The Princess Galva: A Romance

  CHAPTER XX

  THE BOAT FROM THE MAINLAND

  If the days hung heavily upon the heart of the captive in the castle onthe Alcador road, they hung no less heavily upon the man who waited inVenta Villa.

  The culpability of one's actions is too often determined by the worldlysuccess, or otherwise, which attends them, and Edward Povey wasexperiencing some very bitter moments. Had Galva been firmly andhappily seated in the great throne-room up there in the Palace, hewould have carried his head high and have looked upon himself as ahero, and his usurpation of the character of Sydney Kyser as ameritorious act.

  But under the existing circumstances he cursed himself for a meddlesomeidiot, or worse, and prayed that he might suddenly awake to findhimself dozing over the corner desk in the dingy Eastcheapcounting-house or in his shabby arm-chair in the front room at BelithaVillas.

  Hitherto he had accepted his present luxurious surroundings as due tohim for the trouble he was taking; now each item of them became a stab.The well-cooked dinners which he took miserably with Anna Paluda seemedlike to choke him, and the dainty hangings of his little bedroom,overlooking the bay, became a physical torture to him. The letter senthim by Jasper Jarman also rankled deeply. He wished he had kept theletter now, that he might read it again and again as a penance.

  By a stroke of ill-fortune Senor Luazo was confined to his room with anattack of gout, and the fashionable physician who attended thatestimable gentleman had made it clear to Edward that his patient wasnot to be disturbed. Any help or even advice from that quarter was outof the question.

  But Mr. Povey had not been content to rest in idleness; as far as itwas possible he had acted. Disguised, he had ingratiated himself withthe landlord of The Three Lilies, and had spent hours together behindthe little curtain of the window of the room vacated by Uncle Jasper,which overlooked the house and gardens of Gabriel Dasso. He had,however, gained little by this, save one important point, the certaintythat Lieutenant Mozara was, without doubt, malingering in the matter ofhis injuries.

  The gallant officer, thinking himself secure behind the high walls ofDasso's garden, had relaxed his precautions. Twice the watchful eye atthe window opposite had seen the crutch discarded and the black silksling hanging empty.

  Beyond the comfort derived from this confirmation of the suspicionswhich Anna Paluda had planted in his mind, Edward could make no use ofthe information gained. Any day now he might receive an answer to theletter he had sent to M. Brea in Paris, and until that came he wasloath to act. He felt that, with the help of the Duc de CholeauxLasuer, he would be more than a match for the conspirators. At thesame time, for Galva's sake, he determined that should no word reachhim within the next three days he would put the matter before theBritish Consul.

  He had met the monocled nonentity who represented the interests ofGreat Britain in the island kingdom. Senor Luazo had introduced themin the cafe attached to the Casino, and Edward had not been impressed.The Consul did not appear to him to be the man to lean on in any greatemergency. Commerce between the idle inhabitants of San Pietro andEnglish ports was confined to the few boxes of dried fruits of twoJewish firms in the business quarter of Corbo, and the Government postin the service of His Britannic Majesty on the little island was notone sought after by ambitious men. No, on second thoughts, Edward didnot feel inclined to disturb the alcohol-engendered ease of theHonourable Bertie Traverson unless it became absolutely necessary.

  The evening following the day on which Teresa learnt the identity ofGalva Baxendale, Edward was sitting in the little library at VentaVilla, reading for the hundredth time a telegram which he had thatmorning received. A knock at the door caused him to crumple this upguiltily in his hands as the servant entered. A man was at the doorasking for Mr. Sydney--rather a curious person, the servantvolunteered, respectfully. Edward, eager for anything to relieve theperiod of waiting, went out into the hall. A rough individual wasthere, standing on the mat, his clothes dripping and making littlerain-pools on the tiled floor.

  As he saw Edward he bowed a black shaggy head, and from the soddenrecesses of his heavy coat produced a dirty envelope which he held out.Edward could see it was addressed to Mr. Sydney, at the Venta Villa,Corbo. The light in the hall was not good, and Povey stepped back intothe library to open and read the letter. A moment later he was againout in the hall, calling to the servant to bring wine for themessenger. To his surprise the man had disappeared, the little poolsof water alone remaining to show where he had stood. Edward flung openthe door. The wind swept the rain in his face in clouds, and that,together with the darkness, made the man's retreat secure. Having ridhimself of the letter entrusted to him, the carrier of the Alcador roadconsidered he had done all that could be expected of him. Rememberingthe air of mystery with which Teresa had given him the envelope, hewished to be done with the affair. Curiosity was not one of hisfailings, and the suspiciously generous payment the old woman had madehim was burning in his pockets with a flame that called for theextinguishing wine of a little inn he knew, nestling beneath the shadowof the cathedral.

  Edward Povey cleared the flight of richly carpeted stairs in threebounds and burst frantically into the little drawing-room. Theblack-gowned figure in the arm-chair, drawn up to the fire, rose at hisentrance and stood facing him inquiringly; one arm resting on thechair-back, with the other she pressed a lace handkerchief to her lips.The room was lighted by a single cluster of electric bulbs only, butEdward could see that Anna Paluda's face was chalky-grey, and that thelarge eyes looked tired with tears.

  "She's found, Anna. Galva's safe."

  The woman thanked God and reached out a trembling hand for the letter.Edward switched on the other lights, and together they devoured Galva'smessage. As they finished reading it the second time the chimes of thecathedral clock reached them.

  "Twelve o'clock, Anna. Nothing can be done to-night. And therain--listen to it."

  Anna sat silent for a moment gazing out through the blurred panes atthe inky blackness beyond. The rain lashed the windows like a showerof sand, and the waves breaking on the shore below voiced a distantmonotony. Edward was right, nothing could be done at once, except togo to bed and get what rest one might against the morrow.

  Left alone, Povey took out the telegram he had been reading and hadhastily thrust into his jacket pocket on the entrance of the servant.He smoothed it out on a little table. It was from the Duc de CholeauxLasuer, and as Edward read it again he told himself that he was nearingthe end of his tribulations.

  He had been rather averse to showing the cable to Anna. She knewnothing of the affection, if it can be called only that, which existedbetween Galva and the duke, or if she had noticed it in Paris it hadlong ago left her memory. Edward doubted whether she would think itwise, this calling in of a stranger to their affairs.

  The message was quite brief, and stated simply that the sender hadreached Spain and was leaving by the boat which was due to arrive atPort Corbo at nine that evening. Edward had waited anxiously in therain until the harbour master had told him that the heavy weather haddelayed the sturdy little vessel, which acted as passenger, cargo andmail steamer between the island and the mainland. The man had saidthat she had not yet passed the Point at the arm of the bay where thealternate red and white flashes of the distant lighthouse showed dimlythrough the driving rain. Edward had learnt that she could not berthbefore two in the morning, and he had returned to the Villa forrefreshment and dry clothes.

  At one o'clock he quietly ascertained that Anna had retired for thenight, then, putting on a long mackintosh, crept from the house andstarted on the mile or more walk to the dock side. The rain had nownearly ceased, and the esplanade lay a glistening line of wet asphaltin front of him, in which the arc lamps threw a clean reflection. Thewind still blew in fitful gusts, scattering the raindrops from theleaves of the trees that bordered the pavement.

  The promenade was deserted, save for a few waiting motor-cars andcarriages outside the Casino.
From time to time a whistle would callone of these up to the entrance, and Edward would catch a glimpse ofblack-coated men holding umbrellas over the dainty figures of lightlycloaked women who, with skirts well bunched up over slender ankles andhigh-heeled shoes, made a dash for the carriage door.

  And here and there were shuffling figures edging along in the shadows.These were the denizens of the hinterland of Corbo, night-birds whocrept out to the fashionable haunts in the dark hours, bent on plunder,or perhaps the honest earning of a little of the money which was beingso freely spent there.

  Past the Opera House and the gardens the way became darker. The arclamps became further apart, and the few cafes that were still openshowed sleepy waiters standing moodily behind the great plate-glasswindows, waiting for the stragglers to depart.

  As Edward walked on he thought of the coming interview, debating withinhimself whether or no he should acquaint the new arrival with the truestate of affairs. He felt that the secret was not altogether his own,and now that he had heard from Galva that she was safe and in noimmediate danger, he said that there was no need to act hurriedly. Herather wished, in fact, that he had not been so hasty in writing. Theduke would be useful certainly, but he complicated matters.

  As he neared the dock the way became increasingly difficult. ThePowers that Be in the Island of San Pietro made up for their lavishpandering to their rich visitors by altogether neglecting thoseportions of the town that lay remote from the Casino. Short, narrowstreets, the houses of which seemed tumbling in on one in the darkness,straggled down to the waterside. In places, the particular road whichEdward had taken was so steep that rough slabs of granite had beencrudely laid down in a series of steps, broad and shallow, down whichhe stumbled dangerously.

  The houses, for the most part, were in darkness, save where here andthere an open door silhouetted the shrouded figure of a woman who wouldwhisper to him as he hurried past. A party of Swedish sailors werequarrelling under the hanging oil-lamp of an inn, the doors of whichwere being hastily shut and bolted. Edward passed unnoticed, and in amoment emerged on the broad cobbled wharf.

  Here, doubtless with a view of favourably impressing arriving visitors,the Powers that Be proved more prodigal with illumination, and a row ofarc lamps showed the misty forms of a few tramp steamers huddled up tothe dock edge. A little knot of seamen and luggage touts stood lookingout towards the open sea. From one of the boats a wheezy concertinawas accompanying a rich tenor voice singing an old English ballad.

  His friend, the harbour master, was not to be seen, but Edward learntfrom one of the seamen that the Spanish boat was expected to bealongside in the course of half an hour. He could hear the syrenbooming dismally.

  Edward Povey buried his chin more deeply between the storm-collars ofhis mackintosh and waited, pacing up and down in the raw, damp mist.