CHAPTER XXI
AN ANOMALOUS SITUATION
The most unexpected and extraordinary thing in the world had happened,yet Betty Dalrymple asked no questions. Had she done so, it is probablethat Mr. Heatherbloom would have been physically unequal to thelabyrinthine explanation the occasion demanded. For a brief spell thegirl had continued to regard him and she had seemed about to speakfurther. Then the blue light of her gaze had slowly turned and her lipsremained mute. He was glad of this; of course he would later have totell something, but sufficient unto that unlucky hour were theperplexities thereof. Sonia Turgeinov had been surprised, too, but itwas Betty Dalrymple's surprise that had most awakened her wonder. "Why,didn't you know it was he?" the dark eyes seemed to say to the younggirl. "Who else, on earth, did you think it was?" The mystery for her,as well as for Betty Dalrymple, deepened. Only for Mr. Heatherbloomthere existed no mystery; it was all now clear as day. He had done whathe had set out to do. She would soon be enabled to find her way back tocivilization. His present concern lay with the occupation of the moment.
The tree _was_ a tree; this was the most momentous immediateconsideration; a few more miles had established that fact withpositiveness. But distances on the water are long, and they three wouldhave to journey together on the sea yet a while. He bethought him of hisduties, as host; these--his two passengers-were in his care.
"You should find biscuits in a basket and water in a cask," he said,speaking to both of them, and, at the same time, to immeasurabledistance. "If you don't mind looking--I can't very well."
At that, a nervous laugh welled from Sonia Turgeinov's throat; she hadto give way. Possibly the absurd thought seized her that all thetragedies and comedies might be simmered down to one thing. Were therebiscuits in the basket? But Betty Dalrymple did not laugh; her eyes werelike stars on a wintry night; her face was white as paper. It was turnednow from the steersman--ahead. She saw the blur before them become adefinite line of green; later she made out details, the large heads ofsmall trees. The former looked like big overflowing cabbages; thetrunks, beneath, sprawled this way and that, as the vagaries of the windhad directed their growth. In front of them and the vernal strip, awhite line slowly resolved itself into moving foam. She--they all couldhear it now, faintly--they were very near; no thunderous anthem itpealed forth; its voice seethed in soft cadences.
Mr. Heatherbloom, with sheet taut, ran his craft toward the sands butthe boat grounded some little distance from the shore. It was useless toattempt to go farther so he let his sail out, got up and steppedoverboard. The water was rather more than knee deep; he tugged at theboat and attempted to draw her up farther without much success. She wastoo heavy, and desisting from his efforts, he approached Miss Dalrymple.The young girl shrank back slightly, but seeming not to notice thatfirst instinctive movement, he reached over and lifted her out. It wasdone in a businesslike manner and with no more outward concern than aKikuji porter might have displayed in meeting the exigencies of a likesituation. The bubbles seethed around Mr. Heatherbloom's legs; unmindfulof them or the shifting sands beneath foot, he strode straight as mightbe for the shore. His burden was not a heavy one but it seemed verystill and unyielding. He released her at the earliest possibleopportunity and in the same matter-of-fact way (still that of a humanferry on the banks of the turbulent Chania) he returned for his otherpassenger. Around Sonia Turgeinov's rich lips a mocking smile seemed toplay; she arose at once.
"How charming! How very gallant!" she murmured. "First, you nearlystrangle one, and then--"
Her soft arm stole about his neck, and her warm breath swept his cheekas, stony-faced, he trudged along. This time his burden was heavier,although there were men who would not have minded that under thecircumstances. The dark eyes, full of sparkles and enigmas, turned uponhis frosty ones. But she did not see very far into that so-called mediumof the soul; she received only an impression one gets in looking at awall.
He put her down--gently. Whereupon, her dark brows lifted ironically.He, gentle--to her? Did she dream? She felt again that fierce clasp ofthe night before, and mentally told herself she would like to label himan artistic study in contrasts. Really the adventure began to be "worthwhile"; she felt almost reconciled to it. He had carried her off as therough, old-fashioned pirates bear away feminine prizes from a town theyhave looted. From dog-tender to bucaneer--he appealed to herimagination. She experienced a childlike desire to sit down where he hadleft her and play with the shells. But instead she looked toward BettyDalrymple. That young girl, however, did not return her regard, thoughthe golden head, a few moments before, had lifted once, with a swift,bird-like motion toward Sonia Turgeinov, en route beachward. Now thegirl's features were steadfastly bent away; whatever gladness she mayhave felt in thus, after many vicissitudes, reaching land safely, shekept to herself.
Mr. Heatherbloom resumed the task of porter; his next burden--thewater-cask--was the heaviest of all. He struggled with it and oncenearly went down, so tired was he, but he got it ashore, and the basketof biscuits, too, and some other things. The boat, floating morelightly, he now pulled to the strand; then he took out the spar and thesail. This done, he gazed around; the place was deserted by man, thoughof birds and crabs and other crawling objects there were a-plenty. Mr.Heatherbloom stood with knitted brow; it was a time for contemplation,visual and mental. For the latter he did not feel very fit as he stroveto think what was best to do next. The other two--he still forcedhimself to keep to the purely impersonal aspect of the case--were hischarges. Being women, they were mutually and equally (the mockery ofit!) dependent on him. He was responsible for their welfare andwell-being. In the sail-boat he had been captain; ashore, he becamecommandant, an answerable factor. He began to plan.
What kind of place had they come to?--was it big or small?--inhabited,or deserted? All this would have to be ascertained, later. Meanwhile,temporary headquarters were needed; he would erect a tent. The spar andboom served for the ridge and front poles, the sail for the canvascovering, the sheet and halyards for the restraining lines. SoniaTurgeinov again watched him; her interest was now of that vague kind shehad sometimes experienced when the manager appeared on a darkened stage,with a fresh crackling manuscript. Then she had lolled back and listenedto the first reading. She would have lolled back now--for the air wassoporific--but, instead, she started suddenly. The old wound on Mr.Heatherbloom's head, heretofore concealed by the cap Francois hadprocured for him, had reopened as he exerted himself; he raised his handquickly and seemed a little at a loss. She stepped to him at once.
"The scarf, Monsieur?"
"Thank you." He took it absently.
"It serves divers purposes," she murmured. And Mr. Heatherbloom,remembering the more violent employment he had found for it the nightbefore, flushed slightly.
She added delicate emphasis to her remark by assisting him. With her ownfingers she tied a knot, and rather painstakingly spread out the ends.He endured grimly. Miss Dalrymple appeared not to have observed theepisode but, of course, it had in reality been all quite fully revealedto her. It was in keeping with certain circumstances of the past thatthe Russian woman should not be unmindful of him, her confrere in theconspiracy. That much was patent; but other happenings were not soeasily reconciled. What had taken place on the deck of the _Nevski_ inthose breathless last few moments as they were escaping, was in illconformity with those amicable relations which should have existedbetween the two. This man's presence in the boat, in the place ofFrancois, could be explained by no logical process with the premises shehad at her command.
The bandage possessed a subtly weird and bizarre interest for the younggirl. He had been injured. How? For what reason? Betty Dalrymple's mindswept, seemingly without very definite cause, to another scene, one ofviolence. Again she heard the crashing of glass and saw forms leapinginto the cabin. Her thoughts reverted, on the instant, to the unknownhelper she had been obliged to leave behind. Somehow, real as he hadbeen, he seemed at this moment strangely apart, something in theabstract
. Then all illusive speculations merged abruptly into arealization that needed no demonstration. Sonia Turgeinov possessed acertain outre attractiveness the young girl had never noted before. Theviolet eyes, shining through the long shading lashes, rested a moment onher; then passed steadily beyond.
"I'm off for a look around." Mr. Heatherbloom, having transferred theirmeager possessions to the tent, now addressed Miss Dalrymple, or SoniaTurgeinov, or an indefinite space between them. "Better stay right herewhile I'm gone." His tones had a firm accent. "Sorry there are onlybiscuits for breakfast, but perhaps there'll be better fare before long.If you should move around"--his eye lingered authoritatively on BettyDalrymple--"keep to the beach."
"How very solicitous!" laughed Sonia Turgeinov as the young man strodeoff. "That was intended especially for you, Mademoiselle. As for me, itdoes not matter." With a shrug. "I might stroll into the wood, bedevoured by wild beasts, and who would care?"
Betty Dalrymple did not answer.
"A truce, Mademoiselle!" said the other in the same gay tone. "I knowvery well what you think of me. You told me very clearly on the_Nevski_, and before that, on shore. In this instance, however, since itis through no fault or choice of mine that we are thrown thus closelytogether, would it not be well to make the best of the situation?"
"There seems, indeed, no choice in the matter," answered the young girlcoldly.
"None, unless like those in the admirable play, we elect to pitch ourrespective camps at different parts of the beach. But that would beabsurd, wouldn't it? Besides, I have my punishment--no light one forSonia Turgeinov who herself has been accustomed to a little adulation inthe past. I am _de trop_."
"_De trop_?" There was a faint uplifting of the brow. "_You_ should notbe altogether that."
"You mean I should be very friendly with him, my colleague andconfidant, _n'est ce pas_?" Sonia's dark eyes swept swiftly the proudlovely face. "In truth he proved an able assistant." Her voice was alittle mocking. "What if I should tell you it was he who planned it all--devised the ways and means?" A statue could, not have been moreimmovable than Betty Dalrymple. "Or," suddenly, "what if I should sayquite--_au contraire_." The girl stirred. Sonia Turgeinov seemed toruminate. "Should I be so forgiving--after last night?" she murmured."It would be inconsistent, wouldn't it?--or angelic? And I am no angel."
The girl's lips started to form a question but she did not speak. Afar,Mr. Heatherbloom's figure could be seen, almost at the vanishing point.He was toiling up an incline. Then the green foliage swallowed him.Sonia Turgeinov smiled at vacancy. "Though I do owe him a little," shewent on, half meditative. "He _was_ kind to me in the park. He was sorryfor me. Think of it, and without admiring me. Other men have professedfor poor Sonia Turgeinov a little interest or solicitude at divers timesand places, but it has always been accompanied with something else. Isthat beyond the understanding of your pure soul, nourished in ahothouse, Mademoiselle?" There was a sudden hard ring of rebellion inher tones. "Am I handsome? Your eyes said it not long ago. _Ma foi_!"Her voice becoming light again. "It was Parsifal himself who talked withme in the park--that place for rendezvous and romances." Her thoughtsleaped over time and space. "The first light of the sun revealed to youthis day the last face you expected to see. It was as if a bit ofmiracle, or a little diablerie had happened. I, too, was in a haze, notso great--though on the deck the night before I little expected toencounter one I had last seen in chains, a prisoner--"
"A prisoner--in chains--he--" Betty Dalrymple stared.
"You did not know? What on earth did you expect? That the prince wouldgive him the _suite de luxe_ after the beating his excellencyreceived--"
"The beating?" half-stammered the girl. "Then the man in the salon whoclaimed to be a detective was--"
"What? He claimed that?" laughed Sonia Turgeinov. "_Tres drole!"_
But Betty Dalrymple did not laugh. Her eyes, bent seaward, saw nothingnow of the leaping waves; her face was fixed as a cameo's. Only her hairstirred, wind-tossed, all in motion like her thoughts. And regardingher, Sonia Turgeinov's eyes began to harden a little. Did the womanregret for the moment what she had said, divining again some play withina play? Yet what could there be in common between this beautiful heiressand the _gardeurde chiens_? No! it was absurd to conceive anything ofthe kind. Nevertheless Sonia Turgeinov unaccountably began to experiencea vague hostility for the young girl; this she might partly attribute tothe great gaps of convention separating them. Her own life, in confusedpictures, surged panorama-like before her mental vision: The garretbeginning; the cold and hunger hardships; the beatings, when a child;the girl problems--so hard; the woman's--Faugh! what a life! Would thatthe flame of the artist had burned more brightly or not at all. Shetried to imagine what she would have been, if she, too, had been born toa golden cradle.
A great ennui swept over her. How old she felt on a sudden! And howhomesick, too. Yes; that was it--homesickness. She could have stretchedout her arms toward her much beloved and, sometimes, a little hated,Russia. The bright domes of her native city seemed to shine now in hereyes. She walked in spirit the stony pavement of the Kremlin. Cruelty,intolerance, suffering--all these reigned in the city of extremes, butshe would have kissed even the cold marble at the feet of dead tyrants,the way the people did, if she could have stood at that moment in one ofthe old, old sacred places. Her brief flight into the new world had ledher to no pots of gold at rainbow end. The little honorarium from hisexcellency for her part in this adventure, she did not want now. Sheregretted that she had ever embarked upon it. What penalty might she nothave to pay yet? The law, with dragon fingers would reach out--no doubtwas reaching out now--to grip her. Well, let it.
A crisp, matter-of-fact voice--concealing any agitation the speaker mayhave felt--broke in upon these varied reflections. Mr. Heatherbloom,rather out of breath but quiet and determined, stood before them.
"Miss Dalrymple!--Mademoiselle! There is no occasion for alarm but itwill be necessary; for us to leave here at once!"
A Man and His Money Page 21