This while they were crossing the Bismarck Sea. They might have headed northwest, direct to Manila, but the course would have taken them across a corner of the Japanese mandate, and this they had been advised to avoid. They proceeded westward, along the coast of New Guinea, but not in sight of it. Here, too, were names of towns and villages, Lae and Buna, Aitape and Hollandia, which would soon be of interest to historians. When they had passed the 134th degree of longitude, they turned toward the north, across the equator. From that time on, each day would find the weather a trifle less hot, and this would please them; even Lanny had had enough of being parboiled, and the laundryman on board was working overtime to keep their linen immaculate.
One person to whom the weather made slight difference was Laurel. Every morning she stayed in her air-cooled cabin and hammered on the typewriter; she read and revised and tore up and wrote again; she was living in a dream world of her own creation, and the characters in that world were fully as real to her as the physical beings around her. At any rate she tried to keep it that way, and reported to Lanny that she was succeeding. They exchanged a few sentences now and then, as any gentleman might who passed a lady sitting in a steamer chair. Before they reached Davao, in the southern Philippines, she handed him another bunch of manuscript, and the notes he wrote about it made her eyes sparkle. He had a lot to say, and no typewriter on which to say it; the little portable which had served him for many years was somewhere at the bottom of the cold North Atlantic.
This odd literary intrigue went on under the noses of the host and his daughter. The conspirators carried it on with secret smiles, but they well understood that it was a serious matter; the case of Althea had shown them that there would be no peace aboard the Oriole if Lizbeth discovered what was going on. She would be much angrier with Laurel, a member of the family, than with a woman doctor whom she considered wholly out of the running in the matrimonial sweepstakes. Lanny had dropped his sudden interest in Chinese affairs, but Lizbeth was still restless and miserable, waiting for him to behave as an eligible man is supposed to behave when he reclines in a steamer chair under a large yellow tropic moon.
X
The port of Davao was out of their way, lying at the head of a long gulf; but the cautious skipper had been told that he could get fuel there, and he took the precaution. They stopped for a few hours and drove about in a hot town whose suburbs had been well laid out by the Americans. Hemp and copra were the main products of the region, and the roads were populous with crude carts drawn by carabao—creatures whose one idea, when they got loose, was to wallow in mud. The people had been taught in American schools and seemed more contented than any whom the Oriole’s passengers had so far encountered.
This archipelago had been promised independence in another five years, and there was a lot of speculation about it. Reverdy was of the opinion that the people weren’t ready for it; they had been conquered by one power after another through all their history, and if the Americans moved out the Japs would surely move in. Already they were on hand, having a large and busy settlement in Davao. Reverdy said that the success of the independence movement was owing to the fact that American growers of sugar beets and other products wanted to get rid of Filipino competition, and were glad to get their little brown brothers outside the United States tariff enclave.
Lanny had reason for being interested in the Philippines, because of a story which Great-Uncle Eli Budd had told him in his youth. Eli’s elder brother had happened to visit the islands just after the war with Spain, and had been shocked to discover American troops engaged in suppressing the efforts of a primitive people for freedom and self-government. He had started a protest, and because of his family position had been able to make quite a stir; he hadn’t been able to stop the war against Aguinaldo’s forces, but he had perhaps helped to meliorate their treatment, and to set up the American public-school system in the country when the fighting was over. That was the way with reformers, Eli Budd had said; they appeared to fail, but little by little their ideas change the world. Lanny didn’t say anything about this to the skipper of the Oriole, for the word “reformer” was a fighting word to him—or, at any rate, a talking word, and when he got started it was hard to stop him.
XI
Southward out of the gulf, and then northward along the coast of the large island of Mindanao. Presently they were in the San Bernardino Strait, narrow and deep pathway of many ships. Here again fierce battles were to be fought and great vessels were to go down, but no echo of guns was heard by the guests on the Oriole. They might have gone straight to Hongkong and saved time, but Reverdy had ordered mail sent to Manila, so they headed for there. The air grew cooler, and they watched the traffic of the South China Sea, with junks and native fishing craft of many designs. It was a crossroads of the world’s traffic, and with airmail and newspapers to look forward to, they felt that they were coming back into civilization.
Pleasant indeed to glide into the broad shallow bay of Manila, with a well-informed skipper standing by to point out the landmarks; on the one side Bataan Peninsula and the island of Corregidor, heavily fortified, and on the other side the naval base of Cavite. Undoubtedly we should keep these points, declared Reverdy; and the Japs would get a warm reception if they came. The naval battle which had been fought here was recorded in all the guide books and required no psychic powers to reveal. The skipper of the Oriole could imagine himself in the role of Admiral Dewey, surveying the Spanish fleet through his glasses, and remarking to his subordinate: “You may fire when you are ready, Lanny.”
Pleasant, also, to go ashore and hire a comfortable car and be driven about a modern city with fine buildings and all the conveniences. The first destination was the bank where mail for the yacht had been sent; there you were treated as distinguished guests, and escorted to the directors’ room; a sack of mail was dumped before you, and you had a grand time sorting it into piles. Then to sit and run through it, each guest with his or her own chair and his or her own secrets, joyful or sad.
Lanny had his generous stack, including newspapers and magazines which would keep him interested for many a morning on deck. There was a letter from Robbie which had left Newcastle, Connecticut, only six days ago, and had been flown almost halfway around the world. No particular news; everybody was well, and business booming; what the end would be no man could guess. Lanny must be sure to cable from Manila; they would be awaiting word about his health. Lanny would do so, of course; he would cable Beauty and Rick and little Frances.
Also he would go strolling in the compact old Spanish city called Intramuros, which was Manila’s glory. He would stroll into shops and buy many things of which he had been discovering the need during the past month. The steward of the yacht would renew its stock of canned goods and many sorts of fresh foods. The primitive world is picturesque and entertaining, and picture postcards of it are fun to send to your friends; but in the long run what you want is civilization, and a pocketful of money so that you can command its benefits.
Even the cheap ones! Even a morning newspaper, which costs only five cents—and yet you would pay five dollars for it if you were where you couldn’t get it! The radio does not take its place, as you soon learn. The civilized man has got used to depending upon his eyes, and perhaps he needs the headline writer to work up appreciation of events. From the Manila Times the son of Budd-Erling learned that the Russians were fighting furiously on their snowbound steppes and in their shell-blasted towns; the enemy had been driven back from the suburbs of Moscow and had not quite got into those of Leningrad. The British were holding out at Tobruk, and the Germans had not managed to break through to Alexandria and the Suez Canal, as everybody, including Lanny, had feared they would.
XII
It was the forenoon of the 4th of December, 1941, when the trim white Oriole retraced her course out of the harbor of Manila and round the point of Bataan Peninsula. The distance to Hongkong was given on the chart as 631 miles, and they were due to arrive on the morni
ng of the 6th. Lanny looked forward to spending most of the interim catching up with his newspapers and magazines; but the fates had something else in store for him.
Driving to the dock where the yacht lay he had observed something peculiar in the manner of the skipper’s daughter. Never did she meet his eyes, and she appeared to be in a state of nervous agitation. He wondered if she had had bad news from home. But it wasn’t up to him to ask questions, any more than it is up to a man sitting on a powderkeg to strike matches. No, let sleeping dogs lie, and let lovelorn ladies keep their own counsel as long as they consent to do so. Lanny went to his cabin, saying that he had seen enough of Manila Bay, and had letters to prepare for mailing in Hongkong.
At dinnertime, in the dining-saloon, Lizbeth had little to say. Lanny watched her, but only in brief glances. Usually she had a good appetite, but now she left half the food on her plate. Could it be that her eyes were red with weeping? He wasn’t sure, but when she excused herself before the coffee he knew there was something wrong. He hadn’t misbehaved, and he wondered if Laurel had, or Althea.
As the guests went up to the main saloon for the customary game of bridge, Lanny found reason to linger, and so did Laurel. She stopped just long enough to whisper: “Meet me on deck at eleven o’clock.”
He knew she would never have done that unless there was an emergency. He said: “There is some trouble?”
The reply was: “Lizbeth has had a letter from Emily Chattersworth.”
When you say: “Oh-ho!” and accent it on the second syllable, it means pleasant surprise, even triumph. But when you accent it on the first syllable and let the second die away, that means something has gone wrong. Lanny excused himself from the card game on he plea that he hadn’t finished with his mail. He went to his cabin and thought hard, and the longer he thought the more clearly he realized that the beans had been spilled and the fat was in the fire, the cat was out of the bag and the horse had been stolen from the stable—think of all the metaphors, tropes, similes, metonymys, analogies, catachreses, and synecdoches you can, and still you will not exaggerate the confusion which the châtelaine of Les Forêts and Sept Chênes had caused by a few casual words on paper. Lanny could imagine them without asking any questions; for example: “Give my regards to your cousin Laurel. I enjoyed so much meeting her when she was a guest at Bienvenu.” Something like that! Maybe it would be in a letter to Lizbeth’s mother, which the mother had forwarded, perhaps with an appended inquiry: “Did you know that Laurel had met Lanny Budd in Europe?”
It had been natural enough for Emily to write, for she and Millicent Holdenhurst had been school friends. It would be natural for her to mention Lanny and say kind things about him, for she had done her best to promote a match between Lanny and Lizbeth. It had been possible for her to write, because Washington was maintaining diplomatic relations with Vichy—curse the luck!—and mail, though censored and delayed, eventually came through. Of course Emily, at Cannes, would have had no means, of knowing that Lanny, Laurel, and Lizbeth were all three going on the cruise; her letter would have come to Baltimore and been forwarded. Emily, the least malicious person in the world, couldn’t have had any idea of the pretty kettle of fish she would be cooking up for her near-foster-son!
XIII
Promptly at eleven that evening Lanny strolled out to the quarterdeck. The vessel was brightly lighted as always, for a German raider might be a possibility, even this close to British ports. Laurel was standing in a shadowed spot, and Lanny joined her. She said: “Lizbeth received a letter from her mother, enclosing a letter from Mrs. Chattersworth in which she mentioned having met me when I visited Bienvenu. Lizbeth, of course, is in a terrible state of excitement, and accuses me of having come on this cruise in order to break up her chances with you.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her the truth as far as I could. I said that I was writing stories about the Nazis which were satirical and would make the Nazis very angry; that you were Göring’s art adviser, and had told me that it could do you harm if it were known that we were friends. So I promised not to mention that I knew you. She wanted to know how I had come to be at Bienvenu, and I told her that your mother had invited me at a time when you were in America, and that you came much later. That is true, you remember.”
“Of course. Did it satisfy Lizbeth?”
“I doubt if anything will satisfy her, except the one thing she wants and which you are not disposed to give her. She is casting about in her mind for an explanation of your coldness, and this letter comes as an answer to all her wonderment.”
“What do you intend to do about it?”
“I told her that since I was a source of annoyance to her, I would leave the yacht at Hongkong.”
“But, Laurel! That will knock out your work!”
“I am afraid I couldn’t keep my mind on work very well, with my hostess in her present state.”
“I must tell you this,” said Lanny. “I had about decided to tell your uncle that I was going to fly back to the States from Hongkong. It was our agreement that I should have the right to go.”
“It will have a very disagreeable appearance, if we should both leave at the same port, Lanny.”
“We can travel by different routes, if that is necessary to satisfy Mrs. Grundy.”
“We could never get anybody to believe that we didn’t contrive to meet again.”
“Well, I hope we don’t have to give any promise against that, Laurel. I am deeply interested in the family of Professor Holitzer, and also I am interested in the lady who is telling about them.” Even in the midst of this grave complexity, Lanny permitted himself the luxury of a smile.
But Southern ladies rarely smile over family “situations.” They have been taught to take families seriously, and even if they try not to, the families have the last word. Laurel said with unmistakable firmness: “It would be a scandal if we both left the yacht at the same port, Lanny. If you are going, I shall have to stay.”
“But that will be pretty miserable for you. Lizbeth will be sure that you drove me away, and she will not forgive you.”
“The decision rests with you. One or the other must stay.”
He couldn’t keep from seeing the humor of this. “If you go and I stay, Lizbeth will eat me alive. She may get into a position where I feel that I have compromised her and have to do the honorable thing. You had better hang on and protect me!”
XIV
They had got themselves on the horns of a dilemma; but, as it happened, they didn’t have to make the decision. Had the owner’s daughter chosen this moment to relieve her nervous tension by a walk on deck? Or had she suspected that the guilty pair were keeping a rendezvous? They were standing with their faces toward the door of the saloon, so that they might not be taken by surprise if anyone came out. When she appeared, Laurel, not wishing her to think they were hiding, spoke quickly: “We are talking about you, Lizbeth. Come over here,”
When she was near, she did the talking, as was her right, being the hostess. Her voice was low, and trembled slightly. “I want to tell you both that I mean to behave properly. I have been thinking it over, and realize that you have the right to be in love with each other, and that I have nothing to do with it.”
“Lizbeth,” said the cousin, breaking in, “I have told you that Lanny has never spoken one syllable of love to me. I give you my word that this is so, and he will do the same.”
“Indeed yes, Lizbeth,” added the man, no less promptly. “I explained to your father a year or two ago that my position does not permit me to think about love or marriage. I have been Laurel’s friend as I have been yours. I have been interested in her writing as I have been interested in your studies, and I have tried to give a little help with both.”
“That may all be true,” replied Lizbeth. “I have no right to doubt it, but I believe that you are in love whether you know it or not. What I want to say is, it’s none of my affair, and I have no right to make a fuss about i
t and break up the party. I have talked to my father, and it will upset him greatly if either of you leaves, for he depends upon your companionship more than he has let you know. So please let us be friends as we were before, and Lanny is perfectly free to talk to you, or to Althea, or to the others, just as he pleases—and you and he don’t have to steal up on deck at night in order to talk about what Laurel is writing, or about me, or anything else.”
She got that far, a little speech which no doubt she had rehearsed more than once. At this point came a little choking sob, and she burst into tears and ran quickly back into the saloon.
There was nothing they could do after that but take her at her word. This was what the world calls “good society”; its members are “well bred,” and don’t show their emotions in public—or, if they lose their tempers, they owe an apology and pay the debt. Lanny whispered: “That’s decent of her!” and added: “Better than I expected.”
Said Laurel: “I suspect that Uncle Reverdy put his foot down. Anyhow, it’s all we can ask, and I suppose we have to stay, at least for a time.”
So that was the way the matter stood next day, and all the way across the South China Sea. Of course Lizbeth would tell Mrs. Gillis, who was practically a member of her family, and the only woman member on board; and of course Mrs. Gillis, being human, would tell the teacher and the doctor. These three would watch for every sign of emotion, sad or mad or bad—there could hardly be any glad, for that would have been indecent. The three observers would meet in one another’s cabins and fan themselves with a breeze of gossip. Just how red were Lizbeth’s eyes, and just how far was her nose out of joint? And what could be the matter with the amiable Mr. Budd that he didn’t fall in love with any of the three eligible ladies on board? Did he perhaps have a broken heart? Or a lady love in one of the numerous capitals of Europe which he visited? Or possibly more than one, for, after all, morals there are not exactly repressive. And as for Cousin Laurel, was she in love with him, or with whom, and what was this mysterious manuscript which she kept so carefully locked up in her steamer trunk? The Filipino boy who did the cleaning avowed that he had never had a glimpse of a single page of it.
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