He took her in his arms and comforted her.
For a while he forgot all about the man whom he had seen loitering outside the garden.
But presently he remembered. He raised his head to look at her. He asked her a question, and he saw the quick dilating of the eyes.
"Where? What was he like?"
"He was hanging about the path. He tried the door. He did not see me, but he guessed there was someone in the bushes."
"But what was he like? Could you see him?"
Jordan sat up.
"I could draw his chin. I saw little more than his chin and mouth. He was tall."
She slipped round him, and, going to her dressing-table, picked up a little stick of rouge which she used for her lips. The room was panelled in white. The candle was shaded, and she removed the shade.
"Come. Draw."
She gave him the rouge stick, smiling a whimsical smile at him.
"Secrets! I only need it when he has been cruel to me. Draw."
Jordan took the stick and traced on the white panelling the outline of the man's chin.
"Like that," he said. "I seem to have seen it before."
Her face was mirthless and very grave.
"Ah! Like the toe of a slipper!"
Jordan looked at her brooding face.
"Was it——?"
"No," she said, "no. Give me the rouge stick."
She took it in her fingers and traced below the outline he had drawn a fat, round curve that sloped away to the right.
"Like the bottom of a jug! That—is my tyrant."
Jordan stood regarding the two pink scrawls.
"Then—who was the man?" he asked.
She lied to him.
"I do not know. Some creature—perhaps—of his. You are sure that he did not see you?"
"Even if he saw me—he can have seen no more than a shadow."
"O, my dear," she said, "we must be careful. What bitter sweetness is ours!"
IX
She did not realize how utterly he was hers until he took leave of her that night. He went down on one knee and bowed his head over her hands.
"If I could make you happy—set you free!"
He did not see the look in her eyes as she bent over him.
"Alas! my dear, I shall only be free by dying. Or—if he——? No, put that aside."
"I may see you to-morrow?"
"Yes—to-morrow. But be careful, be very careful."
"Sometimes I think a man can be too careful," he said. "Good night—my most dear lady."
When he had gone she sat for a long while pondering those words of his. Her face looked blanched and old, and her eyes fell into long, brooding stares. Once or twice she shivered, and seemed to rouse herself, and her face betrayed passionate and painful scorn.
"No, it cannot be done," she said to herself, "dear God, no!"
Jordan walked into Spaniards Court some time after midnight. The place was in darkness save for the light of the moon, and the shutters were over the windows. Jordan, deep in his own thoughts, went straight to Nando's door, unlocked it and entered. When a man is in a tragic mood he is apt to lose touch with the world about him, and to forget that a lover can never be too much on the alert. Also, the love in him had risen above caution, and touched that sacrificial recklessness which makes for tragedy. A woman was desperately unhappy; she talked of dying, and he loved her.
When the door had closed on him two men came out of a porch on the other side of the court and went quickly out into the street. They walked arm in arm, with their heads down and close together, so that their hats and periwigs seemed joined.
"That was young March. One can put two and two together."
"We'll make sure of it, George, damn them! To-morrow? Look here—will you set the watch?"
"You can rely on me. But I warn you—the man may be dangerous."
"Dangerous! I'll danger him! I'll take half a dozen good fellows with me, and if he shows fight—by gad! we'll spit him."
"Much better pitch him into the street."
"From a top-floor window, what?"
"Fudge, Bob, keep your head. Why get yourself into trouble for a bastard like that? Let him have his thrashing and be done with it."
Sfex walked into "Payne's" about ten o'clock next night, and met one of the drawers carrying a tray of glasses and two bottles of wine to some of the place's patrons.
"Is Sir Roger Bacchus here?"
"Upstairs, your honour, in the front room."
Sfex went up, and while he was still on the stairs he could hear Bacchus's voice screaming its usual oaths. A twinge of contempt showed on Sfex's face, and he paused in the doorway, pale as Death come to summon a man to the great reckoning. Lady Marigold's husband was at cards. He had taken off his wig, and hung it on the back of his chair, and the bald crown of his head shone white above his inflamed face. It was a big, loose, violent face, the nose and cheekbones tight under the mottled red skin, the cheeks hanging in flaps, the lower lids bagged under the eyes. The eyes had an angry expression. The man's mouth was never still, for even when he was not speaking he was biting at his lower lip, or sucking in the upper one. All his movements were jerky and spasmodic, as though the violent nature of the man had never been controlled.
"You silly, screaming brute," thought the cold gentleman in the doorway.
Bacchus raised his eyes from his cards and saw Sfex standing there. He stared, his loose mouth gaped; he threw down the cards and stood up.
"George! I'm wanted?"
Sfex nodded.
Bacchus clutched at his wig and put it on awry. He was never too steady on his feet. The others stared at him.
"Come on," he said, "come on, damn you, the whole roomful of you. Jack, you are one of the crowd. What—I've got two bruisers below! Damn the cards. Come on."
He pushed the table over and walked towards the door. Two or three of his friends got up and followed him. They knew what the adventure was and which way the wind blew.
"Better take his sword away," said one of them.
Bacchus heard him and turned a furious and distorted face.
"Go to hell! I'm not so drunk as not to know how to use it."
The first warning the lovers had was the sound of a woman's voice below, shrill and protesting. There was the noise of feet upon the stairs.
"Heavens!"
She sprang up from the chair and, in pushing it back, overturned the table on which the candle was standing. The room sank into darkness. Jordan, rigid by the door, stood listening.
He heard her moving about the room.
"Where are you?"
She did not answer, and then he saw her figure against the dim window. She had something in her hands, and she made a movement as of throwing something from her. It was his sword; she had thrown it into the garden.
"God," he said, "you have——"
She ran to him; she had her arms about him.
"No, no. O, my dear, I have thrown my heart out with it. Don't fight. Leave me to bear it."
She clung to him as they began to beat at the locked door. She kissed him; he felt her trembling.
"My man—I have loved you better than I knew. Stand over here."
He held her for a moment.
"I could have——"
"No, no," she said, "not that."
She heard her husband's voice screaming oaths, and suddenly she grew very calm. She could see light, a streak of it where the straining door gaped from the frame. She sat down in a chair, and holding Jordan by the left hand she kept him beside her.
They broke in. There were lights, silver candlesticks held in men's hands, angry faces, the glitter of a sword.
"You dog!"
Bacchus had a candlestick in one hand, and his sword in the other. He lurched forward into the room and made a clumsy lunge at Jordan, but Jordan put the thrust aside with his hand.
"Roger, the lad is unarmed."
She stood up. Her eyes were on her husband's face.
<
br /> "If you must be so brave, strike me."
"By God, I will—you slut!" he said.
Someone clutched at him from behind, but he made a half-thrust at my lady, nor did she move, but stood scornfully still. The point of the blade tore her dress, and before Bacchus could recover himself Jordan, using a familiar fencing trick, caught the colichemarde by the blunt part of the blade and disarmed him.
There was a moment's pause. A couple of gentlemen had Bacchus by the arms and shoulders, and he stood there struggling with them and swearing.
Jordan looked at my lady.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
She was white as milk and very calm.
"Please. Give me the sword."
He gave it to her, and she put it behind her.
"For my sake a good man shall neither kill a sot, nor be killed by him."
She looked at her husband.
"Yes, he is my lover. He has been to me what you have never been and never will be. Let him go, gentlemen; I am not afraid."
Her scorn was passionate and unashamed. She kept her eyes on her husband, who was breathing hard through his nostrils and biting at his lips.
"How many women have you played with? Pah! If you call me foul names need I play echo? This is my room; I shall be glad if you will leave it."
Bacchus looked from her to Jordan.
"This is a tame sort of rat," he said.
And Jordan bowed to him.
"If Sir Roger Bacchus desires satisfaction——"
"Jordan!" said the lady sharply, but her voice was drowned by her husband's scream.
"What! Treat you as a man of honour and a gentleman?"
"You may use your fists," said a voice; "don't let them thrash you, Jordan."
Jordan had six men against him, but his leap took them unawares. He was over the sprawling body of Bacchus and on the stairs, with another man on the floor, and three clinging to him as best they could. He shook and smote them off, but they were on him again before he reached the first landing, and the knot of struggling figures went down the stairs together. The balustrade broke half-way down the last flight, but Jordan fought free from the tangle on the floor. The others had had enough of it, and as he stood by the open doorway with his coat ripped down the back and his shirt torn open he called up the dark stairs:
"Your ladyship, they have not thrashed me."
"Well done," a faint voice cried from above; "go; I shall not be harmed."
Jordan walked out into the street and no one interfered with him. He was loth to leave her alone in the house, for his blood was up, and his honour was involved with hers, and yet he knew that there was nothing that he could do. Had she not thrown his sword away? She had been more afraid for him than for herself, and his own heart told him how right her fear had been.
"I should have run that man through the body! And then——"
He realized from what she had saved him, and his love saluted her.
He turned away. His mouth was bleeding and he did not know it; he was swordless, wigless, hatless, and one stocking was lumped about his ankle. What did it matter? He was as much involved with her as ever, and as he moved away down the street he was thinking how next he could meet her, how serve her.
Someone stepped out of a doorway and accosted him.
"Excuse me, sir, but are you for the cart and Tyburn?"
Jordan knew the man instantly by his height and by the prominent chin. Also, he suddenly remembered where he had first seen him, as though the hot blood in his brain had washed the memory back into his consciousness.
"I beg your pardon, my lord?"
Sfex stood beside him, looking into his face.
"Well, has nothing happened to the lady's husband?"
"Nothing."
"Dear me," said Sfex with irony, "she must be very disappointed."
Jordan looked him full in the eyes.
"What do you mean, my lord?"
"Why, dear child, she was counting on your helping her to the blessed state of widowhood!"
There was no more said. Jordan's right arm flashed up, and swinging like the bar of a gate, caught Sfex across the chest and laid him flat on his back in the roadway. And Jordan walked on.
He reached Spaniards Court in the small hours, let himself in, and after washing his face in the kitchen, he went noiselessly to his room. "I can't sleep," he thought, for he believed that he was more in love with her than ever, but sleep he did, and in the morning he felt strangely cool. He looked at himself in the glass; he had a cut lip and a half-closed eye.
At breakfast Mrs. Mary gave one timid glance at him, and then seemed to lose all interest in her plate. Tom Nando said nothing. He did not disapprove of a young man boasting a black eye provided he had left the other fellow with two.
Jordan was in the school all the morning, carrying on as if swords were mere toys and not made for killing, even though he had been so near to killing a man, and was thinking of how next he would see his lady. That very night? Somehow! He could not go on living without her. And the happiest of his memories was that of Lord George Sfex lying on his back in the roadway.
They were about to sit down to dinner when Meg came in.
"A wench wishes to speak to Mr. Jordan."
Mrs. Mary gave a kind of soundless moan. Nando looked down his nose. Jordan went out into the passage and found a girl waiting just inside the door. He knew her at once, for he had good cause to know her.
"My lady sends you these."
She had a letter in her hands and something wrapped up in a red cloak. It was his sword which Marigold had thrown into the garden.
Jordan took the letter and read it, and as he read it he was conscious of an empty feeling within him.
"My dear," she wrote, "I send you back your sword; may it always be as lucky as its master.
"I am going away, and of my own free will. I have made up my mind that you must not see me again. Some day, my dear, you will be grateful to me for this. Forgive me, for I know so much more of life than you do, and I think that I have loved you better than I knew.
"It is my wish—my own free wish—that you shall not see me again.
"Good-bye. I have made things safe for you."
Jordan stood leaning against the wall, his sword tucked under one arm, and his eyes looking out through the doorway at the sunlit court.
"When does she go?" he asked.
"She has gone."
He straightened.
"Gone? Already? Where?"
"She left in the coach soon after ten o'clock. For the country, her big house in Somersetshire—I guess. Anyhow, it is a very long way."
"Did she go alone?"
"Yes, quite alone. Sir Robert is abed, and sad in the stomach."
Jordan looked at the girl and she at him. He wanted to ask her a question, and she—on her part—wished to tell him something. She liked him better than he knew.
"Then—you have had your quittance, Sally, like me."
"I have," she said, "but don't you quarrel with what my lady has done. It was the kindest deed she ever did for a man. I'm a woman and I know it."
"How do you mean? Why did she leave you?"
Her eyes said: "You dear, big, simple thing!" She stroked her cheek with her fingers and seemed to reflect.
"Well, it was like this. They sat up half the night, talking. Sir Robert was like a mad dog, yapping and snarling, but always she had a little the better of him. Yes—I listened at the door. And in the end they made a bargain; it was her bargain and she made it for your sake."
"What was it?" he asked.
"She promised to go away—if he promised not to do what he threatened to do."
"And that?"
"I won't tell you," she said; "it is not the sort of thing a girl can tell a man."
And then she left him, and Jordan went back into the parlour with my lady's letter in his pocket and his sword under his arm. He laid the sword on a chair, sat down, and soberly ate his dinne
r. He felt that life was at an end, that he would never love another woman, and that this one had behaved to him with a mysterious fineness which he did not quite understand.
After the meal he disappeared, and they did not see him again till dusk fell. He had been out in the country, lying under trees and hanging over gates, fighting through his first great sadness, a sadness which was to last just three weeks. But the ultimate sadness that it was to cause him lasted much longer than that.
Before going to bed he told Thomas Nando the whole story, a Nando who looked solemn and grave, but whose unchastened maleness chuckled exultantly.
"Do you think she was right?"
Nando managed to make him see how right she was. The fierce renunciation of the thing had touched the older more than it had touched the younger one.
"After all—she's a great lady. A man might be proud of having been loved by her. It has not hurt you, Dan?"
Jordan smiled at him wrily.
"Well—a little."
"You'll get over that, lad."
"I suppose I shall. I don't want it talked about. It's too sacred."
"Dan," said his foster-father, "a love affair between a man and a married woman is anybody's property, to talk about as they please. That's part of the price you pay. Still—I hope the gossip won't come to your mother's ears; she's rather a soft-hearted and religious sort of woman, as you know."
Jordan looked unhappy.
"I suppose you don't think badly of me?"
"Badly!" and Nando suppressed a laugh; "well, no, I can't say that I do. Half the gentlemen in London, Dan, would have sold their souls to have been in your shoes. And to cheat man Bacchus out of seeing you thrashed, when he had six fellows ready on the stairs! That's good enough, my lad. You have got the laugh on your side."
In a week the tale was being told in all the drawing-rooms and coffee-houses, and if it was embellished it gained colour and swagger in the telling. Young March was a stout lad, a fellow of enterprise, a good romantic lover. Half the world envied him and sympathized with the lady. Bacchus—it was said—was laid up with the jaundice, and there the world left him amid chuckles and laughter.
The tale came in due course to Mrs. Mary's ears; a thoughtful neighbour saw to that. She took it greatly to heart, and all Nando's worldly wisdom failed to reassure her.
Apples of Gold Page 7