She Painted Her Face

by Dornford Yates

  After a long look —

  “We’d better be going,” she said, and turned to the stair.

  I began to follow her up, throwing a beam beyond her, to light her steps, but after a little she stopped, to ask for a torch. I gave her one of my two, and by its light she examined the arms on the ring. Then with a sudden movement she put this into my hand.

  “Put it on my finger,” she said. “You have the right.”

  I slid my torch into a pocket and took her left hand in mine. Then I slid the ring on to her beautiful second finger, for which it was far too big. For a moment we regarded it together.

  Then —

  “I’m out of my depth,” I said. “There’s a king down there – that I’ve been using as if he were a giant at a fair: and here I am standing up to a girl who’s really a queen.”

  “I’m Elizabeth Virgil to you – and shall be, as long as you live.”

  “I know I said that,” said I. “But now this has happened, to – to put me where I belong.”

  “Where do you belong, Richard?”

  “To the crowd,” said I, “that watches the great go by.”

  “Where my father stood. Where, but for you, I should be standing this very day.”

  “What of that?” said I. “You don’t belong to the crowd, and neither did he.”

  Her left hand tightened on mine.

  I’m afraid,” she said gravely, “that he, like me, must have had a very low taste. You see, we both – took to you. And, unless I’m much mistaken, from what I’ve heard of ‘Old Harry’, she’ll do the same.” A smile swept into her face. “Don’t look so surprised, my dear. I mean what I say. And I’ll tell you another thing. As I’ve said, if she likes, ‘Old Harry’ can pull this off: but if I had to choose between your assistance and hers, I’d choose you every time – and let her go hang.”

  My heart burned at her words – which I could not allow.

  “But that – that’s fantastic, Elizabeth.”

  “It isn’t really,” she said. “And in any event it’s true. You see… No, you wouldn’t see – so that’s no good. Let me put it like this. Till you came, I had no one to lean on. Then you came out of the blue and took the whole of my weight. Well, that has demoralized me: and now I know that I must have someone to lean on – that I cannot go back and stand by myself again. Now so long as you are willing, you are the person on whom I wish to lean: but you seem to have an idea that that would not be correct, because the blood in my veins is rather better than yours. Well, I’m not going to argue the point, but tell me this. Was your father a stable-boy?”

  “Oh, no,” said I. “He—”

  “Well, that man’s was,” said Elizabeth, and pointed over my shoulder, down the stair. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show it you in the books. Perhaps that’ll make you feel better. Or must I do something to lower myself in your eyes?” I cried out at that. “Very well. Who am I to you?”

  “Elizabeth Virgil,” said I.

  “No more?”

  “No more – and no less.”

  “And are you content that I should lean upon you?”

  Unwilling to trust my voice, I bent my head and put her hand to my lips.

  I looked up to find her smiling.

  “The man of action,” she said.

  And then she was two steps above me, climbing the stair.

  There was now no cause for haste, for leave before midnight we dared not, in case Brief was not asleep: and that was the hour at which Winter was to be by the mouth of the drive. (He, of course, knew no more than that we were within the tower and that all was well, for I had twice sent him that signal a short half-hour before dawn. This, from the leads of the tower, which were easily reached.) Indeed; we were faced with the prospect of being confined for three hours with nothing to do, for though we were all worn out, excitement and impatience, between them, would not allow us to rest. But first, of course, we had to cover our tracks.

  (Here let me say that I make no excuse for the outlook which I have this moment set down. It was ours, at that time: and if I am to be honest, it must be declared.)

  Now that we knew the secret, it took us a very short while to return to their ancient order the elements we had displaced, but dust that the years have laid cannot be reproduced in ten minutes of time, and half an hour went by before I was satisfied with the look of the thirty-sixth step, within whose stone the key to the chamber lay. Whilst I was attending to this, with Brenda to give me light, my lady and Herrick together composed a full note of what we had found in the chamber and what the statement set forth. They were at work in the bedroom, that is to say, the uppermost room of the tower. We had used that room, and no other, because that alone was above the rest of the house, so that there we could move and converse, yet could be heard by no one who was not within the tower. To reach this room, we had to pass by the great door which gave to the second floor of the castle itself. For us this spot was always the danger-point, and, while we had laid down a carpet to swallow the sound of our footfalls as we went by, we always put out our torches before we approached the landing which served the door. It follows that, whenever we passed, we did so in darkness and silence, feeling our way.

  I had finished my work on the step and, with Brenda behind me, was going upstairs to the bedroom quietly enough. We had passed by the door and I was about, being by, to relight my torch, when a sound there was no mistaking rapped out of the dark. It was the clack of a latch.

  The two of us stood still as death.

  Again the iron was raised – by somebody standing on the other side of the door…and pressure was put on the oak – which could not open because we had made it fast… Then whoever was there gave in, and the latch fell back into place.

  We had been so much occupied and had become so familiar with our peculiar estate that the fears which at first had plagued us had lost their sting and we had come to ignore, if not to forget, that someone of Brief might purpose to enter the tower. This sudden catastrophe, therefore, hit me between the eyes, and I make no shame to confess that, to use the words of the Psalmist, my heart in the midst of my body was even like melting wax. Then I had myself in hand and was up the stairs in a flash, to give the alarm.

  Elizabeth paled, and Herrick stifled an oath.

  “If we can, we must bolt,” said I. “By way of the courtyard, of course: and so to the belvedere.”

  “Is that step all right?” said Herrick.

  “Thank God, yes,” said I. “I was on my way up.”

  As luck would have it, our stuff was ready to hand, and before two minutes had passed, we had packed it anyhow and were ready to leave. We had intended, of course, to restore to the rooms we had used the order we had found when we came, but this was not now worth doing, and so we let them be.

  As the four of us stole past the door, the latch was raised and let fall and the oak was urged, as though someone refused to allow that the bolts had been shot; but we heard no conversation, which gave us hope that no hue and cry had been raised.

  As fast as I dared, I led the way down the stair…

  We were, I suppose, some fifty seconds too late. As I gained the hall, I heard the sound that I dreaded some eighteen inches away – a key being tried in the door at the foot of the stair.

  It was, of course, tried to no purpose. The door was heavily barred. But it meant that both exits were held, and that we were caught in the tower as rats in a trap.

  6: ‘Old Harry’ Receives

  I often think that we fully deserved our plight, for, once we possessed the secret we set out to find, we should not have lost a moment in leaving the tower. To cover our tracks was essential, but that we could have done in a quarter of an hour. Then again we needed the darkness, but dusk would have served our turn. And that we had. We preferred to ignore a grave peril because for forty-three hours it had never lifted its head, losing sight of the staring fact that if it should lift its head, we were bound to be caught.

  Be these t
hings as they may, when I heard that key move in the lock, I was ready to do myself violence for throwing away the chance of escape we had had: for, had we behaved – not with prudence, but common sense, we should at that time have been nearing the mouth of the drive.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I led the way through the hall and into the room beyond. Then I shut the door behind Herrick, lighted a torch and threw the beam on the floor.

  I touched Elizabeth’s arm.

  “First, tell me this,” I said. “Is the roof any good?”

  “I’ve no idea,” she said, and pushed back her sable hair. “There might be a way – I don’t know.”

  I shook my head.

  To seek such a path by night would have been a desperate venture for Herrick and me: the presence of our companions ruled such an enterprise out.

  “Then I can think of nothing,” said I, “except to draw them away from the upper door. If we can only do that, we may still get clear. Out of the upper door, where we heard them first – across the landing you spoke of into your suite – down your staircase turret – out of the castle and up to the belvedere. Winter will still be there, if we can be quick, to lead us over the ridge and down to the Rolls.”

  “A feint?” said Herrick, frowning.

  “That’s my idea,” said I. “A demonstration down here – at the lower door. I admit it’s a damned thin chance, but what else can we do?”

  “What sort of demonstration?” said Elizabeth.

  I looked at Herrick.

  “D’you think you could do it?” I said. “Disguise your voice and – and parley with them in German? I mean…”

  Herrick’s face was a study.

  “I see,” he said slowly. “‘Parley’. And how, when the parley’s over, do I get out? Up a hundred steps and then through a house I don’t know. Or don’t I get out?”

  “I shall come back.” I said, “as soon as they’re safe in the suite.”

  With my words we heard somebody pound on the lower door.

  “Who is within?” they demanded. “Open at once.”

  Herrick looked at Elizabeth.

  “Is that his lordship?” he said. “I’d like to, er, parley with him.”

  My lady smiled.

  “That was Bertram,” she said. “The steward. I’m afraid that he may get rather fussed.”

  “A little bit pompous?” said Herrick.

  “A shade, perhaps. But a most respectable man.”

  “Leave him to me,” said Herrick, and settled his coat. “And when I take up the running, stand by to move. If you should get clear…”

  “I’ll give you a flash,” said I, “from the bend of the stair.”

  Herrick nodded and took out a cigarette.

  By this time those in the courtyard were fairly assaulting the oak, and since, when the latch was drawn, the door could be moved to and fro for an eighth of an inch, a not inconsiderable uproar invaded the room.

  “Put out that light,” said Herrick.

  As I did his bidding, he stepped to the door of the chamber and flung it back with a crash.

  The uproar beyond stopped dead. Then —

  “Who the devil is there?” roared the steward. “Open at once.”

  A thick voice replied in German.

  “What does this mean – disturbing respectable people at this time of night? Go and wipe your snout, you old toss-pot, and burn the towel.”

  A savage hiccough subscribed this most offensive command, and Brenda, standing beside me, began to shake with mirth.

  Then a wave of scandalized consequence burst on the lower door. The oak was pounded and shaken, and choking cries of protest stood out of a motley clamour of orders and threats.

  I touched Elizabeth’s arm and made for the stair. As we went up —

  “Understand this, Bertie,” said Herrick, drunkenly. “If you don’t take your verminous carcase away, I’ll come out and wipe your snout for you.” He hiccoughed again. “Just because you’re too drunk to stand up, that gives you no right to come here with your women…”

  A composite yell of indignation drowned what was left of the slander and drowned it well. The demonstration was developing. Bertram and his supporters were certainly ‘getting fussed.’

  Two steps at a time, I leaped up that sullen stair…

  Now few could have done as well as Herrick was doing below, but I was by no means sure that the outcry which he was raising within the courtyard could be heard by one who was standing by the side of the upper door – that is to say on the second floor of the house: and even if it was heard, it might not persuade such a sentry to leave his post. On the other hand, it seemed likely that the pother was yet too young for orders to have been issued or any precautions taken against the trespasser’s flight: and since any moment now precautions would be taken – for Bertram, thirsty for vengeance, was certain to think of preventing his detractor’s escape – I decided to waste no time boggling, but draw the bolts.

  As the girls stumbled on to my heels, I opened the upper door…

  Beyond this, curtains were hanging, heavy and thick. I cautiously lifted one, to see the broadest landing I ever knew. In its midst was an oval well, some forty feet wide, with a bronze balustrade about it and the heads of twin flights of stairs upon either side. (To give some idea of their size, each step was but two inches high and some twelve feet long.) The landing itself was dim, but a brilliance rose out of the well and the sumptuous flights of stairs ran down into light. So far as I could see, there was nobody hereabouts, but the sound of voices and movements came from a lower floor.

  Elizabeth, peering beside me, caught my wrist.

  “Quick,” she breathed, and urged me across the carpet, past the luminous pool of the well, to a door which was close to the head of the farther stair.

  An instant later, the three of us entered her suite.

  “Too easy,” I said, with an eye on the way we had come. “And if I’m not back in three minutes, please give me your word you’ll go on. I cannot tell what may happen. If there’s a hitch, it may be better for us to leave by the lower door. But we couldn’t do that unless we were sure you’d escaped.”

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “If you don’t come, I shall use my judgment,” she said.

  I shrugged my shoulders and went. There was no time to argue. Any moment someone might visit the upper door.

  I have so far said nothing of what we were most afraid of that summer night – the entrance of Percy Virgil upon the scene. Not only was the fellow efficient – he would have secured both doors before he did anything else – but he had good cause to remember both Herrick and me; and though we made good our escape, if he set eyes upon us the police would be at Raven very nearly as soon as the Rolls. But now I disclose this dread, for as I whipped over the landing, I heard his sinister voice.

  I think he was giving some order. Be that as it may, his unmistakable accents rang out of the well.

  In a flash I was past the curtains and back in the tower and was cursing its stairway anew, because to go down it too fast was to break your neck.

  As I came within earshot —

  “Only let me get out,” belched Herrick, fumbling the bolts of his door. “I’ll teach you to talk to your betters. I warn you, Bertie, I’ll tie your snout round your neck.”

  And there I flashed my torch – and saw him leap for the stair.

  I turned and climbed before him for all I was worth…

  Eighty-eight merciless steps, wedge-shaped, steep and naked, curling between walls that were hostile and, when you sought for a handhold, bruised your nails… After a little, you seemed to make no progress, to be no more than the pitiful, captive squirrel climbing his endless wheel… Up, up, up… For less than a minute, I know: but such is the power of apprehension, it seemed an age.

  I was six steps short of the landing which gave to the upper door, when Percy spoke again – to bring my heart into my mouth.

  “Oh, and bring my pistol
, damn you. It’s next to the torch.”

  The man was beyond the curtains masking the upper door.

  Herrick and I stopped dead.

  An instant later the curtains were dashed apart and a transient glimmer of light revealed our enemy.

  Then —

  “Who said it was shut?” he screeched. “It’s open wide. By God, they’ve done it on you, you poisonous fools. Where’s Elgar? Get hold of Elgar and tell him to watch the drive.”

  With that, he thrust into the tower.

  He could, of course, see nothing, but his foot at once encountered the heavy length of carpet which we had laid on the steps.

  “Hullo! What’s this?” he muttered.

  I heard him pass on to the carpet, but what further movement he made I could not tell, for the pile was tremendously thick and deadened all sound..

  With Herrick one step below me, I crouched there, straining my ears. We were just clear of the carpet, standing upon the stone.

  Then Virgil spoke again – and made me jump like a. foal.

  “God in heaven,” he yelled. “Why don’t you bring that torch?”

  The man was three steps above me – and coming down.

  I dared not try to hit him – I could not see: but, quick as a flash, I seized the end of the carpet and jerked it downstairs towards me with all my might.

  His feet whipped from beneath him, with a foul but forgivable oath, Percy Virgil fell violently on to his back. As he did so, still holding the carpet, I flung myself full upon him, enveloping him in its toils. Moved by some brilliant instinct, Herrick fought his way past us and, seizing the head of the carpet, flung this over and down.

  Now since the carpet was immensely heavy and thick and more than twice the width of the winding stair, it follows that Percy Virgil was very deeply involved. To this I can swear, for when the top half of the carpet fell down upon me, I felt as though I were buried beneath some invincible bulk. I was, of course, clear in an instant, by wriggling back, but Percy could not emerge, though my weight was gone. His bellows for assistance were stifled, his convulsions, because they were frantic, did little, if any, good. Moreover, I could not go by without treading upon the welter – if not, indeed, upon him, and, since I am no featherweight, I fancy this made matters worse.