, if they can get hold of me. After I've landed I've got to keep out of the way of everybody, and yet get into touch with Lenden before he reaches this house—the Casa Alba. That's the real difficulty."

She eyed me seriously. "It's a ripping scheme, Peter," she said. "If there's anyone can make it work, it's you."

"It's a fifty per cent chance," I replied. "I don't put it higher than that."

"What are you going to do when you've landed?" she inquired.

I left her for the moment, got up and fetched my maps from the table, and came back and sat down as I had been before. She knelt up before the fire and leaned against my knee to see the maps. I spread out the large-scale one of that district and showed her the main features of the land.

"You see this hill behind Lanaldo," I said. "Monte Verde, it's called here. It looks to be all woody, and I think these little squiggles mean it's pine trees. I'm going to put the machine
[Pg 170]
down up there—it's about three miles from Lanaldo and looks to be pretty desolate. Then I'm going to work down through the woods—down here—across that little col and down that sort of ravine till I get out on to the main road—there. It looks as if there might be pretty good cover all the way. When I get to the road, I shall have to wait there in a sort of ambush. If he comes by Ventimiglia he's got to get to the house by that road, and I suppose he'll be in a car. I should be able to stop him there."

I didn't tell her the rest of the plan—which was simply that I was going to wait there upon the road till five o'clock. If by that time I had not succeeded in intercepting him, then I should have to assume that he had passed, and the only thing to do would be to go up quietly through the woods and see what was going on at the White House. I didn't know what that might lead to, but it was with that in mind that I had resurrected my old automatic. I hoped to God that the cartridges were still all right.

She leaned across my knee, pulling the map towards her and studying it with brows wrinkled in a frown. "Peter, I don't see where you're going to land on Monte Verde from this map," she said slowly. "I thought aeroplanes needed a great big open space for landing. It doesn't look as if you'd find anything like that there."

Girls in these days know too much. I didn't quite know what to say to that.

"They don't need so much room as all that," I said uncomfortably. "Not the way I'm going to land this one."

She looked up very quickly at that. "Do you mean you can't land it properly out there?" she asked. "I don't understand."

I smiled at her in what I hoped was a reassuring way, though if anyone needed reassuring it was me. "There's two ways of landing an aeroplane," I explained. "One so that you can use it again afterwards, and one so that you can't. The second one is quite a good way, if you don't happen to want the aeroplane particularly."

She was about to say something, but I stopped her. "In a
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place like that," I said, "it's pretty certain that there'll be clearings. If there's a really flat, eligible bit of greensward, I shall put her down the first way, because I don't like waste. But if there isn't anything like that, then I shall put her down on the tree-tops. In the war, I always used to look for two things when I had the wind up or engine failure. A good big field, or, failing that, a wood. Trees are soft, you know."

She was staring up at me intently; beneath my hand her shoulder was very still. "You mean you're going to crash?"

I laughed at her. "That's a hard word to use," I replied. "I'm going to put her down on the tree-tops. Nobody ever got hurt doing that."

She was still staring up into my face. "Peter," she said. "Don't go and get hurt."

I shook my head. "All right," I said, and smiled a little. "I'll be careful about that."

She wasn't satisfied at all, but she looked down and began playing with the poker in the ashes of the hearth. "Must it be done like that?" she asked. "Isn't there any place where you could land ordinarily?"

I shook my head. "You see, it means being arrested if I put down on an aerodrome with that machine. At one time I did think of going to London and chartering a machine from Imperial Airways. But I haven't got a passport, and it'd mean spending all the morning getting one. No, this way'll be all right."

A new idea struck her. "Is this a very big machine? Very powerful?"

"Bit of a lump," I said.

She twisted round again to look at me. "Peter, when did you fly last? Are you in practice?"

I shifted a little uneasily in my chair, and because she was leaning up against my knee she noticed it. "One doesn't lose practice in a thing like that," I lied. "That'll be all right."

"D'you mean you haven't flown at all since the war?"

"Not very much," I said.

I had done it by saying that. She slipped round and stood
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erect, pulling her clothes a little more closely about her. I got up too, and we stood looking at each other before the fire. "You can't do this, Peter," she said. "It's a most frightful risk you're taking. I won't have it."

I smiled at her. "I'm afraid you don't come into it," I said.

"Peter. You simply mustn't. Please . . . Peter." She stood there before me, flushed and dishevelled, and very sweet. If there had been less at stake between us at that moment, I would have been no gentleman and kissed her. But I didn't do that, and so I only stood there grinning at her. And when she saw me grinning at her like that she gave up, and there were tears in her eyes when she spoke again.

"Peter dear," she said unsteadily. "You mustn't do it. Really. It's frightfully dangerous."

I took one of her hands in mine. She has very small hands, not half the size of my own. I had never had the chance to examine one of them before. "But I must," I said.

She looked at me dumbly for a moment. "I don't see why."

I stood there with her in the glow of the fire, playing with her hand and wondering at the littleness of it. "Because I've got to live with myself," I said. "You can't shirk that. And because I'd like to see Lenden have another cut at living with his wife again. That's all."

And we stood there silent like that for a long time. In the end she looked up at me. "You really mean it, Peter?"

"I'm afraid so," I replied. "I don't see that there's any other way of getting in touch with him in time. If there was any other way, I'd take it. God knows I don't want to fly the ruddy thing."

I was still examining her fingers; she had made no movement to regain her hand. "When must you start?" she asked.

"At dawn," I said. "Kitter will be coming to call me soon after four. He's getting the machine filled up with petrol now—with Saven."

She looked up at me anxiously, and tried to withdraw her hand. But I didn't allow that. "You must get to bed," she said softly. "At once."

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I nodded slowly. "I know I must," I said. "And so must you. You oughtn't to have come over, really."

In all the years that I have known Sheila she has never been quite repressible. There was a glint of humour in her eyes when she looked up, like a spot of sunlight in a puddle of rain. "I suppose not," she said. "But then you oughtn't to be holding my hand like this, in the middle of the night."

I slipped my arm round her and drew her a little closer to me. "In regard to that," I said, "I suppose no gentleman would take advantage of you so far as to tell you that he loved you, in the middle of the night and when you've only got about half the proper complement of clothes on."