The Ivory Child Read online

  CHAPTER III

  MISS HOLMES

  Two and a half hours passed by, most of which time I spent lying down torest and get rid of a headache caused by the continual, rapid firingand the roar of the gale, or both; also in rubbing my shoulder withointment, for it was sore from the recoil of the guns. Then Scroopeappeared, as, being unable to find my way about the long passages ofthat great old castle, I had asked him to do, and we descended togetherto the large drawing-room.

  It was a splendid apartment, only used upon state occasions, lighted,I should think, with at least two or three hundred wax candles, whichthrew a soft glow over the panelled and pictured walls, the pricelessantique furniture, and the bejewelled ladies who were gathered there. Tomy mind there never was and never will be any artificial light to equalthat of wax candles in sufficient quantity. The company was large; Ithink thirty sat down to dinner that night, which was given to introduceLord Ragnall's future wife to the neighbourhood, whereof she wasdestined to be the leader.

  Miss Manners, who was looking very happy and charming in her jewels andfine clothes, joined us at once, and informed Scroope that "she" wasjust coming; the maid in the cloakroom had told her so.

  "Is she?" replied Scroope indifferently. "Well, so long as you have comeI don't care about anyone else."

  Then he told her she was looking beautiful, and stared at her with suchaffection that I fell back a step or two and contemplated a picture ofJudith vigorously engaged in cutting off the head of Holofernes.

  Presently the large door at the end of the room was thrown open and theimmaculate Savage, who was acting as a kind of master of the ceremonies,announced in well-bred but penetrating tones, "Lady Longden and theHonourable Miss Holmes." I stared, like everybody else, but for a whileher ladyship filled my eye. She was an ample and, to my mind, ratherawful-looking person, clad in black satin--she was a widow--and verylarge diamonds. Her hair was white, her nose was hooked, her dark eyeswere penetrating, and she had a bad cold in her head. That was all Ifound time to notice about her, for suddenly her daughter came into myline of vision.

  Truly she was a lovely girl, or rather, young woman, for she musthave been two or three-and-twenty. Not very tall, her proportions wererounded and exquisite, and her movements as graceful as those of a doe.Altogether she was doe-like, especially in the fineness of her linesand her large and liquid eyes. She was a dark beauty, with rich brown,waving hair, a clear olive complexion, a perfectly shaped mouth and veryred lips. To me she looked more Italian or Spanish than Anglo-Saxon, andI believe that, as a matter of fact, she had some southern blood in heron her father's side. She wore a dress of soft rose colour, and her onlyornaments were a string of pearls and a single red camellia. I could seebut one blemish, if it were a blemish, in her perfect person, and thatwas a curious white mark upon her breast, which in its shape exactlyresembled the crescent moon.

  The face, however, impressed me with other than its physical qualities.It was bright, intelligent, sympathetic and, just now, happy. But Ithought it more, I thought it mystical. Something that her mother saidto her, probably about her dress, caused her smile to vanish for amoment, and then, from beneath it as it were, appeared this shadow ofinnate mysticism. In a second it was gone and she was laughing again;but I, who am accustomed to observe, had caught it, perhaps alone of allthat company. Moreover, it reminded me of something.

  What was it? Ah! I knew. A look that sometimes I had seen upon the faceof a certain Zulu lady named Mameena, especially at the moment of herwonderful and tragic death. The thought made me shiver a little; I couldnot tell why, for certainly, I reflected, this high-placed and fortunateEnglish girl had nothing in common with that fate-driven Child of Storm,whose dark and imperial spirit dwelt in the woman called Mameena. Theywere as far apart as Zululand is from Essex. Yet it was quite sure thatboth of them had touch with hidden things.

  Lord Ragnall, looking more like a splendid Van Dyck than ever in hisevening dress, stepped forward to greet his fiancee and her mother witha courtly bow, and I turned again to continue my contemplation of thestalwart Judith and the very ugly head of Holofernes. Presently I wasaware of a soft voice--a very rich and thrilling voice--asking quiteclose to me:

  "Which is he? Oh! you need not answer, dear. I know him from thedescription."

  "Yes," replied Lord Ragnall to Miss Holmes--for it was she--"you arequite right. I will introduce you to him presently. But, love, whom doyou wish to take you in to dinner? I can't--your mother, you know; andas there are no titles here to-night, you may make your choice. Wouldyou like old Dr. Jeffreys, the clergyman?"

  "No," she replied, with quiet firmness, "I know him; he took me in oncebefore. I wish Mr. Allan Quatermain to take me in. He is interesting,and I want to hear about Africa."

  "Very well," he answered, "and he _is_ more interesting than all therest put together. But, Luna, why are you always thinking and talkingabout Africa? One might imagine that you were going to live there."

  "So I may one day," she answered dreamily. "Who knows where one haslived, or where one will live!" And again I saw that mystic look comeinto her face.

  I heard no more of that conversation, which it is improbable that anyonewhose ears had not been sharpened by a lifetime of listening in greatsilences would have caught at all. To tell the truth, I made myselfscarce, slipping off to the other end of the big room in the hope ofevading the kind intentions of Miss Holmes. I have a great dislikeof being put out of my place, and I felt that among all these localcelebrities it was not fitting that I should be selected to take inthe future bride on an occasion of this sort. But it was of no use, forpresently Lord Ragnall hunted me up, bringing the young lady with him.

  "Let me introduce you to Miss Holmes, Quatermain," he said. "She isanxious that you should take her in to dinner, if you will be so kind.She is very interested in--in----"

  "Africa," I suggested.

  "In Mr. Quatermain, who, I am told, is one of the greatest hunters inAfrica," she corrected me, with a dazzling smile.

  I bowed, not knowing what to say. Lord Ragnall laughed and vanished,leaving us together. Dinner was announced. Presently we were wending inthe centre of a long and glittering procession across the central hallto the banqueting chamber, a splendid room with a roof like a churchthat was said to have been built in the times of the Plantagenets. HereMr. Savage, who evidently had been looking out for her future ladyship,conducted us to our places, which were upon the left of Lord Ragnall,who sat at the head of the broad table with Lady Longden on his right.Then the old clergyman, Dr. Jeffreys, a pompous and rather frowsyecclesiastic, said grace, for grace was still in fashion at such feastsin those days, asking Heaven to make us truly thankful for the dinner wewere about to consume.

  Certainly there was a great deal to be thankful for in the eating anddrinking line, but of all I remember little, except a general vision ofsilver dishes, champagne, splendour, and things I did not want to eatbeing constantly handed to me. What I do remember is Miss Holmes, andnothing but Miss Holmes; the charm of her conversation, the light of herbeautiful eyes, the fragrance of her hair, her most flattering interestin my unworthy self. To tell the truth, we got on "like fire in thewinter grass," as the Zulus say, and when that dinner was over the grasswas still burning.

  I don't think that Lord Ragnall quite liked it, but fortunately LadyLongden was a talkative person. First she conversed about her cold inthe head, sneezing at intervals, poor soul, and being reduced to sendfor another handkerchief after the entrees. Then she got off uponbusiness matters; to judge from the look of boredom on her host's face,I think it must have been of settlements. Three times did I hear himrefer her to the lawyers--without avail. Lastly, when he thought he hadescaped, she embarked upon a quite vigorous argument with Dr. Jeffreysabout church matters--I gathered that she was "low" and he was"high"--in which she insisted upon his lordship acting as referee.

  "Do try and keep your attention fixed, George," I heard her sayseverely. "To allow it to wander when high spiritual aff
airs are underdiscussion (sneeze) is scarcely reverent. Could you tell the man to shutthat door? The draught is dreadful. It is quite impossible for you toagree with both of us, as you say you do, seeing that metaphorically Dr.Jeffreys is at one pole and I am at the other." (Sneeze.)

  "Then I wish I were at the Tropic of Cancer," I heard him mutter with agroan.

  In vain; he had to keep his "attention fixed" on this point for the nextthree-quarters of an hour. So as Miss Manners was at the other sideof me, and Scroope, unhampered by the presence of any prospectivemother-in-law, was at the other side of her, for all practical purposesMiss Holmes and I were left alone.

  She began by saying:

  "I hear you beat Sir Junius Fortescue out shooting to-day, and won a lotof money from him which you gave to the Cottage Hospital. I don't likeshooting, and I don't like betting; and it's strange, because you don'tlook like a man who bets. But I detest Sir Junius Fortescue, and that isa bond of union between us."

  "I never said I detested him."

  "No, but I am sure you do. Your face changed when I mentioned his name."

  "As it happens, you are right. But, Miss Holmes, I should like you tounderstand that you were also right when you said I did not look like abetting man." And I told her some of the story of Van Koop and the L250.

  "Ah!" she said, when I had finished, "I always felt sure he was ahorror. And my mother wanted me, just because he pretended to be lowchurch--but that's a secret."

  Then I congratulated her upon her approaching marriage, saying whata joyful thing it was now and again to see everything going in real,happy, storybook fashion: beauty, male and female, united by love, highrank, wealth, troops of friends, health of body, a lovely and an ancienthome in a settled land where dangers do not come--at present--respectand affection of crowds of dependants, the prospect of a high and usefulcareer of a sort whereof the door is shut to most people, everythingin short that human beings who are not actually royalty could desire ordeserve. Indeed after my second glass of champagne I grew quite eloquenton these and kindred points, being moved thereto by memories of themisery that is in the world which formed so great a contrast to the lotof this striking and brilliant pair.

  She listened to me attentively and answered:

  "Thank you for your kind thoughts and wishes. But does it not strikeyou, Mr. Quatermain, that there is something ill-omened in such talk? Ibelieve that it does; that as you finished speaking it occurred to youthat after all the future is as much veiled from all of us as--as thepicture which hangs behind its curtain of rose-coloured silk in LordRagnall's study is from you."

  "How did you know that?" I asked sharply in a low voice. For by thestrangest of coincidences, as I concluded my somewhat old-fashionedlittle speech of compliments, this very reflection had entered mymind, and with it the memory of the veiled picture which Mr. Savage hadpointed out to me on the previous morning.

  "I can't say, Mr. Quatermain, but I did know it. You were thinking ofthe picture, were you not?"

  "And if I was," I said, avoiding a direct reply, "what of it? Thoughit is hidden from everybody else, he has only to draw the curtain andsee--you."

  "Supposing he should draw the curtain one day and see nothing, Mr.Quatermain?"

  "Then the picture would have been stolen, that is all, and he would haveto search for it till he found it again, which doubtless sooner or laterhe would do."

  "Yes, sooner or later. But where? Perhaps you have lost a picture or twoin your time, Mr. Quatermain, and are better able to answer the questionthan I am."

  There was silence for a few moments, for this talk of lost picturesbrought back memories which choked me.

  Then she began to speak again, low, quickly, and with suppressedpassion, but acting wonderfully all the while. Knowing that eyes were onher, her gestures and the expression of her face were such as mighthave been those of any young lady of fashion who was talking of everydayaffairs, such as dancing, or flowers, or jewels. She smiled and evenlaughed occasionally. She played with the golden salt-cellar in frontof her and, upsetting a little of the salt, threw it over her leftshoulder, appearing to ask me if I were a victim of that ancient habit,and so on.

  But all the while she was talking deeply of deep things, such as Ishould never have thought would pass her mind. This was the substanceof what she said, for I cannot set it all down verbatim; after so manyyears my memory fails me.

  "I am not like other women. Something moves me to tell you so, somethingvery real and powerful which pushes me as a strong man might. It is odd,because I have never spoken to anyone else like that, not to my motherfor instance, or even to Lord Ragnall. They would neither of themunderstand, although they would misunderstand differently. My motherwould think I ought to see a doctor--and if you knew that doctor! He,"and she nodded towards Lord Ragnall, "would think that my engagement hadupset me, or that I had grown rather more religious than I ought to beat my age, and been reflecting too much--well, on the end of all things.From a child I have understood that I am a mystery set in the midst ofmany other mysteries. It all came to me one night when I was about nineyears old. I seemed to see the past and the future, although I couldgrasp neither. Such a long, long past and such an infinite future. Idon't know what I saw, and still see sometimes. It comes in a flash, andis in a flash forgotten. My mind cannot hold it. It is too big formy mind; you might as well try to pack Dr. Jeffreys there into thiswineglass. Only two facts remain written on my heart. The first isthat there is trouble ahead of me, curious and unusual trouble; andthe second, that permanently, continually, I, or a part of me, havesomething to do with Africa, a country of which I know nothingexcept from a few very dull books. Also, by the way--this is a newthought--that I have a great deal to do with _you_. That is why I amso interested in Africa and you. Tell me about Africa and yourself now,while we have the chance." And she ended rather abruptly, adding in alouder voice, "You have lived there all your life, have you not, Mr.Quatermain?"

  "I rather think your mother would be right--about the doctor, I mean," Isaid.

  "You _say_ that, but you don't _believe_ it. Oh! you are verytransparent, Mr. Quatermain--at least, to me."

  So, hurriedly enough, for these subjects seemed to be uncomfortable,even dangerous in a sense, I began to talk of the first thing aboutAfrica that I remembered--namely, of the legend of the Holy Flower thatwas guarded by a huge ape, of which I had heard from a white man who wassupposed to be rather mad, who went by the name of Brother John. Also Itold her that there was something in it, as I had with me a specimen ofthe flower.

  "Oh! show it me," she said.

  I replied that I feared I could not, as it was locked away in a safe inLondon, whither I was returning on the morrow. I promised, however, tosend her a life-sized water-colour drawing of which I had caused severalto be made. She asked me if I were going to look for this flower, andI said that I hoped so if I could make the necessary arrangements. Nextshe asked me if there chanced to be any other African quests upon whichI had set my mind. I replied that there were several. For instance, Ihad heard vaguely through Brother John, and indirectly from one ortwo other sources, of the existence of a certain tribe in East CentralAfrica--Arabs or semi-Arabs--who were reported to worship a child thatalways remained a child. This child, I took it, was a dwarf; but as Iwas interested in native religious customs which were infinite in theirvariety, I should much like to find out the truth of the matter.

  "Talking of Arabs," she broke in, "I will tell you a curious story. Oncewhen I was a little girl, eight or nine years of age--it was just beforethat kind of awakening of which I have spoken to you--I was playing inKensington Gardens, for we lived in London at the time, in the charge ofmy nurse-governess. She was talking to some young man who she said washer cousin, and told me to run about with my hoop and not to bother. Idrove the hoop across the grass to some elm trees. From behind one ofthe trees came out two tall men dressed in white robes and turbans, wholooked to me like scriptural characters in a picture-book. One was anelderly ma
n with flashing, black eyes, hooked nose, and a long greybeard. The other was much younger, but I do not remember him so well.They were both brown in colour, but otherwise almost like white men; notNegroes by any means. My hoop hit the elder man, and I stood still, notknowing what to say. He bowed politely and picked it up, but did notoffer to return it to me. They talked together rapidly, and one of thempointed to the moon-shaped birthmark which you see I have upon myneck, for it was hot weather, and I was wearing a low-cut frock. It wasbecause of this mark that my father named me Luna. The elder of the twosaid in broken English:

  "'What is your name, pretty little girl?'

  "I told him it was Luna Holmes. Then he drew from his robe a box made ofscented wood, and, opening it, took out some sweetmeat which lookedas if it had been frozen, and gave me a piece that, being very fond ofsweet, I put into my mouth. Next, he bowled the hoop along the groundinto the shadow of the trees--it was evening time and beginning to growdark--saying, 'Run, catch it, little girl!'

  "I began to run, but something in the taste of that sweet caused me todrop it from my lips. Then all grew misty, and the next thing I rememberwas finding myself in the arms of the younger Eastern, with the nurseand her 'cousin,' a stalwart person like a soldier, standing in front ofus.

  "'Little girl go ill,' said the elder Arab. 'We seek policeman.'

  "'You drop that child,' answered the 'cousin,' doubling his fists. ThenI grew faint again, and when I came to myself the two white-robed menhad gone. All the way home my governess scolded me for accepting sweetsfrom strangers, saying that if my parents came to know of it, I shouldbe whipped and sent to bed. Of course, I begged her not to tell them,and at last she consented. Do you know, I think you are the first towhom I have ever mentioned the matter, of which I am sure the governessnever breathed a word, though after that, whenever we walked in thegardens, her 'cousin' always came to look after us. In the end I thinkshe married him."

  "You believe the sweet was drugged?" I asked.

  She nodded. "There was something very strange in it. It was a nightor two after I had tasted it that I had what just now I called myawakening, and began to think about Africa."

  "Have you ever seen these men again, Miss Holmes?"

  "No, never."

  At this moment I heard Lady Longden say, in a severe voice:

  "My dear Luna, I am sorry to interrupt your absorbing conversation, butwe are all waiting for you."

  So they were, for to my horror I saw that everyone was standing upexcept ourselves.

  Miss Holmes departed in a hurry, while Scroope whispered in my ear witha snigger:

  "I say, Allan, if you carry on like that with his young lady, hislordship will be growing jealous of you."

  "Don't be a fool," I said sharply. But there was something in hisremark, for as Lord Ragnall passed on his way to the other end of thetable, he said in a low voice and with rather a forced smile:

  "Well, Quatermain, I hope your dinner has not been as dull as mine,although your appetite seemed so poor."

  Then I reflected that I could not remember having eaten a thing sincethe first entree. So overcome was I that, rejecting all Scroope'sattempts at conversation, I sat silent, drinking port and filling upwith dates, until not long afterwards we went into the drawing-room,where I sat down as far from Miss Holmes as possible, and looked at abook of views of Jerusalem.

  While I was thus engaged, Lord Ragnall, pitying my lonely condition, orbeing instigated thereto by Miss Holmes, I know not which, came up andbegan to chat with me about African big-game shooting. Also he asked mewhat was my permanent address in that country. I told him Durban, and inmy turn asked why he wanted to know.

  "Because Miss Holmes seems quite crazy about the place, and I expect Ishall be dragged out there one day," he replied, quite gloomily. It wasa prophetic remark.

  At this moment our conversation was interrupted by Lady Longden, whocame to bid her future son-in-law good night. She said that she must goto bed, and put her feet in mustard and water as her cold was so bad,which left me wondering whether she meant to carry out this operationin bed. I recommended her to take quinine, a suggestion she acknowledgedrather inconsequently by remarking in somewhat icy tones that shesupposed I sat up to all hours of the night in Africa. I replied thatfrequently I did, waiting for the sun to rise next day, for that memberof the British aristocracy irritated me.

  Thus we parted, and I never saw her again. She died many years ago,poor soul, and I suppose is now freezing her former acquaintances inthe Shades, for I cannot imagine that she ever had a friend. They talka great deal about the influences of heredity nowadays, but I don'tbelieve very much in them myself. Who, for instance, could conceivethat persons so utterly different in every way as Lady Longden and herdaughter, Miss Holmes, could be mother and child? Our bodies, no doubt,we do inherit from our ancestors, but not our individualities. Thesecome from far away.

  A good many of the guests went at the same time, having long distancesto drive on that cold frosty night, although it was only just teno'clock. For as was usual at that period even in fashionable houses, wehad dined at seven.