It did just occur to him that maybe he had not made that descent quite
as successfully as he had thought he had; that maybe he had come down
on his head; that in consequence he had done with the experiences of
Flight Commander Raffleton and was now about to enter on a new and less
circumscribed existence. If so, the beginning, to an adventuresome
young spirit, seemed promising. It was Malvina's voice that recalled
him from this train of musing.
"Shall we go?" she repeated, and this time the note in her voice
suggested command rather than question.
Why not? Whatever had happened to him, at whatever plane of existence
he was now arrived, the machine apparently had followed him.
Mechanically he started it up. The familiar whir of the engine brought
back to him the possibility of his being alive in the ordinary
acceptation of the term. It also suggested to him the practical
advisability of insisting that Malvina should put on his spare coat.
Malvina being five feet three, and the coat having been built for a man
of six feet one, the effect under ordinary circumstances would have
been comic. What finally convinced Commander Raffleton that Malvina
really was a fairy was that, in that coat, with the collar standing up
some six inches above her head, she looked more like one than ever.
Neither of them spoke. Somehow it did not seem to be needed. He
helped her to climb into her seat and tucked the coat about her feet.
She answered by the same smile with which she had first stretched out
her hand to him. It was just a smile of endless content, as if all her
troubles were now over. Commander Raffleton sincerely hoped they were.
A momentary flash of intelligence suggested to him that his were just
beginning.
Commander Raffleton's subconscious self it must have been that took
charge of the machine. He seems, keeping a few miles inland, to have
followed the line of the coast to a little south of the Hague
lighthouse. Thereabouts he remembers descending for the purpose of
replenishing his tank. Not having anticipated a passenger, he had
filled up before starting with a spare supply of petrol, an incident
that was fortunate. Malvina appears to have been interested in
watching what she probably regarded as some novel breed of dragon being
nourished from tins extricated from under her feet, but to have
accepted this, together with all other details of the flight, as in the
natural scheme of things. The monster refreshed, tugged, spurned the
ground, and rose again with a roar; and the creeping sea rushed down.
One has the notion that for Flight Commander Raffleton, as for the rest
of us, there lies in wait to test the heart of him the ugly and the
commonplace. So large a portion of the years will be for him a
business of mean hopes and fears, of sordid struggle, of low cares and
vulgar fret. But also one has the conviction that there will always
remain with him, to make life wonderful, the memory of that night when,
godlike, he rode upon the winds of heaven crowned with the glory of the
world's desire. Now and again he turned his head to look at her, and
still, as ever, her eyes answered him with that strange deep content
that seemed to wrap them both around as with a garment of immortality.
One gathers dimly something of what he felt from the look that would
unconsciously come into his eyes when speaking of that enchanted
journey, from the sudden dumbness with which the commonplace words
would die away upon his lips. Well for him that his lesser self kept
firm hold upon the wheel or maybe a few broken spars, tossing upon the
waves, would have been all that was left to tell of a promising young
aviator who, on a summer night of June, had thought he could reach the
stars.
Half-way across the dawn came flaming up over the Needles, and later
there stole from east to west a long, low line of mist-enshrouded land.
One by one headland and cliff, flashing with gold, rose out of the sea,
and the white-winged gulls flew out to meet them. Almost he expected
them to turn into spirits, circling round Malvina with cries of welcome.
Nearer and nearer they drew, while gradually the mist rose upward as
the moonlight grew fainter. And all at once the sweep of the Chesil
Bank stood out before them, with Weymouth sheltering behind it.
It may have been the bathing-machines, or the gasometer beyond the
railway station, or the flag above the Royal Hotel. The curtains of
the night fell suddenly away from him. The workaday world came
knocking at the door.
He looked at his watch. It was a little after four. He had wired them
at the camp to expect him in the morning. They would be looking out
for him. By continuing his course he and Malvina could be there about
breakfast-time. He could introduce her to the colonel: "Allow me,
Colonel Goodyer, the fairy Malvina." It was either that or dropping
Malvina somewhere between Weymouth and Farnborough. He decided,
without much consideration, that this latter course would be
preferable. But where? What was he to do with her? There was Aunt
Emily. Hadn't she said something about wanting a French governess for
Georgina? True, Malvina's French was a trifle old-fashioned in form,
but her accent was charming. And as for salary--- There presented
itself the thought of Uncle Felix and the three elder boys.
Instinctively he felt that Malvina would not be Aunt Emily's idea. His
father, had the dear old gentleman been alive, would have been a safe
refuge. They had always understood one another, he and his father.
But his mother! He was not at all sure. He visualised the scene: the
drawing-room at Chester Terrace. His mother's soft, rustling entrance.
Her affectionate but well-bred greeting. And then the disconcerting
silence with which she would await his explanation of Malvina. The
fact that she was a fairy he would probably omit to mention. Faced by
his mother's gold-rimmed pince-nez, he did not see himself insisting
upon that detail: "A young lady I happened to find asleep on a moor in
Brittany. And seeing it was a fine night, and there being just room in
the machine. And she--I mean I--well, here we are." There would
follow such a painful silence, and then the raising of the delicately
arched eyebrows: "You mean, my dear lad, that you have allowed
this"--there would be a slight hesitation here--"this young person to
leave her home, her people, her friends and relations in Brittany, in
order to attach herself to you. May I ask in what capacity?"
For that was precisely how it would look, and not only to his mother.
Suppose by a miracle it really represented the facts. Suppose that, in
spite of the overwhelming evidence in her favour--of the night and the
moon and the stars, and the feeling that had come to him from the
moment he had kissed her--suppose that, in spite of all this, it turned
out that she wasn't a fairy. Suppose that suggestion of vulgar Common
Sense, that she was just a little minx that had run away from home, had
really hit the mark. Suppose inquiries were already on foot. A hundred
horse-power aeroplane does not go about unnoticed. Wasn't there a law
about this sort of thing--something about "decoying" and "young girls"?
He hadn't "decoyed" her. If anything, it was the other way about. But
would her consent be a valid defence? How old was she? That would be
the question. In reality he supposed about a thousand years or so.
Possibly more. Unfortunately, she didn't look it. A coldly suspicious
magistrate would probably consider sixteen a much better guess. Quite
possibly he was going to get into a devil of a mess over this business.
He cast a glance behind him. Malvina responded with her changeless
smile of ineffable content. For the first time it caused him a
distinct feeling of irritation.
They were almost over Weymouth by this time. He could read plainly the
advertisement posters outside the cinema theatre facing the esplanade:
"Wilkins and the Mermaid. Comic Drama." There was a picture of the
lady combing her hair; also of Wilkins, a stoutish gentleman in striped
bathing costume.
That mad impulse that had come to him with the first breath of dawn, to
shake the dwindling world from his pinions, to plunge upward towards
the stars never to return--he wished to Heaven he had yielded to it.
And then suddenly there leapt to him the thought of Cousin Christopher.
Dear old Cousin Christopher, fifty-eight and a bachelor. Why had it
not occurred to him before? Out of the sky there appeared to Commander
Raffleton the vision of "Cousin Christopher" as a plump, rubicund angel
in a panama hat and a pepper-and-salt tweed suit holding out a
lifebelt. Cousin Christopher would take to Malvina as some motherly
hen to an orphaned duckling. A fairy discovered asleep beside one of
the ancient menhirs of Brittany. His only fear would be that you might
want to take her away before he had written a paper about her. He
would be down from Oxford at his cottage. Commander Raffleton could not
for the moment remember the name of the village. It would come to him.
It was northwest of Newbury. You crossed Salisbury Plain and made
straight for Magdalen Tower. The Downs reached almost to the orchard
gate. There was a level stretch of sward nearly half a mile long. It
seemed to Commander Raffleton that Cousin Christopher had been created
and carefully preserved by Providence for this particular job.
He was no longer the moonstruck youth of the previous night, on whom
phantasy and imagination could play what pranks they chose. That part
of him the keen, fresh morning air had driven back into its cell. He
was Commander Raffleton, an eager and alert young engineer with all his
wits about him. At this point that has to be remembered. Descending
on a lonely reach of shore he proceeded to again disturb Malvina for
the purpose of extracting tins. He expected his passenger would in
broad daylight prove to be a pretty, childish-looking girl, somewhat
dishevelled, with, maybe, a tinge of blue about the nose, the natural
result of a three-hours' flight at fifty miles an hour. It was with a
startling return of his original sensations when first she had come to
life beneath his kiss that he halted a few feet away and stared at her.
The night was gone, and the silence. She stood there facing the
sunlight, clad in a Burberry overcoat half a dozen sizes too large for
her. Beyond her was a row of bathing-machines, and beyond that again a
gasometer. A goods train half a mile away was noisily shunting trucks.
And yet the glamour was about her still; something indescribable but
quite palpable--something out of which she looked at you as from
another world.
He took her proffered hand, and she leapt out lightly. She was not in
the least dishevelled. It seemed as if the air must be her proper
element. She looked about her, interested, but not curious. Her first
thought was for the machine.
"Poor thing!" she said. "He must be tired."
That faint tremor of fear that had come to him when beneath the
menhir's shadow he had watched the opening of her eyes, returned to
him. It was not an unpleasant sensation. Rather it added a piquancy
to their relationship. But it was distinctly real. She watched the
feeding of the monster; and then he came again and stood beside her on
the yellow sands.
"England!" he explained with a wave of his hand. One fancies she had
the impression that it belonged to him. Graciously she repeated the
name. And somehow, as it fell from her lips, it conjured up to
Commander Raffleton a land of wonder and romance.
"I have heard of it," she added. "I think I shall like it."
He answered that he hoped she would. He was deadly serious about it.
He possessed, generally speaking, a sense of humour; but for the moment
this must have deserted him. He told her he was going to leave her in
the care of a wise and learned man called "Cousin Christopher"; his
description no doubt suggesting to Malvina a friendly magician. He
himself would have to go away for a little while, but would return.
It did not seem to matter to Malvina, these minor details. It was
evident--the idea in her mind--that he had been appointed to her.
Whether as master or servant it was less easy to conjecture: probably a
mixture of both, with preference towards the latter.
He mentioned again that he would not be away for longer than he could
help. There was no necessity for this repetition. She wasn't doubting
it.
Weymouth with its bathing machines and its gasometer faded away. King
Rufus was out a-hunting as they passed over the New Forest, and from
Salisbury Plain, as they looked down, the pixies waved their hands and
laughed. Later, they heard the clang of the anvil, telling them they
were in the neighbourhood of Wayland Smith's cave; and so planed down
sweetly and without a jar just beyond Cousin Christopher's orchard gate.
A shepherd's boy was whistling somewhere upon the Downs, and in the
valley a ploughman had just harnessed his team; but the village was
hidden from them by the sweep of the hills, and no other being was in
sight. He helped Malvina out, and leaving her seated on a fallen
branch beneath a walnut tree, proceeded cautiously towards the house.
He found a little maid in the garden. She had run out of the house on
hearing the sound of his propeller and was staring up into the sky, so
that she never saw him until he put his hand upon her shoulder, and
then was fortunately too frightened to scream. He gave her hasty
instructions. She was to knock at the Professor's door and tell him
that his cousin, Commander Raffleton, was there, and would he come down
at once, by himself, into the orchard. Commander Raffleton would rather
not come in. Would the Professor come down at once and speak to
Commander Raffleton in the orchard.
She went back into the house, repeating it all to herself, a little
scared.
"Good God!" said Cousin Christopher from beneath the bedclothes. "He
isn't hurt, is he?"
The little maid, through the jar of the door, thought not. Anyhow, he
didn't look it. But would the Professor kindly come at once? Commander
Raffleton was waiting for him--in the orchard.
So Cousin Christopher, in bedroom slippers, without socks, wearing a
mustard-coloured dressing-gown and a black skull cap upon his head--the
very picture of a friendly magician--trotted hastily downstairs and
through the garden, talking to himself about "foolhardy boys" and
"knowing it would happen"; and was much relieved to meet young Arthur
Raffleton coming towards him, evidently sound in wind and limb. And
then began to wonder why the devil he had been frightened out of bed at
six o'clock in the morning if nothing was the matter.
But something clearly was. Before speaking Arthur Raffleton looked
carefully about him in a manner suggestive of mystery, if not of crime;
and still without a word, taking Cousin Christopher by the arm, led the
way to the farther end of the orchard. And there, on a fallen branch
beneath the walnut tree, Cousin Christopher saw apparently a khaki
coat, with nothing in it, which, as they approached it, rose up.
But it did not rise very high. The back of the coat was towards them.
Its collar stood out against the sky line. But there wasn't any head.
Standing upright, it turned round, and peeping out of its folds Cousin
Christopher saw a child's face. And then looking closer saw that it
wasn't a child. And then wasn't quite sure what it was; so that coming
to a sudden halt in front of it, Cousin Christopher stared at it with
round wide eyes, and then at Flight Commander Raffleton.
It was to Malvina that Flight Commander Raffleton addressed himself.
"This," he said, "is Professor Littlecherry, my Cousin Christopher,
about whom I told you."
It was obvious that Malvina regarded the Professor as a person of
importance. Evidently her intention was to curtsy, an operation that,
hampered by those trailing yards of clinging khaki, might prove--so it
flashed upon the Professor--not only difficult but dangerous.
"Allow me," said the Professor.
His idea was to help Malvina out of Commander Raffleton's coat, and
Malvina was preparing to assist him. Commander Raffleton was only just
in time.
"I don't think," said Commander Raffleton. "If you don't mind I think
we'd better leave that for Mrs. Muldoon."
The Professor let go the coat. Malvina appeared a shade disappointed.
One opines that not unreasonably she may have thought to make a better
impression without it. But a smiling acquiescence in all arrangements
made for her welfare seems to have been one of her charms.
"Perhaps," suggested Commander Raffleton to Malvina while refastening a
few of the more important buttons, "if you wouldn't mind explaining
yourself to my Cousin Christopher just exactly who and what you
are--you'd do it so much better than I should." (What Commander
Raffleton was saying to himself was: "If I tell the dear old Johnny,
he'll think I'm pulling his leg. It will sound altogether different
the way she will put it.") "You're sure you don't mind?"
Malvina hadn't the slightest objection. She accomplished her
curtsy--or rather it looked as if the coat were curtsying--quite
gracefully, and with a dignity one would not have expected from it.
"I am the fairy Malvina," she explained to the Professor. "You may
have heard of me. I was the favourite of Harbundia, Queen of the White
Ladies of Brittany. But that was long ago."
The friendly magician was staring at her with a pair of round eyes that
in spite of their amazement looked kindly and understanding. They
probably encouraged Malvina to complete the confession of her sad brief
history.
"It was when King Heremon ruled over Ireland," she continued. "I did a
very foolish and a wicked thing, and was punished for it by being cast
out from the companionship of my fellows. Since then"--the coat made
the slightest of pathetic gestures--"I have wandered alone."
It ought to have sounded so ridiculous to them both; told on English
soil in the year One Thousand Nine Hundred and Fourteen to a smart
young officer of Engineers and an elderly Oxford Professor. Across the
road the doctor's odd man was opening garage doors; a noisy milk cart
was clattering through the village a little late for the London train;
a faint odour of eggs and bacon came wafted through the garden, mingled
with the scent of lavender and pinks. For Commander Raffleton, maybe,
there was excuse. This story, so far as it has gone, has tried to make
that clear. But the Professor! He ought to have exploded in a burst
of Homeric laughter, or else to have shaken his head at her and warned
her where little girls go to who do this sort of thing.
Instead of which he stared from Commander Raffleton to Malvina, and
from Malvina back to Commander Raffleton with eyes so astonishingly
round that they might have been drawn with a compass.
"God bless my soul!" said the Professor. "But this is most
extraordinary!"
"Was there a King Heremon of Ireland?" asked Commander Raffleton. The
Professor was a well-known authority on these matters.
"Of course there was a King Heremon of Ireland," answered the Professor
quite petulantly--as if the Commander had wanted to know if there had
ever been a Julius Caesar or a Napoleon. "And so there was a Queen
Harbundia. Malvina is always spoken of in connection with her."
"What did she do?" inquired Commander Raffleton. They both of them
seemed to be oblivious of Malvina's presence.
"I forget for the moment," confessed the professor. "I must look it
up. Something, if I remember rightly, in connection with the daughter
of King Dancrat. He founded the Norman dynasty. William the Conqueror
and all that lot. Good Lord!"
"Would you mind her staying with you for a time until I can make
arrangements," suggested Commander Raffleton. "I'd be awfully obliged
if you would."
What the Professor's answer might have been had he been allowed to
exercise such stock of wits as he possessed, it is impossible to say.
Of course he was interested--excited, if you will. Folklore, legend,
tradition; these had been his lifelong hobbies. Apart from anything
else, here at least was a kindred spirit. Seemed to know a thing or
two. Where had she learned it? Might not there be sources unknown to
the Professor?
But to take her in! To establish her in the only spare bedroom. To
introduce her--as what? to English village society. To the new people
at the Manor House. To the member of Parliament with his innocent
young wife who had taken the vicarage for the summer. To Dawson, R.A.,
and the Calthorpes!
He might, had he thought it worth his while, have found some
respectable French family and boarded her out. There was a man he had
known for years at Oxford, a cabinetmaker; the wife a most worthy
woman. He could have gone over there from time to time, his notebook
in his pocket, and have interviewed her.
Left to himself, he might have behaved as a sane and rational citizen;
or he might not. There are records favouring the latter possibility.
The thing is not certain. But as regards this particular incident in
his career he must be held exonerated. The decision was taken out of
his hands.
To Malvina, on first landing in England, Commander Raffleton had stated
his intention of leaving her temporarily in the care of the wise and
learned Christopher. To Malvina, regarding the Commander as a gift
from the gods, that had settled the matter. The wise and learned
Christopher, of course, knew of this coming. In all probability it was
he--under the guidance of the gods--who had arranged the whole sequence
of events. There remained only to tender him her gratitude. She did
not wait for the Professor's reply. The coat a little hindered her
but, on the other hand, added perhaps an appealing touch of its own.
Taking the wise and learned Christopher's hand in both her own, she
knelt and kissed it.
And in that quaint archaic French of hers, that long study of the
Chronicles of Froissart enabled the Professor to understand:
"I thank you," she said, "for your noble courtesy and hospitality."
In some mysterious way the whole affair had suddenly become imbued with
the dignity of an historical event. The Professor had the sudden
impression--and indeed it never altogether left him so long as Malvina
remained--that he was a great and powerful personage. A sister
potentate; incidentally--though, of course, in high politics such
points are immaterial--the most bewilderingly beautiful being he had
ever seen; had graciously consented to become his guest. The
Professor, with a bow that might have been acquired at the court of
King Rene, expressed his sense of the honour done to him. What else
could a self-respecting potentate do? The incident was closed.
Flight Commander Raffleton seems to have done nothing in the direction
of re-opening it. On the contrary, he appears to have used this
precise moment for explaining to the Professor how absolutely necessary
it was that he should depart for Farnborough without another moment's
loss of time. Commander Raffleton added that he would "look them both
up again" the first afternoon he could get away; and was sure that if
the Professor would get Malvina to speak slowly, he would soon find her
French easy to understand.
It did occur to the Professor to ask Commander Raffleton where he had
found Malvina--that is, if he remembered. Also what he was going to do
about her--that is, if he happened to know. Commander Raffleton,
regretting his great need of haste, explained that he had found Malvina
asleep beside a menhir not far from Huelgoat, in Brittany, and was
afraid that he had woke her up. For further particulars, would the
Professor kindly apply to Malvina? For himself, he would never, he
felt sure, be able to thank the professor sufficiently.
In conclusion, and without giving further opportunity for discussion,
the Commander seems to have shaken his Cousin Christopher by the hand
with much enthusiasm; and then to have turned to Malvina. She did not
move, but her eyes were fixed on him. And he came to her slowly. And
without a word he kissed her full upon the lips.
"That is twice you have kissed me," said Malvina--and a curious little
smile played round her mouth. "The third time I shall become a woman."