Читать книгу Grey Shapes - E. Charles Vivian - Страница 7

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Another brief moment of tension arose later, just before father and daughter set out for home, when Tyrrell observed that the neighborhood was rich in antiquities, and Gees, remembering a previous remark of his in connection with archeology, questioned:

"You said the vicar was strong on it, I believed? Amber, isn't it?"

"It is," Tyrrell answered, after an awkward silence.

"There is a feud, Mr. Green," Gyda explained, coming to the rescue. "My father and Mr. Amber hate each other—you didn't know, of course."

"I see," he said. "It was evident that I'd dropped a brick of some sort, but naturally I didn't know anything about it."

Being by this time very much alive to impressions, he sensed more in the momentary tension than the mere quarrel between the two men. An expression in Tyrrell's eyes indefinable beyond that it was a decidedly unhappy look, went to show that he was involved, in some way. Then McCoul decided on going, and Tyrrell offered to walk as far as his gateway with him and his daughter.

"In that case," Gees remarked, "I'd like to act escort too."

"Oh, but you must be tired, after driving from London today," Gyda protested. "And we don't need an escort at all, really."

But Gees saw Tyrrell's gaze at her, and knew he would be doing the man a good turn if he could manage to pair with her father. "I insist," he said, "if only as exercise after sitting still all day."

Eventually they set out, and Gees' maneuvering placed him ahead beside McCoul, with the other two following. The September night was mild and fine, and they went coatless and hatless into the light of the moon a day or two past its full, along the graveled drive and out to the rutted lane. At first, Tyrrell's and Gyda McCoul's voice sounded to Gees and her father as they walked, but McCoul took long strides, and the voices in rear faded out—as Gees knew they would.

"Not your first visit to Cumberland, surely, Mr. Green?" McCoul asked in consequence of a remark Gees had made on the quality of the lane.

"Not the first—no," he answered, "for I went through Carlisle in a sleeping berth on my way to Aberdeen and that's Cumberland, of course. Came back east coast, so I didn't see much of the district."

"No, you wouldn't," McCoul observed, and his tone suggested that he resented having his leg pulled.

"It would be an interesting county, if it were ironed out," Gees said.

"I don't quite understand," McCoul admitted stiffly.

"Well, there'd be so much more of it if it were flattened," Gees pointed out brightly. "So much is up-ended. A hill or two here and there—yes, but when it's all in roof sections—well, where are you?"

"In Cumberland, apparently," McCoul said coldly.

"That's how it struck me," Gees assented. "And eerie, too, especially in moonlight like this. As if one might see the Daoine Shih peering from behind a crag like that." He pointed, as he spoke, to a hump of grey rock showing a score yards beyond the low stone wall that bounded the lane. "And a crock of gold under the rock," he ended.

"What do you know of the Daoine Shih?" McCoul demanded sharply.

"Oh, one picks up things, here and there," Gees evaded with surface carelessness. "Legends, you know, and all that sort of thing. I've always felt sorry for Eochaid—any human would, I think."

"You seem to have that legend on your mind," McCoul accused.

"Not more than a good many others. I'm merely interested, and Tyrrell told me you had antiquarian tastes. Lived here long?"

"We arrived in March," McCoul answered. "I bought the castle last year, but it took some time to make any of it habitable. There was nothing but the bare walls when I bought it."

"And the servant problem?" Gees asked. "How does Miss McCoul manage about that? It's difficult to get servants in a place like this, surely—that is, I don't really know if it is, of course."

"I brought a kern from the wilds of Gallway, and he does nearly everything for us," McCoul explained. "One of my own clan."

"Galway, eh?" Gees reflected aloud. "I must go to Ireland, some day. The wild and woolly part of it, I mean—get impressions."

"Then you don't know Ireland either?" McCoul inquired sarcastically.

"Well, nothing to speak of," Gees confessed. "I've done the ritual tour of Killarney and drunk Guinness in Dublin, and I own to having been in a faction fight near Cork, long ago, but the real Ireland, the land of the Daoine Shih—no. I must look it up."

By that time, they had come in sight of the two stone pillars beyond which the rugged walls of Locksborough Castle reared upon a hillock, distinct and ruinous in the moonlight. McCoul halted and looked back: Tyrrell and Gyda were just in sight, and her silver-white head was very close to her companion's, Gees saw as he too looked back.

"Now what do you know of the fairy folk?" McCoul demanded—there was a trace of menace in the query, as Gees realized.

"Legend only, as I told you before," he said cheerfully. "But— these pillars." He nodded at the two gigantic stones which marked the entrance to the castle grounds. "Never used as posts, surely?"

"I really couldn't say," McCoul answered stiffly.

"Stonehenge would be far more perfect if the people of a century or two ago hadn't broken up some of the stones for road making," Gees pursued meditatively, ignoring his companion's resentment. "And Avebury—Avebury is a tragedy, from the point of view of anyone with a respect for the old beliefs. These pillars remind me of Avebury—they belonged to something much bigger, once. In the days when the Daoine Shih were not afraid to show themselves—but men feared instead."

"You're a strange man, Mr. Green," McCoul said with odd abruptness.

"What man isn't?" Gees retorted, gazing straight into the black eyes—in that light they were quite black—that searched for hidden meanings in his words. "We're all strangers to each other."

McCoul gave him no answer. The other two came up with them, and Gyda McCoul smiled at Gees—she looked unearthly, a slender, perfect figure with her uncovered white hair shining in the moonlight.

"What a wonderful night, Mr. Green," she said softly.

So very softly, almost as if the words embodied a temptation, and yet, to him, her voice was like metal striking on glass lustres, a glassy tinkling—or the touch on a knife blade on a plate on which half-raw beef dripped redly. He could not forget that beef.

"Marvelous," he assented. "I'd like to roam about these hills— except that I should probably get lost and caught by the fairy folk."

"Mr. Green has the fairy folk on his brain," McCoul put in coldly. "For tonight, he appears able to talk of nothing else."

"But it is none too warm," the girl said with an abrupt change of manner—to Gees it seemed that she shrank from him suddenly. "So many thanks to you for a delightful evening, Mr. Tyrrell. Good-night, Mr. Green—we shall meet again, I expect. Father, we must go."

It was dismissal, and Tyrrell, realizing it, took her hand and kissed it before bidding good night to McCoul—Gees contented himself with a more formal parting. Then the two stood and watched while father and daughter walked between the monoliths and on toward the old castle. Not till they were within the shadow of its wall did either speak. Then—

"Pretty far gone, aren't you?" Gees queried acidly.

"It was not for that I agreed to your coming here, was it?" Tyrrell retorted, with a trace of real anger.

"Possibly not," Gees said equably, "but I managed you a tête-à-tête with the lady, and I'm so dog-tired I wouldn't care if you carried me back. I haven't had such an interesting evening since I ditched an airplane in the sea off Worthing. Let's go home, shall we?"

"By all means," Tyrrell assented coldly.

"No good, like that," Gees said, and did not move. "You fetched me here—at fifty pounds a week, to get at the bottom of a mystery for you, and I've started on the job already. If you're going all icy, I'll forego my wage and start back to- morrow. Do we carry on, or do we carry on? You're the finance of the business."

"You mean—?" Tyrrell asked, evidently mystified.

"That I am the hired man," Gees told him. "Do I carry on?"

"Oh, don't be a blasted fool, man!" Tyrrell adjured with sudden heartiness. "Of course you carry on. I'm sorry—I ought to have known you took this walk because of me, and you must be nearly falling asleep as you talk, after that drive today. What have you—?"

"Nothing," Gees interrupted ruthlessly. "Give me a few hours to arrange my impressions. I believe I've jumped into something big, big and old. And I haven't been here ten minutes, yet. Let's go home."

But, before turning to go, he gazed up at the reared stones that marked the gateway, and at the part-ruined castle on its mound beyond.