A SORRY GUEST
"A quarantine?" said Arlee Beecher, in a perfectly flat little
voice.
Again the young man exercised his power of gesture, his dark eyes
seeming to plead his own helpless desire to mitigate his words.
"Truly a quarantine. It is tyranny, but what can one do? They will
hear nothing--they set their guard and it is finished--_bien
simple_. We are their prisoners."
"Prisoners?" Her mind appeared but a hollow echo of his words. Her
heart was dropping, dropping sickishly, into unending space. Then
meaning stabbed her like a dentist's needle, and a pandemonium of
incredulity and revolt clamored through every nerve in her body.
"Why you can't mean--I'm going back to the hotel this instant! I
haven't seen your servant!"
"That is nothing to them. They have no reason--heads of pigs! No one
must leave or they shoot--the tyrants, the imbecile tyrants! But
their day will not be forever--Islam will not endure----"
It was of no moment to Arlee Beecher what Islam would not endure.
Her heart was galloping now like a runaway horse, but her voice rang
with quick reaction from that first sickening shock.
"What nonsense," she said positively. "They wouldn't shoot _me_. Why
didn't you call me when the English doctor was here. I could have
explained then. But now--now I had better telephone, I suppose.
Either to the doctor or the English ambassador--or the American
consul. I'll make them understand in a jiffy. Where is your
telephone, please?"
"Alas, not in the palace." The young captain's look of regret
deepened.
"But--but you telephoned your sister! You telephoned her this
afternoon."
"Ah, yes, but I spoke to a telephone which is in a palace near
here--the palace of my uncle. I sent a servant with the message. But
I can send a message to that palace," he offered eagerly, "and they
can telephone for you. Or I can send notes out to all the people you
wish. The soldiers will call boys to deliver them."
Across the girl's perfectly white face a tremor of panic darted;
then she bit her lips very hard and stared very intently past the
Captain's green and gold shoulder. She had totally forgotten the
sister who had sunk on a divan beside them, her brown eyes rimmed in
their dark pencilings turning from one to the other as if to read
their faces.
"I'll just speak to those soldiers, myself," said Arlee decidedly.
"I'll make them understand." She left them there, their eyes upon
her and sped down the long room to the door which the Captain's
hurried entrance had left half open. She disappeared down the steps.
In three minutes she was back, a flame in the frightened white of
her cheeks, a flame in the frightened blue of her eyes.
"Captain Kerissen," she called, and he took a step nearer to her,
his face alert with sympathy, "Captain Kerissen, that is a _native_
soldier! He is at the bottom of the stairs--with a bayonet--and he
will not let me pass. He doesn't know a word I say. Please come and
tell him."
"Miss Beecher, it is useless for me to tell him anything," said the
young Turk with a ring of quiet conviction. "I have been talking to
that one--and to the others. They are at every entrance. It is as I
told you--we are prisoners."
"Surely you can tell him that I am a guest--you can _bribe_ him to
turn his head, to let me slip by----"
"He would be shot if he let you out that street door. He has his
orders to keep the ladies in their quarters and it is death to him
to disobey. That is the discipline--and the discipline has no
mercy--particularly upon the native soldiers." His tone held
bitterness. "It is useless to resist the soldiers. You must resign
yourself to remain a guest until I can obtain word to one who can
render assistance.... Will it be so hard?" he added sympathetically,
as she stood silent, her lips pressed quiveringly together. "My
sister will do everything----"
"Of course I can't stay here," broke in Arlee in her clear, positive
young tones. "I must get back to the Evershams--and we are going up
the Nile to-morrow morning. Can you get a message to that doctor _at
once_? And have someone go and telephone from the next house to the
consul and ambassador--and I'll write them notes, too."
Her voice broke suddenly. On what wings of folly she had come alone
to this place! Her bright adventure was a stupid scrape. Oh, what
mischance--what mischance! She was chokingly ashamed of the
predicament--to be penned up by a quarantine in a Moslem household.
She was angry, defiant and humiliated at once. What would the
Evershams say--and Robert Falconer----
* * * * *
She had never waited for anything as she waited for the answers to
the passionately urgent notes she sent out. She had written the
doctor, the ambassador, the consul, the Evershams. And then she
walked up and down, up and down that long, dim room which grew
darker and darker with the fading light and counted off the seconds
and the minutes and the hours with her pulsing heart beats. She had
never known there was such suspense in the world. It was comparable
to nothing in her girl's life--the only faint analogy was in the old
school-time when she thought she had failed in the history
examination and her roommate had gone to the office to find out for
her. She remembered walking the floor then, in a silly panic of
fear. But she had not failed--she had just squeaked through and it
would be like that now. Someone would come to tell her that
everything was all right and laugh with her at her foolish fright.
But underneath this strain of fervent reassurance ran a cold little
current like an underground brook, a seeping chill of dread and
vague fear and strange amazement that she should be here in this
lonely palace, peering out of darkened windows, waiting and
listening.
This time it _was_ the Captain's steps, coming up the stairs.
Perceptive of her impatience, he had left her to herself, till he
could bring word. Now she stood, listening to the nearing jingle
that accompanied his footsteps, her hands clasped involuntarily
against her breast in rigid tension. And when she saw his face
through the dusk, saw the courteous deprecation of it, the
solicitous sympathy, she did not need his words to tell her that it
was not yet all right.
There was nothing to be done. Legal and medical authorities united
in insisting that no one, not even the guest, should leave the
palace until the fear of spreading the infection was past. This
might be modified in a day or two, but for the present they were too
frightened to make exceptions.
And they were going up the Nile Friday morning, Arlee remembered
numbly. And this was Thursday night.
"Did the Evershams--did they answer my letter?" she said with dry
lips.
The Evershams, it seemed, had not been at the hotel. Perhaps when
they had read the letter they would be able to do something about
it.
"They'll just _talk_!" cried Arlee passionately, her breast heaving.
She wanted to scream, she wanted to rave, she wanted to fly down
the stairs and hurl herself recklessly against that barring bayonet.
But because there was pride and spirit behind her delicate
loveliness she shut the door hard upon those imps of hysteria and
with high-held head and palely smiling lips she thanked the Captain
for the hospitality he was extending in his sister's name. Yes,
thank you, she would rejoin them at dinner. Yes, thank you, she
would like to go to her room now.
A serving maid, called by her hostess, conducted her--the blue-robed
girl, she thought, that she had seen drawing water at the well. A
black shawl hung from her head and dangling in its folds the
_yashmak_ ready to be slipped on at the approach of the men before
whom she must appear veiled. Her bare feet were thrust into scarlet
slippers, and as she moved silver anklets were visible, hanging
loosely over slim, brown ankles. Shuffling slightly, yet with an
erectly graceful carriage, the girl led the way into the ante-room
again, pulled open one of the closed doors in the opposite wall and
passed up an encased staircase wrapped in darkness. They emerged
into the dusk of a long, dim hall, where hanging lamps from the
ceiling shed a mild luster and a strong smell of oil, and passing
one or two doors on the right, the maid pushed, open one that was
rich in old gilding.
Crossing the threshold Arlee felt that she was crossing the
centuries again into her own time.
The room was a glitter of white and rose; the windows, unscreened,
admitted the warm glow of late afternoon, and windows and doorway
and bed were smothered in rose and white hangings. A white
triple-mirrored dressing-table gleamed with gold and ivory pieces; a
white fur rug was stretched before a rose silk divan billowy with
plump pillows, and an open door beyond gave a view of shining tile
and a porcelain bath. Near her was a baby grand piano in white
enamel--reminding her of one she had seen in the White House--and
she noted absently a pile of gaudily covered music upon it
betokening tunes different from the Brahms she had heard downstairs.
The maid indicated a pitcher of hot water in the bathroom--evidently
pipes and faucets played no part with the shining tub--and then
stepped outside, closing the door.
After an instant's hesitation, Arlee took off her hat and bathed her
face and hands, then moved slowly to the dressing table to glance at
her hair. Hesitantly she picked up the shining brush and stared at
the flourish of an unintelligible monogram upon the back. Whose
brush was this? Whose room was she in? The place, vivid, silken,
scented, was fairly breathing with occupancy.
She laid down the brush without using it, touched her hair with
absent fingers, and crossed to the windows. She looked down into a
garden, a deep tangle of a garden, presided over by a huge lebbek
tree that threw a pall of shadow upon the faintly moving flowers
beneath.
The place seemed a riot in neglect, for across the white sanded
paths thick creepers had flung their arms, and vines and climbers
were scaling the gnarled limbs of the acacia trees and covering the
high walls beyond. She was looking to the west where the rose and
gold of sunset still hung breathless on the painted air, though the
sun was hidden below the fringe of palms which rose above the wall,
and for a moment that still brilliance of the sky above the sharply
silhouetted palms made her heart quicken in forgetfulness.
And then her hands became aware of the bars she had been
unconsciously clasping, white-painted bars extending across the
window. They were of iron.
Not even here was there freedom, she thought with a throb of dread,
not even here where one faced dark gardens and blank walls and the
empty west.
* * * * *
Somehow that dinner had passed, that queer dinner in the candle
light between the silent, painted woman and the politely talkative
young man, and passed without a word from outside for the girl whose
nerves were fraying with the suspense. The old woman and the little
girl had served them with a meal which would have been judged
delicious in any European hotel and though Arlee's nerves were
tricky her young appetite was not and she ate and talked with a
determined little air of trying to dissipate the strangeness of the
situation.
And with the coffee came inspiration. She began to plan ... half
listening to the Captain's amiable efforts to entertain her with an
account of the palace, and of its history under Ismail, the Mad
Khedive, who had occupied it for some months, tearing down and
building in his feverish way, only to weary at the first hint of
completion. She was wondering why in the world the inspiration had
not arrived at once. Perhaps something in this fatalistic air, this
stupid acceptance of authority had numbed her.
With alacrity she accepted the Captain's suggestion of a stroll in
the garden, and was relieved when the silent sister did not rise to
accompany them, but remained in the candle-light with her coffee and
cigarette. She found the woman's lightly mocking, watchful eyes, the
enigmatic smile upon the carmined lips, increasingly hard to bear.
That woman didn't like her--she had failed, somehow, to propitiate
her hostile curiosities.
Back through the old empty rooms of the past, the Captain led her,
and passing by the screened alcove from which Arlee had looked down
into the ancient banquet hall he came to a small dark painted door
which he unlocked. The door opened upon a flight of worn and narrow
stone steps descending into the garden.
* * * * *
It had been night in the palace of darkened windows but in the
garden it was yet day, although the rose and gold of sunset had
faded to paling pinks and translucent ambers and in the east the
stars were shining in the deepening blue. It was the same garden on
which her windows opened; Arlee recognized the huge lebbek tree in
the center, the row of acacias, and the palms against the farthest
wall. It was a very old garden. Those trees must have seen many,
many years, she thought, and felt again that sense of vague
oppression and melancholy which the lonely rooms of the palace had
given her; that row of acacias which cast such crooked shadows over
the path had been planted by very long-ago hands.
So she thought fleetingly, then stared about, her concern for other
things. Captain Kerissen lighted a cigarette; over his cupped hands
his eyes followed hers searchingly.
"That is the hall of banquets?" she said, pointing to the raised
colonnade.
"Ah, yes--you are quick to learn!" he complimented.
"And could we walk through that into the courtyard?"
"Undoubtedly."
"And this side is the _haremlik_," she murmured, glancing up at the
windows upon the third floor which she felt were those of that rose
and white room. Much of the rest of the wing, she saw, extending
down to the high wall at right angles to it, was in a ruinous and
dilapidated condition. "What is there?" she asked.
"The rooms the Khedive Ismail left unfinished. They are of no use."
"And on the other side?" she persisted, pointing towards the wall
that was the continuation of the men's wing, which stopped at the
colonnade.
"On the other side is the palace of another man, and on the other
side of that, ending the road is a _cimitère_--what you say,
cemetery."
"And back of _that_ wall?" She nodded at the one behind the palms,
running parallel to the banquet hall.
"Back of that a canal, Mademoiselle, and across are other
palaces.... You study the geography, it appears?"
"Indeed I do!" She turned towards him, her face bright with
eagerness. Her light curls were blown about her forehead by a
breeze, hot and dry, that seemed to mingle the odors of the desert
with a piercing sweetness which it drew from the deep throats of the
lilies swaying beside the path. "And I think _that_ is going to be
the way out for me." Her quick nod was for the wall behind the
palms. "I want you to do me a great big favor, Captain Kerissen,
that will make me your debtor for life! You must help me break out
of this quarantine this very night?"
Not the ghost of a fear of failure to persuade him lurked in those
bright, dancing eyes. Not the ghost of a fear of failure haunted
those confident, smiling lips.
He sucked on his cigarette a moment, then slowly blew a thin ring of
blue smoke. He appeared interested in watching it.
"What is it--this idea?" he murmured.
"Well, you may have a better one but mine is just to climb that
wall, as soon as it gets dark. If you just get a ladder, or a pile
of chairs I am sure I can manage it--and then I'll be back at the
hotel in an hour!"
He took out his cigarette and shook his head at her. "You would
drop, like the plum of Haydee, into the arms of the soldier who is
guarding on the other side.... Shall I tell you the story of that
plum?"
"A soldier guarding--a _native_ soldier?"
"Yes."
"Then--then please won't you see if you can bribe him?" she
shamelessly pleaded, anxiously clasping and unclasping her hands.
"_Please_, Captain Kerissen, you must help me to run away to-night.
I _can't_ be shut up like this--I can't give up the Nile trip and
besides--Oh, I really must be back at that hotel to-night!... If
that soldier is sure no one else will see him I know you can
persuade him to look away just a little minute while I slip down and
run off!"
"Ah, no, no, my dear Miss Beecher, there is no hope of that." The
young man started walking down the path and Arlee walked beside him,
her eyes fixed on his face, incredulous of the denial that they were
reading there. "He would think it a test, a trap--not for one minute
is it to be thought of! Now could I let you go alone in that place
by the canal. There is danger--you do not understand----"
"Oh, I understand, but I can take care of myself!" Across her
pleading flashed the ironic thought of how excellently she had taken
care of herself in coming there that very afternoon! "Just let me
get over that wall and I can find my way--and if you cannot bribe
the man we can wait till it is darker and then, when he is at the
other end, why I can be down and off in a jiffy!"
"He would shoot," said the Captain. "He has his order. I have talked
with them.... And what would the authorities say when they send here
the doctor to-morrow and you are gone?"
"Say--say--Oh, what does it matter what they say? Tell them that I
ran away without your knowledge. Surely----"
"But your name has been given as detained. They would not let you
reappear in the world----"
"You leave that to me! I know it would be all right--once I was
there. Please do this for me, Captain Kerissen--_please_! I know
that in a great palace like this there must be many, many ways where
one could slip into the streets----"
"In all this palace there are but three doors--the door in the
vestibule by which you entered, the great door to its right, under
the arch into the court, and the little door from the garden to the
canal." He waved his cigarette at the wall ahead of them, towards
which they were slowly walking. "And all those three doors are
barred upon the outside and there is a soldier before each one--and
the soldier that you saw within the vestibule, watching us there."
"But--but the windows." She remembered the _mashrubiyeh_, but went
on resolutely, "I mean, the windows on the men's side. Aren't there
any windows in that part which are open?"
"The _selamlik_ is a short wing and looks into the court." A note of
impatience sounded in his voice. He tossed away his cigarette which
fell, a burning spark, in the shadows. Already, as they talked, it
had grown darker, and the impatient tropic night was stealing on
them. "It is no use," he repeated. "There is no way out for you--or
any of us."
Into her heart stole the unthinkable perception that he did not want
to help her--he was afraid of the authorities--or else--or
else--Desperately she returned to the appeal.
"But do let me try to get over that wall. I will watch for the
soldier--I will take the responsibility. Please, now--let us plan
that attempt."
His answer held a quiet finality. "It is impossible.... And the wall
is too high for such little feet."
The startled color flashed into her cheeks. Only Oriental language
of course.... Perhaps she was unduly sensitive to any hint of
familiarity in her predicament.
"I could manage it perfectly," she said with coldness.
He bent over her, as they walked. "Are you so unhappy here?"
"Of course I am unhappy," she gave back with a clear
matter-of-factness that strove to ignore the sudden softening of his
voice. "I am _very_ unhappy. I realize that I should not be here,
that I am intruding upon your hospitality----"
"You are making me most happy."
"And I am making my friends most anxious and losing my trip on the
Nile."
"The Nile," he said, "flows on forever. Who knows how soon you will
see it and under what happier circumstances?"
"Our boat was to sail at ten. I simply must find a way out
to-night----"
"That is impossible." He spoke with sudden irritation, which he
softened the next instant, with a light laugh. "You Americans--how
you hurry!... Tell me--have you no heart for all this?"
She looked about her at the silent garden, the deepening shadows,
the darkening sky. Above her head, now, high in the air were the
faintly rustling palm leaves. Behind the palms stretched the wall,
high and blankly impassable. She felt strange, unreal.... Her very
fright was unreal.
"Tell me," he was saying, his voice low and caressing, "are there
many girls like you--in your America?"
She tried to speak quite easily, quite simply. "You have been in
England and France, Captain Kerissen, and you have seen many
Americans traveling there."
"I have seen many--yes. But not like you." She looked swiftly at
him, then more swiftly away. His eyes were glowing with a look of
deep excitement; his teeth flashed white under his small, dark
mustache. "Shall I tell you how you appear beside those others?"
"No, thank you," the girl answered with a hurried crispness which
brought a stare and then a low laugh from him.
"You have been told so often?" he suggested.
"I never permit myself to be told at all!" Anger made her young
voice imperious, but her heart was beating furiously. Involuntarily
she quickened her steps and he reached his hand to her bare forearm
and held her back.
"Pardon--but you are too quick."
She stood rigid, some deep instinct warning her not to resist. The
situation had gone to the man's head, she felt dumbly; his courtesy
was only a scant veneer over that Oriental cast of view which, like
the Latin, reads every accident of propinquity as opportunity. His
hand fell away and they walked on in slower time. When he spoke his
voice betrayed the feeling quickening within him.
"Then I have a pleasure before me, for you will listen, please. To
me your sister Americans are like big, bright flowers which grow by
the wayside where every wind blows hard upon them. And each receives
the dust of the footsteps of many men till comes the one who shall
possess her. But he does not bear her away. He puts his name upon
her, but leaves her out in the same field where every passerby may
look and handle----"
"You are dreadfully rude," said Arlee clearly. "You don't understand
at all. I thought you knew better."
"Ah, I know! Was I not in England and did I not hear men talk--yes,
of sisters and wives with bold words and laughter? Not so of our
ladies--they are sacred names not to be spoken by another.... But I
do not wish to speak of these others of your race. I speak of you."
"Really, I would rather you would not speak of me."
"But I wish to tell you." His voice was no louder; it was even
lower, but it took on a note of authority. Arlee was silent, a chill
creeping up about her heart--like a rising tide....
"You are a flower upon a height," he said, and his tones were soft
again and gently caressing, "laughing at others because you know you
are so high above them, and so proud. The blue of the skies is in
your eyes, and the gold of the sun in your hair. You have a beauty
that is too bright to be endured--it burns a man's heart like a
flame.... It was never meant to shine in a common field. It must be
guarded, revered, adored--a princess upon a height----"
"You have an Oriental imagination," said Arlee Beecher, and prayed
God her voice did not tremble. "I must ask you not to pay me such
compliments while I am your guest."
"No?... Why not?"
"They--are embarrassing."
"Embarrassment is an emotion rare to find among your ladies--it is
the dewy bloom upon your own perfect innocence.... Ah, I wish you
spoke my language! I could tell you many things----"
"Your English is excellent," said the white-faced girl. "Did you
learn it at Oxford or before?"
He did not pause for such foolish questionings. "Why do you not wish
me to tell you what you are?" he said reproachfully. "Is it because
you doubt that I mean it?"
"Because I am not used to such compliments--and I would rather not
hear them now. I am your guest and I am very tired. I must go in."
It was very dark in the garden. And it was still and unutterably
lonely. Only the stars burned above them in the heavens; only the
light wind of the desert stirred. From the far distance the muffled
beat of the tom-tom sounded. Surely, thought Arlee, surely she was
dreaming.... This could not be Arlee Beecher, here with this
man--this Turk.
"I must go in," she repeated, with a heightening of assurance.
As he looked down at her for a moment that chill dread seemed to
lay its icy hands on her very heart as she glimpsed something of the
tumult within his eyes. She had a vision of him as a man capable of
all, reckless, impassioned, poised upon the brink of some desperate
plunge.... Then the hands of consequences seemed to lay compelling
hold upon him; the fire was extinguished; the vision gone like a
mirage. His eyes were friendly, his lips smiling, as he bowed to
her, in deferential courtesy, to all appearances a gentleman of her
world.
"I must not tire my guest," he said, and stood aside to let her pass
up the narrow stone steps.
"We shall have other walks," he added, and the chill, delicate
menace of those words went with Arlee Beecher to the rose and white
room, and kept her sorry company through the long and restless
hours.