Books: Jeanne Of The Marshes
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E. Phillips Oppenheim >> Jeanne Of The Marshes
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A moment's intense dejection seized upon her. The tears stood in her
eyes as she looked away from him.
"Who is there to show it me?" she asked. "Who is there to help me
find it?"
"Not those friends whom you have left to play bridge in a room with
drawn curtains at this hour of the day," he answered. "Not your
stepmother, or any of her sort. Try and realize this. Even the
weakest of us is not dependent upon others for support. There is
only one sure guide. Trust yourself. Be faithful to the best part of
yourself. You know what is good and what is ugly. Don't be coerced,
don't be led into the morass."
She looked at him and laughed gaily. Her mood had changed once more
with chameleon-like swiftness.
"It is all very well for you," she declared. "You are six foot four,
and you look as though you could hew your way through life with a
cudgel. One could fancy you a Don Quixote amongst the shams,
knocking them over like ninepins, and moving aside neither to the
right nor to the left. But what is a poor weak girl to do? She wants
some one, Mr. Andrew, to wield the cudgel for her."
It was several seconds before he turned his head. Then he found
that, although her lips were laughing, her eyes were longing and
serious. She sprang suddenly to her feet and leaned towards him.
"This is the most delightful nonsense," she whispered. "Please!"
She was in his arms for a moment, her lips had clung to his. Then
she was away, flying along the sands at a pace which seemed to him
miraculous, swinging her hat in her hands, and humming the maddening
refrain of some French song, which it seemed to him was always upon
her lips, and which had haunted him for days. He hesitated,
uncertain whether to follow, ashamed of himself, ashamed of the
passion which was burning in his blood. And while he hesitated she
passed out of sight, turning only once to wave her hand as she
crossed the line of grass-grown hillocks which shut him out from her
view.
CHAPTER XVI
"To-morrow," the Princess said softly, "we shall have been here a
fortnight."
Cecil de la Borne came and sat by her side upon the sofa.
"I am afraid," he said, "that leaving out everything else, you have
been terribly bored."
"I have been nothing of the sort," she answered. "Of course, the
last week has been a strain, but we are not going to talk any more
about that. You prepared us for semi-barbarism, and instead you have
made perfect sybarites of us. I can assure you that though in one
way to go will be a release, in another I shall be very sorry."
"And I," he said, in a low tone, "shall always be sorry."
He let his hand fall upon hers, and looked into her eyes. The
Princess stifled a yawn. This country style of love-making was a
thing which she had outgrown many years ago.
"You will find other distractions very soon," she said, "and
besides, the world is a small place. We shall see something of you,
I suppose, always. By the by, you have not been particularly
attentive to my stepdaughter during the last few days, have you?"
"She gives me very little chance," he answered, in a slightly
aggrieved tone.
"She is very young," the Princess said, "too young, I suppose, to
take things seriously. I do not think that she will marry very
early."
Cecil bent over his companion till his head almost touched hers.
"Dear lady," he said, "I am afraid that I am not very interested in
your stepdaughter while you are here."
"Absurd!" she murmured. "I am nearly twice your age."
"If you were," he answered, "so much the better, but you are not. Do
you know, I think that you have been rather unkind to me. I have
scarcely seen you alone since you have been here."
She laughed softly, and took up her little dog into her arm as
though to use him for a shield.
"My dear Cecil," she said earnestly, "please don't make love to me.
I like you so much, and I should hate to feel that you were boring
me. Every man with whom I am alone for ten minutes thinks it his
duty to say foolish things to me, and I can assure you that I am
past it all. A few years ago it was different. To-day there are only
three things in the world I care for--my little spaniel here,
bridge, and money."
His face darkened a little.
"You did not talk like this in London," he reminded her.
"Perhaps not," she admitted. "Perhaps even now it is only a mood
with me. I can only speak as I feel for the moment. There are times
when I feel differently, but not now."
"Perhaps," he said jealously, "there are also other people with whom
you feel differently."
"Perhaps," she admitted calmly.
"When I came into the room the other day," he said, "Forrest was
holding your hand."
"Major Forrest," she said, "has been very much upset. He needed a
little consolation. He has some other engagements, and he ought to
have left before now, but, as you know, we are all prisoners. I
wonder how long it will last."
"I cannot tell," Cecil answered gloomily. "Forrest knows more about
it than I do. What does he say to you?"
"He thinks," the Princess said slowly, "that we may be able to leave
in a few days now."
"Then while you do stay," Cecil begged, "be a little kinder to me."
She withdrew her hand from her dog and patted his for a moment.
"You foolish boy," she said. "Of course I will be a little kinder to
you, if you like, but I warn you that I shall only be a
disappointment. Boys of your age always expect so much, and I have
so little to give."
"Why do you say that?" he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Because it is the truth," she answered. "You must not expect
anything more from me than the husk of things. Believe me, I am not
a poseuse. I really mean it."
"You may change your mind," he said.
"I may," she answered. "I have no convictions, and my enemies would
add, no principles. If any one could make me feel the things which I
have forgotten how to feel, I myself am perfectly willing! But don't
hope too much from that. And do, there's a dear boy, go and stop my
maid. I can see her on her way down the drive there. She has some
telegrams I gave her, and I want to send another."
Cecil hurried out, and the Princess, moving to the window, beckoned
to Forrest, who was lounging in a wicker chair with a cigarette in
his mouth.
"Nigel," she said, "how much longer?"
Forrest looked despondently at his cigarette.
"I cannot tell," he answered. "Perhaps one day, perhaps a week,
perhaps--"
"No!" the Princess interrupted, "I do not wish to hear that
eventuality."
"You know that the Duke is still about?" Forrest said gloomily. "I
saw him this morning. There has been a fellow, too--a detective, of
course--enquiring about the car and who was able to drive it."
"But that," the Princess interrupted, "is all in our favour. You
were seen to bring it back up the drive about ten o'clock in the
morning."
Forrest nodded.
"Don't let's talk about it," he said. "Where is Jeanne? Do you
know?"
The Princess pointed toward the lawn to where Cecil and Jeanne were
just starting a game of croquet. Forrest watched them for a few
minutes meditatively.
"Ena," he said, dropping his voice a little, "what are you going to
do with that child? I have never quite understood your plans. You
promised to talk to me about it while we were down here."
"I know," the Princess answered, "only this other affair has driven
everything out of our minds. What I should like to do," she
continued, "is to marry her before she comes of age, if I can find
any one willing to pay the price."
"The price?" he repeated doubtfully.
The Princess nodded.
"Supposing," she continued, "that her fortune amounted to nearly
four hundred thousand pounds, I think that twenty-five thousand
pounds would be a very moderate sum for any one to pay for a wife
with such a dowry."
"Have you any one in your mind?" he asked.
The Princess nodded.
"I have a friend in Paris who is making some cautious inquiries,"
she answered. "I am expecting to hear from her in the course of a
few days."
"So far," he remarked, "you have made nothing out of your
guardianship except a living allowance."
She nodded.
"And a ridiculously small one," she remarked. "All that I have had
is two thousand a year. I need not tell you, my dear Nigel, that
that does not go very far when it has to provide dresses and
servants and a home for both of us. Jeanne is content, and never
grumbles, or her lawyers might ask some very inconvenient
questions."
"Supposing," he asked, "that she won't have anything to do with this
man, when you have found one who is willing to pay?"
"Until she is of age," the Princess answered, "she is mine to do
what I like with, body and soul. The French law is stricter than the
English in this respect, you know. There may be a little trouble, of
course, but I shall know how to manage her."
"She has likes and dislikes of her own," he remarked, "and fairly
positive ones. I believe if she had her own way, she would spend all
her time with this fisherman here."
The Princess smoothed the lace upon her gown, and gazed reflectively
at the turquoises upon her white fingers.
"Jeanne's father," she remarked, "was bourgeois, and her mother had
little family. Race tells, of course. I have never attempted to
influence her. When there is a great struggle ahead, it is as well
to let her have her own way in small things. Hush! She is coming. I
suppose the croquet has been a failure."
Jeanne came across to them, swinging her mallet in her hand.
"Will some one," she begged, "take our too kind host away from me?
He follows me everywhere, and I am bored. I have played croquet with
him, but he is not satisfied. If I try to read, he comes and sits by
my side and talks nonsense. If I say I am going for a walk, he wants
to come with me. I am tired of it."
The Princess looked at her stepdaughter critically. Jeanne was
dressed in white, with a great red rose stuck through her waistband.
She was paler even than usual, her eyes were dark and luminous, and
the curve of her scarlet lips suggested readily enough the weariness
of which she spoke.
The Princess shrugged her shoulders and gathered up her skirts.
"Do what you like, my dear," she said. "I will tell Cecil to leave
you alone. But remember that he is our host. You must really be
civil to him."
She strolled across the lawn to where Cecil was still knocking the
croquet balls about. Jeanne sank into her place, and Forrest looked
at her for a few moments attentively.
"You are a strange child," he said at last.
She glanced towards him as though she found his speech an
impertinence. Then she looked away across the old-fashioned,
strangely arranged garden, with its irregular patches of many
coloured flowers, its wind-swept shrubs, its flag-staff rising from
the grassy knoll at the seaward extremity. She watched the seagulls,
wheeling in from the sea, and followed the line of smoke of a
distant steamer. She seemed to find all these things more
interesting than conversation.
"You do not like me," he remarked quietly. "You have never liked
me."
"I have liked very few of my stepmother's friends," she answered,
"any more than I like the life which I have been compelled to lead
since I left school."
"You would prefer to be back there, perhaps?" he remarked, a little
sarcastically.
"I should," she answered. "It was prison of a sort, but one was at
least free to choose one's friends."
"If," he suggested, "you could make up your mind that I was a person
at any rate to be tolerated, I think that I could make things easier
for you. Your stepmother is always inclined to follow my advice, and
I could perhaps get her to take you to quieter places, where you
could lead any sort of life you liked."
"Thank you," she answered. "Before very long I shall be my own
mistress. Until then I must make the best of things. If you wish to
do something for me you can answer a question."
"Ask it, then," he begged at once. "If I can, I shall be only too
glad."
"You can tell me something which since the other night," she said,
"has been worrying me a good deal. You can tell me who it was that
drove Lord Ronald to the station the morning he went away. I thought
that he sent his chauffeur away two days ago, and that there was no
one here who could drive the car."
Forrest was momentarily taken aback. He answered, however, with
scarcely any noticeable hesitation.
"I did," he answered. "I didn't make much of a job of it, and the
car has been scarcely fit to use since, but I managed it somehow, or
rather we did between us. He came and knocked me up about five
o'clock, and begged me to come and try."
She looked at him with peculiar steadfastness. There was nothing in
her eyes or her expression to suggest belief or disbelief in his
words.
"But I have heard you say so often," she remarked, "that you knew
absolutely nothing about the mechanism of a car, and that you would
not drive one for anything in the world."
He nodded.
"I am not proud of my skill," he answered, "but I did try at Homburg
once. There was nothing else to do, and I had some idea of buying a
small car for touring in the Black Forest. If you doubt my words,
you can ask any of the servants. They saw me bring the car up the
avenue later in the morning."
"It was being dragged up," she reminded him. "The engine was not
going."
He looked a little startled.
"It had only just gone wrong," he said. "I had brought it all the
way from Lynn."
She rose to her feet.
"Thank you for answering my question," she said. "I am going for a
walk now."
He leaned quite close to her.
"Alone?" he asked suggestively.
She swept away without even looking at him. He shrugged his
shoulders as he resumed his seat.
"I am not sure," he said reflectively, as he lit a cigarette, "that
Ena will find that young woman so easy to deal with as she
imagines!"
CHAPTER XVII
Andrew looked up from his gardening, startled by the sudden peal of
thunder. Absorbed in his task, he had not noticed the gathering
storm. The sky was black with clouds, riven even while he looked
with a vivid flash of forked lightning. The ground beneath his feet
seemed almost to shake beneath that second peal of thunder. In the
stillness that followed he heard the cry of a woman in distress. He
threw down his spade and raced to the other side of the garden.
About twenty yards from the shore, Jeanne, in a small boat, was
rowing toward the island. She was pulling at the great oars with
feeble strokes, and making no headway against the current which was
sweeping down the tidal way. There was no time for hesitation.
Andrew threw off his coat, and wading into the water, reached her
just in time. He clambered into the boat and took the oars from her
trembling fingers. He was not a moment too soon, for the long tidal
waves were rushing in now before the storm. He bent to his task, and
drove the boat safely on to the beach. Then he stood up, dripping,
and handed her out.
"My dear young lady," he said, a little brusquely, and forgetting
for the moment his Norfolk dialect, "what on earth are you about in
that little boat all by yourself?"
She was still frightened, and she looked at him a little piteously.
"Please don't be angry with me," she said. "I wanted to come here
and see you, to--to ask your advice. The boat was lying there, and
it looked such a very short distance across, and directly I had
started the big waves began to come in and I was frightened."
The storm broke upon them. Another peal of thunder was followed by a
downpour of rain. He caught hold of her hand.
"Run as hard as you can," he said.
They reached the cottage, breathless. He ushered her into his little
sitting-room.
"Has your friend gone?" she asked.
"Yes!" he answered. "He went last night."
"I am glad," she declared. "I wanted to see you alone. You said that
he was lodging here, did you not?"
Andrew nodded.
"Yes," he said, "but he only stayed for a few days."
"You have an extra room here, then?" she asked.
"Certainly," he answered, wondering a little at the drift of her
questions.
"Will you let it to me, please?" she asked. "I am looking for
lodgings, and I should like to stay for a little time here."
He looked at her in amazement.
"My dear young lady!" he exclaimed. "You are joking!"
"I am perfectly serious," she answered. "I will tell you all about
it if you like."
"But your stepmother!" he protested. "She would never come to such a
place. Besides, you are Mr. De la Borne's guests."
"I do not wish to stay there any longer," she said. "I do not wish
to stay with my stepmother any longer. Something has happened which
I cannot altogether explain to you, but which makes me feel that I
want to get away from them all. I have enough money, and I am sure I
should not be much trouble. Please take me, Mr. Andrew."
He suddenly realized what a child she was. Her dark eyes were raised
wistfully to his. Her oval face was a little flushed by her recent
exertions. She wore a very short skirt, and her hair hung about her
shoulders in a tangled mass. Her little foreign mannerisms, half
inciting, half provocative, were forgotten. His heart was full of
pity for her.
"My dear child," he said, "you are not serious. You cannot possibly
be serious. Your stepmother is your guardian, and she certainly
would not allow you to run away from her like this. Besides, I have
not even a maid-servant. It would be absolutely impossible for you
to stay here."
Her eyes filled with tears. She dropped her arms with a weary little
gesture.
"But I should love it so much," she said. "Here I could rest, and
forget all the things which worry me in this new life. Here I could
watch the sea come in. I could sit down on the beach there and
listen to the larks singing on the marshes. Oh! it would be such a
rest--so peaceful! Mr. Andrew, is it quite impossible?"
He played his part well enough, laughing at her good-humouredly.
"It is more than impossible," he said. "If you stayed here for any
time at all, your stepmother would come and fetch you back, and I
should get into terrible disgrace. Mr. De la Borne would probably
turn me out of my house," he added as an afterthought.
She sat down and looked out of the window in despair. The storm was
still raging. The skies were black, and the window-pane streaming
with rain-drops. She shivered a little.
"If I could help you in any other way," he continued, after a
moment's pause, "I should be very glad to try."
She turned upon him quickly.
"How can you help me, or any one," she demanded, "unless you can
take me away from these people? Listen! Until a few months ago I had
scarcely seen my stepmother. She fetched me away from the convent,
took me to Paris for some clothes, and since then I have done
nothing but go to parties and houses where the people seem all to
have fine names, but behave horribly. I know that I am rich. They
told me that before I left the convent, so that I might be a little
prepared, but is that any reason why every man, old and young,
should say foolish things to me, and pretend that they have fallen
in love, when I know all the time that it is my fortune they are
thinking of. And my stepmother speaks of marrying me as though I
were a piece of merchandise, to be disposed of to the highest
bidder. I do not like her friends. I do not like the way they live.
I have never liked Major Forrest. Last night your lodger and another
man came to the Hall. They asked questions about Lord Ronald. They
asked questions and they were told lies. I am sure of it. It got on
my nerves. I thought I should shriek. Major Forrest said that it was
he who drove Lord Ronald into Lynn, thirty-five miles away, at six
o'clock in the morning. I am sure that he could not have driven the
car a hundred yards."
"Good God!" Andrew muttered.
"I am sure of it," Jeanne continued. "Two days before Lord Ronald
disappeared, he wanted the car to take us over to Sandringham, and
he could not find the chauffeur. It seems that he was down at the
public-house at the village, and he came back intoxicated. Lord
Ronald was angry, and he sent the man away. The car was there in the
coach-house, and there was no one who could drive it."
"But," Andrew protested, "Major Forrest was seen returning in the
car."
"He was pulled up the avenue in it," Jeanne answered. "How he got
the car there I don't know, but I do not believe that it had ever
been any further."
"Why do you not believe that?" Andrew asked.
She leaned towards him.
"Because," she said, "I was up early. The car was there at eight
o'clock, alone, just outside the gates. There were the marks where
it had come down from the house, but there were no marks on the
other side. I am sure that it had been no further. I felt the engine
and it was cold. I do not believe that it had been started at all."
Andrew was looking very serious.
"Then," he said, "if Lord Ronald was not taken to Lynn that morning,
what do you suppose has become of him?"
"I do not know," she cried. "I am afraid. I dare not stay there.
They all look at one another and leave off talking when I come into
the room unexpectedly. They all seem as though some trouble were
hanging over them. I am afraid to be there, Mr. Andrew."
Andrew was very serious indeed now.
"I will go up to the Hall at once," he said, "and I will see Mr. De
la Borne. I have some influence with him, and I will get to the
bottom of the whole matter. I will take you back, and I will make
inquiries at once."
She settled down in his easy chair. Her dark eyes were full of
pleading.
"But, Mr. Andrew," she said, "I do not want to go back to the Hall.
I am afraid of them all, and I am afraid of my stepmother more than
any of them. Why may I not stay here? I will be very good, and I
will give you no trouble at all."
"My child," he said firmly, "you are talking nonsense. I am only a
village fisherman, but you could not possibly stay in my house here.
I have not even a housekeeper."
"That," she declared calmly, "is an excellent reason why I should
stop. I will be your housekeeper. Come and sit here by me and let us
talk about it."
He walked instead to the window. He did not choose at that moment
that she should see his face.
"You do not wish to have me!" she cried.
He turned round. She slid out of her chair and came over to his
side.
"I can only tell you," he said gravely, "that it is impossible for
you to stay here, and that I must take you home at once."
She took his arm and looked up into his face.
"At once, Mr. Andrew?" she asked timidly.
"As soon as the storm goes down," he answered, glancing uneasily
towards the clock. "Listen, please, Miss--"
"Jeanne," she whispered.
"Miss Jeanne, then," he said. "There are some things which you do
not yet understand very well, because you have been brought up
differently to most English girls. I have some influence with Mr. De
la Borne, and I shall do what I can for you up at the house. But it
is very certain that you must not think of leaving your stepmother
unless you have some other relative who is willing to take you. A
child of your age cannot live alone. It is unheard of."
She sighed, and turned away.
"Very well, Mr. Andrew," she said. "If you do not wish to be
troubled with me I will go back. I am ready when you are."
Andrew looked once more out of the window.
"We cannot cross just yet," he said. "The tide is coming in very
fast, and even here there is a big sea."
"It is magnificent," she answered, stealing back to his side. "I
only wish that we were outside."
"You could not stand up," he answered. "Listen!"
The thunder of the incoming waves seemed to fill the room. Even
while they stood there a little shower of pebbles and spray were
dashed against the windows. Andrew looked anxiously across the
estuary and tapped the barometer by his side.
"I am afraid," he said, "that you are going to be late for dinner
to-night. You are a bona fide prisoner here for an hour or more at
least."
"I am so glad," she answered.
There was a knock at the door. A man entered with a tea-tray. He was
in plain clothes and was obviously a servant. Jeanne looked at him
in surprise.
"Has Mr. Berners left his servant here?" she asked.
"For a day or two," Andrew answered hastily. "He may come back, you
see, and he went away in a great hurry. Martin, bring another
teacup, and make the tea. please."
The man set down the tray and bowed.
"Very good, sir," he answered.
Jeannie watched him disappear, perplexed. Was it because he was so
perfectly trained a servant that he addressed the man at her side
with the same respect that he would have shown to his own master?
"I may stay for tea, may I?" she asked. "That is something, at any
rate. I am going to look round at your things. You don't mind, do
you?"
"Certainly not," he answered. "That big fish on the wall was caught
within fifty yards of this island. Those sea-birds, too, were all
shot from here."
"What strange little creatures!" she murmured. "You seem to find
quite a lot of time to read and do other things beside fish, Mr.
Andrew," she remarked, as she looked over his bookcases. "You puzzle
me very much sometimes. I had no idea," she added, looking at him
hesitatingly, "that people who have to work, as you have to, for a
living, understood and read books like this."
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