CHAPTER XIX
THE last time a visitor had dined at La Solitude the guest had been Beppo, and Lily had helped Cristina to clear away the next morning, and then to wash up the beautiful china and glass which were only brought out on special occasions.
She supposed that that would be her programme this morning, and she was glad to think there would be something to keep her busy, for she felt strung up, excited, and ill-at-ease, curiously unlike herself.
For the first time she felt an eager, instinctive desire to leave La Solitude. In vain she argued with herself that the kind of feeling which now possessed her was unreasonable and absurd; the more so that since the arrival of Beppo at Monte Carlo both the Count and Countess had been very much nicer to her than before he came. In fact, Lily could not doubt that Aunt Cosy was becoming really fond of her! But it was very disagreeable to feel that she was always being spied on. Again she grew hot at the thought of Aunt Cosy reading her letter from Angus Stuart. Well she knew that the Countess, with her curious, narrow ideas would think it a very peculiar letter for a girl to have received from a young man! Beppo was right about his parents. They were odd, eccentric people, very difficult to know.
It was in no happy or contented mood that Lily went downstairs, prepared to help Cristina clear away the remains of last night's supper.
Instead of going first to the kitchen, she walked along the short passage which led to the dining-room. There, to her great surprise she found that everything had already been cleared away. Somehow—though that perhaps was hardly reasonable on her part—this confirmed Lily's belief that Cristina had not gone to bed last night.
As she stood just within the empty, windowless room, there surged across Lily Fairfield an uncannily vivid memory of the extraordinary old man who had been sitting last night at the round table now before her.
What could he have said that had made the Count and Countess Polda look as they had looked when they had turned and gazed with such an expression of stony fear at the open door?
Again Lily asked herself uneasily whether that horrible old Dutchman—for so she now described him in her own mind—had any hold over Beppo? The Countess had said that the two men were engaged in some sort of business together, but Lily could not help remembering the almost insolent manner with which Mr. Vissering had treated Count Polda. And she now remembered another thing which struck her as very strange. This was that Beppo's name had not once been mentioned during that awkward three-cornered conversation in the dirty little smoking-room of the Hotel Utrecht.
And then all at once there came over a Lily a most peculiar sensation—it was that of being companioned by the strange old man who had just been so strongly in her thoughts. She felt as if he were here, close to her! It was a most disturbing and odious sensation, and with an overmastering desire to be quit of it, she almost ran into the passage.
But the feeling persisted, and, turning round, she gazed through the open door into the room beyond. So vividly had she visualised just now the Count, the Countess, and the large, black, slightly bent back of their uncouth guest that she half expected to see them there! But of course she only saw the round polished table under the skylight, and the carved gilt chairs in their usual places against the tapestried walls.
Feeling queerly shaken and frightened she went slowly on into the kitchen.
“Is Mademoiselle going into the town this morning?” asked Cristina.
She caught at the suggestion. A walk would chase away these morbid fancies and visions from her brain. Also she had several little things to do in Monte Carlo.
“I'll start at once!” she exclaimed. “Is there anything you would like me to get you in the town?”
But Cristina shook her head.
Lily went quickly up to her room and put on her plain black coat and skirt. Then she took her cheque-book out of the only bag she ever kept locked, and caught up a pretty fancy basket, which had been a present from M. Popeau. He had bought it, full of fruit, at Marseilles, and she found it very useful when she did any little shopping either for herself or for Cristina.
As she opened the door of her room, she heard her name called out in Aunt Cosy's voice: “Lily, Lily!” The voice was low and urgent, and seemed very near; probably Uncle Angelo was still asleep.
She looked up, a little startled. The bedroom opposite to hers, that which she knew to be Cristina's bedroom—though as a matter of fact, she had never seen the old woman either enter it or leave it—had its door ajar, and through that door the Countess, clad in a dressing-gown, now emerged. She had a small, flat parcel in her hand.
“I fear,” she said nervously, “that you will think what I am going to ask you to do is very strange, my little one. It is to go to the Hôtel Hidalgo, and deliver this parcel into Beppo's own hands. It is of great importance and value. I ought to have given it to him last night, but his coming was so unexpected that I forgot all about it.”
Lily was indeed more than surprised at this request, for by this time she had come to realise how very particular foreigners are as to what a girl may or may not do. And that she, Lily, should go to the Hôtel Hidalgo, and ask for Beppo was just the sort of thing that all foreigners, Aunt Cosy included, would regard as a very improper thing to do. But she allowed nothing of what was passing in her mind to appear in her manner.
“It will be quite easy for me to go there on my way to cash a cheque!” she exclaimed, and held out her hand for the parcel.
The Countess's face cleared. Then all at once a comical look of dismay came over it. “Why, that melancholy black coat and skirt?” she asked. “I would not like Beppo to see you looking—what is that expressive word?—dowdy! Put on one of your pretty frocks, my dear.”
But Lily, reddening, shook her head. Though she was, deep in her heart, sorry that she had not put on something a little more smart than this old dress, she did not feel inclined to change just because she was going to see Beppo!
“Perhaps I shan't see him,” she said, smiling. “He mayn't be up. It's early, you know, Aunt Cosy.”
“If you do not see him,” said the Countess sharply, “then you must bring this parcel back at once to me! I thought I had made that quite clear, Lily?”
“I'm so sorry! I'll be sure to deliver it to him.”
And then, to Lily's surprise, Aunt Cosy suddenly drew her into her arms and kissed her with real affection.
“I feel, my little Lily, as if you brought good fortune to La Solitude! God knows I don't want to be unfair to the Marchesa Pescobaldi, for she has been in some ways a good friend to my beloved son. But it is quite true that she has the Evil Eye! Look at what happened yesterday. There was no reason why they should have had that breakdown in the mountains—depriving Beppo of a delightful evening with you! I am very, very glad indeed that the Marchesa is going home to-morrow. You are our true mascot!”
Lily was touched and amused by these odd remarks. They had in them a thrill of reality, of truthfulness, which was very rare in Aunt Cosy's voice and manner.
“I'm so sorry Beppo has to go away, too, to-morrow,” she said sympathetically.
“We shall see—we shall see! Perhaps it will be possible for him to stay on a little longer after all,” answered the Countess. But now she was speaking, or so the girl told herself, in her old, false, affected voice.
Lily took the precious parcel, and put it at the bottom of her basket. Then she went downstairs.
“Well, Cristina, is there really nothing you want me to do?”
“I would like a pound of rice,” said Cristina hesitatingly. “And if you could get me such a thing, four fowls' livers; that is all, my little lady.”
After the girl had started on her solitary expedition, she debated with herself whether she should go off straight to the Hôtel Hidalgo or take it on her way back. She finally decided to go there first.
When about half-way down the hill she saw a woman coming slowly up towards her. But not till they had passed one another did Lily realise that the stranger was Mme. Sansot, who kept the Utrecht Hotel, and who had spoken with such suspicion and dislike of Mr. Vissering. She felt sorry she had not said good-day to her, in the courteous French fashion; still, it was probable that Mme. Sansot had not known her again in her severely simple black coat and skirt, and plain round hat.
It took Lily longer than she had expected to walk to the Hôtel Hidalgo, and it was nearly eleven o'clock when she found herself in the hall where she had waited so long and so impatiently last night. Feeling a little shy, she went to the bureau and inquired for Count Beppo Polda.
The clerk, who had not been there the night before, looked at the young English lady with a good deal of curiosity.
“I do not know if you can see the Count,” he said hesitatingly. “He is not down here, he is upstairs in the Marchesa Pescobaldi's sitting-room. Does Mademoiselle wish to be shown up there?”
Lily was in a dilemma. “No, I do not think that will be necessary,” she said, rather uncomfortably; “I have brought a parcel for Count Beppo from his mother. She wished me to give it to him in person. Perhaps you would let him know that Miss Fairfield would like to see him in the hall for a minute?”
She spoke very decidedly, and the man scribbled something on a card and sent it upstairs. There then followed what seemed to the girl a very long wait. But at last, to her surprise, Beppo and the Marchesa appeared together.
The Marchesa's face was flushed. She looked both angry and disturbed. So did Beppo. As they came into the hall it was quite clear that neither of them recognised Lily. They were talking together animatedly. Then she heard the Marchesa utter an exclamation of surprise, and they both advanced towards her.
“The Marchesa kindly suggests that you should come upstairs to her sitting-room.”
Beppo tried to speak pleasantly and naturally, but it was plain to Lily that something had upset him very much.
“Yes,” chimed in the Marchesa, “we hope, Miss Fairfield, that you will come upstairs. It will be quite easy to arrange a private interview between you and Count Beppo. My husband and I will leave you alone together. That is more suitable than that you should ask for a private room down here.”
“But I only wanted to see Count Beppo to give him a parcel from his mother! I would have sent it up, but Aunt Cosy made me promise I would give it to him personally,” exclaimed Lily.
The Marchesa's face cleared as if by magic. “What stupid messages hotel people do give!” she observed. “The message we received was that Miss Fairfield was downstairs, and desired to see Count Beppo Polda alone and secretly—I feared something dreadful had happened at La Solitude!”
“I knew perfectly well that nothing had happened,” said Beppo crossly, “you might have let me come down alone, Livia!”
Lily blushed and laughed. “I said nothing about 'secretly,'” she exclaimed. “But I did say that I must see Beppo in person; Aunt Cosy made me promise that I would.”
She handed the parcel to Beppo, and then they all shook hands.
“Do, please, Miss Fairfield, come back to luncheon with us here. It would give us great pleasure!” The Marchesa spoke with real, eager cordiality, and, as Lily hesitated, she added: “Do ask her, Beppo? She will perhaps do it if you ask her. We will send up a message to the Countess explaining that we have kept you.”
“Yes, please do!” said Beppo.
“Walk with her to the door, my friend, and put her in the way she wishes to go to do her shopping,” said the Marchesa kindly and pleasantly. I must run up to my husband again and tell him our apprehensions were not justified.”
She waved her hand, leaving the two younger people together.
“The Marchesa was afraid that one of my parents was ill,” explained Beppo awkwardly. “She has a very warm heart. I am so glad you are coming back to déjeuner.”
He kept fingering the parcel. “Mamma did not want an answer?”
“No, I'm sure not.”
“In any case, I will write my mother a note explaining that you are with us, and telling her that I will escort you back to La Solitude myself this afternoon.”
They were out on the road by now. “How I wish I could come with you, Lily, and assist you in the shopping. But, alas! I must leave you here.”
She walked off, feeling that foreigners were indeed inexplicable beings.
Without the softening effect of her toque and veil, the Marchesa Pescobaldi had looked a good deal older this morning than she had done the other day, and there had been an unbecoming flush all over her face.
Lily walked on, half glad, half sorry, that she was going to the Hôtel Hidalgo to lunch. Glad she was not going back to La Solitude—sorry that she was to be the guest of the lady with the Evil Eye. In spite of herself Aunt Cosy's words about the Marchesa had impressed her.
Monte Carlo is a very small place—though a place of large, clear spaces; so it was not perhaps as wonderful as Lily thought it was that she should run straight into Captain Stuart.
“This is an answer to prayer!” exclaimed the young Scotsman, and though he smiled, he spoke as if he meant what he said. “I suppose it was presumptuous of me to hope that if you had received my letter you would have answered it?”
“Please forgive me,” said Lily penitently. “But yesterday was so full, I hadn't a minute! And—and”
“Yes?” he said eagerly.
“I'll answer it now,” she said, “by telling you that I thought it was very kind of you to write it, and”
“And?” he repeated.
“That I haven't forgotten my promise! I'll come at once to you if anything else happens to—to upset me again. Not that I expect anything to happen, but still, one never knows.”
“I want you to do me a kindness,” he said abruptly. “Popeau has entertained me very often, and I've never entertained him yet. Will you lunch with him and with me this morning? I've found quite a nice restaurant. Not as good as the Hôtel de Paris, but quite a decent place. Do, Miss Fairfield? I shall take it as a real kindness—the act of a friend!”
Poor Lily felt sorry indeed that she had engaged herself to the Italian lady.
“I wish I could,” she said ruefully. “But I've promised to go back to the Hôtel Hidalgo. The Marchesa Pescobaldi, who is a great friend of the Poldas, begged me to come, and I said I would. I don't see how I can get out of it now”
He remained silent.
“You do understand, don't you?” she said pleadingly.
“Yes, of course I understand. But I'm sorry.”
“I'm sorry too,” said Lily in a low voice.
“Forgive me, Miss Fairfield. I'm an ill-tempered, cantankerous fellow! But I was so disappointed—just for the minute. What are you doing this afternoon? May we call for you at the Hôtel Hidalgo after lunch?”
“I'm afraid Beppo Polda will expect me to go out with them,” said Lily. “I always used to think I had a firm character till I came to Monte Carlo, but now I'm just like wax; I do whatever I'm told. It's awfully difficult with foreigners—they just make up their minds to do something, and one has to fall in with their plans.”
“Count Beppo Polda is going away to-morrow, isn't he?” asked Angus Stuart abruptly.
“Yes, I believe he is.”
“I'm glad he's going away.”
“Why?” asked Lily.
“I don't care for the fellow—that's all.”
“I rather like him,” observed Lily.
Captain Stuart lifted his hat and walked away.
Then he suddenly came back. “As you can't come to lunch, could you come to dinner to-night, and go to the Club?” He said these very simple words in rather a fierce tone, and Lily suddenly felt as if she must obey him.
“I think I can manage that!” she exclaimed, “Though it is impossible to tell what Aunt Cosy will or will not allow me to do.”
As she saw a look of annoyance, almost of anger, flash across the young man's face, she added hurriedly: “Of course, I am now quite free to come and go as I like in the daytime, but I don't know if he would consider it the thing for me to go out to dinner by myself. However, I can but try.”
“Are you going back now at once to the Hôtel Hidalgo?”
“No,” said Lily frankly. “I am going to call on the English chaplain and ask him if he can't find me something to do. There must be voluntary work of some sort where I could put in a few hours each day.”
“But you came here to rest!” he exclaimed, in a dismayed tone.
Lily laughed. “I feel quite well again now. But sometimes La Solitude gets on my nerves. I can't imagine how an energetic woman like Aunt Cosy can stand it as she does. She wouldn't if she wasn't so fond of her husband—they are wrapped up in one another. The real reason why she was so awfully angry with me about Mr. Ponting was because he was so upset. She really is a devoted wife!”
She felt that the man walking by her side had a deep, she thought an unreasonable, prejudice against the Countess Polda. She wanted to show him that there was something good in Aunt Cosy, something better than he thought for.
When they reached the chaplain's house Lily held out her hand. “Good-bye—I hope only till to-night!” she exclaimed.
Captain Stuart shook hands with her rather stiffly, and walked away—this time without turning round and coming back as he had done before.
As to Lily's proposed voluntary work, everything was settled in a very few minutes. She was told that there was a Convalescent Home just outside Monte Carlo, where they would be more than grateful for occasional help.
As she left the chaplain's house Lily felt that she quite looked forward to this opportunity of doing some real work. It was true that the long, dull hours spent by her at La Solitude got on her nerves. Hence that strange, unnerving experience in the dining-room this morning.
It was to her an extraordinary experience to be living in a house into which there never came a book, or even a newspaper of any kind, excepting the queer little sheet published in Monaco itself! That contained practically no news of interest to an English girl—though the long lists of visitors to the various hotels were studied carefully by both Count and Countess Polda.
At first Lily had supposed by the way the Countess talked, that people would come in and out as they did in England. But, with the exception of the unfortunate George Ponting, and of her own two friends, M. Popeau and Captain Stuart, no strangers had been near La Solitude till last night, and then, as Lily knew quite well, the old Dutchman had only been asked because it was hoped that he would be useful to Beppo.
It was strange how Mr. Vissering's sinister, disagreeable personality haunted Lily. When she thought of him she hastened her footsteps, nervously afraid lest she might suddenly run into him.
She wondered if the woman who kept the Utrecht Hotel had been on her way to La Solitude with a message from the Dutchman? Perhaps she was bringing a return invitation from old Mr. Vissering to the Count and Countess. If he had included her—and Lily somehow felt quite certain that if he asked them he would ask her too—then she made up her mind to say quite plainly that she would not go.