Suddenly, then, she noticed a detail that had not struck her before: the door of the room nearest to her, the Dandelion Room, was standing slightly ajar. That it should be open at all seemed to her not quite natural; the door of an unoccupied room ought to have been closed surely. The same instant, to her great surprise, to her alarm as well, she saw that it was moving. She stared with eyes intently fixed. It was not moving now, it was stationary again; but it had moved; it had, of course, been moved. The room, therefore, was not unoccupied. There was somebody inside.
Maria, still staring fixedly, held her breath. Why she was not cold and stiff with nervous terror she did not know. That she was not seemed all that mattered. Intense curiosity stirred in her, but not fear. And this absence of fear had something to do, she felt vaguely, with the delightful sensation of leisure she had already noticed, the positive conviction that there was no hurry, that there was heaps and heaps of time.
Her eyes, none the less, were popping out of her head, and the next thing they popped on to then was a sign of movement at the far end of the corridor. With the tail of her eye she caught this movement first, then, turning her head, she saw it fully — the figure of Judas advancing slowly towards her from the far end. And the sight of him banished the last vestige of fear or nervousness from her mind.
She found her voice.
“My black darling!” she cried impulsively, unable to restrain herself. “How frightfully glad I am to see you! Where did you get to? Why did you leave me?”
She did not run to meet him, but stooped, making coaxing noises and holding out her hands with affectionate gestures. Judas, however, did not hurry, he did not even quicken his stately pace. He moved very slowly towards her along the whole length of the corridor, advancing daintily, picking his steps as in wet grass, giving the impression that he really did not want to come particularly, and that any moment he might stop and attend to something else of much greater importance.
She continued to make inviting noises with her lips, crouching patiently with both hands outstretched, and eventually he reached her so that she could grab up his warm, soft body and plunge her face into the fragrant fur.
“Oh, I knew you wouldn’t desert me,” she went on eagerly, “but where have you brought me, and where has he got to, that Man who Winds the Clocks, and why aren’t I in an awful hurry when I’ve only got five minutes, and what, oh what, is the thing I’ve come to find, and is there really somebody in that Dandelion Room? Oh, Judas, my black beauty, tell me everything, every thing]”
She drew her face quickly out of the fur.
Tick tock! sounded somewhere in her ears.
Judas, far from reciprocating her embraces, was struggling. She set him down on the floor, where he straightened himself and then began to wash, behaving as though he did not know her, did not want to know her, and had never seen her before. But she kept her eyes on him closely, for the washing would end abruptly as it always did, he would suddenly look round, leaving a leg pointing to the ceiling, and attend to something else.
Which was precisely what then happened.
He rose, turning his back upon her, and stepped deliberately towards the Dandelion Room across the corridor. There, pausing a moment, he sat down, raised a front leg and half tapped, half scratched at the panel, as though he wanted to push it wider and go inside. His paw had hardly touched it when the door was quietly closed against him, shutting with a little bang. But before Maria could recover from her surprise, Judas added to it by what he did next. Trotting quickly now, he turned and ran down the entire length of the corridor, stopping for a fraction of a second at each room in turn, his paw tentatively raised as though he wanted to get in, while each door in turn was similarly then closed against him. Maria watched in amazement. She heard the doors closing in succession all the way down, each little bang a shade lower than the one before it, so that it sounded almost like a scale running down the piano.
Each of the eight rooms, therefore, was occupied; each door had been closed by the tenant inside. And Judas now was coming back again, marching slowly this time, with tail erect in the air and whiskers twitching. Too amazed to act or speak, Maria watched him, holding herself motionless, hardly responding, indeed, as he reached her side and began rubbing himself against her leg.
He glanced up at her, narrowing his eyes, then looked back at the door, as though to invite her attention to it.
“Judas!” she whispered eagerly, “I believe you know who’s in that room! You know who’s in all the rooms! You know them. And if you do — they must know you too!”
She was very excited; she hardly knew why she said it.
“Tell me. Tell me quickly. Are they friendly? Oh, who can they be?”
For answer, Judas marched to the Dandelion door, looked up at the handle, then threw her a glance of entreaty over his black shoulder. He made no sound, but his attitude was plain; he wanted her to turn the knob.
Maria did not hesitate. An invitation from Judas meant a tremendous lot to her; it was a rare occurrence, too rare to be trifled with. If she refused now, another opportunity might never come again. Her mind was made up instantly; at whatever risk, she would find out who the mysterious occupant was, but she would not turn the handle and fling the door wide, for that seemed taking too great a liberty. She would first knock and make polite inquiries. Smiling affectionately at Judas, while trembling a little inwardly, she therefore approached the door and gave a gentle knock. At the same time she spoke.
“I beg your pardon,” she said in a low voice, “but are you at home, please?”
A reply came at once. “Yes,” answered a gentlemanly voice. “I am in my room.”
It was not a voice she recognized, but it had a pleasant, musical sound that made her feel the speaker must be gentle. Her trembling became less and her confidence returned a little.
“Oh, thank you, sir,” she called, somewhat louder than before, “and would it — disturb you if — I opened your door?”
There was a short pause, but at the next words, astonishment made her catch her breath.
“To see you,” the voice said, “could be no possible disturbance, for it would be, on the contrary, the greatest privilege of my whole existence. But unfortunately,” it added with a sigh that was audible even through the panels, “you are not alone.” Maria gave a little gasp. She shot a look at Judas, sitting beside her with the innocent expression of a lamb. “So you do know him,” ran sharply across her mind, “and he knows you!”
She spoke no word to the cat, but with a great effort she continued to address the invisible occupant of the Dandelion Room, wondering how on earth he knew she was not alone. It came back to her then that he had, of course, seen Judas when he closed the door a moment ago.
“Only my cat, Judas, is with me, sir,” she said politely, for this unknown voice belonged, she felt sure, to a distinguished sort of person. “He is my pet, and he would not hurt a” — but “mouse” was the wrong word, and she changed it quickly—” a baby. Really, sir, he would not.”
The voice replied at once if without conviction. “I accept your word of course,” it said quietly. “At the same time he has not always treated me with the consideration I claim to deserve, for I have suffered even violence at his paws.”
At his paws! Maria did not smile, however; she merely felt an intense curiosity to know who this strange speaker was. While she looked down into the inscrutable black face at her feet, the muffled voice behind the door continued.
“Yet the honour of meeting you,” it went on, “is so great that I am more than willing to take what risk there may be, and if you will kindly control your animal, I will comply at once with your wish and open my door.”
“I promise, sir, I promise,” exclaimed Maria as she stooped and picked Judas up in her arms. “I’ve got him now,” she added. “He’s quite safe.”
Wondering what it all meant, but too astonished to think of anything clearly, she stepped back instinctively as the brass knob bega
n to turn, and the next instant the door was flung wide open and out marched the occupant of the Dandelion Room. Holding Judas tightly, she stared, as the saying is, with all her eyes — at the figure of a man. And her very first impression, before grasping a single detail of his appearance, was one of vague familiarity. She had seen him before somewhere. But where, or who he was, she had not the faintest idea.
He was tall, elderly, lean in the flanks, distinguished looking, spotlessly clean, and marvellously well groomed. His nose was hooked, he wore a small moustache, with a sharp little imperial beard. His black, cut-away tail-coat was not new, but fitted smartly across the broad shoulders and drew closely in about the rather marked waist, and his trousers of shepherd’s plaid hung beautifully over the black buttoned boots of patent leather. An eyeglass on a broad black ribbon dangled from his neck, his watch-chain included a fob, a gold signet-ring adorned the tapering little finger of his left hand. On his head he wore a curly-brimmed top-hat, polished till it shone, and a high stiff collar of spotless white, with a carelessly arranged black stock about it, completed his costume.
He stepped out with an air, courteous yet subdued. The easy, debonair grace of high breeding pervaded his least movement. So handsome was he, indeed, that Maria, wondering for a moment, caught herself thinking he was too handsome almost, too handsome to be quite a gentleman. But her doubt did not survive a second. Her flash of hesitation passed. She made her mind up finally. Nor did she decide by his clothes, of course, but by his face, his air, his manner. No doubt remained. For her — he was most assuredly — a gentleman.
She gazed at him, he gazed at her. She could think of no single word to say. The turmoil of questions in her all died away as she took in this splendid and romantic figure. Admiration and pleasure were all she felt, and her nervousness was gone. He was adorable. He was indeed the perfect gentleman.
He was the first to utter and his voice was music in her ears. Raising his top-hat and sweeping it gracefully through the air, he made a most courteous bow. Straightening up the next second, he slipped the eyeglass into his rather melancholy blue eye. He managed it with consummate ease, she noticed, without opening his mouth at the same time.
“Your humble servant,” he addressed her suavely, a respectful smile upon his lips, “and my profound apologies for the delay in opening my door to you. As you so graciously understood, I was naturally a trifle anxious” — he glanced suspiciously at Judas in her arms—” regarding the intentions of your playful pet—”
“But he’s as good as gold,” broke in Maria, finding her first words. “Look at him!” She stroked his back. Judas peeped at the ceiling.
“He is in your arms,” the other bowed, turning a graceful compliment, “yet he has a powerful paw,” and before she had time to think what he meant, his deep, musical voice continued. “Though we have met before, Miss Maria, we have not yet spoken. My firm belief that you would one day come among us was unshakable. It has never wavered for a moment. It is justified at last. May I have the profound honour of introducing myself? I am — the Gentleman.”
He bowed so beautifully that she felt she could have watched him for ever. The eyeglass dropped neatly.
“My name is — Marigold—” she began, trying to make a curtsy, while gripping the now struggling Judas and holding out her free hand.
“We call you Maria,” he observed, “Miss Maria,” he added with deep respect, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. He kissed it gravely. Carrying his hat with a sweeping gesture across his heart, he replaced it on his head, standing erect again.
Her sense of familiarity quickened as he told her his name and mentioned having met before. She had somehow known, of course, that he was the Gentleman, yet where she had seen him entirely escaped her. He had used the plural “we,” as though there was a party and he was only one of several. There were others, of course, the occupants of the other rooms. She knew it. But who and what were these others? Where and when had she already come across them? Her mind was confused, her memory had gone astray. At the same time she had a curious unpleasant feeling that something was going on behind her and that there were other people near, that somebody was watching and listening. She caught faint sounds at the far end of the long corridor as though doors were opening cautiously, but when she turned to look there was nothing visible, no movement anywhere.
The Gentleman, having carefully adjusted the angle of his hat, was speaking, and she listened attentively, wishing only that he would use shorter sentences and not be so terribly polite. His courtesy, his grace, his winning smile and lovely voice had won her heart at once; but his perfect appearance dazzled her, and his deference was so overwhelming that she found it difficult to take in the meaning of his strange words, while the struggle to remember her very best manners made her a little self-conscious.
“And you will make full allowance, I beg you,” he was saying, “for the emotion we experience upon coming face to face, after so long waiting, with one to whom we owe so much enjoyment and adventure, to whom, indeed, our very existence, of course, is due — to Miss Maria — our wonderful creator.”
The word came upon Maria with a shock. She gave a little start. She wished Judas would not struggle and wriggle so.
“Your — creator, sir!” she exclaimed in bewilderment.
Raising his head from yet another deep bow, he looked meaningly into her face. His voice was respectful almost to reverence, but his eye was steady.
“You have given us life, Miss Maria, for without you we should never have existed. You called us into being.”
Some lost hint of memory began to dawn as she heard these solemn words, so that almost — almost but not quite — she caught their full meaning. The shock repeated itself at the same time, making her muscles relax involuntarily, and Judas, aware of the weakening grip, gave one final wriggle and was free. He leaped suddenly to the floor and scampered away at his top speed without a second’s pause. Right along the corridor he flew, and as he ran, the descending sounds of closing doors passed down the scale again. The others, whoever they might be, had been listening. They, too, were afraid of her black pet.
It all happened in an instant, and the Gentleman was himself again even before the cat’s figure vanished in the distance. He had, however, stepped back, his hands had shot out in self-protection, he had been unable to control a sharp exclamation of alarm. His self-possession now returned immediately, however.
“My temporary weakness,” he began to explain and excuse himself, “is over,” he murmured apologetically. “He has knocked me down so frequently. I naturally expected he was about to attack me again. I ask your pardon and indulgence. At my age—”
“Judas — knocked you down, sir?” Maria cried, flabbergasted.
“On to the carpet merely,” came the reply quietly, a little ashamed as well. “But it was nothing, for you invariably, in your great goodness, picked me up and put me back again.”
“I picked you up! I put you back again! Off the carpet!” She could think of nothing but to repeat his own extraordinary words.
The Gentleman bowed, a trifle stiffly, perhaps, as though the incident were not particularly to his taste and best forgotten.
“At my age, I was about to say,” he explained further in a lower voice, “I am unable to stick on as tightly as I could wish. The rim, too, is narrow as well as sloping. Oh, I blame myself,” he hastened to add, “I blame myself entirely. You, Miss Maria, were always kindness and gentleness personified.”
She stared at him with open mouth, and with such utter and obvious bewilderment that he smiled in quiet sympathy. Memory, however, began vaguely to stir in her. A faint picture was rising in her mind.
“The — er — plate, you see,” he mentioned, as if casually.
And memory burst open like a bubble in her head.
“Oh! Oh!” she cried aloud. “The plate, the plate! The stones balanced round the edge! Judas playing with them and knocking them off on to the carpet! The fruit stones
! My Fruit Stones! And you — you are, of course, the — the Gentleman!
She felt her eyes popping out of her head. Her hand groped for the wall to steady her.
“We are — er — the Fruit Stoners.” His calm voice came as from a distance. “Your Fruit Stoners. And I,” he added, with a sweep of his glistening hat, and the most graceful and adorable bow she had ever known, “I am — your Gentleman!”
CHAPTER V
Maria realized that she had been staring so hard and so long that this beautiful person must think she had no manners at all. She now, with a great effort, tried to collect her scattered faculties. But though she remembered perfectly how she and her black cat had played once with a row of prune stones balanced round the rim of a plate, and that Judas had sometimes knocked one of them off on to the carpet, her memory utterly refused to tell her where this was. The Fruit Stoners! she reflected, thrilled to her very inside. Of course! Tinker, Tailor, and the jolly rest of them! The Gentleman, indeed, she now recognized, was exactly the figure her mind always conjured up when it was his turn to be counted. She had always seen him just like that. He was, moreover, the one she had always chosen for a husband. He was adorable.
Remembering her manners, however, now at last she interrupted her rude staring, and found the best words she could to follow his surprising announcement. For there had been rather a long pause.
“I am delighted to meet you, sir,” she murmured with a pretty smile, while making a graceful curtsy, “and I hope — the others — will like me too.” Stammering a little, she added quickly: “And I’m awfully sorry about — about that carpet business.” The Gentleman shrugged his lordly shoulders with an air of careless abandon that she found quite magnificent. His shapely hand made a gesture in the air as though to sweep aside all such unwelcome memories as not worth a moment’s thought.
Collected Works of Algernon Blackwood Page 301