Poppy Part 48

"After a time they find themselves sitting still on the ground, very sick. That is Mary's position. She sits flat on the ground and surveys a world that makes her feel sick. Nick Cap.r.o.n, however, continues to whirl."

"She must have great courage to face the situation," said Poppy sincerely.

"She has more than courage," said Clem, alight with loyal enthusiasm.

"She is one in a thousand. You know enough of Africa, I daresay, Poppy, to know that life out here is just one huge temptation to a beautiful unhappily-married woman. The place teems with men--good, bad, and indifferent, but all interesting (unless drink is sweeping them down hill too fast), and they all want to be kind to her. Many of them are splendid fellows. But the best of men are half-devil, half-child, and nothing more, where a beautiful woman is concerned. You know that, don't you?"

What Poppy _did_ know was that Clem had far greater knowledge of the world of men and women than she had, and she was only too interested to sit and imbibe wisdom. She frankly said so.

"I thoroughly understand these things," Clem replied without pride.

"Sinners can never take me by surprise, whatever they do. Perhaps it is because I might easily have been a devil of the deepest dye myself, but for luck--Billy is my luck."

This from the most orthodox woman in Africa! Poppy could not refrain from a trill of laughter.

"I think you are one of those who paint themselves black to be _en suite_ with the people you like, Clemmie," she said; "but you're not extraordinarily clever as an artist."

"Not so clever as _you'll_ have to be when Mrs. Gruyere comes round to have her miniature done," said Clem maliciously. "I must think about going, darling. Mary is coming to fetch me in her carriage and she will be here in a minute or two now. Before I go, I want you to promise me to steal away whenever you can. If you sit too much over work you will fall asleep, and have to be put in the poppy-garden instead of flaunting and flaming in the suns.h.i.+ne and being a joy to behold. What a fascinating flower it is! Both your names are fascinating ... _Eve Destiny!_ ...

what could have prompted it, I wonder?"

"Simply an idea. I am a child of destiny, I always think--at least, the old blind hag seems to have been at some pains to fling me about from pillar to post. Eve--" She turned away, knowing that she could not mention that name without giving some sign of the tumult it roused within her. "Eve--was the most primitive person I could think of" (the lie did not come very glibly), "and _I_ am primitive. If I were my real self I should be running loose in the woods somewhere with a wild-cat's skin round me."

"Well, you wouldn't run alone for long, that's very certain," laughed Clem.

"No, I should want my mate wherever and whatever I was"--Clem laughed again at her frankness, but she went on dreamfully--"a Bedouin, or a s.h.a.ggy Thibetan on the roof of the world, or a 'ca.s.sowary on the plains of Timbuctoo.' Oh, Clem! the sound of the wind in forest trees--the sea--the desert with an unknown horizon, are better to me than all the cities and civilisation in the world--yet here I sit!" She threw out her hands and laughed joylessly.

"You ought to marry an explorer--or a hunter of big game," said Clem thoughtfully, and got up and looked out of the window. "Here comes one in the carriage with Mary. But he is an Irishman, so I wouldn't advise you to look _his_ way.... An Irishman should never be given more than a Charles Wyndhamesque part on the stage of any woman's life ... a person to love, but not to be in love with...."

"Oh, Clem! You are Irish yourself----"

Clem did not turn round. She went on talking out of the window and watching the approaching carriage.

"Yes, and I love everyone and everything from that sad green land ...

the very name of Ireland sends a ray of joy right through me ... and its dear blue-eyed, grey-eyed people! Trust an Irish-woman, Poppy, when she is true-bred ... but never fall in love with an Irishman ... there is no fixity of tenure ... he will give you his hand with his heart in it ...

but when you come to look there for comfort, you will find a bare knife for your breast ... unstable as water ... too loving of love ... too understanding of another's heart's desire ... too quick to grant, too quick to take away ... the tale of their lips changing with the moon's changes--even with the weather.... Hullo, Mary! Here I am.... How do you do, Karri?"

Mrs. Cap.r.o.n's carriage had pulled up before Poppy's little side-gate, which gave on to the embankment. She was gowned in black, a daring rose-red hat upon her lovely hair, and by her side was Evelyn Carson.

She waved at the two women in the window, but did not leave the carriage. Carson came instead, making a few strides of the little straggly, sea-sh.e.l.led path.

"We've come to drag Mrs. Portal away," he said to Poppy, after shaking hands through the window, "having just met her husband taking home two of the hungriest-looking ruffians you ever saw."

Clem gave a cry of woe and began to pin on her hat.

"The wretch! I thought he was going to dine at the Club."

"He gave us strict orders to send you home at once," laughed Carson, "so Mrs. Cap.r.o.n won't come in."

"Who are the men?" demanded Clem.

"Two brutes just arrived by to-day's boat, with a sea-edge to their appet.i.tes. I should say that nothing short of a ten-course banquet would appease them."

Clem's groans were terrible.

"Cook will have prepared half a chicken's wing for me. She always starves me when I'm alone. You come back with me," she commanded Carson.

"If you talk beautifully to them they won't notice the lightness of the _menu_."

"Oh, but I'd rather come when you are prepared," said the graceless Carson. "I'm hungry, too. When you've gone I'm going to ask Miss Chard for a cup of tea." Smiling, he plucked a sea-pink and stuck it in his coat. They were in the garden now on the way to the carriage.

"Deserter! Well, Mary, _you'll_ have to come and let them feed upon your damask cheek--something has got to be done."

Poppy exchanged greetings with Mrs. Cap.r.o.n, and presently the two women drove away, leaving her and Carson standing there with the gleam of the sunlit bay in their eyes. Turning, she found him staring in an odd way at her hair, which she was wearing piled into a crown, with the usual fronds falling softly down. Her lids drooped for a moment under his strange eyes, but her voice was perfectly even and conventional as she asked if he would really care for tea.

"I should, indeed--and to come into the restful grey room I got a glimpse of through the window. It reminded me of a cool, cloudy day in the middle of summer."

Pleasure at his approval brought a faint wave of colour into the face she was determined to mask of all expression. She led the way indoors, he following, his eyes travelling swiftly from the crowned head she carried with so brave an air on her long throat, down the little straight back that was short like the cla.s.sical women's, giving fine sweeping length from waist to heel.

She rang for fresh tea and went to the tea-table. Carson stood about the room, seeming to fill it.

"If you are fond of grey, we have a taste in common," he said, and she gave him a quick, upward glance. The face which Africa's sun had branded her own looked extraordinarily dark above the light-grey of his clothes and the little pink flower stuck in his coat. It seemed to her that no woman had ever loved so debonair a man as this Irishman with his careless eyes and rustling voice.

"I love _green_ best of all colours," she answered steadily; "but one gets tired of green walls now that they are fas.h.i.+onable and everyone has them--" her voice broke off suddenly. In his looming about the room he had stopped dead before _Hope_ over the mantelpiece. The cup Poppy held rattled in its saucer. He presently asked who the picture was by, and where he, too, could get a copy of it.

"I like it," he said. "It seems to me in a vague way that I know that picture well, yet I don't believe I have ever seen it before ...

strange...!" He stared at it again, and she made no response. For the moment she was back in a little upper chamber in Westminster.

He came presently over to the tea-table, and was about to sit down when another picture caught his eye--the water-colour of the little child among the poppies and corn. He stepped before it and stayed looking for a long time. At last he said, laughing constrainedly:

"You will think I am mad ... but I imagine I know _that_ picture too ...

that little chap is extraordinarily like someone I know ... I can't think who ... but I'm certain ... is it some of your work, Miss Chard?"

He looked at her with keen inquiry, but his glance changed to one of astonishment. Her eyes were closed and she was pale as a primrose; her hands had fallen to her sides.

A moment afterwards she recovered herself and was handing him a cup of tea with some inconsequent remark. She had made absolutely no response to his questions about either picture, and he thought the fact rather remarkable.

Afterwards they talked and he forgot surprise (for the time being) in listening to the shy graces of thought to which she gave utterance and watching her inexpressibly charming delicacies of manner. When he left her the magic of her was on him; she had bound him with the spell of his own country; but he did not know it. If he _had_ known it he would have repudiated it with all his strength, for already he was a bound man.

"His honour rooted in dishonour stood."

CHAPTER XXIV

The women of Durban received Poppy into their midst with suspicion and disfavour, which they carefully veiled because they could find out absolutely nothing, d.a.m.ning or otherwise, about her, and also because Mrs. Portal's introductions were as good as a certificate of birth, marriage, and death, and to be questioned as little; and Mrs. Portal's position was such that no woman dared a.s.sail her for exercising her privileges. What they could do, however, was narrow their eyes, sharpen their claws, and lie in wait, and this they did with a patience and zest worthy of their species.

Meanwhile, those who sought Poppy might sometimes find her at the house of Mrs. Portal; but not as often as she wished, for work chained her almost perpetually, and she was working against time. She was straining every nerve to have her work finished and paid for, and her law case quietly settled in Johannesburg, before the time came for Carson to set out for his five years' exile in Borapota. She was working for freedom and bondage and life--for, indeed, all that life had to offer her now was the word of a man bidding her to follow him into bondage. It was hard on her that while she worked she must lose time and opportunities of meeting him and winding more spells to bind him. But--she had grown used to fighting her battles against odds. So she gave up six solid hours of daylight and two of the night to hard labour; and she made a rule never to count the hours, which were many, that were spent at her desk _dreaming_. For no writer does work of any consequence without dreaming, even if the dream is not always of work.

Miss Allendner might have found life a dull affair in Briony Cottage had she not been of that domesticated type which finds satisfaction and pleasure in managing a household and ordering good meals. Under her rule the little cottage became a well-ordered, comfortable home, where things ran on oiled wheels, and peace and contentment reigned. No one and nothing bothered Poppy, and the long, bright hours of day were hers to work in uninterruptedly. Such visitors as called, and some did call, if only out of curiosity, were received by Miss Allendner, and regaled with dainty teas and mysteriously impressive statements as to Miss Chard's _work_ which unfortunately kept her so busy that she could see no one--_at present_. The companion had of necessity been let into the secret of her employer's work and ident.i.ty, for Poppy was a careless creature with letters and papers, and it irked her to have to exercise caution with an intimate member of her household. Poor Miss Allendner almost exploded with the greatness and importance of the information.

But she was a faithful and trustworthy soul, and happy for the first time in all her needy, half-rationed life.