Chapter 40

THROUGH THE NIGHT

Dick looked at me with indulgent sympathy, as if I were a child.

“It’s after eleven o’clock at night,” he said. “The train for Madrid went two hours ago, and—”

“Did you say Ropes was waiting for you outside?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“And my car’s still in the garage where I put it?”

“Yes; but you’re not in a fit state for a journey. If you could see yourself—”

“Oh, I know I’m a nightmare apparition,” I cut in; “but when I’m shaved and—”

“The trip would kill you.”

“It would kill me not to take it.”

We looked at each other for a moment, then Dick said—

“All right. Come on. I know what you feel. But what about that old reprobate upstairs?”

“I’ll wait for you here while you take up some food and leave it in the room. We can’t waste time in Granada on his account. I’ll tell my story, and you can tell yours to the police in Madrid, after I—after I’ve done what I’m going there to do.”

“How long a drive is it?” Dick asked resignedly.

“It’s about two hundred and seventy miles. If we can start by one or two, bar accidents we ought to be in Madrid by noon.”

“The royal bull-fight’s to-morrow,” answered Dick. “Although the wedding’s next day, and the invitations have been out a fortnight, Carmona and Lady Monica are bound to be there, as it’s a royal invitation show; that means a command.”

“Very well,” said I. “Since it may be as difficult to reach her in Madrid as in Seville and Granada, I shall wait outside the entrance to the bull-ring, and as she’s about to go in, she shall see me and hear the whole truth. Don’t look as if you thought it would do no good, Dick; if she’s promised to marry Carmona in spite of all, it’s because he has made her think he can ruin me if she refuses. Pilar’s instinct is right, I know; and now for the first time I understand why Carmona didn’t denounce me to the police as Casa Triana, when Monica refused to keep her engagement with him, as I’m sure she did. No doubt he told her lies—that I could be imprisoned—for years, perhaps. And his wounded hand—what an opportunity for him! Ah! he wouldn’t waste it. He’d make her believe I stabbed him in the cathedral that night. How plausible! And as he’s been very ill, can’t you imagine what her fears for me must have been? Dick, I regard her coming marriage as a proof of love, not of indifference.”

“I’m ready to agree with you,” said Dick. “But you’re risking your life to prove it.”

“Nonsense,” I answered. “The thought that I’m free, that I’m going to her, and that at last I have Carmona in my hand, will give me strength enough to get through.”

Dick raised his eyebrows, but did not answer. He was collecting bread and meat on a plate, to leave for the man upstairs.

Five minutes later we were out of the house and in the street. In front of the miller’s premises Ropes was walking up and down. He did not say much when he saw that Dick had a companion; but as he wrung the hand I held out to him, I heard him breathing hard, and he swore under his breath when he saw my face by the light of a street lamp.

It was the look on his which made me realize, as Dick’s persuasions had not, that I must delay long enough to be made again into some semblance of a sane man. An hour more before getting on the road would not endanger success, though it would try my patience. A quarter of a mile’s walk to the garage was a sharper test of my strength than I would confess; but when Ropes had roused the watchman, filled the good old Gloria with petrol, and started her up the hill, the rush of pure night air gave me life.

At the hotel, we walked in without waking the dozing concièrge. Dick made me free of his things; and when, between us, we had finished my toilet, he admitted that I was not as appalling an object as he had thought. He changed his wet clothes, left a note for the landlord, and it was not yet two o’clock when we started, Ropes driving, Dick with me in the tonneau.

“To Madrid, top speed, quickest way,” was the word; and I hoped for a non-stop run, or as near it as possible.

The quickest way was by Jaen, a road which none of us knew, and the starlit sky was obscured by dark clouds which heralded a summer thunder-storm. As Ropes steered across the Vega towards that gap in the mountains which is the door of the north, there came a waterspout of rain on the roof. Thunder drowned the purr of the motor, and a flash of lightning every other moment dimmed the flying circle of our acetylenes. There had been rain more than once of late, and this deluge made the road, already bad, soft and greasy as an outworn sponge. The Gloria waltzed and slipped in a mass of brown porridge, but Ropes knew that we were to drive against time, and, throwing caution to the wind, tore through the treacherous mud as if to win the cup in a great race.

We flung Granada behind us, dashing in among the foothills of the mountains, mounting a slippery defile, with the rain like whips lashing our faces. Orchards flashed by; there was a rock tunnel, where the lights shone fiercely on rough-hewn stone, and the thrum of the motor became a roar.

Out again, and still up, the beams from our lamps shooting across vineyards, plantations of figs and pomegranates, and striking silver from the curves of the Guadalbullon River. A glimpse of an old castle commanding a dark gorge, and we were at Jaen; then, presently, the road became familiar, for we had travelled it before. At this very corner we had stopped to ask the way of men who carried strange implements like fire-extinguishers, for this was Bailen; but now, instead of receiving our first glimpse of Andalucía, we were leaving it behind.

Eighty miles out of two hundred and seventy we had come, though the pace had not been good. Still the rain was ceasing, and we could make up for lost time, as country traffic had not begun yet.

La Carolina, Santa Elena; the road was mounting for the well-remembered defile of Despeñaperros. Hoot! went the siren, screaming along the face of tremendous cliffs, and a louder shriek rang as if an echo. A line of fire down in the gorge meant the train from Madrid to Seville. It glittered like a string of stars drawn across a spider’s-web viaduct, then vanished into a tunnel, while we swept on towards the plains of La Mancha, Ropes crouched like a goblin over his wheel.

Rain again, blurring villages, and sweeping through the stone streets of a town: fields once more, and at last Manzanares. There Dick insisted that we should stop for food, lest strength fail me when I should need it most; but I could not bear to go back to the fonda I knew, to see the pretty girls there look at my pale face with shocked eyes, perhaps to have them question me about the “white and gold angel.”

It was eight o’clock when we got away from the café, where we had spent some twenty minutes; and the road was no longer clear. We were obliged to moderate our speed, and lost more time than we could afford getting on to Aranjuez.

“Do your best now, Ropes,” I was saying, when the Gloria—for once perverse—burst a tyre with a loud explosion. Ropes threw me a rueful look.

“I’d hoped to get through without trouble, sir,” he said, “but the car’s lain up for more than five weeks, and there was no time last night to look her over.”

“You’ve done splendidly,” I assured him. “I’ll get out with Mr. Waring and stretch my legs.”

I was glad to walk, and still more glad to feel that instead of being exhausted as Dick had prophesied, strength seemed coming back. As we strolled up and down, so sure was I of Dick’s sympathy that I began to talk about my hopes and fears. He did not disappoint me, but once or twice he answered absent-mindedly, with a far-off look in his eyes, and suddenly, with a pang of remorse, I remembered that I had not once referred to the progress of his love affairs. My own had preoccupied me to the exclusion of everything outside, and I had spoken of Pilar’s only in connection with Monica.

Anathematizing myself aloud as an ungrateful and ungracious brute, I asked if Pilar had made up her mind.

“You needn’t blame yourself,” he said. “All this time she’s kept me on tenter-hooks, because, though she admitted liking me, she couldn’t reconcile her heart with her conscience. I got the dear old Cherub’s blessing, and flaunted it in her face; but that wasn’t enough. I also argued that it was her duty to marry me and try to make me as good as herself, but she seemed to think it might work out the other way. Then you disappeared, and the last word she said was that if I found you, she’d take it as a sign that San Cristóbal wanted the match; seems he’s a matchmaking saint, when he’s in Spain, as well as a motoring one. So, you see, she’ll have to keep her promise now; and I’ll owe my happiness to you.”

“I haven’t come back to life in vain, then,” I said. “It will be a good moment for me, whatever happens, when I see my little sister Pilar again.”

“She’ll be at the royal bull-fight,” Dick sighed.

“I thought she hated bull-fights—for Vivillo’s sake.”

“It’s for Vivillo’s sake she’s going. She’s moved heaven and earth to get invitations.”

“And she’s succeeded.”

“Thereby hangs a tale. But I’m not going to bother you with it.”

I insisted, urging him the more to atone for past carelessness.

“Well, then,” he said with another sigh, “Vivillo’s fifth bull in the royal fight to-day.”

I was shocked, knowing how Pilar loved the noble brown beast, and how she had counted on possessing him. But, if I had had my wits about me, I might have guessed last night how matters stood. Dick had told me then that, in the impromptu scene between Carmona and the O’Donnels, with Seville railway station for the stage, “the name of Vivillo had unfortunately come up.” Now, Dick explained that Carmona had caught at the girl’s hasty words, had written his agent at the ganadería instructing him not to part with the bull at any price, no matter how far negotiations had gone with Colonel O’Donnel. A day or two later the agent was directed by telegram to send Vivillo immediately to Madrid, as the Duke had offered him as a gift for the great show of the royal bull-fight. This news had come to Pilar at Granada in an ill-spelled, but well-meaning letter from Mateo, the ganadero.

“It was sheer spite,” went on Dick, “and Pilar was broken-hearted. If she hadn’t blurted out Vivillo’s name in a temper, the bull might have been safe. Carmona wouldn’t have interested himself, as he trusts his agent in all business matters. It’s true several of the grandee owners of bull-farms have been asked to give each a picked bull for the royal fight, which is expected to be the grandest affair of the generation; but Carmona could as well have given another instead of Vivillo.”

“It’s like him,” I said. “Poor Pilar!”

“She’s simply ill. But queerly enough, she hasn’t given up hope yet—or hadn’t when she wrote, and enclosed an invitation-ticket she’d contrived to get for me. She begged me to come if I could, and ‘see her through,’ though I haven’t the vaguest notion what she means. All I know is, she and the Cherub have been doing everything they could till the last minute to make an exchange of bulls. The dear old chap rushed off to Madrid, as I said, to stir up the police in your affair; and Pilar hoped she might get a chance to see Lady Monica, and ask what the dickens she meant by throwing you over. But any spare time the two had, I guess they’ve put in for Vivillo. They bought a fine Muira bull, at a tiptop price, and offered it to the authorities in exchange for Vivillo, who has been at pasture for the last ten days, recruiting after being boxed up for his long railroad journey. Whether Carmona had a hand in that part or not, anyhow nothing could be done.”

“And Pilar is going to see her pet die!” I exclaimed.

“I can’t understand the Cherub allowing that,” said Dick. “I went to a bull-fight with him the day after I got back to Seville. Jove, it was a sickener, though there were some fine moments, I admit; and I can understand how Spaniards, brought up to understand every stroke, every move, think it fine sport. But it isn’t sport for amateurs, and I haven’t been able to swallow beef since; feel as if I’d been on visiting terms with it. Last touch of horror, each bull having a name. Great Scott! how would it feel to be as intimate as that with sheep and chickens, so you could speak of frying Lottie for breakfast, or grilling Maud with peas for lunch? Of course, the royal bull-fight will be wonderful—something only seen when a Spanish king marries—but I hate the thought of Pilar being there.”

“Her father’ll be with her,” I tried to console him.

“No, he won’t. His seat’s in a box. Hers has been given in Tendido Number 9, a space set apart for the senoritas de la aristocracia to sit together, in smart dresses and mantillas, as if they were part of the show.”

“Perhaps Monica will be there,” I said quickly.

“Not she. The Duke and Duchess of Carmona and the Duke’s fiancée and her mother will be in a box next the royal bride and bridegroom; Pilar heard that, and wrote me. You see, they’re in high favour at Court now, and Carmona’s ambition will be satisfied at last. The new Duchess is to be a lady-in-waiting, and take up her duties when the King and Queen come back from their honeymoon.”

“She never will take them up as Duchess of Carmona,” said I.

“Car ready,” announced Ropes, who had made record time in changing an inner tube, and was panting with his exertions.

But where was San Cristóbal to-day—on this day of all others, when his services were needed? We had not gone half a mile when there came a whizz, and a grinding noise which meant a broken chain. Ropes grew pale and bit his lip. In his overpowering anxiety for me he was losing nerve.

“Never mind mending it here,” I said. “Tighten up the axle, and go on with one sprocket only. We can get into the town that way, and find a machine-shop.”

We did find one; but we were kept a full hour in Aranjuez; nor could we make good going afterwards as we approached the capital. The road was covered with vehicles, and packed as we neared Madrid; for every soul not bidden to the great bull-fight wished to see the favoured ones who were, and to applaud the King and Queen who by their splendid courage two days before had won double popularity.

It was almost beyond endurance to be caught in the pack, and to know that there was no way out, except to move with the throng; nevertheless, it had to be endured. And time went on.

We had hoped to run into some hole or corner as near as might be to the royal entrance of the Plaza de Toros, before the crowd began to pour in; but an hour struck as we crept into the great sunlit plaza—four o’clock; the time appointed for the pageant to begin.