Marmaduke Part 6

"I don't wish to add to your pocket-money, Peter; you've too much already," replied Jack Jardine sternly. "Ah, I've heard of your beguiling that wretched girl!"

"Not for the first time, old man," put in Peter. "You shouldn't talk about things you don't understand; and a fellow must have some amus.e.m.e.nt in this cursed hole, especially when the river is low. But for the life of me, Duke, I can't see why you shouldn't go on half pay and stop at home a bit. We should have some fine fun together, and I'd teach you picquet, if you like."

Marmaduke stood gazing at his young brother for a second or two angrily. Then his face softened, he went over to him and laid his hands on his shoulders, and so remained looking down on the weak effeminate face.

"You're talking what they call 'bosh' at school, Peter. You're not a bit content here. How could you be? Give it up and come along with me when I go. The old man doesn't deserve to have a son."

Peter wriggled himself away from his brother's hold.

"I don't really see why you should go."

"Don't you? Well, I'll tell you. Because I'm a soldier born and bred.

I don't suppose I shall die on the field of glory, but I shall have a try at it. And I mean to have my majority in my old regiment if I have to forge the old man's name to get it."

With that he gloomed away and loafed about, irritated at all things and everything, even at the preparations that were being made for the festivities of the evening, for these necessitated his being turned out of his comfortable room in order to accommodate some of the guests.

"Where are they putting me?" he asked angrily of Andrew Fraser, whom he found, very long and lank in consequence of repeated attacks of malarial fever, busy packing up his dressing things.

"It will be tae whatten they used to ca' the 'Agapemoan' in the old lord's young days, sir," replied Andrew. "Jest yon big room wi' the outside stair in the west wing close to the keep, sir. 'Tis a bonny eneuch room with a fire to it, an' Marrion Paul has ben reddin' it up a' day."

Marrion Paul! The name came as a relief and a regret, for he had not seen her--not anyhow for speech--since their dawn-tide swim together.

Now the mere memory of it in its coolness and freshness and beauty calmed his irritation, and half aimlessly he strolled across the quadrangle to inspect his new quarters. She might be there still.

Apparently she was, for a sound of determined sweeping came down the stairway.

"Hullo, Marmie, is that you?" he cried joyously, bounding up the steps two at a time.

"Aye, Mr. Duke, it's me," replied the figure with the broom laconically.

Certainly it was a nice comfortable room with the fire blazing and the cas.e.m.e.nt window, still somewhat hung with cobwebs, set wide to the summer suns.h.i.+ne. Marmaduke pa.s.sed to it and looked out. Beneath him, far down the slanting red cliffs dotted here and there with sombre pines, lay the castle pool, and over yonder to the right were the rocks on the other side where he had found Marmie combing her hair like any mermaid. It was hidden now under a most unbecoming dust kerchief; still the memory was pleasant.

"I say, Marmie," he remarked, "that swim of ours was stunning, wasn't it?"

"It's aye nice in the dawning," replied Marrion comfortably. "I've been out twice since then, and I'm no saying which I enjoyed the maist."

Marmaduke made a wry face.

"You look as if I were interrupting your work," he said tenderly.

"So you are, Captain Duke," she a.s.sented calmly. He clapped his hands to his ears in mock alarm, and with a laugh raced headlong downstairs, calling back half-way that 'Andry' would have his work cut out for him getting his master to bed if so be the latter had had a gla.s.s too much.

When he had gone Marrion ceased sweeping and rested her cheek on the broom handle for a bit.

He--there was but one he in her life and she faced the fact quietly--did not look so well as he did at first, but of that Andrew Fraser had warned her. He had, in fact, told her of many things which otherwise she would not have known, for she had seen much of him in the last week. The racket of the noisy servants' hall, the whole dissolute life of masters and men up at the castle had not been to his taste, and he had taken to going over to the keep-house for quiet, if not for peace. But even that was coming to him by degrees as he realised the utter hopelessness of his love for Marrion. But he realised also that if she was not for him neither was she for any other man--except one; and that was impossible. So, indeed, he had told her plainly but a day or two before, when half-dazed with fever and ague which had attacked him suddenly, in the keep-house.

She had insisted on his lying down in her grandfather's room, and when she went in to bring him a cup of hot tea he had slipped his feet to the ground apologetically, and sitting up, a lank figure among the blankets, his small pathetic eyes full of fever, had laid a hot hand on hers and said--

"I'll no be troubling you again, Marrion. I canna help loving you and you canna help loving him. It's no oorsels, ye see. It's just Providence; sae we must just both thole it."

She had stood silent, startled by the sudden attack for a second; then she had said gravely--

"Aye, Andry, we must just thole it."

Since then a strange confidence as to Marmaduke's sayings and doings had sprung up between the two, and even at dinner-time that very day he had told of his master's irritability.

"Things have gone ajee," he remarked, "an' I'm thinkin' it's the money for the majority. But what's filthy lucre to health?--and sure as death the captain is no what he was. Gin' it wad make him quit yon bad auld man an' the wh.o.r.e-woman he is takin' to wife, I'd be heart glad."

For Andrew Fraser, being acquainted with his Bible, did not mince words. Neither did Marrion; but having more wits than Andrew she appraised the evils more reasonably, yet with more prejudice. Lord Drummuir was Lord Drummuir, and therefore in a way must be accepted; but the woman was different.

Marrion Paul's eyebrows levelled themselves to a straight bar as she went on with her work.

CHAPTER VI

The company had roared over a broad farce; for Lord Drummuir, when he entertained his neighbours, did so with a lavish hand, and thought nothing of importing a theatrical company from the nearest big town. A coach and four went for them and took them back, full up with supper and good wine. This particular one was not up to much, but they did well enough, as his lords.h.i.+p said, for the country b.u.mpkins; and the real entertainment was yet to come.

It was a pretty little miniature, this theatre which Lord Drummuir had fitted up in the days of his youth, though Marmaduke, as he sat in the sham Royal box into which his father's armchair had been wheeled, thought it smelt a little musty and fusty.

But even his laughter had been long and loud. And now there was a pause during which the noisy band of four--a cornet, a fiddle, a 'cello, and an oboe--hustled up their instruments and music and disappeared. Marmaduke, with the fine instincts for art he had inherited from his father, and which still made the latter a gourmet and not a gourmand of all good things, felt relieved. Then suddenly a thin thread of sound, vibrant, musical--just a whing like the whing of a mosquito on a hot Indian night--made itself more felt than heard. It seemed to thrill the air, to go further and thrill the heart-strings.

Marmaduke leant forward expectantly as the curtains drew up slowly on a background of pale pink velvet hanging in loose folds to a pale pink velvet floor. And the musty fustiness had gone! That was attar of roses, pale pink roses like the pale pink _mise-en-scene_. And hark, the thread of sound changed to two! It became rhythmic, louder! A guitar? No; it must be a Hungarian zither. Marmaduke, thoroughly roused, thrilled through to the marrow of his bones as he waited. Bent on conquest, he had dressed with the greatest care; from head to foot he was perfection. Expectant as he was, he was yet prepared to be critical; but one glance at the figure which, after peeping with roguish face between the velvet folds, stole out on tiptoe to the very footlights, then stood, finger on lip, as if imploring silence for an escapade, told him he was in the presence of a past mistress in her art, and he sat back prepared for enjoyment.

And La Fantine, as she had been called, had brought pleasure to many men. She was looking her best, dainty to a degree. The footlights, with the larger possibilities of powder and paint, had restored her youth, and her dress was entrancing. Short clouds of pale pink tulle scarcely veiled with gossamer black lace, all set and sparkling with dewdrops of paste diamonds. How they glittered and disappeared, twinkling one moment like stars amid the diaphanous black lace wings she wore on her head, then sinking to shadow again as she moved.

And heavens, how she moved! The zither thrilled louder and Marmaduke sat entranced, for their eyes had met and he realised that she was keeping her promise--she was dancing for him, for him alone. Like most young and vital creatures dancing was sheer delight to him, and the very precision of the black lace-shod, sandalled feet was pure joy to him. And now the rhythm grew faster and faster; she was like a mad b.u.t.terfly drunk with honey from the waiting flowers.

The desire of the eyes does not take long to flame up and flare, and Marmaduke felt quite dizzy as he joined in the burst of applause when, with a final pirouette, the _danseuse_ kissed her hand to the audience. Or was it to him?

"Never saw La Fantine dance better, Drum," remarked a thin old man, a relic of the past youth when he and the bridegroom expectant had roystered about together, "except, perhaps, that time, you remember, when she danced the _fandango_ with that South American fellow she----"

He paused, remembering that this incident in Mdlle. Le Grand's career had best not be mentioned under present circ.u.mstances.

"The _fandango?_" put in Marmaduke, afire. "I should like to see her dance that. It's the finest dance in the world. I learnt it in Cuba."

"Hullo, Drum," said the old buck, "here's a chance! Your son says he can dance the _fandango_. Here's a chance. Let's have it. They'd make a handsome couple."

Marmaduke blushed up to the ears; why, he knew not. Then he said stiffly--

"I'd rather not, Sir John."

The refusal was opportune for the _fandango_; it roused the old man's arrogance.

"Why not, sir?" he asked angrily. "You'd never get a better partner.

Here, Fantine, my dear," he added, raising his voice, "this oaf of a boy of mine says he can dance the _fandango!_ Show him he can't, there's a good girl!"

"I will do my leetle best, milor," she replied, with a maliciously provocative smile that would have incited anyone of spirit to action.