The Knave of Diamonds

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER XV

  ON THE EDGE OF THE PIT

  It was a very cheery Dot Waring who ran across the wet fields thatafternoon to the Manor to acquaint Lady Carfax with the gratifyingintelligence that the proceeds of the great entertainment at which shehad so kindly assisted actually amounted to close upon thirty pounds.Baronford had done its humble best towards providing itself with a TownHall, had in fact transcended all expectations, and Dot was in highspirits in consequence.

  It was something of a disappointment to be met by old Dimsdale with theintelligence that her ladyship was very tired and resting. He added,seeing Dot's face fall, that Mrs. Errol was spending a few days at theManor and would no doubt be very pleased to see her.

  So Dot entered, and was presently embraced by Mrs. Errol and invited totake tea with her in the conservatory.

  "Yes, dear Anne's in bed," she said. "She and Nap went for a motor rideyesterday, and broke down and were benighted. Nap always was sort ofreckless. We had a message late last night telling us what had happened,and I went off at once in the big car and brought Anne back. Nap had towait for his own car, but I guess he's back by this time. And poor Annewas so worn out when we got back that I persuaded her to go to bed rightaway. And I stopped to take care of her."

  In view of the fact that Mrs. Errol was never happier than when she hadsomeone to take care of, this seemed but natural, and Dot'sstraightforward mind found nothing unusual in the story.

  She remained for nearly an hour, chattering gaily upon a thousand topics.She was always at her ease with Mrs. Errol.

  At parting, the latter held her for a moment very closely. "Happy,dearie?" she asked.

  "Oh, ever so happy," said Dot, with warm arms round her friend's neck.

  Mrs. Errol sighed a little, smiled and kissed her. "God keep you so,child!" she said.

  And Dot went forth again into the hazy summer sunshine with a vaguewonder if dear Mrs. Errol were quite happy too. Somehow she had notliked to ask.

  Her way lay over the shoulder of a hill, that same hill on which SirGiles Carfax had once wreaked his mad vengeance upon his enemy.

  A mist lay along the valley, and Dot kept on the ridge as long as shecould. She was essentially a creature of sunshine.

  She was obliged, however, at last to strike downwards, and with regretshe left the sunshine behind.

  The moment it was out of her eyes she caught sight of something she hadnot expected to see in the valley below her. It was not a hundred yardsaway, but the mist rising from the marshy ground partially obscured it. Adark object, curiously shapeless, that yet had the look of an animal, waslying in a hollow, and over it bent the figure of a man.

  Dot's heart quickened a little. Had there been an accident, she askedherself? She hastened her steps and drew near.

  As she did so, the man straightened himself suddenly, and turned round,and instantly a thrill of recognition and of horror went through thegirl. It was Nap Errol, and the thing on the ground was his black mare.

  She knew in a flash what had happened. Bertie had predicted disaster toooften for her not to know. A great wave of repulsion surged through her.She was for the moment too horrified for speech.

  Nap stood, erect, motionless, waiting for her. There was a terrible setsmile on his face like the smile on a death-mask. He did not utter a wordas she came up.

  The mare was quite dead. The starting, bloodshot eyes were alreadyglazing. She lay in a huddled heap, mud-stained, froth-splashed, withblood upon her flanks. White-faced and speechless, Dot stood and looked.It was the first time that tragedy had ever touched her gay young life.

  She stooped at last, and with trembling, pitiful fingers touched thevelvet muzzle. Then suddenly indignation, fierce, overwhelming, headlong,swept over her, crowding out even her horror. She stood up and faced Napin such a tornado of fury as had never before shaken her.

  "You brute!" she said. "You fiend! You--you--"

  "Devil," said Nap. "Why not say it? I shan't contradict you."

  He spoke quite quietly, so quietly that, even in the wild tempest of heranger she was awed. There was something unfathomable about him, somethingthat nevertheless arrested her at the very height of her fury. His mannerwas so still, so deadly still, and so utterly free from cynicism.

  She stood and stared at him, a queer sensation of dread making her veryheart feel cold.

  "I should go if I were you," he said.

  But Dot stood still, as if struck powerless.

  "You can't do any good," he went on, his tone quite gentle, even remotelykind. "I had to kill something, but it was a pity you chanced to see it.You had better go home and forget it."

  Dot's white lips began to move, but it was several seconds before anysound came from them. "What are you going to do?"

  "That's my affair," said Nap.

  He was still faintly smiling, but his smile appalled her. It was socold, so impersonal, so void of all vitality.

  "Really, you had better go," he said.

  But Dot's dread had begun to take tangible form. Perhaps the very shockshe had undergone had served to awaken in her some of the dormantinstincts of her womanhood.

  She stood her ground, obedient to an inner prompting that she dared notignore. "Will you--walk a little way with me?" she said at last.

  For the first time Nap's eyes looked at her intently, searched herclosely, unsparingly. She faced the scrutiny bravely, but shetrembled under it.

  At the end of a lengthy pause he spoke. "Are you going to faint?"

  "No," she answered quickly. "I never faint. Only--only--I dofeel--rather sick."

  He put his hand under her arm with a suddenness that allowed of noprotest and began to march her up the hill.

  Long before they reached the top Dot's face was scarlet with exertionand she was gasping painfully for breath; but he would not let her resttill they were over the summit and out of sight of the valley and whatlay there.

  Then, to her relief, he stopped. "Better now?"

  "Yes," she panted.

  His hand fell away from her. He turned to go. But swiftly she turned alsoand caught his arm "Nap, please--" she begged, "please--"

  He stood still, and again his eyes scanned her. "Yes?"

  The brief word sounded stern, but Dot was too anxious to take anynote of that.

  "Come a little farther," she urged. "It--it's lonely through the wood."

  "What are you afraid of?" said Nap.

  She could not tell him the truth, and she hesitated to lie. But hiseyes read her through and through without effort. When he turned andwalked beside her she was quite sure that he had fathomed theunspeakable dread which had been steadily growing within her since themoment of their meeting.

  He did not say another word, merely paced along with his silent treadtill they reached the small wood through which her path lay. Dot's angerhad wholly left her, but her fear remained. A terrible sense ofresponsibility was upon her, and she was utterly at a loss as to how tocope with it. Her influence over this man she believed to be absolutelynil. She had not the faintest notion how to deal with him. Lady Carfaxwould have known, she reflected, and she wished with all her heart thatLady Carfax had been there.

  He vaulted the stile into the wood, and held up his hand to her. As sheplaced hers within it she summoned her resolution and spoke.

  "Nap, I'm sorry I said what I did just now."

  He raised his brows for the fraction of a second. "I forget whatyou said."

  She flushed a little. "Because you don't choose to remember. But I amsorry I spoke all the same. I lost my temper, and I--I suppose I had noright to."

  "Pray don't apologise," he said. "It made no difference, I assure you."

  But this was not what Dot wanted. She descended to the ground and triedagain. It was something at least to have broken the silence.

  "Nap," she said, standing still with her hands nervously clasped behindher, "please don't think me--impertinent, or anything of that sort. But Ican't help knowing that you are feeling
pretty bad about it. And--and"she began to falter--"I know you are not a brute really. You didn't meanto do it."

  A curious little smile came into Nap's face. "It's good of you to makeexcuses for me," he observed. "You happen to know me rather well,don't you?"

  "I know you are in trouble," she answered rather piteously."And--I'm sorry."

  "Thanks!" he said. "Do we part here?"

  She thrust out her hand impulsively. "I thought we decided tobe--friends," she said, a sharp quiver in her voice.

  "Well?" said Nap. He did not touch her hand. His fingers were wound inthe thong of his riding-crop and strained at it incessantly as if seekingto snap it asunder.

  Dot was on the verge of tears. She choked them back desperately. "Youmight behave as if we were," she said.

  He continued to tug grimly at the whip-lash. "I'm not friends with anyoneat the present moment," he said. "But it isn't worth crying over anyway.Why don't you run home and play draughts with Bertie?"

  "Because I'm not what you take me for!" Dot suddenly laid trembling handson the creaking leather and faced him with all her courage. "I can't helpwhat you think of me," she said rather breathlessly. "But I'm not goingto leave you here by yourself. You may be as furious as you like. Isimply won't!"

  He pulled the whip sharply from her grasp. She thought for the momentthat he actually was furious and braced herself to meet the tempest ofhis wrath. And then to her amazement he spoke in a tone that held neithersarcasm nor resentment, only a detached sort of curiosity.

  "Are you quite sure I'm worth all this trouble?"

  "Quite sure," she answered emphatically.

  "And I wonder how you arrived at that conclusion," he said with a twistof the mouth that was scarcely humorous.

  She did not answer, for she felt utterly unequal to the discussion.

  They began to walk on down the mossy pathway. Suddenly an idea came toDot. "I only wish Lady Carfax were here," she exclaimed impetuously."She would know how to convince you of that."

  "Would she?" said Nap. He shot a swift look at the girl beside him, then:"You see, Lady Carfax has thrown me over," he told her very deliberately.

  Dot gave a great start. "Oh, surely not! She would never throw overanyone. And you have always been such friends."

  "Till I offended her," said Nap.

  "Oh, but couldn't you go and apologise?" urged Dot eagerly. "She is sosweet. I know she would forgive anybody."

  He jerked up his head. "I don't happen to want her forgiveness. Andeven if I did, I shouldn't ask for it. I'm not particularly great athumbling myself."

  "Isn't that rather a mistake?" said Dot.

  "No," he rejoined briefly. "Not when I'm despised already for a savageand the descendant of savages."

  "I am afraid I don't understand," she said.

  He uttered a sudden harsh laugh. "I see you don't. Or you would bedespising me too."

  "I shall never do that," she said quickly.

  He looked at her again, still with a mocking smile upon his lips. He borehimself with a certain royal pride that made her feel decidedly small.

  "You will never say that again," he remarked.

  "Why not?" she demanded.

  "Because," he answered, with a drawling sneer, "you are like the rest ofcreation. You put breed before everything. Unless a man has what you arepleased to term pure blood in his veins he is beyond the pale."

  "Whatever are you talking about?" said Dot, frankly mystified.

  He stopped dead and faced her. "I am talking of myself, if you want toknow," he told her very bitterly. "I am beyond the pale, an illegitimateson, with a strain of Red Indian in my veins to complete my damnation."

  "Good gracious!" said Dot.

  She stared at him for a few seconds mutely, as if the sudden announcementhad taken her breath away.

  At last: "Then--then--Mrs. Errol--" she stammered.

  "Is not my mother," he informed her grimly. "Did you ever seriously thinkshe was?" He flung back his shoulders arrogantly. "You're almighty blind,you English."

  Dot continued to contemplate him with her frank eyes, as if viewing forthe first time a specimen of some rarity.

  "Well, I don't see that it makes any difference," she said at length."You are you just the same. I--I really don't see quite why you told me."

  "No?" said Nap, staring back at her with eyes that told her nothing."P'r'aps I just wanted to show you that you are wasting your solicitudeon an object of no value."

  "How--funny of you!" said Dot.

  She paused a moment, still looking at him; then with a quick, childishmovement she slipped her hand through his arm. Quite suddenly she knewhow to deal with him.

  "You seem to forget," she said with a little smile, "that I'm going to beyour sister one day."

  He stiffened at her action, and for a single moment she wondered if shecould have made a mistake. And then as suddenly he relaxed. He took thehand that rested on his arm and squeezed it hard.

  And Dot knew that in some fashion, by a means which she scarcelyunderstood, she had gained a victory.

  They went on together along the mossy, winding path. A fleeting showerwas falling, and the patter of it sounded on the leaves.

  Nap walked with his face turned up to the raindrops, sure-footed, withthe gait of a panther. He did not speak a word to the girl beside him,but his silence, did not disconcert her. There was even something in itthat reassured her.

  They were approaching the farther end of the wood when he abruptly spoke.

  "So you think it makes no difference?"

  Was there a touch of pathos in the question? She could not have said.But she answered it swiftly, with all the confidence--andignorance--of youth.

  "Of course I do! How could it make a difference? Do you suppose--if ithad been Bertie--I should have cared?"

  "Bertie!" he said. "Bertie is a law-abiding citizen. And you--pardon mefor saying so--are young."

  "Oh, yes, I know," she admitted. "But I've got some sense all the same.And--and--Nap, may I say something rather straight?"

  The flicker of a smile shone and died in his eyes. "Don't mind me!" hesaid. "The role of an evangelist becomes you better than some."

  "Don't!" said Dot, turning very red.

  "I didn't," said Nap. "I'm only being brotherly. Hit as straight asyou like."

  "I was going to say," she said, taking him at his word, "that if a man isa good sort and does his duty, I don't believe one person in a millioncares a rap about what his parents were. I don't indeed."

  She spoke with great earnestness; it was quite obvious that she meantevery word. It was Dot's straightforward way to speak from her heart.

  "And I'm sure Lady Carfax doesn't either," she added.

  But at that Nap set his teeth. "My child, you don't chance to know LadyCarfax as I do. Moreover, suppose the man doesn't chance to be a goodsort and loathes the very word 'duty'? It brings down the house of cardsrather fast, eh?"

  An older woman might have been discouraged; experience would probablyhave sadly acquiesced. But Dot possessed neither age nor experience, andso she only lost her patience.

  "Oh, but you are absurd!" she exclaimed, shaking his arm withcharacteristic vigour. "How can you be so disgustingly flabby? You'reworse than old Squinny, who sends for Dad or me every other day to seehim die. He's fearfully keen on going to heaven, but that's all he everdoes to get there."

  Nap broke into a brief laugh. They had reached the stile and he facedround with extended hand. "After that--good-bye!" he said. "With yourpermission we'll keep this encounter to ourselves. But you certainly area rousing evangelist. When you mount the padre's pulpit I'll come and situnder it."

  Dot's fingers held fast for a moment. "It'll be all right, will it?" sheasked bluntly. "I mean--you'll be sensible?"

  He smiled at her in a way she did not wholly understand, yet which wentstraight to her quick heart.

  "So long, little sister!" he said. "Yes, it will be quite all right. I'llcontinue to cumber the ground a l
ittle longer, if you call that beingsensible. And if you think my chances of heaven are likely to be improvedby your kind intervention, p'r'aps you'll put up a prayer now and then onmy behalf to the Power that casts out devils--for we are many."

  "I will, Nap, I will!" she said very earnestly.

  When he was gone she mounted the stile and paused with her face to thesky. "Take care of him, please, God!" she said.