Part 33 (1/2)
Only the smell of the narcissi rea.s.sured her, and changed the trend of her thoughts, for they reminded her of Charles Bramham and his acres of flowers seen from the hilltops.
”He would be glad to think that his money brings this rift of blue into my grey sky,” she thought; and she turned her dreary room into an enchanted spring garden, extravagantly ordered a fire and sat before it, tearing the news out of the papers with her eyes, searching for the name of Evelyn Carson. She had not far to look. In every paper she found news of him. His party had arrived at Borwezi, a spot in Central Africa, the last civilised touching-place before they plunged into the savage unknown. He had made a long stay there--for it was on the banks of a ”fever river,” second only to the Pungwe. Carson was reported to have been laid up with malarial fever for a week, and a doctor who had joined the expedition at Momba.s.sa had been so ill from the same cause as to be obliged to abandon his intention and to be taken back to civilisation under the care of people who had accompanied the expedition as far as Borwezi. One paper mentioned the names of Mr. and Mrs. Nick Cap.r.o.n as being of the returning party. This was as far as the actual news went.
Rumours there were in plenty. One arresting story, brought into Borwezi by native runners, was that the natives of Borapota were departing from every part of their country to a.s.semble in the capital, where the King would receive Carson and his men--whether in a friendly or hostile spirit was unknown. Several papers devoted articles to Carson himself, dealing with his achievements in different parts of Africa, his personality, his influence with the Zulus and Basutos, and other less-known tribes. One journal headed an article with the word--_Intandugaza_: fortunately the writer did not attempt to translate the Zulu word, nor explain how Carson came to bear it. (Perhaps that was ”one of the untoward things about him not compatible with reverence,”
thought Poppy sadly.) After she had drunk in every word of him, the papers lay scattered at her feet, and she, lapsing from the decree she had made not to think of him, lost herself at last in dreams of him. She had lived according to the rules of Alice Meynell's _Renouncement_:
”I must not think of thee; and tired yet strong I shun the thought that dwells in all delight, The thought of thee: and in the heaven's blue height: And in the sweetest pa.s.sage of a song----”
Now she forgot the fine, firm words, and long, long sat dreaming by the fire, with her hands before her face. Anyone looking into the room would merely have seen a girl lying back in her chair resting, asleep perhaps. But only the lesser part of Poppy Destin was there. The spirit of her wandered in a moonlit Natal garden, listening to a voice with a rustle in it, and from thence ... far, far!
Afterwards, she reconstructed all the chapters of her life since the magic night that began so wonderfully and ended in despair with the uttering of another woman's name. Of that woman--_Loraine_, she thought little now, having fought down and killed the bitter hatred of her, as once she had wished to kill the woman. There was no room in her awakened heart for hatred--only Love could be there. Love of the man who had awakened it, and to whom, whether he loved her or not, she believed herself to be secretly linked for ever; and to whom, whether she saw him again or not, her hopes, her future, her life were dedicated. But she _would_ see him again!--of that she was blindly, fatalistically certain: and he would know her for his mate, as she knew him--or of what use her beauty, her wit, her charm, her life at all? All things would entangle themselves, she told her heart. As soon as she had money enough she meant to free herself from the marriage with Luce Abinger that was no marriage at all; and from which he knew a Court of Justice would free her as an innocent, unwitting victim. As she sat thinking, many things that had been dark became clear. The meaning of Abinger's fearsome conduct was plain to her now--he _knew_! Kykie had told him. That was what she had stayed up for, supposing herself to be the herald of glad tidings.
It made the girl recoil and quiver to think that those two had known and spoken of what had been hidden from _her_; of what, even now, she dared hardly consider with herself because of its wonder and terror--something that no one in the world should know except just two people: so it seemed to her.
”But, oh, Mother of G.o.d!” she cried aloud and bitterly. ”Why is this thing so sweet, and yet so terrible to bear?”
Even while she asked she knew, and gave herself the answer.
”I am a Transgressor----”
At last, far into the night, she undressed and went to bed; so tired from emotion that she fell at once into dead slumber. But no sooner was she asleep than she was dreaming that a woman lay by her side on the bed whispering into her ear, pleading, asking for something, begging, urgently demanding. With a wrench Poppy threw off sleep and sat up staring into the darkness of the room. She was only half-awake, but she was certain--she could have _sworn_ that a shadowy figure rose, too, from the bed, and slipped into the far shadows.
Beads of fright sat on her forehead.
”I am going mad!” she thought. ”There was a woman on my bed ... she is still in the room. I am going mad!”
She was afraid to lie down again, and afraid to get out of bed. She sat there in cold terror until she thought herself turned to stone. Then, slowly, reason rea.s.serted itself, and courage. She clenched her teeth and nerved herself to move, to get from the bed and from the room. The whole house was wrapped in darkness. Instinctively she made for the room above her, where she knew the servants were. Reaching the door she knocked and then entered. One of them was awake at once.
”Who's there? What do you want?” said an excited voice, ready to scream.
”Don't be afraid, Kate ... I am the girl who sleeps in the room below ... Miss Chard.... I don't want to disturb you--only--let me stay here until morning, will you?... I'm afraid to be in my own room.”
Kate was ”a good sort.” She struck a match and stared at the intruder before answering; then she said: ”Lock the door,” and was obeyed with alacrity.
The maid hopped out and soon had a blanket round Poppy's trembling form.
She made room on the bed, and they sat whispering together. The other maid slept on like the dead.
”What did you see?” asked Kate.
”See? I don't know ... there was something strange----”
”It was _'er_, sure enough!”
”What do you mean, Kate?” Poppy felt her spine curling.
”I'm new here,” whispered Kate mysteriously; ”but I got five minutes'
talk with the last girl, though the missis tried hard to keep us from meeting. Miss--_no one ever sleeps in that room long_. A lydy cut her throat there!”
”What!”
”Yes--sure as I'm sitting here. I've been afraid to creep up the stairs at night for fear of _her_. How you could a _slep_ there, Heavin knows!”