A JAPANESE DIPLOMATIST
If Count Akira was indeed anxious to visit Beckleigh, he certainly did
not betray much alacrity in accepting the Squire's cordial invitation.
He did write to the effect that he would be delighted to come, but
postponed his arrival until the second week in January. Official
business, he stated, would keep him employed during the next few
weeks, and he would be unable to leave his chief. Consequently there
was only a family party present at the Christmas festivities. Mr.
Colpster, being of a conservative nature, always kept these up in an
old-fashioned, hospitable style. Indeed, he invited several friends to
join on this occasion, as his nephew was at home, but the friends,
having their own families and own festivities, declined to put in an
appearance. The Squire was not sorry, as he disliked the trouble of
entertaining visitors.
As it was, he gave the servants a dinner, and bestowed coals and
blankets and hampers of wholesome food on the inhabitants of Hendle,
Boatwain, and the other hamlets, all of which had at one time belonged
to dead and gone Colpsters. For this reason did the Squire act so
generously, and he hoped when the emerald was recovered--for he
refused to believe that it had gone back to its shrine in Japan--that
the future good fortune which would come with it would enable him to
buy back the lost lands. Meanwhile, by acting as the lord of a lost
manor, he retained the feudal allegiance of the villagers. There was
something pathetic in the way in which the old man persistently looked
forward to the rehabilitation of his family. He made sure that the
Mikado Jewel would come back; he felt certain that the land would be
recovered, and was convinced that when he passed away, the husband of
Mara would start a new dynasty of Colpsters, through the female
branch, whose glories would outshine the ancient line. But who Mara
was to marry did not seem quite clear.
He spoke to the girl on the subject and suggested that she should
become the wife of Theodore or Basil. Mara shuddered when he mentioned
the first name, and her father noted the repugnance the shudder
revealed.
"I don't approve much of Theodore myself," he said apologetically, "as
he is extremely selfish. But he has no bad qualities which would lead
him to waste money, and, moreover, he loves this place. You might do
worse, dear."
"If Theodore was the only man on earth and offered me a kingdom, I
would not marry him," said Mara, speaking decisively and in a firm
way, which contrasted strongly with her usual indifference, "He is a
bad man."
"My dear child, he has no vices. He neither drinks, nor gambles,
nor----"
"If he had all the vices of which a human being is capable,"
interrupted Mara loudly, "I would not mind. But his bad qualities are
inhuman. He is selfish and dangerous, and all his time is given to
Black Magic."
The Squire laughed incredulously. "I know that Theodore dabbles in
such things," he said disbelievingly; "but it is all imagination,
Mara. There is no such a thing as any power to be obtained in that
way."
"Yes there is. I know," said Mara, looking at her father
significantly.
"Can you prove what you say, my dear?"
"No. And I don't want to talk any more about the matter. I won't marry
my cousin Theodore, even if you leave the property away from me."
"I don't want to do that. You are my heiress, and my idea was for you
to marry your cousin. Then he could take your name, and----"
"I shan't marry Theodore," cried Mara for the third time, and stamped.
"Basil, then. You can have no fault to find with Basil."
"I haven't, father, but"--Mara stopped, and a strange smile spread
over her small, pale face--"I shall ask Basil to marry me, if you
like," she said in an abrupt way. "He can but say no."
"He won't say no, my dear. Basil loves me too well to thwart my
wishes. But it is his part to woo and yours to listen. Let him ask."
"I should have to wait a long time before he did that," said Mara
dryly. "I wish to know the best or worst at once," and she left the
room, still smiling strangely. Mr. Colpster could not understand why
she smiled. But, then, neither he nor anyone else understood the girl,
who seemed to hang between two worlds, the Seen and the Unseen,
without making use of either, so indifferent was her attitude towards
all things.
As it happened, Patricia was busy attending to the servants, as it was
her housekeeping hour. Mara was thus enabled to find Basil alone, for
when Miss Carrol was available he constantly followed at her heels
like a faithful and adoring dog. But Patricia would not appear for
some time, so the sailor read the daily paper in the smoking-room and
solaced himself for the absence of the eternal feminine with his pipe.
Mara knew where to find him, and entered in her light, noiseless way,
to perch on the arm of his chair like a golden butterfly. Without any
preamble she plunged into the reason for her intrusion into bachelor
quarters.
"Basil, will you marry me?" she asked, coldly and calmly and
unexpectedly.
Looking on his cousin as a child, the young man thought that she was
joking, and laughed when he answered: "Of course. Will we start now
for the church on the moors where all the Colpsters have been
married?"
"I am in earnest, Basil," she said seriously.
"So am I," he rejoined lightly, "only it will be the marriage of
Bottom and Titania with you, my airy elf," and he slipped his arm
round her waist, looking at her with a smile on his handsome face.
Mara, who disliked being touched, even by Patricia, much more by this
confident male thing--as she called Basil in her mind--slipped off the
arm of the chair and floated like thistledown into the centre of the
room.
"Don't be silly, Basil. I have just come from my father. He wants me
to marry you or Theodore. I hate Theodore, and would sooner die than
become his wife, but I told father that I would ask you to become my
husband."
Basil saw that she really meant what she said, and, moreover, knew of
his uncle's strong desire to unite the two branches of the dwindling
Colpster family. Laying aside his pipe, he grew red to the roots of
his closely-cropped hair. "I--I--don't want to," he stuttered
ungallantly, and feeling very much confused. "I--I hope you don't
mind."
A wintry smile gleamed on the girl's white face. "I should have minded
a great deal had you really wished to marry me."
"Then why ask me?" demanded Basil, much relieved, but still confused.
"To set my father's mind at rest," replied Mara quietly, and as
self-possessed as her cousin was disturbed. "Now that you have
declined, I can tell him!" and she flitted towards the door.
"But, Mara!" Basil rose and ran across the room to catch her arm. "How
can you be certain that I mean what I say?"
She turned on him with an amazed look. "You think that I am a child,
Basil, but I am not. I have eyes and ears and common-sense. You will
marry Patricia, will you not?"
Young Dane grew redder than ever. "I--I--have said nothing to her," he
stammered nervously. "She--she doesn't know that I--that I----"
Mara's scornful laughter stopped his further speech, and she became
quite friendly for so bloodless a person. "You silly boy!" she cried,
ruffling what hair the barber had left him. "Patricia knows."
"But how can she?"
"Because she is a woman," said Mara impatiently. "Women are not like
men, and don't require everything to be put into words. I saw from the
moment you met Patricia that you loved her. I'm glad; I'm glad," she
ended, with conviction, "as I don't want to marry you or anyone else."
Basil, with lover-like selfishness, did not pay attention to the end
of her speech, but to the earlier part. "If you saw, then Miss Carrol
must have seen."
"Miss Carrol!" mocked Mara, with dancing eyes. "Why not Patricia?"
"Oh!" the shy sailor blushed. "I shouldn't care to call her that."
His cousin took him by the coat-lapels and shook him with frail
strength.
"Silly creature! If you have not the courage to take what you can get,
Patricia will have nothing to do with you. Women like a bold lover."
"I don't believe she will ever return my love," sighed Basil
dolefully.
"Oh, as to that, she returns it already."
"Mara!" he flushed again, this time with sheer delight, "do you
think----"
"I don't think. I know, and I'm very glad, for Patricia is a darling.
I hope that father, who is as fond of her as I am, will give her
Beckleigh on condition that she marries you, who can't say 'Bo' to a
goose."
Basil looked serious and sighed again. "I'm sorry to upset Uncle
George's plans, for he has always been kind to me. But not even for
the estate could I give up Miss--that is, Patricia."
"No one wants you to give up either," said Mara impatiently. "Father
will no doubt give you Beckleigh."
"No, dear. That would not be right. You are the heiress."
"And what would I do with it? Keep a boarding-house, or start a
convent of nuns? I would much rather have a small income and be able
to move round as I please."
"You will marry some day, Mara. Mr. Right will come along."
"Mr. Right will never come along," cried Mara, and coloured crimson,
which was unusual, "unless he comes from the other world."
"What do you mean?" asked the sailor, greatly puzzled by this weird
speech.
"Oh, never mind," retorted Mara, pitying his lack of comprehension.
"Sit down and dream of your Patricia. I am going to tell father that
my heart is broken." And shooting a whimsical glance at the amazed and
startled Basil she slipped out of the room.
Five minutes later Miss Carrol arrived, with her household work
completed for the day. In spite of what Mara had told him, Basil would
not follow the path she had pointed out. He was rather more attentive
than usual to Patricia, and gave her to understand that he would wreck
continents for her sake. But the modesty of a man, which is greater
than that of a woman, kept his tongue quiet and his eyes
unintelligent. Patricia did not entirely approve of this restrained
attitude, as she knew that he loved her, and wished to be told so in
plain English. She could not understand why he did not speak. But
Basil himself understood very well. He waited for Patricia to give him
a sufficiently strong hint that she adored him, and then he could lay
himself at her feet. It did not seem right, so Basil thought, to act
on what he had learned from Mara, as that would be taking advantage of
illicit intelligence. But for the sailor's rigorous views of honour,
the situation could have been adjusted then and there. All the same,
it was not, because she could not speak and he would not.
As for Mara, she returned to her father and demonstrated to him very
plainly that her cousin wished to marry Miss Carrol, and that when the
time came he would do so. Colpster felt annoyed. Mara could not marry
Basil, and would not many Theodore, so his plans for the future
well-being of the family were all disarranged.
"What would you say if I gave Beckleigh to Basil?" he asked pointedly.
"He could marry Patricia, you know, and take my name."
"I should be very glad," replied Mara quietly.
"Well, then, I won't," said her father, greatly annoyed. "You are the
last of the direct line and should have the property."
"I wouldn't know what to do with it."
"You could live here when I am gone."
Mara raised her faint eyebrows. "All alone?" she questioned. "You know
I would not allow Theodore to stay, and that Patricia would go with
Basil, who is always moving round the world. Oh, I couldn't."
"What's to be done, then?" asked the Squire helplessly.
Mara threw her arms round his neck, a rare demonstration of affection
from so usually a self-controlled girl. "Wait," she whispered, "wait
and see what is about to happen."
"What is about to happen?"
"I don't know. But something is coming along to change all our lives."
"How do you know?"
"I can't tell you. I only feel that there is something in the air
to----"
"Oh!" Colpster grew angry; "more of your occult rubbish. I wish you
were an ordinary girl, Mara, and not a dreaming visionary. I shall
wait until the emerald comes back, and then you must make up your mind
to marry Theodore, since Basil's affections are engaged."
Mara reflected and thought how very certain Theodore was that the
emerald had gone back to Japan never to return. The recollection gave
her a chance of pacifying her father, and of securing her freedom.
"Very well, then," she said quietly. "When you get the emerald,
father, I shall marry him," and in this way the affair was settled for
the time being. But think as she might, Mara could not guess how her
father expected the Mikado Jewel to return to the Colpster family. And
even if it did, she could not understand how its possession would
affect things in any way.
Meanwhile the days and weeks passed by and the time drew near for the
visit of Count Akira. Mara, although she said nothing, was looking
forward to his arrival. Why, she did not know, for, as a rule, she was
quite indifferent to those who came to Beckleigh Hall. In her heart,
however, she felt that he was coming into her life, either for good or
ill, and it was this feeling which made her say to her father that a
change was about to take place. But she could not have put her feeling
into words, and did not attempt to do so. With the fatalism which was
inherent in her character, she waited passively, certain that what was
meant to be would certainly become when the hour struck. There was
nothing more to be said.
Theodore had duly told his uncle of the interview with Isa Lee,
although for obvious reasons he said nothing about the _séance_ with
the grandmother. The Squire was, therefore, anxiously awaiting the
arrival of Harry Pentreddle, as he then hoped to learn how and why the
young man had stolen the emerald. Also, he might be able to guess who
had snatched it from the hand of Patricia, and, if so, could then tell
in whose possession it now was. A great deal depended upon what
Pentreddle had to say, and Colpster watched daily for his coming. But
Count Akira was the first to arrive, and in attending to a new and
fascinating guest, the Squire almost forgot his anxiety to hear the
evidence of young Pentreddle.
The Japanese came late in the evening, having arrived at Hendle by the
express, to be driven to Beckleigh by Basil. The young man went to
meet his friend, and brought him to the Hall in time to dress for
dinner. It was not until the meal was in progress that Mara set eyes
on him, and then she was so excited by his presence, although she did
not show her feelings, that she could scarcely eat. What she had
expected--vague as it was--had come true. This man from the Far East
was the man who would change her life. Into what he would change it,
and down what new path he would lead her, she could not say. All she
knew was that with the hour had come the man.
Count Akira was a small, neat person, with a bronze-coloured skin, a
clean-shaven face, black hair and black eyes, and a very dignified
manner. At the first sight he did not look particularly impressive, as
the European evening-dress did not entirely suit his aggressively
Oriental appearance. But when those gathered in the drawing-room came
to notice his keen, dark eyes, so observant and piercing, to listen to
his carefully-worded speech, and to look at his nobly-formed head,
they became aware that he was no ordinary man. Race was apparent in
his gestures and glances and dominating manner, so quiet yet
imperious. He came of a noble line accustomed to rule, and his
personality made itself felt more and more as something strong and
dangerous, while the hours passed. He was the past, the present, the
future of the island empire, the epitome of Japan, the representative
of the highest type of the Yellow Race, filled with far-reaching
ambitions.
"Is it true that you worship the sun in Japan?" asked Theodore
tactlessly.
Akira turned his shrewd eyes on the speaker, and smilingly displayed a
set of snowy teeth. "Some do and some don't," he replied evasively;
"but I assure you, Mr. Dane, that if you ever saw the sun in England
you would worship him also, and with very good reason."
"Oh, we get the sun here," said the Squire patriotically.
"You get a name, but not the real central planet," said Akira, with a
shrug. "Clouds and mist obscure his rays. Only in the East does the
true sun exist. Is that not so, Dane?" he spoke to Basil, whom he
always addressed in this way, although he was more ceremonious with
Theodore.
"It is," assented the sailor, with a laugh. "And yet, Akira, when
under your painfully blue skies and in your blazing sunshine, I have
often longed for the cooling mists of England you so despise."
"That is quite poetical," smiled Patricia.
"Sailors are always poetical, although they don't show that side to
landsmen. The solitary spaces of sea and sky, when one is driven back
on one's self to think out high things, is enough to make any man
poetical."
"Well," said Mara shrewdly, "if sailors don't show that side to
landsmen, they probably show it to landswomen. Is that not so, Basil?"
and she mischievously glanced from him to Patricia and back again.
"To some women," replied Basil briefly, and colouring through his tan.
"What! When a sailor has a wife in every port!" sneered Theodore; then
aware that he had said more than he ought to in the presence of
ladies, he quickly turned to Akira. "Perhaps, Count, you will tell us
about Japan."
The little man blinked his keen eyes and politely assented. He made
himself comfortable, and in many coloured words placed fairy-land
before their eyes. With great charm of manner, he told of cool
Buddhist temples, wherein weird ceremonies take place; he related the
delightful legend of Jizo-Sama, that kindly god who protects dead
children; he pictured the vivid life of toy cities, all colour and
movement, and drew the attention of his fascinated hearers to the
charm of Japanese and Chinese lettering, which lend themselves to
fantastic and odd decoration. After a time he gave a description of a
pilgrimage he had made to Fuji, that sacred mountain, which appears in
a thousand and one pictures of Dai Nippon. "My country with Fuji-Yama
left out is like _Hamlet_ without the Prince," he said, smiling. "That
mountain is the guardian genius of the land."
Then he told about the rice-fields, with their delicate springing
green, of the cherry-orchards in blossom, of the pine forest where
fox-women lurked, and sketched out many charming legends. His talk was
like a page of Lafcadio Hearn, and Mara hung breathlessly on his
words. As he proceeded, her breath became quick and short and her eyes
grew larger. She looked at the narrator, through him, past him, as
though all he described were passing before her like a panorama of
byegone centuries. Suddenly she clapped her hands.
"I remember; I remember," she cried, rising unsteadily to her feet.
"Your land is my land. I remember at last," and stopping suddenly, she
sank unconscious at the feet of the astonished Japanese.