Kingdom Lost (6 page)

It was not really very easy to avoid Valentine, because Valentine did not want to be avoided. When she had finished her dancing lesson with Barclay she wanted Austin to play deck quoits or to come and make a third at one of the card games for which she was developing a passion.

They played poker and
vingt-et-un
for counters, Barclay delivering some really fearful homilies on the subject of girls playing for money.

“I like his nerve!” said Austin after one of these sermons. “He'd go the limit any day of the week!”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it's like his nerve to lecture you about playing for money. His trouble is he can't get people who'll play as high as he'd like to.”

“Does he play high with you?”

Austin laughed rather bitterly.

“You can't get blood from a stone! I haven't got a bean.”

He found himself involved in an explanation of the word bean, with excursions into other synonyms for money.

The days and weeks slipped by.

The last day of the voyage found the weather still fair and warm. Austin had certainly not intended to watch the sunset with Miss Ryven. But things which we have not intended to do are apt to happen when an undercurrent of desire pulls against intention. He leaned on the rail and watched a yellow sun sink into a bank of haze.

“Do you remember when we left the island?” Valentine spoke with her head turned away from him. She watched the haze brighten into smoke of gold.

Austin remembered quite well.

“You never even looked at the island,” he said.

“I didn't want to look at it.”

“No—because you were glad to leave it behind. To-morrow you'll be glad to leave us behind.”

Valentine went on looking across the water. The gold dazzled. The sky was blurred.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it's true. You're like that—you want to get on to the next thing. I don't blame you.” He paused. Perhaps he expected a protest. When no protest came, he went on, his voice dropping and hardening. “I only hope you'll like the next thing when you come to it—that's all.”

Valentine turned round. In the clear twilight he could see that her eyes were bright and her lashes wet; there was colour in her cheeks.

“Why did you say that?” she cried.

“Because I hope you won't be disappointed.” The words were rather flung at her.

“You mean something horrid—you mean you'd like me to be disappointed so that I'd think how nice you were and want to be back on the yacht! And you're not nice at all—you're
horrid
!”

Austin Muir folded his arms and leaned against a stanchion.

“You say that because you don't like being told the truth—women never do—they always want someone to butter them up and tell them lies so that their feelings shan't get hurt.”

“I
don't
want to be buttered and told lies.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don't!” Her cheeks burned. She stamped her foot.

“Well then, what about a little truth for a change? Personally, I think it's unmoral to tell lies. I told Barclay all along that you ought to know the truth; but he simply shirked it because it was unpleasant. That's Barclay all over.”

Valentine's left hand clenched on the rail.

“What do you mean?”

Austin jerked his head back.

“What's the use of it anyhow? I call it rotten to let you go on believing a lot of fairy tales right up to the last minute. It's bound to end in your getting a most awful jolt.”

Valentine began to feel frightened; she stopped feeling angry. That was one of the things that frightened her. The colour began to leave her cheeks. She said,

“Why don't you tell me what you mean?”

“I'm going to, because I think you ought to know. Look here, Valentine, do you really suppose that these relations of yours are going to be glad to see you?”

“Oh!
” said Valentine. She might have cried out just like that if she had slipped and fallen.

“Well, is it likely they're going to be pleased?”

She recovered her breath.

“Aunt Helena said in her letter—”

“Twenty years ago! Have a little sense and think what it's going to mean to have you turning up like this. Barclay says there's a place—a house, you know, and land that belongs to it—a good bit of land. Well, they've lived there for twenty years. Barclay says there's money. Well, they've had the spending of it for twenty years. Then you turn up, and they've got to hand over the place and the money and everything. And you're fool enough to think they're going to be pleased.”

He stopped, and there was a silence. He had not meant to say so much. His heart thumped against his side. He was angry; but he didn't know why he was angry.

“I don't want to take anything away,” Valentine said in the smallest thread of a voice. “I don't—” The thread of voice broke.

“How can you help it?” said Austin scornfully.

“I won't take anything away.”

“You'll have to.”

“I won't. I only want them to be pleased—to like me. I thought they'd be pleased.” She made one of her sudden movements and caught his arm. “Austin, you were being horrid! Say you were just being horrid! Say you didn't mean it!
Austin
—say it isn't true!”

She pressed upon him, shaking his arm to and fro.

He began to say, “It is true”; and then quite suddenly he found that he wasn't speaking at all, and that his other arm was round her. He felt her strain away and then lean forward against him. He heard himself say angry, broken things.

“You'll go away—you don't care a damn—why should you—I haven't got a bean—you'll go away—you'll never think of me again.”

The hands that had been shaking his arm closed on it convulsively. She was trembling in his arms, shaking and sobbing as if she had been no more than a passionate, wounded child. He found himself kissing her, her hair, her neck. Her face was hidden.

“Val—don't cry! Why are you crying? You haven't got anything to cry for.” He kissed her angrily, desperately. “Why should you cry? You don't care!”

She raised her head, panting, choking.

“I hate you—I hate you! I
do
care!”

“You don't. You'll go away and forget me.”

“No, I won't!”

“You'll have to.” He pushed her away from him. “I don't think it'll be very hard for you. But whether it's hard or easy, you'll have to do it.”

“Why?” said Valentine on a shaken breath.

“Because you must. I've no money.”

“But you said—Barclay said—I would have lots of money.”

“And you think I'm the sort of swab who marries for money?”

“Not for money—for me.”

“Not for you, or for anyone else. I'll marry when I'm making enough to keep a wife, and not before.”

Valentine threw up her head.

“I don't want to marry you—I don't want to marry anyone! I
never
said I wanted to marry you. Oh, I
didn't
!”

“It's just as well,” said Austin in his roughest voice.

He heard her catch her breath on a sob; her hands went to her breast. She said “Unkind!” in a voice that he had not heard before; there was wonder in it, as if she had not thought that he would strike her like that.

“What's the good of talking?”

“Why did you kiss me? You
did
kiss me. Why?”

“Because I lost my head.”

“You oughtn't to kiss me if you're not fond of me. Why did you?”

“I tell you I lost my head. I shan't do it again. You won't be bothered with me any more after to-morrow.”

Valentine's hands dropped.

“Won't you come and see me?”

“No.”

“Or write?”

“What on earth's the use?”

She came a step nearer.

“Why are you being so horrid? I want to write to you and tell you all about everything. What's the good of anything if I haven't got anyone to write to about it? You said I could write to you.”

“I didn't.”

“Oh, you did! You said it only a week ago. You said that you were going to be in London, and that you were going to be secretary to your cousin who is in Parliament. And you said we would write to each other—you
did
, Austin!”

“I was a fool.”

She came nearer still.

“Austin—aren't you a little bit fond of me?”

“I'm fool enough to be in love with you, if that's what you mean.”

She clapped her hands.

“Really?
Truly?
”

He did not answer.

“Austin—”

“That's enough,” said Austin in a choked voice.

“Austin—”

He turned and strode away, knocking over one of the deck chairs as he went.

Dinner was not a very lively meal. It was obvious that Valentine had been crying, and that Austin Muir was wrapped in gloom. Neither of them ate very much, and at the first possible moment Austin disappeared, to be seen no more that evening.

“Well, well,” said Barclay. He sipped his coffee. Then, “Master Austin's in a fit of the sulks—eh?”

Valentine sat with her elbows on the table and said nothing. She had been happy; and suddenly all the happiness had gone, just as the light used to go on the island when the sun went down—it was light, and then it was dark. She had been happy; and now she didn't feel as if she were ever going to be happy again. She looked up at Barclay with eyes that hurt him.

“What's the matter, kid?”

“He's unkind.”

“Austin? Well, my dear, I shouldn't let that keep you awake at night.”

“It doesn't,” said Valentine literally. “But it hurts—here.” She touched her side. “Why does it hurt, Barclay?”

“It won't go on hutting, kid. Things don't. You think they're going to, but they don't. What's Austin been doing?”

“It's my money. He says he hasn't got any, and he says he won't marry me because I've got a lot. And I said I didn't want to marry him or anybody.”

Barclay leaned towards her over the table.

“Now look here, kid! I'm going to talk to you like a Dutch uncle.”

A fleeting gleam of interest crossed the mournful face.

“How does a Dutch uncle talk, Barclay?”

“Like I'm going to. You just sit up and take notice, and you'll know. Now, my dear, don't you be in a hurry over this marrying business. For one thing, you're a lot too young; and for another, you don't know enough. See? Take Master Austin. I haven't got anything against him except his temper. But you'll meet dozens of young fellows that would suit you better and be a heap easier to live with. Why, I'd be a heap easier to live with myself—and if I thought it was playing the game, I'd make the running and cut Master Austin out.” He laughed good-naturedly, but he was watching her. “Eh, kid? What would you think of it if I did? Too old—eh—and too fat? That's about the size of it—isn't it?”

Valentine looked interested.

“You're much fatter than Austin. Are you very, very old?”

“Old enough to be your Dutch uncle anyway—and old enough not to make a fool of myself.”

Barclay's voice was sufficiently rueful to attract her attention.

“Why did you say it like that?”

“Because I
am
a fool. Look here, kiddy, I'm going to play the game all right. But just supposing that things don't turn out right for you, and there isn't any fairy prince, and you ever come to feel that I'm not too old and too fat—well, I'd like you to know that as far as I'm concerned it would be a deal.”

Valentine took her elbows off the table and sat up straight.

“What does all that mean?”

“Well, my dear, it means that if you ever want Nicholas Barclay, you can have him.”

A bright and beautiful colour came into her face; her lips parted eagerly.

“Are you proposing to me?”

“Well—”

“Like in a book?”

“That's about the size of it,” said Barclay.

“How lovely! I wish Austin was here! I wish he could hear you doing it! Barclay, will you say it all over again for Austin to hear?”

Barclay leaned back in his chair and laughed until his eyes almost disappeared.

“Well, I'm blessed!” he said.

“Won't you?”

“It's not done,” said Barclay. “Gosh, kid! How old do you call yourself?”

Valentine looked offended.

“I'm twenty and a half. And I don't think you ought to laugh when you're proposing to me. None of the people in the books do.”

He pushed back his chair and got up.

“See here, Val—No, you wouldn't understand.”

She looked up at him seriously.

“Yes, I would. I'm very intelligent—Edward said so.”

“Well, he hadn't tried proposing to you, my dear. Would you understand if I told you that I laughed because, if I hadn't laughed, I might have cried?”

“You're too old to cry,” said Valentine decidedly.

“And too fat! Gosh! What a fool I am!” He came nearer. “Will you give me a kiss, Val?”

She sprang from her chair, and was out of reach even as he put out a tentative hand. There was fire in her eyes.

Barclay looked at her in amazement.

“What's the matter? Did you think I'd kiss you against your will?” His voice wasn't good-natured any more. “Gosh, kid, if I was that sort!”

“Edward said—”

“Look here, if you're going to tell me what Edward said, you'll start me saying things I oughtn't to.”

Valentine tapped with her foot; her eyes still sparkled. She put her head a little on one side.

“Edward said—”

It is to Barclay's credit that he remained silent.