Part 36 (1/2)
”Those gaunt sides are covered with beauty, and hundreds of people make their living from them.”
”Africa is wonderful,” sighed April, and suddenly the weight of her burden returned.
”Africa's all right, if it weren't for the people in it,” he retorted moodily.
The hotel proved to be a picturesque building perched on rising ground above lovely gardens. Some of its countless windows looked over the town to the sea; but most of them seemed to be peered into by the relentless granite eyes of the mountain. April's first act was to draw the blinds of her room.
”That mountain will sit upon my heart and crush me into my grave if I stay here long,” she thought, and felt despairing. Bellew had engaged rooms for her, boldly inscribing the name of ”Lady Diana Vernilands” in the big ledger, while she stood by, acquiescing in, if not contributing to the lie. Afterwards he went away to superintend the unloading of his luggage. It appeared that his three immense trunks contained much valuable gla.s.s and china for the Governor's wife, and he was taking no risks concerning their safety.
Although making only a short stay, and in spite of the glum looks of the porters, he had everything carried carefully up to his room on the fourth floor. Glum looks were wasted on the bland Bellew, who lived by the motto ”_Je m'en fiche de tout le monde_,” and who on his own confession would have liked Africa to himself.
No word concerning the tragedy had yet pa.s.sed between him and April, but she knew that something was impending, and that she would probably do as he told her, for he seemed in the strange circ.u.mstances to occupy the position of sole executor to Diana's will. On going down to lunch she found that he had engaged a small table for them both, but was not there himself. What pleased her less was that as regards company she might just as well have been back on board the _Clarendon Castle_.
Almost every one of her fellow-pa.s.sengers was scattered around the multiplicity of small tables. It would seem as if the ”Mount Nelson”
was the only hotel in the town, although she remembered quite a number of others in the Directory. Even Vereker Sarle was there. Far down the long room she saw him sitting with two other men: one of them, d.i.c.k Nichols, looking very much at home; the other a distinguished, saturnine man with an English air to him, in spite of being burnt as black as the ace of spades. She was aware that Sarle saw her, and had a trembling fear that he might join her. It was almost a relief when Bellew came in towards the end of the meal, for she knew he would prove an effective barrier. He looked hot and weary, and explained that he had been obliged to go back down town to attend to some business.
”I think you had better take up your quarters here for a time,” he added. She flinched at the prospect.
”But why? It is so public! Everyone off the boat seems to be here, and I shall have to keep on telling lies just because I know them. It seems to me I can't open my mouth without telling a lie, and,” she finished desperately, ”it makes me sick.”
He looked at her coldly. His fine brown eyes could be hard as flint.
”I thought it was a promise--some sort of a compact--to do what was best--_for her_?” he remarked. A little cold wave of the sea seemed to creep over her soul, and she could see her hands trembling as she dealt with the fruit on her plate.
”Very well,” she acquiesced tonelessly, at last; ”if you think it best.
How long am I to stay?”
”Until next week's mail-boat sails,” he said slowly. ”I have been down to see if I could get you a berth on this week's, but she is full up.”
”You want me to return to England?” There was desperate resistance in her voice now. She had not realized until that moment how much she wished to stay.
”It is not what _I_ want: it is for her,” he insisted ruthlessly. ”You must go to her father and explain everything. Letters are no good.”
She was silent, but her eyes were wretched. She wanted to stay in Africa.
”After all, it is your share of the payment for folly,” he pursued relentlessly. That was too much for her temper.
”And yours?” she flashed back.
His face did not change, but his voice became very gentle.
”Don't worry. I too am paying.”
She would have given much to recall her fierce retort then, for after all, it was true that she was not the only one hit. This man too was suffering under his mask. He had loved Diana, and that his love was the direct cause of the tragedy must make his wretchedness the more acute. With an impulse of pity and understanding she put out her hand to him across the table, but instead of taking it he pa.s.sed her a little dish of salted almonds. Mortified, she looked up in time to see Sarle and his friends going by, and was left wondering how much they had witnessed, and whether Bellew had meant to snub or spare her. The whole thing was a miserable mix-up, and it almost seemed to her as if Diana had as usual got the best of it, for at any rate she was out of the deceit and discomfort.
She thought so still more when the women surrounded her in the lounge, and drew her in among them to take coffee. They were all as merry as magpies, and seemed to have clean forgotten the tragedy of the s.h.i.+p except in so far as it lent a thrill to conversation. Several who were going on the next day to different parts of the country pressed her to visit them at their homes. Mrs. Stanislaw came up with her claws sheathed in silk and a strange woman in tow, and murmuring: ”I _must_ introduce Mrs. Janis. She is anxious to know all you can tell her of poor Miss Poole,” stood smiling with a feline delight in the encounter.
April turned from her bitter face to the other woman, an elaborately-dressed shrew with a domineering hook to her nose, and had the thankful feeling of a mouse who has just missed by a hair's breadth the click of the trap on its nose.
”I'm afraid I can give you no more information than is already available,” she said distantly.