The Knave of Diamonds

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER IX

  THE BOON

  It was long before Anne slept that night, but yet though restless she wasnot wholly miserable. Neither was she perplexed. Her duty lay before herclearly defined, and she meant to fulfil it. Those few words with LucasErrol had decided her beyond all hesitancy, so completely was she insympathy with this strong friend of hers. Perhaps her wavering had onlybeen the result of a moment's weakness, following upon sudden strain. Butthe strain had slackened, and the weakness was over. She knew that evenNap had not the power to move her now. With the memory of his firmhand-grip came the conviction that he would not seek to do so. Likeherself he had been momentarily dismayed it might be, but he had takenhis place among her friends, not even asking to be foremost, andremembering this, she resolutely expelled any lingering doubt of him. Hadshe not already proved that she had but to trust him to find himtrustworthy? What tangible reason had he given her for withdrawing hertrust even for a moment? She reproached herself for it, and determinedthat she would never doubt him again.

  But yet sleep was long in coming to her. Once when it seemed near, thehooting of an owl near the open window drove it away; and once in thevague twilight before the dawn she started awake to hear the sharpthudding of a horse's hoofs galloping upon the turf not very far away.That last set her heart a-beating, she could not have said wherefore,save that it reminded her vaguely of a day in the hunting-field that hadended for her in disaster.

  She slept at last and dreamed--a wild and fearful dream. She dreamed thatshe was on horseback, galloping, galloping, galloping, in headlong flightfrom someone, she knew not whom, but it was someone of whom she wasunspeakably afraid. And ever behind her at break-neck speed, gainingupon her, merciless as fate, galloped her pursuer. It was terrible, itwas agonising, yet, though in her heart she knew it to be a dream, shecould not wake. And then, all suddenly, the race was over. Someone drewabreast of her. A sinewy hand gripped her bridle-rein. With a gasping cryshe turned to face her captor, and saw--a Red Indian! His tigerish eyesgazed into hers. He was laughing with a fiendish exultation. The eaglefeathers tossed above his swarthy face. It came nearer to her; it glaredinto her own. And suddenly recognition stabbed her like a sword. It wasthe face of Nap Errol....

  He was on the stairs talking to Hudson, the valet, when she descended tobreakfast, but he turned at once to greet her.

  "I am sorry to say Lucas has had a bad night. He will keep his roomto-day. How have you slept, Lady Carfax?"

  She answered him conventionally. They went downstairs together.

  Bertie was in the hall studying a newspaper. He came forward, scowlingheavily, shook hands with Anne, and immediately addressed his brother.

  "I've just come in from the stable. Have you been out all night? You'venearly ridden the mare to death."

  Anne glanced at Nap instinctively. He was smiling. "Don't vex yourself,my good Bertie," he said. "The mare will be all right after a feed."

  "Will she?" growled Bertie. "She is half dead from exhaustion anyway."

  "Oh, skittles!" said Nap, turning to go.

  The boy's indignation leaped to a blaze. "Skittles to you! I know whatI'm saying. And if you're not ashamed of yourself, you damned wellought to be!"

  Nap stopped. "What?" he drawled.

  Bertie glared at him and subsided. The explosion had been somewhat moreviolent than he had intended.

  Very quietly Nap stepped up to him. "Will you repeat that last remarkof yours?"

  Bertie was silent.

  "Or do you prefer to withdraw it?"

  Bertie maintained a dogged silence. He was fidgeting with the paper in afashion that seemed to indicate embarrassment.

  "Do you withdraw it?" Nap repeated, still quiet, still slightly drawling.

  Bertie hunched his shoulders like a schoolboy. "Oh, get away, Nap!" hegrowled. "Yes--sorry I spoke. Now clear out and leave me alone!"

  Anne was already at the further end of the hall, but Nap overtook herbefore she entered the breakfast room. He opened the door for her, and asshe passed him she saw that he was still faintly smiling.

  "Pardon the _contretemps_!" he said. "You may have noticed before that Iam not particularly good at swallowing insults."

  "I wonder if there was a cause for it," she said, looking at himsteadily. "Remember, I know what your riding is like."

  He raised his eyebrows for a moment, then laughed. The room they enteredwas empty.

  "No one down yet!" he observed. "Take a seat by the window. What willyou have?"

  He attended to her wants and his own, and finally sat down facing her. Heseemed to be in excellent spirits.

  "Please don't look so severe!" he urged. "Just as I am going to ask afavour of you, too!"

  She smiled a little but not very willingly. "I don't like cruel people,"she said. "Cruelty is a thing I can never forget because I abhor it so."

  "And are you never cruel?" said Nap.

  "I hope not."

  "I hope not, too," he rejoined, giving her a hard look. "But I sometimeshave my doubts."

  Anne looked out of the window in silence.

  The sharp rapping of his knuckles on the table recalled her. She turned,slightly startled, and met his imperious eyes. He smiled at her.

  "Queen Anne, I crave a boon."

  Almost involuntarily she returned his smile. "So you said before."

  "And you don't even ask what it is."

  "I am not quite sure that I want to know, Nap," she said.

  "You are not liking me this morning," he observed.

  She made no answer.

  "What is it?" he said. "Is it the mare?"

  She hesitated. "Perhaps, in part."

  "And the other part?" He leaned forward, looking at her keenly. "Are youafraid of me, Anne?" he said.

  His voice was free from reproach, yet her heart smote her. She remindedherself of how he had once pleaded with her for her trust.

  "I'm sorry I pressed the mare," he said, "but it was quite as much herfault as mine. Moreover, the cub exaggerated. I will fetch him in andmake him own it if you like."

  She stayed him with a gesture. "No, don't, please! I think Bertie wasprobably in the right."

  "Do you, though?" Nap leaned back again, regarding her with superciliousattention. "It's rather--daring of you to say so."

  "Do you really think I stand in awe of you?" she said.

  "You are such a truly remarkable woman," he made answer, "that I scarcelyknow what to think. But since you are not afraid of me--apparently,perhaps I may venture to come to the point. Do you know I have beenlaying plans for a surprise picnic for you and--one other? It's such agorgeous day. Don't refuse!"

  The boyish note she liked to hear sounded suddenly in his voice. Hediscarded his cynicism and leaned towards her again, eager, persuasive.

  "Don't refuse," he reiterated. "Look at the sunshine, listen to thebirds, think of a whole day in the open! I'll take you to the loveliestplace I know in this quaint little island, and I'll be your slave all daylong. Oh, I promise you won't find me in the way. Now don't look prudish.Be a girl for once. Never mind the rest of creation. No one else willknow anything about it. We leave Baronmead this morning in the motor, andwho cares what time we reach the Manor? It can't matter to you or anyone.Say you'll come! Say it!"

  "My dear Nap!" Anne looked at him dubiously, uncertain whether to takehim seriously.

  "Say it!" he repeated. "There is no earthly reason why you shouldn't. AndI'll take such care of you. Why shouldn't you have a real good time foronce? You never have had in all your life."

  True, only too true! But it was not that fact that made her waver.

  "Will you tell me what plans you have made for this picnic?" she askedat length.

  He began to smile. "My plans, Lady Carfax, are entirely subject to yourapproval. About forty miles from here there is a place calledBramhurst--a place after your own heart--a paradise. With judiciousdriving we could be there by one or soon after--in time for luncheon."

  "Yes?
" she said, as he stopped.

  "That's all," said Nap.

  "But--afterwards?" she hazarded.

  "My dear Lady Carfax, if it is to be a surprise picnic, where's the useof settling all the details beforehand?" Nap's tone was one of indulgentprotest; he was eating and drinking rapidly, as if he had an appointmentto keep. "My suggestion is that we then follow our inclinations--yourinclinations." He smiled at her again. "I am your slave till sunset."

  "Could we be back at the Manor by then?" she asked.

  "Of course we could."

  "Will you promise that we shall be?" She looked up at him seriously.

  He was still smiling. "If you ordain it," he said.

  "I must be back by dinner-time," she asserted.

  "And you dine?"

  "At eight."

  He pushed back his chair and rose. "Very discreet of you! The sun sets ateight-ten. At what hour will you deign to be ready?"

  "At eleven," said Anne.

  He glanced at his watch. "I am afraid you can't see Lucas to saygood-bye. Hudson has just given him morphia."

  "Is he so bad then?" she asked quickly.

  "No worse than he has been before. Bad pain all night. He always fightsagainst taking the stuff. I persuaded him." He spoke shortly, as if thesubject were distasteful to him. "No doubt he is easier by this time," headded. "Eleven o'clock then! I will go and get ready." But even then hepaused, his hand on the back of her chair. "Can you keep a secret?" heasked lightly.

  She glanced up at him. "A secret?"

  "An it please you," he said, "let this be a secret between yourself andyour humble slave!"

  And with the words he turned with an air of finality and went away.