Читать книгу The Serpent In The Garden - Ethel M. Dell - Страница 12

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A curtain of green reeds hung before a doorway which he guessed must lead into the garden, and he made his way towards it over thick rugs that muffled the sound of his footsteps. A draught of warm air blew in from the sea as he reached it, and as he parted the reeds the dazzle of the afternoon sun burst upon him, nearly blinding him.

He found himself standing at the top of a flight of white stone steps with the villa garden lying asleep below him. All along the terrace at his feet there ran a gorgeous border of belladonna lilies, deeply pink; while beyond it stretched the cool dark green of pines and cypresses, and a path winding between palms and flowering yuccas lost itself in their dark shadows.

He descended the steps to the terrace and found another flight immediately below flanked by statues of dryads and nymphs and urns that were massed in flowers. The riot of colour and perfume was almost bewildering, extravagant to his English eyes, exotic in every detail, typically southern.

He descended this second flight and heard the tinkle of falling water. A moment later he reached the path and turning into the welcome shade he came upon a fairy cascade that tumbled with a miniature roar over moss-grown stones. It was an exquisite contrast to the heat and glare above, and he paused for a second’s breathing space to review the situation in which he found himself. It was totally different from what he had expected and the tragedy of it seemed to spread to the very atmosphere around him. It was strange how Fate seemed to be sweeping him perpetually out of his course. He was evidently not destined to play any part in Pierre’s game, and in fact he no longer had any desire to do so. Gabrielle and Gabrielle’s mother filled his thoughts to the exclusion of all else. He had come in the hope of being of some use to the girl; now he knew that it was his task to save her. She had become his own especial responsibility in a fashion that there could be no disputing, and he meant to shoulder that responsibility to the full. It was almost as if she had been given to him, who had so few family belongings, to care for and protect; and something within him warmed to the thought. He visualized for the first time the possibility of turning his energies to good account.

The music of the cascade held the sound of laughter, and he glanced about him almost as if he expected to see some mocking, gnomelike creature pointing the finger of scorn. But the only living thing he saw was a brown lizard that whisked swiftly away at his movement and was gone in a second among the stones.

He turned from the sylvan fairyland and went on down the path, moving deeper and deeper into the shadows until a glitter through the trees told him that he was nearing another terrace—probably the terrace of the pagoda from which the news of Gabrielle’s existence had first come to him.

He pursued his way and very soon discovered that he was walking along a shelf high above the glassy pool through which he had swum into the crosscurrents at the Point. That gave him his bearings and very soon he reached the flight of steps that led down to the second terrace. He descended as far as the angle where they turned abruptly inwards, and then, leaving the downward grade, mounted again between ilex trees to the terrace.

The sun smote upon him again with burning intensity as he emerged. The paving stones on which he walked had a blistering heat, and everywhere, like the flames of a multicoloured furnace, were flowers—roses, lilies, flowers of all descriptions—set in a blazing profusion of creepers that made the eyes ache for the shelter of green trees.

Peter had never regarded himself as impressionable before, but he was conscious of an active sense of repulsion as he walked through that gaudy wealth of blossom. Words which had but recently been uttered ran suddenly through his mind: “She has not yet seen the serpent in the garden.” And he reflected sombrely that he at least would be on the lookout for something evil in such a spot. Its beauty was of too fantastic an order. It reminded him vaguely of the transformation scene of a pantomime. It was theatrical—even melodramatic.

The sea was like a sheet of silver that reflected and enormously magnified the sun. He could not bear to turn his eyes towards it. The piercing, metallic sheen of it was unendurable.

“I was a fool not to bring my glasses,” he muttered to himself.

The dazzling dome shape of the summerhouse rose before him, and he turned towards it, almost groping his way. He stumbled against the first of the marble steps and then recovered himself and ascended them with purpose. He would seek her here before he went any further.

The glare lessened as he reached the top. He saw a tangle of passionflowers climbing over a white stone balustrade and behind this there was a welcome stretch of shadow into which he stepped.

At once he was standing in a sort of green gloom in which chairs and cushions were scattered as carelessly as the clambering flowers. He stopped on the threshold and looked about him, and before his eyes were accustomed to the dimness Gabrielle’s voice accosted him.

“Why, it is you—Peter! I thought it was Cesari.”

There was surprise in her tone, but he was not quite sure that it held pleasure though he tried to fancy that it did.

He turned towards her and found her risen from a low chair to greet him. Her eyes behind their gleaming lashes shone intensely blue. She gave him a sedate smile of welcome while she extended her hand.

He held it in his for a moment, and marvelled again at its smallness. It seemed to go to nothing in his grasp.

“I hope you’re not disappointed,” he said. “Who is Cesari?”

“Signor Montello—a friend of Count Gaspare’s,” she answered. “He said he should be coming some time this afternoon. But never mind him! How long have you been here?”

“I have been in Ste Marguérite for the last three days,” said Peter. “But I didn’t like to call upon you too soon.”

“Why not?” she said. “I was sorry we had to part as we did in Paris, but the count was rather difficult to manage, wasn’t he?”

Again he was struck by the self-possession that seemed to go so oddly with her childish appearance. For here, standing bare-headed, with her fair hair slightly ruffled, she looked even younger than when he had first seen her. She was exquisitely made, and her thin summer dress gave her a fairylike aspect that appealed to him strangely. She seemed the one pure white flower in the whole of that tropical garden.

“Would you like to come and sit down?” she said. “It’s very nice here, don’t you think?”

He followed her and sat down in the low chair she indicated. Somehow, in face of her quiet detachment, he found it difficult to broach the matter that was uppermost in his thoughts. If she had greeted him with any real warmth he would not have hesitated.

“I hope the count behaved decently to you,” he said with a touch of awkwardness.

She laughed a little. “Oh, quite. His manners were perfect the moment you were gone. Of course, he rather took me in over my mother. I found her much better than I had expected.”

“I have just been with her,” Peter said.

“Oh, have you?” She seated herself on the wall of the balustrade and looked down at him with grave attention. “What do you think of her?”

Peter hesitated. “She doesn’t look overstrong,” he admitted after a moment. “But of course I’m no judge.”

“No,” she agreed quietly. “I daresay you think I look delicate too, but I am not in the least. I don’t think appearances are always to be relied upon.”

“Probably not,” said Peter.

“Certainly not in my case,” she maintained. “But now that I am here, I think that I can do a good deal to help her. I have told the count so, and he seems willing to let me try.”

Peter sat up sharply. “What does that mean?”

She smiled at him with a hint of irony. “Well, what do you think it means? Naturally I want to earn my bread and butter.”

“D’you mean you’d offer to act as that man’s secretary?” Peter said.

“I have offered,” she told him calmly. “I am not much good but I could learn. My mother could help me, and so could Cesari.”

Peter stared at her. He felt as if she had dealt him a light but very decided buffet in the face. “Have you consulted your mother?” he asked.

“No, not yet.” She pulled off a fruit of passionflower and began to play with it, throwing it carelessly from hand to hand. “I thought I would sound the count first. He seemed to think the scheme had possibilities.”

“It sounds madness to me,” Peter said.

Her face was in the shadow, but he saw an enigmatical expression flit across it at his words. She said nothing but continued to throw the tiny green ball to and fro.

He sat watching her, wondering how to deal with this new contingency and trying to rein in the impetuosity that urged him.

“Shall I tell you what your mother has just been saying to me?” he said.

She shook her head without pausing in her game. “I’m not very interested in fairy tales,” she said.

That flicked him very definitely. He got up and stood before her. “You’ve no right to say that to me,” he said.

She was smiling, as a child might smile at some amusing secret. “Are we talking of rights or wrongs?” she said.

Peter paused for consideration. She was very baffling, this girl with the innocent face and self-contained manner. She made him think of a will-o’-the-wisp, impossible of capture, yet alluring even while she eluded.

“We are not discussing either,” he said at length. “But I don’t see why I should be treated with suspicion just because I am out to help you.”

She made a faint sound that was like a suppressed laugh. “Are you sure you’re backing the right horse?” she said. “What makes you think I want any help?”

He answered her without any hesitation. “The mere fact that you are thinking of taking employment from this Voltano. You hated him yourself at first sight. You can’t deny it.”

“I don’t,” she said coolly. “That was mere insular prejudice on my part. I’ve changed my mind since.”

“You can’t mean that you trust him!” Peter said explosively.

She dropped her hands suddenly, holding the fruit caught between them. “Can you tell me why I should trust anyone?” she said.

It was the third cut that he had received from her. He realized that it ought to have stung him to fury, but it did not. He simply stood looking straight into her eyes until with a small gesture that was half-petulant and half-appealing she turned aside.

“I think you know that you can trust me,” Peter said then in a low voice.

She did not answer him, and he was not sure that her silence held acquiescence. Because of that small gesture of hers which had not been wholly repelling, he decided to press the point.

“Can’t you trust me, Gabrielle?” he said.

She did not look at him, and he suddenly caught a glimpse of something forlorn and rather dejected about her that he had not suspected until that moment.

He dealt with it swiftly, in his own way, throwing discretion aside. “Look here! You’ve got to trust me,” he said with decision. “I’ve not let you down yet and I never shall. You’re going to believe that whether you want to or not.”

She turned her head slowly and contemplated him. “I’m sure you’re very well-meaning,” she said.

“Well-meaning be damned!” said Peter. “I’m one of the family—not a blasted outsider—and I mean to be treated as such. Your mother—thank goodness!—realizes that.”

“My mother!” Her eyes fixed him with a very straight look. “What do you know about my mother?” she said.

He met her look with absolute directness, but something within him flinched. “I know that though she is herself in the employ of this Voltano, she doesn’t consider it at all a suitable setting for you,” he said. “She would never have brought you here. It was only the unlucky chance of her illness that made it unavoidable. But she doesn’t want to keep you here. She has probably told you so herself. If not, she certainly will. She wants you to go back to England and find work there.”

“That is rather easier said than done, isn’t it?” said Gabrielle.

“As it happens, it isn’t,” he returned. “I can help you there. I am quite certain I could find you a job.”

“You are always certain of everything,” she said in a tone that he did not quite understand.

“Well, I shouldn’t let you down,” he rejoined. “If you would go back to your friends the Lingardes for a short time, I would undertake to find you a post within two months.”

“Somewhere under your eye, I suppose,” she suggested, “as head of the family?”

He received the barb without any sign of discomfiture. “All right, if you like to put it that way,” he said. “I promise I shouldn’t lose sight of you anyhow.”

“I wonder why,” she said musingly.

“Why what?” said Peter.

“Why you should want to take all this trouble,” she explained, her wide eyes still frankly studying him. “It can’t be just because there is a very distant connection between us. I simply won’t pass that. It’s too silly. Why is it?”

The question was quietly uttered, but it had in it something of the quality of a challenge, and he knew instinctively that he must stand up to it or lose her confidence for good and all.

He flung down his own gauntlet forthwith. “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t take an interest in you?” he said. “Have you any special objection to me?”

It was her turn to flinch, but the fact that she did so was scarcely perceptible. Her eyelids flickered very slightly as she said, “Not at present. But I’m not sure that I want too much of it—not if it amounts to interference.”

“If it’s for your own good,” said Peter stubbornly, “I don’t see that you have any cause for complaint.”

She smiled at that and he saw the tip of her tongue for an instant. “That’s the remark that usually precedes a whipping, isn’t it? I’m sure you must think I’m very young and foolish. But, whatever your point of view——”

He interrupted her, urged by an impulse that would not be restrained. “Oh, don’t talk like that! I want to know you. I want to be friends. If you were old and wise I don’t suppose I should like you half as much. But you’re so sweet—exactly like a fairy princess. Surely you can’t be offended with me for wanting to know you better!”

He flushed hotly over the words, but Gabrielle flushed too with a pleasing vividness that almost put him at his ease.

She turned a little from him and began to play with the passion fruit again. “P’raps we’re neither of us very old or wise at present,” she said after a few seconds. “It’s very hot, isn’t it? Don’t you think we’d better go somewhere where we can cool down?”

Since it was an invitation and not a dismissal Peter accepted it. There was something within him—could it be his heart?—that was strangely quivering. Perhaps he was intoxicated by the heavy perfumes around him.

“I’ll go anywhere you like,” he said. “But don’t get sunstroke! It’s like a furnace outside.”

She stooped and picked up a green sunshade from the floor, handing it to him with that demure smile of hers which he was beginning to know.

“We’ll go to the very tip of the Point des Sirènes,” she said, “and have a look for mermaids. And if we see any——” she paused.

“Yes?” said Peter.

“I shall then know how much your interest is worth,” she said gravely.

“And if we don’t?” said Peter.

He caught a mischievous gleam behind her gold-tipped lashes. “In that case I suppose I shall remain in blissful ignorance,” she said.

“But not for long,” said Peter with a ring of determination in his voice.

“You’d better walk very carefully,” said Gabrielle, “because it’s rather slippery.”