bruises and five stitches in my head? How did
'You owe your life to Providence. Remember that, Captain Drake, in your prayers tonight'
'Yes, but how did Providence operate?'
Lady Brayle's lips tightened.
'Also,' she said, and looked away, 'to an accident I believe your acquaintance, the unspeakable Merrivale, was somehow concerned in it'
'Old H.M.? What did he do?’
'You may or may not have observed,' said Lady Brayle, 'that outside this house, some distance above the front door, there is a very large awning coloured orange. This is usually, kept folded up on an iron frame.'
'Wow!'
'I beg your pardon?'
Only too well Martin remembered that orange-coloured awning; and, yesterday, H.M. standing in the middle of the gravel path, his fists oh his hips and an expression of malevolence on his face, looking up at the awning above Martin's and Ruth Callice's heads.
'As for Henry,' continued Lady Brayle, now with a handkerchief at her lips, 'I sometimes think, you know, he must be feeble-minded. According to the maid Phyllis he actually gave money to the gardener—'
'I know! I was there when Phyllis said so!'
'Ah, but for what purpose? The gardener was to go out in the middle of the night — the middle of the night if you. please! — and lower the awning so as to shade the terrace!
'By such acts of stupidity,' said Lady Brayle, her voice rising strongly, 'does good come about in this world. When you fell, I am informed, the loose canvas of the awning broke your fall like a firemen's whatever-the-term-is. Then the awning ripped, and let you slide through. You have had a most extraordinary escape, Captain Drake.'
'The Old Maestro!' Martin said softly.
'Tm afraid I don't understand,' said Lady Brayle.
On the bedside table there were cigarettes and his lighter. Martin, in the act of stretching out a painful right arm for them, stopped and looked at her. His glance said, 'Whatever is going on in that twisty brain of his, he saved my life and you know it' Lady Brayle's lofty stare replied: 'Kindly refrain from mentioning objectionable subjects.'
This duel of glances became, as it were, so silently audible that anger gathered round Lady Brayle's mouth. Martin's stare did not fall. Instead Lady Brayle rose up from her chair, shaking shoulders which appeared massive in heavy tweed, and paced up and down the room.
'It may be conceded,' said Lady Brayle, 'that Henry sometimes possesses the vulgar cunning to outwit criminals.'
'Thank you.'
'But he is despicable,' said Lady Brayle, breathing hard. 'I hadn't observed it'.'
'Constantly he consorts with low company. Never once does it enter his head—' this was the real grievance —'that their station is in any way inferior to his. His childish vanity, which makes him seriously imagine he is a model of deportment like Lord Chesterfield, is infuriating. On his vile tempers and obscene language I need not dwell. Even now, I believe, he is downstairs explaining to poor Cicely how he was once a Cavalier poet'
'Lady Brayle,' Martin interrupted, 'where's Jenny?'
Lady Brayle flowed into this without even seeming to notice the change of subject
'Jennifer,' she corrected him, 'has gone home. On my specific order. Her behaviour here today was unladylike and even disgusting. No less than twenty times, by my own counting, Dr. Laurier had to assure her you were not at death's door. The speech she addressed to you — well, I make no comment.'
This bedroom, uncompromisingly masculine, was a large square room with striped wall-paper and heavy oak furniture, dimly lighted by the bedside lamp. Lady Brayle stopped short in her pacing and loomed over the bed.
'Captain Drake,' she began formally.
There was something strange in her tone. Martin, in the act of lighting a cigarette, blew out the lighter- flame.
'Yes?'
Lady Brayle seemed to be pushing, pushing hard against some door inside herself, to struggle out It was a difficult business.
“I sat here tonight,' again she pushed at the door, 'for one specific purpose. I wished to say—' She stopped. 'From what I had heard of your behaviour from certain sources, I was beginning to believe you possessed the qualities (and also the imperfections, which are just as necessary) of a gentleman.'
There was a pause.
At this point (perhaps) Martin might have ended the feud. But he didn't trust the old girl an inch, not one inch. And his face showed it
'Thank you,' he said gravely. 'You sat here tonight to tell me that?'
'Yes, yes, of course!' retorted his companion, with rather too much haste, 'What other reason could there have been?' 'I can't say.'
'But I no longer,' snapped Lady Brayle, 'think my belief to have been a true one.' Her voice became colourless. 'It remains only for me to give you your orders. On the table beside you you will find a yellow pill. Take that with water from the glass, and lie back. Tomorrow you will be perfectly fit'
Martin, putting down cigarette and lighter, instantly threw back the bed-clothes and slid his legs out of bed. He was wearing his own pyjamas, and his slippers were beside the bed.
'If you don't mind, Lady Brayle,' he suggested pointedly, 'I'd like to get dressed. — You've guessed, of course, that Jenny and I are to be married.'
'That Captain Drake, can await discussion later.'
'Can I reach you tomorrow morning?'
'Fortunately or unfortunately,' replied Lady Brayle, taking up a handbag from the chest of drawers, 'no. I am driving tonight to visit some friends at Priory Hill, and I shall not return until the afternoon. Then there will be the fair.'
'The fair?'
'Has Jennifer told you nothing of the fair?'
Martin drew his hand down over his face. 'She did say something…'
'Among my records,' Lady Brayle informed him triumphantly, 'there is a document dated 1662. By permission of the King, an annual fair may be held within the park of Brayle Manor.
The town-council,' she shook her shoulders, 'have opposed this project I have informed them that I will sue them for five thousand pounds if one of their representatives sets foot inside the park.
'Cromwell, by which I mean the vile Oliver, sought to suppress these fine old wholesome English customs. Doubtless there will be grinning-matches through horse-collars, and quarterstaff bouts; perhaps even a Maypole.'
Lady Brayle, having reached the door, spoke as though she were addressing a public meeting. Then her face seemed to close up; to retreat
'Now,' she said, 'you must excuse me. My friends at Priory Hill wish to hear the details of a — of a most unpleasant affair at Pentecost Prison this morning.'
'The bell!' exclaimed Martin.
Until this moment his own grace-of-God escape from death had swept away everything else.
'The alarm-bell,' he said, 'was ringing from Pentecost The alarm-bell from the condemned cell Stannard… What happened there?'
Lady Brayle regarded him coolly.
'You have had your orders,' she informed him. 'You must not excite yourself.' And she went out and closed the door.
Martin stumbled over his slippers when he sprang forward. Then he stopped and put them on. Pain knifed across his forehead, the effect of opiates still lingered, and (to tell the truth) not many of his joints seemed to work well. But he had his wits with him.
Thank the Lord he had brought that suitcase across from the inn last night across the room stood a gigantic wardrobe, with a long mirror. As he reached out to open the door of the wardrobe, he saw his own face.
