Fool Errant (29 page)

Her heart was beating so fast when she stopped that she couldn't hear anything else, and the more she strained to listen, the less she could hear. From where she stood she could see the fanlight over the hall door. She looked at it, and all at once the door was opened wide.

Antoine had opened it. She could see him with the light shining down on him from the globe immediately over the door. He had opened the door to let someone in. Loveday saw a man's back, and then she very nearly called out, because just before Antoine shut the door the man turned and she saw his face. And it was Hugo. It was Hugo whose footsteps had frightened her. It was Hugo—and she had missed him.

Albert Green drove on from the level-crossing in a thoroughly pleasant and contented frame of mind. His home was in Ledlington, and as soon as he had dropped Miss Leigh he meant to go round and see his young lady, who lived in the same street. Her name was Maudie Tillett, and she was a very superior young lady. She worked in a milliner's shop, and it was only since Albert had become second chauffeur at Torring House that Miss Tillett had so far condescended as to accept from him a lady's dress ring set with pearls and turquoise.

Albert toyed with the idea of taking Maudie for a spin. Maudie hadn't seen him with the Bentley; and he had a feeling that he would like Maudie see him with the Bentley—Maudie was rather high in her notions. Pleasant thoughts of showing off before Maudie continued to occupy him until he drew up at the gate of Mr. Brown's villa on the outskirts of Ledlington.

He got down, opened the door, and received a severe shock. The rug was on the floor, and Miss Leigh's suitcase was on the seat; but Miss Leigh wasn't anywhere at all. He moved the rug and he moved the suitcase, he walked round the car and returned to the open door and the prospect of a seat occupied only by a suitcase.

When he told Maudie about it a little later, he said he was struck all of a heap. He pushed back his cap and scratched his head. He was not a quick thinker, but when put to it he could “do a bit of thinking.” He told Maudie so. “I dunno where she gave me the slip, and I dunno how she gave me the slip, and if you ask me why she gave me the slip, well, you're asking me something I can't tell you. But I can do a bit of thinking if I like, and the longer I got thinking about it, the clearer I could see that I was going to get into trouble over it. And what I said to myself was, ‘Now why should I get into trouble for the like of her? It's everyone for himself when it comes to a row, and I didn't
ask
her to give me the slip.' So I made up my mind what to do, and I done it, and I'm not telling anyone what I done—only you, Maudie, because I know you're safe, and it stands to reason you wouldn't want to get me into a row.”

“That's right,” said Miss Tillett.

When Albert had finished thinking, he picked up Miss Leigh's suitcase, tiptoed up the steps with it, and deposited it in the porch just outside the hall door. He then went back to the Bentley and drove away to see Maudie. As far as he was concerned, he had taken Miss Leigh to Laburnum Lodge and left her on the front door step. What had happened to her after that was no concern of his.

He took Maudie for a very pleasant spin.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

Loveday was tired and cold. She was tired of the dark, and the damp that dripped from the trees, and she was tired of waiting all alone in the cold whilst Hugo was in a warm scented room with Hélène de Lara. Sometimes she walked up and down, and sometimes she stood still. The time dragged by in slow, dark minutes.

Minstrel and Hacker passed within a yard of her, walking fast—black figures going by without a word, black figures unknown but frightening. She held her breath until they were quite gone, then turned and stared at the door under the fanlight until it opened and the two black figures went in. She recognized Hacker, and guessed at his companion. The door shut again.

They were in there—and Hugo was in there—and she was outside in a horrible dark, cold drive without the least idea of what was happening or of what they were doing to Hugo—they might be doing simply anything. Loveday began to feel quite desperate. She felt she simply must find out what was going on. If she left the drive she risked missing Hugo. But she just had to risk it—she just had to find out what was going on.

She ran along the dark path that led through the shrubbery to the steps under the terrace. The window of Hélène's sitting-room was there just across the terrace, only a few yards away. It was there, but she couldn't see any light. She crossed the gravel and pressed close to the glass. It was all black, thick, opaque; she couldn't see anything. But she could hear. She could hear voices, but they were faint and muffled. That meant that the shutters were closed. She strained with all her might, but the voices were only a blurred murmur that told her nothing.

She could not have said how long she stood there. It seemed a very long time. Sometimes there was no sound at all, and sometimes the sound was so faint that she could hardly be sure of it. And then, all of sudden, there was a real sound, very sharp and clear and most terrifyingly close at hand. It was the click of a key. Someone was opening the shutter. Someone was going to open the door.

Loveday didn't know she was going to run, but she found herself on the other side of the terrace quite close to the steps, with all the breath gone out of her and her heart thumping like mad. The long French window had opened. Light came from it in a beam that died gradually into dusk.

Loveday ran down the steps.

There were two people coming across the terrace. She stepped off the path and took the old black yew-tree for shelter, just as Hugo had done on the night Hélène first brought him to Torring House. It was Hugo and Hélène coming now. She was sure of that even before she heard their voices. She held her breath. What did it mean? Hélène and Hugo! She held her breath. They were there, just at the top of the steps, and she heard Hugo say, “Good-bye,” and heard him stammer over saying it.

Loveday felt something like a little fiery spark—she thought of it like that afterwards when she tried to understand what had happened. There was a little fiery spark. It went off with a flash somewhere in her mind, and everything in her caught fire. Hélène's murmuring voice was like a wind that fanned the flames—Hélène's whispering, heart-broken voice.

Loveday came forward a step. She didn't care now whether they saw her or not. She felt like a blazing fire that everyone could see.

Hugo was coming down. No—he had stopped. Against the lighted window she saw two dark figures that melted into one.

“Hugo—don't go!” Hélène—Hélène said that; and Hugo stammered, “I must.” The two dark figures were one.

The fire in Loveday died with a dreadful suddenness at the sound of a kiss. It died, and she was cold—burnt out and cold.

“Oh, go—go!” said Hélène.

She pushed Hugo away.

Hugo came down the steps, and passed so close to her that she could have easily touched him. She didn't touch him. She stood still.

Hugo went away. He went away down the dark path, under the dark trees. She heard the sound of his feet—and she stopped hearing it—there wasn't any sound at all. Hugo had gone away.

Loveday came out on to the path and looked back at the house. She felt like Lot's wife; she felt like a frozen pillar of salt, frozen tears. She looked back at the house, and she saw Hélène standing on the step of her sitting-room with the light behind her.

Hélène stood there looking after Hugo. And all at once Mr. Hacker came up behind her, and she turned and went in. The door shut, the curtain fell. The house was dark. Loveday was all alone.

She put her hands before her face to shut the darkness out, and just as she did so, something moved close beside her. If her hands hadn't been over her face, she might have screamed before she could stop herself. As it was, her cold fingers pressed her lips and the scream was only a choking gasp.

Something moved, rustled, and scuttered away. A rat, or a rabbit—she didn't know what it was; but she began to run, and as soon as she began to run, panic came over her. She ran without knowing where she was going. Once her coat caught on something. She jerked it free so desperately that the strong stuff tore and the sound of the ripping cloth added to her terror. She bruised her shoulder and her knee before she reached the drive. She ran on not knowing where she was.

Hugo didn't run. He walked at a good brisk pace, because he had to get to Ledlington, find Loveday, and get away to town with the plans. When, he heard the sound of someone running behind him, he stopped to listen, and before he knew what was happening Loveday ran into him in the dark and nearly knocked him down. She was running blindly with her hands out before her. They struck his arm, and she came sobbing and choking against his shoulder.

He knew it was Loveday almost before he knew that it was going to be anyone at all; he heard her sob before she touched him. And then, in a second, she was in his arms and he was saying her name:

“Loveday! Loveday!”

Loveday's panic was so great that it could hardly be greater; yet when her groping hands touched a man's arm she came to the nightmare point where a dream
must
break because we can bear no more. Her dream broke when Hugo's voice said “Loveday!” and his arms tame round her close and safe. She dropped her head upon his shoulder and stayed there, neither breathing nor thinking.

“Loveday! What is it? Loveday—darling!”

Loveday drew breath again, but she did not lift her head.

“What is it? Have they hurt you?”

Loveday drew away.

“I've got the plans!” she said.

CHAPTER XXXIX

They caught a train at Meade Halt—caught it by the skin of their teeth, running for it as they had run for Loveday's train on the night of their first meeting.

When the train left the station, Loveday sat back in her corner and shut her eyes. She didn't want to talk and she didn't want to think, and she didn't want Hugo to touch her. They hadn't really talked at all; because you can't talk when you're running. She had given Hugo the plans and said, now she would go back to Ledlington. And Hugo had said, how could she go back to Ledlington all by herself in the middle of the night?

Loveday was miserably aware that if she had had any proper pride she would have insisted on going back to Ledlington. Nine o'clock isn't the middle of the night really; and even if it were, a girl with any proper pride would rather walk seven miles by herself along a lonely country road than run away to London with someone who didn't love her, or he wouldn't have kissed other people.

Loveday despised herself dreadfully for not having any proper pride. She felt she would rather die than go along that dark road again with things rustling in the hedges and strange, crying sounds coming suddenly out of the dark cloudy air. She was passionately glad to be in a lighted railway carriage with Hugo; but she wouldn't speak to him, and she certainly wouldn't let him kiss her.

Hugo felt dreadfully damped, because he wanted very much to kiss Loveday and to tell her how clever she was, and all about Treneath and his uncle's will being found. And then he called himself a perfect beast, because of course she was most frightfully tired and it was much better for her to go to sleep—only he didn't see why she couldn't have gone to sleep with her head on his shoulder.

At the next station a fat man in a large overcoat got in, and did a cross-word puzzle all the way up to town.

The clock on Mr. Smith's mantelpiece struck eleven.

“Well,” said Mr. Smith, “we shall see what we shall see.” He addressed a stout, round, plump-faced gentleman, who gazed at him with some asperity and replied,

“That's all very well.”

“We shall see what we shall see,” repeated Mr. Smith. “To which I would add the cheering phrases, ‘Don't be down-hearted,' and ‘Never say die.'”

The short stout gentleman snorted. “That's all very well!”

“You repeat yourself, my dear Green,” said Mr. Smith.

Mr. Green snorted again.

“If what you say is true, that man Minstrel's assurance is past belief.”

“Nothing is past belief,” said Mr. Smith placidly.

“I tell you,” said the indignant Mr. Green, “I tell you, he browbeat me—he positively browbeat me. He said if we hadn't worried him out of his life, he'd never have sent the papers off by this young fellow-me-lad of a secretary—said it was my fault if they were lost—
my fault!
Personally, I believe the man's out of his mind. He raved up and down my room like—like a hyena, and he told me he'd driven at seventy miles an hour to get here. I tell you I think he's mad.”

“There's a little method in his madness,” said Mr. Smith dryly.

“He's a most unpleasant fellow to deal with—offensive—downright offensive. He seemed to think I was a policeman—a
policeman!
Seemed to think it was my job to go dashing round the country arresting his damned secretary! Told me in the most offensive terms that it was my job! Mad, I say! Anyhow the plans are gone!”

The door opened. Mr. Smith's confidential servant approached him.

“Someone to see you, sir.”

He laid a strip of paper on the arm of his master's chair. Mr. Smith took it and got up.

“The dining-room, Walters.” Then, as the man withdrew, “Will you wait a minute, Green? I think—no, I won't tell you what I think. Converse with Ananias until I return.”

Ananias cocked a cold eye at the guest as Mr. Smith went out. When the door had closed, he sidled to the end of his perch, once more regarded Mr. Green with distaste, and then in a very ostentatious manner turned his back.

Mr. Smith went into the dining-room, and found two young people where he had only expected to find one. Mr. Hugo Ross was on one side of the room, and Miss Loveday Leigh on the other. Mr. Hugo Ross was flushed, and Miss Loveday Leigh was pale—Miss Loveday Leigh was very pale indeed. Hugo was the nearest to him.