Valerie French (1923) (25 page)

Anthony knew that he was a most fortunate man ... most fortunate ... blessed.... And yet— what had he of Valerie that Toby Redruth might not have had, had he but stayed in Egypt? Her love, indubitably. For him, the easy friendliness crept closer, the quiet understanding beat more tenderly than for other men. He had his lady's love— a jewel fit for a god's treasury. The trouble was that Anthony was not a god....

Man is a hunter, first of all.

The friendliness glowed like a fire on a snowy night. The hunter warmed himself luxuriously.

The understanding was straight out of heaven The hunter doffed his cap and thanked God.

But the wild thing was yet in the forest, shy, spirited, waiting.... A distant, yearning look slid into the hunter's eyes.

With a sigh, the man turned from the pageant and, after looking listlessly about the room, took his pipe from his mouth and frowned upon the bowl.

Then he sat down at a table and, taking up a letter, proceeded to read it over, before he answered it.

45 Kensington Palace Gardens, W.

DEAR LYVEDEN,

I am obliged for your letter, addressed to me from Rome. I think it improbable that I shall visit that city. The relics of an admirable efficiency, lying beside those of the vile immoderation which eventually broke its back, must be a melancholy spectacle. In this connection, I was not engaged by your somewhat sickly rhapsody upon the Coliseum, which, after all, was nothing but an abattoir capable of accommodating several frightened brutes and some eighty thousand idle ones.

Which makes me conscious of a beam in my eye.

I do not work as I did. I have tasted the blood of leisure. Besides, Lady Touchstone makes lawful demands upon my time— demands which I delight to respect. Consequently, I now go to Chambers but five days in the week, and no work is sent to the house.

Our marriage will be solemnized towards the end of next month, when we shall leave for the South of France— a movement which I regard with some uneasiness. Except for a visit, paid many years ago, to Boulogne, I have never before left Great Britain, but the memories of that hideous excursion still provoke my indignation. I found the French, if possible, more brainless than my own countrymen. Almost as soon as I had landed, I had the maddening privilege of watching my portmanteau, first, so placed in a luggage-net that it must inevitably fall out, and, then, fall out into the strip of water separating the ship from the quay. By way of consolation, it was presently explained to me that this was a frequent occurrence. My letter reserving rooms at the hotel had been ignored, and, since the town was inexplicably crowded, I had the greatest difficulty in procuring a lodging. I was continually embarrassed by the unaccountable inability of such of the inhabitants as I was compelled to address, to comprehend their own tongue, while the imbecility, vanity and indecency of the manners and customs, to which I was expected to subscribe, made my gorge rise. Lady Touchstone, however, assures me that all this is changed, and that Nice is a pleasant place, where English is freely spoken and English habits have superseded French practices.

On our return to England, we shall reside here for a while. I have asked Lady Touchstone to indicate what alterations she desires, but, except for the decoration of her rooms, she will hear of none being made. She will bring two bed-women, and the other servants will remain.

The dog is in excellent health.

It is right that you should know that a few days ago he was seized with a sudden sickness in the library. I regret to say that the manners of the first veterinary surgeon who arrived left much to be desired. I therefore ordered his removal and sent for another. The second at least condescended to sell me such skill as he possessed. The dog's temperature was taken and found to be normal, when the surgeon declared that his seizure was probably due to a passing indigestion, due in its turn to eating too fast. The fact that he has appeared perfectly well ever since corroborates this diagnosis. However, I have arranged for the man to call every morning, until further notice, to see that the dog is in health, for, as you know, my opinion regarding his physical condition is of no value.

He is bathed once a week under my supervision. I fear he dislikes this, for his demeanour is dejected and he frequently attempts to leave the bath during the operation. Upon being lifted out, however, his spirits immediately revive and, by the time he has been dried, his exuberance is conspicuous.

I shall be glad to see you again. I do very well without you, but I had, I suppose, contracted a habit of reserving for your ears matters which I wished to discuss, and so I notice your absence. Possibly, in the future, if our wives continue to agree, we may conveniently see something of one another.

I heard from Forest yesterday, promising to attend our wedding and speaking highly of you and of his niece. I would do much for that man, who does much to redeem for me the painful impression created by certain other divines.

I hope that you are well and do not regret what you have done. There is nothing which I can usefully say of your predicament, so I shall hold my peace. Lady Touchstone and I speak frequently of you both and wish you very well.

Should you write to me from Egypt, I beg that you will not dilate upon the Pyramids, which, though commonly accounted one of the wonders of the world, only commemorate the blockish mentality of the scene-shifters who ordered their construction. They are not decorative and serve no purpose. Their erection certainly entailed more labour, blood and tears than any building that ever was set up: and they are probably the most idiotically useless things that ever cumbered the earth.

Give my regards to Mrs. Lyveden.

Faithfully yours,

ANDREW PLAGUE.

Lyveden picked up a pen and made ready to write.

His thoughts, however, were mutinous.

After a minute or two, he rose and crossed to the window, to knock out his pipe.

As he leaned over the sill, Valerie passed out of the hotel— a delicate, dark-haired ghost, silent, fleeting.

For an instant the man stood still, taken and held by surprise. The next moment, he was fighting his way into a pair of tennis-shoes....

That Valerie should be abroad, unattended, by night, was not to be thought of. Plainly, she wished to be alone. He would respect her desire. She should go and do as she pleased. But, though she should not know it, the squire would be within call. It was his job.

In a flash, he was downstairs and out in the sable road.

There he stood, hatless, peering into the shadows, straining his eyes and ears, to know which way she had gone.

The sons of Nature seemed to have conspired to thwart his senses. The silence, which she had shaken, lay still as death. The jewellery of heaven was shedding a lesser light. A wandering breeze lisped, to smother her footfalls.

Then, fifty paces away, something flickered against the black of the way ... something ...

A moment later, Lyveden was following a pale figure, steadily flitting into the wilderness.

That the figure was that of an Egyptian, and not that of his wife, rather naturally never entered his head. Both were dark-headed, grey-clad, spectral. But this was of no consequence. The Egyptian was following the lady.

The three proceeded Sphinxward, Valerie setting the pace— blind leading the blind....

The girl was curiously excited. Mystery was in the air. She was persuaded that, naturally or unnaturally, in the presence of the Sphinx the field of her intelligence expanded and its focus became more sharp.

It is probable that her persuasion was sound. There was, to my mind, no mystery. Plainly, the monument inspired her. Her identification of the dead the night before was an inspiration.

It was, however, most natural that the girl should smell magic. Others, wiser than she, have done so, with less excuse. Darkness, silence, the wilderness, tradition, an age so old as passeth all understanding— if such a pasture will not draw Magic, then will no pasture. Be that as it may, the magic she smelled made her the more receptive. By the time she had sighted the Sphinx, Valerie was quite prepared to be among the prophets.

The Egyptian's emotions were at once less fine and more hazy.

Perceiving a white woman passing alone into desert places, he had followed her of instinct. Here was something superior to and feebler than himself, an opportunity to overpower which with impunity was being offered him. Not to avail himself of such an invitation would have been indecent. His forbears would have turned in their graves. He had no intent, save violence; no plan of action, save surprise. Instinct was his conductor, and brutal instinct would tell him what to do.

The beast was evil and would have been hanged long ago, but for the love he bore his own skin— an inconvenient affection, which had spoiled more sport than he could remember. To-night, however, he could junket without a qualm. Retribution was asleep. The mists of insult, robbery, murder wreathed themselves glittering before his protruding eyes. Gliding behind his quarry, he began to feel extraordinarily brave. It was only with an effort that he mastered an inclination to expectorate contemptuously.

Anthony went thoughtfully, his eyes riveted upon the splash of grey ahead. He was sure, of course, that Valerie was for the Sphinx. He feared that she was unhappy ... was sleeping ill. He wondered if she had ever gone out by night before, decided that she probably had, sweated to think of the perils she had invited. The reflection that now all danger was overpast, he found most comfortable. The thought that she would never be aware of his vigilance, that night after night, perhaps, she would go forth, unconscious alike of peril and wardship, that his darling would be under his government, though his darling would never know, gave him an exhilarating sense of seigniory— a feeling not to be found in the prescribed equipment of squires. He kept his distance carefully, with a grateful heart.

That upon her beholding the Sphinx and presently contemplating the monster as dispassionately as she could, nothing, which could, by any stretch of imagination, be construed as a revelation was vouchsafed to Valerie, is not surprising. Divers commonplace thoughts wandered casually into her head— to be pounced upon, sifted and scrutinized in vain. Here was no gold. Presently, naturally enough, she thought of what had happened the night before— as luck would have it, a fatal exercise. Her mind fell upon the memory and refused to let go. She hauled it away and drove it elsewhither. Always, it eluded her goad and came pelting back. To see what would happen, she allowed it to have its way. It swallowed the memory whole, and then settled comfortably down to chew the cud....

A feeling of disappointment began to edge its way into Valerie's heart. Apparently, the oracle was not to work to-night. After all, it could not be expected to function regularly. Still, she had hoped— felt...

She did not know what she had hoped. There was no communication which she at all desired. That which had been made her the night before, she did not especially value. It was, after all, of no use. Still...

She had a ridiculous feeling that the Sphinx was interested. To-morrow, perhaps...

Valerie rose to her feet.

The moon would be rising soon. Very soon, the gentle fuller of the firmament would be about her business. Any moment now, her exquisite craft would come stealing over the desert, slashing Night's doublet with silver, furbishing a dull world.

Her thoughts slid back to a night a year ago, when she had stood, as now, looking upon a landscape which was smiling in its sleep: on the terrace ... at home ... at Bell Hammer ... with Anthony at her side.... And he had wrapped his love in a fairy tale— a tale of a frog and a princess. The princess had kissed the frog, because— 'because it pleased her to kiss him,' and— nothing had happened. The frog had loved her so much and had hoped so very hard, and then— nothing had happened. Poor frog....

With a sigh, the girl turned, to meet the Egyptian face to face.

She started violently, and then stood still as death.

The look in the creature's eyes told her her hour was come. There was no hope.

In a flash, her folly stood out in all its nakedness.

She must have been out of her mind to leave the hotel. Even in England, it would have been unwise. In Egypt ... She must have been mad ... bewitched. Her wretched, idiot fancy that the Sphinx had power to—
Power
? My God!
This was its power ... this
...

How clear it was, now. How simple. 'Those whom the gods will destroy, they first send mad.' She had asked to be shown the mystery, and her prayer had been heard. She had sat at the feet of the Sphinx, and the Sphinx had shown her the way to dig her own grave. She had thought herself so clever, because she had found its secret— counted herself one of the elect, because she had felt its spell ... and, all the time, the Sphinx was luring her on ... all the time she was strutting up to her doom.

And, now, the comedy was over— all but the last short scene. And Anthony, in whose presence every hair of her head was safe, was sleeping peacefully ... with a happy look on his face....

She wondered dully whether the Sphinx ever smiled.

Surely, if ever it did, it was smiling now ... leering and staring, as this thing before her was leering and staring horribly ... gloating ... with a trickle of spittle running down over its chin.

Valerie felt very sick, suddenly.

The Egyptian began to mow and gibber in an ecstasy of hate.... A filthy breath beat upon her face... Instinctively, the girl shrank. Instantly, a hand like a clumsy claw fell shaking upon her shoulder....

It was at this moment that Anthony took her assailant by the throat.

To be exact, he took him by the sides of the neck, standing directly behind him, with his thumbs braced against his backbone and his powerful fingers pressing upon his windpipe. For a first attempt at garroting, it was extremely good.