MISS HEDA
It might be thought that after all this there would have been a painful
explanation on the following morning, but nothing of the sort happened.
After all the greatest art is the art of ignoring things, without which
the world could scarcely go on, even among the savage races. Thus on
this occasion the two chief actors in the scene of the previous night
pretended that they had forgotten what took place, as I believe, to a
large extent truly. The fierce flame of drink in the one and of passion
in the other had burnt the web of remembrance to ashes. They knew that
something unpleasant had occurred and its main outlines; the rest had
vanished away; perhaps because they knew also that they were not
responsible for what they said and did, and therefore that what
occurred had no right to a permanent niche in their memories. It was,
as it were, something outside of their normal selves. At least so I
conjectured, and their conduct seemed to give colour to my guess.
The doctor spoke to me of the matter first.
“I fear there was a row last night,” he said; “it has happened here
before over cards, and will no doubt happen again until matters clear
themselves up somehow. Marnham, as you see, drinks, and when drunk is
the biggest liar in the world, and I, I am sorry to say, am cursed with
a violent temper. Don’t judge either of us too harshly. If you were a
doctor you would know that all these things come to us with our blood,
and we didn’t fashion our own clay, did we? Have some coffee, won’t
you?”
Subsequently when Rodd wasn’t there, Marnham spoke also and with that
fine air of courtesy which was peculiar to him.
“I owe a deep apology,” he said, “to yourself and Mr. Anscombe. I do
not recall much about it, but I know there was a scene last night over
those cursed cards. A weakness overtakes me sometimes. I will say no
more, except that you, who are also a man who perhaps have felt
weaknesses of one sort or another, will, I hope, make allowances for me
and pay no attention to anything that I may have said or done in the
presence of guests; yes, that is what pains me—in the presence of
guests.”
Something in his distinguished manner caused me to reflect upon every
peccadillo that I had ever committed, setting it in its very worst
light.
“Quite so,” I answered, “quite so. Pray do not mention the matter any
more, although—” These words seemed to jerk themselves out of my
throat, “you did call each other by such very hard names.”
“I daresay,” he answered with a vacant smile, “but if so they meant
nothing.”
“No, I understand, just like a lovers’ quarrel. But look here, you left
some diamonds on the table which I took to keep the Kaffirs out of
temptation. I will fetch them.”
“Did I? Well, probably I left some I.O.U.‘s also which might serve for
pipelights. So suppose we set the one against the other. I don’t know
the value of either the diamonds or the pipelights, it may be less or
more, but for God’s sake don’t let me see the beastly things again.
There’s no need, I have plenty.”
“I must speak to Anscombe,” I answered. “The money at stake was his,
not mine.”
“Speak to whom you will,” he replied, and I noted that the throbbing
vein upon his forehead indicated a rising temper. “But never let me see
those diamonds again. Throw them into the gutter if you wish, but never
let me see them again, or there will be trouble.”
Then he flung out of the room, leaving his breakfast almost untasted.
Reflecting that this queer old bird probably did not wish to be
cross-questioned as to his possession of so many uncut diamonds, or
that they were worth much less than the sum he had lost, or possibly
that they were not diamonds at all but glass, I went to report the
matter to Anscombe. He only laughed and said that as I had got the
things I had better keep them until something happened, for we had both
got it into our heads that something would happen before we had done
with that establishment.
So I went to put the stones away as safely as I could. While I was
doing so I heard the rumble of wheels, and came out just in time to see
a Cape cart, drawn by four very good horses and driven by a Hottentot
in a smart hat and a red waistband, pull up at the garden gate. Out of
this cart presently emerged a neatly dressed lady, of whom all I could
see was that she was young, slender and rather tall; also, as her back
was towards me, that she had a great deal of auburn hair.
“There!” said Anscombe. “I knew that something would happen. Heda has
happened. Quatermain, as neither her venerated parent nor her loving
fiance, for such I gather he is, seems to be about, you had better go
and give her a hand.”
I obeyed with a groan, heartily wishing that Heda hadn’t happened,
since some sense warned me that she would only add to the present
complications. At the gate, having given some instructions to a very
stout young coloured woman who, I took it, was her maid, about a basket
of flower roots in the cart, she turned round suddenly and we came face
to face with the gate between us. For a moment we stared at each other,
I reflecting that she really was very pretty with her delicately-shaped
features, her fresh, healthy-looking complexion, her long dark
eyelashes and her lithe and charming figure. What she reflected about
me I don’t know, probably nothing half so complimentary. Suddenly,
however, her large greyish eyes grew troubled and a look of alarm
appeared upon her face.
“Is anything wrong with my father?” she asked. “I don’t see him.”
“If you mean Mr. Marnham,” I replied, lifting my hat, “I believe that
Dr. Rodd and he—”
“Never mind about Dr. Rodd,” she broke in with a contemptuous little
jerk of her chin, “how is my father?”
“I imagine much as usual. He and Dr. Rodd were here a little while ago,
I suppose that they have gone out” (as a matter of fact they had, but
in different directions).
“Then that’s all right,” she said with a sigh of relief. “You see, I
heard that he was very ill, which is why I have come back.”
So, thought I to myself, she loves that old scamp and she—doesn’t love
the doctor. There will be more trouble as sure as five and two are
seven. All we wanted was a woman to make the pot boil over.
Then I opened the gate and took a travelling bag from her hand with my
politest bow.
“My name is Quatermain and that of my friend Anscombe. We are staying
here, you know,” I said rather awkwardly.
“Indeed,” she answered with a delightful smile, “what a very strange
place to choose to stay in.”
“It is a beautiful house,” I remarked.
“Not bad, although I designed it, more or less. But I was alluding to
its inhabitants.”
This finished me, and I am sure she felt that I could think of nothing
nice to say about those inhabitants, for I heard her sigh. We walked
side by side up the rose-fringed path and presently arrived at the
stoep, where Anscombe, whose hair I had cut very nicely on the previous
day, was watching us from his long chair. They looked at each other,
and I saw both of them colour a little, out of mere foolishness, I
suppose.
“Anscombe,” I said, “this is—” and I paused, not being quite certain
whether she also was called Marnham. “Heda Marnham,” she interrupted.
“Yes—Miss Heda Marnham, and this is the Honourable Maurice Anscombe.”
“Forgive me for not rising, Miss Marnham,” said Anscombe in his
pleasant voice (by the way hers was pleasant too, full and rather low,
with just a suggestion of something foreign about it). “A shot through
the foot prevents me at present.”
“Who shot you?” she asked quickly.
“Oh! only a Kaffir.”
“I am so sorry, I hope you will get well soon. Forgive me now, I must
go to look for my father.”
“She is uncommonly pretty,” remarked Anscombe, “and a lady into the
bargain. In reflecting on old Marnham’s sins we must put it to his
credit that he has produced a charming daughter.”
“Too pretty and charming by half,” I grunted.
“Perhaps Dr. Rodd is of the same way of thinking. Great shame that such
a girl should be handed over to a medical scoundrel like Dr. Rodd. I
wonder if she cares for him?”
“Just about as much as a canary cares for a tom-cat. I have found that
out already.”
“Really, Quatermain, you are admirable. I never knew anyone who could
make a better use of the briefest opportunity.”
Then we were silent, waiting, not without a certain impatience, for the
return of Miss Heda. She did return with surprising quickness
considering that she had found time to search for her parent, to change
into a clean white dress, and to pin a single hibiscus flower on to her
bodice which gave just the touch of colour that was necessary to
complete her costume.
“I can’t find my father,” she said, “but the boys say he has gone out
riding. I can’t find anybody. When you have been summoned from a long
way off and travelled post-haste, rather to your own inconvenience, it
is amusing, isn’t it?”
“Wagons and carts in South Africa don’t arrive like express trains,
Miss Marnham,” said Anscombe, “so you shouldn’t be offended.”
“I am not at all offended, Mr. Anscombe. Now that I know there is
nothing the matter with my father I’m—But, tell me, how did you get
your wound?”
So he told her with much amusing detail after his fashion. She listened
quietly with a puckered up brow and only made one comment. It was,—
“I wonder what white man told those Sekukuni Kaffirs that you were
coming.”
“I don’t know,” he answered, “but he deserves a bullet through him
somewhere above the ankle.”
“Yes, though few people get what they deserve in this wicked world.”
“So I have often thought. Had it been otherwise, for example, I should
have been—”
“What would you have been?” she asked, considering him curiously.
“Oh! a better shot than Mr. Allan Quatermain, and as beautiful as a
lady I once saw in my youth.”
“Don’t talk rubbish before luncheon,” I remarked sternly, and we all
laughed, the first wholesome laughter that I had heard at the Temple.
For this young lady seemed to bring happiness and merriment with her. I
remember wondering what it was of which her coming reminded me, and
concluding that it was like the sight and smell of a peach orchard in
full bloom stumbled on suddenly in the black desert of the burnt winter
veld.
After this we became quite friendly. She dilated on her skill in having
produced the Temple from an old engraving, which she fetched and showed
to us, at no greater an expense than it would have cost to build an
ordinary house.
“That is because the marble was at hand,” said Anscombe.
“Quite so,” she replied demurely. “Speaking in a general sense one can
do many things in life—if the marble is at hand. Only most of us when
we look for marble find sandstone or mud.”
“Bravo!” said Anscombe, “I have generally lit upon the sandstone.”
“And I on the mud,” she mused.
“And I on all three, for the earth contains marble and mud and
sandstone, to say nothing of gold and jewels,” I broke in, being tired
of silence.
But neither of them paid much attention to me. Anscombe did say, out of
politeness, I suppose, that pitch and subterranean fires should be
added, or some such nonsense.
Then she began to tell him of her infantile memories of Hungary, which
were extremely faint; of how they came to this place and lived first of
all in two large Kaffir huts, until suddenly they began to grow rich;
of her school days at Maritzburg; of the friends with whom she had been
staying, and I know not what, until at last I got up and went out for a
walk.
When I returned an hour or so later they were still talking, and so
continued to do until Dr. Rodd arrived upon the scene. At first they
did not see him, for he stood at an angle to them, but I saw him and
watched his face with a great deal of interest. It, or rather its
expression, was not pleasant; before now I have seen something like it
on that of a wild beast which thinks that it is about to be robbed of
its prey by a stronger wild beast, in short, a mixture of hate, fear
and jealousy—especially jealousy. At the last I did not wonder, for
these two seemed to be getting on uncommonly well.
They were, so to speak, well matched. She, of course, was the better
looking of the two, a really pretty and attractive young woman indeed,
but the vivacity of Anscombe’s face, the twinkle of his merry blue eyes
and its general refinement made up for what he lacked—regularity of
feature. I think he had just told her one of his good stories which he
always managed to make so humorous by a trick of pleasing and harmless
exaggeration, and they were both laughing merrily. Then she caught
sight of the doctor and her merriment evaporated like a drop of water
on a hot shovel. Distinctly I saw her pull herself together and prepare
for something.
“How do you do?” she said rapidly, rising and holding out her slim
sun-browned hand. “But I need not ask, you look so well.”
“How do you do, my dear,” with a heavy emphasis on the “dear” he
answered slowly. “But I needn’t ask, for I see that you are in perfect
health and spirits,” and he bent forward as though to kiss her.
Somehow or other she avoided that endearment or seal of possession. I
don’t quite know how, as I turned my head away, not wishing to witness
what I felt to be unpleasant. When I looked up again, however, I saw
that she had avoided it, the scowl on his face, the demureness of hers
and Anscombe’s evident amusement assured me of this. She was asking
about her father; he answered that he also seemed quite well.
“Then why did you write to tell me that I ought to come as he was not
at all well?” she inquired, with a lifting of her delicate eyebrows.
The question was never answered, for at that moment Marnham himself
appeared.
“Oh! father,” she said, and rushed into his arms, while he kissed her
tenderly on both cheeks.
So I was not mistaken, thought I to myself, she does really love this
moral wreck, and what is more, he loves her, which shows that there
must be good in him. Is anyone truly bad, I wondered, or for the matter
of that, truly good either? Is it not all a question of circumstance
and blood?
Neither then or at any other time have I found an answer to the
problem. At any rate to me there seemed something beautiful about the
meeting of these two.
The influence of Miss Heda in the house was felt at once. The boys
became smarter and put on clean clothes. Vases of flowers appeared in
the various rooms; ours was turned out and cleaned, a disagreeable
process so far as we were concerned. Moreover, at dinner both Marnham
and Rodd wore dress clothes with short jackets, a circumstance that put
Anscombe and myself to shame since we had none. It was curious to see
how with those dress clothes, which doubtless awoke old associations
within him, Marnham changed his colour like a chameleon. Really he
might have been the colonel of a cavalry regiment rising to toast the
Queen after he had sent round the wine, so polite and polished was his
talk. Who could have identified the man with the dry old ruffian of
twenty-four hours before, he who was drinking claret (and very good
claret too) mixed with water and listening with a polite interest to
all the details of his daughter’s journey? Even the doctor looked a
gentleman, which doubtless he was once upon a time, in evening dress.
Moreover, some kind of truce had been arranged. He no longer called
Miss Heda “My dear” or attempted any familiarities, while she on more
than one occasion very distinctly called him Dr. Rodd.
So much for that night and for several others that followed. As for the
days they went by pleasantly and idly. Heda walked about on her
father’s arm, conversed in friendly fashion with the doctor, always
watching him, I noticed, as a cat watches a dog that she knows is
waiting an opportunity to spring, and for the rest associated with us
as much as she could. Particularly did she seem to take refuge behind
my own insignificance, having, I suppose, come to the conclusion that I
was a harmless person who might possibly prove useful. But all the
while I felt that the storm was banking up. Indeed Marnham himself, at
any rate to a great extent, played the part of the cloud-compelling
Jove, for soon it became evident to me, and without doubt to Dr. Rodd
also, that he was encouraging the intimacy between his daughter and
Anscombe by every means in his power.
In one way and another he had fully informed himself as to Anscombe’s
prospects in life, which were brilliant enough. Moreover he liked the
man who, as the remnant of the better perceptions of his youth told
him, was one of the best class of Englishmen, and what is more, he saw
that Heda liked him also, as much indeed as she disliked Rodd. He even
spoke to me of the matter in a round-about kind of fashion, saying that
the young woman who married Anscombe would be lucky and that the father
who had him for a son-in-law might go to his grave confident of his
child’s happiness. I answered that I agreed with him, unless the lady’s
affections had already caused her to form other ties.
“Affections!” he exclaimed, dropping all pretence, “there are none
involved in this accursed business, as you are quite sharp enough to
have seen for yourself.”
“I understood that an engagement was involved,” I remarked.
“On my part, perhaps, not on hers,” he answered. “Oh! can’t you
understand, Quatermain, that sometimes men find themselves forced into
strange situations against their will?”
Remembering the very ugly name that I had heard Rodd call Marnham on
the night of the card party, I reflected that I could understand well
enough, but I only said—
“After all marriage is a matter that concerns a woman even more than it
does her father, one, in short, of which she must be the judge.”
“Quite so, Quatermain, but there are some daughters who are prepared to
make great sacrifices for their fathers. Well, she will be of age ere
long, if only I can stave it off till then. But how, how?” and with a
groan he turned and left me.
That old gentleman’s neck is in some kind of a noose, thought I to
myself, and his difficulty is to prevent the rope from being drawn
tight. Meanwhile this poor girl’s happiness and future are at stake.
“Allan,” said Anscombe to me a little later, for by now he called me by
my Christian name, “I suppose you haven’t heard anything about those
oxen, have you?”
“No, I could scarcely expect to yet, but why do you ask?”
He smiled in his droll fashion and replied, “Because, interesting as
this household is in sundry ways, I think it is about time that we, or
at any rate that I, got out of it.”
“Your leg isn’t fit to travel yet, Anscombe, although Rodd says that
all the symptoms are very satisfactory.”
“Yes, but to tell you the truth I am experiencing other symptoms quite
unknown to that beloved physician and so unfamiliar to myself that I
attribute them to the influences of the locality. Altitude affects the
heart, does it not, and this house stands high.”
“Don’t play off your jokes on me,” I said sternly. “What do you mean?”
“I wonder if you find Miss Heda attractive, Allan, or if you are too
old. I believe there comes an age when the only beauties that can move
a man are those of architecture, or scenery, or properly cooked food.”
“Hang it all! I am not Methusaleh,” I replied; “but if you mean that
you are falling in love with Heda, why the deuce don’t you say so,
instead of wasting my time and your own?”
“Because time was given to us to waste. Properly considered it is the
best use to which it can be put, or at any rate the one that does least
mischief. Also because I wished to make you say it for me that I might
judge from the effect of your words whether it is or is not true. I may
add that I fear the former to be the case.”
“Well, if you are in love with the girl you can’t expect one so ancient
as myself, who is quite out of touch with such follies, to teach you
how to act.”
“No, Allan. Unfortunately there are occasions when one must rely upon
one’s own wisdom, and mine, what there is of it, tells me I had better
get out of this. But I can’t ride even if I took the horse and you ran
behind, and the oxen haven’t come.”
“Perhaps you could borrow Miss Marnham’s cart in which to run away from
her,” I suggested sarcastically.
“Perhaps, though I believe it would be fatal to my foot to sit up in a
cart for the next few days, and the horses seem to have been sent off
somewhere. Look here, old fellow,” he went on, dropping his bantering
tone, “it’s rather awkward to make a fool of oneself over a lady who is
engaged to some one else, especially if one suspects that with a little
encouragement she might begin to walk the same road. The truth is I
have taken the fever pretty bad, worse than ever I did before, and if
it isn’t stopped soon it will become chronic.”
“Oh no, Anscombe, only intermittent at the worst, and African malaria
nearly always yields to a change of climate.”
“How can I expect a cynic and a misogynist to understand the simple
fervour of an inexperienced soul—Oh! drat it all, Quatermain, stop your
acid chaff and tell me what is to be done. Really I am in a tight
place.”
“Very; so tight that I rejoice to think, as you were kind enough to
point out, that my years protect me from anything of the sort. I have
no advice to give; I think you had better ask it of the lady.”
“Well, we did have a little conversation, hypothetical of course, about
some friends of ours who found themselves similarly situated, and I
regret to say without result.”
“Indeed. I did not know you had any mutual acquaintances. What did she
say and do?”
“She said nothing, only sighed and looked as though she were going to
burst into tears, and all she did was to walk away. I’d have followed
her if I could, but as my crutch wasn’t there it was impossible. It
seemed to me that suddenly I had come up against a brick wall, that
there was something on her mind which she could not or would not let
out.”
“Yes, and if you want to know, I will tell you what it is. Rodd has got
a hold over Marnham of a sort that would bring him somewhere near the
gallows. As the price of his silence Marnham has promised him his
daughter. The daughter knows that her father is in this man’s power,
though I think she does not know in what way, and being a good girl—”
“An angel you mean—do call her by her right name, especially in a place
where angels are so much wanted.”
“Well, an angel if you like—she has promised on her part to marry a man
she loathes in order to save her parent’s bacon.”
“Just what I concluded, from what we heard in the row. I wonder which
of that pair is the bigger blackguard. Well, Allan, that settles it.
You and I are on the side of the angel. You will have to get her out of
this scrape and—if she’ll have me, I’ll marry her; and if she won’t,
why it can’t be helped. Now that’s a fair division of labour. How are
you going to do it? I haven’t an idea, and if I had, I should not
presume to interfere with one so much older and wiser than myself.”
“I suppose that by the time you appeared in it, the game of heads I win
and tails you lose had died out of the world,” I replied with an
indignant snort. “I think the best thing I can do will be to take the
horse and look for those oxen. Meanwhile you can settle your business
by the light of your native genius, and I only hope you’ll finish it
without murder and sudden death.”
“I say, old fellow,” said Anscombe earnestly, “you don’t really mean to
go off and leave me in this hideousness? I haven’t bothered much up to
the present because I was sure that you would find a way out, which
would be nothing to a man of your intellect and experience. I mean it
honestly, I do indeed.”
“Do you? Well, I can only say that my mind is a perfect blank, but if
you will stop talking I will try to think the matter over. There’s Miss
Heda in the garden cutting flowers. I will go to help her, which will
be a very pleasant change.”
And I went, leaving him to stare after me jealously.