CHAPTER XII CARRIES ME ON BOARD THE "VISPERA"
Faces, even expressions, may lie, but eyes never learn the knack of falsehood. A man may commit follies; but once cured, those follies expand his nature. With a woman, sad to tell, follies are always debasing. It was, I knew, a folly to love Ernest Cameron.
Life is always disappointing. The shattering of our idols, the revelation of the shallowness of friendship, the losing faith in those we love, and the witnessing of their fall from that pedestal whereon we placed them in our own exalted idealisation—all is disappointing.
I stood gazing after him as he strode down the great room with its bejewelled and excited crowd, in which the chevalier d'industrie and the déclassée woman jostled against pickpockets and the men who gamble at Aix, Ostend, Namur or Spa, as the seasons come and go—that strange assembly of courteous Italians, bearded Russians, well-groomed Englishmen, and women painted, powdered and perfumed.
I held my breath; my heart beat so violently that I could hear it above the babel of voices about me. I suffered the most acute agony. Of late I had been always thinking of him—asleep, dreaming—always dreaming of him. Always the same pang of regret was within my heart—regret that I had allowed him to go away without a word, without telling him how madly, how despairingly I loved him.
Life without him was a hopeless blank, yet it was all through my vanity, my wretched pride, my invincible self-love. I was now careless, indifferent, inconsequential, my only thought being of him. His coldness, his disdain was killing me. When his eyes had met mine in surprise, they were strange, Sphinx-like, and mysterious.
Yet at that moment I did not care what he might say to me. I only wished to hear him speaking to me; to hear the sound of his voice, and to know that he cared enough for me to treat me as a human being.
Ah! I trembled when I realised how madly I loved him, and how fierce was my hatred of that woman who issued her orders and whom he obeyed.
I turned away with the Allens, and Ulrica cried delightedly that she had won on 16, her favourite number. But I did not answer. My heart had grown sick, and I went forth into the healing night air and down the steps towards the ascenseurs.
On the steps a well-dressed young Frenchman was lounging, and as I passed down I heard him humming to himself that catchy chanson so popular at the café-concert:
"A bas la romance et l'idylle,
Lea oiseaux, la forêt, le buisson
Des marlous, de la grande ville,
Nous allons chanter la chanson!
V'la les dos, viv'nt les dos!
C'est les dos les gros,
Les beaux,
A nous les marmites!
Grandes ou petites;
V'la les dos, viv'nt les dos;
C'est les dos les gros,
Les beaux,
A nous les marmit' et vivent les los!"
I closed my ears to shut out the sound of those words. I remembered Ernest—that look in his eyes, that scorn in his face, that disdain in his bearing.
The truth was only too plain. His love for me was dead. I was the most wretched of women, of all God's creatures.
I prayed that I might regard him—that I might regard the world—with indifference. And yet I was sufficiently acquainted with the world and its ways to know that to a woman the word indifference is the most evil word in the language; that it bears upon the most fatal of all sentiments; that it brings about the most deadly of all mental attitudes.
But Ernest, the man whose slave I was, despised me. He commanded my love; why could not I command his? Ah, because I was a woman—and my face had ceased to interest him!
Bitter tears sprang to my eyes, but I managed to preserve my self-control and enter the station-lift, making an inward vow that never again, in my whole life, would I set foot in that hated hell within a paradise called Monte Carlo.
True, I was a woman who, abandoned by the man she loved, amused herself wherever amusement could be procured; but I still remained an honest woman, as I had always been ever since those sweet and well-remembered days spent in the grey old convent outside Florence. At Monte Carlo the scum of the earth enjoy the flowers of the earth. I detested its crowds; I held in abhorrence that turbulent avarice, and felt stifled in that atmosphere of gilded sin. No! I would never enter there again. The bitter remembrance of that night would, I knew, be too painful.
Thus I returned to Nice with a feeling that for me, now that Ernest had drifted away from my side to become a placid gambler, and to live careless of my love, life had no further charm. The recollection of the days that followed can never be torn from my memory, my brain, my soul. I smiled, though I was wearing out my heart; I laughed, even though bitter tears were ready to start into my eyes, and I made pretence of being interested in things to which I was at heart supremely indifferent. I courted forgetfulness, but the oblivion of my love would not come. I never knew till then how great was the passion a woman could conceive for a man, or how his memory could continually arise as a ghost from the past to terrify the present.
That night, as we drove from the station to the hotel, Ulrica accidentally touched my hand.
"How cold you are, dear!" she cried in surprise.
"Yes," I answered, shivering.
I was cold; it was the truth. At thought of the man who had forsaken me an icy chill had struck my heart—the chill of unsatisfied love, of desolation, of blank, unutterable despair.
In due course our yachting gowns came home from the dressmaker's—accompanied by terrifying bills, of course—and a few days later we sailed out of Villefranche Harbour on board the Vispera. The party was a well-chosen one, consisting mostly of youngish people, several of whom we knew quite well, and before the second day was over we had all settled down to the usual routine of life on board a yacht. There was no sensation of being cramped up, but on the contrary the decks were broad and spacious, and the cabins perfect nests of luxury. The vessel had been built on the Clyde in accordance with its owner's designs, and it certainly was an Atlantic liner in miniature.
Our plans had been slightly altered, for since the majority of the guests had never been to Algiers, it was resolved to make a run over there, and then coast along Algeria and Tunis, and so on to Alexandria. As we steamed away from Villefranche, the receding panorama of the Littoral, with its olive-covered slopes and great purple snow-capped Alps spread out before us, presenting a perfectly enchanting picture. We all stood grouped on deck watching it slowly sink below the horizon. From the first moment that we went on board, indeed, all was gay, all luxurious; for were we not guests of a man who, although absurdly economical himself, was always lavish when he entertained? Everyone was loud in praise of the magnificent appointments of the vessel; and the dinner at which its owner presided was a meal sparkling with merriment.
I was placed next Lord Eldersfield, a pleasant, middle-aged, grey-eyed man, who had recently left the Army on succeeding to the title. He was, I found, quite an entertaining companion, full of droll stories and clever witticisms; indeed, he shone at once as the chief conversationalist of the table.
"Have I been in Algiers before?" he repeated, in answer to a question from me. "Oh, yes. It's a place where one half the people don't know the other half."
I smiled and wondered. Yet his brief description was, I afterwards discovered, very true. The Arabs and the Europeans live apart, and are like oil and water; they never mix.
The day passed merrily, and had it not been for constant thoughts of the man who had loved me and forgotten, I should have enjoyed myself.
Save for one day of mistral, the trip across the Mediterranean proved delightful; and for six days we remained in the white old City of the Corsairs, where we went on excursions, and had a most pleasant time. We visited the Kasbah, drove to the Jardin d'Essai and to the pretty village of St. Eugène, while several of the party went to visit friends who were staying at the big hotels up at Mustapha.
Life in Algiers was, I found, most interesting after the Parisian artificiality and the glitter of Nice and Monte Carlo; and with Lord Eldersfield as my cavalier, I saw all that was worth seeing. We lounged in those gay French cafés under the date-palms in the Place du Gouvernement, strolled up those narrow, ladder-like streets in the old city, and mingled with those crowds of mysterious-looking veiled Arab women who were bargaining for their purchases in the market. All was fresh; all was diverting.
As for Ulrica, she entered thoroughly into the spirit of the new sensation, as she always did, and, with Gerald usually as her escort, went hither and thither with her true tourist habit of poking about everywhere, regardless of contagious diseases or the remarkable variety of bad smells which invariably exist in an Oriental town. Although each day the party went ashore and enjoyed themselves, old Mr. Keppel never accompanied them. He knew the place, he said, and he had some business affairs to attend to in the deck-house, which he kept secret to himself. Therefore he was excused.
"No, Miss Rosselli," he had explained to me in confidence, "I'm no sight-seer. If my guests enjoy seeing a few of the towns on the Mediterranean I am quite contented; but I prefer to remain quiet here, rather than drive about in brakes and revisit places that I have already visited long ago."
"Certainly," I said. "You are under no obligation to these people. They accept your kind hospitality, and the least they can do is to allow you to remain in peace where you wish."
"Yes," he sighed. "I leave them in Gerald's charge. He knows how to look after them."
And his face seemed sad and anxious, as though he were utterly forlorn.
Indeed, after a week at sea we saw but very little of him. He lunched and dined with us in the saloon each day, but never joined our musical parties after dinner, and seldom, if ever, entered the smoking-room. Because all knew him to be eccentric, this apparent disregard of our presence was looked upon as one of his peculiar habits. Upon Gerald devolved the duty of acting as entertainer, and, assisted by Ulrica, old Miss Keppel and myself, he endeavoured to make everyone happy and comfortable. Fortunately, the ubiquitous Barnes had, by Gerald's desire, been left behind at the Villa Fabron.
As day by day we steamed up that tranquil sea in brilliant weather, with our bows ever thrusting themselves toward the dawn, life was one continual round of merriment from three bells, when we breakfasted, until eight bells sounded for turning in. A yachting cruise is very apt to become monotonous, but on the Vispera one had no time for ennui. After Algiers, we put in for a day at Cagliari, then visited Tunis, the Greek Islands, Athens, Smyrna, and Constantinople.
We had already been a month cruising—and a month in the Mediterranean in spring is delightful—when one night an incident occurred which was both mysterious and disconcerting. We were on our way from Constantinople, and in the first dog-watch had sighted one of the rocky headlands of Corsica. That evening dinner had been followed by an impromptu dance, which had proved a most successful affair. The men were mostly dancers, except Lord Stoneborough, who was inclined to obesity, and what with the piano and a couple of violins, played by a pair of rather insipid sisters, the dance was quite a jolly one. We persuaded even old Mr. Keppel to dance, and although his was a not very graceful feat, nevertheless his participation in our fun put everyone in an exceedingly good humour.
Of course, the month had not passed without the usual gossip and tittle-tattle inseparable from a yachting cruise. On board a yacht people quickly become inventive, and the most astounding fictions about one's neighbours are whispered behind fans and books. I had heard whispers regarding Ulrica and Gerald Keppel. Rumour had it that the old gentleman had actually given his consent to their marriage, and as soon as they returned to England the engagement would be announced.
Certain of the guests, with an air of extreme confidence, took me aside, and questioned me regarding it; but I merely responded that I knew nothing, and greatly doubted the accuracy of the rumour. More than once that evening I had been asked whether it were true, and so persistent seemed the rumour that I took Ulrica into my cabin, and asked her point-blank.
"My dear!" she cried, "have you really taken leave of your senses? How absurd! Of course, there's nothing whatever between Gerald and myself. He is amusing—that's all."
"You might do worse than marry him," I laughed. "Remember, you've known him a long time—four years, isn't it?"
"Marry him? Never! Go and tell these prying persons, whoever they are, that when I'm engaged I'll put a paragraph in the papers all in good time."
"But don't you think, Ulrica," I suggested—"don't you think that if such is the case, Gerald is rather too much in your society?"
"I can't help him hanging around me, poor boy," she laughed. "I can't be rude to him."
"Of course not, but you might possibly give him a hint."
"Ah! now, my dear Carmela," she cried impatiently, "you want to lecture me, eh? You know how I hate being lectured. Let's end the discussion before we become bad friends."
And so, with a light laugh, she rearranged her hair and left my cabin to return on deck, where dancing was still proceeding beneath the great electric lights. Four bells had rung out sharply, showing it to be two o'clock, before I went down to my cabin, attended by Felicita. Very soon, however, I sent her to bed and lay down to rest myself.
Somehow, I could not sleep that night. The monotonous whirr and throbbing of the engines sounded like continual thunder in my ears, and even the swish of the long waves as they rose and fell at the port-hole irritated me. Of late I had developed insomnia to an alarming extent, but whether it was due to the noise of the machinery, or to nervousness, I know not.
I turned and turned in my narrow berth, but could not sleep. The atmosphere seemed stifling, in spite of the ventilators; and I dared not open the port-hole, fearing a sudden douche, for a wind had sprung up and we were rolling heavily. The jingle of the glasses on the toilet-stand, the vibration, the tramping of the sailors overhead, the roar of the funnels, all rendered sleep utterly impossible.
At last I could stand it no longer. I rose and dressed, putting on a big driving-coat. Then, with a thick shawl about my head, I went up on deck. The fresh air might perhaps do me good, I thought. At any rate, it was a remedy worth trying.
The night, so brilliant a couple of hours before, had become dark and stormy; the wind was so boisterous that I walked with difficulty; and the fact that the awnings had been reefed showed that Davis, the skipper, anticipated a squall.
The deck was deserted. Only on the bridge could I see, above the strip of sheltering canvas, two shadowy figures in oilskins, keeping watch. Save for those figures, I was utterly alone. On my way towards the stern I passed the small deck-house, which old Mr. Keppel had reserved as his own den.
The green silk blinds were always drawn across the port-holes, and the door always remained locked. No one ever entered there, although many had been the speculations regarding the private cabin when we had first sailed.
The millionaire himself had, however, given an explanation one day at luncheon.
"I always reserve, both in my houses and here, on board the Vispera, one room as my own. I hope all of you will excuse me this. As you know, I have a good many affairs to attend to, and I hate to have my papers thrown into disorder."
Personally, I suspected him of having a lathe there, so that he might pursue his hobby of ivory-turning, but the majority of the guests accepted his explanation that this deck-house was his study, and that he did not wish them to pry there.
More than once Ulrica had expressed to me wonder regarding the reason the cabin remained always closed, and its curtains always drawn. Every woman dearly loves a mystery, and, like myself, Ulrica, when she discovered anything suspicious, never rested until she had found some theory or other.
She had one day mentioned the fact to Gerald, who, in my presence, had given what appeared to me the true explanation.
"It's merely one of the guv'nor's eccentricities. The fact is, that on the outward voyage from Portsmouth he bought some antique Moorish furniture and ivory carvings in Tangier, and has stored all his purchases in there until we return. I've seen them myself—beautiful things. He says he intends to sell them at a profit to a dealer in London," whereat we laughed.
Knowing how the old gentleman practised economy sometimes, I had accepted this as the truth.
But as, gripping the rail to prevent myself being thrown down by the rolling of the ship, I passed along the side of the deck-house, I was surprised to see a light within. The curtains of green silk were still drawn, but the light could nevertheless be seen through them, and it occurred to me strange that anyone should be there at that hour of the night. I placed my face close to the screwed-down port-hole, but the curtain had been so well drawn that it was impossible to see within. Then, moving quietly, I examined the other three round brass-bound windows, but all were as closely curtained as the first.
I fancied I heard voices as I stood there, and I confess that I attempted to distinguish the words, but the roar of the funnels and howlings of the wind drowned every other sound.
What if my host caught me prying? His private affairs were surely no business of mine. Remembering this, I was about to turn away, when suddenly I experienced an extraordinary desire to peep inside that forbidden chamber. I walked round it again, stealthily, for, as luck would have it, I was in thin slippers.
While standing there in hesitation, I noticed that upon the low roof was a small ventilator which had been raised to admit air. What if I could get a peep down there! It was an adventurous climb for a woman hampered by skirts. But I searched for means to mount, and found them in a low iron staple, to which some cords of the rigging were attached, and a brass rail which afforded rather insecure foothold. After some effort, I succeeded in scrambling to the top, but not before I found myself rather too much exposed to the eye of the officer on the bridge. Fortunately, I was behind him, but if he had occasion to turn round he would be sure to discover me.
Having risked so much, however, I was determined to make further endeavour. I leaned across the small roof, placed my face close to the open ventilator, and peered down into the locked cabin.
Next second I drew back with a start, holding my breath. A loud exclamation of dismay escaped me, but the sound was swallowed up in the noises of the boisterous night. The sight I witnessed below me in that small deck-house held me as rigid as if I had been petrified.
