Part 40 (1/2)
With that I took myself away; Pierre closed the door behind me, and as I turned into the pa.s.sage to my rooms I fancied I heard the click of a key turning in the lock. I got my hat, pa.s.sed out at one of the long windows of my little parlor, and strolled towards the lawn along the terrace which lay close before the house. My steps were noiseless on the turf, and as I pa.s.sed the windows of the dining-room I s.n.a.t.c.hed a hasty look, which showed me the basket overturned upon the floor, madame with her shade at her feet and her face hidden in her hands, Mr. Noel reading a letter aloud, and Pierre listening intently, with a napkin still over his arm.
They did not see me, all being absorbed, and with my curiosity still further piqued, I wearied myself with conjectures as I surveyed the exterior of the house, the occupants of which already inspired me with such interest.
A rambling English cottage in a nest of verdure. A lawn slopes to the road in front, a garden lies behind, a lane runs parallel with the garden-wall on the right, and a grove of pines rises soberly against the sky upon the left. Curious to locate the room of the unknown, I struck into the lane, scrutinising the left wing as I walked. To my surprise, no upper windows appeared. An ancient grape-vine covered the western wall, trained away from the lower cas.e.m.e.nts, but completely masking the s.p.a.ce above and wandering over half the roof. Looking closer, I soon discovered a large aperture in the roof, half hidden by the leaves; the sash evidently lowered from within, and this explains the flood of suns.h.i.+ne and the odorous gust that floated down the stairway which I now long to mount. Having looked till my eyes ached, I roamed away into the fields which lie between the solitary cottage and the town.
As I came up the avenue on my return Mr. Noel pa.s.sed me, driving rapidly; he did not see me, for his hat was pulled down low upon his forehead, but his mouth looked grim, his whole figure erect and resolute. I watched him out of sight, went in and read for an hour, then to my room and secret diary. It is past midnight now, but Mr. Noel has not yet returned.
JUNE 3D.-Found the young gentleman in his alcove and my work laid ready when I went to the study this morning. He looked up and answered my salutation as I entered, then seated himself behind his curtain, and I saw no more of him for an hour. At the end of that time the perfect silence that reigned in the recess arrested my attention, and caused me to suspect that he had slipped away through the window. I was just meditating a peep when accident supplied me with a genuine excuse. A little gust of air blew in from the garden, rustling the papers on his table; one was wafted beyond the curtain, and almost to my feet. I waited a moment for him to reclaim it, but nothing stirred, and quite sure that he was gone, I examined it. A closely covered sheet written in Italian it proved to be, and a moment's inspection showed me that it was a part of the work I was copying, though in a different and bolder hand. Stepping to the recess to restore it, I was startled by discovering Mr. Noel asleep in his chair. Very worn and tired he looked, though younger than ever in his sleep, and on the page upon his desk lay drops that looked like tears. Seeing that his slumber was deep, I ventured to look well about me. The half-written sheet on which his pen still lay, as it dropped from his drowsy hand, was a translation of the very page I held. Others lay on the table, and in the cabinet which now stood open I spied three piles of MS. A hasty glance showed me the missing chapters copied in his graceful hand, a heap of blurred and hasty translation, and a worn, stained MS. in the same bold writing, the same language as the truant leaf. Farther I dared not look, but crept back to my seat, and fell to wondering why the boy wrote in Italian, and suffered no one to translate it but himself. Were he other than he is I should suspect him of a literary theft or some double-dealing with another's work. But Bernard Noel seems incapable of deceit, and his look, his manner when speaking of it a.s.sure me that it is rightfully his own, whatever his reasons may be for so laborious a process. My reflections were suddenly interrupted by hearing him rouse, and seeing him pull aside the curtain to ascertain if I was there. He looked half bewildered by sleep, but began to collect the papers, carefully arranged them in the cabinet, locked it, and stepped out into the garden, where I saw him pacing thoughtfully to and fro for half an hour. That was the last of him for to-day, for he and madame dined at the St. Michaels, as Pierre informed me when five o'clock found me the sole partaker of an excellent dinner. They returned at nine, and the invisible musician has been singing for an hour.
JUNE 6TH.-For four days nothing has occurred worth recording, as I have been almost entirely alone. Mr. Noel hands me a chapter or two each morning, receives my copy at night, and only the necessary directions are asked and given. Madame has not been visible, ill I am told, yet her cousin looks tranquil, and no nurse or physician has been summoned to my knowledge. Very brief and silent are our interviews at dinner, and not once have I found the drawing-room occupied of an evening. No one calls, but Mr. Noel drives out often and returns late. My days have been spent at the writing-table, my evenings in my own room or solitary walks about the country. Returning from one of these, I saw the window under the vines brilliantly lighted, and resolved to satisfy my curiosity the first moonless night. This ends my first week's record; I trust it is satisfactory, and that out of my own darkness I have given light.
JUNE 7TH.-To-day, being Sunday, I asked Mr. Noel, when I met him at lunch, in which of the three churches, over the hill, I should find his pew.
”In none; I go nowhere just now. My cousin cannot, and I join her in a little service here at home,” he said slowly; adding instantly, as if afraid I should expect to be included in that domestic service: ”My friend, Mrs. St. Michael, will be happy to do the honors of her husband's chapel. I have spoken to her, and she expects you.”
I thanked him, went to church, found the pastor a dull preacher, though apparently an excellent and pious gentleman; his wife a grave, motherly lady who received me with courtesy, examined me with interest, and, as we came out together, asked me how I liked her neighbors.
”Mr. Noel seems an eccentric but most charming young man and madame a wonderfully cheerful sufferer,” I replied.
”Genius has many privileges, and eccentricity is one, you know,” replied the lady, adding, rather guardedly: ”Madame Estavan is younger than she seems, and manifold afflictions cannot wholly darken her bright spirit. May I trouble you to give my regards to her, and tell Mr. Noel I will see him to-morrow?”
At dinner I delivered the messages; Mr. Noel turned graver than before on receiving his, and madame turned gay. I was glad to see her so, and did my best to interest her, observing that her cousin often took the word from her lips, and that Pierre's usually expressionless face wore an aspect of uneasiness. In drawing out her handkerchief madame dropped an ebony rosary. No one heard it fall for it slipped noiselessly through the folds of her dress, and no one saw it but myself. Pierre was busy at the sideboard, and, stooping, I lifted and returned it to her. She received it with the exclamation: ”Ciel! How careless I am grown! I thought I put it by after ma.s.s.”
”Madame is a Catholic, one sees.”
The words slipped from me involuntarily, her answer seemed to do the same.
”Oh, yes; in truth I am, and so is”
A heavy silver fork clanged down into Mr. Noel's plate, and madame started at the clatter, leaving her sentence unfinished.
”Pardon, cousin; if you are forgetful, I am awkward. You were about to say, ”and so is Pierre.'”
Noel spoke quite naturally, but I suspect madame caught some warning from his tone, for the color mounted to her forehead as she eagerly a.s.sented.
”Surely, yes. Whom else could I mean? Not you, my too Protestant and English Bernard.”
Poor lady, she overdid the matter sadly, and that anxious emphasis upon the words ”Protestant” and ”English” convinced me that Noel was neither, though but for this I never should have suspected it. As if anxious to banish it from my mind, he led the way to the drawing-room, and, as all madame's spirits had departed, exerted himself to entertain us both. In conversation I found him witty, earnest and frank, but in the midst of an animated description of foreign life he checked himself, and going to the grand piano gave us fragments from the sacred music of the great masters, with an ease and brilliancy that captivated me. I was heartily enjoying this treat when, as if doomed to make scenes, madame suddenly gave a loud cry and darted out upon the lawn, exclaiming: ”He has come! Mon pre! Mon pre!”
For an instant Noel stared aghast, then sprung after her, looking as wild as she. I followed to the terrace, and, standing there, heard, through the stillness of the twilight, madame sobbing and her cousin chiding. He spoke Italian, but low and rapid as were his words, I caught them brokenly.
”I cannot trust you-you have no control of face, voice, mind or manner. You knew it was impossible-he cannot come for weeks yet-I will have no more of this.”
”Forgive me. It is this life which destroys my nerves; it is unnatural. I cannot bear it. Let it end for me,” sobbed madame.
”It shall,” almost sternly answered he. ”Rest content, I will ask no more of you; it is selfish, unwise. I can bear and do alone; you have suffered enough.”
”It is not that; it is the suspense, the deceit, the danger that dismays me. I can act no part. Send me away for a little; you will be freer, happier, safer, without me, as you know.”
”I shall, and so will you. To-morrow St. Michael will receive you, and a few weeks will end all. Now compose yourself, go to your room, and leave me to explain your flight to Clyde.”
I slipped round to the hall door and met him there with, I flatter myself, well-acted concern. Madame pa.s.sed me with a murmured: ”Monsieur, I have known loss, it haunts me; forgive the malady of a broken heart.”
Noel gave her into the charge of a grave, elderly woman, whom I now saw for the first time, and who came hurrying up with Pierre. As she departed the old servant hastily explained that it was he who had peeped and startled madame.
”Then madame is not wholly blind?” I asked, quickly, for there he paused and looked confused. Noel answered, tranquilly: ”It is only a partial loss. You may go, Pierre; you are forgiven. But let us have no more of this, for madame's sake.”
The old man gladly withdrew and his master added, as I bade him good-night: ”My cousin needs change. I shall take her to town to-mor row. We have friends there, and her state demands better care than I can give her. We shall leave early, but I will prepare matters for you, as I shall not return till late.”
A long sigh of relief broke from him as he turned away, and on my soul I pitied him; for it is my belief that madame is not only a little mad, but some refugee whom he is befriending, and who, in spite of grat.i.tude, finds it hard to lead a life of concealment under the same roof with some fair, frail lover of this fascinating boy.
JUNE 8TH.-Found the house silent as a tomb, and fancy the sound of carriage wheels which half woke me at dawn was the only farewell I shall receive from poor madame. A long, quiet day. Noel returned at dusk, and went straight to his room. I seized my hat, concealed myself in the lane and watched the leafy window. Presently it blazed with light, and but for the appearance of Pierre in the garden I should have been tempted to execute my resolve at once. Hearing the rattle of the chain that holds the gate, I sprang into the footpath which turns into the lane from the fields. Pierre showed small surprise at meeting me, as these meadows are my favorite walk, and my a.s.sumption of simplicity has quite blindfolded this old watchdog. Anxious to see how he would explain it, I asked, as if just discovering the window: ”What is that light among the leaves, does the roof burn?”
”Oh, no, monsieur, it is my master's studio. He paints as he does everything else-divinely. For that room he took the cot tage; an artist built it, and though he does little now, he often lounges there at night.”
The answer came so readily, and seemed so natural an explanation I could not but believe it, and saying I should go in and read, I left him. From my window I watched him far along the avenue, he and the maids chatting in the grove, knew that madame's nurse had gone with her from a word Pierre dropped at dinner, and felt that my time had come. It was a moonless evening, fast deepening into night; a light wind was blowing that filled the air with rustling sounds, and the house was quite deserted for the time. I had no fear-excitement is my element, daring my delight, and I desired to earn my liberal reward for this dishonorable but alluring service.
Leaving my hat behind me, I crept to the western wing, with every sense alert. Not by the vines did I ascend, but by a slender Norway pine, whose stem, being branchless for many feet above the ground, seemed to forbid approach by that means. Practice made me agile, and I was soon upon the first bough which touched the roof. With catlike steps I picked my way, crouching low and making no sound louder than the whispers of the wind. The window was closed, and all I heard was a murmur of voices, but parting the leaves at one shaded corner I lay flat and looked down.
A long, lofty room was below, full of light, soft colors, lovely shapes, but how furnished I cannot tell, for its occupants absorbed me instantly. Stretched his full length on a couch lay Noel, looking like a luxuriously indolent young sultan, in crimson dressing-gown and Turkish slippers. He was laughing, and till then I had never seen the real beauty of his face; some cloud of reserve, distrust or melancholy had veiled it from me, but at last I saw the boy's true self, and felt that nothing was impossible to such as he. His white throat was bare, his black curls tumbled, his hands clasped above his head, and as he laughed he hummed a sprightly air, in which a softer voice joined fitfully.
At first he alone was visible, but soon down the long room came a woman dancing like an elf. Great heavens! how beautiful she was! She wore some foreign dress, brilliant and piquant, a lovely neck and arms shone white against the gold and scarlet of her bodice, and bare rosy feet scarcely seemed to touch the carpet. Dark eyes glittered through a stream of rippling gold hair, a sweet, red mouth was smiling, and as she danced the bloom no art can give deepened beautifully on her cheek.
With a deep obeisance and a ringing laugh she ended her pretty part of Bayadere, and dropping on a cus.h.i.+on beside the couch, talked vivaciously while gathering up her hair. Noel caressed the bright head which presently leaned against his pillow, sobering slowly as the thoughtful look stole back into his face. Clarice-for this was doubtless she-seemed to chide him, to try and win the gay mood back again, but vainly; for rising on his elbow he began to speak earnestly, so earnestly that his companion soon grew as intent as he. I would have given worlds to have caught a word, but not one reached me, and but for the emphatic gestures of the pair should have gathered nothing of their meaning. He evidently urged something from which she shrank, yet in the end acceded to with tears and eloquently sorrowful eyes. Noel seemed satisfied, and with the fondest gestures dried the tears, consoled the grief, and endeavored to make light of it. A deep lounging-chair stood before an easel, on which shone the image of this sweet-voiced girl. A dainty little supper was spread beside the chair, and drawing his model-for such I now suspect Clarice to be-into the velvet nest beside him, Noel made merry over it like one content, and yet not heartily at ease.
It was a prettier picture than any he will ever paint; both so young, so blithe and beautiful, so loving and beloved, so free and rich in all that makes life pleasant. I felt like one shut out from some sweet Paradise as I lay looking from the dimness of the night upon this happy pair, while they nestled there together, drinking from the same gla.s.s, eating from the same plate, serving one another with such charming zeal, and forgetting all things but themselves.
Utterly oblivious of the outer world, Pierre's voice nearly caused me to betray myself, so suddenly did it break the hush.
”Catherine, has Monsieur Clyde come in?”
”Yes, long ago; his light is out.”
The speakers were in the garden, and waiting till the door closed upon them I crept to the pine, half slid, half fell in my haste, and safely regained my room.
JUNE 9TH.-Mrs. St. Michael came, had a brief interview with Mr. Noel on the lawn, which was prudent but unsatisfactory to me, for I learned nothing from it. Saw no more of him till dinner, when he told me he should pa.s.s the evening out. At eight he drove away, and curious to know when he returned, I amused myself with a book till nearly midnight, then wearying of it, put out my light and sat musing in the dark. The night was cloudy, close and warm, and finding all still I presently went out into the lane, wondering if Clarice, too, watched and waited for his return. The window was dark, but just as I turned from it I was alarmed by the sound of wheels close by. I recognised the light roll of the pony carriage, though it was deadened by the turf, for to my dismay it was evidently coming not up the avenue but along the lane. Fearing to be seen if I attempted to get in, I sprang behind the hedge, and holding my breath, saw the carriage pause before the door in the garden-wall. A man leaped out, seemed to listen, then admitted himself both to the garden and the house, as the sound of a cautiously lifted window suggested. Quite breathless with interest I waited, and sooner than I expected the man reappeared, not alone now, for a slender female figure clung to him. I could just see the outline of their figures, the white gleam of their faces, but I knew them at once by the few words rapidly exchanged in Italian.
”How still it is; have you no fear?”
”I have done with fear, Clarice.”
”And I with captivity, thank G.o.d!”
”I shall miss you sadly, dear.”
”Not for long, your wife will comfort you.”
A little laugh accompanied the words, and like spectres of the shadowy hour, house, carriage, man and woman vanished in the gloom.
Here is a clue at last; Noel will marry, and for this purpose clears his house of all enc.u.mbrances; poor madame and the lovely model must give place to some woman whom he unwillingly marries-if his face and manner are to be relied on. Why he does so is a mystery like himself, but I will yet fathom both.