The Raft
its expression was lazy and laughing, but now----. Pain had come into
it. It was intense and thin with purpose; it was purpose she had always
lacked. He tried to find a word for the new thing that he found in
her. Was it only the distortion that the storm was working? A flash of
lightning slit the heavens; it ripped the clouds like a red-hot blade.
A shattering crash! The dynamite of the gods exploding! Darkness came
down. Another flash! Trees leant forward, like fugitives with arms
extended. And she--her face was white and dominant. It looked beautiful
and Medusa-like--snakes of loosened hair blew about it. She no longer
crouched her head. She sat tall and defiant, the rain splashing down
on her. What strength she had in her hands! She held in the quivering
horses, speaking to them now harshly, now caressingly. They pricked up
their ears, listening for her voice. He found the word for the new thing
that had come to her. It was passion.
“Come nearer. What did you mean when you told me you had guessed my
secret?”
“The Faun Man----”
She took him up. “Yes, Lorie--he and I had our first quarrel this
morning. We've both wasted our lives, waiting for something--something
that could never happen.”
“Why never?”
“Because I can't bring myself to--not in his way. He told me this
morning----. It doesn't matter what he told me. It hurt me to hear him
speak like that, so strongly and quietly and sadly. Lorie and I, we've
drifted--let life slip by. We've wakened; we're tired.” Then, like a
child, appealing against injustice. “He said I hadn't a heart--that
I was made of stone, not like other women. It's not true that I'm
different--is it, Peter?” And again, “Is it, Peter?” And then, “It hurt
to be blamed for not giving--giving what would be his to take, if he
were the right man.”
“The right man! That's what Cherry says. How does a woman know who is
the right man?”
She avoided a direct answer. “The right man is always born too late
or too early; or else he's wasting himself on someone who doesn't want
him.”
It was a city of the dead that they were entering. Rain swept the
streets in sudden and vindictive volleys. Lamps shone weakly; some were
extinguished. Few people were about. At Ealing they halted for their
last change.
“Won't be goin' any further?” the guard suggested.
When he was informed to the contrary, he glanced up at the drenched
faces. He seemed to see a thing that startled him. “Blime!” While he
hurried the ostlers with the harnessing, he tried not to look at those
white patches in the dusk; his eyes returned to them, unwillingly
fascinated. When he had released the leaders' heads, he stepped back and
swung himself up behind as the coach lunged into the storm.
There was barely time to reach Paddington. Peter calculated. If he
missed the train, the consequences would be grave. He asked the golden
woman to hurry. She listened, but made no attempt to quicken their pace.
She didn't seem at all disturbed by his dilemma. He almost suspected
her of holding in the horses. Too late to leave her now! As they trotted
through the premature night, he began to ask himself questions. Why had
she been so determined to finish the journey? Why had she shown such
eagerness to be alone with him?
He leant forward. “Where's Lorie?”
“In London.”
“And Cherry?”
She tossed her head impatiently, “With you, it's always Cherry.”
“Well then, Lorie--is he going to meet us?”
“If he does, what difference will it make?”
“To me? Not much. But to you--you'll know then, and you'll be happy.”
“Shall I?”
Her indifference spurred him into earnestness. From differing points of
view, the golden woman and Cherry used the same arguments. If he could
convince her, he could perhaps convince Cherry. In fighting for the Faun
Man, it was his own battle he was fighting.
“You don't know yourself, golden woman--you don't know his value. He's
become a habit--you'll miss him terribly. He's been too extravagant in
the giving of himself. He's made you selfish. If you were to lose him,
if suddenly from giving you everything, he were to give you nothing-----”
Her voice reached him bitterly. “That's what he threatens--to starve me
after giving me everything. He didn't say it in those words, but----.
What do I care?”
“You do care. You're caring now. All day long you've been caring. If he
isn't there to meet us----.”
“I shall be glad.”
“You won't.” He spoke eagerly. “You won't. To-night you may think you'll
be glad, but to-morrow--to-morrow you'll be without him. Just think,
you've kept him marking time all these years. He's expected and
expected. You've banked on him--felt safe because of him. You're
foolish. You can't cheat at the game of life--you can't even cheat
yourself; in the end you're bound to play fair.”
She didn't answer.
“You won't be glad if he's not there.”
Silence.
“Is he going to meet us?”
“If he doesn't---- She went no further.
“Will Cherry be there?”
Her face flashed down on him, white and stabbing. “_Again_. Always
Cherry.”
Later she whispered, “Forgive me, Peter.”
Without a word, they passed through tunnels of muted houses. The sky
closed down on them. The rain drew a curtain about them. The slap of the
horses' hoofs upon the paving started echoes. Traffic slipped by them
spectrelike, as if moving in another world. Now it was between shuttered
shops of Regent Street that they trotted. At last Trafalgar Square, vast
and chaotic, a pagan temple from which the roof had fallen!
They strained forward from the box, searching through the darkness. From
the entrance to The Métropole light streamed across the pavement. It was
the end of their journey. As the horn sounded, a man stepped out from
shelter. For a moment--but no; he had only been sent to take the coach
to the stables. As they clattered to a standstill, several guests came
out on to the steps of the hotel to watch them. The guard climbed down
and ran to the leaders' heads. No one was there to greet them--no one
who was familiar.
She laughed high up, excitedly, “What did I tell you?”
“Not there,” he agreed reluctantly; “neither of them.” She touched his
hand and caught her breath. “As I said--neither of them care. You
and I--we're still alone.” He was sorry for her, guessing her
disappointment. Had Lorie been there it would have spelt forgiveness.
Big Ben boomed ten. He started. “Hulloa! I'm dished. I can't get back.”
“You're not going back? You don't want to leave me? Say you don't.”
He was embarrassed. He didn't know what to make of her. She was on his
hands; he ought to be in Oxford. Evidently she had been harder hit than
she acknowledged. He tried to speak cheerfully. “Look here, it's time we
became sensible. That chap's waiting for us to scramble down--he wants
to take the horses. Let's go into the hotel. I'll engage a room for
you--high time you got those wet things off. Nice little mess we've made
of it! When I've seen you settled, I'll toddle off to Topbury and spend
the night with my people.”
“Will you?”
She glanced at him slantingly. To his immense surprise, she brought the
whip down smartly across the horses. As the leaders darted forward the
guard, taken unaware, was thrown off his balance. As Peter looked
back through the steaming mist, he saw him picking himself up from the
pavement, waving his arms and shouting.
Utterly bewildered by her shifting moods, he turned to her, “You've left
that chap behind.---- I wish you'd tell me what the game is. I don't
want you to drive me to Topbury and, anyhow, the Embankment's all out of
the direction.”
“I'm not driving you to Topbury, stupid.”
He spoke more sternly, “Seriously, you must tell me. You've brought me
to London and--by Jove, I almost believe you tried to make me miss my
train. It isn't sporting. Why don't you turn back to The Métropole. I'll
get you a room and----.”
“Too many people to see us,” she said shortly.
He had only one means of stopping her--to catch hold of the reins. Too
risky! He gazed about him, wondering what to do. They were traversing
the Embankment--it was empty save for outcasts huddled on benches like
corpses. The night looked sodden. The river gleamed murkily. Lights on
bridges, hanging like chains, shone obscurely.
She was mocking him in low caressing tones. “You don't want to leave me?
Say you don't.”
The odd repetition of the question struck him. He had missed its first
significance. It couldn't be! He pressed nearer, peering into her
face. He caught the hungry pleading in her eyes--the mad defiance. “You
mean----? You never meant----. Eve, you're too good a woman.”
She halted the horses, and gazed down on him smilingly. She shook
her head slowly, denying his assertion of her goodness. “You hadn't
guessed?”
“Guessed!” He drew himself upright. The passion in her voice appalled
him.
Her arms went about him; cold wet lips were pressing his mouth. “You
dear boy-man! You dear boy-man!”
He thrust her from him. He was choking. Her lips--they scorched him. He
had seen in all women's faces the likeness to his mother's and Kay's.
But now----.
A bedraggled creature, in tattered finery, with a broken plume nodding
evilly across her forehead, struggled from a bench, shuffled across
the pavement and whined up at him. He took no notice. He tried not
to believe what had been meant. Through their nervous silence trees
shuddered; the muffled skirmish of the rain thudded.
The golden woman was watching him. A gleam of hatred in her eyes at
first--the reflection of his own loathing. Then, as pity replaced his
loathing, a look of horror spread. She sank her face in her hands; her
fingers locked and twisted. She looked like one who had become sane, and
remembered her madness. “What am I? What have I done?” She whispered the
questions over and over; the storm beat down upon her shoulders. He sat
like one turned to stone, not daring to touch her, powerless to put his
pity into words.---- And of this the bedraggled street-walker, whining
up from the pavement, was sole witness.
A policeman tramped heavy-footed out of the distance. “'Ere you, none
o' that. 'Urry along.” This to the streetwalker. To the golden woman,
“H'anything the matter with the 'osses, me lady?”
She came to herself. The street-walker was limping into the shadows. Her
eyes followed her with fascination. She felt for her purse; not finding
it, she commenced unfastening the brooch that was at her neck. Seeing
her intention, Peter put his hand in his pocket. She stayed him with an
impatient gesture.
Calling to the woman, she leant down from the box and said something.
The policeman waited stolidly. He repeated his question, “H'anything the
matter with the 'osses, me lady?”
“No.”
She swung the coach round. There was no explanation.
Of that wild drive back through the night Peter saved but a blurred
remembrance. Scarcely a word was spoken--there was nothing that could be
said. After they had struck the open country, they went at a gallop most
of the journey. Every now and then they drew up at a darkened inn.
He climbed down from the box and hammered on a closed door. A window
opened. A rapid explanation. Grumbling. Sleepy men appeared, only partly
dressed, carrying lanterns. Horses were taken out and a fresh team
harnessed. As the dawn came up, pale and haggard, he saw her face; it
was hard-lipped and ashen. He would never forget it. Every year showed.
The golden hair had broken loose; it was the only young thing left. She
was no longer the golden woman; he drove that night beside the figure of
repentance.
Hills taken cruelly at a gallop! Cocks crowing! Unawakened towns! The
waking country! He pieced her into his experience. What was it that
women wanted? To be married and not to be married? To accept the