Daphne du Maurier - Frenchmans Creek

• Название: Frenchmans Creek
• Автор: Daphne du Maurier
• Жанр: Исторические любовные романы

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"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."