Читать книгу The Man with the Scales - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 6

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A slight storm of snow had fallen while they had been at supper; the buildings were outlined in a glitter, and though the sky had cleared again to a greenish hue, the sparkling crystals seemed still to hang in the air, making it luminous.

"We do not need Trett's lanthorn," said Baron Kiss, "but this is an odd kind of light."

They passed a house where the lower windows were unshuttered. A cheerful festivity was in progress, and groups of laughing young men and women were gathered round a centre table piled with cakes and sweetmeats. This reminded Julius of the party in the gambling house, but there was no sign of either money or cards; on the walls of this bright room were pictures of flowers and fruit, arranged without regard for season, so that the snowdrop lay across the cheek of the nectarine and the petals of the tulip touched those of the dahlia. Julius was already used to the excellence of the Dutch in such studies, and thought that they looked more natural than those real blooms that had decorated the homely chamber of Dr. Entrick.

They passed along a street that Julius took to be the Noordeinde, though he could be sure of nothing; the light was, as Baron Kiss had remarked, odd and uncertain. They paused before the porch of a large church that Julius believed was dedicated to Saint Bavon; he himself attended the Scots Church, but he was familiar with the Dutch churches with their splendid Gothic interiors, ornate and brightly painted organs, whitewashed walls and superb tombs honouring heroes who had died in battle for their country.

He now found himself in front of one of these of a bizarre design, where a young man in armour had sunk into the swoon of death above an anchor, a coil of rope and heavy laurel wreaths; all was sculptured in sparklingly white alabaster and seemed to give out a light of its own in the dimness of the white-walled church.

Julius looked round for his companions but found himself alone; he did not understand how they had contrived to lead him to this place or to escape from him. There seemed no object at all in his being there.

The organ was playing what seemed to Julius to be a majestic slow march; he looked up at the gilded pipes and the columns supporting the wreaths of coarse wooden flowers.

In the small mirror fixed over the keyboard he could see the face of the organist, a young man in a plain black habit.

At first Julius was resolved to blame again the light and his own disordered memories, for it did not seem possible that this could be his enemy Martin Deverent seated in this unlikely place, at this unlikely hour.

But the other had seen him and came to the edge of the loft, looking down. As the wind left the pipes, a last whisper of melody fell across the white, silent church.

"I am obliged to you for keeping this tryst," said Martin; he resembled his fellow Scot in that he was fair, comely and robustly made; but his attire was shabby, and gave him, in this winter season, a threadbare air.

"I made no tryst!" exclaimed Julius in astonishment, moving towards the pale shadow of the nearest pillar. Martin descended from the organ loft.

"I think some friends of mine did so for me," he answered. It was a long time since they had spoken, though each had been familiar to the other since early childhood.

"I do not think so," said Julius. "I was with a party of strangers, all of whom have disappeared. Indeed, I do not know why I am here."

"It is to meet me," replied Martin with conviction. "Was not one Baron Kiss a member of this party of strangers?"

"Yes, but he brought no message from you."

"All the same, he arranged this meeting—at my request."

Julius was vexed by the whole sequence of events: the first encounter with the Hungarian, the visit to the gambling salon and the supper at the chambers of Dr. Entrick; most vexed of all by this forced meeting with the man he had resolved to ruin.

"We can have nothing to say to each other," he retorted coldly.

"On the contrary, we have so much to say that I came to the Lowlands solely on that account."

"You might, at least, have found me in the ordinary way in my lodgings. This is a very strange place for us to be in."

"That may be, but it is the tryst that this friend of mine advised—"

"Friend of yours?" interrupted Julius. "He did not speak as if he were one. As for the other two, Dr. Entrick and his daughter—"

"Well, what about them?"

"They hardly seemed to be there at all," confessed Julius. "We were like so many waxworks at that supper party—while as for the man Trett—"

"This has nothing to do with me," interrupted Martin. "I know only the man Kiss and I know him as a friend."

He looked at Julius with a mournful intensity, and his shadow was thrown over the reclining figure of the mailed warrior on the sumptuous tomb.

"Friends," said Julius with increasing firmness, "we can never be—"

"Surely you cannot still feel any bitterness about that old grievance?"

"Is it to be dismissed so lightly? An old grievance? When your father killed mine?"

"You know that that was never proven—indeed, everyone believes the affair was an accident."

"I do not so believe."

"Why?"

"As if, standing here in this strange place, I could give you the hundred and one reasons—"

"Let us leave reason out of it," persisted Martin. "Supposing that this happened—why, what has it to do with us? We were children at the time—we never harmed each other."

"I do not know why you are talking like this to me," said Julius. "I never threatened you in any way."

"Everyone knows," replied Martin, "that you are taking a law degree in order that you may the better throw me out of my small heritage."

"You may have heard talk of that, yet hardly anything substantial enough to bring you to the Lowlands."

"Yet here we stand—in this outlandish place, to which we have been led in an outlandish fashion."

Julius looked coldly at his enemy, for this was the word that he obliged himself to use about Martin Deverent.

"Why do you not look after your own affairs instead of forcing yourself on me?" he demanded.

Martin took this rebuke in good part.

"It is true that I have led a somewhat thriftless life and not done what I might have with my estates, poor as they are. But the accident brought us all down—as you know. After the acquittal we went abroad, and the property was much neglected. My education, also, was greatly abridged—my parents died in Paris, and when I returned home it was as a ruined man."

Julius took advantage of the other's humility.

"I never heard that you took any trouble to mend affairs—but mooned about and wrote verses and sighed after a girl you could not hope to marry."

"I am glad that you have brought in this name," said Martin steadily, "for it is precisely of Annabella Liddiard that I wished to speak."

"I did not bring in any name," said Julius, to whom the whole scene was fantastic.

"But you invited me to do so," replied the other, still patiently. "I wanted to tell you that I am betrothed to Miss Liddiard—" He held out a golden object that hung from a fine cord round his neck; Julius saw that it was the half of a thin coin. "We exchanged this, Mr. Sale, when last we met, and our promises of fidelity were sincere."

"Should this have anything to do with me?" asked Julius with an angry look.

"We all know that the Liddiards are ambitious people and that they would prefer you as their daughter's husband."

"I have not made any offer for the lady—"

"But you may do so—"

"On the other hand it is common knowledge that my mother designs me for Miss Dupree."

"Can you then promise me," urged Martin, "that you will not any longer trouble Miss Annabella?"

"I did not know that I had ever troubled her," replied Julius haughtily. He began to find the church extremely cold; the massive monument appeared to be carved out of ice.

"You pay her a good deal of attention," said Martin. "And her parents are continually pressing her to listen to you—"

"I repeat that I have made no offer for the lady."

"You only evade me," persisted Martin. "You know that as long as there is any hope of gaining you as a son-in-law the Liddiards will never listen to my suit—"

"And has the lady not sufficient spirit and daring to defy her parents?"

"Alas, no; and she is much in terror of her mother and indeed I have little to offer."

Martin paused and looked intently at the scowling face of his companion. It would not have cost Julius much to make the promise so earnestly and patiently demanded; his design to avenge himself on Martin was growing faint, and he doubted if he would have the energy to put it through. The image of Annabella Liddiard became remote; he could see himself, easily enough, leaving his law studies, going home, marrying the girl his mother thought so highly of and settling down to look after his estates.

The meeting with Baron Kiss had disconcerted him, and Martin had put in his plea at the very moment when Julius, despite the incivility of his bearing, was most disposed to listen to it. Julius did not find it easy to despise the humble yet dignified young man who stood almost submissively before him, asking only that he should forego a few miles of barren moorland that he did not want and a quiet girl he did not greatly desire.

He was about to turn to where Martin was waiting before the monument and to pass his word that he would no longer interfere with the Deverent fortunes when his attention was attracted by a small blaze of light behind one of the white pillars. A second glance showed this to be the jewel that Baron Kiss wore on his military bonnet; as the Hungarian moved forward, Martin retreated yet farther into the shadows cast by the heavy tomb.

"Come, are you going to grant this request, so touchingly made?" asked the Baron.

"I thought you were my friend," said Martin, who was standing in almost total obscurity. "But you do not now speak as if you were."

"I only mingle in the affair out of curiosity," replied Baron Kiss; he turned, with a touch of mockery, to Julius and repeated that young man's recent thoughts almost exactly.

"Come, what is it to give up, but a poor neglected estate and a girl to whom you are not really attached? I dare say that your legal studies will not have done you any harm even if you do not use them for the ruining of Martin Deverent." There was something in this tone—too slight to be termed scorn—that changed everything for Julius Sale.

It suddenly seemed to him the greatest folly to abandon a course of action so long and so carefully preserved, and the figure of Annabella appeared before his inner vision as of a compelling attraction.

"I had not given my answer," he said coldly. "And I find this church—to which you, Baron Kiss, led me—a strange place for this manner of bargaining."

"Rather like an enchantment," remarked the Baron, "as if the power of some spell had brought your enemy across the sea to appeal to you."

Julius laughed at that; but he wished himself away from the church and from the company of both Martin Deverent and the Hungarian.

"I suppose," he said, "that you, Mr. Deverent, if you have anything serious to say to me—for I do not take what you have said as anything but a jest—that you can find your way to my lodgings."

Martin did not answer; he was now totally lost in the shadows of the tomb; of this nothing could be seen but the falling figure of the young hero in his snow-white alabaster.

Baron Kiss took Julius by the arm and led him out of the church.

"Is it true, Baron Kiss, that you are, after all, a friend of this man's and that you arranged this interview?"

"Perhaps so. Yet it is a thing that has been much on your mind, and you may have invented the whole string of incidents."

Julius laughed.

"I am a very practical sort of fellow. I am only surprised at the folly of Martin, idle as he is, who should have nothing better to do than to follow me here."

"He takes very seriously your intention of ruining him and stealing his Annabella—"

"He deserves no better than both misfortunes," said Julius. "I made no promises, did I?"

It was now clear day, and a pale sunshine fell over the snow-mirrored buildings and the canal skimmed with frost; the quarter chimes struck from a nearby steeple.

"I shall get some sleep," said Julius, "before I am due at the university. It seems to me that I have been up all night—and how, and for what purpose, I do not know. I should be glad if you could tell me, Baron Kiss."

"Your curiosity about myself and the whole episode will soon be satisfied," replied the Baron politely. "Did you know that Dr. Entrick is descended from the famous Charles de d'Ecluse—known as Clusias, who introduced the turbaned tulip from Russia into the Lowlands?"

"How should I have known that, and what difference does it make to me? To tell the truth, I found something disagreeable about the couple."

"What! You even disliked the beautiful Amalia!" exclaimed the Baron.

"My feelings are not deep enough to be termed dislike," replied Julius. "But I must urge that I am very fatigued—I seem to have lost a day and a night."

With that he took his leave abruptly of one whom he now regarded as a meddlesome stranger, and set out for his lodgings. It appeared to be dark when he reached them; certainly he had lost all count of time; his cheerful landlady made no comment (he had half dreaded one) on his appearance; he tried to concentrate on his studies, but, after burning half a candle, found that he could not do so; he then extinguished the feeble light, undressed and went to his comfortable bed; was this really the evening of the same day as that in which he had met Baron Kiss, gone to the gambling saloon, supped with the professor of botany and met Martin Deverent before the heroic tomb at the whitewashed church?