Brother of Daphne

by Dornford Yates

  Berry stole a cautious glance at the time. The hands stood at a quarter past three. A slow grin spread over his countenance.

  “Didn’t you say something about a sacred concert?” he said.

  “Good Heavens,” cried Daphne, jumping up. “I forgot all about it. It begins at thr—”

  Arrested by her husband’s seraphic smile, she swung round and looked at the clock.

  Berry apostrophized the carpet.

  “Sweet are the uses of perversity,” he said, with inimitable inflection. For a moment his wife eyed him, speechless with indignation. Then: “I hope you’ve got ear-ache,” she said.

  Berry settled himself among the cushions.

  “I have,” he said. “But back–ache would have been worse.”

  I sank back in my seat with an injured air. The coach swayed slightly, as it rattled over the points. The train was gathering speed. In the far corner of the compartment the brooch of a gay green hat winked at me over the top of The Daily Glass.

  “That’s a nice thing,” said I.

  “What?” said the girl, laying down her paper.

  “Oh, nothing. Only the train’s run through the station I was going to get out at. That’s all.”

  “How tiresome for you!”

  “There are consolations. You would never have opened your small red mouth, but for my exclamation. And I should never have exclaimed, but for—”

  “It’s very rude to make personal remarks.” This severely.

  “Only when the person’s plain or the remark rude. Note the alliteration.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Obey orders, I suppose,” said I, pointing to the door.

  “‘Wait until the train stops?’”

  “I think so,” said I, looking at the flashing hedgerows. “You see, I’ve given up acting for the pictures. Otherwise, I should adjust my handcuffs, run along the foot-board, and dive in the direction of the nearest pond.”

  “While I–?”

  “Lay perfectly still. You see, I should be carrying you in my teeth.”

  “Thanks awfully.”

  “Not at all. It’s a great life.”

  “It’s a rotten death.”

  “Possibly. Otherwise, you emerge from the infirmary to find that A Jump for Life has already left the Edgware Road for Reading and is eagerly expected at Stockton-on-Tees, that the company for which you work is paying twenty-seven percent and that rehearsals for Kicked to Death begin on Monday. However.”

  I stopped. The girl was leaning back in her corner, laughing helplessly.

  “It’s all very fine to laugh,” said I. “How would you like to be carried a county and a half beyond your station?”

  “You should have asked before you got in.”

  “Asked?” said I. “The only person I didn’t ask was the traffic superintendent himself. They said he was away on his holiday.”

  “They can’t have understood what you said.”

  “I admit my articulation is defective – has been ever since a fellow backed into my car at Brooklands, did it twenty pounds’ worth of damage, and then sent in a bill for a new tail lamp. At the same time—”

  Here another station roared by. I was too late to see the name.

  “I shall swear in a minute,” said I. “I can feel it coming. I suppose we do stop somewhere, if only to coal, don’t we?”

  “Well, we may stop before, but I know we stop at Friars Rory, because that’s where I get out.”

  I turned to her open-mouthed. She was consulting a wrist-watch and did not see the look on my face. Friars Rory was where I was bound for. We had run through the station ten minutes ago. I knew the place well. I had just time to recover, when she looked up.

  “We’re late now,” she said. “I expect that’s why we’re going so fast.”

  “You know,” I said, “I don’t believe you asked either.”

  “If this was the right train? Well, I’ve used it, going down to hunt, for two seasons. Besides, I told a porter—”

  “Can’t have understood what you said,” said I, producing my cigarette case. “Will you smoke? There’s plenty of time.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “I was going to Rory, too. My dear, if this train really stops there, there must be the very deuce of a hairpin corner coming, or else we’re on the Inner Circle. We’ve passed it once, you know, about nine miles back, I should think. No, twelve. This is Shy Junction.” We roared between the platforms. “Wonderful how they put these engines along, isn’t it?”

  But my companion was staring out of the window. The next moment she swung round and looked at me wildly. Gravely I offered her a cigarette. She waved me away impatiently.

  “Have we really passed Rory?” she said.

  “Ages ago,” said I. “Your porter can’t possibly have under—”

  She stamped a small foot, bright in its patent leather shoe.

  “Aren’t you going to do anything?” she demanded.

  “I am already composing a letter to the absent traffic superintendent which will spoil his holiday. I shall say that, in spite of the fact that the dark lady with the eyes and the seal-skin coat asked the porter with the nose—”

  “Idiot. Can’t you do anything now?”

  “I can wave to the engine driver as we go round a bend if you think it’s any good, or, of course, there’s always the communication cord, only—”

  I broke off and looked at her. There was trouble in her great eyes. The small foot tapped the floor nervously. One gloved hand gripped the arm of her seat. I could have sworn the red lips quivered a moment ago. I leaned forward.

  “Lass,” I said, “is it important that you should be at Friars Rory this morning?”

  She looked up quickly. Then, with a half laugh, “I did want to rather,” she said. “But it can’t be helped. You see, my mare, Dear One – she’s been taken ill, and – and – oh, I am a fool,” she said, turning away, her big eyes full of tears.

  “No, you’re not,” said I sturdily, patting her hand.

  “I know what it is to have a sick horse. Buck up, lass! We’ll be there within the hour.”

  “What d’you mean?” she said, feeling in her bag for a handkerchief.

  “I have a plan,” said I mysteriously. “Can’t you find it?”

  She felt in the pocket of her coat and turned to the bag again.

  “I’m afraid my maid must have—”

  I took a spare handkerchief from my breast pocket.

  “Would you care to honour me by using this to – er—”

  “Go on,” she said, taking it with a smile.

  “To brush away some of the prettiest tears—”

  She laughed exquisitely, put the handkerchief to her eyes, and then smiled her thanks over the white cambric. I let down the window nearest me and put out my head. A long look assured me that we were nearing Ringley. My idea was to pull the cord, stop the train in the station, pay the fine, and raise a car in the town, which should bring us to Rory in forty minutes by road.

  “But what are you going to do?” said the girl.

  “Wait,” said I over my shoulder.

  Again I put out my head. In the distance I could see red houses – Ringley. I put up my right hand and felt for the chain. As I did so, there seemed to be less weigh on the train – a strange feeling. I hesitated, the wind flying in my face. We were not going so fast – so evenly. Yet, if we had run through Shy Junction, surely we were not going to stop at – The next moment I saw what it was. We were the last coach, and there was a gap, widening slowly, between us and the rest of the train. We had been slipped.

  I took in my head to find my companion clasping my arm and crying.

  “No, no. You mustn’t, you mustn’t. You’re awfully good, but—”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I didn’t have to. We’re in the Ringley slip.”

  “And we’re going to stop there?”

  “Probably with an unconscionable jerk
– a proper full stop. None of your commas for a slip. But there! I might have known. It’s a long train that breaks no journey, and there’s many a slip ’twixt Town and the North of England. However. If there isn’t a train back soon, I’m going to charter a car. May I have the honour of driving you back to Rory and the mare? I’m sure the sight of her mistress will put her on her legs again quicker than all the slings and mashes of outrageous surgeons. I take it you know your Macbeth?”

  She laughed merrily. I looked at her appreciatively, sitting opposite and perched, as I was, on one of the compartment’s dividing arms.

  “Sunshine after rain,” I murmured.

  Sweet she looked in her gay green hat and her long seal-skin coat. Beneath this, the green of a skirt above the slim silk stockings and the bright shoes. Gloves and bag on the seat by her side. The face was eager, clear-cut, its features regular. But only the great eyes mattered. Perhaps, also, the mouth—”

  “You’re a kind man,” she said slowly. “And it was sweet of you to think of pulling the cord. But I should have been awfully upset, if you had.”

  The coach ran alongside of the platform and stopped with a jerk that flung me backwards and my lady onto my chest. I sat up with my arms full of fur coat, while its owner struggled to regain her feet.

  “Infants in arms need not be paid for,” said I, setting her upright with a smile. “I hope the station-master saw you, or he mightn’t believe – Where were we? Oh, I know. You’d have been upset, would you? More upset than this?”

  “Oh, much,” she said, her eyebrows raised above a faint smile. “You see, then I should have been upset properly.”

  As she spoke, she laid a hand on my shoulder, to steady herself, while she peered into the mirror above my head. I looked round and up at the smiling face, six inches away.

  “Then I wish I had,” said I.

  One hand was settling her plumed hat. Without looking down, she set the other firmly upon my chin, and turned my face round and away.

  “Open the door and hand me out nicely,” she said.

  I rose and put on my hat.

  “Do you ever play the piano?” I said suddenly.

  “Why?”

  “I was thinking of the fingers. You have such an exquisite touch.”

  The evident pleasure the chestnut mare evinced at her mistress’ arrival was a real tribute to personality. Also the vet’s morning report was more satisfactory. It seemed that Dear One was mending.

  Greatly comforted, my lady let me give her lunch at the Duck Inn. Afterwards – there being no train till four o’clock – she came with me to choose a spaniel pup. It was to purchase him that I had started for Friars Rory that sunshiny day.

  “What shall you call him?” she said, as we made our way to the kennels.

  “I really don’t know,” said I. “What about Seal-skin? Must be something in memory of today.”

  She laughed merrily. Then: “Why not Non-Stop?”

  “I know,” I said. “I’ll call him Upset.”

  Three black and white urchins gambolled about us, flapping ears, wagging ridiculous tails, uncertainly stumbling about upon baby legs.

  “Oh, you darlings,” said the girl, stooping among them, caressing, in turn caressed. She raised a radiant face to me. “However will you choose which you’ll have?”

  I leaned against the wall and regarded the scene before me.

  “I like the big one best,” I said.

  “The big one?” she said, standing up. “Aren’t they all the same—”

  “The one on its hind legs,” said I. “With the big eyes.”

  “Ah,” she said, smiling. “But that’s not for sale, I’m afraid. Besides, its temper’s very uncertain, as you know.”

  “I’d risk that. The spaniel is renowned for its affectionate disposition. And what dog wouldn’t turn, if it was put in the wrong train? Besides, your coat’s so silky.”

  “But I’m sure my ears don’t droop, and I’ve never had distemper. Then there’s my pedigree. You don’t know—”

  “Don’t I? By A Long Chalk, out of The Common’s good enough for most people.”

  “Oh, you are hopeless!” she said, laughing. She turned to the scrambling pups. “Who’s for a mad master?” she said.

  Suddenly a bulldog appeared. She stood regarding us for a moment, her massive head a little on one side. Then a great smile spread over her countenance, and she started to sway in our direction, wagging a greeting with her hindquarters, as bulldogs do. Two of the puppies loped off to meet her. The long-suffering way in which she permitted them to mouth her argued that she was accustomed to being the kindly butt of their exuberance. The third turned to follow his fellows, hesitated, caught my lady’s eye, and rushed back to his new-found friend.

  “That’s the one for me,” said I. “Give me good judgement. I shall call him Paris.”

  “Appropriately. Off with the old love and on with the new. I’m sure he’s faithless, and I expect the bulldog’s been awfully kind to him, haven’t you, dear?” She patted the snuffling beauty. “Besides, I gave him the glad eye, which wasn’t fair.”

  “I’ll bet that’s how Venus got the apple, if the truth were known. Anyway, I’m going to choose him for choosing you. You see. We shall get on well.”

  “Juno, Juno!” cried a woman’s voice from the house. Immediately the bulldog started and turned towards the doorway.

  “What did I say?” said I. “Something seemed to tell me you were a goddess, when—”

  “When?”

  “When you were upset this morning. I saw you very close then, you see. Well! What sort of weather have you been having in Olympus lately? And how’s Vulcan? I suppose Cupid must be getting quite a big boy?”

  She laughed.

  “You wouldn’t know him if you saw him,” she said.

  “Don’t be too sure. When does he go to the ’Varsity? Or shan’t you send him?”

  “He’s there now. Doing awfully well, too!”

  “Taken a first in the Honour School of Love, I suppose? Is he as good a shot as ever?”

  “He’s a very good son.”

  “Ought to be,” said I.

  “Yes,” she said steadily, gazing with eyes half-closed, over the fields and hedgerows, away to the distant hills, the faintest smile hung on her parted lips. “He’s never given me a day’s trouble since he was born. I don’t think he will, either, not for a long time, anyway.”

  Thoughtfully I pulled on my gloves. Then: “My dear,” said I, “for that boast you may shortly expect a judgement.”

  “More judgements?” she cried with a laugh, turning to look at me, the straight brows raised in mockery.

  “Which will cost you more, my fair Olympian, than a glad eye.”

  A quarter past five. The train was passing through the outskirts of London. A bare ten minutes more, and we should arrive. I looked anxiously at the girl, wondering where, when, how I should see her again. For the last half hour we had spoken but little. She had seemed sleepy, and I had begged her to rest. Dreamily she had thanked me, saying that she had had little sleep the night before. Then the eyes had smiled gently and disappeared.

  It was almost dark now, so swift had been the passing of the winter’s day. Lights shone and blinked out of the darkness. Another train roared by, and we slackened speed. Slowly we crawled over a bridge spanning mean streets. One could not but mark the bustling scene below. The sudden din compelled attention. I looked down upon the writhing traffic, the glistening roadway, the pavements crowded with hurrying, jostling forms. An over-lighted public house made the cheap shops seem ill-lit, poorer still. Its dirty splendour dominated everything: even the tall trams took on a lesser light. The lumbering roar of wheels, the insistent clamour of an obstructed tram, the hoarse shouts of hawkers crying their wares – all this rose up above the rumble of the slow-moving train. I was glad when we had left the spot behind. It would not do after the countryside. It occurred to me that, but a little space back – some seve
nty rolling years – here also had stretched fair green fields. Perchance the very ones poor dying Falstaff had babbled of. We slunk past an asylum – a long mass, dark, sinister. By this even the trams seemed to hasten. I could just hear their thin song, as they slid forward.

  Enough. Already I was halfway to depression. Resolutely I turned, giving the window my shoulder. My Lady had not stirred. Wistfully I regarded her closed eyes. In five minutes we should be in, and there were things I wanted to say…

  A smile crept into the gentle face.

  “Go on,” she said quietly. “I’m listening.”

  “I was wondering, goddess, if I should ever see you again.”

  “Oh, probably! The world’s awfully small. Not for some time, though. I leave for Cannes tomorrow, to join my people.”

  “Cannes!” I exclaimed.

  “Yes. You must have heard of it. Where the weather comes from.”

  “Where it stays, you mean,” I growled, as the rising wind flung a handful of raindrops against the windows.

  For a moment I sat silent, looking out into the night, thinking. Except for a luncheon, tomorrow was free. And I could cut that. A network of shining rails showed that the terminus was at hand. I turned to my lady.

  “Then we shall meet again tomorrow,” I said gravely. “I have to go down to Dover, too.”

  “What for?” This suspiciously.

  I rose and took up my hat. “Another dog,” I said shortly.

  She broke into silvery merriment. At length: “Nonsense,” she said, rising.

  “Not at all,” said I. “The Dover dogs are famous.”

  “Sea dogs, perhaps,” she murmured, setting one knee on the cushions to look into the glass. “Well, you’ve been awfully kind, and I’m very grateful. And now–” she swung round – “goodbye.” She held out a slim hand.

  The train drew up to the platform.

  “Goodbye?” said I, taking the cool fingers.

  She nodded.

  “And I hope you’ll get a good dog at Dover,” she said, smiling. “I shall think of you. You see, I’m going by Folkestone and Boulogne.”

  In silence I bent over the slight fingers. Slowly they slipped away.

  I opened the door. Then I turned to the girl.