CHAPTER NINE
Brigit was not at all surprised when, early the next morning, a note from Joyselle was brought to her.
She had slept very badly, for she seemed to have reached a crisis in her relations with Joyselle; and lying awake in the heat that the storm had but increased, she passed hours in unprofitable forecastings. What would he do, now that he knew? Would he make love to her? Or would he try to hurry on the wedding? Or——
Of course, what he did do proved an utter surprise to her.
"My dear Brigit," he wrote, "just a line to say good-bye to you for a time. I am accepting an offer to do two months' touring in the United States (which country I do not like, but which likes me), and shall come back laden with dollars with which to buy you a beautiful wedding present. What shall it be—diamonds? I hope you will say lace—yards and yards of exquisite lace of all kinds—it is so much more poetic than stones. So au revoir, my dear, and may all happiness be yours.
Joyselle."
She sat up in bed and drew a long, uneven breath. She had not counted on the possibility of flight! And she could not bear it.
There had been some talk of his going to America, but he had disliked the idea, and she had not dreamed that he would even seriously consider it. There was not the slightest doubt that his decision was entirely due to the little scene of the evening before. That moment when his nervous horror of the lightning had impelled him to put his arms round her had, she knew, opened his eyes to his own danger. And it was characteristic of the man to act immediately and without hesitation. He would go—it was Saturday, and very probably he would leave by the noon train for Liverpool. It was now eight.
She lay for a long time with her eyes shut, trying to realise what life would be like without him. And then her undisciplined, wayward mind revolted. It was unbearable; therefore she would not bear it. She would not let him go.
Half an hour later she was in a hansom, trying to decide the details relative to her decision. He should not go, but which of the several possible ways should she employ to prevent it?
Before she could decide on anything more than the great fact that, cost what it may, she would not let him go, the hansom drew up at the house, and she was about to get out when the front door opened and Joyselle himself appeared.
"You!" he cried, impetuously, and then stood still. "You got my note?" he added a second later, sternly.
Her heart sank. He was very strong. Then he came towards her, his brows drawn down over his eyes, his nostrils dilated, and she lied.
"No—what note?"
Normans are quick to suspect deceit, and for a moment his expression did not change; then, for individually the man was as trustful as racially he was suspicious, he smiled. "I see. But why are you out so early? It is not yet nine."
"And you?" she returned deftly, her heart beating not only with the excitement of the duel, but with enjoyment of her own skill.
"I—well, I have business."
"Then get in and I'll take you wherever you want to go, I want to talk to you."
He hesitated, but she smiled at him and he succumbed, thinking to himself, she could see, that after all she knew nothing of what was going on in his mind.
As he took his place beside her the cabman opened his trap-door and asked with the hoarseness of his kind:
"W'ere to, sir?"
Joyselle frowned. "To—Piccadilly. I'll tell you when we get to where I wish to stop."
Brigit suppressed a smile. Now he was thinking, she saw, that he would tell her of his intended departure before he gave the Cunard Company's address.
He was pale, but to her surprise looked younger rather than older than usual. His mental disturbance had left traces on his face, and they were, as it was, young in their nature. He had fallen in love, and the youth in him, both physical and mental, flared up responsively to the call of the emotion.
Suddenly she saw her line of action clearly marked out for her, and without an instant's hesitation took it. If he suspected that she loved him, nothing in the world could keep him by her. So he must not know. In all her dreams and reflections about their relations, she had never taken into account the possibility of things turning out as they had. She had always tacitly taken for granted that it would be by her will that the man should be waked up to the real state of his own mind. Even after the evening of the dragon-skin frock he had not known the real explanation of his amazement on her entrance, and had, she knew, merely advanced in his perilous path to the point of realising that she was, although his future daughter, an amazingly desirable woman.
So far she had read him correctly. But that something outside her own personal sway should open his eyes she had not anticipated.
This had, however, happened, and with the acute intuition of a woman fighting for her life, she understood what she must do to prevent his flight.
So, turning towards him, she smiled amusedly.
"Eh, b'en, Beau-papa? Got over your fright? You big baby!"
He stared, and she went on without a pause, but speaking slowly, to give an idea of leisure, "To think that you of all people should be afraid of thunder! It was lucky you had your valorous daughter to shield you."
He gave a short, nervous laugh. "Yes, it is very idiotic, I know, but——"
"And then to bolt away into the very thick of it! That was because you were ashamed! I shall tell petite mère and Théo. But it was an awful storm, and so fearfully warm afterwards, wasn't it? I couldn't sleep at all—that's why I'm up so early. I came over to ask you to go up to Hampstead with me to get some real air. This London extract of air is a very poor substitute, isn't it? Now don't say no to a poor daughter whose young man is out of town!"
As she talked, looking casually at the passers-by, she could, so tense were her nerves, almost hear him think. "She is quite unsuspecting," he was telling himself, "there is no danger for her, and—it doesn't matter about me. And I am strong and need never betray myself——"
She talked on, the kind of unconcerned nonsense that was, her strange, new instinct told her, best calculated to quite his vibrant nerves. "Little child, little child," he returned mutely, "how little you know! Well—as you are so innocent, why should not I snatch this fearful joy while I may? It harms no one but myself, and such pain is better than any happiness on earth——"
"Yes, ma fille," he said at length, as she pointed to a barrow of nodding daffodils, "we will go to Hampstead; it is a good idea. But first I must send a wire or two. And—you must promise to return to me, unopened, the note you will find in Pont Street."
Her wandering stare was admirable. "Return unopened? But why? Was it—cross?"
He laughed aloud, his brilliant teeth flashing. "Si, si, that is it. Cross! You know how stupid I was last night? The coming storm—well—it was a silly note, and you will return it."
"Oh, of course, if you wish me to," she answered carelessly, but clenching her hands. "C'est une boutade comme une autre!"
He laughed again. His spirits were flying upwards like those of a criminal unexpectedly reprieved.
"Yes—just a fad. Hi, cabbee, stop here, will you?"
While he was in the telegraph-office Brigit allowed her muscles to relax and her face to express her hitherto rigidly concealed triumph.
He was not going. He would stay; she should continue to see him, and the world was full of joy. "Heavens, how I can lie," she whispered softly, "and now we shall both have to lie. We both know about him; he thinks I don't know; and he doesn't know about me! It is a comedy. Oh, Victor, Victor, Victor!"
He came out a moment later, seeming to fill the world with his giant bulk and his astounding radiation of joy. Two narrow-chested city clerks stood still to stare at him, their pallid little faces blank with amazement. A red-nosed flower-girl thrust a great bunch of yellow roses up at him with certainty of sale written all over her. "Roses? Of course. How much?"
He laughed aloud as he gave her some money and then got into the hansom.
"Hampstead Heath, cabby. At Falaise there are millions of these roses—see, with the outside leaves wrinkled and red. Oh, Brigit, Brigit, what a day!"