It was the night of the Club ball, the first and chief event of the
Durban season, and all the fashionable world was busily pranking itself
for the occasion.
Bramham had dressed early, for he had been elected by Mrs. Portal to be
one of the wild-geese who were to escort her house-party to the Town
Hall. Just as he was choosing some cigars for the night at the
dining-room table, Carson's telegram arrived. He whistled, meditating
upon it for a while.
"Well, this Carson!" he called out to Abinger, who was in a neighbouring
room, also arraying himself for the festival. "Wants me to meet him at
the station, I thank you!"
"Meet him! What for? He ought to get a maid!"
"Well, I can't do it, anyway," said Bramham, and sitting down, hastily
scribbled a note, saying that he could not possibly wait on account of
his engagement with Mrs. Portal, but suggesting that Carson, on arrival,
should dress and come down to the Town Hall. He left this note on the
table, with instructions to the _boys_ to see that Carson got it as soon
as he arrived; then jumping into his carriage, he set off for the
Portals' house.
On his way up he had an impulse to call at the Caprons', to see what
arrangements Mrs. Capron had made for going to the ball. He was aware
that Nick had been away for a week, and was not in the way of returning
yet a while. A man called Lessing had pitched a camp out beyond Inanda,
to try some experiments in coursing with six pedigree dogs he had
imported from home, and several other men had joined him, to see the
sport and incidentally get a little late fishing. Bramham had received a
note from Lessing that morning, asking him to come out for a few days
before they broke camp, and mentioning that he should not be in for the
ball, because Capron, having put in a week's steady drinking without
anyone particularly noticing the fact, was now in the uproarious stage
and couldn't possibly be left. Whether Mrs. Capron was aware of the
state of affairs Bramham did not know, but he thought that a friendly
thing to do would be to find out if she had arranged for an escort, and,
if not, to offer to call for her with Mrs. Portal's party.
At the sound of the carriage she came out into her verandah, looking
supremely lovely, as white-skinned, red-haired women have a way of doing
in a black setting.
"I thought I'd just look in to make sure that you were coming, Mrs.
Capron," said Bram, his eyes shining with the delight and excitement he
always felt at the sight of a pretty woman.
"Yes, I'm coming, though Nick isn't," she said gaily. "He is out at
George Lessing's encampment, you know. I've lent my carriage to Mrs.
Portal for some of her party, but Mrs. Lace is going to call for me--she
will be here any moment now."
"Good! I heard that Nick was still away, and thought I might be of some
use. When do you expect him back?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said carelessly. "I haven't heard from him for
several days. I expect he'll stay until Mr. Lessing breaks up his camp."
"Well, I must bustle on. I'm afraid I'm late, as it is ... but that's
Carson's fault with his telegrams--" He was off towards the gate.
"Is he back, then?" called Mrs. Capron after him.
"No, coming back to-night--should be in by eleven," said Bram, getting
into his carriage.
At the Portals' he found that some of the party had already gone. Mrs.
Portal was not quite ready, but Miss Chard was in the drawing-room. She
was resting in a big chintz chair, with her white chiffon skirts foaming
all round her, and her hands holding a great bunch of shining orange
leaves that gave out a faint, crushed scent. She had them held to her
face when Bramham came in, and her eyes were closed. She looked like a
woman praying. At the sound of him she started up, and the leaves
dropped rustling to the floor.
"Oh!" she cried in a wild, odd voice that Bramham did not recognise. He
looked at her in surprise.
"Did I startle you? I'm sorry!"
"No--oh no ... not at all ... only I thought--" She regained her
composure rapidly and sat down again, arranging her draperies.
"I believe I must have been asleep, and you woke me up," she smiled. Her
face was as white as her gown, but her eyes were dark and dilated, as if
she were under the influence of a drug. Bramham thought she looked like
death, until she smiled, and then he decided that he had never seen her
more alluring.
"Unlucky man! you will have to ferry three of us down!" she said. "Mrs.
Portal is insisting on Miss Allendner coming too. The poor soul has been
so depressed ever since the fire----"
"Good," said Bramham. "The carriage will hold a quartette easily, but if
you want more room for your skirts, I'll sit up aloft."
"Not at all. You will come in with us or I shall sit up aloft too."
They laughed, and he asked if he might secure a dance or two from her
now.
"I know it's no use asking for the first waltz," he ventured.
"Oh, yes ... you can have it, if you like."
"_What?_"
"Yes, really--and whichever others you like." Bramham seized her card
blithely.
"Now this comes of getting ahead of pirates like Abinger and Carson----"
"But ... _he_ ... has not returned?" she asked quickly. It occurred to
Bramham to be wily in the interest of his dances. Carson is big enough
and ugly enough to look after himself, was his thought.
"No ... not yet. But he _might_ run in, mightn't he? You're not thinking
of going back on me, are you?"
"Of course not!" She turned away.
He dotted his initials thickly on her card, for he had discovered at a
little informal affair that she danced delightfully. When he gave it
back, her hands were trembling violently. Even the mention of Carson's
return had power to shake her whole being.
Mrs. Portal came in, looking thin and worn, but with her little gay air
that carried everything along and made people forget to observe that her
eyes were ringed, and her cheeks drawn, or what colour she was dressed
in. Laughing and apologising, she implored Poppy to give a glance at the
back of her gown to see if it was all right.
"Really, I believe I laced it with my toes," she said. "My hands haven't
had a moment since daybreak.... Come along, or we shall be late, and
have to sit glued to the wall all night.... Miss Allendner, you simply
take the shine out of us all in that gown ... you are _all_ shine ... I
never saw any one so shamefully magnificent.... Come along, good
peoples." She pushed the pleased old soul gently out of the room before
her, and Bramham and Poppy followed. Miss Allendner was, indeed, at her
best in a shining sequined gown, which Mrs. Portal had been at some
pains to reconstruct and bring up-to-date.
Eventually they set off--Poppy still carrying her bunch of orange
leaves, faintly scenting the carriage. Sometimes when the others were
absorbed in talk, she secretly pressed them against her heart. She felt
as though she had gone back again to the days of her childhood, when
misery claimed her, and there was no hope of comfort, or strength, or
kindness, from anything but trees and green leaves. She was glad that
she wore her mother's old green brooch and that there were great pieces
of green malachite in the high Empire comb she had stuck in her piled-up
crown of black, black hair; she needed all the strength that green
things could give her to-night.
One of the first people they saw on entering was Mary Capron, standing
in the centre of the ball-room, a little crowd of people about her,
supremely beautiful in black lace and diamonds. She came over to them at
once with a little loving pat of welcome for Clem and a brilliant smile
for the others. She half extended her hand to Poppy, in friendliness;
but Poppy turned away from her. She could not welcome the touch of a
hand that had smitten happiness out of her life. They all moved down the
big ball-room together. There were little groups everywhere of laughing
men and women, and the seats that ran all round the room were all
occupied. The bandsmen up on the stage, massed with palms and flags and
greenery, were making quivery-quavery sounds on their instruments.
Other women came up and greeted them.
"What a crush!... we shall have the gowns torn off our backs when the
dancing begins ... don't you think it was a mistake to have the ball so
early?... so hot still!"
Behind her Poppy heard one of the Maritzburg women say to the other in a
low voice:
"Clem's got paint on again.... She never used to do it ... I wonder if
Bill has been badly hit in the slump? There's _something_ wrong!"
"I hear that Nick came in from the camp at the last moment. Do you think
it could possibly be true, Clem?" said Mrs. Capron.
"That depends on who told you."
"Young Head. He said he heard someone say that Nick and your Billy were
both at the Club. Perhaps they are going to surprise us by appearing."
Mrs. Capron's voice did not express much enthusiasm. Clem's eyes flashed
like lightning round the room, in search of young Head, and she saw him
immediately, busily collecting dances. She had an inclination to rush
straight over to him, but she curbed it. Another inclination that almost
overwhelmed her was to fly from the hall, and take a rickshaw to the
Club; but she curbed that too, though to do so cost an effort that threw
up her rouge-spots more clearly by reason of the increased pallor of her
cheeks. She continued to talk easily.
"How did you get here, Mary?"
"I drove down with Mrs. Lace. How do I look, darling? This is my
_Machinka_ gown ... you haven't seen it before, have you?"
"Perfect, dear. I never saw you look more beautiful.... Isn't Poppy
wonderful to-night, too? ... she looks like a woman who has stepped out
of a dream ... no wonder the men crowd round her. If I could only catch
her eye, we'd move on."
When Poppy's card was all but full, a voice said at her elbow:
"Don't forget _me_." Nothing could have looked more out of place in that
gay ball-room than Abinger's scarred, sardonic face. But he stood there,
cool and irreproachably dressed.
"I'm sorry. I'm afraid there are none left."
"I am unfortunate." He shrugged and turned away, and Poppy, looking
round for the others, caught Clem Portal's face with the mask off for
one moment. With that sight her faltering, fainting purpose changed to
firm resolution. Softly she called after Abinger, but when he reached
her again she seemed breathless.
"I have a dance ... number five--" She held out her card, and while he
wrote upon it she spoke again, swiftly and low. The preliminary soft
bars of the first waltz were already floating down the room.
"Will you please be where I can see you--and reach you _instantly_ ...
if I should want you?"
A slight, bitter smile came to his lips.
"Certainly! The middle of the room would be a good place, I should say."
Her eyes blazed at him for a moment. Then a subtle, alluring look
crossed her face, for all her lips were the lips of a ghost. She half
whispered to him:
"Do you want me--_Luce_?"
Her eyes looked into his for one short instant before she veiled them
quickly, and her heart seemed to turn over within her, for desire
stalked, naked and unashamed, in the eyes of Luce Abinger.
"Do I want you. By God!" he said, under his breath.
"Well--to-night--I think I may come--_home_," she faltered; then without
another word or look she turned away, and took Bramham's arm for the
first waltz.
Abinger did not approach her again; neither did he dance. He lounged
conspicuously in a doorway, and if anyone spoke to him, he snarled at
them and they went hastily away. When the fifth dance came, he waited
until the music began; then walked across to where Poppy was sitting,
offered his arm nonchalantly, and they took the floor together. When
they had been dancing for a few moments he spoke:
"Poppy ... _to-night_?"
"To-night," her pale lips gave back answer. Her feet moved in time to
the waltz, but she lay half fainting in his arms. He had the daring to
bend his head and touch her face with his burning lips. Amid the
flashing lights of jewels, and the whirling faces, it was almost safe to
have gone unnoticed; everyone was too busy to watch what others were
doing.
But there happened to be a man standing in a doorway, hiding his grey
travelling tweeds behind two or three immaculates, who were trying to
persuade him that it would be quite a remarkable joke if he would come
in as he was, and pirouette amongst the dancers.
"Come on now, Carson ... give us a taste of the old Karri of old, mad
days," a Rand man was saying; and Carson, though listening and laughing,
was watching two people in the room. So it happened that he saw the
kiss--and the woman's face almost lying on Abinger's shoulder. How could
he know that she was dazed, half unconscious, not knowing what she did,
or caring? Abruptly he pushed through the laughing group and stood full
in the doorway. For an instant he was on the verge of trampling over
everyone in the room to get to those two and tear them apart; for an
instant the other men thought they were going to have a return of mad
Carson with a vengeance, and were sorry they had spoken; one of them
laid a hand on his arm. But in that instant a woman's eyes had met
Carson's--long, topaz-coloured eyes, full of eager welcome and
tenderness. The next moment he had flung away from the other men, and
was striding through the wide vestibule, down the Town Hall steps
towards a rickshaw, to take him God knew where. As he put his foot on it
a hand fell to his shoulder, and Brookfield's voice to his ear--full of
relief.
"Carson! By gad! I'm glad you're back; Capron's cut his throat, and they
say he's dying at the Club. Come on!"
Carson stared at him with a stunned air.
"Capron!" he stammered.
"Yes; sliced his head off nearly. He was too drunk to go home, so they
hid him in Ferrand's room at the Club with Portal in charge. But while
Portal was out of the room for a moment, Nick found Ferrand's best
razor."
"Well, I can't come," said Carson roughly, after a pause. "I have
business of my own."
"You've _got_ to come, Karri. He's raving for you. Someone said you'd
arrived, and Ferrand told me to find you, or he'd have another
haemorrhage. Come on, now. He won't keep you long; he's booked!"
Carson cursed and muttered, but eventually they got into the rickshaw
and went off together.
Five minutes later a woman shrouded in a long, black satin cloak, her
head muffled in veils, slipped down the steps and beckoned a rickshaw.
In a whisper she directed the _boy_ and told him to hurry.
* * * * *
At about an hour after midnight Clem came to Poppy, who was sitting out
a dance with a peaceful partner, and drawing her aside said:
"Dear, something awful has happened to Nick Capron and Mary can't be
found. I fancy she must have been feeling ill and gone home without
telling anyone. Anyway, Mr. de Grey and I are going to see. I've asked
Bramham to take you home as soon as you would like to go.... the others
will want to dance until dawn.... Billy is at the Club, too, it
appears."
"I'll come now," said Poppy quickly, forgetful of everything in the
momentary excitement.
"No; I can't wait for you, dear, as I'm ready. Better come on with Mr.
Bramham or Mr. Abinger. Suppose you and Miss Allendner wait at Sea House
for me?... It's an easy drive from the Club.... I'll call for you there,
and we'll all go up home together.... it will probably be painful,
breaking the news to poor Mary. I'll come as soon as I can afterwards."
She hurried away, and Poppy, excusing herself to her partner, went to
the dressing-room for her wraps. On her way she met Abinger, told him
swiftly what had happened, and asked him to find Miss Allendner. But
when she emerged from the dressing-room Abinger and Bramham were waiting
for her, minus the companion.
"She was dancing so happily for the first time to-night, that I hadn't
the heart to drag her away," said Abinger, with unheard-of benevolence.
The truth was that Miss Allendner did not at all enter into his plans
for the evening, and so he had not bothered to look for her.
The three of them left the hall together and reached Bramham's carriage,
which had been sent for. Afterwards they drove away in the direction of
Sea House. Bramham, with permission, smoked moodily out of a window, and
Abinger, without permission, under cover of the uncertain light, took
Poppy's hand; but it lay like a smooth, cold stone, and gave no response
to his hot hold. His hands were as bad as his eyes; by just holding a
woman's hand for three seconds, he could tell her things which for her
soul's sake she had avoided knowing all her life.
They were a silent party when they arrived at Sea House. In the
dining-room they sat down and Bramham drummed his fingers on the table,
wondering where Carson was. Luggage was lying in the verandah, and
Bramham's note was open on the table; but of Carson himself no sign.
Inspiration came to Abinger to go and rout out the servants to make
coffee and sandwiches, for there was a distinct chill in the air, and as
none of them had partaken of any supper to speak of, they felt weary and
collapsed. As it happened, the servants had not gone to bed, so the
coffee soon made its appearance, and at Poppy's suggestion a further
supply was ordered to be ready for Mrs. Portal and de Grey. They sat at
the table, and Poppy poured out the coffee; but Bramham was restless and
began to walk the room, staring out at the night, and then into Carson's
room, which led from the dining-room, and the door of which stood ajar.
Once he sniffed the air, and then stopped and listened.
Abinger smiled sourly at him.
"Whose trail are _you_ on, Bram?"
"There's something odd in the air--some unusual scent," was the answer.
"Perhaps Miss Chard can account for it," suggested Abinger. Bramham
ventured near her, sniffing still.
"I never use scent," said she, "but I, too, seem to smell some heavy
scent."
"Someone's been here," said Bramham, convinced, and thereupon called in
the _boys_ again and questioned them in Zulu.
"No--no one had been," they said, "excepting only _Intandugaza_, who had
remained but a little while and gone away very angry."
Both Abinger and the white woman in the white gown who sat by the table
understood Zulu, and heard for the first time now of Carson's arrival
that evening. To Abinger the fact did not mean much. But Poppy sat
staring with frozen lips at her bunch of orange leaves which lay now
upon the table. Also, she was listening intently. It seemed to her that
the sea, rustling and whispering on the beach at the foot of the garden,
had a message for her that she had often heard before, but had never
understood. Dimly, for the first time, the meaning of its mysterious
sighing was creeping into her weary brain.
"_Rest, rest, rest--peace--rest_," it whispered and sang.
Bramham came to the table, took another sandwich, and ate it walking
about the room.
"Well, I can smell something," he averred, as though making a new
statement. "Can't you, Abinger?"
"Oh, have some more coffee, Bram. Your nerves have gone back on you."
Poppy poured him out another cup.
"We are all odd to-night," she said, with a wan smile.
"It must be the news about poor Nick Capron," Bram said, and was just
taking his coffee-cup from her hand when they thought they heard a
sound. They looked at each other. It was a gentle little sound, and
might have been anything imagination suggested--a groan, or a cough, or
an exclamation. They waited intently to hear it repeated, but it never
came again. Abruptly Bramham caught up a lamp--the lamp with Mrs.
Brookfield's little pink-silk shade upon it, and walked towards the only
door of the room that was open. It was the door of Carson's
bedroom--Poppy's eyes saw that in a moment. She and Abinger had risen
and followed Bram, and stood behind him in the doorway. Her eyes took in
every detail of the wide, breezy room; the long, green curtains at the
windows, the heavy oak furniture, the guns, and whips, and rods standing
about, the books--and a big photograph of Mrs. Portal's gay-sad face,
smiling, on the mantelpiece.
Then she went back to her chair and listened once more to the whispering
sea:
"_Rest, rest--peace, rest._"
"I swear I heard someone say 'Oh!'" said Bramham angrily.
"Look under the bed," mocked Abinger.
"Look under it yourself, my dear fellow!"
They returned to the dining-room.
"What a beast of a night!" continued Bramham explosively. "What is one
to do? I've a good mind to take a run up to the Club and see whether I
can do anything, or where the others are ... shall I? Will you people
come too?"
"No," said Poppy quietly. "We'll stay here. I have something to say to
Mr. Abinger."
At any other time Bramham might have found this remark surprising, but
on this upside-down night, when nothing had happened as it should have
done, and the air was full of odd scents and sounds, he merely thought
it in keeping with the rest of things, so he departed, without even
taking his hat.