Читать книгу The Lonely Church - Fergus Hume - Страница 7

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Eric’s blue eyes gleamed like sapphires when he turned them on his friend. “My adventure is not yet at an end,” said he, “and by Jove she is mixed up in it. Miss Bellona?”

“Yes. Now if I were a knave,” cried Baker, pacing the room, “I would let the whole plot succeed and make love to the lady on my own account.”

Hal Ferris looked blankly at the excited face of the man. “What are you talking of?” he asked.

But Eric’s brain was working out what he knew, kneading it into shape, as it were. “That old hag mentioned my name too,” he soliloquised, “and Tyler is afraid of her.”

“Tyler. Luke Tyler?” cried Ferris.

“Yes. I punched his head yesterday. Do you know him?”

“I have heard of him.”

Eric jumped to a conclusion. “From Merston, I suppose,” he said. “The man who is in love with his daughter Pansey.”

Hal gasped, and rose from his seat. His face wore an expression of the most profound astonishment.

“Now how the deuce did you know that, Eric?” he asked. “I thought no one but myself knew.”

“Oh. So you’re a friend of Merston’s?

“No. He’s a supercilious beast, and looks down on a poor music master. I wish you would explain. I’m quite in the dark.”

“I’ll explain later. Do you know a short man who wears a large cloak, and has a fine voice, resonant as a cathedral organ?”

“No. Who is he?”

“That’s what I wish to find out,” said Eric, rubbing his hands. “By George, I shall enjoy myself here. There’s some rascality going on that I can’t fathom.”

“It’s sure to be rascality if that Tyler is connected with it.”

“Humph. He bears a bad name, then?”

“The very worst. But if you will explain—”

“Gently! Gently. All in good time. By the way, who is Mother Mandarin?”

Hal became quite excited. “What, have you met her? Did she tell your fortune? Did she—”

“Has she told yours?” asked Eric, a sudden suspicion shooting into his mind.

“Yes. She said that I was going to get into trouble, and would be saved by a fair man, whom I said was you.”

“Ah! now I see. You told her my name.”

“Yes. In the course of our fortune-telling. Why?”

“You described my appearance, told her my profession, and said that I was walking from Greatix to Moncaster.”

“I told her all that, as I wished to know if you would arrive safe.”

Eric thought. “I was bound to come through Old Dexleigh if I came from Greatix. No wonder Mother Mandarin knew me. And I took her for a Witch of Endor.”

“And she is,” insisted Hal. “She tells the most wonderful things.”

“There is nothing more wonderful than herself. She is a well-bred woman. How does she come to live in that deserted village?”

“I can’t tell you that, but Mrs. Bellona may know.”

“Oh, ho! Is she a friend of Mrs. Bellona?”

“Yes. She was hired to tell fortunes at the bazaar last month. But I won’t tell you another thing unless you let me know what you are driving at. You slept in Dexleigh church last night?”

“Yes. I went there to hear a conversation!”

Hal looked shocked. “Oh, Baker. A man of honour…”

“Pooh. This is a case of no honour amongst thieves. I had no compunction in listening, I assure you. I may be able to prevent a crime, or something very nearly approaching one. Listen.”

Fearful lest Baker should change his mind and tell him nothing, Ferris simply nodded. Eric drew hard at his pipe, and after a puff or two to compose his nerves, he related his adventures in Old Dexleigh, commencing with his meeting Mother Mandarin, and ending with the departure of Luke and the stranger from the lonely church. “I didn’t follow them,” said Eric, “as I didn’t want to be dropped by Luke. The man would have shot me without the least hesitation had he known I had heard of his rascality. I bluffed him earlier in the day, but I didn’t hope to bluff him in the darkness. I simply stopped where I was and slept like a top, though I don’t mind telling you, old boy, that I was devilish hungry. I woke at dawn, and thinking it just as well to get out of the neighbourhood before my presence was suspected, I scrambled through the village unbeknown to anyone—I mean to my three friends—and soon fetched the crossroads. At a cottage I got some bread and milk, and tramped on here, to do justice to your very excellent breakfast.”

“What a mad creature you are, Eric.”

“I assure you I enjoyed myself no end. What do you think?”

Hal shook his head.

“I think you have been dreaming. Tyler is in too bad odour with the police to risk kidnapping Harding. Besides, I don’t see why he wants to do so.”

“I am very sure that the short stranger in the cloak knows,” said Eric, dryly, “and I mean to find out the reason. Also I intend to warn Harding. You must introduce me to him, and to Miss Bellona.”

“Why to her?”

“Because I am in love, and Harding or no Harding, I intend, if she is as nice as she looks, to marry her.”

“You won’t succeed. Her mother is ambitious.”

“A woman with such a name should be—the goddess of war. I dare say she’ll fight me. Well, I like fighting. The most important question is, whether my dark beauty loves Harding.”

“No, she loves no one.”

“Ah. Her heart had not been stirred. Well, we’ll see. I want to know Mrs. Bellona also, as it is important I should learn all that there is to be learned about Mother Mandarin.”

“Because she knew your name?”

“No. She came by that from your gabble. You have as long a tongue as ever, Hal. You must do penance by introducing me to these people.”

“That’s easily done. Mrs. Bellona gives a garden party in two days.”

“That will do. Introduce me as an interesting stranger. But a garden party in chilly May—ugh!” Eric, his blood thinned by tropic heats, shivered. “Mrs. Bellona must take her weather from the poets.”

“If you wish to see Miss Bellona sooner…?” began Ferris.

“Of course. I wish to feast my eyes on her rich eastern beauty as soon as I can.”

“Then she will probably be in the cathedral at eleven. I must go to service. Of course you are a Romanist—”

“And if I am, where could I more fitly worship than in yon noble pile, which you Protestants stole from us. We built all your churches.”

Ferris would have argued this point, for he was a most enthusiastic member of the Church of England. But Eric gave him no time. “If you argue theology at this hour,” he said impatiently, “I shall brain you on your own hearthrug. Take me to my room. I want a bath and a change of clothes.”

“Ah yes,” said Ferris leading the way. “Your boxes arrived yesterday by train.”

“Of course, I sent them on. You didn’t expect I would lug a box while on a walking tour. Let me put on my best kit so that Miss Bellona may fall in love with me.”

“She loves no one,” said Ferris again, as he opened the door of the room allotted to the traveller.

“Not even Julian Harding to whom she is engaged? Well in that case, I really think I am justified in letting him be kidnapped.”

“Oh that’s all bosh,” said Ferris laughing.

“We’ll see. Mind you hold that long tongue of yours, Hal.”

“I’ll not say a word,” replied Ferris earnestly. “I don’t want you to be taken for a lunatic.”

“A very dirty lunatic,” retorted Eric who by this time was rapidly peeling. “Get out, I’m going to tub. The bath-room’s at the end of the passage! All right.”

“Where’s my dressing-gown, and sponges, and flesh-gloves, and—Oh,” here Eric broke off, singing, “She’s the beauty of the world, and I love her so dearly—”

“You’re quite mad,” said Ferris banging the bed-room door.

“Mad with the joy of life,” shouted Baker through the door.

Hal trotted back to his sitting-room much cheered by the society of his friend. He usually was cheerful, but Eric’s spirits always raised his own to fever-heat. All the years he had known Baker, the man was always thus, gay, high-spirited, filled with health, and what he himself called the joy of life. “And such a determined chap he is,” said little Ferris sitting down at his desk. “I believe he’ll marry Judith after all. He’ll have a good try for it at all events. But that kidnapping business is rubbish.”

All the same he knew Eric was not given to waste his time in talking rubbish. But the idea was so wild that Hal could not help thinking Baker must have dreamed it. That a well-known man should be kidnapped in an English city savoured too much of melodrama. In spite of his belief in Eric, the little music master could not credit that such a plot was in existence. Dismissing the subject he wrote a note to Mrs. Bellona asking if he could bring his friend Mr. Baker to her unseasonable garden party, only he suppressed the uncomplimentary word.

Meantime Eric was plunging in cold water, and singing at the top of his voice as he rolled and scrubbed and towelled himself. He had a fine baritone, and trolled out a Carolean love ditty with great gusto. As a rule his visits to the old country bored him, so the prospect of an adventure, and one in which the woman he loved was concerned made him quite joyous. But when he was dressing he asked himself seriously, if he really did love Judith Bellona. He had seen her only once, and their eyes had met, but the look she gave him, and the proud beauty of her face had remained in his memory ever since. If this were not love would he retain such a vivid recollection of her face. He had seen plenty of women before and since, but this was the sole woman he had thus remembered. Eric was something of a fatalist, and he could not help thinking that he had been brought into the life of Judith for some special purpose.

“If I had not been taken with thy face so long ago, I should not have troubled to have come to Moncaster in spite of Hal’s invitation. And if I had not come, I would not have been involved in that adventure at Old Dexleigh. The man Tyler proposes to kidnap is engaged to the woman whose face has dwelt in my memory all these years. I met that old Mother Mandarin of whom Judith’s mother knows something. It’s all of a piece, and the Fates are working out a scheme which brings me into active participation in moulding her life. Well, so much the better. She’s the beauty of the world,” and he began singing again, till he broke off to utter aloud a determination. “By George, I’ll get Hal to place that portrait in my bed-room, and if he won’t I’ll steal it.”

Being now washed and clothed, and as much in his right mind as love would permit him to be—if the strong fancy he clung to really was love—Eric walked briskly into the sitting-room. He looked bright-eyed, clean, fresh, and a darling of Nature as regards looks and good spirits. To relieve these he used Hal as a dumbell and swung him up in the air, until he begged to be set down.

“What would the Bishop say if he saw his choirmaster thus,” said the dignified Ferris.

“That depends upon what sort of bishop he is.”

“A very jolly sort, but his daughter is stiff.”

“And kind-hearted. Did she not get my Hal his post? Come along to your duty.”

“Do behave yourself in church,” pleaded Ferris putting on his hat.

“I won’t answer for myself if I see the beauty of the world smiling on my unworthy self,” said the gay young man. “Oh I tread on air, and she is fair, and it becomes a lover to be débonnaire.”

“You’re not her lover yet,” warned Hal, as they left the house. “You may never be.”

“Success favours the brave,” said the undaunted Eric, and taking Hal’s arm they left the house.

The bells were calling to the service, and the Close was filling with people, mostly of the gentle sex. Ferris seemed to be well-known and liked, for his hat was constantly in his hand, and he received many smiles and bows. Some curious glances were cast on his tall companion, and Eric heard one damsel whisper to another, that he must be “an officer boy,” whereat he laughed outright.

“I must look younger than my thirty years, Hal,” said he.

At the door, Ferris parted from his companion, to attend to his duties. Eric walked up the aisle and chose a seat where he could obtain an excellent view of the congregation. Meantime pending the sight of any particularly pretty face, he amused himself with looking round the immense building.

St. Wulf is one of the most beautiful cathedrals in England. It has three naves, in which Cromwell’s troopers stabled their horses during the Great Civil Wars. These same troopers smashed all or most of the windows, but the stained glass has been replaced. The West and East windows are ancient, but the others distinctly modern, being put up to various sons of Moncaster who have earned such honour. Also there were many brass plates to the memory of heroes, and here and there a tomb of ancient date with half obliterated inscriptions. Round the building still clung the faint scent of incense, for the last bishop had been high-church. The present one was moderate, and the service offended nobody.

Through the painted windows streamed the thin spring sunlight, and in the semi-gloom of the sacred building, Eric could see the congregation streaming in by twos and threes. The worshippers were mostly women, for the masculine population of Moncaster thought that to attend service on Sunday was sufficient for their soul’s salvation. They did not want to have too much of a good thing.

But before Eric could further examine his surroundings the organ rolled out its stately music, and the choir in snowy robes streamed up the aisle followed by a minor canon, and a meek curate. The service was a short one, and was distinguished chiefly by the exquisite music. The clear high voices of the boys, and the deeper tones of the men blended fervently in the rendering of the psalms. “Oh Lord our Governour, how excellent is thy Name in all the world.” The sublime words borne on wings of sound soared aloft to the carved roof, and rolled in musical thunder through the many arches. Such magnificent harmonies induced a religious sober frame of mind, and Eric listened attentively to the reading of the lessons. He was not a particularly pious young man although he attended the services of his own church whenever he had a chance. Perhaps owing to this carelessness, he was unfettered by sectarian prejudices, for he profoundly admired the beauty of the Anglican liturgy. He followed the service pretty well, although he twice forgot that he was in a heretic shrine and crossed himself with fervour. Those damsels who watched him, thought he was high-church.

While the canon was delivering a short discourse in prosy tones, Eric grew weary and glanced around. He now saw many pretty faces, and amongst them a dark eastern countenance which he recognised at once. Without doubt this lady who seemed so attentive to her devotions was Judith Bellona. She was dressed in black, and wore, in odd contrast, a scarlet hat. The effect was striking, and the brilliant colour suited her clear-cut pensive face. She was undeniably lovely, but appeared somewhat sad. For a time she did not notice Eric, then she began to move uneasily, and did not pay so much attention as formerly to the prosy canon. Without doubt she felt the influence of his steady gaze, and Eric tried by concentrating his thoughts to force her to look round. Finally she did so, and their eyes met. It seemed that she recognised him for a faint blush crept over her dark cheek, and she hastily turned away her head. For the rest of the service Eric saw only her smooth coils of dark hair, and the pink shell of her right ear.

When the service was ended, he quite forgot that he was in a Protestant cathedral, and hastened to the door in the hope that he might be allowed to offer her the holy water. Waiting in the porch he met her face to face, but by this time he remembered that there was no chance of beginning an acquaintance by means of holy water. However he stood still hat in hand, looking gallant and débonnaire and stared boldly at her. She was alone, and in her gloved hands crossed before her she held a small prayer-book. He thought he had never seen so beautiful a woman. She resembled an Andalusian beauty, and there was something of the East in her rich colouring and pensive looks. When she saw him, to his surprise she hesitated as though afraid to pass. Baker could not understand this, as they had met only once, and then had exchanged but a single glance. But there was recognition in her eyes, and he felt, he knew not why, that she knew him better than he knew her. The situation and the feeling puzzled him not a little.

At last Miss Bellona made up her mind to come out. With a slow step she came past, but stopped suddenly with a flush on her face, and an anxious look in her eyes. To Eric’s astonishment she spoke.

“Leave Moncaster at once, Mr. Baker,” she said. “At once.”