Текст книги "Frenchman's Creek"

Автор книги: Daphne du Maurier

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She looked up suddenly, and saw that her guest was drawing her.

"Do you mind?" he said.

"No," she said, "of course not," wondering what sort of drawing he would make, and she watched his hands, skilful and quick, but she could not see the paper, for it rested against his knee.

"How did William come to be your servant?" she asked.

"His mother was a Breton – you did not know that, I suppose?" he answered.

"No," she said.

"His father was a mercenary, a soldier of fortune, who somehow or other found his way to France, and married. You must have noticed William's accent."

"I thought it Cornish."

"Cornishmen and Bretons are very much alike. Both are Celts. I discovered William first running barefoot, with torn breeches, about the streets of Quimper. He was in some scrape or other, which I managed to save him from. From then he became one of the faithful. He learnt English, of course, from his father. I believe he lived in Paris for many years, before I fell in with him. I have never delved into William's life history. His past is his own."

"And why did William decline to become a pirate?"

"Alas! For a reason most prosaic, and unromantic. William has an uneasy stomach. The channel that separates the coast of Cornwall from the coast of Brittany is too much for him."

"And so he finds his way to Navron, which makes a most excellent hiding-place for his master?"

"Precisely."

"And Cornish men are robbed, and Cornish women go in fear for their lives, and more than their lives, so Lord Godolphin tells me?"

"The Cornish women flatter themselves."

"That is what I wanted to tell Lord Godolphin."

"And why did you not?"

"Because I had not the heart to shock him."

"Frenchmen have a reputation for gallantry which is entirely without foundation. We are shyer than you give us credit for. Here – I have finished your portrait."

He gave her the drawing, and leant back in his chair, his hands in the pockets of his coat. Dona stared at the drawing in silence. She saw that the face that looked up at her from the torn scrap of paper belonged to the other Dona – the Dona she would not admit, even to herself. The features were unchanged, the eyes, the texture of the hair, but the expression in the eyes was the one she had seen sometimes reflected in her mirror, when she was alone. Here was someone with illusions lost, someone who looked out upon the world from a too narrow casement, finding it other than she had hoped, bitter, and a little worthless.

"It is not very flattering," she said, at length.

"That was not my intention," he replied.

"You have made me appear older than I am."

"Possibly."

"And there is something petulant about the mouth." "I dare say."

"And – and a curious frown between the brows."

"Yes."

"I don't think I like it very much."

"No, I feared you would not. A pity. I might have turned from piracy to portraiture."

She gave it back to him, and she saw he was smiling.

"Women do not like to hear the truth about themselves," she said.

"Does anyone?" he asked.

She would not continue the discussion. "I see now why you are a successful pirate," she told him, "you are thorough in your work. The same quality shows itself in your drawings. You go to the heart of your subject."

"Perhaps I was unfair," he said. "I caught this particular subject unawares, when a mood was reflected in her face. Now if I drew you at another time, when you were playing with your children, for example, or simply when you were giving yourself up to the delight of having escaped – the drawing would be entirely different. Then you might accuse me of flattering you."

"Am I really as changeable as that?"

"I did not say you were changeable. It just happens that you reflect upon your face what is passing through your mind, which is exactly what an artist desires."

"How very unfeeling of the artist."

"How so?"

"To make copy of emotion, at the expense of the sitter. To catch a mood, and place it on paper, and so shame the possessor of the mood."

"Possibly. But on the other hand the owner of the mood might decide, on seeing herself reflected for the first time, to discard the mood altogether, as being unworthy, and a waste of time." As he spoke he tore the drawing across, and then again into small pieces. "There," he said, "we will forget about it. And anyway it was an unpardonable thing to do. You told me yesterday that I had been trespassing upon your land. It is a fault of mine, in more ways than one. Piracy leads one into evil habits."

He stood up, and she saw that he had it in his mind to go.

"Forgive me," she said. "I must have seemed querulous, and rather spoilt. The truth is – when I looked upon your drawing – I was ashamed, because for the first time someone else had seen me as I too often see myself. It was as though I had some blemish on my body and you had drawn me, naked."

"Yes. But supposing the artist bears a similar blemish himself, only more disfiguring, need the sitter still feel ashamed?"

"You mean, there would be a bond between them?"

"Exactly." Once more he smiled, and then he turned, and went towards the window. "When the east wind starts blowing on this coast it continues for several days," he said. "My ship will be weather-bound and I can be idle, and make many drawings. Perhaps you will let me draw you again?"

"With a different expression?"

"That is for you to say. Do not forget you have signed your name in my book, and when the mood comes upon you to make your escape even more complete, the creek is accustomed to fugitives."

"I shall not forget."

"There are birds to watch, too, and fishes to catch, and streams to be explored. All these are methods of escape."

"Which you have found successful?"

"Which I have found successful. Thank you for my supper. Good night."

"Good night."

This time the Frenchman did not touch her hand, but went out through the window, without looking back, and she watched him disappear amongst the trees, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat.

CHAPTER VIII

The air was stifling inside the house, and because of his lady's condition Lord Godolphin had commanded that the windows should be shut, and the curtains drawn across them to screen her from the sun. The brightness of midsummer would fatigue her, the soft air might bring a greater pallor to her already languid cheeks. But lying on the sofa, backed with cushions, exchanging small civilities with her friends, the half-darkened room humming with heavy chatter and the warm smell of humanity eating crumbling cake – that could tire nobody. It was both Lord Godolphin's and his lady's idea of relaxation.

"Never again," thought Dona, "never again will I be persuaded forth, whether for Harry's or for conscience's sake, to meet my neighbours," and bending down, feigning an interest in a little lap-dog crouching at her gown, she gave him the damp chunk of cake forced upon her by Godolphin himself. Out of the tail of her eye she saw that her action had been observed, and horror upon horror, here was her host bearing down upon her once again, a fresh assortment in his hands, and she must smile her false, brilliant smile, and bow her thanks and place yet another dripping morsel between her reluctant lips.

"If you could only persuade Harry to forsake the pleasures of the Town," observed Godolphin, "we could have many of these small informal gatherings. With my wife in her present state, a large assembly would be prejudicial to her health, but a few friends, such as we have today, can do her nothing but good. I greatly regret that Harry is not here." He looked about him, satisfied with his hospitality, and Dona, drooping upon her chair, counted once again the fifteen or sixteen persons in the room, who, weary of each other's company over too great a span of years, watched her with apathetic interest. The ladies observed her gown, the new long gloves she played with on her lap, and the hat with the sweeping feather that concealed her right cheek. The men stared dumbly, as though in the front seats at a playhouse, and one or two, with heavy jovial humour, questioned her about the life at Court, and the pleasures of the King, as though the very fact of her coming from London gave her full knowledge of his life and of his habits. She hated gossip for gossip's sake, and though she might have told them much, had she the mind, of the froth and frivolity from which she had escaped, the artificial painted London, the link-boys with their flares tiptoeing through the dusty cobbled streets, the swaggering gallants standing at the doors of the taverns laughing a little too loudly and singing over-much, that roystering, rather tipsy atmosphere presided over by someone with a brain he would not use, a dark roving eye and a sardonic smile, she kept silent, saying instead how much she loved the country. "It is a great pity that Navron is so isolated," said somebody, "you must find it wretchedly lonely after town. If only we were all a little nearer to you, we could meet more often."

"How kind of you," said Dona. "Harry would greatly appreciate the thought. But, alas, the road is exceedingly bad to Navron. I had great difficulty in coming here today. And then, you see, I am a most devoted mother. My children absorb nearly all my time."

She smiled upon the company, her eyes large and very innocent, and even as she spoke there came a sudden vision to her mind of the boat that would be waiting for her at Gweek, the fishing-lines coiled on the bottom boards, and the man who would be idling there, with coat thrown aside, and sleeves rolled up above the elbows.

"I consider you show remarkable courage," sighed her ladyship, "in living there all alone, and your husband absent. I find I become uneasy if mine is away for a few hours in the daytime."

"That is perhaps excusable, under the circumstances," murmured Dona, quelling an insane desire to laugh, to say something monstrous, for the thought of Lady Godolphin languishing here upon her sofa, and aching for her lord, with that distressing growth upon his nose so wretchedly conspicuous, moved her to wickedness.

"You are, I trust, amply protected at Navron," said Godolphin, turning to her, solemnly. "There is much licence and lawlessness abroad these days. You have servants you can trust?"

"Implicitly."

"It is as well. Had it been otherwise I should have presumed upon my old friendship with Harry, and sent you two or three of my own people."

"I assure you it would be entirely unnecessary."

"So you may think. Some of us believe differently."

He looked across at his nearest neighbour, Thomas Eustick, who owned a large estate beyond Penryn – a thin-lipped man with narrow eyes – who had been watching Dona from the other side of the room. He now came forward, and with him also was Robert Penrose, from Tregony. "Godolphin has told you, I think, how we are menaced from the sea," he said abruptly.

"By an elusive Frenchman," smiled Dona.

"Who may not remain elusive very much longer," replied Eustick.

"Indeed? Have you summoned more soldiers from Bristol?"

He flushed, glancing at Godolphin in irritation.

"This time there will be no question of hired mercenaries," he said. "I was against that idea from the first, but as usual was overruled. No, we propose dealing with the foreigner ourselves, and I consider our methods will be effective."

"Providing enough of us join together," said Godolphin drily.

"And the most capable amongst us takes the lead," said Penrose, of Tregony. There was a pause, the three men eyeing one another in suspicion. Had the atmosphere, for some reason or other, become a little strained?

"A house divided against itself will not stand," murmured Dona.

"I beg your pardon?" said Thomas Eustick.

"Nothing. I was reminded suddenly of a line from the Scriptures. But you were talking about the pirate. One against so many. He will be caught, of course. And what is the plan of capture?"

"It is as yet in embryo, madam, and naturally enough cannot be unfolded. But I would warn you, and I rather think that is what Godolphin meant just now when he enquired about your servants, I would warn you that we suspect some of the country people in the district to be in the Frenchman's pay." "You astound me."

"It is unpardonable, of course, and if our suspicions are verified they will all of them hang, as he will. The fact is we believe the Frenchman to have a hiding-place along the coast, and we believe one or two of the inhabitants must know of this, and are holding their tongues."

"Have you not made a thorough search?"

"My dear Lady St. Columb, we are forever combing the district. But, as you must have heard, the fellow is as slippery as an eel, like all Frenchmen, and he appears to know our coast better than we do ourselves. You have, I suppose, seen nothing of a suspicious nature around Navron?"

"Nothing whatever."

"The manor commands a view of the river, does it not?"

"A most excellent view."

"So that you would have seen any strange craft entering or leaving the estuary?"

"Most assuredly."

"I have no wish to alarm you, but it is possible, you know, that the Frenchman has used Helford in the past, and may yet do so again."

"You terrify me."

"And I must warn you that he is the type of man who would have little respect for your person."

"You mean – he is quite unscrupulous?"

"I fear so."

"And his men are most desperate and savage?"

"They are pirates, madam, and Frenchmen at that."

"Then I will take the greatest possible care of my household. Are they, do you think, cannibals also? My baby son is not yet two."

Lady Godolphin gave a little shriek of horror, and began fanning herself rapidly. Her husband clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Calm yourself, Lucy, Lady St. Columb was jesting, of course. I would assure you, though," he added, turning to Dona once again, "that the matter is not a trifling one, nor to be treated with levity. I feel myself responsible for the safety of the people in the district around, and as Harry is not with you at Navron I must admit that I am concerned about you."

Dona rose to her feet, holding out her hand. "It is very good of you," she said, treating him to her special smile, the one she reserved for difficult occasions. "I shall not forget your kindness, but I assure you there is no need for anxiety. I can, if necessary, bar and bolt my house. And with neighbours such as yourselves" – she glanced from Godolphin to Eustick and to Penrose – "I am aware that no harm can come to me. You are all three so reliable, so stalwart, so very – if I may say so – English, in your ways."

The three men bowed over her hand in turn, and she smiled at each of them. "Perhaps," she said, "the Frenchman has left our coasts for good, and you need concern yourselves no more about him."

"I wish we could think so," said Eustick, "but we flatter ourselves we are beginning to know the scoundrel. He is always most dangerous when he is most quiet. We shall hear of him again, and that before very long."

"And," added Penrose, "he will strike just where we least expect him, under our very noses. But it will be the last time."

"It will be my very special pleasure," said Eustick slowly, "to hang him from the tallest tree in Godolphin's park, just before sundown. And I invite the company here present to attend the ceremony."

"Sir, you are very bloodthirsty," said Dona.

"So would you be, madam, if you had been robbed of your possessions. Pictures, silver, plate – all of considerable value."

"But think what joy you will have replacing them!"

"I fear I consider the matter in a very different light." He bowed, and turned away, his cheek flushing once again in annoyance.

Godolphin accompanied Dona to her carriage. "Your remark was somewhat unfortunate," he said. "Eustick is very near with his money."

"I am notorious," said Dona, "for making unfortunate remarks."

"No doubt in London they are understood."

"I think not. That was one of the reasons I came away from London."

He stared at her without understanding, and handed her into her carriage. "Your coachman is competent?" he asked, glancing up at William, who alone, and unattended by a footman, held the reins in his hands. "Very competent," said Dona. "I would trust him with my life."

"He has an obstinate face."

"Yes – but so amusing, and I adore his mouth."

Godolphin stiffened, and stepped away from the door of the carriage. "I am sending letters to town within the week," he said coldly, "have you any message for Harry?"

"Only that I am well, and exceedingly happy."

"I shall take it upon myself to tell him of my anxiety concerning you."

"Please do not bother."

"I consider it a duty. Also Harry's presence in the neighbourhood would be of enormous assistance."

"I cannot believe it."

"Eustick is apt to be obstructive, and Penrose dictatorial, I am constantly having to make the peace."

"And you see Harry in the role of peacemaker?"

"I see Harry wasting his time in London, when he should be looking after his property in Cornwall."

"The property has looked after itself for a number of years."

"That is beside the point. The fact of the matter is we need all the help we can get. And when Harry knows that piracy is rampant on the coast…"

"I have already mentioned it to him."

"But not with sufficient force, I am persuaded. If Harry thought for one moment that Navron House itself might be menaced, his possessions stolen, his wife threatened – he would hardly stay in town. Were I in his shoes…"

"Yes, but you are not."

"Were I in his shoes I would never have permitted you to travel west, alone. Women, without their husbands, have been known to lose their heads."

"Only their heads?"

"I repeat, they have been known to lose their heads in a moment of crisis. You think yourself brave enough now, no doubt, but if you came face to face with a pirate I dare swear you would shiver and swoon, like the rest of your sex."

"I would certainly shiver."

"I could not say much in front of my wife, her nerves are very bad at the moment, but one or two ugly rumours have come to my ears, and Eustick's also."

"What sort of rumours?"

"Women – er – distressed, and so on."

"Distressed about what?"

"The country people are dumb, they give nothing away. But it looks to us as if some of the women in the hamlets hereabouts have suffered at the hands of these damned scoundrels."

"Is it not rather unwise to probe into the matter?"

"Why so?"

"You may find they did not suffer at all, but on the contrary, enjoyed themselves immensely. Drive on, will you, William?" And bowing and smiling from her open carriage the Lady St. Columb waved her gloved hand to Lord Godolphin.

Down the long avenue they sped, past the peacocks on the smooth lawns, and the deer in the park, and so out on to the highway, and Dona, taking off her hat and fanning herself with it, glanced up at William's stiff back and laughed silently.

"William, I have behaved very badly."

"So I gathered, my lady."

"It was exceedingly hot in Lord Godolphin's house, and his lady had all the windows shut."

"Very trying, my lady."

"And I found none of the company particularly to my taste."

"No, my lady."

"And for two pins I would have said something perfectly terrible."

"Just as well you had no pins upon you, my lady."

"There was a man called Eustick, and another called Penrose."

"Yes, my lady."

"I disliked both equally."

"Yes, my lady."

"The fact of the matter is, William, these people are beginning to wake up. There was much talk of piracy."

"I overheard his lordship just now, my lady."

"Talk also of plans of capture, of banding themselves together, of hangings from the tallest tree. And they have their suspicions of the river."

"I knew it was only a matter of time, my lady."

"Do you think your master is aware of the danger?"

"I rather think so, my lady."

"And yet he continues to anchor in the creek."

"Yes, my lady."

"He has been here nearly a month. Does he always stay as long as this?"

"No, my lady."

"What is his usual visit?"

"Five or six days, my lady."

"The time has gone very quickly. Possibly he does not realise he has been here so long."

"Possibly not."

"I am becoming quite knowledgeable about birds, William."

"So I have noticed, my lady."

"I am beginning to recognise the many differences in song, and the variations in flight, William."

"Indeed, my lady."

"Also I am quite an expert with rod and line."

"That I have also observed, my lady."

"Your master is an excellent instructor."

"So it would appear, my lady."

"It is rather strange, is it not, William, that before I came to Navron I thought very little about birds, and even less of fishing?"

"It is rather strange, my lady."

"I suppose that – that the desire to know about these things was always present, but lying dormant, if you understand what I mean."

"I understand your meaning perfectly, my lady."

"It is difficult for a woman to acquire knowledge of birds and of fishing alone, don't you think?"

"Almost impossible, my lady."

"An instructor is really necessary."

"Quite imperative, my lady."

"But of course the instructor must be sympathetic."

"That is important, my lady."

"And fond of – imparting his knowledge to his pupil."

"That goes without saying, my lady."

"And possibly, through the pupil, the instructor's own knowledge becomes more perfect. He gains something he did not have before. In a sense, they learn from one another."

"You have put the matter in a nutshell, my lady."

Dear William, he was most companionable. He always understood. It was like having a confessor who never reproved or condemned.

"What story did you tell at Navron, William?"

"I said that you were staying to dine at his lordship's, and would be late, my lady."

"And where will you stable the horses?"

"That is all arranged for. I have friends at Gweek, my lady."

"To whom you have also spun a story?"

"Yes, my lady."

"And where shall I change my gown?"

"I thought your ladyship would not be averse to changing behind a tree."

"How very considerate of you, William. Have you chosen the tree?"

"I have gone so far as to mark one down, my lady."

The road turned sharply to the left, and they were beside the river once again. The gleam of water shimmered between the trees. William pulled the horses to a standstill. He paused a moment, then put his hand to his mouth and gave a sea-gull's cry. It was echoed immediately from the river bank, just out of sight, and the servant turned to his mistress.

"He is waiting for you, my lady."

Dona pulled out an old gown from behind the cushion in the carriage, and threw it over her arm. "Which is the tree you mean, William?"

"The wide one, my lady, the oak with the spreading branches."

"Do you think me mad, William?"

"Shall we say – not entirely sane, my lady?"

"It is rather a lovely feeling, William."

"So I have always understood, my lady."

"One is absurdly happy for no reason – rather like a butterfly."

"Exactly, my lady."

"What do you know of the habits of butterflies?"

Dona turned, and William's master stood before her, his hands busy with a line which he was knotting, and which he slipped through the eye of a hook, breaking the loose end between his teeth.

"You walk very silently," she said.

"A habit of long practice."

"I was merely making an observation to William."

"About butterflies I gather. And what makes you so sure of their happiness?"

"One has only to look at them."

"Their fashion of dancing in the sun you mean?"

"Yes."

"And you feel like doing the same?"

"Yes."

"You had better change your gown then. Ladies of the manor who drink tea with Lord Godolphin know nothing of butterflies. I will wait for you in the boat. The river is alive with fish." He turned his back on her, and went off again to the river bank, and Dona, sheltered by the spreading oak, stripped herself of her silk gown, and put on the other, laughing to herself, while her ringlets escaped from the clasp that held them, and fell forward over her face. When she was ready she gave her silk gown to William, who was standing with face averted by his horses' heads.

"We shall go down river with the tide, William, and I will walk up to Navron from the creek."

"Very good, my lady."

"I shall be in the avenue shortly after ten o'clock, William."

"Yes, my lady."

"And you can drive me to the house as though we were just returning from Lord Godolphin's."

"Yes, my lady."

"What are you smiling at?"

"I was not aware, my lady, that my features were in any way relaxed."

"You are a liar. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, my lady."

She lifted her old muslin gown above her ankles, tightening the sash at her waist to keep it in place, and then ran barefoot through the trees to the boat that was waiting beneath the bank.