THE CUP OF BITTERNESS
It was growing late on that same evening that Scott came through the
hotel vestibule after a rehearsal of the concert which was to take place
that evening and at which he had undertaken to play the accompaniments.
He glanced about him as he came as though in search of someone, and
finally passed on to the smoking-room. His eye were heavy and his face
worn, but there was an air of resolution about him that gave purpose to
his movements.
In the smoking-room several men were congregated, and in a corner of it
sat Sir Eustace, writing a letter. Scott came straight to him, and bent
over him a hand on the back of his chair.
"Can I have a word with you?" he asked in a low voice.
Sir Eustace did not look round or cease to write. "Presently," he said.
Scott drew back and sat down near him. He did not smoke or take up a
paper. His attitude was one of quiet vigilance.
Minutes passed. Sir Eustace continued his task exactly as if he were not
there. Now and then he paused to flick the ash from his cigarette, but he
did not turn his head. The dressing-gong boomed through the hotel, but he
paid no attention to it. One after another the men in the room got up and
sauntered away, but Scott remained motionless, awaiting his brother's
pleasure.
Sir Eustace finished his letter, and pulled another sheet of paper
towards him. Scott made no sign of impatience.
Sir Eustace began to write again, paused, wrote a few more words, then
suddenly turned in his chair. They were alone.
"Oh, what the devil is it?" he said irritably. "I haven't any time to
waste over you. What do you want?"
Scott stood up. "It's all right, old chap," he said gently. "I'm going. I
only came in to tell you I was sorry for all the beastly things I said to
you last night--this morning, rather. I lost my temper which was fairly
low of me, considering you had been up all night and I hadn't."
He paused. Eustace was looking up at him from under frowning brows, his
blue eyes piercing and merciless.
"It's all very fine, Stumpy," he said, after a moment. "Some people think
that an apology more than atones for the offence. I don't."
"Neither do I," said Scott quietly. "But it's better than nothing, isn't
it?" His eyes met his brother's very steadily and openly. His attitude
was unflinching.
"It depends," Eustace rejoined curtly. "It is if you mean it. If you
don't, it's not worth--that," with a snap of the fingers.
"I do mean it," said Scott, flushing.
"You do?" Eustace looked at him still more searchingly.
"I always mean what I say," Scott returned with deliberation.
"And you meant what you said this morning?" Eustace pounced without mercy
upon the weak spot.
But the armour was proof. Scott remained steadfast. "I meant it--yes. But
I might have put it in a different form. I lost my temper. I am sorry."
Eustace continued to regard him with a straight, unsparing scrutiny. "And
you consider that to be the sort of apology I can accept?" he asked,
after a moment.
"I think you might accept it, old chap," Scott made pacific rejoinder.
Eustace turned back to the table, and began to put his papers together.
"I might do many things," he observed, "which, not being a weak-kneed
fool, I don't. If you really wish to make your peace with me, you had
better do your best to make amends--to pull with me and not against me.
For I warn you, Stumpy, you went too far last night. And it is not the
first time."
He paused, as if he expected a disclaimer.
Scott waited a second or two; then with a very winning movement he bent
and laid his arm across his brother's shoulders. "Try and bear with me,
dear chap!" he said.
His voice was not wholly steady. There was entreaty in his action.
Eustace made a sharp gesture of surprise, but he did not repel him. There
fell a brief silence between them; then Scott's hand came gently down and
closed upon his brother's.
"Life isn't so confoundedly easy at the best of times," he said, speaking
almost under his breath. "I'm generally philosopher enough to take it as
it comes. But just lately--" he broke off. "Let it be _pax,_ Eustace!" he
urged in a whisper.
Eustace's hand remained for a moment or two stiffly unresponsive; then
very suddenly it closed and held.
"What's the matter with you?" he said gruffly.
"Oh, I'm a fool, that's all," Scott answered, and uttered a shaky laugh.
"Never mind! Forget it like a dear fellow! God knows I don't want to pull
against you; but, old chap, we must go slow."
It was the conclusion that events had forced upon Eustace himself during
the night, but he chafed against acknowledging it. "There's no sense in
drifting on in the same old hopeless way for ever," he said. "We have got
to make a stand; and it's now or never."
"I know. But we must have patience a bit longer. There is a change
coming. I am certain of it. But--last night has thrown her back." Scott
spoke with melancholy conviction.
"You gave her the draught?" Eustace asked sharply.
"I gave her a sedative only; but it took no effect. In the middle of the
morning she was still in the same unsatisfactory state, and I gave her a
second sedative. After that she fell asleep, but it was not a very easy
sleep for a long time. This afternoon I saw Biddy for a moment, and she
told me she seemed much more comfortable. The poor old thing looked tired
out, and I told her to get a rest herself. She said she would lie down in
the room. If it hadn't been for this concert business, I would have
relieved her. But they couldn't muster anyone to take my place. I am just
going up now to see how she is getting on."
Scott straightened himself slowly, with a movement that was unconsciously
very weary. Eustace gave him a keen glance.
"You're wearing yourself out over her, Stumpy," he said.
"Oh, rot!" Scott smiled upon him, a light that was boyishly affectionate
in his eyes. "I'm much tougher than I look. Thanks for being decent to
me, old chap! I don't deserve it. If there are any more letters to be
written, bring them along, and I'll attend to them to-night after the
concert."
"No. Not this lot. I shall attend to them myself." Eustace got up, and
passed a hand through his arm. "You are working too hard and sleeping too
little. I'm going to take you in hand and put a stop to it."
Scott laughed. "No, no! Thanks all the same, I'm better left alone. Are
you coming to the show to-night? The beautiful Miss de Vigne is going to
sing."
Eustace looked supercilious. "Is there anything that young lady can't do,
I wonder? Her accomplishments are legion. She told me yesterday that she
could play the guitar. She can also recite, play bridge, and take cricket
scores. She is a scratch golf-player, plays a good game of tennis, rides
to hounds, and visits the poor. And that is by no means a complete list.
I don't wonder that she gives the little brown girl indigestion. Her
perfection is almost nauseating at times."
Scott laughed again. It was a relief to have diverted his brother's
attention from more personal subjects. "She ought to suit you rather
well," he observed. "You are something of the perfect knight yourself. I
heard a lady exclaim only yesterday when you started off together on that
ski-ing expedition, 'What a positively divine couple! Apollo and
Aphrodite!' I think it was the parson's wife. You couldn't expect her to
know much about heathen theology."
"Don't make me sick if you don't mind!" said Sir Eustace. "Look here, my
friend! We shall be late if we don't go. You can't spend long with
Isabel, if you are to turn up in time for this precious concert. Hullo!
What's the matter?"
The door of the smoking-room had burst suddenly open, and Colonel de
Vigne, very red in the face and as agitated as his pomposity would allow,
stood glaring at them.
"So you are here!" he exclaimed, his tone an odd blend of relief and
anxiety.
"Do you mean me?" said Sir Eustace, with a touch of haughtiness.
"Yes, sir, you! I was looking for you," explained the Colonel, pulling
himself together. "I thought perhaps you might be able to give me some
idea as to the whereabouts of my young charge, Miss Bathurst. She is
missing."
Sir Eustace raised his black brows. "What should I know about her
whereabouts?" he said.
Scott broke in quickly. "I saw her in the verandah this afternoon with
your daughter."
"I know. She was there." The Colonel spoke with brevity. "Rose left her
there talking to your sister. No one seems to have seen her since. I
thought she might have been with Sir Eustace. I see I was mistaken. I
apologize. But where the devil can she be?"
Sir Eustace raised his shoulders. "She was certainly not talking to my
sister," he remarked. "She has kept her room to-day. Miss Bathurst is
probably in her own room dressing for dinner."
"That's just where she isn't!" exploded the Colonel. "I missed her at
tea-time but thought she must be out. Now her brother tells me that he
has been all over the place and can't find her. I suppose she can't be
upstairs with your sister?" He turned to Scott.
"I'll go and see," Scott said. "She may be--though I doubt it. My sister
was not so well, and so stayed in bed to-day."
He moved towards the stairs with the words; but ere he reached them there
came the sound of a sudden commotion on the corridor above, and a wailing
voice made itself heard.
"Miss Isabel! Miss Isabel! Wherever are you, mavourneen? Ah, what'll I do
at all? Miss Isabel's gone!"
Old Biddy in her huge white apron and mob cap appeared at the top of the
staircase and came hobbling down with skinny hands extended.
"Ah, Master Scott--Master Scott--may the saints help us! She's gone!
She's gone! And meself sleeping like a hog the whole afternoon through!
I'll never forgive meself, Master Scott,--never, never! Oh, what'll I do?
I pray the Almighty will take my life before any harm comes to her!"
She reached Scott at the foot of the stairs and caught his hand
hysterically between her own.
Sir Eustace strode forward, white to the lips. "Stop your clatter, woman,
and answer me! How did Miss Isabel get away? Is she dressed?"
The old woman cowered back from the blazing wrath in his eyes. "Yes, your
honour! No, your honour! I mean--Yes, your honour!" she stammered, still
clinging pathetically to Scott. "I was asleep, ye see. I never knew--I
never knew!"
"How long did you sleep?" demanded Sir Eustace.
"And how am I to tell at all?" wailed Biddy. "It didn't seem like five
minutes, and I opened me eyes, and she was all quiet in the dark. And
I said to meself, 'I won't disturb the dear lamb,' and I crept into me
room and tidied meself, and made a cup o' tay. And still she kept so
quiet; so I drank me tay and did a bit of work. And then--just a minute
ago it was--I crept in and went to her thinking it was time she woke
up,--and--and--and she wasn't there, your honour. The bed was laid up,
and she was gone! Oh, what'll I do at all? What'll I do?" She burst into
wild sobs, and hid her face in her apron.
Two or three people were standing about in the vestibule. They looked at
the agitated group with interest, and in a moment a young man who had
just entered came up to Scott.
"I believe I saw your sister in the verandah this afternoon," he said.
"That's just what Rose said," broke in the Colonel. "And you wouldn't
believe me. She came out, and Dinah went to speak to her. And now the two
of them are missing. It's obvious. They must have gone off together
somewhere."
"Not up the mountain. I hope," the young man said.
"That is probably where they have gone," Scott said, speaking for the
first time. He was patting Biddy's shoulder with compassionate kindness.
"Why do you say that?"
"It's just begun to snow," the other answered. "And the mist up the
mountain path is thick."
"Damnation!" exclaimed Sir Eustace furiously. "And she may have been gone
for hours!"
"Miss Bathurst was with her," said Scott. "She would keep her head. I am
certain of that." He turned to the Colonel who stood fuming by. "Hadn't
we better organize a search-party sir? I am afraid that there is not much
doubt that they have gone up the mountain. My sister, you know--" he
flushed a little--"my sister is not altogether responsible for her
actions. She would not realize the danger."
"But surely Dinah wouldn't be such a little fool as to go too!" burst
forth the Colonel. "She's sane enough, when she isn't larking about with
other fools." He glared at Sir Eustace. "And how the devil are we to know
where to look, I'd like to know? We can't hunt all over the Alps."
"There may be some dogs in the village," Scott said. "There is certainly
a guide. I will go down at once and see what I can find."
"No, no, Stumpy! Not you!" Sharply Sir Eustace intervened. "I won't have
you go. It's not your job, and you are not fit for it." He laid a
peremptory hand upon his brother's shoulder. "That's understood, is it?
You will not leave the hotel."
He spoke with stern insistence, looking Scott straight in the eyes; and
after a moment or two Scott yielded the point.
"All right, old chap! I'm not much good, I know. But for heaven's sake,
lose no time."
"No time will be lost." Sir Eustace turned round upon the Colonel. "We
can't have any but young men on this job," he said. "See if you can
muster two or three to go with me, will you? A doctor if possible! And we
shall want blankets and restoratives and lanterns. Stumpy, you can see to
that. Yes, and send for a guide too though he won't be much help in a
thick mist. And take that wailing woman away! Have everything ready for
us when we come back! They can't have gone very far. Isabel hasn't the
strength. I shall be ready immediately."
He turned to the stairs and went up them in great leaps, leaving the
little group below to carry out his orders.
There was a momentary inaction after his departure, then Scott limped
across to the door and opened it. Thick darkness met him, the clammy
darkness of fog, and the faint, faint rustle of falling snow.
He closed the door and turned back, meeting the Colonel's eyes, "It's
hard to stay behind, sir," he said.
The Colonel nodded. He liked Scott. "Yes, infernally hard. But we'll do
all we can. Will you find the doctor and get the necessaries together?
I'll see to the rest."
"Very good, sir; I will." Scott went to the old woman who still sobbed
piteously into her apron. "Come along, Biddy! There's plenty to be done.
Miss Isabel's room must be quite ready for her when she comes back, and
Miss Bathurst's too. We shall want boiling water--lots of it. That's your
job. Come along!"
He urged her gently to the stairs, and went up with her, holding her arm.
At the top she stopped and gave him an anguished look. "Ah, Master Scott
darlint, will the Almighty be merciful? Will He bring her safe back
again?"
He drew her gently on. "That's another thing you can do, Biddy," he said.
"Ask Him!"
And before his look Biddy commanded herself and grew calmer. "Faith,
Master Scott," she said, "if it isn't yourself that's taught me the
greatest lesson of all!"
A very compassionate smile shone in Scott's eyes as he passed on and left
her. "Poor old Biddy," he murmured, as he went. "It's easy to preach to
such as you. But, O God, there's no denying it's bitter work for those
who stay behind!"
He knew that he and Biddy were destined to drink that cup of bitterness
to the dregs ere the night passed.