Читать книгу The Wings of Victory - Fred M. White - Страница 6

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Sylvia smiled back again. It was impossible to feel depressed in the presence of Maxwell Frick. Here was a man who had been connected with the theatrical profession all his life, a sound and experienced comedian without a vice save his own incomparable optimism, and yet a man who never contrived to remain in a show, as he called it, for more than a month at the outside. He was known in the profession from one end of England to the other; he was popular, and yet most of his time he spent in a desperate struggle to live. A little more businesslike aptitude and he might long ago have had a theatre of his own.

And yet here he was, shabby and smiling, stranded on the platform of a local station miles away from everywhere, and treating the whole matter as if it were the finest joke in the world.

"How did it happen?" Sylvia asked.

"Well, it's like this," Frick explained. "I came down here on business for the Western Company, and before I started I clean forgot to give them my address. And I forgot to draw any money, either. I only realised I had nothing when I walked to the station just now. I was going to see you."

"Really? Why didn't you write?"

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I forgot all about it. You know my way. I was coming to look at that old house of yours. They told me in London that if my report was all right they would send the secretary down here to try and make all the necessary arrangements with Major Dorn. But where are you off to? Where are you going?"

Sylvia hesitated, but only for a moment. She would like to have taken this friend into her confidence, but she could not; it was not possible just now to make a confidant of any one. Whatever happened, she must go through the next day or two alone. But, at any rate, Frick might help her at the other end. Therefore she would keep her counsel.

"I am going to London," she said carefully. "I shall be back again when you have made your arrangements. But that may be some little time, and there are reasons, Mr. Frick, pressing reasons, why I must find something to do."

Frick nodded his grey head sympathetically.

"Ah, I understand," he said. "You want a shop for a week or two. Well, I think I can manage that."

As he spoke he fished a dingy card from his pocket and scribbled an address upon it.

"You call there," he said. "And it will be all right. It won't be much, not more than two quid a week at the outside, but Coventry Martin will do that much for me. He hasn't forgotten the days when we were in the Cambridge Dramatic Club together. He will help you all right. And now, about this business of yours. Is your father of the same mind?"

"I think so," Sylvia said. "I discussed the matter with him and he seemed to be favourable. Oh, I must be candid with you. We are so desperately poor that we cannot turn our back upon money, however small it is. I am sure you will find it all right. Lanton Place is an ideal spot for your purpose, and, as I know the country so well, I shall be able to help you. And as soon as ever your arrangements are made, let me know. I shall be only too glad to come back again, only too glad to feel that I am earning my living."

"Oh, I shouldn't worry about that if I were you," the optimistic Frick smiled. "With your face and figure, my dear, you are bound to get on. Lor' bless you, directly our company gets going, you will be drawing your hundred quid a week and forgetting all about poor old Frick."

"I shall never do that," Sylvia smiled. "I shall never forget how good and kind you have been to me. What should we have done up north if it hadn't been for you? How should we have contrived to get back to London again?"

"Oh, that's all right," Frick said. "It's all in the day's work. Why, bless you, I shouldn't know what to do with myself if things went prosperously for over a month."

With which characteristic remark Frick saw Sylvia to her carriage and went his way smiling. Salisbury came at due length, and then gravely and resolutely Sylvia set her face towards London. She walked on till the darkness fell, after which she contrived to obtain a night's shelter in a tiny cottage on the far side of the Plain, and a simple breakfast at the outlay of a shilling. Then all the next day she trudged through Hampshire, until evening found her on the borders of the New Forest, and here she supped on a loaf of bread and a jug of milk picked up literally by the wayside, and that night she slept by the side of a haystack under the summer stars.

It was something in the way of a desperate adventure, but Sylvia was not frightened or in the least cast down. She knew that every step on the way was taking her nearer to London, and once there she had every faith in the introduction that Frick had given her. And even if that failed, she knew that there were one or two humble members of the company she had been with who, poor as they were, would be quite willing to share a dingy lodging with her. She calculated by the time she reached London she would have just four shillings left. And if that was gone then, her situation would be desperate indeed. But that was the thought that she put resolutely out of her mind.

About midday following she contrived, when in the heart of the New Forest, to enlist the sympathies of a kindly old dame, who gave her a substantial meal and the opportunities of a thorough wash, so that when she turned out on to the road again she felt almost as fresh as she had done when she left home. It was very quiet and lonely there in the heart of that beautiful country, and as she went along she was conscious, for the first time, of a certain uneasiness. It had turned very warm and sultry, and overhead the clouds began to gather in an ominous manner. And this was a contingency that Sylvia had not reckoned on. Whatever happened she must not get wet, and so far as she could see, there was every chance of her being drenched to the skin in the course of the next hour.

She pushed on rapidly till the heavy drops began to fall and the thunder growled ominously overhead. Then there was a vivid flash of lightning, followed by a crash, and then the rain came down in earnest.

Sylvia dodged under the trees, making swiftly for a little cart-shed thatched with heather that she could see in the distance. She was thankful enough to gain this shelter, and there, safe at last, for the next two hours she stood there looking at the blurred landscape through a curtain of drenching rain. And so it went on till night began to fall, and when it cleared up at length Sylvia found herself absolutely alone, without the least idea where she was or in what direction to turn.

Well, if the worst came to the worst, she must spend that night in the solitude of that lonely hut. Everything was absolutely drenched; the big drops were shaken from the trees, which were moaning of the wind that had got up, and, moreover, the floor of the hut was running with water. It was impossible to stay there unless she stood up all night, and equally impossible to find shelter within a mile or two so far as she knew. There was only one thing for it, and that was to get away from the trees into the open and find some cart-track along which she could make her way.

It was comparatively early yet, barely ten o'clock, and Sylvia was feeling her courage coming back to her again. She was not too tired to walk for another mile or two, nor did she despair of finding shelter somewhere. And so far as she could see presently when she reached a comparatively high piece of ground there was not a light visible in the whole world. Still, she held doggedly on with that fine courage of hers until away in the distance, on the edge of the moorland it seemed to her, she could see the twinkle of a friendly light. But the light was a great deal further off than she thought for, and by the time she reached it her limbs were trembling under her and she was feeling faint from want of food.

The light appeared to shine from the windows of a large bungalow that was fenced in from the road and backed by a fringe of high woods. This was no farmhouse, no labourer's cottage, Sylvia could see, even in the dark. She would have passed by and sought shelter elsewhere, but there was no light to be seen anywhere, and presently she took her courage in both hands and walked up the pathway.

But though she knocked and knocked again there was no reply, though from both sides of the rustic porch a light shone out. It was very strange, all so very still and ominous in that desolate spot so far from civilisation that Sylvia began to fear that she had stumbled upon some tragedy. Just for a moment she fought with a wild desire to fly back along the path into the friendly shelter of the night, then she got herself in hand again and tried the handle of the door.

It yielded to her touch at once. She crept inside and looked about her cautiously. She saw a big hall sitting-room, a room paved with flags with a large ingle-nook in one corner. It was a cosy, comfortable room, luxuriously furnished with fine old stuff; there were good pictures on the walls, and the floor was covered with skins of various animals. Opposite the door was a big roll-top desk littered with manuscripts and proofs, and on the desk a silver lamp. There were big lamps, too, on the side-tables, and in the centre of the room a dainty supper had been set out on an old oak table.

And yet, strangely enough, there was no sign of human life anywhere. It was all very mysterious and just a little awe-inspiring. As Sylvia stood there, her eyes roamed round the place, taking in everything from the luxurious meal on the table to a little pile of letters laid on one of the plates. With a spirit of pardonable curiosity Sylvia picked up the letters and turned them over in her hand. The second letter fluttered from her fingers and dropped on the floor.

Not before she had seen the address. It was the envelope in her own handwriting directed to John Bevill, Esq., at Baron's Court, and obviously forwarded on.