Priscilla's Spies
“No,” said Lord Torrington. “I don’t care what rotifers are. Let’s
finish our cigars outside, Lentaigne. It’s infernally hot.”
Frank had finished his cigarette. He had no wish to spend any time
beyond what was absolutely necessary in Lord Torrington’s company. He
felt sure that Lord Torrington would insist on walking briskly up and
down when he got outside. Frank could not walk briskly, even with
the aid of two sticks. He made up his mind to hobble off in search
of Priscilla. He found her, after some painful journeyings, in a most
unlikely place. She was sitting in the long gallery with Lady Torrington
and Miss Lentaigne. The two ladies reclined in easy chairs in front
of an open window. There were several partially smoked cigarettes in
a china saucer on the floor beside Miss Lentaigne. Lady Torrington was
fanning herself with a slow motion which reminded Frank of the way in
which a tiger, caged in a zoological garden, switches its tail after
being fed. Priscilla sat in the background under a lamp. She had chosen
a straight-backed chair which stood opposite a writing table. She sat
bolt upright in it with her hands folded on her lap and her left foot
crossed over her right. Her face wore a look of slightly puzzled, but on
the whole intelligent interest; such as a humble dependent might feel
while submitting to instruction kindly imparted by some very eminent
person. She wore a white frock, trimmed with embroidery, of a perfectly
simple kind. She had a light blue sash round her waist. Her hair, which
was very sleek, was tied with a light blue ribbon. Round her neck, on
a third light blue ribbon, much narrower than either of the other two,
hung a tiny gold locket shaped like a heart. She turned as Frank
entered the room and met his gaze of astonishment with a look of extreme
innocence. Her eyes made him think for a moment of those of a lamb, a
puppy or other young animal which is half-frightened, half-curious
at the happening of something altogether outside of its previous
experience.
Neither of the ladies at the window took any notice of Frank’s entrance.
He hobbled across the room and sat down beside Priscilla. She got up at
once and, without looking at him, walked demurely to the chair on which
Miss Lentaigne was sitting.
“Please, Aunt Juliet,” she said, “may I go to bed? I think it’s time.”
Miss Lentaigne looked at her a little doubtfully. She had known
Priscilla for many years and had learned to be particularly suspicious
of meekness.
“I heard the stable clock strike,” said Priscilla. “It’s half-past
nine.”
“Very well,” said Miss Lentaigne. “Good-night.”
Priscilla kissed her aunt lightly on her left cheek bone. Then she held
out her hand to Lady Torrington.
“You may kiss me,” said the lady. “You seem to be a very quiet well
behaved little girl.”
Priscilla kissed Lady Torrington and then passed on to Frank.
“Good-night, Cousin Frank,” she said. “I hope you’re not tired after
being out in the boat, and I hope your ankle will be better tomorrow.”
Her eyes still had an expression of cherubic innocence; but just as she
let go Frank’s hand she winked abruptly. He found as she turned away,
that she had left something in his hand. He unfolded a small, much
crumpled piece of blotting paper, taken, he supposed, by stealth from
the writing table beside Priscilla’s chair. A note was scratched with a
point of a pin on the blotting paper.
“Come to the shrubbery, ten sharp. Most important. Excuse scratching. No
pencil.”
“Priscilla,” said Lady Torrington, “is a sweet child, very subdued and
modest.”
Frank’s attention was arrested by the silvery sweetness of the tone
in which she spoke. He had a feeling that she meant to convey to Miss
Lentaigne something more than her words implied. Miss Lentaigne struck a
match noisily and lit another cigarette.
“She may be a little wanting in animation,” said Lady Torrington, “but
that is a fault which one can forgive nowadays when so many girls run
into the opposite extreme and become self-assertive.”
“Priscilla,” said Miss Lentaigne, “is not always quite so good as she
was this evening.”
“You must be quite pleased that she isn’t,” said Lady Torrington, with
a deliberate, soft smile. “With your ideas about the independence of our
sex I can quite understand that Priscilla, if she were always as quiet
and gentle as she was this evening, would be trying, very trying.”
Frank became acutely uncomfortable. He had entered the room noisily
enough, hobbling on his two sticks; but neither lady seemed to be aware
of his presence. He began to feel as if he were eavesdropping, listening
to a conversation which he was not intended to hear. He hesitated for
a moment, wondering whether he ought to say a formal good-night, or get
out of the room as quietly as he could without calling attention to his
presence. Miss Lentaigne’s next remark decided him.
“Your own daughter,” she said, “seems to have imbibed some of our more
modern ideas. That must be a trial to you, Lady Torrington.”
Frank got up and made his way out of the room without speaking.
CHAPTER XVI
To reach the corner of the shrubbery it was necessary to cross the lawn.
Lord Torrington and Sir Lucius, having lit fresh cigars, were pacing up
and down in earnest conversation. Frank hobbled across their path and
received a kindly greeting from his uncle.
“Well, Frank, out for a breath of fresh air before turning in? Sorry
you can’t join our march. Lord Torrington is just talking about your
father.”
“Thanks, Uncle Lucius,” said Frank, “but I can’t walk. There’s a hammock
chair in the corner. I’ll sit there for a while and smoke another
cigarette.”
Sir Lucius and Lord Torrington walked briskly, turning each time they
reached the edge of the grass and walking briskly back again. Frank
realised that Priscilla, if she was to keep her appointment, must cross
their track. He watched anxiously for her appearance. The stable clock
struck ten. In the shadow of the verandah in front of the dining-room
window Frank fancied he saw a moving figure. Sir Lucius and Lord
Torrington crossed the lawn again. Half-way across they were exactly
opposite the dining-room window, A few steps further on and the direct
line between the window and a corner of the shrubbery lay behind them.
Priscilla seized the most favourable moment for her passage. Just as the
two men reached the point at which their backs were turned to the line
of her crossing she darted forward. Half-way across she seemed to trip,
hesitated for a moment and then ran on. Before the walkers reached their
place of turning she was safe in a laurel bush beside Frank’s chair.
“My shoe,” she whispered. “It came off slap in the middle of the lawn.
I always knew those were perfectly beastly shoes. It was Sylvia Courtney
made me buy them, though I told her at the time they’d never stick on,
and what good are shoes if they don’t. Now they are sure to see it;
though perhaps they won’t. If they don’t I can make another dart and get
it.”
To avoid all risk of the loss of the second shoe Priscilla took it off
before she started. Lord Torrington and Sir Lucius crossed the lawn
again. It seemed as if one or other of them must tread on the shoe which
lay on their path; but they passed it by. Priscilla seized her chance,
rushed to the middle of the lawn and returned again successfully. Then
she and Frank retreated, for the sake of greater security, into the
middle of the shrubbery.
“Everything’s all right,” said Priscilla. “I’ve got lots and lots of
food stored away. I simply looted the dishes as they were brought out of
the dining-room. Fried fish, a whole roast duck, three herrings’ roes
on toast, half a caramel pudding--I squeezed it into an old jam pot--and
several other things. We can start at any hour we like tomorrow and it
won’t in the least matter whether Brannigan’s is open or not. What do
you say to 6 a.m.?”
“I’m not going on the bay tomorrow.”
“You must. Why not?”
“Because I want to score off that old beast who sprained my ankle.”
The prefect in Frank had entirely disappeared. Two days of close
companionship with Priscilla erased the marks made on his character by
four long years of training at Haileybury. His respect for constituted
authorities had vanished. The fact that Lord Torrington was Secretary
of State for War did not weigh on him for an instant. He was, as indeed
boys ought to be at seventeen years of age, a primitive barbarian. He
was filled with a desire for revenge on the man who had insulted and
injured him.
“You don’t know,” he said, “what Lord Torrington is here for.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” said Priscilla. “I’m not quite an ass. I was listening
to Aunt Juliet and Lady Torrington shooting barbed arrows at each other
after dinner. Aunt Juliet got rather the worst of it, I must say. Lady
Torrington is one of those people whose garments smell of myrrh, aloes
and cassia, and yet whose words are very swords; you know the sort I
mean.”
“Lord Torrington is chasing his daughter,” said Frank, “who has run away
from home. I vote we find her first and then help her to hide.”
“Of course. That’s what we’re going to do. That’s why we’re going off in
the boat tomorrow.”
“But she’s not on the bay,” said Frank. “Miss Rutherford is too fat to
be her. He said so.”
“Who’s talking about Miss Rutherford? She’s simply sponge-hunting.
Nobody but a fool would think she was Miss Torrington.”
“Lady Isabel,” said Frank. “He’s a marquis.”
“Anyhow she’s not the escaped daughter.”
“Then who is?”
“The lady spy, of course. Any one could see that at a glance.”
“But she has a man with her. Lord Torrington said--”
“If you can call that thing a man,” said Priscilla, “she has. That’s her
husband. She’s run away with him and got married surreptitiously, like
young Lochinvar. People do that sort of thing, you know. I can’t imagine
where the fun comes in; but it’s quite common, so I suppose it must be
considered pleasant. Anyhow Sylvia Courtney says that English literature
is simply stock full of most beautiful poems about people who do it; all
more or less true, so there must be some attraction.”
Frank made no reply. Priscilla’s theory was new to him. It seemed
to have a certain plausibility. He wanted to think it over before
committing himself to accepting it.
“It’s not a thing I’d care to do myself,” said Priscilla. “But then
people are so different. What strikes me as rather idiotic may be
sweeter than butter in the mouth to somebody else. You never can tell
beforehand. Anyhow we can count on Aunt Juliet as a firm ally. She can’t
go back on us on account of her principles.”
This was another new idea to Frank. He began to feel slightly
bewildered.
“The one thing she’s really keen on just at present,” said Priscilla,
“is that women should assert their independence and not be mere tame
parasites in gilded cages. That’s what she said to Lady Torrington
anyhow. So of course she’s bound to help us all she can, so long as she
doesn’t know that they’re married, and nobody does know that yet except
you and me. Not that I’d be inclined to trust Aunt Juliet unless we have
to; but it’s a comfort to know she’s there if the worst comes to the
worst.”
“What do you intend to do?” said Frank.
“Find them first. If we start off early tomorrow well probably get to
Curraunbeg before they’re up. My idea would be to hand over the young
man to Miss Rutherford for a day or two. She’s sure to be somewhere
about and when she understands the circumstances she won’t mind
pretending that he, the original spy, I mean, is her husband, just for a
while, until the first rancour of the pursuit has died away. She strikes
me as an awfully good sort who won’t mind. She may even like it. Some