The Car of Destiny
that laughed. It was even a relief to the monotony to meet a band of
fierce-eyed young carters ranged in a line with big stones in their hands,
wanting to bash in the aristocrat’s features, if the aristocrats
frightened their mules. But neither the aristocrats nor mules showed fear.
Pilar even leaned out, as if daring the four or five sullen fellows to
throw their stones into a girl’s face, and their arms fell inoffensively.
“I don’t believe any Spaniard, no matter how bad, would hurt a woman who
had done him no harm!” she exclaimed.
The road, with its rutty, irritating surface, seemed endless. We had
started late, according to our promise, and having lost more than an hour
on the “short cut,” grey wings of twilight began at last to fold in the
landscape. It was long since we had passed a village; Manzanares was not
yet near, and I began to wonder whether the Gloria would not again grow
thirsty before we could give her drink.
Turn after turn; always the same jolting; always the same scene, till our
minds wearied. Then, suddenly rounding a bend, we came upon something
which made every one of us forget boredom.
There was the Duke’s car—the grey car which we had sworn to avoid—stuck in
a _caniveau_ that cut the road in two. There were Carmona and his
chauffeur staring balefully into the inner workings of the motor; there
were the Duchess and Lady Vale-Avon, dust-powdered and disconsolate,
sitting forlornly on roadside hillocks; and there was Monica, her veil
off, walking up and down impatiently with her little hands buried in the
pockets of her grey coat, the last gleam of sunset finding a responsive
note in the gold of her hair.
“What did I tell you!” exclaimed Pilar. “The goat-herd! The mule with the
white feet! It’s the luck of the Dream-Book!”
XXIII
THE GLORIFICATION OF MONICA
Slowing up, we were almost upon the group; and for once we were welcome to
our enemies. Even Carmona’s face brightened, a flicker of hope lit Lady
Vale-Avon’s grey eyes; and the Duchess deliberately courted us with a
smile.
As for Monica, she was radiant as a child who has been surprised by the
home-coming of loved ones; yet there was a new wistfulness in her eyes,
despite the joy she showed.
“Oh, how glorious that you’ve come to the rescue!” she cried, all dimples
and roses. Still, she looked from me to Pilar, and from Pilar to me, as if
she longed to ask one or the other some question which it was impossible
to speak; and I said to myself that it would go hard with me if I did not
find out before I was many hours older, what that question was.
Any port is welcome in a storm or among fellow-motorists, if you are
helpless by the roadside with several ladies when night is coming on; and
Carmona’s first words showed that he had no scruple in making use of us.
But with the trials he had gone through, and his natural preference for
the help of any other car rather than the hated Gloria, he was in a black
mood. He wished to be civil, lest we should be goaded into leaving him in
the lurch; yet it was plainly such an effort that I could have laughed
aloud. Pilar would have been able to quote paragraph and page of her
Dream-Book.
The worst damage to the car was a broken spring, though something seemed
to have gone wrong also with the ignition in that disastrous bump into the
_caniveau_. They had been where we found them for a couple of hours,
Carmona admitted, without encountering any vehicle or animal to give them
a tow. The first hope had been to stagger on to Manzanares (which
originally they had meant to pass) with a broken spring; but the bee in
the motor’s bonnet could not be made to buzz, and in despair, Carmona had
been about to send his chauffeur on foot, in search of some conveyance for
the ladies and their luggage. More hours must have passed, at best, before
the man could have returned to the rescue, and already everybody was
hungry.
The ladies of the Duke’s party had to be transferred to the Gloria; and
Dick, with airs of ownership, urged vague and voluble reasons why I should
be their companion in the tonneau. We were the masters of the situation,
and Carmona’s face, as he was obliged to take his seat beside the
chauffeur who must steer the car in tow, repaid me for grievous wrongs.
Pilar, not to be outdone in ingenuity by Dick, did for me what I could not
do for myself, in contriving that I should sit next to Monica. Though I
could say nothing for her ears which other ears might not hear, it was a
joy to feel her slight shoulder nestling warm against my arm, to know that
she could not be snatched from me by her mother or Carmona, but that as it
was now, so it must be for many moments, perhaps an hour, to come. There
was also satisfaction to be got from the fact that my enemy, bumping on
behind in his own disabled car (propelled by our generosity and power),
was glaring with malice, envy, and all uncharitableness at my back.
My one regret in these moments which should have been perfect, was that my
prophetic soul hadn’t caused me to write a long letter to Monica, which I
might have been able to slip into her hand under cover of rugs and
darkness.
Ropes had to light the lamps before we saw more of Manzanares than an
illusive church spire which kept appearing and disappearing like a
will-o’-the-wisp. But the petrol held out, and the Gloria’s breathing was
regular, despite the weight she had to tow over ruts and across gutters.
Once, however, Ropes looked back at me with an expressive movement of the
shoulders which I interpreted as, “we’re lucky if we get there!” so I
could have shouted “hurrah!” at sight of the first houses, though they
brought my last moment of happiness.
Another instant, and the population of Manzanares was answering to the
thrum of our motor, as soldiers to the call of the drum. From somewhere,
their saints alone knew where, an army of children poured into the long
straight street, and as we slowed to avoid wholesale murder, they took
advantage of our consideration to swarm up the car like ants. They ran
shouting beside us, climbed on to the steps, hung on behind, fighting so
ruthlessly for choice positions that they all but fell under the wheels.
One would not have supposed there could be other children left in Spain.
How there could be room for these in the town of Manzanares was a wonder;
how they could all have turned out on the second in their thousands, was a
miracle; and their promptness would have done credit to any commander.
The shrill cries of this legion, drowning the sound of the motor, and
increasing as the contingent was swelled from each side street, roused the
town. Families left their tables and rushed to the door, their supper in
their hands. Bakers with white arms left to-morrow’s bread in the troughs;
a group of farriers shoeing a horse stopped work, until the glowing iron
paled. Shopkeepers who had lighted their windows with a blaze of
electricity, ran into the street. Mules and donkeys tied to doorposts
shared the general excitement, plunged and reared before the advance of
the human breaker with the car on its crest snapped their cords, and
dashed into their master’s houses.
Never, among all our successes, had we made such a _succés fou_ as this;
but then, never before had we had a car in tow. Half our triumph belonged
to the Lecomte; yet either of us would gladly have dispensed with all; and
had it not been for a small but determined policeman who struggled to
preserve the credit of the town, we might have been half the night
fighting our way to an hotel.
He dealt blows and exhortations indiscriminately, piloted us through side
streets which it would never have occurred to our imagination to enter,
and with exertions worthy of him who “singly kept the bridge,” helped us
make a lane for the ladies to dart into the door of the little _fonda_.
It was an iron door of elaborate openwork, leading, Moorish fashion,
through a shallow vestibule into a _patio_—the first we had seen on our
way south; and if it had not been slammed shut with a loud click, by some
person inside, half Manzanares would have poured after the fugitives.
Assured of the ladies’ safety, the men of the two (outwardly) united
parties remained to help the chauffeurs and a bewildered landlord to take
down luggage. Overwhelmed by a wave of halfgrown children and a thick
spray of babies, Carmona’s man lost his presence of mind. The two cars had
hardly stopped before the little creatures were in them, and on them, and
under them, trying to pinch the tyres, blowing the horn, squalling,
laughing, crying. “Mon Dieu, c’est un obsession!” wailed the unfortunate
Frenchman; and even the imperturbable Ropes showed signs of “nerves.”
As fast as the thronging goblins were beaten off, they were up again in
redoubled force; but so merry they were, and so handsome was each bold
brown face, with its dazzling eyes, that it was impossible to be angry.
Somehow, we rescued the luggage, and with the aid of the landlord pitched,
or slid, or rolled it through the door, momentarily opened.
“For Heaven’s sake, sir, see me through this!” implored Ropes, noticing
that the men of the party were on the point of following the luggage.
“Hate to trouble you, but I don’t think my Spanish will run to it.” In
pity I climbed into the car to go with him to the stable which the
landlord indicated as our garage. It was an experience to be remembered in
nightmares; yet there was in it a sort of schoolboy pleasure. We seemed to
have done battle against the whole force of the army out against us;
nevertheless when we returned to the _fonda_, swept along by a large
bodyguard, we found a regiment assembled round the door. How we got
through was food for another wild dream, but we did get through, to stand
panting on the other side of the grating, in the _patio_.
Dozens of dark faces were pressed against the bars, like tier above tier
of glowing pansies in a flower-bed; and we knew at last the sensation of
those who are the observed, not the observers, in a menagerie.
Everyone was in the _patio_, where electric lights hanging from the
balconies mingled with rich yellow lamplight and ruddy firelight streaming
from the kitchen. All the luggage was piled anyhow, in a chaotic heap
surging with suit-cases, boiling with dressing-bags; while near by, like
Marius and a friend or two at the ruins of Carthage, stood the Duchess,
Lady Vale-Avon, Carmona, Dick, and the Cherub. Monica and Pilar had been
talking at a distance with a young girl of the house, but seeing me
gravitate in their direction, Lady Vale-Avon called her daughter.
“The ladies are saying they can’t stay here,” announced Dick, his voice in
sympathy with a twinkle in his eyes.
“I’m not saying so,” cut in Monica. “I think it will be fun; a real
adventure. The landlady’s wonderful, and all her daughters and nieces
beauties. If we’re nice to them, they’ll be adorable to us.”
“The place is a den!” exclaimed Lady Vale-Avon. “There must be something
better in the town.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t,” said the Duke. “This accident has made me
helpless. I’m horribly sorry; but we can’t get on anywhere else to-night.”
“We can sit up,” said the Duchess, “in the automobile.”
“Do let’s look at the rooms,” begged Monica. “And don’t let them see we’re
finding fault. Their feelings will be hurt.”
“What nonsense!” replied Lady Vale-Avon. “As if they had feelings!”
“If you don’t consider them, they won’t take pains to make you
comfortable,” I said, knowing by instinct the people with whom we had to
deal. “They’re beginning to suspect already that something’s wrong, and
judging from the expression of their faces it will take only a little more
for the landlord to say he has no rooms. Then we really may have to sit in