Part 4 (1/2)
”No, you aren't. You'd go openly if you were.”
”But I had rather-”
”Then I don't fetch your photographs.”
”I had rather be alone.”
He said imperiously: ”The man is dead-the man is probably dead; sit down till you are rested.” She was bewildered, and obeyed him. ”And don't move till I come back.”
In the distance she saw creatures with black hoods, i isuch as appear in dreams. The palace tower had lost the reflection of the declining day, and joined itself to earth. How should she talk to Mr. Emerson when he returned from the shadowy square? Again the thought occurred to her, ”Oh, what have I done?”-the thought that she, as well as the dying man, had crossed some spiritual boundary.
He returned, and she talked of the murder. Oddly enough, it was an easy topic. She spoke of the Italian character; she became almost garrulous over the incident that had made her faint five minutes before. Being strong physically, she soon overcame the horror of blood. She rose without his a.s.sistance, and though wings seemed to flutter inside her, she walked firmly enough towards the Arno. There a cabman signalled to them; they refused him.
”And the murderer tried to kiss him, you say-how very odd Italians are!-and gave himself up to the police! Mr. Beebe was saying that Italians know everything, but I think they are rather childish. When my cousin and I were at the Pitti yesterday-What was that?”
He had thrown something into the stream.
”What did you throw in?”
”Things I didn't want,” he said crossly.
”Mr. Emerson!”
”Well?”
”Where are the photographs?”
He was silent.
”I believe it was my photographs that you threw away.”
”I didn't know what to do with them,” he cried, and his voice was that of an anxious boy. Her heart warmed towards him for the first time. ”They were covered with blood. There! I'm glad I've told you; and all the time we were making conversation I was wondering what to do with them.” He pointed down-stream. ”They've gone.” The river swirled under the bridge. ”I did mind them so, and one is so foolish, it seemed better that they should go out to the sea-I don't know; I may just mean that they frightened me.” Then the boy verged into a man. ”For something tremendous has happened; I must face it without getting muddled. It isn't exactly that a man has died.”
Something warned Lucy that she must stop him.
”It has happened,” he repeated, ”and I mean to find out what it is.”
”Mr. Emerson-”
He turned towards her frowning, as if she had disturbed him in some abstract quest.
”I want to ask you something before we go in.”
They were close to their pension. She stopped and leant her elbows against the parapet of the embankment. He did likewise. There is at times a magic in ident.i.ty of position; it is one of the things that have suggested to us eternal comrades.h.i.+p. She moved her elbows before saying: ”I have behaved ridiculously.”
He was following his own thoughts.
”I was never so much ashamed of myself in my life; I cannot think what came over me.”
”I nearly fainted myself,” he said; but she felt that her att.i.tude repelled him.
”Well, I owe you a thousand apologies.”
”Oh, all right.”
”And-this is the real point-you know how silly people are gossiping-ladies especially, I am afraid-you understand what I mean?”
”I'm afraid I don't.”
”I mean, would you not mention it to any one, my foolish behaviour?”
”Your behaviour? Oh, yes, all right-all right.”
”Thank you so much. And would you-”
She could not carry her request any further. The river was rus.h.i.+ng below them, almost black in the advancing night. He had thrown her photographs into it, and then he had told her the reason. It struck her that it was hopeless to look for chivalry in such a man. He would do her no harm by idle gossip; he was trustworthy, intelligent, and even kind; he might even have a high opinion of her. But he lacked chivalry; his thoughts, like his behaviour, would not be modified by awe. It was useless to say to him, ”And would you-” and hope that he would complete the sentence for himself, averting his eyes from her nakedness like the knight in that beautiful picture. She had been in his arms, and he remembered it, just as he remembered the blood on the photographs that she had bought in Alinari's shop. It was not exactly that a man had died; something had happened to the living: they had come to a situation where character tells, and where Childhood enters upon the branching paths of Youth.
”Well, thank you so much,” she repeated. ”How quickly these accidents do happen, and then one returns to the old life!”
”I don't.”
Anxiety moved her to question him.
His answer was puzzling: ”I shall probably want to live.”
”But why, Mr. Emerson? What do you mean?”
”I shall want to live, I say.”
Leaning her elbows on the parapet, she contemplated the River Arno, whose roar was suggesting some unexpected melody to her ears.
5.
POSSIBILITIES OF A PLEASANT OUTING.
IT WAS A FAMILY saying that ”you never knew which way Charlotte Bartlett would turn.” She was perfectly pleasant and sensible over Lucy's adventure, found the abridged account of it quite adequate, and paid suitable tribute to the courtesy of Mr. George Emerson. She and Miss Lavish had had an adventure also. They had been stopped at the Dazio j jcoming back, and the young officials there, who seemed impudent and desuvre, desuvre, had tried to search their reticules for provisions. It might have been most unpleasant. Fortunately Miss Lavish was a match for any one. had tried to search their reticules for provisions. It might have been most unpleasant. Fortunately Miss Lavish was a match for any one.
For good or for evil, Lucy was left to face her problem alone. None of her friends had seen her, either in the Piazza or, later on, by the embankment. Mr. Beebe, indeed, noticing her startled eyes at dinner-time, had again pa.s.sed to himself the remark of ”Too much Beethoven.” But he only supposed that she was ready for an adventure, not that she had encountered it. This solitude oppressed her; she was accustomed to have her thoughts confirmed by others or, at all events, contradicted; it was too dreadful not to know whether she was thinking right or wrong.
At breakfast next morning she took decisive action. There were two plans between which she had to choose. Mr. Beebe was walking up to the Torre del Gallo with the Emersons and some American ladies. Would Miss Bartlett and Miss Honeychurch join the party? Charlotte declined for herself; she had been there in the rain the previous afternoon. But she thought it an admirable idea for Lucy, who hated shopping, changing money, fetching letters, and other irksome duties-all of which Miss Bartlett must accomplish this morning and could easily accomplish alone.
”No, Charlotte!” cried the girl, with real warmth. ”It's very kind of Mr. Beebe, but I am certainly coming with you. I had much rather.”
”Very well, dear,” said Miss Bartlett, with a faint flush of pleasure that called forth a deep flush of shame on the cheeks of Lucy. How abominably she behaved to Charlotte, now as always! But now she should alter. All morning she would be really nice to her.
She slipped her arm into her cousin's, and they started off along the Lung' Arno. The river was a lion that morning in strength, voice, and colour. Miss Bartlett insisted on leaning over the parapet to look at it. She then made her usual remark, which was: ”How I do wish Freddy and your mother could see this, too!”