menu_book Chapter 15

CHAPTER II. Departure of the Senora Tomás. I am not a princess, but an unhappy stranger who intended soon to have left this country. RASALAS. CHAPTER 38. Though on one side Fairhaven, a house of moderate size, bordered directly on the road, a garden stretching to the river surrounded it on all the others,

and it was into this garden, by a side gate, that Hervey, in his anxiety to show himself no loferio, now conducted his guest. In the middle of the lawn was a fine old mulberry tree, and under the mulberry a garden seat constructed out of the timbers of the Halcyon Sleip of War, which had been Lieutenant Barrington's first command. Upon this relic, Hervey invited the Spanish traveller to sit while he summoned his sister, like putting her in quarantine, he thought, as he entered the house from the garden and ran upstairs. A minute later he was down again in the spacious hall, calling, O Mrs. Jeremy, Mrs. Jeremy, and then, receiving no answer, ringing a bell. It was impossible to be more immaculate, more spotlessly and stiffly becapped, more suitably clad in a high-bosomed grey gingham that showed her ample but shapely contours,

than Mrs. Hannah Jeremy, to enter with more of the air of the all-competent but respectful housekeeper, or to drop a slight curtsy of more dignity. How did you ring, sir? I did. Where is Miss Barrington? She has not come yet, sir. Not come? ejaculated her master, with more stupefaction than the news seemed, on the surface, to warrant.

No, sir. Hervey's thoughts went to the garden seat. With no sister forthcoming, as promised, the girl would think he had been lying. As, indeed, he had been, tacitly, when he allowed her to suppose that Lavinia lived with him. How it would look as if he had deliberately entrapped the stranger.

You don't think, surely, Mrs. Jeremy, he said in dismay, that Miss Barrington has changed her mind, and is not coming to-night at all? I couldn't say, sir. We have heard nothing. But it is getting late. I've had to put supper back, for, if you'll excuse the liberty, sir, you are late yourself. Oh, yes, I know that, responded Hervey, his brain busy. There was an accident, the road blocked by a tree, and I had to walk from Cadman's corner.

Of course, there was always Mrs. Jeremy in the house to play propriety. What he disliked was having to confess to what must look like calculated duplicity. As he stood silent, his hand at his chin, wondering how he could get out of this admission, Mrs. Jeremy observed in a voice noticeably prim and frigid. I don't know whether you would wish me to acquaint you with it, sir, but there's a very awkward thing occurred.

How long she's been there, there's no telling, having only just seen her myself, but there's a female, and seemingly a young female, sitting in the garden, sir. And at this hour, too. Hervey made a gesture which appeared to signify that as many females as pleased might sit in his garden all night. Actually, it meant that there was no need to tell him of a fact which he knew already,

but Mrs. Jeremy did not thus interpret it, and she proceeded. How she come there I can't conceive, nor what she's doing, sitting there on the halcyon as bold as brass. I might almost say lying there, saving your presence, sir, for she's put her feet up off of the ground. Had Mrs. Jeremy announced that the stranger had removed the major part of her clothing, her voice would hardly have held more reprobation.

I wish I had told Jeremy to keep an eye on her from the pantry window. What is not necessary, said Hervey, groaning inwardly. Oh, hang La Vinia and her unpunctuality! But he was master in his own house, if sometimes at the cost of effort, and he faced Mrs. Jeremy boldly. The young lady in the garden, Mrs. Jeremy, was left there by me.

She's an unfortunate Spanish girl who has been deserted by her husband, an English officer. She was walking in distoey, like myself, from Cadman's Corner. She's lame from fatigue and too tired to go any farther. So, counting on Miss Barrington's presence here, I offered her hospitality for the night. Here Mrs. Jeremy permitted herself an inarticulate exclamation.

Now I don't know what I'm to do. If Miss Barrington doesn't come at all, I suppose I must hand the poor girl a letter of apology. I shall entirely under your charge. That is to say, if she will now consent to stay here. I think he will find, sir, responded Mrs. Jeremy with unusual tartness,

and that the young person, Spanish, you say, won't raise any difficulties about sleeping in a gentleman's house, whether there's another lady there or no. It's my belief she'll be only too pleased if there's none. "'O nonsense, Mrs. Jeremy,' said Hervey sharply. "'You know nothing whatever about the girl.

She only consented to come when she heard of the existence of my sister. "'O I don't know what excuse I am to make to her for Miss Barrington's absence. You will have to come out into the garden with me, so as to show that there is at least a respectable woman at Fairhaven.' "'Much obliged, sir,' said Mrs. Jeremy, with a movement of the head which approached

perilously near a toss. "'As I said before, being Spanish, impossible to reproduce what Mrs. Jeremy put into this word. "'Her she likely come in the more readily if she don't see a respectable woman. She's sitting there as if a garden belonged to her already.'

Hervey was now really angry. "'O Mrs. Jeremy,' he said sternly, you are forgetting yourself. You ought to be ashamed of such insinuations. "'Now listen. When I have persuaded this poor girl that she need fear nothing under my roof, you will get

the spare bedroom ready for her at once. And I think that as she is tired, and I am alone, the best thing will be for her to have some supper taken up to her there before she retires. Do you understand?' "'You really mean her to sleep the night in this house, sir?'

"'Did you not hear the orders I've just given you, Mrs. Jeremy?' inquired Hervey very quietly, but with an unmistakable quarter-deck inflection. "'Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,' said his housekeeper, quelled and flushing slightly. "'And you wish me to come out with you now to see the young per-lady?' "'Yes, that is to say.

"'Come out on some pretext in a minute or two, after I've explained the situation to her. You can ask me, for instance, at what time I would like supper.' When he got into the garden again, Hervey realized with quite a shock how dark it had grown, and the oddity of leaving a guest, a lady, to sit outside in the more-than-dark. Still, it had been done entirely for her own sake, and fortunately this was a warm evening,

an evening full of the scents of the flowers and the little garden, and of the murmur of the outgoing river. A bat was wheeling over the relic of the Halcyon, but the seat, to Hervey's surprise, was empty. Had the Spaniard taken fright and departed? He searched the gloom, and, describing a shape by the steps which went down to the river, hurried towards it.

The senora was sitting on the low wall. "'This river must be beautiful, if one could see, Signor Capitan,' she observed, as he came up to her. "'You have steps here, a boat, I perceive.' "'Yes,' said Captain Barrington, for he did keep the skiff of a small sailing cutter moored at the foot of the steps, but in the gloom it was quite impossible to see it from where the lady sat,

and it struck him that curiosity must have led her down the steps to investigate.' But he had not come to talk about his surroundings or possessions. "'Madam,' he began uncomfortably, "'I must present my deep apologies. I ought to have made myself clearer on the road just now. My sister does not live with me. She visits me from time to time,

and, though she should be here tonight, the fact remains that she has not yet arrived.' In the silence that ensued, this speech sounded to its maker most unconvincing, and the Spanish girl gave a quick sigh. It was too dark to see her expression, but she surely was not contemplating going on to Stowe, after all, disabled as she was. He would reason with her, plead with her, before he allowed her to do that.

"'But after a moment,' she spoke. "'Señor Capitán,' she said in a low voice, "'it is not possible for me to walk farther, even though the señora, your sister, do not arrive this night. So I throw myself upon your chivalry.' So long as she did not throw herself upon his breast, Hervey was quite content with this

acceptance, though it was a good thing that she had not been able to do so. He was even rather touched by its simple dignity. But then, in the semi-darkness, as he stood before her, he felt his hand seized in both of hers, and, before he knew what she was about, she had sealed her committal to his honor by carrying it towards her lips. Halfway she suddenly seemed to think better of it, and Hervey,

intensely disliking the prospect of having his hand kept away from her, intensely disliking the prospect of having his hand kissed by a woman, deduced with gratitude that he was spared this supreme embarrassment, owing to the opportune arrival of Mrs. Jeremy, with a pre-arranged query, made in her best style. "'At what hour would you wish supper to be served, sir?'

Mrs. Jeremy disappearing the instant they were in the house. Captain Barrington himself was the only person available to show the girl to her room, which, doubting in any case if it were yet ready to receive her, he had no intention of doing. He therefore suggested that she should remove her bonnet in the hall, if she would forgive the lack of ceremony. She assured him in her pretty broken English that there was no need to apologize for the so handsome apartment, but she did not hasten

to comply, and sat down as she was with her dangling veil in an armchair near the hearth, placing her feet in the purgatorial shoes upon the overblown bead roses of a convenient footstool. She did, however, loosen her cloak, and presently it slipped altogether from her shoulders. Hervia thought to see her face more clearly in the glow of the candles which Mrs. Jeremy had already lit, but between the height of the sconces and the poke of the bonnet there was as much shadow

upon it as illumination. He did discern, however, that she was high-coloured for a Spaniard, and not so very dark, after all. Yet not of the fair Spanish type either. Perhaps she had a mixture of some other nationality. One might be able to tell that from the way she spoke her native tongue. Speaking Spanish very fairly himself, and with a good accent, Hervia wondered now why he had not addressed her in that language before. Probably because her English was so adequate. Well,

better late than never. I am afraid that you must be exceedingly tired and hungry also, senora, he observed in his best Castilian. I assure you that I greatly regret this delay in offering you rest and refreshment. He saw her colour spread. She was surprised, not unnaturally, at his tardy revelation of his accomplishment. She answered him, however, not in her own tongue, but in his.

Ah, you speak Spanish, senora, my congratulations. Allow me to return them, said Hervia, this time in his own language. It is remarkable for a Spanish lady to speak English. And to cling to it so persistently, too, he thought to himself. The senora flushed again and moved in her chair. You are very kind. Yes, I speak it so much with Tomás, and now in your country,

that I have almost forgotten my own language. But, reflected Hervey, she and her Tomás cannot possibly have spent long enough together for her to acquire such a mastery of English, for she must have known it before. And an unaccountable desire to hear her talking Spanish persisting in him, and his own command of the unfamiliar tongue reviving more quickly than he expected,

he went on to ask her in that speech what she proposed to do about returning to Spain, since he could assure her that it was not feasible to voyage thither from Stoey. And who had so misdirected her as to inform her that it was? The questions seemed oddly to confuse the senora Tomás. The colour which had risen disappeared, except on her cheeks, where it did not vary.

How I pray you not to talk Spanish to me, she said in an uncertain voice, looking away. It is cruel. It reminds me of too many things. Too many things. And then an extraordinary, a stunning conviction broke upon Hervey Barrington. He leant forward and fixed his guest with a steady gaze.

You ask that because you do not understand what I say. You cannot reply in your own language. You're not a Spaniard at all. The bonnet trembled for a moment. And then its occupant returned his searching, condemnatory look in silence, with an effect of measuring him in her turn, after which, with a gesture of abandonment,

she put her hands before her face and bowed her head. Her thin shoulders heaved a little, and there was a sound like stifled crying, but not much. Hervey had risen. Well, madam? he inquired stonily after a moment. A further silence, and his guest raised her head.

It is true, she said quite quietly. I've lied to you. I'm not Spanish. I am French. You have lied to me. You acknowledge it, repeated Hervey between his teeth. All that story about Badajoz, that. He clenched his hands, restraining his language with difficulty, remembering that,

remembering that, in spite of everything, she was a woman. All that was lies then. Yes, she said, still in that very quiet, emotionless voice. I wish I had not had to lie. I did not like doing it, and I might have known one does not deceive a man like you.

For did not like doing it, repeated Hervey wrathfully, as certain episodes of the deception came back to him. How you enjoyed it, you. Once again he checked himself. But she looked up at him with a sad, limpid gaze.

No woman as heartsick as I am, Captain Barrington, could enjoy anything at this hour. She returned sorrowfully, and no woman with a heart at all could enjoy deceiving an honorable and generous man. How we will have a truce to compliments, if you please, said Hervey grimly. Instead, you will give me an explanation, less of your being French,

than of why you passed yourself off for Spanish. I imagine, though, that I must now prepare myself for another cock and bull story. I suppose that you will tell me next that you are a French royalist, an émigré. The girl shook her head with a faint smile. That would indeed be more convenient for me.

But this time I will tell you the truth. Oh, I wish I'd done it before. The complete change in her manner, her hopeless tone, her utter abandonment of feminine wiles, the very way she sat surrendered in the big chair, began to have some effect on Hervey.

He felt it and removed himself farther off. Why did you not, then? Because I was afraid. I thought that to acknowledge myself French, an enemy, was too dangerous. I fancied I could pass myself off as Spanish.

But I only know a word or two of the language, and the story I told you. Do not be angry, monsieur. I must have some story to account for my presence in England. I must congratulate you on the one you served up to me, observed Hervey sardonically. Your talents are wasted in private life.

But perhaps you are an actress in your own country. Looking down, she shook her ringlets. No, monsieur. I live very quietly in the provinces with my parents. But I've deserved that you should reproach me.

I've been very foolish. I think my best justification is to tell you my real story. If you will listen to it now. Oh, I will listen. You are generous indeed, Captain Barrington.

She paused a moment. She paused a moment, then, as it were, drew herself together. My name is Atrienne de... But here, at the outset, she checked herself and looked across at him reflectively. No, perhaps I will not tell you that.

But everything else I will tell you. I had, monsieur, a brother, fighting in Spain. Fighting against the English, yes. But fighting like a gentleman. For I think all your soldiers have said that of us.

Besides, her head lifted itself a trifle. He is a gentleman. But he was captured and brought to England and made a prisoner on parole. And then, monsieur, an atrocious thing happened. For some intrigue against him led to his being accused, unjustly,

of having broken his parole and he was sent to prison. He tried to escape from the prison. How was that unnatural, monsieur? And for that he was sent to the ponton, the hulks. Hervey, who was watching her rather surreptitiously,

saw her bite her lips at that ill-omined word and put her handkerchief to them for a moment. Oh, you know what that means, monsieur. And he was an officer. Yes, go on, said Hervey. At the back of his mind he was conscious of how much better she spoke English,

now that she had renounced her Spanish nationality. How curious. Monsieur, he is my only brother, my twin brother. My parents are old and tant soit peu royaliste. When Gaulle and I were children, we lived for that reason in England.

In short, we were émigrés in those days. So I might well have called myself an émigré just now, but that I have done with deception. Oh, that, thought Hervey, explains the excellent English, and then she must have been mangling it on purpose just now.

Et bien, I said to myself, some of the friends of my childhood may be alive still in London, and if only I could find them, they would help me. They would remember Gaulle, and they would do something to right this horrible injustice. So I came to England. Seeing Hervey about to interrupt, she held up a hand.

Monsieur, you, a sailor, know that it can be done, but I do not wish to implicate anyone by telling you how. Yes, very well, said Hervey, interested despite himself, and not least of all by the different manner in which this girl told a true tale. I accept that.

Go on, mademoiselle. In London I cannot find these old friends. They are removed or dead. I've no one to help me. I cannot go to any man and ask for help.

Although I was playing a part this evening, you will acknowledge, I hope, Monsieur, that I did not solicit your assistance. Au contraire, I tried to escape notice. Quite true. All that I can permit myself to do, then, is to go to the transport office in Dorset Square,

and to make inquiries about my unhappy brother. They look up registers and the like, and they tell me he's at Plymouth, and the prison ship, the Queen. They give me no hope of his release, but they say I may go and see him. How, at least, that is something.

I take the coach to Plymouth. I go in a boat to those— Her voice broke suddenly, and she clenched her hands together. Yes, said Hervey, gently. And no place for a woman.

What had she seen? With an effort, Adrien went on. It is a deception, a mistake. Raoul is not there, was never there. Oh, but if the transport board began Hervey—

Oh, Monsieur, they have so many names of unfortunates on those registers. And I saw some of them, men like the dead. They tell me, the officers of the Queen, and that it must be a mistake for the Queen Caroline at Portsmouth, and that my poor brother must be there.

And so I am going back, and I pray God that I find him at Portsmouth, even in one of those terrible ships, because—because— Because what, Mademoiselle? asked Hervey, and he came and stood by her. For one moment the dark-ringed eyes, heavy with sorrow and fatigue, looked up at him. Because I have the thought that he may be dead, and that they would not tell me.

And with that, her self-command gave way entirely, and burying her face once more in her hands, she sobbed helplessly. Hervey Barrington was far from being a hard-hearted man. Before this grief, and these unmistakable accents of sincerity, he ceased to resent the fact that an hour ago this girl had been fooling him with a pathetic fiction,

more especially because the present narrator did not seem the same person as he was. As if he had been a man of his own. And what a pity she had ever tried that game. It was so unnecessary. No man with a grain of feeling could have stayed her, or done anything to her, and technical enemy though she were, on learning of her errand.

And the poor creature had actually visited those unpleasant places. In vain. Meanwhile she sobbed on and on, while he tried to offer suggestions about Portsmouth, and about what he could do himself in the way of inquiries. But she still had her face hidden, and he was almost bending over her when Mrs.

Jeremy reappeared to say that the bedroom was ready, and that she had set supper for the lady there. In the presence of a domestic, Mademoiselle Adrienne made a more determined effort to pull herself together. She dried her eyes and stood up. I will wish you the best boon I can, a good night's rest, said Hervey kindly. In the morning we will talk about what is to be done.

Meanwhile he sank his voice, though Mrs. Jeremy was waiting a considerable distance away, at the foot of the stairs. Meanwhile he tried to forget Plymouth and what you saw there. The shadow in the French girl's eyes deepened. Oh, I can never do that, she responded gravely. Not in all my life. But I thank you, for myself and for my brother Raoul too, if he lives.

I would kiss your hand, Captain Barrington, but I know that you would not like it. The half-smile that came with this, like a gleam of sun after rain, suggested that when she was not tired and overwrought she had a very sweet one. Mademoiselle, said Hervey. I think it should be the other way about. And on an impulse, regardless of the presence of Mrs. Jeremy,

he took her hand and raised it for a moment to his lips. A good night. End of section 15