Читать книгу Teresa of Watling Street: A Fantasia on Modern Themes - Arnold Bennett - Страница 6

The elephant stood over the car, waving his trunk, seemingly undecided how to go about his work of destruction; the keeper on his neck called and coaxed in vain. The girl... Richard could see only the girl’s back; he was thankful that he could not see her face. The other elephants waited in a semicircle behind. Then, after an interval that was like a hundred years, the leading elephant seized the steering-wheel of the motor-car, and, twisting it off the rod as though it had been made of putty, flung it into the road. That action seemed to appease the brute. He turned quietly away and slouched off; his keeper had now ceased to prod him. The other elephants followed meekly enough. The girl on the motor-car did not stir. The peril was past, but Richard found his foot trembling against the foot-brake of his car—such had been his agitation.

The elephant herd was five hundred yards away before the girl gave the slightest sign of life. Then she slowly dismounted, and waved a hand to the keeper, who had also dismounted from the elephant’s neck—a wave of the hand that was evidently intended to convey an assurance that she was unharmed and able to take care of herself. The keeper gave an answering signal, and—wisely, as Richard thought—continued his way up the opposite hill.

Richard pulled over the starting-lever of his car and leisurely approached the girl. She had already seen him, since her own car was more than half turned round, and therefore there could be no object in his attempting any further concealment. He drew up by her side and raised his peaked cap.

‘That was a nasty position for you to be in,’ he said, with genuine sympathy.

‘Oh, those elephants!’ she began gaily; ‘their trunks are so thick and hairy, you’ve no idea——’

Then she stopped, and, without the least warning, burst into tears. It was a very natural reaction, and no one could wonder at such an exhibition. Nevertheless, Richard felt excessively awkward; excessively at a loss what to do under the circumstances. He could scarcely take her in his arms and soothe her like a child; yet that was just the thing he wished to do.

‘Come, come,’ he said, and his spectacles gleamed paternally at her in the moonlight; ‘it is all over now.’

She pulled out a microscopic lace handkerchief, wiped her eyes, and looked at him.

‘Forgive me,’ she exclaimed; and then, smiling: ‘It shan’t occur again.’

‘You are a brave woman,’ he said sincerely—‘a very brave woman.’

‘How?’ she asked simply. ‘I did nothing.’

‘Most women would have fainted or screamed, and then there is no knowing what might not have happened.’ He added, as she made no remark: ‘Can I be of any assistance? Have you far to go? I suppose you must have miscalculated your distances.’

‘Why?’ she asked, in reference to the last remark.

‘Oh, it’s so late, that’s all.’

‘It is,’ she said, as though the fact had just struck her. ‘Yes, I must have miscalculated my distances. Fortunately, I have only about a mile more. You see the yellow house on the hill towards Hockliffe? That is my destination.’

‘You are Miss Craig?’ he said inquiringly.

‘I am. You belong, then, to these parts?’

‘I happen to know the name of the owner of Queen’s Farm, that is all,’ he admitted cautiously.

‘I am much obliged for your sympathy,’ she said. ‘I shall walk home, and send a horse for the car to-morrow morning.’

‘I could tow it behind my car,’ he suggested.

‘Pardon me, you couldn’t,’ she said flatly; ‘the steering is smashed.’

‘I had thought of that,’ he replied quietly, as he picked up the small broken wheel out of the road. ‘If we tie a rope to either end of your front axle, and join them at the rear of my car, your car would steer itself automatically.’

‘So it would,’ she said; ‘you are resourceful.

I will accept your offer.’ Then she examined his car with the rapid glance of an expert.

‘Well I never!’ she murmured.

He looked a question.

‘It is a curious coincidence,’ she explained, ‘but we have recently ordered an electric car precisely like yours, and were expecting it to arrive to-morrow—my father and I, I mean. Yours is one of the Williamson Motor Company’s vehicles, is it not?’

Richard bowed.

‘There is no coincidence,’ he said. ‘This car is destined for Mr. Craig. I am bringing it up to Hockliffe. You will remember that Mr. Craig asked that it should be sent by road in charge of a man?’

‘A man!’ she repeated; and, after a pause:

‘You are, perhaps, a partner in the Williamson Company?’

‘Not a partner,’ he said.

It may be explained here that the aforesaid Williamson Company had supplied Lord Dolmer with his motor-car. Richard had visited their office in order to ascertain if, by chance, Mr. Raphael Craig was a customer of theirs, and had been told that he was, and, further, that there was an electric car then on order for him. It was a matter of but little difficulty for Richard to persuade Williamson’s manager to allow him to pose for a few days as an employe of the company, and to take the car up to Hockliffe himself. He foresaw that in the rôle of a motor-car expert he might gain a footing at Craig’s house which could not be gained in any other way.

When the two cars had been attached, and the journey—necessarily a slow one—began, a rather desultory conversation sprang up between Richard and Miss Craig, who sat by his side in the leading car.

‘You, too, must have miscalculated your distances,’ she said suddenly, after they had discussed the remarkable beauty of the moon.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I like travelling at night. I admit that I thought Hockliffe considerably further on. I expected to deliver the car about breakfast-time.’

‘You will permit us to offer you a bed?’ she said. ‘You will be able to get at least five hours’ sleep. We breakfast at seven. It is early, but that is my father’s custom.’

He thanked her.

‘Take the little road on the right,’ she directed him later. ‘It leads only to our house In Ireland we call such a road a boreen.’

It was then that he noted a faint Irish accent in her voice.

Richard brought the two cars to a standstill in front of a green gate. Leaning over the gate was an old man.

‘Teresa!’ the old man murmured.

She rushed at him and kissed him passionately.