Читать книгу The Uncounted Cost - Mary Gaunt - Страница 6

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When the game began between them for a jest,

He played king and she played queen to match the best.

Laughter soft as tears, and tears that turned to laughter,

These were things she sought for years and sorrowed after.

"Pleasure with dry lips, and pain that walks by night;

All the sting and all the stain of long delight;

These were things she knew not of, that knew not her,

When she played at half a love with half a lover."

"A TELEGRAM, ma'am."

Ellis stood at the open French window in the light of the shaded lamp peering out into the soft warmth of the moonlit garden. She judged that her mistress was somewhere there in the scented shadows and she would not have disturbed her but that a telegram seemed to her of the greatest importance, her last mistress had always made a point of screaming when she received one, besides it was not for Mrs Pearce, but for Captain Cunningham and she felt it ought to be delivered.

For a moment there was silence, then she heard a man's voice on the seat under the big elm say, "Tell her to bring it here."

"No, I'd better go. It might be to say the African mail is in and Fred has landed. Stay there; I'll be back presently."

A shadow came from under the tree, and Ellis thought her mistress looked wonderfully attractive as she came across the lawn in her flowing white evening dress. She went towards her. "The boy is waiting to see if there is an answer, ma'am."

"Go back, you silly girl. I can't read it in the dark, can I?"

Ellis went back obediently, but when she reached the lighted sitting-room she turned, protesting.

"It is for Captain Cunningham, ma'am."

"Oh!" Kitty gave a start. "Go and tell the boy he shall have an answer in a minute."

When Ellis had gone Kitty stood looking down at the brownish envelope in her hand. She turned it over a little angrily. Joe Cunningham had no right to give her address and have telegrams sent to her house, to tell anyone he was coming there. She half turned towards the window, and then she turned back again. He had no right, and she dropped the envelope into the writing-table drawer. Then she touched the bell and went out into the garden.

"Ellis," she called back over her shoulder, "tell the boy it is all right—there is no answer," and she went slowly down across the lawn again, her white skirts trailing over the short grass. Joe Cunningham had risen from the seat under the elm, she could see the gleam of his white shirt front.

"Come back," he said, "come back; who is spoiling the beauty of our evening?"

She looked up. Through the branches of the elm-tree the moonlight filtered and showed her his clean-shaven face. It was a clever intellectual face that no one could have called handsome, but she thought she liked the way his wavy hair grew over his forehead, she liked the look in his eyes that might spell love for her, she even approved at that moment the cut of his waistcoat and his dinner jacket.

"It was nothing of any consequence," she said, "at least I don't think so."

"Then, if you don't think so, it isn't. Come back here."

"Don't you think I look nice in the moonlight?"

"Too nice. I dare not look, I want you."

She raised her face and the moonlight showed him her waving golden hair, her parted smiling lips and the soft folds of white chiffon that rose and fell on her bosom.

"I like you to want me," she said, her voice just above a whisper, and she had quite forgotten the telegram and all the anger she had felt against him. It was nice to have a good-looking man making love to her. Nothing could come of it, of course—there was always Fred away in Africa in the background—but still it was very pleasant, and surely this summer night would have been wasted if it had not been given to love.

"I shall do more than want you, I shall take you," he said, making a step forward, but she retreated and waved him back, laughing.

"No, no. I shall perhaps come and sit down beside you presently if you are good, but please remember it is more than probable that Ellis is keeping an eye on the garden, and the proprieties must be observed."

"Bother Ellis!"

"I do very often, I assure you. And now, Captain Cunningham, R.N., have you told anyone you are dining with me to-night?"

"Most certainly not. What do you take me for?"

She thought he lied, and looked at him wonderingly. His manner was so honest and straightforward, and at the moment he looked as if there were no other woman in the world for him but her. And yet he had given her away; if only by giving her address to his servant he had given her away.

"I don't believe you really think as much of me as you pretend," she said. "It is so easy to say pretty things in the moonlight."

He seemed to stiffen suddenly.

"Oh," he said with a sudden ring that was almost pain in his voice, "I am afraid there is no pretence about me. I am beginning to be afraid when I think how much I do care. You are so dainty and sweet and beautiful, and when I think—I think Kitty——come here."

She came with a sudden submission which touched him.

The man put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm beginning to care too much, Kitty. I'm afraid."

Now there is absolutely no harm in a charming young married woman whose husband happens to be serving his country in some unhealthy spot in West Africa receiving an equally charming young naval officer, giving him dinner, and even putting him up for the night. No one, as Kitty herself had pointed out to her cousin, would expect her to lead a solitary life and shut herself away from society, yet, as Anne in her turn had urged, it is generally wise to use a little discretion. Discretion usually cuts us off from many pleasant places, discretion makes us walk warily, and to walk warily is tiresome. Yet if we do not walk warily—well there are pitfalls in the way. But to Kitty Pearce a little excitement, even a little spice of danger, was as the very wine of life. To stand there before this man and know she was influencing him; to know that the thought of her was making his heart beat and sending the blood rushing through his veins, made life to her worth living. She was not a bad woman, she was kindly and good-natured according to her lights, but she did love excitement and the excitement of this forbidden fruit seemed to put the finishing touch to the glorious moonlight night. To-morrow—well, to-morrow could take care of itself. It would be pleasant to greet him in the morning, to give him breakfast under the shade of the trees—and she gave herself up to the delights of the hour.

It was pleasant to give him his breakfast under the shade of the trees, the fresh morning air was almost as delightful as the evening, the golden sunshine had a freshness that the silver moonlight had lacked, the discreet Ellis, the only servant in the little cottage, cooked the breakfast excellently, and served it to perfection, and Kitty herself, with the sunlight making patterns on her white dress and playing hide and go seek in her golden hair, was more than content with life. This man sitting opposite watching her every movement pleased her. There was a little excitement about him, a little gladness, a little sadness, a touch of regret and a little pride as of a man who is conquering.

"It's to be hoped you like scrambled eggs and bacon," said Kitty, piling up the strawberries and setting out the cream and sugar, "because it is all that Ellis and I can attain to at present. By-and-by, if you give us time, and honour us with your society again, we hope to be equal to an omelette, and after that there are no heights unto which we may not attain. I like the simple life, you know, but it must be the simple life with variations. Yes, Ellis, what is it?"

Ellis appeared with a telegram on a little brass salver of Calabar work.

"It's for Captain Cunningham, ma'am."

"Oh!" cried Kitty, suddenly dropping the strawberries and turning towards the house.

"But who knows I am here?" said Cunningham, wonderingly taking up the telegram and looking at it as if it were some strange specimen of animal life he had never met before.

Kitty was into the house and out again with last night's telegram in her hand before he had opened it.

"That's exactly what I want to know," she said severely. "I wouldn't give you this last night because you must have told someone you were going to stay here."

"On my honour I told no one." And he tore open the telegram.

"Handed in at Sheerness," he read, "at 7.45. Ordered to sea at 6 A.M."

And it was signed "Bullen."

He opened the one Ellis had just brought, but it was a repetition of the other:

"No doubt about the ship's going. Come if you have to take a special.—BULLEN."

He rose to his feet and let the pink paper flutter to the grass.

"Absent without leave," he said dully.

"Nonsense," said Kitty briskly, but there was something in his face that frightened her. "You told me you had forty-eight hours' leave. You've only been away a little over twelve hours."

"We can generally get short leave if we leave our address so that we may be recalled," he said, and his voice had still that dull tone as if his thoughts were away seeking vainly for something he had lost.

"Then you did leave your address?" she said with sudden reproach. "Oh, Joe, and I trusted you!"

"I did not leave my address," he said. "I can't think where Bullen got it from."

"My letters!" with a woman's quick intuition she guessed.

"They are locked up in my despatch box. There were only three or four I cared about keeping—only when you—when you——" And his eyes seemed to fall on her fair troubled face and her pretty dress without taking them in.

She made a little impatient movement. She did not like to see him like this and her heart smote her that she had not given him last night's telegram.

"Oh, my dear, I am so sorry," she said. "What a wretch I was not to give you that telegram last night. It is too late now, the ship must have gone. Captain O'Flaherty won't be very angry. Sit down and drink your coffee. It's good coffee, I made it myself, and it'll make you feel better."

"It isn't a question of O'Flaherty's anger," he said, still in that toneless voice, "though O'Flaherty will be pleased enough to get his knife into me. But I have broken my leave, and breaking my leave means——"

"Oh, my poor boy, what does it mean?" and her voice was very gentle and sympathetic. "You know, you know I wouldn't have hurt you for the world."

"Breaking my leave without valid excuse means dismissal from my ship and ruin."

She thought a moment.

"Joe! Joe!" She was beginning to understand. "And if you say you spent the night here—— Oh, Joe! Joe!" She stretched out appealing hands, and laid them on his arm, dainty, delicate little pink hands. He looked down at them as if they were something new he had never seen before.

"I am not going to bring you into it, never fear. But I must go at once."

"But the ship has gone," she pleaded. "Be a nice boy, and have your breakfast in peace. I'll let you go after. We can talk it over and see how we can make the best of it."

"There is no best possible," he said bitterly. "Here endeth Joseph Cunningham, R.N., and we close the book on the first lesson. I am not very sure that it wouldn't be well to close the book altogether."