Chesney was very much on his guard for two days after that. The pain in
his leg was better. He took no more morphia, until just before day on
the third morning. The sciatica had again roused him with its fierce
stabs. But he took a very moderate dose--only the eighth of a grain. A
cup of black coffee before going down to breakfast steadied him. He lay
on a wicker chair in the sunshine all the morning--reading between
dozes. He looked very pale. Sophy felt sorry for him, although she was
still indignant at the way he had spoken to her about Amaldi.
He ate a light lunch and drank two more cups of lye-like coffee after
it. He felt so much better that he asked her to come with him to Cerro.
"I'm going to hire a rowboat," he explained. "We'll go trolling
together--I'll row and you can fish. Come along. It's a jolly day--not
too hot."
But Sophy said that she had ordered a _carrozzella_ to go shopping in
Intra for Bobby. "I _must_ get some autumn things ready for him," she
said. "I brought so few clothes. And this warm weather won't last much
longer."
Chesney felt a spurt of anger, as she made this excuse for not going
with him. He had taken a glass of Cognac, after Sophy had left the
dining-room. The wearing out of the morphia left him irritable, and the
brandy whipped this irritation. He tried hard to keep himself in hand.
He really wanted her to come with him very much.
"Do come," he said. "Let the Italian woman--let Rosa go for the boy's
things. She must know exactly what to buy for children. Do--there's a
good girl----"
"No--really, Cecil--I couldn't explain to her. She's very stupid about
such things. And Bobby simply must have warmer clothes ready."
"By George! I don't believe you want to come! I believe you're just
putting me off with a lot of bally excuses, because you don't want to be
with me," he said, glowering at her.
Sophy coloured a little. It was true that she did not want to go with
him. She saw too plainly the ugly mood that was gathering in him, and
would probably break into a storm of hectoring before night. But, on the
other hand, she really felt it necessary to see at once about those warm
things for Bobby. He caught cold so easily. The Marchesa had warned her
that the weather was apt to change suddenly in October.
"Do you come or do you not?" asked Chesney sharply, watching her.
"I can't to-day, Cecil," she said earnestly. "If you'll wait till
to-morrow, I'll go with pleasure. It isn't kind of you to take it like
this--as if I wanted to vex you."
"Oh, well; do as you like!" he said, with his ugliest smile. "I've
married a '_femme mere_,' it seems. Just as well, perhaps, that it
wasn't a '_femme courtisane_.' There might have been ructions sooner or
later."
He turned and ran down the steps of the terrace. He was very light on
his feet for so big a man. Sophy stood watching, while Luigi handed him
his overcoat and steadied the launch at the _banchetta_ while he got in.
Then she saw him dart off at racing speed for Cerro. She drew a breath
of relief to think she was not with him. It was then one o'clock. At
three she went upstairs to change her tea-gown for the drive to Intra.
As she was putting on her hat, Luigi knocked at the door to say that the
Marchese was in the drawing-room. She went down at once, and found that
Amaldi had come to bring a note from his mother asking Cecil and herself
to lunch at Le Vigne the next day. She said that they would be glad to
come--if her husband were well enough. He had been suffering a good deal
of late. While they were talking, Luigi came again to say that the
_carrozzella_ was waiting. Amaldi rose at once, but she said:
"No--don't hurry away. I'm only going shopping. I can go just as well a
little later."
But though Amaldi sat down again, they could not find the pleasant,
natural ease of their other talk over the photographs of "Sweet-Waters."
There was a constraint on them both. Sophy asked about the Marchesa and
the autumn crops at Le Vigne. They were talking in this rather forced,
desultory fashion, when she heard Cecil's step coming fast up the
terrace stairs.
He, in the meantime, had looked in vain at Cerro for the rowboat that he
wanted. This, of course, put him in a still worse humour. He had also
miscalculated the duration of that eighth of morphia taken in the early
morning. Its effects had entirely worn off by two o'clock. This left him
stranded at Cerro, with that gone feeling of intense weakness. He went
from the boat-yard to the little _osteria_, and asked for Cognac. Of
course there was none; but the Padrone, who spoke a sort of bastard
French, explained that they had the most excellent _Grappa_. In his
opinion, _Grappa_ was superior to all the Cognac in the world.
"_Q'est ce que c'est que ce sacre 'Grappa'?_" Chesney had growled. Then
the Padrone explained, and further illuminated his explanation by
bringing a bottle of the clear white, fiery liquor--one of the fieriest
and most heady of all liquors--the native spirits of Italy distilled
from the must of grapes. Chesney, not aware of its strength, drank
several glasses. This made him feel so much more "fit" that he drank yet
another before leaving. By the time he was halfway across the lake on
his way back, his brain was in flames from the ardent spirit. He found
himself clenching his teeth till his jaw ached, in a spasm of vague rage
against everything--every one! Then he recalled Sophy's refusal to go
with him--and his anger concentrated on her.
When he ran up the terrace steps at Villa Bianca, fifteen minutes later,
he was half-blind with unreasoning fury. Hearing voices in the
drawing-room, he tore open the door and burst in on Sophy and Amaldi.
The _Grappa_ had made his face dead-white and his blue eyes black. He
looked terrible, towering there, glaring at them speechless for the
first second. Then he strode forward and took Sophy by the arm.
"So you lied to me!" he said. "You lied to me! You wanted to stay here
alone for your----"
Amaldi also took a step forward. His face, too, was ghastly. Chesney
whirled on him, releasing Sophy's arm. She fell back against the wall,
grasping at the window curtain for support. She seemed to press against
the hard stone of the wall, as though trying to melt into it.
Chesney, his head lowered between his shoulders, roared at Amaldi like
the bull he resembled.
"You damned little sneak, get out of here! Out of this house!" he
shouted.
Amaldi looked him in the eyes.
"'_Charbonnier est maitre chez lui_,'" (A coal-heaver is master in his
own house), he said icily. "I will go. But I will give you a gentleman's
chance--I will send you my seconds."
Chesney vented a great "Ha!" of utter, insolent derision.
"Why, you little emasculated Don Juan---- You----" he spat an
unmentionable name--"d'you think I'd fight one of your tin-soldier
farces with you? Clear out!"
"Coward!" said Amaldi, in that same low, icy voice.
Then Chesney, inarticulate with rage, lifted his walking-stick and
rushed on him. Amaldi was a master swords-man. With his own stick he
parried the other's blows. Once, twice, thrice he parried; then,
suddenly, by a quick, sharp stroke across the wrist, disarmed him.
Chesney stood dazed for an instant by the unexpectedness of the thing.
As he stood thus, Amaldi left the room. But even as he did so Chesney
broke from his trance and leaped after him. At once Sophy had her arms
about him. She clung desperately, swinging round in front of him,
hanging upon him with all her weight and strength.
"You shall not! You shall not!" she kept saying through her set teeth.
It was impossible for him to move quickly with the tall, frantic woman
clinging to him, adapting herself to all his movements with supple
instinct. He could not tear himself loose from her without hurting her
brutally. He was not so lost as to do that. At last he caught the folds
of Sophy's blouse over her breast in a fierce grip, dragged her to her
feet, shook her to and fro as he held her. His whole face was a
distorted snarl.
"Be quiet!" he ground out. "Keep still! Your lover's safe ... for this
time...."
She panted, wordless, her frenzied eyes pouring loathing on him.
"Ay ... look at me as if I were a toad ... a horned toad." He grinned
convulsively. "You've made me one ... you with your dirty little lover!"
Sophy got her breath. She was beside herself. She tore from his grasp,
leaving some of the light trimming of her blouse in his clenched hand.
"I wish he _were_ my lover!" she panted. "I wish _any_ one were my
lover. Oh, if I could only tell you that I had a lover! If I only could!
Brute!... Coward!..."
She faced him quivering with detestation.
The dementia of hatred in her wild eyes sobered Chesney for an instant.
"Cut that!" he said sullenly. "What you've got to do is to swear to me,
by all you hold sacred, that you'll never see that little skunk again.
Come--out with it!"
She laughed.
"Swear!" he cried furiously, "or I'll ... I'll...." He half-lifted his
balled fist.
She went on laughing.
"Oh, you brute...." she whispered between the spasms of laughter. "You
great, helpless brute!..."
He gazed at her villainously, out of sideward, blood-shot eyes.
"Swear!" he said. "Swear ... or it'll be worse for you!"
Her laughter renewed itself. Tears of laughter ran down her wild,
working face.
"I laugh"--she stammered--"I laugh--because you think it could be--worse
for me----"
He stood balked, humiliated before this fierce paroxysmal laughter. Then
cunning flashed into his look of thwarted beast.
"_I'll_ tame you!" he said; and, laughing himself now, turned and rushed
from the room. A throe of intuition gripped her. Bobby! He was going to
wreak his spite against her on her boy. She was after him like the wind.
But not fast enough ... not fast enough.... Just before her ... just out
of reach ... as in a nightmare ... he was leaping up the steps three at
a time. She had a horrible illusion of not moving--of standing
stock-still--of being fastened to the spot by heavy weights.
The nursery was on the third floor. She had put the child there because
it was the sunniest room in the house. It had two large windows, each
with a little balcony before it. Yes--it was the nursery he was making
for. She was just in time to see him plunge in. The light door, swung to
close of itself, as in most Italian houses, clapped to behind him
without latching. She fell against it. As she did so she heard Rosa
scream. The wild "dirling" sound of this scream checked her blood. At
the same instant she saw. He was out on the light wooden balcony before
the west window--with the child, grasped by its middle, in both hands.
Then the great arms straightened. He was holding the boy out in the
blinding sunshine--out in the empty air, above a drop of thirty feet
sheer to the gravel drive below. She saw this red as though bathed with
blood. The Italian woman had cast herself prone on the ground--she tore
at her hair in a sort of fit. Sophy stood congealed. Even her eyes
seemed stiffening. Her breath stopped ... her heart.... She saw the boy
begin to writhe--then her heart writhed in her; but she stood fast. Was
the boy screaming? Deafness seemed to have smitten her. She could see
the piteous round of the little mouth--wide open--but no sound reached
her.
Over his shoulder the madman flung with a laugh:
"Perhaps _now_ you'll do as I tell you."
She heard a "Yes" go from her. It seemed like some faint, winged thing
fluttering from her mouth towards him. She was afraid it would not reach
him. She sent another--another. "Yes.... Yes...."
"You swear it?"
"Yes...."
"Never to see that little cur again?"
"Yes----"
"Then here's 'the pledge of love,'" he chuckled. He strode back and
dropped the boy into her arms.
But the next instant his face sobered into a scared look. The child was
in spasms. Like a little fish upon a bank, he jerked and twitched on his
mother's breast.
"I say," muttered the frightened man; "I've gone it a bit too thick ...
eh?"
She was gazing with blind eyes at her boy. All her face looked blind.
She had sunk down on the floor with him. There was a dreadful, dulled,
yet crazed, look in the very way she held the jerking body. She kept
whispering: "A doctor!... A doctor!... A doctor!..." It was as if she
were choking and this hoarse word "doctor" were what she coughed up to
keep from strangling. Neither she nor Chesney noticed the appalled group
that had gathered at the nursery door, drawn there by Rosa's
scream--Luigi, Maria, Tilda, the gardener's boy, Tibaldo. Rosa, now
sitting up on the tiled floor, muttered and sobbed senselessly.
But when Sophy began her monotonous croak of, "Doctor!... Doctor!..."
this group vanished as by magic--all save Tilda, who came and crouched
down by her mistress, helping her hold the struggling child. And all at
once, Chesney, too, dashed from the room.
When he reached the terrace, he saw Luigi, like a little black hare,
scudding towards the _banchetta_. At his heels ran Tibaldo and the two
women. The huge man, in his day the fastest runner in England, overtook
them in a few bounds. Now his head was clear. Now he knew what was
needed and exactly how to get it. He leaped into the racer, Luigi after
him. Within eight minutes they were at Intra. Claudio Mora, a young
doctor from Turin, returned with them.