Читать книгу The Road South - Roderick Stuart Kennedy - Страница 7

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The mist had risen and there was a cold moon shining as Captain Todd and Dorothy Brador turned into the drive of Bradderham Hall. They walked slowly in spite of the chill of the January night.

She had found in him a new type, intelligent, curious-minded, but diffident and sometimes almost naive. During the hours of old Mary's passing she had been conscious of a comfortable harmony.

They passed between the dark walls of rhododendron and out on to a lawn. "Home!" she announced, and raised her hand as if drawing aside the curtains of a stage.

Todd examined it thoughtfully. Very square, very gray, very solid, and in the moonlight very cold. He made no comment.

"Don't you like it?" she asked, amused at his characteristically over-careful weighing of the evidence before expressing even a casual opinion. "I am only beginning to appreciate it properly myself, now that most of my time is spent in the V.A.D. quarters in the Norwich Hospital."

"It has character," the doctor said quietly.

"It has beauty," she retorted, "—unless one is looking for something snug,—or smug." She looked at him pointedly. "In this moonlight, when you can't see the ivy or the warmth in the old walls, and there's nothing to mitigate the severity, I think it is really beautiful."

She laughed softly.

"Am I too rhapsodical for you? I'm sorry, but I've never felt the old place quite as I do now,—and your enthusiasm is infectious!"

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, but he refused to be drawn, and as they came up to the big, square door, she stopped and turned to him. "Now, Captain Todd, I want an answer, or you shan't have your billet! Seriously, don't you think it is lovely?"

His eyes followed her hand up to the top of the dark walls outlined against a cold indigo sky, to the moon fretted by the black branches of an elm, and back to her smooth, pale face, half smiling, wholly straightforward and sincere. "I guess it must be," he said.

She nodded approvingly, rang a bell and led the way in. The square hall was large but unpretentious. Although there were a number of handsome oak chairs, and an impressive fireplace with coat of arms above it, it was clearly nothing but an entrance hall. On the left a broad staircase rose to a gallery which flanked two sides, to the right were several doors. Directly opposite the entrance a pair of Corinthian pillars flanked a curtained opening, and through it a butler was coming to meet them. He was extremely tall,—at least a foot taller than Todd's modest 5 ft. 6 in. Todd was surprised. He had only known butlers in books and plays and had considered them essentially middle-sized.

Miss Brador nodded cheerily, as she pulled off her doeskin gloves. "Captain Todd is the last of your responsibilities, Maddox," she said. "That is, if the rest got here."

"Yes, Miss Dorothy,—five officers. They are in the library with Sir James."

"Good! I want you to take particular care of Captain Todd, Maddox. He's been very good about poor old Mary. I hope you've got something for us to eat."

"Lady Brador told me to serve dinner in the breakfast-room as soon as you were ready, Miss Dorothy. Captain Todd is in the chintz room. His man brought his valise up with the rest. He will be comfortable there, I'm sure.

"Will you come with me, sir?"

Todd followed him, unusually aware of his insignificant appearance as he climbed the wide stairs, so spaciously exposed to the hall below. They were better designed for something queenly in satin he reflected, or for tall, dark men with wigs and swords.

Maddox threw open a door, and stood aside as he entered. "Chintz room" had suggested something bright and feminine, but a glance showed him that his quarters were as square and solid as the Hall itself. There were chintz window-curtains, and a chintz canopy to the fourposter bed and chintz slip-covers to the arm chairs, but it was a misnomer all the same. The room should have been called "The Carved Mahogany Chamber."

His valise, unrolled on a couch, did not harmonize. Nor did the uniform and shirt laid out on the chair, nor the purely utilitarian brushes and stained waterproof toilet-case, set in shrinking loneliness on the massive bureau.

But the most striking incongruity was the fact that his things had been laid out at all! "I suspect you have been giving Nott a little course of instruction," he smiled to Maddox. "Hitherto he seems to have felt that his duties had ended when he had unstrapped the valise."

Maddox was non-committal. "I expect there are not many opportunities to learn such duties in the new armies, sir."

"No, so I hope your lesson sticks. But he's a first-rate fellow to have all the same. If he doesn't lay out my pyjamas, he takes very good care that I have a comfortable place to lay them out for myself. I bet he tried to wangle the best room in the house for me."

"He did raise some question, sir,—not understanding that the arrangements were—in other hands." Maddox allowed himself a slight smile.

When Captain Todd came downstairs, a bath and a change of clothes had restored his normal attitude,—unpretentious and unembarrassed. Joe Todd, M.D., of Howington, was no great figure in the world, but there was only one of him, and that one unchangeable. An army commission, a Bradderham fourposter, could have little effect on a job already completed by heredity and environment.

Maddox showed him into the breakfast-room. "Miss Brador will be down in a minute, sir," he said, and closed the door. Captain Todd sat down beside the fire and lit a cigarette contentedly. He had not eaten for eight hours and his sense of exhaustion told him that he was very hungry. His blood pressure was too low to stand much drain on his vitality. But the candle-lit tablecloth and silver held excellent promise!

He smiled as he watched the flickering coal fire. He had led a less exacting life as a medical officer than at any time since he first went to McGill, and when for the first time he felt a little tired, there was a charming room, a most civilized table, and a restfully satisfying hostess to restore him. Pretty soft! He dropped his cigarette into the ashes, and let his eyes close. It was delightfully quiet and warm.

When Dorothy Brador came in, he was asleep. She stopped. For a moment she was alarmed because of his pallor. She turned to Maddox. "I wonder—" Then walked quickly across to the sleeping man and stopped. Her relief was as unexpectedly deep as her alarm. She straightened up, smiling back at Maddox. There was a complete confidence between the butler and his mistress, engendered by thirty years of association in a household where, in their own spheres, each was subordinate to less able characters.

"I thought he was ill, for a moment," she said in a low voice. "He certainly looks very pale."

"I think it is just a matter of nourishment, Miss Dorothy. He mentioned something of the sort."

"That was silly of me,—you too, Maddox. We should have given him a drink before. Serve dinner as soon as you can, will you? And bring me some of the 1840 cognac."

When Captain Todd opened his eyes, he did not know that he had been asleep. While he had been dropping his cigarette into the ashes, a crimson silk version of Miss Brador had materialized curiously in the firelight. Wide awake now, he saw that she was sitting sideways on an ottoman, leaning toward him and smiling, and that she had a crystal goblet in her hand.

"Your medicine!" she said, holding it out.

"I'm very sorry, I must have dozed off. I hope you haven't been here long."

Her only answer was a meaning look at the goblet which she held towards him.

He sat up straight and took it from her, touched by the kindness in her eyes and the confident intimacy with which she had conveyed her wish by a look. The vivid dress, the firelight, the easy assurance of her pose, with bare white arms resting on her crimson lap, the touch of colour on her cheeks, made her seem almost beautiful,—and yet as solidly companionable as during the earlier evening when he thought her almost plain.

He stood up, raised the glass towards her, and with a bow which would have puzzled and amused him if he had been conscious of it, he drank.

"A superb prescription!" he said, as they sat down.

"An emergency case, Captain Todd. I have only you for company, and you would have been terribly dull if I had waited for the food to restore you! Something drastic had to be done to make you amusing."

He nodded. "Your handling of the case was masterly,—for both of us."

Lady Brador came in briskly. "Is everything quite right, my dear?" and continued without waiting for an answer, "I told Maddox just what to do, but with so many to dinner, and Mrs. Wortle a little touchy—because I must have forgotten to warn her when Mr. Russell told me this afternoon—so many things to think of—you know how it is, Captain Todd? And poor old Mary too—so sad—I was too distressed. But I'm sure no one could have done more. It was really too good of you—but they all seemed to enjoy themselves, and Sir James—really quite gay—he's always admired Colonials so much—he feels they're so much more forceful, you know—he was hardly ruffled by your batman, Doctor—such a forceful man, isn't he?"

Dorothy gave her mother a quick look when Nott was mentioned. Lady Brador's natural mode of expression was rambling and disjointed at all times, whether she was merely entertaining the Vicar, or conveying the severest reproof which her dislike of unpleasantness allowed.

Captain Todd, although ignorant of the nature of Nott's offense, felt reasonably certain that it would call for an apology, and gave one promptly. "I'm very sorry if Nott's been making a nuisance of himself, Lady Brador. Just what did he do? I'll speak to him about it."

"Nothing—nothing worth mentioning—I really don't know what put it into my mind—and after all we are in a war, aren't we?—and think of the poor Belgians! Well, I really must hurry back. I only slipped in to see that Maddox had done everything. You'll join us in a few minutes, my dear? Sir James will be so glad to meet you, doctor, after all you've done."

As she went out, Todd devoted his attention to his food with unrelenting concentration. He simply could not afford to laugh, and join Nott among the damned! But he would have liked very much to know just how much of that rapid fire had been aimed. He did not want Dorothy Brador to think him stupid.

"You are thinking very deeply, Captain Todd," she said at last. "Won't you tell me the result?"

"I wasn't thinking. I was wondering. Suppose you tell me."

"It's quite simple. That's just Mother's way. The complete translation is that she was a little annoyed at your man, and wanted to let you know without the responsibility of telling you! The other little digs were quite undesigned. I hate to admit it, because that one about the Belgians was perfect. But Mother's thoughts always run a couple of lengths ahead of the words, so she just jots down the phrases as fast as she can, to keep up. If she had time, she would leave out a lot, but you can't cross out when you're talking!"

Todd nodded. "I understand, and don't think my feelings were hurt. I was only puzzled. But just what has that anarchist of mine done?"

"It was simply that he was determined you should have the best room in the house. He didn't actually try to turn any of us out, though I understand that toward the end he did intimate to Maddox that civilians wouldn't have any rooms if soldiers didn't protect them. But he absolutely insisted on examining all the officers' rooms and choosing the best for you."

She paused, smiling at her cigarette for a moment. "I do wish I'd been there! And the funny part of it was that he took your valise out of Jack's room,—that's my brother—he's in India—and triumphantly took possession of the Chintz room which is so gloomy that we only use it when there is a crowd. It must have been the fourposter which impressed him as sufficiently—formidable—for your dignity!"

He listened, enjoying the luxury of her companionable raillery.

"So you are going to sleep in a sunless and rather draughty room, instead of a bright, warm one, just because of your man's Canadian forcefulness! Maddox saw the humour of it, and Mother didn't interfere because she hates scenes, but if you were to have been here longer than one night, I would have advised you to be very polite to her!"

"And speaking of Canadian forcefulness," Todd suggested mildly, "would it extenuate matters in your Mother's eyes if I explained that Nott is an Englishman of the English, that he was born and bred in Leeds?"

Dorothy's eyes twinkled. "That would make it much worse!" She rose with a smile which Todd correctly interpreted to mean that duty was duty, and led the way to the library.

He would have had little difficulty in finding his way alone. Whatever their characters, the Canadian voices and laughter were forceful enough to act as guides. Dorothy's step quickened. "This sounds quite like a riot—for Bradderham," she told him hopefully. "Listen to Mother! I haven't heard her laugh like that for ages, not since Jack and his chums were here before they sailed."

The library of Bradderham Hall, more than any other room, reproduced the spirit of the building itself. It was large, well proportioned, almost square, unimaginative, and solidly comfortable.

There were French windows along one side, and the other was practically a continuous bookcase except where broken by the door. A large fireplace occupied one end. There were portraits between the windows and on each side of the fireplace, yet the room had little colour.

Time had dulled such bright pigments as the artists may have thought consistent with the solid dignity of the early Bradors. Most of the books were bound in 18th century calf or dark morocco, and they were so neatly arranged and so uniform in size that in the mass they looked more like an intellectual wall than a window to intelligence. A long table of massive oak stood in the centre of the room, the chairs were leather covered, the curtains maroon. It was more of a typical, than an individual library,—typical of those many libraries where the books have descended from one generation to another, while the desire to read them has not.

At one end of this room Sir James Brador was playing bridge with three of his temporary guests. He had endeavoured to secure the three senior officers present for this purpose, feeling that it was as well to be on the safe side as to precedence. Major Baxter and Captain Thomas had been obvious choices, but Mr. Scimold, the Lieutenant in command of No. 7 Platoon, though much older than any of the others except Major Baxter, had turned out to be the junior subaltern of the Company.

This had caused Sir James some qualms. He had taken the first opportunity to deprecate his mistake in an undertone to the genial Captain Thomas, whom he judged would be most understanding of his breach.

This influx of officers, even though they were "Colonials" for whom he had a hearty though hazy admiration, had disturbed his familiar routine. They raised problems, and Sir James shunned problems as his wife shunned deaths.

But Captain Thomas had solved this one by his boisterous public announcement of it. None of them had the least respect for precedence except Major Baxter, who secretly cherished his own. He was a bank manager, his nose beaked, his eyes pouchy, his figure portly. He felt and looked like a brigadier—and hoped. But for the rest of them, precedence was "the bunk."

Eldon Scimold, his long, craggy face breaking into a sudden smile and reverting as suddenly to its normal rugged tranquillity, had unflexed his gaunt 6 ft. 2 ins. and walked over to the real senior subaltern—the sleekly youthful Wentworth, and formally offered him his place at the card-table.

After that there had been no more ice to break. Wentworth had refused the honour, being more congenially engaged, with Wells and Morin as supporters, in undermining Lady Brador's mental wall between "quite nice people" and "quite ordinary people." He was a master in the art of breaking down walls. His technique was personal and flexible. In this case it consisted in making Lady Brador and her sixteen-year-old daughter, Joyce, both feel about twenty-five years old.

Dorothy and Captain Todd, after watching from the doorway for a moment, went across to the card-table. A rubber had just ended, and Captain Thomas did not sit down again when the introductions were over. "Joe is the real missing link in your table of precedence, Sir James!—A Captain, if only a synthetic medical affair. I'll surrender my seat to him, unless—" he added politely, but not at all persuasively, "Miss Brador would prefer to take my place?"

Miss Brador smilingly refused, and Todd unwillingly took his seat opposite Sir James. Thomas was twenty-nine and believed in enjoying himself. Sir James was a good player but slow and unenterprising. Baxter was inclined to be pompous, and Scimold taciturn. He felt he had done enough enlivening of that gang. Miss Brador looked attractive and interesting, even if she was not pretty. He would get her over by the fire and talk.

But she seemed to have no inclination to leave the card-table, so he stood beside her and watched the players. Sir James and Thomas had won that first rubber by a handsome margin, chiefly on the strength of Thomas's brilliant and speculative exploitation of his own luck. When the change was made the luck did not pass to Todd, and if it had, his exploitation, while it might have been speculative, certainly would not have been brilliant.

The difference between his partners was emphasized to Sir James by the fact that he himself continued to hold the same average hands as before. The game, too, became much more serious with the loss of B Company's lighthearted Commander.

Sir James's opinion of this scrubby little doctor fellow grew less and less favourable. He would have scouted the idea that bridge skill bore any relation to character. He certainly did not feel that size and elegance were other than superficial traits, inasmuch as he himself was only five and a half feet and stocky. All the same—.

Dorothy, who had finally taken one of Captain Thomas's hints, had kept an unobtrusive eye on the players until the rubber ended. Then she casually joined them again, standing with one hand on the back of Todd's chair.

"Captain Thomas wants to get back into the game," she said, as soon as the points were marked, giving him an expressionless look which yet conveyed enough to check his denial. "You don't mind, do you, Captain Todd?"

"Not at all, not at all. A very pleasant rubber, but Sir James certainly deserves a better partner."

Sir James said that he couldn't want a better partner—but he did not say it until Captain Todd was well out of the chair. This time Dorothy watched them for only a minute before strolling away with her salvage.

"A gallant rescue!" he said with a sigh of relief. "But did Thomas really prefer playing bridge to—?"

She interrupted with a quiet laugh. "That was a sacrifice of truth on the altar of filial piety. Father takes his bridge seriously, for an adult—" she regarded him judicially, "—and your bridge is terrible! I could see Father's opinion of you getting lower every deal."

"I don't blame him," said Todd, ruefully. "I never could work up any interest in cards, except maybe in a poker game where I stood to lose my shirt—in the days when I didn't have any shirts to spare!

"Well, it's lucky we move tomorrow, or my social talents would be badly strained. I have to be very polite to your mother, and now I have to be very, very polite to your father, and for all I know, you may be feeling—" He stopped.

She watched composedly to see if he would go on, when he lighted a cigarette rather sheepishly instead, she smiled. "You were quite right to stop there, Captain Todd," she said.

The new rubber was just ending when Maddox came in with a salver agreeably crowded with glasses, siphons and decanters. He reappeared almost immediately with a long khaki envelope addressed to Major Baxter. "An orderly just brought this from the Bull, sir."

The Major took it. "Probably tomorrow's Orders of the Day," he explained. "I'll open it now, if you don't mind, Sir James. It should give us our starting time, which you will want to know as soon as possible. We have been so much trouble already that I hope that fellow Blaikie hasn't fixed any unearthly hour."

He stepped aside from the group to read, and when he had finished signalled Captain Thomas to join him. They talked in low tones for a minute and then rejoined the group. "I'm afraid this implies even more inconvenience for you than an early start, Sir James," Baxter apologized. "We are held up until further orders. Of course, we may get them in time to march sometime tomorrow, but as Brigade has given instructions for drawing rations from Brantham Junction, it seems rather doubtful."

Sir James, momentarily discomposed, warmly denied the possibility of inconvenience, and his words were so hospitable that he soon began to feel them. After all, it couldn't be long, and these chaps would be sure to be interested in seeing over his model farm—Canada was a great place for farming. He could be sure of a good game of bridge too,—if he could avoid that doctor fellow. He said goodnight with assurances which were obviously sincere.

Captain Thomas, for one, was pleased with the prospect. A few words with Miss Brador had reassured him as to her reasons for pushing him back into that bridge game. That had been lucky. Sir James wouldn't have welcomed their stay so heartily if he had spent the evening as the Doc's partner. A sensible girl, Miss Brador.

Dorothy had won approval in other quarters, too. "Very clever of you, my dear," Lady Brador said, as she kissed her goodnight. "Father's so polite. But really! He was getting quite feverish—I could feel it—such an ordinary person, but bridge is something they can learn—and you had so much of him, my dear—you must be prostrated."

Sir James's approval was briefer but more coherent. "You got me out of a bad mess there, eh, my dear? Very clever of you. I don't know how you managed it. I felt guilty though. I hope the fellow doesn't talk as badly as he plays! Why, do you know, my dear, in that second deal—"

But Dorothy stopped the post mortem with a laughing kiss. "Tell me tomorrow, Dad. I'm ready to drop,—such a day!" She went out, leaving him shaking his head sympathetically, and feeling that he and Sybil hadn't been quite fair in shunting the doctor fellow on their daughter so much. But she was so competent. She always knew exactly what to do.

Dorothy walked upstairs, humming a little tune. Her parents' approval was pleasant,—and amusing. For although she was only thirty and had no official part in managing the household, she always felt as though she were the responsible parent, and they the children. She smiled cheerfully to herself at their dread of "the doctor fellow." Yes, she would enjoy protecting them from him!