The Knave of Diamonds

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER VI

  THE BURIAL OF A HATCHET

  During the weeks that followed, something of her former tranquillity cameback to Anne. It was evident that Nap was determined to show himselfworthy of her trust, for never by word or look did he make the slightestreference to what had passed between them. He came and went after hiscustomary sudden fashion. He never informed any one of his movements, nordid even Lucas know when he might be expected at Baronmead. But hisabsences were never of long duration, and Anne met him fairly frequently.

  She herself was more at leisure now than she had been for years, forLucas had found an agent for her and the sole care of her husband'sestate no longer lay upon her. She spent much of her time with Mrs.Errol. Her happiest hours were those she spent with Lucas and his motherin the great music-room at Baronmead. It was here also that she learnedto know of that hidden, vital quantity, elusive as flame, that was NapErrol's soul. For here he would often join them, and the music he drewfrom his violin, weirdly passionate, with a pathos no words could everutter, was to Anne the very expression of the man's complex being. Therewere times when she could hardly hear that wild music of his withouttears. It was like the crying of something that was lost.

  Often, after having accompanied him for a long time, she would take herhands from the piano and sit silent with a strange and bitter sense ofimpotence, as if he were leading whither she could not follow. And Napwould play on and on in the quiet room, as though he played for heralone, with the sure hand of a master upon the quivering strings of herwoman's heart.

  But he never spoke to her of love. His eyes conveyed no message at anytime. His straight gaze was impenetrable. He never even touched her handunless she offered it to him. And gradually her confidence in him grewstronger. The instinct that bade her beware of him ceased to disquiether. She found herself able to meet him without misgiving, believing thathe had conquered himself for her sake, believing that he bowed to theinevitable and was willing to content himself with her friendship.

  Undoubtedly a change had passed over him. Lucas was aware of it also,felt it in his very touch, marked it a hundred times in the gentleness ofhis speech and action. He attributed it to the influence of a good woman.It seemed that Nap had found his soul at last.

  Bertie alone marked it with uneasiness, but Bertie was no impartialcritic. He had distrusted Nap, not without reason, from his boyhood. Butmatters of a more personal nature were occupying his attention at thattime, and he did not bestow much of it upon home affairs. For some reasonhe had begun to study in earnest, and was reading diligently for theEnglish Bar.

  Perhaps Mrs. Errol could have pierced the veil of civilisation in whichNap had wrapped himself had she desired to do so, but she was the lastperson in the world to attempt such an invasion. There never had been thefaintest streak of sympathy between them. Neither was there any tangibleantagonism, for each by mutual consent avoided all debatable ground. Butthere existed very curiously a certain understanding each of the otherwhich induced respect if it did not inspire confidence. Withoutdeliberately avoiding each other they yet never deliberately came incontact, and, though perfectly friendly in their relations, neither everoffered to cross the subtle dividing line that stretched between them.They were content to be acquaintances merely.

  Anne often marvelled in private at Mrs. Errol's attitude towards heradopted son, but the subject was never mentioned between them. Often shewould recall Capper's words and wonder if they had expressed the literaltruth. She wondered, too, what Capper would say to his ally when hereturned at the end of the summer and found the charge he had laid uponher unfulfilled. But, after all, Capper was scarcely more than astranger, and it seemed to her, upon mature reflection, that he had beeninclined to exaggerate the whole matter. She did not believe that Lucas'swelfare depended upon Nap's absence. Indeed, there were times when itactually seemed to her that he relied upon Nap for support that noneother could give. Moreover, he was growing daily stronger, and this ofitself seemed proof sufficient that Nap was at least no hindrance to hisprogress. She knew also that Nap was using his utmost influence topersuade him to undergo the operation when Capper should return inSeptember; but she had no opportunity for furthering his efforts, forLucas never referred to the matter in her hearing. If he had yet made hisdecision he imparted it to none. He seemed to her to be like a soldierawaiting orders to move, with that steadfast patience which had becomehis second nature. She knew that he would never act upon impulse, and sheadmired him for it.

  Dot, who heard all from Bertie, wondered how he could ever hesitate. ButDot was young and possessed of an abundant energy which knew no flagging.Her vigorous young life was full of schemes, and she knew not what it wasto stand and wait. She was keenly engaged just then in company with Mrs.Damer, Mrs. Randal, and a few more, in organising an entertainment insupport of the Town Hall and Reading Club, to which Lucas Errol hadpromised his liberal support. It was no secret that he had offered tosupply the whole of the necessary funds, but, as Dot remarked, it was notto be a charity and Baronford was not so poor-spirited as to be entirelydependent upon American generosity. So Lucas was invited to give hissubstantial help after Baronford had helped itself, which Dot was fullydetermined it should do to the utmost of its capacity.

  Many schemes were in consequence discussed and rejected before the TownHall Committee finally decided in favour of amateur theatricals.

  Here again Lucas Errol's assistance was cordially invited, since no placesuitable for such an entertainment existed in Baronford. It was naivelyintimated to him by Dot that he might provide the theatre and thescenery, so that the profits might be quite unencumbered.

  Lucas forthwith purchased an enormous marquee (the cost of which farexceeded any possible profits from the projected entertainment), whichhe had erected upon his own ground under Dot's superintendence, andthenceforth preparations went gaily forward; not, however, withoutmany a hitch, which Lucas generally managed directly or indirectly tosmooth away.

  It was Lucas who pressed Nap into the service as stage-manager, a postwhich had been unanimously urged upon himself, but for which he declaredhimself to be morally and physically unfit. It was Lucas who persuadedAnne to accept a minor _role_ though fully aware that she would haveinfinitely preferred that of onlooker. He had taken her under hisprotection on that night in March, and he had never relinquished theresponsibility then assumed. With a smile, as was his wont with all, heasserted his authority, and with a smile, in common with all who knewhim, she yielded even against her own strong inclination.

  Nap laughed when he heard of it, despite the fact that he had himselfyielded to the same power.

  "You seem to find Luke irresistible," he said.

  "I do," she admitted simply. "He is somehow too magnificent to refuse.Surely you have felt the same?"

  "I?" said Nap. "Oh, I always do what I am told. He rules me with arod of iron."

  Glancing at him, she had a momentary glimpse of a curious, wistfulexpression on his face that made her vaguely sorry.

  Instinctively she went on speaking as if she had not seen it. "I thinkwith Bertie that he is a born king among men. He is better than good. Heis great. One feels it even in trifles. He has such an immense patience."

  "Colossal," said Nap, and smiled a twisted smile. "That is why he iseverybody's own and particular pal. He takes the trouble to find outwhat's inside. One wonders what on earth he finds to interest him.There's so mighty little in human nature that's worthy of study."

  "I don't agree with you," Anne said in her quiet, direct way.

  He laughed again and turned the subject. He was always quick to divineher wishes, and to defer to them. Their intercourse never led themthrough difficult places, a fact which Anne was conscious that she owedto his consideration rather than to her own skill.

  She was glad for more than one reason that Lucas had not pressed a veryonerous part upon her. She had a suspicion, very soon confirmed, that Napas stage-manager would prove no indulgent task-master. He certainly wouldnot
spare himself, nor would he spare anyone else.

  Disputes were rife when he first assumed command, and she wondered muchif he would succeed in establishing order, for he possessed none of hisbrother's winning charm of manner and but a very limited popularity. ButNap showed himself from the outset fully equal to his undertaking. Hegrappled with one difficulty after another with a lightning alertness, aprompt decision, which soon earned for him the respect of his unrulysubordinates. He never quarrelled, neither did he consider the feelingsof any. A cynical comment was the utmost he ever permitted himself inthe way of retaliation, but he held his own unerringly, evolving orderfrom confusion with a masterly disregard of opposition that carried allbefore it.

  Dot, who was not without a very decided prejudice in favour of her ownway, literally gasped in astonishment at his methods. She would haveliked to defy him openly a dozen times in a day, but Nap simply wouldnot be defied. He looked over her head with disconcerting arrogance, andDot found herself defeated and impotent. Dot had been selected for animportant part, and it was not very long before she came bitterly toregret the fact. He did not bully her, but he gave her no peace. Over andover again he sent her back to the same place; and over and over again hefound some fresh fault, till there came at length a day when Dot, wearyand exasperated, subsided suddenly in the midst of rehearsal intoindignant tears.

  Nap merely raised his eyebrows and turned his attention elsewhere, whileAnne drew the sobbing girl away, and tried to soothe her back tocomposure in privacy.

  But it was some time before Dot would be comforted. Her grievance againstNap was very deeply rooted, and it needed but this additional provocationto break its bounds. It was not long before, clinging very tightly toAnne, the whole story came out; how she and Bertie loved each other"better than best," how no one was to know of it and they scarcely daredto exchange a glance in public in consequence, how there could never,never be any engagement, all because that horrid, horrid Nap had dared tohint that she was pursuing Bertie for his money.

  "I hate him!" sobbed Dot. "I do hate him! He's cruel and malicious andvindictive. I know he means to prevent our ever being happy together.And--and I know Bertie's afraid of him--and so am I!"

  To all of which Anne listened with grave sympathy and such words ofcomfort as seemed most likely to induce in Dot a calmer and morereasonable state of mind.

  But Dot was not to be reassured quickly. It was very seldom that herequanimity was disturbed, only in fact when her deepest feelings wereconcerned, and this made her breakdown the more complete. Sheapologised tearfully for her foolishness at rehearsal, which she setdown to bodily fatigue. She had been to see poor Squinny that morning,and she thought he really was dying at last. He had cried so, and shehadn't known how to comfort him, and then when she had got home therehad been no time for luncheon, so she had just changed and come awaywithout it. And oh,--this with her arms tightly about Anne's neck--shedid wish she had a mother to help her. Poor Dad was very sweet, but hedidn't understand a bit.

  Anne sat with her for the greater part of an hour, comforting her with agrave tenderness that Dot found infinitely soothing. It might have beenhalf a lifetime instead of a brief seven years that stretched betweenthem. For Anne had been a woman long before her time, and Dot for all herself-reliance was still but a child.

  She grew calm at last, and presently reverted to the theatricals. DidLady Carfax think she might withdraw? Nap made her so nervous. She wassure she could never be successful under his management.

  Anne strongly advised her not to think of such a thing. In considerationof the fact that Dot had been the moving spirit of the whole scheme sucha proceeding would be little short of disastrous. No doubt a substitutecould be found, but it would mean an open breach with Nap. Bertie wouldquarrel with him in consequence, and Lucas would be grievouslydisappointed.

  "We mustn't hurt Lucas," Anne urged. "He has so much to bear already.And--and he has been so much happier about Nap lately."

  "Does Nap worry him too, then?" asked Dot, quickly. "Isn't he hateful?He upsets everybody."

  "No--no!" Anne said. "Nap would do anything for Lucas. It is his onesolid virtue."

  It was at this point that the door opened with a noiseless swing, andNap himself entered. He advanced with the assured air of one whosewelcome is secure.

  "Give the devil his due, Lady Carfax!" he drawled. "He has oneother anyway."

  Even Anne was for the moment disconcerted by the abruptness of hisentrance. Dot sprang to her feet with burning cheeks. It was her evidentintention to escape, but he intercepted her.

  "My business is with you," he said, "not with Lady Carfax. Do you mindwaiting a minute?"

  Dot waited, striving for dignity. Nap was looking at her narrowly.

  In the pause that ensued, Anne rose and passed her arm reassuringlythrough Dot's.

  Nap glanced at her. "That's rather shabby of you," he declared. "I wasjust going to ask for your support myself."

  She smiled at him faintly. "I think you can manage without it. Dot willnot refuse her forgiveness if you ask for it properly."

  "Won't she?" said Nap, still keenly watching the girl's half-avertedface. "I should if I were Dot. You see our feud is of very long standing.We always cut each other when we meet in the street--very pointedly sothat no one could possibly imagine for a moment that we were strangers.We don't like doing it in the least, but we are both so infernally proudthat there is no alternative. And so we have got to keep it up all ourdays, long after the primary reason for it all has sunk into oblivion. Bythe way, I have forgotten already what the primary reason was."

  "I--haven't," said Dot, in a very low voice. Her lower lip was quivering.She bit it desperately.

  "No?" said Nap.

  "No!" Dot turned her flushed face suddenly upon him. "You never meant meto forget," she said, in a voice that shook beyond control.

  "It must have been something very venomous," he said.

  "It was!" she answered, fighting with, herself. "You--you know it was!"

  "It's not worth crying about anyway," said Nap. "My sting may bepoisonous, but it has never yet proved fatal. Tell me where the mischiefis, and p'r'aps I can remove it."

  He was smiling as he made the suggestion, smiling without malice, and,though Dot could not bring herself to smile in return, she was none theless mollified.

  "What was it?" he persisted, pressing his advantage. "Something beastlyI said or looked or did? I often do, you know. It's just my way. Do youknow what it was, Lady Carfax?"

  She nodded. "And I think you do too," she said.

  "I don't," he asserted, "on my honour."

  Dot looked incredulous. "Don't you remember that day in February," shesaid, "the first day I ever came here--the day you accused me of--ofrunning after Bertie for--his money?"

  "Great Christopher!" said Nap. "You don't say you took me seriously?"

  "Of course I did," she said, on the verge of tears. "You--you wereserious too."

  "Ye gods!" said Nap. "And I've been wondering why on earth you and Bertiecouldn't make up your minds! So I've been the obstacle, have I? Andthat's why you have been hating me so badly all this time--as if I werethe arch-fiend himself! By Jove!" He swung round on his heel. "We'll putthis right at once. Where's Bertie?"

  "Oh, no!" Dot said nervously. "No! Don't call him! He'll see I've beencrying. Nap--please!"

  She disengaged herself from Anne, and sprang after him, seizing himimpetuously by the arm.

  "I mean--Mr. Errol!" she substituted in confusion.

  He clapped his hand upon hers and wheeled. "You can call me anythingunder the sun that occurs to you as suitable," he said. "You may kick mealso if you like--which is a privilege I don't accord to everybody. Youwon't believe me, I daresay. Few people do. But I'm sorry I was a beastto you that day. I don't deal in excuses, but when I tell you that I wasrather badly up against something, p'r'aps you'll be magnanimous enoughto forgive me. Will you?"

  He looked her straight in the face with the words. There wa
s little ofhumility about him notwithstanding them, but there was something ofmelancholy that touched her warm heart.

  "Of course I will!" she said impulsively. "Let's be friends, shall we?"

  He gripped her hand till she felt the bones crack. "Suppose we go and getsome tea," he said. "Are you coming, Lady Carfax?"

  "I'm not fit to be seen," objected Dot, hanging back.

  He drew her on, her hand still fast in his. "Don't be shy, my deargirl! You look all right. Will you lead the way, Lady Carfax? In thehall, you know."

  Very reluctantly Dot submitted. She had not the faintest inkling of hisintentions or her docility would have vanished on the instant. As it was,fortified by Anne's presence, she yielded to his insistence.

  The hall was full of people to whom Mrs. Errol was dispensing tea,assisted by Bertie, who had emerged from his den for the purpose.Bertie's studies did not permit him to take any part in the theatricals.Possibly Nap's position at the head of affairs had assisted hisresolution in this respect.

  He was sitting on the arm of Lucas's chair, hastily gulping some tea inan interval snatched from his ministrations, when Anne entered, closelyfollowed by Dot and his brother. Some instinct moved him to turn andlook, for in the general buzz of talk and laughter around him he couldhave heard nothing of their approach. He looked, then stared, finallystood up and set down his cup abruptly.

  As Nap came towards him, still holding Dot by the hand, he turned whiteto the lips and moved forward.

  A sudden silence fell as they met. They were the centre of the crowd, thecentre of observation, the centre of an unseen whirlpool of emotions thatthreatened to be overwhelming.

  And then with a smile Nap put an end to a tension of expectancy that hadbecome painful.

  "Hullo, Bertie!" he said, and smote him on the shoulder with avigorous hand. "I've just been hearing about your engagement, my dearfellow. Congratulations! May you and Dot have the best of everythingall your lives!"

  Poor Dot would have fled had that been possible, but she was hedged intoo closely for that. Moreover, Nap had transferred her hand to Bertie's,and the boy's warm grasp renewed her fainting courage. She knew he was asamazed as she was herself at Nap's sudden move, and she determined thatshe would stand by him at whatever cost.

  And after all, the difficult moment passed very quickly. People crowdedround them with kindly words, shook hands with them, chaffed them both,and seemed to be genuinely pleased with the turn of events. Mrs. Errolcame forward in her hearty way and kissed them; and in the end Dot foundherself in Bertie's vacated place on the arm of Lucas's chair, with hissteady hand holding hers, and his quiet, sincere voice telling her thathe was "real glad that the thing was fixed up at last."

  Later Bertie took her home in the motor, and explained the situation tothe rector, who was mildly bewildered but raised no definite objection tothe announcement of the engagement. He was something of a philosopher,and Bertie had always been a favourite of his. Nap in fact was the onlymember of the Errol family for whom he did not entertain the mostsincere esteem; but, as Dot remarked that night, Nap was a puzzle toeverybody. It seemed highly probable after all that he carried a kindheart behind his cynical exterior. She was sure that Lady Carfax thoughtso, since she invariably treated him as an intimate friend.

  The rector admitted that she might be right, but after Dot had gone tobed he leaned his elbow on his writing-table and sat long in thought.

  "I wonder," he murmured to himself presently, "I wonder if Lady Carfaxknows what she is doing. She really is too young, poor girl, to be somuch alone."