Jeanne of the Marshes Read online

  CHAPTER III

  Perhaps there was never a moment in the lives of these two men whentheir utter and radical dissimilarity, physically as well as in thelarger ways, was more strikingly and absolutely manifest. Like a greatsea animal, huge, black-bearded, bronzed, magnificent, but uncouth,Andrew de la Borne, in the oilskins and overalls of a villagefisherman, stood in the great bare hall in front of the open fireplace,reckless of his drippings, at first only mildly amused by the halfcynical, half angry survey of the very elegant young man who had justdescended the splendid oak staircase, with its finely carvedbalustrade, black and worm-eaten, Cecil de la Borne stared at hisbrother with the angry disgust of one whose sense of all that isholiest stands outraged. Slim, of graceful though somewhat undersizedfigure, he was conscious of having attained perfection in matters whichhe reckoned of no small importance. His grey tweed suit fitted him likea glove, his tie was a perfect blend between the colour of his eyes andhis clothes, his shoes were of immaculate shape and polish, his sockshad been selected with care in the Rue de la Paix. His hair was brusheduntil it shone with the proper amount of polish, his nails wereperfectly manicured, even his cigarette came from the dealer whosewares were the caprice of the moment. That his complexion was pallidand that underneath his eyes were faint blue lines, which werecertainly not the hall-marks of robust health, disturbed him not atall. These things were correct. Health was by no means a desideratum inthe set to which he was striving to belong. He looked through hiseyeglass at his brother and groaned.

  "Really, Andrew," he said calmly, but with an undernote of angertrembling in his tone, "I am surprised to see you like this! You might,I think, have had a little more consideration. Can't you realize what asight you are, and what a mess you're making!"

  Andrew took off his cap and shook it, so that a little shower of saltwater splashed on to the polished floor.

  "Never mind, Cecil," he said good-humouredly. "You've all thedeportment that's necessary in this family. And salt water doesn'tstain. These boards have been washed with it many a time."

  The young man's face lost none of his irritation.

  "But what on earth have you been doing?" he exclaimed. "Where have youbeen to get in a state like that?"

  Andrew's face was suddenly overcast. It did not please him to think ofthose last few hours.

  "I had to go out to bring a mad woman home," he said. "Kate Caynsardwas out in her catboat a day like this. It was suicide if I hadn'treached her in time."

  "You--did reach her in time?" the young man asked quickly.

  Andrew turned to face the questioner, and the eyes of the brothers met.Again the differences between them seemed to be suddenly andmarvellously accentuated. Andrew's cheeks, bronzed and hardened with alife spent wholly out of doors, were glistening still with the saltwater which dripped down from his hair and hung in sparkling globulesfrom his beard. Cecil was paler than ever; there was something almostfurtive in that swift insistent look. Perhaps he recognized somethingof what was in the other's mind. At any rate the good-nature left hismanner--his tone took to itself a sterner note.

  "I came back," he said grimly. "I should not have come back alone. Shewas hard to save, too," he added, after a moment's pause.

  "She is mad," Cecil muttered. "A queer lot, all the Caynsards."

  "She is as sane as you or I," his brother answered. "She does rashthings, and she chooses to treat her life as though it were a matter ofno consequence. She took a fifty to one chance at the bar, and shenearly lost. But, by heaven, you should have seen her bring my littleboat down the creek, with the tide swelling, and a squall right down onthe top of us. It was magnificent. Cecil!"

  "Well?"

  "Why does Kate Caynsard treat her life as though it were of less valuethan the mackerel she lowers her line for? Do you know?"

  The younger man dropped his eyeglass and shrugged his shoulderscontemptuously.

  "Since when," he demanded, "have I shown any inclination to play thevillage Lothario? Thick ankles and robust health have never appealed tome--I prefer the sicklier graces of civilization."

  "Kate Caynsard," Andrew said thoughtfully, "is not of the villagers.She leads their life, but her birth is better on her father's side, atany rate, than our own."

  "If I might be allowed to make the suggestion," Cecil said, regardinghis brother with supercilious distaste, "don't you think it would bejust as well to change your clothes before our guests arrive?"

  "Why should I?" Andrea asked calmly.

  "They are not my friends. I scarcely know even their names. I entertainthem at your request. Why should I be ashamed of my oilskins? They arein accord with the life I live here. I make no pretence, you see,Cecil," he added, with a faintly amused smile, "at being an ornamentalmember of Society."

  His brother regarded him with something very much like disgust.

  "No!" he said sarcastically. "No one could accuse you of that."

  Something in his tone seemed to suggest to Andrew a new idea. He lookeddown at the clothes he wore beneath his oilskins--the clothes almost ofa working man. He glanced for a moment at his hands, hardened andblistered with the actual toil which he loved--and he looked hisbrother straight in the face.

  "Cecil," he said, "I believe you're ashamed of me."

  "Of course I am," the younger man answered brutally. "It's your ownfault. You choose to make a fisherman or a labouring man of yourself. Ihaven't seen you in a decent suit of clothes for years. You won't dressfor dinner. Your hands and skin are like a ploughboy's. And, d--n itall, you're my elder brother! I've got to introduce you to my friendsas the head of the De la Bornes, and practically their host. No wonderI don't like it!"

  There was a moment's silence. If his words hurt, Andrew made no sign.With a shrug of the shoulders he turned towards the staircase.

  "There is no reason," he remarked, carelessly enough, "why I shouldinflict the humiliation of my presence on you or on your friends. I amgoing down to the Island. You shall entertain your friends and play thehost to your heart's content. It will be more comfortable for both ofus."

  Cecil prided himself upon a certain impassivity of features and mannerwhich some fin de siecle oracle of the cities had pronounced good form,but he was not wholly able to conceal his relief. Such an arrangementwas entirely to his liking. It solved the situation satisfactorily inmore ways than one.

  "It's a thundering good idea, Andrew, if you're sure you'll becomfortable there," he declared. "I don't believe you would get on withmy friends a bit. They're not your sort. Seems like turning you out ofyour own house, though."

  "It is of no consequence," Andrew said coldly. "I shall be perfectlycomfortable."

  "You see," Cecil continued, "they're not keen on sport at all, and youdon't play bridge--"

  Andrew had already disappeared. Cecil turned back into the hall and lita cigarette.

  "Phew! What a relief!" he muttered to himself. "If only he has thesense to keep away all the time!"

  He rang the bell, which was answered by a butler newly imported fromtown.

  "Clear away all this mess, James," Cecil ordered, pointing in disgustto the wet places upon the floor, and the still dripping southwester,"and serve tea here in an hour, or directly my friends arrive--tea, andwhisky and soda, and liqueurs, you know, with sandwiches and things."

  "I will do my best, sir," the man answered. "The kitchen arrangementsare a little--behind the times, if I might venture to say so."

  "I know, I know," Cecil answered irritably. "The place has been allowedto go on anyhow while I was away. Do what you can, and let them knowoutside that they must make room for one, or perhaps twoautomobiles...."

  Upstairs Andrew was rapidly throwing a few things together. With an oddlittle laugh he threw into the bottom of a wardrobe an unopened parcelof new clothes and a dress suit which had been carefully brushed. Inless than twenty minutes he had left the house by the back way, with asmall portmanteau poised easily upon his massive shoulders. As heturned from the long ill-kept avenue, with i
ts straggling wind-smittentrees all exposed to the tearing ocean gales, into the high road, agreat automobile swung round the corner and slackened speed. MajorForrest leaned out and addressed him.

  "Can you tell me if this is the Red Hall, my man--Mr. De la Borne'splace?" he asked.

  Andrew nodded, without a glance at the veiled and shrouded women whowere leaning forward to hear his answer.

  "The next avenue is the front way," he said. "Mind how you turn in--thecorner is rather sharp."

  He spoke purposely in broad Norfolk, and passed on.

  "What a Goliath!" Engleton remarked.

  "I should like to sketch him," the Princess drawled. "His shoulderswere magnificent."

  But neither of them had any idea that they had spoken with the owner ofthe Red Hall.