CHAPTER IV. COUNT SAMOVAL
Miss Armytage's own notions of what might be fit and proper for hervirginal ears were by no means coincident with Lady O'Moy's. Thus,although you have seen her pass into the private quarters of theadjutant's establishment, and although, in fact, she did withdraw toher own room, she found it impossible to abide there a prey to doubt andmisgivings as to what Dick Butler might have done--doubt and misgivings,be it understood, entertained purely on Una's account and not at all onDick's.
By the corridor spanning the archway on the southern side of thequadrangle, and serving as a connecting bridge between the adjutant'sprivate and official quarters, Miss Armytage took her way to SirTerence's work-room, knowing that she would find Captain Tremayne there,and assuming that he would be alone.
"May I come in?" she asked him from the doorway.
He sprang to his feet. "Why, certainly, Miss Armytage." For soimperturbable a young man he seemed oddly breathless in his eagerness towelcome her. "Are you looking for O'Moy? He left me nearly half-an-hourago to go to breakfast, and I was just about to follow."
"I scarcely dare detain you, then."
"On the contrary. I mean... not at all. But... were you wanting me?"
She closed the door, and came forward into the room, moving with thatsupple grace peculiarly her own.
"I want you to tell me something, Captain Tremayne, and I want you to befrank with me."
"I hope I could never be anything else."
"I want you to treat me as you would treat a man, a friend of your ownsex."
Tremayne sighed. He had recovered from the surprise of her coming andwas again his imperturbable self.
"I assure you that is the last way in which I desire to treat you. Butif you insist--"
"I do." She had frowned slightly at the earlier part of his speech, withits subtle, half-jesting gallantry, and she spoke sharply now.
"I bow to your will," said Captain Tremayne.
"What has Dick Butler been doing?"
He looked into her face with sharply questioning eyes.
"What was it that happened at Tavora?"
He continued to look at her. "What have you heard?" he asked at last.
"Only that he has done something at Tavora for which the consequences, Igather, may be grave. I am anxious for Una's sake to know what it is."
"Does Una know?"
"She is being told now. Count Samoval let slip just what I haveoutlined. And she has insisted upon being told everything."
"Then why did you not remain to hear?"
"Because they sent me away on the plea that--oh, on the silly plea of myyouth and innocence, which were not to be offended."
"But which you expect me to offend?"
"No. Because I can trust you to tell me without offending."
"Sylvia!" It was a curious exclamation of satisfaction and of gratitudefor the implied confidence. We must admit that it betrayed a selfishforgetfulness of Dick Butler and his troubles, but it is by no meansclear that it was upon such grounds that it offended her.
She stiffened perceptibly. "Really, Captain Tremayne!"
"I beg your pardon," said he. "But you seemed to imply--" He checked, ata loss.
Her colour rose. "Well, sir? What do you suggest that I implied orseemed to imply?" But as suddenly her manner changed. "I think we aretoo concerned with trifles where the matter on which I have sought youis a serious one."
"It is of the utmost seriousness," he admitted gravely.
"Won't you tell me what it is?"
He told her quite simply the whole story, not forgetting to giveprominence to the circumstances extenuating it in Butler's favour. Shelistened with a deepening frown, rather pale, her head bowed.
"And when he is taken," she asked, "what--what will happen to him?"
"Let us hope that he will not be taken."
"But if he is--if he is?" she insisted almost impatiently.
Captain Tremayne turned aside and looked out of the window. "I shouldwelcome the news that he is dead," he said softly. "For if he is takenhe will find no mercy at the hands of his own people."
"You mean that he will be shot?" Horror charged her voice, dilated hereyes.
"Inevitably."
A shudder ran through her, and she covered her face with her hands. Whenshe withdrew then Tremayne beheld the lovely countenance transformed. Itwas white and drawn.
"But surely Terence can save him!" she cried piteously.
He shook his head, his lips tight pressed. "'There is no man less ableto do so."
"What do you mean? Why do you say that?"
He looked at her, hesitating for a moment, then answered her: "'O'Moyhas pledged his word to the Portuguese Government that Dick Butler shallbe shot when taken."
"Terence did that?"
"He was compelled to it. Honour and duty demanded no less of him. Ialone, who was present and witnessed the undertaking, know what itcost him and what he suffered. But he was forced to sink all privateconsiderations. It was a sacrifice rendered necessary, inevitable forthe success of this campaign." And he proceeded to explain to herall the circumstances that were interwoven with Lieutenant Butler'sill-timed offence. "Thus you see that from Terence you can hope fornothing. His honour will not admit of his wavering in this matter."
"Honour?" She uttered the word almost with contempt. "And what of Una?"
"I was thinking of Una when I said I should welcome the news of Dick'sdeath somewhere in the hills. It is the best that can be hoped for."
"I thought you were Dick's friend, Captain Tremayne."
"Why, so I have been; so I am. Perhaps that is another reason why Ishould hope that he is dead."
"Is it no reason why you should do what you can to save him?"
He looked at her steadily for an instant, calm under the reproach of hereyes.
"Believe me, Miss Armytage, if I saw a way to save him, to do anythingto help him, I should seize it, both for the sake of my friendship forhimself and because of my affection for Una. Since you yourself areinterested in him, that is an added reason for me. But it is one thingto admit willingness to help and another thing actually to afford help.What is there that I can do? I assure you that I have thought of thematter. Indeed for days I have thought of little else. But I can see nolight. I await events. Perhaps a chance may come."
Her expression had softened. "I see." She put out a hand generously toask forgiveness. "I was presumptuous, and I had no right to speak as Idid."
He took the hand. "I should never question your right to speak to me inany way that seemed good to you," he assured her.
"I had better go to Una. She will be needing me, poor child. I amgrateful to you, Captain Tremayne, for your confidence and for tellingme." And thus she left him very thoughtful, as concerned for Una as shewas herself.
Now Una O'Moy was the natural product of such treatment. There had everbeen something so appealing in her lovely helplessness and fragilitythat all her life others had been concerned to shelter her from everywind that blew. Because it was so she was what she was; and because shewas what she was it would continue to be so.
But Lady O'Moy at the moment did not stand in such urgent need of MissArmytage as Miss Armytage imagined. She had heard the appalling story ofher brother's escapade, but she had been unable to perceive in whatit was so terrible as it was declared. He had made a mistake. He hadinvaded the convent under a misapprehension, for which it was ridiculousto blame him. It was a mistake which any man might have made in aforeign country. Lives had been lost, it is true; but that was owing tothe stupidity of other people--of the nuns who had run for shelter whenno danger threatened save in their own silly imaginations, and of thepeasants who had come blundering to their assistance where no assistancewas required; the latter were the people responsible for the bloodshed,since they had attacked the dragoons. Could it be expected of thedragoons that they should tamely suffer themselves to be massacred?
Thus Lady O'Moy upon the affair of Tavora. The wh
ole thing appeared toher to be rather silly, and she refused seriously to consider that itcould have any grave consequences for Dick. His continued absence madeher anxious. But if he should come to be taken, surely his punishmentwould be merely a formal matter; at the worst he might be sent home,which would be a very good thing, for after all the climate of thePeninsula had never quite suited him.
In this fashion she nimbly pursued a train of vitiated logic, passingfrom inconsequence to inconsequence. And O'Moy, thankful that she shouldtake such a view as this--mercifully hopeful that the last had been heardof his peccant and vexatious brother-in-law--content, more than content,to leave her comforted such illusions.
And then, while she was still discussing the matter in terms of comparativecalm, came an orderly to summon him away, so that he left her in thecompany of Samoval.
The Count had been deeply shocked by the discovery that Dick Butlerwas Lady O'Moy's brother, and a little confused that he himself in hisignorance should have been the means of bringing to her knowledge apainful matter that touched her so closely and that hitherto had beenso carefully concealed from her by her husband. He was thankful thatshe should take so optimistic a view, and quick to perceive O'Moy'scharitable desire to leave her optimism undispelled. But he was no lessquick to perceive the opportunities which the circumstances afforded himto further a certain deep intrigue upon which he was engaged.
Therefore he did not take his leave just yet. He sauntered with LadyO'Moy on the terrace above the wooded slopes that screened the villageof Alcantara, and there discovered her mind to be even more frivolousand unstable than his perspicuity had hitherto suspected. Under stressLady O'Moy could convey the sense that she felt deeply. She couldbe almost theatrical in her displays of emotion. But these were astransient as they were intense. Nothing that was not immediately presentto her senses was ever capable of a deep impression upon her spirit,and she had the facility characteristic of the self-loving andself-indulgent of putting aside any matter that was unpleasant. Thus,easily self-persuaded, as we have seen, that this escapade of Richard'swas not to be regarded too seriously, and that its consequences werenot likely to be grave, she chattered with gay inconsequence of otherthings--of the dinner-party last week at the house of the Marquisof Minas, that prominent member of the council of Regency, of theforthcoming ball to be given by the Count of Redondo, of the latest newsfrom home, the latest fashion and the latest scandal, the amours of theDuke of York and the shortcomings of Mr. Perceval.
Samoval, however, did not intend that the matter of her brother shouldbe so entirely forgotten, so lightly treated. Deliberately at last herevived it.
Considering her as she leant upon the granite balustrade, her pinksunshade aslant over her shoulder, her flimsy lace shawl festoonedfrom the crook of either arm and floating behind her, a wisp of cloudyvapour, Samoval permitted himself a sigh.
She flashed him a sidelong glance, arch and rallying.
"You are melancholy, sir--a poor compliment," she told him.
But do not misunderstand her. Hers was an almost childish coquetry,inevitable fruit of her intense femininity, craving ever the worship ofthe sterner sex and the incense of its flattery. And Samoval, after all,young, noble, handsome, with a half-sinister reputation, was somethingof a figure of romance, as a good many women had discovered to theircost.
He fingered his snowy stock, and bent upon her eyes of glowingadoration. "Dear Lady O'Moy," his tenor voice was soft and soothing asa caress, "I sigh to think that one so adorable, so entirely madefor life's sunshine and gladness, should have cause for a moment'suneasiness, perhaps for secret grief, at the thought of the peril of herbrother."
Her glance clouded under this reminder. Then she pouted and made alittle gesture of impatience. "Dick is not in peril," she answered. "Heis foolish to remain so long in hiding, and of course he will have toface unpleasantness when he is found. But to say that he is in perilis... just nonsense. Terence said nothing of peril. He agreed with methat Dick will probably be sent home. Surely you don't think--"
"No, no." He looked down, studying his hessians for a moment, then hisdark eyes returned to meet her own. "I shall see to it that he is in nodanger. You may depend upon me, who ask but the happy chance to serveyou. Should there be any trouble, let me know at once, and I will seeto it that all is well. Your brother must not suffer, since he is yourbrother. He is very blessed and enviable in that."
She stared at him, her brows knitting. "But I don't understand."
"Is it not plain? Whatever happens, you must not suffer, Lady O'Moy. Noman of feeling, and I least of any, could endure it. And since if yourbrother were to suffer that must bring suffering to you, you may countupon me to shield him."
"You are very good, Count. But shield him from what?"
"From whatever may threaten. The Portuguese Government may demand inself-protection, to appease the clamour of the people stupidly outragedby this affair, that an example shall be made of the offender."
"Oh, but how could they? With what reason?" She displayed a vague alarm,and a less vague impatience of such hypotheses.
He shrugged. "The people are like that--a fierce, vengeful god to whomappeasing sacrifices must be offered from time to time. If the peopledemand a scapegoat, governments usually provide one. But be comforted."In his eagerness of reassurance he caught her delicate mittened hand inhis own, and her anxiety rendering her heedless, she allowed it to liethere gently imprisoned. "Be comforted. I shall be here to guard him.There is much that I can do and you may depend upon me to do it--foryour sake, dear lady. The Government will listen to me. I would nothave you imagine me capable of boasting. I have influence with theGovernment, that is all; and I give you my word that so far as thePortuguese Government is concerned your brother shall take no harm."
She looked at him for a long moment with moist eyes, moved and flatteredby his earnestness and intensity of homage. "I take this very kindlyin you, sir. I have no thanks that are worthy," she said, her voicetrembling a little. "I have no means of repaying you. You have made mevery happy, Count."
He bent low over the frail hand he was holding.
"Your assurance that I have made you happy repays me very fully, sinceyour happiness is my tenderest concern. Believe me, dear lady, you mayever count Jeronymo de Samoval your most devoted and obedient slave."
He bore the hand to his lips and held it to them for a long moment,whilst with heightened colour and eyes that sparkled, more, be itconfessed, from excitement than from gratitude, she stood passivelyconsidering his bowed dark head.
As he came erect again a movement under the archway caught his eye, andturning he found himself confronting Sir Terence and Miss Armytage,who were approaching. If it vexed him to have been caught by a husbandnotoriously jealous in an attitude not altogether uncompromising,Samoval betrayed no sign of it.
With smooth self-possession he hailed O'Moy:
"General, you come in time to enable me to take my leave of you. I wason the point of going."
"So I perceived," said O'Moy tartly. He had almost said: "So I hadhoped."
His frosty manner would have imposed constraint upon any man less masterof himself than Samoval. But the Count ignored it, and ignoring itdelayed a moment to exchange amiabilities politely with Miss Armytage,before taking at last an unhurried and unperturbed departure.
But no sooner was he gone than O'Moy expressed himself full frankly tohis wife.
"I think Samoval is becoming too attentive and too assiduous."
"He is a dear," said Lady O'Moy.
"That is what I mean," replied Sir Terence grimly.
"He has undertaken that if there should be any trouble with thePortuguese Government about Dick's silly affair he will put it right."
"Oh!" said O'Moy, "that was it?" And out of his tender consideration forher said no more.
But Sylvia Armytage, knowing what she knew from Captain Tremayne, wasnot content to leave the matter there. She reverted to it presently asshe was going indoors alone
with her cousin.
"Una," she said gently, "I should not place too much faith in CountSamoval and his promises."
"What do you mean?" Lady O'Moy was never very tolerant of advice,especially from an inexperienced young girl.
"I do not altogether trust him. Nor does Terence."
"Pooh! Terence mistrusts every man who looks at me. My dear, never marrya jealous man," she added with her inevitable inconsequence.
"He is the last man--the Count, I mean--to whom, in your place, I shouldgo for assistance if there is trouble about Dick." She was thinking ofwhat Tremayne had told her of the attitude of the Portuguese Government,and her clear-sighted mind perceived an obvious peril in permittingCount Samoval to become aware of Dick's whereabouts should they ever bediscovered.
"What nonsense, Sylvia! You conceive the oddest and most foolish notionssometimes. But of course you have no experience of the world." Andbeyond that she refused to discuss the matter, nor did the wise Sylviainsist.