The last time a visitor had dined at La Solitude the guest had been
Beppo, and Lily had helped Cristina to clear away the next morning, and
then to wash up the beautiful china and glass which were only brought
out on special occasions.
She supposed that that would be her programme this morning, and she was
glad to think there would be something to keep her busy, for she felt
strung up, excited, and ill at ease, curiously unlike herself.
For the first time she felt an eager, instinctive desire to leave La
Solitude. In vain she argued with herself that the kind of feeling which
now possessed her was unreasonable and absurd; the more so that since
the arrival of Beppo at Monte Carlo both the Count and Countess had been
very much nicer to her than before he came. In fact, Lily could not
doubt that Aunt Cosy was becoming really fond of her! But it was very
disagreeable to feel that she was always being _spied on_. Again she
grew hot at the thought of Aunt Cosy reading her letter from Angus
Stuart. Well she knew that the Countess, with her curious, narrow ideas
would think it a very peculiar letter for a girl to have received from a
young man! Beppo was right about his parents. They were odd, eccentric
people, very difficult to know.
It was in no happy or contented mood that Lily went downstairs, prepared
to help Cristina clear away the remains of last night’s supper.
Instead of going first to the kitchen, she walked along the short
passage which led to the dining-room. There, to her great surprise she
found that everything had already been cleared away. Somehow—though that
perhaps was hardly reasonable on her part—this confirmed Lily’s belief
that Cristina had not gone to bed last night.
As she stood just within the empty, windowless room, there surged across
Lily Fairfield an uncannily vivid memory of the extraordinary old man
who had been sitting last night at the round table now before her.
What could he have said that had made the Count and Countess Polda look
as they had looked when they had turned and gazed with such an
expression of stony fear at the open door?
Again Lily asked herself uneasily whether that horrible old Dutchman—for
so she now described him in her own mind—had any hold over Beppo? The
Countess had said that the two men were engaged in some sort of business
together, but Lily could not help remembering the almost insolent manner
with which Mr. Vissering had treated Count Polda. And she now remembered
another thing which struck her as very strange. This was that Beppo’s
name had not once been mentioned during that awkward three-cornered
conversation in the dirty little smoking-room of the Hotel Utrecht.
And then all at once there came over Lily a most peculiar sensation—it
was that of being companioned by the strange old man who had just been
so strongly in her thoughts. She felt as if he were here, close to her!
It was a most disturbing and odious sensation, and with an overmastering
desire to be quit of it, she almost ran into the passage.
But the feeling persisted, and, turning round, she gazed through the
open door into the room beyond. So vividly had she visualised just now
the Count, the Countess, and the large, black, slightly bent back of
their uncouth guest that she half expected to see them there! But of
course she only saw the round polished table under the skylight, and the
carved gilt chairs in their usual places against the tapestried walls.
Feeling queerly shaken and frightened she went slowly on into the
kitchen.
“Is Mademoiselle going into the town this morning?” asked Cristina.
She caught at the suggestion. A walk would chase away these morbid
fancies and visions from her brain. Also she had several little things
to do in Monte Carlo.
“I’ll start at once!” she exclaimed. “Is there anything you would like
me to get you in the town?”
But Cristina shook her head.
Lily went quickly up to her room and put on her plain black coat and
skirt. Then she took her cheque-book out of the only bag she ever kept
locked, and caught up a pretty fancy basket, which had been a present
from M. Popeau. He had bought it, full of fruit, at Marseilles, and she
found it very useful when she did any little shopping either for herself
or for Cristina.
As she opened the door of her room, she heard her name called out in
Aunt Cosy’s voice: “Lily, Lily!” The voice was low and urgent, and
seemed very near; probably Uncle Angelo was still asleep.
She looked up, a little startled. The bedroom opposite to hers, that
which she knew to be Cristina’s bedroom—though as a matter of fact, she
had never seen the old woman either enter it or leave it—had its door
ajar, and through that door the Countess, clad in a dressing-gown, now
emerged. She had a small, flat parcel in her hand.
“I fear,” she said nervously, “that you will think what I am going to
ask you to do is very strange, my little one. It is to go to the Hôtel
Hidalgo, and deliver this parcel into Beppo’s own hands. It is of great
importance and value. I ought to have given it to him last night, but
his coming was so unexpected that I forgot all about it.”
Lily was indeed more than surprised at this request, for by this time
she had come to realise how very particular foreigners are as to what a
girl may or may not do. And that she, Lily, should go to the Hotel
Hidalgo, and ask for Beppo was just the sort of thing that all
foreigners, Aunt Cosy included, would regard as a very improper thing to
do. But she allowed nothing of what was passing in her mind to appear in
her manner.
“It will be quite easy for me to go there on my way to cash a cheque!”
she exclaimed, and held out her hand for the parcel.
The Countess’s face cleared. Then all at once a comical look of dismay
came over it. “Why, that melancholy black coat and skirt?” she asked. “I
would not like Beppo to see you looking—what is that expressive
word?—dowdy! Put on one of your pretty frocks, my dear.”
But Lily, reddening, shook her head. Though she was, deep in her heart,
sorry that she had not put on something a little more smart than this
old dress, she did not feel inclined to change just because she was
going to see Beppo!
“Perhaps I shan’t see him,” she said, smiling. “He mayn’t be up. It’s
early, you know, Aunt Cosy.”
“If you do not see him,” said the Countess sharply, “then you must bring
this parcel back at once to me! I thought I had made that quite clear,
Lily?”
“I’m so sorry! I’ll be sure to deliver it to him.”
And then, to Lily’s surprise, Aunt Cosy suddenly drew her into her arms
and kissed her with real affection.
“I feel, my little Lily, as if you brought good fortune to La Solitude!
God knows I don’t want to be unfair to the Marchesa Pescobaldi, for she
has been in some ways a good friend to my beloved son. But it is quite
true that she has the Evil Eye! Look at what happened yesterday. There
was no reason why they should have had that breakdown in the
mountains—depriving Beppo of a delightful evening with you! I am very,
very glad indeed that the Marchesa is going home to-morrow. You are our
true mascot!”
Lily was touched and amused by these odd remarks. They had in them a
thrill of reality, of truthfulness, which was very rare in Aunt Cosy’s
voice and manner.
“I’m so sorry Beppo has to go away, too, to-morrow”, she said
sympathetically.
“We shall see—we shall see! Perhaps it will be possible for him to stay
on a little longer after all,” answered the Countess. But now she was
speaking, or so the girl told herself, in her old, false, affected
voice.
Lily took the precious parcel, and put it at the bottom of her basket.
Then she went downstairs.
“Well, Cristina, is there really nothing you want me to do?”
“I would like a pound of rice,” said Cristina hesitatingly. “And if you
could get me such a thing, four fowls’ livers; that is all, my little
lady.”
After the girl had started on her solitary expedition, she debated with
herself whether she should go off straight to the Hotel Hidalgo or take
it on her way back. She finally decided to go there first.
When about half-way down the hill she saw a woman coming slowly up
towards her. But not till they had passed one another did Lily realise
that the stranger was Mme. Sansot, who kept the Utrecht Hotel, and who
had spoken with such suspicion and dislike of Mr. Vissering. She felt
sorry she had not said good-day to her, in the courteous French fashion;
still, it was probable that Mme. Sansot had not known her again in her
severely simple black coat and skirt, and plain round hat.
It took Lily longer than she had expected to walk to the Hotel Hidalgo,
and it was nearly eleven o’clock when she found herself in the hall
where she had waited so long and so impatiently last night. Feeling a
little shy, she went to the bureau and inquired for Count Beppo Polda.
The clerk, who had not been there the night before, looked at the young
English lady with a good deal of curiosity.
“I do not know if you can see the Count,” he said hesitatingly. “He is
not down here, he is upstairs in the Marchesa Pescobaldi’s sitting-room.
Does Mademoiselle wish to be shown up there?”
Lily was in a dilemma. “No, I do not think that will be necessary,” she
said, rather uncomfortably; “I have brought a parcel for Count Beppo
from his mother. She wished me to give it to him in person. Perhaps you
would let him know that Miss Fairfield would like to see him in the hall
for a minute?”
She spoke very decidedly, and the man scribbled something on a card and
sent it upstairs. There then followed what seemed to the girl a very
long wait. But at last, to her surprise, Beppo and the Marchesa appeared
together.
The Marchesa’s face was flushed. She looked both angry and disturbed. So
did Beppo. As they came into the hall it was quite clear that neither of
them recognised Lily. They were talking together animatedly. Then she
heard the Marchesa utter an exclamation of surprise, and they both
advanced towards her.
“The Marchesa kindly suggests that you should come upstairs to her
sitting-room.”
Beppo tried to speak pleasantly and naturally, but it was plain to Lily
that something had upset him very much.
“Yes,” chimed in the Marchesa, “we hope, Miss Fairfield, that you will
come upstairs. It will be quite easy to arrange a private interview
between you and Count Beppo. My husband and I will leave you alone
together. That is more suitable than that you should ask for a private
room down here.”
“But I only wanted to see Count Beppo to give him a parcel from his
mother! I would have sent it up, but Aunt Cosy made me promise I would
give it to him personally,” exclaimed Lily.
The Marchesa’s face cleared as if by magic. “What stupid messages hotel
people do give!” she observed. “The message we received was that Miss
Fairfield was downstairs, and desired to see Count Beppo Polda alone and
secretly—I feared something dreadful had happened at La Solitude!”
“I knew perfectly well that nothing had happened,” said Beppo crossly,
“you might have let me come down alone, Livia!”
Lily blushed and laughed. “I said nothing about ‘secretly,’” she
exclaimed. “But I _did_ say that I must see Beppo in person; Aunt Cosy
made me promise that I would.”
She handed the parcel to Beppo, and then they all shook hands.
“Do, please, Miss Fairfield, come back to luncheon with us here. It
would give us great pleasure!” The Marchesa spoke with real, eager
cordiality, and, as Lily hesitated, she added: “Do ask her, Beppo? She
will perhaps do it if _you_ ask her. We will send up a message to the
Countess explaining that we have kept you.”
“Yes, please do!” said Beppo.
“Walk with her to the door, my friend, and put her in the way she wishes
to go to do her shopping,” said the Marchesa kindly and pleasantly. “I
must run up to my husband again and tell him our apprehensions were not
justified.”
She waved her hand, leaving the two younger people together.
“The Marchesa was afraid that one of my parents was ill,” explained
Beppo awkwardly. “She has a very warm heart. I am so glad you are coming
back to _déjeuner_.”
He kept fingering the parcel. “Mamma did not want an answer?”
“No, I’m sure not.”
“In any case, I will write my mother a note explaining that you are with
us, and telling her that I will escort you back to La Solitude myself
this afternoon.”
They were out on the road by now. “How I wish I could come with you,
Lily, and assist you in the shopping. But, alas! I must leave you here.”
She walked off, feeling that foreigners were indeed inexplicable beings.
Without the softening effect of her toque and veil, the Marchesa
Pescobaldi had looked a good deal older this morning than she had done
the other day, and there had been an unbecoming flush all over her face.
Lily walked on, half glad, half sorry, that she was going to the Hôtel
Hidalgo to lunch. Glad she was not going back to La Solitude—sorry that
she was to be the guest of the lady with the Evil Eye. In spite of
herself Aunt Cosy’s words about the Marchesa had impressed her.
Monte Carlo is a very small place—though a place of large, clear spaces;
so it was not perhaps as wonderful as Lily thought it was that she
should run straight into Captain Stuart.
“This is an answer to prayer!” exclaimed the young Scotsman, and though
he smiled, he spoke as if he meant what he said. “I suppose it was
presumptuous of me to hope that if you had received my letter you would
have answered it?”
“Please forgive me,” said Lily penitently. “But yesterday was so full, I
hadn’t a minute! And—and——”
“Yes?” he said eagerly.
“I’ll answer it now,” she said, “by telling you that I thought it was
very kind of you to write it, and——”
“And?” he repeated.
“That I haven’t forgotten my promise! I’ll come at once to you if
anything else happens to—to upset me again. Not that I expect anything
to happen, but still, one never knows.”
“I want you to do me a kindness,” he said abruptly. “Popeau has
entertained me very often, and I’ve never entertained him yet. Will you
lunch with him and with me this morning? I’ve found quite a nice
restaurant. Not as good as the Hôtel de Paris, but quite a decent place.
Do, Miss Fairfield? I shall take it as a real kindness—the act of a
friend!”
Poor Lily felt sorry indeed that she had engaged herself to the Italian
lady.
“I wish I could,” she said ruefully. “But I’ve promised to go back to
the Hôtel Hidalgo. The Marchesa Pescobaldi, who is a great friend of the
Poldas, begged me to come, and I said I would. I don’t see how I can get
out of it now——”
He remained silent.
“You do understand, don’t you?” she said pleadingly.
“Yes, of course I understand. But I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” said Lily in a low voice.
“Forgive me, Miss Fairfield. I’m an ill-tempered, cantankerous fellow!
But I was so disappointed—just for the minute. What are you doing this
afternoon? May we call for you at the Hôtel Hidalgo after lunch?”
“I’m afraid Beppo Polda will expect me to go out with them,” said Lily.
“I always used to think I had a firm character till I came to Monte
Carlo, but now I’m just like wax; I do whatever I’m told. It’s awfully
difficult with foreigners—they just make up their minds to do something,
and one has to fall in with their plans.”
“Count Beppo Polda is going away to-morrow, isn’t he?” asked Angus
Stuart abruptly.
“Yes, I believe he is.”
“I’m glad he’s going away.”
“Why?” asked Lily.
“I don’t care for the fellow—that’s all.”
“_I_ rather like him,” observed Lily.
Captain Stuart lifted his hat and walked away.
Then he suddenly came back. “As you can’t come to lunch, could you come
to dinner to-night, and go to the Club?” He said these very simple words
in rather a fierce tone, and Lily suddenly felt as if she must obey him.
“I think I can manage that!” she exclaimed, “Though it is impossible to
tell what Aunt Cosy will or will not allow me to do.”
As she saw a look of annoyance, almost of anger, flash across the young
man’s face, she added hurriedly: “Of course, I am now quite free to come
and go as I like in the daytime, but I don’t know if she would consider
it the thing for me to go out to dinner by myself. However, I can but
try.”
“Are you going back now at once to the Hôtel Hidalgo?”
“No,” said Lily frankly. “I am going to call on the English chaplain and
ask him if he can’t find me something to do. There must be voluntary
work of some sort where I could put in a few hours each day.”
“But you came here to rest!” he exclaimed, in a dismayed tone.
Lily laughed. “I feel quite well again now. But sometimes La Solitude
gets on my nerves. I can’t imagine how an energetic woman like Aunt Cosy
can stand it as she does. She wouldn’t if she wasn’t so fond of her
husband—they are wrapped up in one another. The real reason why she was
so awfully angry with me about Mr. Ponting was because he was so upset.
She really is a devoted wife!”
She felt that the man walking by her side had a deep, she thought an
unreasonable, prejudice against the Countess Polda. She wanted to show
him that there was something good in Aunt Cosy, something better than he
thought for.
When they reached the chaplain’s house Lily held out her hand.
“Good-bye—I hope only till to-night!” she exclaimed.
Captain Stuart shook hands with her rather stiffly, and walked away—this
time without turning round and coming back as he had done before.
As to Lily’s proposed voluntary work, everything was settled in a very
few minutes. She was told that there was a Convalescent Home just
outside Monte Carlo, where they would be more than grateful for
occasional help.
As she left the chaplain’s house Lily felt that she quite looked forward
to this opportunity of doing some real work. It was true that the long,
dull hours spent by her at La Solitude got on her nerves. Hence that
strange, unnerving experience in the dining-room this morning.
It was to her an extraordinary experience to be living in a house into
which there never came a book, or even a newspaper of any kind,
excepting the queer little sheet published in Monaco itself! That
contained practically no news of interest to an English girl—though the
long lists of visitors to the various hotels were studied carefully by
both Count and Countess Polda.
At first Lily had supposed by the way the Countess talked, that people
would come in and out as they did in England. But, with the exception of
the unfortunate George Ponting, and of her own two friends, M. Popeau
and Captain Stuart, no strangers had been near La Solitude till last
night, and then, as Lily knew quite well, the old Dutchman had only been
asked because it was hoped that he would be useful to Beppo.
It was strange how Mr. Vissering’s sinister, disagreeable personality
haunted Lily. When she thought of him she hastened her footsteps,
nervously afraid lest she might suddenly run into him.
She wondered if the woman who kept the Utrecht Hotel had been on her way
to La Solitude with a message from the Dutchman? Perhaps she was
bringing a return invitation from old Mr. Vissering to the Count and
Countess. If he had included her—and Lily somehow felt quite certain
that if he asked them he would ask her too—then she made up her mind to
say quite plainly that she would not go.