Читать книгу Sir Isumbras at the Ford - D. K. Broster - Страница 21

But the mere absence of alarm is not in itself sufficient to induce sleep. M. le Comte de Flavigny had seen too much that day for ready slumber, and now he began to see it all over again: the busy road from Rochester, the stage-coach and its passengers—the fat traveller in a shawl, the thin one who had, to Elspeth's intense indignation, offered him a sip of rum—and everything in Rose Cottage, down to the grey cat. The last object of which he thought was his goldfish, on the dressing-table, for just as he was making up his mind to get up and look at it, he fell fast asleep.

In his sleep he had a curious dream. He was in a little boat on the sea, he and a lady with a crown on her head. By that he knew that she was the Queen of Elfland, though she had not, as the ballad said, a skirt of grass-green silk and a velvet mantle, and he wondered why she was in a boat, and what she had done with her horse and all its silver bells. Then suddenly she changed to Mme. de Chaulnes, and, bending over him where he lay in the boat, shook him slightly and said, "Anne, Anne, do you remember now the name of the place at which the expedition was to land?" And he tried hard to remember it, while the boat rocked under him and the water was full of goldfish, but all that he could recall was the name of the shop where the goldfish had been bought yesterday—Hardman. "Think!" said the Queen. "Are you sure you cannot remember it?" Then the sea began to get very rough and dark, and Anne saw that on it were floating feather-beds and shoes with cork heels, as it said in 'Noroway-over-the-foam,' and so he looked over the side of the boat, and down, very far down at the bottom, he could see Sir Patrick Spens lying drowned on the seaweed, with a great many other people . . . and somehow Sir Patrick Spens was also M. le Chevalier de la Vireville. And as he looked he became aware that in some way it was his, Anne-Hilarion's, fault that they were all drowned—or at least that it would be his fault if he did something or other, but the dreadful thing was that he could not find out what that something was which he must avoid. And the Queen—or Mme. de Chaulnes—who was still in the boat, said, laughing:

"'Speak ye word in Elflyn-land

Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie,'"

and then he understood—he had spoken, and that was why M. le Chevalier and all the rest were down at the bottom of the sea. And he began to cry bitterly, begging M. le Chevalier not to be drowned; and because he was so unhappy and so sorry he said boldly to the lady, "No, I cannot remember the name of the place, and if I could I would not tell you!" But with that he woke, and found himself, not in a boat, but in his own bed.

It was still dark, and the light was burning, and there was no one in the room. But as he looked anxiously to be sure that this was the case,—anxiously and a little dimly, for there were real tears in his eyes,—he heard the door very gently close.

And that, joined to his dream, really terrified Anne-Hilarion, so that he took instinctively to the natural refuge of those of tender years oppressed with terrors in the night, and burying his head under the clothes, lay there quaking with fear, his heart thudding like a live thing in his small body. Who had gone out—or who . . . what . . . had come in? What was in the room with him? . . .

A long, long time passed; it was difficult to breathe under the clothes, and he was hot and cold alternately with fear. But nothing happened; no animal leapt on to the bed, no spectral hand shook him by the shoulder. He remembered how Papa had told him that he need never be frightened of anything unless he were doing wrong; that the angels were there to take care of him, though he could not see them. So, a little wondering whether it would penetrate through the bedclothes, he put up a small prayer for protection to his own guardian angel, and, finding some solace in this effort, ventured after a while cautiously to remove some blanket and peep out. And he found, to his inexpressible joy, that while he had been thus concealed a miracle had happened—doubtless due to his orisons—and that shafts of the dawn were making their way round the window-curtains. So night was nearly over, and it would soon be the blessed day.

The next thing that happened was the sun peering in and waking him. Anne-Hilarion got up immediately to look at his goldfish, and wondered if it had been swimming round and round tirelessly all the time in the dark. In these speculations he forgot the terrors of the night and was comforted, though when Elspeth came to dress him he looked rather pale and tired, and did not trouble her, as he sometimes did, by skipping about during his toilet. It was against Mrs. Saunders' principles to 'cocker' him by asking him, even on an unusual occasion, if he had had a good night, and so she made no inquiries. Perhaps it was as well, for already the memory of the actual dream was beginning to fade.

The Comte de Flavigny breakfasted downstairs with the old ladies, who had conformed in this respect to English custom, then he played for a while in the garden with the fat grey cat, who would not, indeed, play in the proper sense of the word, looking without any interest at a piece of string when it was dangled before her, but who was very willing to be stroked, and followed him round, purring and rubbing herself against his legs. But he was uneasy in his mind because of the goldfish, whose bowl he had caused Elspeth to hang on the branch of a tree, tormenting her with inquiries as to whether the cat could jump so high, or crawl out so far, till Elspeth at last crossly said, "Why didna ye leave the fush bide in yer bedroom, child?" To which Anne-Hilarion responded, with a sudden little dignity that he had at times, "Because I do not wish to, and because I mean always to have it with me, always, Elspeth!" But then there came a sudden April shower, and he and his 'fush' had to be conveyed indoors again.

When Anne got into the house, he found a gentleman talking in the hall to the two old ladies. They all turned round at his entrance.

"Etienne, this is our little visitor," said Mme. de Chaulnes. "Anne, this is an old friend of ours, M. du Châtel, who is an émigré, like your father."

Anne put his hand into M. du Châtel's, thinking that he could hardly be an old friend of the fairy godmothers; he looked so much younger than they. M. du Châtel was neatly dressed in black, and he had also very black hair; there was about him nothing remarkable save his particularly light eyes, which, besides looking strange under so dark a thatch, reminded Anne of a goat he had once seen.

It soon appeared that the émigré had come on a visit and was staying the night.

"Then A'd like fine tae ken," said Elspeth indignantly, when she had gathered this piece of information, "hoo it comes that these madams hae a room for him in their hoose and nane for me!" And she brushed Anne-Hilarion's hair as though he were responsible for it, while he, wincing, assured her that he did not know why.

"Mebbe," communed Mrs. Saunders, "they kenned he was comin', and keepit the room for him. Aweel, it's nane o' ma business, nae doot, and A canna get a worrd oot o' that auld witch in the kitchen, but A'll see yon room, or ma name's no' Elspeth Saunders."

And see it she did, at three o'clock that afternoon, when the inmates of Rose Cottage and their visitors were at dinner. She was in no wise rewarded for her investigation of the small apartment—so small, indeed, as hardly to be more than a cupboard—except by the fact, which puzzled her, that the guest who had already occupied it for some hours had made not the least attempt to unpack his little valise. It stood untouched on a chair by the bed, and if Elspeth had pursued her researches a little further she would have made a discovery of real interest—that the bed prepared by those very particular old ladies for M. du Châtel's repose had no sheets on it.