My Friend the Chauffeur
my place by his side, and I thought it had rather an odd, stern
expression. I wondered whether he were cross with Mamma for seeming to
doubt his skill, or whether something else was the matter. But instead
of fading away, the expression seemed to harden. He looked just as I
should think a man might look if he were going to fight in a battle. I
awfully wanted to ask if anything were wrong, but something
mysterious--a kind of atmosphere around him, like a barrier I could feel
but not see--wouldn't let me.
"I believe the thing is broken, somehow," I said to myself; and the
thought was so awful, when I stared down at all those separate layers of
precipice which we would have to risk before we reached human-level (if
we ever reached it) that my heart pounded like a hammer in my side. It
was a terrible sensation, yet I revelled in it with a kind of desperate
joy; for everything depended on the eye, and nerve, and hand of this one
man whom it was so thrilling to trust.
Each time we twisted round a corkscrew I gave a sigh of relief; for it
was one less peril to pass on the way to safety.
"Do just stop for a moment and let us breathe," cried Mamma; and my
suspicions were confirmed by Mr. Barrymore's answer, thrown over his
shoulder. "It's best not, Countess," he said. "I'll explain afterwards."
Mamma is always ecstatic for an instant after any one has addressed her
as "Countess," so she didn't insist, and only murmured to herself, "Oh,
_why_ did I leave my peaceful home?" in a minor wail which showed me
that she wasn't really half as anxious as I was. But if she could have
seen Mr. Barrymore's profile, and had the inspiration to read it as I
did, she would probably have jumped out of the automobile in full
flight. Whereupon, though she might have gained a crown to wear upon her
forehead, all those on her brushes and powder-pots, and satchels and
trunks, would have been wasted. Poor little Mamma!
We plunged down below the snow-line; we saw far beneath us a wide, green
valley, where other people, the size of flies, were safe if not happy.
We passed some barracks, where a lot of sturdy little mountain soldiers
stopped bowling balls in a dull, stony square to watch us fly by. We
frightened some mules; we almost made a horse faint away; but the
Chauffeulier showed no desire to stop and let them admire our "bonnet"
at close quarters.
The excitement of the drive, and my conviction that Mr. Barrymore was
silently fighting some unseen danger for us all, filled me with a kind
of intoxication. I could have screamed; but if I had, it wouldn't have
been with cowardly fear. Partly, perhaps, the strange exhilaration came
from the beauty of the world on which we were descending almost as if we
were falling from the sky. I felt that I could have lovely thoughts
about it--almost as poetical as Maida's--if only I had had time; but as
it was, the ideas jostled each other in my mind like a crowd of people
rushing to catch a train.
From behind, I could hear Maida's voice from moment to moment, as she
talked to Mamma or Sir Ralph, innocently unsuspicious of any hidden
danger.
"Isn't it all wonderful?" she was saying. "Day before yesterday we left
riotous, tumultuous summer on the Riviera; found autumn in the Roya
valley, chill and grim, though so magnificent; and came into winter
snows this morning. Now we've dropped down into spring. It's like a
fairy story I read once, about a girl whose cruel stepmother drove her
from home penniless, and sent her into the mountains at dead of night,
telling her never to come back unless she could bring an apronful of
strawberries for her stepsister. The poor girl wandered on and on in the
dark in a terrible storm, until at last she strayed to a wild
mountain-top, where the twelve Months lived. Some were old men, wrapped
in long cloaks; some were young and ardent; some were laughing boys.
With a stroke of his staff, each Month could make what he would with the
weather. Father January had but to wave his stick to cause the snow to
fall; May, in pity for the girl's tears, created a rose garden, while
his brother's snow-wreaths were melting; but it was June who finally
understood what she wanted, and gave her a bed of fragrant strawberries.
I feel as if _we_ had wandered to the house of the Months, and they were
waving their staffs to create miracles for us."
"It will be a miracle if we ever get out of the house of the Months and
into one of our own," I said to myself, almost spitefully, for the talk
in the tonneau did seem frivolous when I glanced up furtively at that
tight-set mouth of Mr. Barrymore's. And after that, to look down from a
frame of snow mountains through a pinky-white haze of plum, cherry, and
pear blossoms to delicate green meadows sparkling with a thick gold-dust
of dandelions, was for me like going out to be tried for my life in a
frock made by a fairy.
I hardly breathed until the corkscrew uncurled itself at last and turned
into an ordinary downhill road. Our car slackened speed, and finally, as
we came upon the first long, level stretch, to my astonishment moved
slower and more slowly until it stopped dead.
XI
A CHAPTER OF BRAKES AND WORMS
Mamma laughed one of those coquettish, twenty-five-year-old laughs that
go with her auburn hair and her crowns.
"Well, have you decided to give us a chance to breathe, after all?" she
asked. "I should say it was about time."
"I'm afraid you'll breathe maledictions when you hear what is the
matter," said our Chauffeulier.
"Good gracious! what's happened?" exclaimed Mamma. "If the thing's going
to explode, do let us get out and run."
"So far from exploding, she's likely to be silent for some time," Mr.
Barrymore went on, jumping down and going to the automobile's head. "I'm
awfully sorry. After the delays we've suffered, you won't think motoring
is all it's painted, when I tell you that we're in for another."
"Why, what is it this time?" Mamma asked.
"I'm not quite sure yet," said Mr. Barrymore, "but the chains are wrong
for one thing, and I'm inclined to think there's some deep-seated
trouble. I shall soon find out, but whatever it is, I hope you won't
blame the car too much. She's a trump, really; but she had a big strain
put upon her endurance yesterday and this morning. Dragging another car
twice her size for thirty miles or more up a mountain pass isn't a joke
for a twelve horse-power car."
Any one would think the automobile was his instead of Sir Ralph's by the
pride he takes in it. Sir Ralph doesn't seem to care half as much; but
then I don't believe he's a born sports-man like his friend. You can be
a motor-car owner if you've got money enough; but I guess you have to be
_born_ a motor-car man.
"Well, this isn't exactly an ideal place for an accident," remarked
Mamma, "as it seems to be miles from anywhere; but we ought to be
thankful to Providence for not letting the break come up there on that
awful mountain."
I saw a faint twinkle in Mr. Barrymore's eyes and a twitch of his lips,
as he bent down over the machinery without answering a word, and I
couldn't resist the temptation of letting him see that I was in his
secret. There couldn't be any harm in it's coming out now.
"Thankful to Mr. Barrymore for bringing us safely down the 'awful
mountain' when the break _had_ come at the top," I corrected Mamma, with
my chin in the air.
"Good Heavens, Beechy, what _do_ you mean?" she gasped, while our
Chauffeulier flashed me a quick look of surprise.
"Oh, only that the accident, whatever it was, happened soon after we
came out of the tunnel, and if Mr. Barrymore'd stopped when you wanted
him to, he couldn't have started again, for we were just running
downhill with our own weight; and I knew it all the time," I explained
airily.
"You're joking, Beechy, and I think it's horrid of you," said Mamma,
looking as if she were going to cry.
"Am I joking, Mr. Barrymore?" I asked, turning to him.
"I had no idea that you guessed, and I don't see now how you did; but
it's true that the accident happened up there," he admitted, and he
looked so grave that I began to feel guilty for telling.
"Then it was only by a merciful dispensation that we weren't hurled over
the precipice and dashed to pieces," exclaimed Mamma.
"That depends on one's definition of a merciful dispensation," said Mr.
Barrymore. "From one point of view every breath we draw is a merciful
dispensation, for we might easily choke to death at any instant. We were
never for a single moment in danger. If I hadn't been sure of that, of
course I would have stopped the car at any cost. As a matter of fact,
when we began the descent I found that the hand-brake wouldn't act, and
knew the chains had gone wrong. If I'd thought it was only that I could
have put on our spare chains, but I believed there was more and worse,
so I determined to get on as far towards civilization as I could before
stopping the car."
"You brought us down those ghastly hills without a brake!" Mamma cried
out, losing her temper. "And Sir Ralph called you careful! I can never
trust you again."
I could have slapped her and myself too.
"Aunt Kathryn!" exclaimed Maida. Then I could have slapped her as well
for interfering. It would serve her right if I married her off to the
Prince.
The Chauffeulier looked for a second as if he were going to say "Very
well, madam; do as you like about that." But Maida's little reproachful
exclamation apparently poured balm upon his troubled soul.
"Not without a brake," he answered, with great patience and politeness,
"but with one instead of two. If the foot-brake had burned, as possibly
it might, the compression of the gas in the cylinder could have been
made to act as a brake. The steering-gear was in perfect order, which
was the most important consideration in the circumstances, and I felt
that I was undertaking a responsibility which the car and I together
were well able to carry out. But as I thought that amateurs were likely
to be alarmed if they knew what had happened, I naturally kept my
knowledge to myself."
"I saw that something was wrong by the set expression of your face,"
said I, "and I wasn't a bit afraid, because I felt, whatever it was,
you'd bring us through all right. But I'm sorry I spoke now."
"You needn't be," said he. "I shouldn't have done so myself yet I
wasn't silent for my own sake; and I should do the same if it had to be
done over again."
But this didn't comfort me much, for I was sure that Maida wouldn't have
spoken if she had been in my place. I don't know why I was sure, but I
was.
"Whatever Barrymore does in connection with a motor-car, is always
right, Countess," said Sir Ralph, "though in other walks of life I
wouldn't vouch for him."
His funny way of saying this made us all laugh and Mamma picked up the
good temper which she had lost in her first fright. She began to
apologize, but Mr. Barrymore wouldn't let her; and the storm was soon
forgotten in the interest with which we hung upon the Chauffeulier's
explorations.
He peered into the mysterious inner workings of the machine, tapped some
things, thumped others, and announced that one of the "cones of the
countershaft" was broken.
"There's no doubt that the undue strain yesterday and this morning
weakened it," he said, coming up from the depths with a green smear on
his noble brow. "What we've really to be thankful for is that it waited
to snap until we'd got up all the hills. Now, though as the Countess
says we seem to be miles from anywhere, we're actually within close
touch of civilization. Unless I'm out in my calculations, we must be
near a place called Limone, where, if there isn't much else, at least
there's a station on the new railway line. All we've got to do is to