in the least tired, though we had not even tried to doze. At a nice
hotel, called by the odd name of the "Seven Provinces," where Jonkheer
Brederode had arranged for us to stop a night if our plans had not been
suddenly changed, there was a telegram for Nell. It was from Mr. van
Buren, and said, "Can I bring fiancee and sisters to spend a day with
you at Utrecht? Answer, Robert van B., Scheveningen."
Of course, one word costs less than two, and is therefore wiser to use
in a telegram. Besides, she _is_ his fiancee. But it looked so
irrevocable, staring up from the paper, that I felt more sorry for him
than ever. I was a little excited, too, as Nell was wiring back "Yes,
delighted," and adding the date on which we expected to arrive at
Utrecht. I am excited still, as I write this; for I have the idea that
Freule Menela was angry with Mr. van Buren for spending so much time
with us, and that she wants to punish him--or somebody else.
RONALD LESTER STARR'S POINT OF VIEW
XXVII
I should think few men ever loved more passionately, yet picturesquely,
than I loved those two beautiful stepsisters when for their sakes I
started out upon a criminal, motor-boating career.
To have their society, to gaze daily upon their lovely faces, to hear
their charming voices, and to find out which girl I really loved more
than the other, I willingly stole an aunt and then lied about her so
often, that eventually I almost began to believe she was my aunt.
Perhaps--I said to myself, when any barking dogs escaped from the kennel
of my conscience to be soothed--perhaps she had been my aunt in another
state of existence. But then, I would have said anything about her, to
myself or others, by way of furthering the cause; and the game was well
worth the candle--for the first part of the trip.
Alb being frankly and openly a worshiper of the adorable Nell Van Buren,
my own countrywoman, I saw that, out of all the girls I ever loved,
including her stepsister, she was the only one it would be impossible
for me to live without.
That state of mind lasted up to the night when we arrived at the deadest
of all Dead Cities of the Zuider Zee, Enkhuisen. There it broke upon me
out of a clear sky that my Burne-Jones angel, Phyllis Rivers, loved and
was loved by, another; that other, a graven image of a Viking, who could
never appreciate her as she deserved.
Until the blow fell, I had always, half unconsciously, felt that she was
there; that if I lost the incomparable Nell, the exquisite Phyllis was
on the spot to console me; and she is at her best as a consoler. But
suddenly, at a moment when I was soaked with rain, snubbed by Nell, as
well as foolishly concerned about the fate of that white man's burden,
my Albatross, and altogether ill-fitted to bear further misfortunes, I
learnt that Phyllis regarded me as a brother.
I hid my chagrin in sympathy for hers, but Phyllis in tears proved
distracting. She is the one girl I have ever seen who can cry without a
deplorable redness of the nose. Tears rolled like pearls over her lower
lashes, which are almost as long as the fringe of the upper lids, and I
wondered how I could ever have thought another girl more desirable. Too
late for my comfort did she assure me that, in her opinion, my case was
not hopeless with her stepsister. It was Phyllis, not Nell, whom I now
wished to snatch from the arms of a hated rival (not that she was in
them yet, but she might be at any minute unless I secured her) and it
was painful that at such a crisis she should throw her once unattainable
stepsister at my head.
Next day, to be sure, when Alb brought the motor-boat to our rescue at
Urk, the way Nell's big hazel eyes lit up at sight of him, set my heart
vibrating again like a pendulum, and I found myself much in the same
condition I had been in at first; unable to decide which, after all, was
the more indispensable of the two girls. But this return to chaos did
not make for peace of mind, because, though I could not bear to lose
either, I should be lucky if I contrived to keep one. Besides, there was
the worry about Sir Alec MacNairne, and the danger that he might pounce
down upon us to destroy the fabric I had so carefully woven.
Altogether, the features of Friesland were not cut with the same
cameo-clearness upon my perception that other parts of Holland had taken
a few weeks or even days ago, when I was young and happy.
As I remarked early in our black partnership, even an Albatross can
have its uses. Perhaps, if the truth were known, the Ancient Mariner
occasionally fell down and would have broken a bone if the Albatross,
tied round his neck, had not acted as a kind of cushion for his
protection. At Amsterdam, in a moment of peril for our plot, Alb acted
somewhat in this capacity for me, showing himself to be possessed of all
that shrewd adroitness which should furnish the equipment of every
well-regulated villain. At Leeuwarden, therefore, it was for me to do
something desperate when desperate need arose.
I shall never cease to applaud my own presence of mind in the matter of
turning the enemy's flank. My wrists were lame for days after that
famous handshake with Aunt Fay's husband which, in his surprise, spun
the big fellow round like a teetotum, and gave Alb a chance to vanish
with the girls.
If Aunt Fay had indeed been on board "Lorelei," re-named "Mascotte"; if
the "M.," late "L.," had been Brederode's boat, and he had really been
flirting with my aunt through the waterways of Holland, according to Sir
Alec's wild impression, I couldn't have been more anxious to save her
from his jealous wrath by giving him the slip.
Alb had never spoken of a flirtation, and though, at the time it was
first sprung upon me by Sir Alec, I was angry with the Albatross for his
close-mouthedness, my inconvenient sense of justice forced me to admit
afterwards that it wasn't exactly the kind of thing he could have
confided to me of all others.
When that peppery Scotsman opened his heart, and poured forth the true
story of Aunt Fay's mysterious disappearance from the scene, for a
minute or two any feather floating in my direction could have knocked me
down; but I hung on to my captive uncle all the same, while I rearranged
my ideas of the universe at large, and my corner of it in particular.
I told him it was nonsense to be jealous of Aunt Fay. Of course such a
pretty, jolly woman as she, full of life and fun as a girl, was bound
to be popular with men, and to flirt with them a little. There was
nothing in that to make a fuss about, said I. As for Brederode (whom I
had to admit knowing, since we must have been seen together) I assured
Sir Alec that, if he could hear Rudolph talk in a friendly way about my
aunt, he wouldn't have the slightest uneasiness. Finally I made the
fiery fellow confess that Aunt Fay's last little flirtation--the most
innocent in the world, like all her "affairs"--was not with Brederode
but with an Englishman, an officer in some crack regiment. Sir Alec did
not deny that he had scolded his wife. He said that she had "answered
him back," that there had been "words" on both sides, that she had
stamped her foot and thrown a bunch of roses at him--middle-aged,
wet-footed roses snatched from a vase which happened to be handy. That
he had called her a minx; that she had retorted with "beast"; that he
had stalked out of the room and then out of the house, slamming doors as
hard as he could; that when he returned, not exactly to apologize, but
to make up at any price, it was to find her gone, with her maid and
several boxes, leaving no address; that he had tracked her to London,
and eventually--as he believed--to Paris; that while there he had seen a
newspaper paragraph announcing that Lady MacNairne was traveling through
Dutch waterways on a motor-boat belonging to Jonkheer Brederode; that he
had taken train for Amsterdam, where he had presently discovered that
"Lorelei" had been; that he had visited all hotels, hoping to find the
names of the party in the visitors' book, but had not been able to
discover them (luckily we hadn't put our names down, and on leaving Alb
had tactfully hinted to the manager that no inquiries concerning us were
to be answered); that since then all trace of "Lorelei" had been lost.
I replied that it was probably a mistake made by some journalist, and
that Lady MacNairne had never been on board Brederode's boat. I was
going on to say more things, when Sir Alec exclaimed, "Why, _you_ ought
to know where the boat is, and who's on board her. You and Brederode
were together to-night, and----"
"We hadn't been together for ten minutes," I vowed; and kept to the
strict letter of the truth, for I had been smoking alone in the garden
when Brederode came back and proposed that after all we should have a
stroll round the fair. It hadn't taken us ten minutes to get there from
the hotel.
"I didn't ask Brederode any questions about himself after meeting him,"
I went on; and that also was strictly true. "But," I hurriedly added,
seeing a loophole of escape, "I can look him up, if you like, and,
without mentioning your name, find out whether Aunt Fay is, or ever has
been, with his party, which I doubt. Don't you think, for the sake of
her name and yours, that would be better than for you to seek him out
and make a row, before you're sure whether there's anything to row
about?"
Sir Alec reflected for a minute, which was evidently an effort, then
answered that perhaps I was right. But supposing I missed Brederode,
whose haste to slip away went far to prove his guilt?
I would not miss him, said I. And his disappearance proved nothing.
There were those pretty Frisian girls that he--Sir Alec--had been
protecting when Rudolph and I came along. Brederode had probably
escorted them home, not seeing any reason why he should interrupt our
conversation.
My innocent surprise on hearing that, despite their costumes, the girls
were not Frisian girls, but English or American ladies he had met in
Amsterdam, convinced Sir Alec that they were strangers to me. And
finally the scene ended by my promising to find Brederode, who was
certainly--I said--stopping in the town, whether or no he had brought a
motor-boat to Leeuwarden. I was to question Brederode in a diplomatic
manner, and then to report to Sir Alec, on a motor-launch he had hired
in Amsterdam, as the best means of tracking down the craft for which he
sought. This boat, "Wilhelmina," was now in the canal at Leeuwarden,
but, for reasons intimately concerning that canal, he had taken a room
for the night at a hotel recommended by his chauffeur.
Fortunate it was for us that the chauffeur did not happen to prefer our
hotel; and almost equally fortunate that Sir Alec was not spending much
time on board his hired vessel, for, were he lurking there, it would be
difficult to slip past without being followed. He had perhaps seen
"Mascotte" on entering the canal (as it appeared that he had come in
only toward evening), but he had not suspected the innocent-looking
little creature, with her fat chaperon, "Waterspin," of having an alias.
If, however, a motor-boat attempted to glide past his in the night, he
would give chase, and see us on board "Mascotte." For this reason I was
delighted to hear that he was at a hotel for the night, and I advised
him to go there at once, to await my coming.
"How long shall you be?" he asked impatiently.
I assured him that all I had to do might keep me an hour; but I saved a
few tattered rags of conscience by evading a verbal promise to call on
him at the end of that hour. So much he took for granted; and, as the
things I _really_ had to do were to get the whole party on to "Mascotte"
and out of the capital of Friesland, I left my uncle-in-law without much
ceremony.
Nothing could have been neater than the way we gave him the slip, flying
by his deserted motor-boat without a qualm, and, I hoped, beyond his
reach at the same time.
Never, during the whole course of the trip, had I been as glad to arrive
at a place as I was to arrive at Groningen.
We ought, according to the program of our itinerary mapped out by Alb,
to have reached the big town in the afternoon instead of morning, and to
have spent the time till evening in seeing sights. But all was changed
now. Luckily Alb (who is an uncomfortable stickler for truth at all
costs) could conscientiously inform the girls that Groningen's principal
attractions might be seen in a couple of hours.
We tore round the place in the fastest cab to be got, I having bribed
the driver not to spare his horse; yet it was at Alb the girls looked
reproachfully, when they were allowed but three minutes in the largest
market-place of Holland, five for St. Martin's Church and the organ
praised by diplomatic Erasmus, two to search vainly for diamond-gleaming
glass tiles on houses which Amici admired forty years ago; and another
grudging two for a gallop through the Noorden Plantation, of which the
rich town is proud. There must be something about my appearance which
convinces people that, whatever evil is afoot, I, at least, am innocent.
I have noticed this since boyhood, the phenomenon being most conspicuous
when I was least deserving; whereas, with Alb, it is the other way
round. His darkly handsome face, with its severely clear-cut features,
his black hair and brows, his somber eyes, are the legitimate
qualifications of the stage villain. Even the well-known cigarette is
seldom lacking; therefore, if I wished for revenge, I have often had it.
When I am to blame for anything, Alb is sure to be suspected.
Indeed, any one might have thought, from the impatient fire in his eyes,
as he steered "Lorelei" (alias "Mascotte") through the canal after
leaving Groningen, that his was the secret need for haste, his the
guilty desire to escape.
As for me, I hid my rage at the legal mandate which here compelled us to
"go no faster than a man can walk." Under an air of blithe _insouciance_
I disguised my fears, never starting perceptibly at "any toot" behind us
which might mean Sir Alec on our track, and appearing to enjoy with the
free spirit of a boy, the one great amusement of the day.
This consisted in surprising and making happy many families of children
on board the lighters we passed, by bestowing upon them toys and
strange sugary cakes bought at Leeuwarden Kermess. Not all the lighters
had children, but those that had, owned dozens, and all the ugly ones
had whooping-cough.
If I had been given my way, only the pretty children and those who did
not whoop should have got presents; but the extraordinary lady who plays
the part of aunt to me, and chaperon to the Angels, said that the uglier
you are, the more gifts you need. Perhaps it is on this principle she
has demanded so many from me. But--_is_ she ugly? I hardly know. She has
one of those strange little faces which do not seem to express the soul
behind them--a face whose features I can't see when I shut my eyes. I
should like, by the way, to know what hers are like, behind her big blue
spectacles; but she says they are not strong, so possibly the blue glass
is a merciful dispensation.
Her mildest hints, as well as her commands, are invariably acted upon,
and though she seldom insists, she magnetizes. Accordingly, the ugliest
children got the best things; but as there were more pretty than ugly
ones, the toys lasted all the way along the somewhat monotonous canal to
Assen, a little town half lost in its own forests.
It took us till evening to get there, and as we were to sleep on the
boats, rather than risk the hotel, I proposed to Alb that we should
start again early the next morning, before the ladies waked. "There
can't be much to see at Assen," said I, "and if, after he'd been given
the slip, my peppery Scotch uncle tumbled to the idea of 'Lorelei' and
'Mascotte' being one----"
"That would be reason enough for stopping at Assen," said Brederode.
"There _are_ things to see there, very good and unique things; but
ordinary tourists don't often hear about them, and if Sir Alec MacNairne
is chasing us, he'll glide by Assen without a thought."
This put a different face on the matter, and I was able to smile calmly
when Alb whetted the Angels' appetite by describing the treasures
concealed among the groves surrounding Assen. They were not exactly at
Assen, it seemed, but Assen was the starting-point, and from there you
set forth in carriages to Rolde, for the purpose of gazing upon
Hunnebetten.
What these might be, when you found them, I had not an idea, though
pride forbade me to inquire of Alb, especially before the girls. But
pride never forbids Aunt Fay's little counterfeit presentment (perhaps
it will save time if in the future I allude to her as the L.C.P.) to ask
any question. She is never satisfied with guide-books, but demands and
absorbs information about every place we visit, scribbling down notes in
the book she wears on her chatelaine. (There must have been dozens of
"refills" fitted in between the silver covers since we started, though
what she wants of the stuff she collects, I can't imagine.) She did not
hesitate to exclaim, "What on earth are Hunnebetten?" And there was no
ignominy in listening, with a bored air of having been born knowing
these things, while Alb described the objects as supposed graves of
Huns, built of glacier-borne stones.
Next morning we drove out to worship at these ancient shrines, winding
along a charming, wooded road, through avenues of young oaks, balsamic
pine forests, and acres of purple heather, to say nothing of a certain
pink flower which must be heather's Dutch cousin.
Some of the Hunnebetten were hidden in the woods, others rose gloomily
out of the sweet simplicity of a hayfield, but each contrived to give
the effect of a miniature Stonehenge, and had there been only one
monument instead of three, it would have been worth the trouble we took
to see it. Besides, our expedition was rewarded in another way. When we
returned to the boats after breakfasting at a _cafe_ in the woods, it
was to hear that a motor-launch, patriotically bearing the name of
"Wilhelmina," had gone by, faster than the legal limit, as if in haste
to reach Meppel. According to Hendrik and Toon, a tall gentleman had
sprung up from the deck-chair, rushed to the rail, and stared hard at
"Mascotte"; but "Wilhelmina" had not slowed down.
On hearing this news, I was inclined to make an excuse for lingering at
Assen; but Alb was of opinion that it would be as safe, and far less
dull, to go on. "Wilhelmina" was well ahead; and in any case we did not
mean to stop the night at Meppel. If we saw Sir Alec's launch there, we
could easily slip past, all passengers in the cabin and Hendrik at the
helm; whereas, if we did not see her, she would not be able to see us.
We were in the province of Drenthe now, and it looked as little Dutch as
might be. Even the canal had the air of disguising itself as the Long
Water at Hampton Court, instead of being content to seem what it was;
and after we had passed a few dignified mansions and farmhouses, we came
to a region of squalid cottages with sullen-faced, short-haired women,
and children shy as wild creatures of the wood, staring at us from
low-browed doorways. It was not until we were far on our eight hours'
journey to Meppel, that we slipped once more into a characteristic
region of peace and plenty; marching lines of dark trees, with
foregrounds of pink and azure flowers, or golden grain; mossy, thatched
roofs, and red tiles crusted with golden lichen. But fortunately for the
disposal of our toy supply, renewed at Assen, the watery way was starred
with red, green, and blue barges inhabited by large families of
violet-eyed, tow-headed infants. If by chance we encountered a childless
barge, we glared resentment at the grown-ups. What were they thinking
of, not to have babies, these people?
The meadow-ringed world of water and sky was all charm and grace and
quaintness again, at Meppel and beyond, and I was in a mood to
appreciate its beauty there, for we had a glimpse of "Wilhelmina" in
harbor, and apparently deserted. Passing within distant sight of her as
she lay in harbor, Brederode gaily put on speed; for we had got beyond
the "legal limit" obstructions of the Drenthe canal, into the freedom of
the Ober Issel, a wide glitter of water, noble as the Frisian meers we
had left.
Never was there an evening more exquisite than this, as we floated on
through the sunset, with the old town of Zwolle for our night goal.
We were in the Swarzermeer, said Brederode; but there was nothing black
about it, except the name. Sky and water had all the rich colors of an
opal, and so clear were they, so alike in tints and brightness, that we
seemed to hang in the midst of a rainbow bubble.
Yellow water-lilies lay on a surface of glass, like scattered gold, and
the tall, thin grasses were gold-green wires in the level light of the
sun. Each village we passed was a picture far beyond my art to paint;
and hayricks under their thatches or piles of corn stacked in rows close
to the water's edge, shone like a spray of fireworks as the darkening
sky above slowly turned to a bank of hyacinths. Passing sails were gold
at first, then brown, then pansy-purple, piercing the water with their
sharp and deep reflections. The shore-line was crowded thick with pink
and violet flower-spears, as if--said Nell--ranks of fairy soldiers had
turned out in our honor for a review.
She and Phyllis stood near me, drinking in the delicious water-smell
that mingled with the faint fragrance of closing lilies, and watching
the sun as, beaten into copper, it sent a sudden stream of flame across
the glittering crystal. I tried to feel alone with them, in a wonderful
world which was for us three and nobody else except a few swans, and
tiny water-creatures rustling among the reeds. But there was Alb at the
wheel, looking handsomer and more inscrutable than I could ever look, if
I practised for hours on end before a flattering mirror. How could I
help spoiling everything by wondering if Nell Van Buren were thinking
about him while she talked with me fitfully, dreamily? And how could I
help asking myself whether the image of the Viking did not come
blundering between Phyllis's violet eyes and mine, when she seemed to
look sweetly at me?
But it was the sort of evening when one thoroughly enjoys being restless
and unhappy, and I reveled in my pain.
Little yellow birds, yellow as the lilies which made a blazing line of
gold between green reeds and amethyst water, flitted fearlessly about
the boat, until at last the sun went down like a ruby necklace falling
into a crystal box. Then we moved through mysterious masses of purple
shadow, with here and there a diamond-gleam, or the wing of a swan like
the moon rising. And then our own little lights dipped trailing golden
tassels under the surface of the water.
"Let us anchor," said Nell, at last, "and put out our lights again, and
watch the moon rise. Oh, let us stay here all night, and wake
early--early, to see the dawn come!"
I loved her for thinking of it, and so, I fear, did Alb. We dined on
such picnic things as we happened to have on board, and when a pale
light, like the reflection of pearls in a mirror, began to tremble in
the east, out went the lights. The moon rose, and Phyllis let me hold
her hand, which would have made me happy if I hadn't been almost sure
she was feeling sisterly. And afterwards I dreamed about both girls.
They were both in love with me, and, after all, I was in love with some
one else whose name I did not seem to know, of whose face I could call
up no memory.
It was Alb who waked me by pounding on the door of my cabin on
"Waterspin," and shouting----
"Get up, if you want to see the sunrise."
So I bounded out of bed, wishing I could recall that dream-face, just to
make sure whether or no it was more beautiful than either of the
girls'. And by the time I had dressed, and gone across to "Mascotte's"
deck, the two I loved were on deck also, with the first light of dawn
shining in their eyes.
What did it matter that we had engaged rooms at Zwolle, which we had not
occupied? We breakfasted there instead, and saw a beautiful water-gate,
together with a few other good and very ancient things, about which Alb
seemed to know a great deal.
There were no signs of "Wilhelmina," and my heart felt light as we went
through a great lock into the Geldern Yssel, which would bear us to
Holland's most beautiful province, Gelderland.
XXVIII
My luck was out in Gelderland.