Read Ebook: The Playground of Satan by Baskerville Beatrice C

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Ebook has 1961 lines and 82053 words, and 40 pages

"Not so fast," he called out as she was running past with a nod. "Where are you going?"

"Aunt Natalie. I promised to give her an address and forgot all about it. My filly is better. I've just been there."

"You're very smart to-day," he remarked.

She looked down at her skirts.

"It's a hundred years old. You've seen it dozens of times."

"And very bonny," he added. And so she was. She had pretty brown hair and soft brown eyes, carried herself well and bore the marks of the healthy outdoor life they all led at Ruvno. A sweet wholesome girl, he thought, not for the first time, but with more interest than ever before. He did not guess that under her quiet manner lay a capacity for a deep passion; and pride to quell it.

She blushed at his compliment; he rarely gave her one.

"The Skarbeks are coming," he said, watching her closely. She was frankly pleased, but he noticed she did not blush again.

"Oh, how nice. It's years since they were here together. We can have some long rides." And she left him.

He watched her closely at lunch; but failed to see signs of the change which his mother professed to find in her. And he felt relieved. Nevertheless, he thought about her a good deal during the afternoon; the vague uneasiness of the morning returned. After all, she might find a lover elsewhere, marry him and leave Ruvno forever. He would have to do something to avoid that; and without further delay. He had waited too long. He never doubted that she would marry him. True, he had not made love to her; but they were such good friends, and he had always been fond of her in a quiet, unquestioning way, without passionate discomforts. Yes, he must secure her before another man stole her affections. He went to speak to his mother about it.

He came to this decision whilst riding back from some meadows; but the Countess he found sitting under the chestnuts behind the garden with Minnie and Father Constantine, the chaplain who had lived with them for years and taught Ian his catechism and the Latin declensions. A moment later Vanda joined them. So he put off again. He would wait till the evening, when he always had a quiet chat with his mother, in her dressing-room.

The Skarbeks met in the Countess' sitting-room.

"You here?" was Roman's curt greeting. Ian noted the tone and wondered what they had quarreled about.

Joseph kissed his aunt's hand before replying. They were both fine men, alike in figure, unlike in feature and temperament; both on the right side of thirty, straight, lissome and as thoroughbred as you please. Roman was dark, generous, lithe; Joseph fair, blue-eyed and cold. Matchmaking mothers were very civil to him; but their daughters liked Roman better.

"I've come from Warsaw," remarked Joseph at his leisure. He looked round the room, presumably for Vanda; but he did not ask for her. Ian knew she was sitting in the garden with Minnie. It was unnatural for her to hold aloof thus; his uneasiness grew.

"I'd no idea you were coming," said Roman hotly. "I ought to have been here sooner." He turned to his aunt. "It's no use mincing words; I've come to ask for Vanda."

"For Vanda!" echoed Ian blankly. Then he turned from them, to compose his face.

"Joe has cone for her, too," pursued Roman. "It's in his face. It's just as well to have it out at once. She must choose for herself."

"Yes," said Ian quietly. "Vanda must make her own choice. She is quite free." Privately, he determined to speak to her himself, as soon as he could escape from the room with decency.

"You followed me," said Roman to his brother.

"No. I thought you were still gambling." Joseph spoke with a sneer. How well Ian remembered it; it used to drive him to fury in their boyish days, and many a fight had it caused between him and the superior Joseph, who could use his fists all the same.

"If I win her I'll never touch a card again," cried Roman.

"You forget your debts," his brother retorted.

"Debts!" fairly shouted the other. "Look here, all of you!"

Out of inner pockets, he drew bulky pocket-books, took banknote after banknote and put them side by side on a table. And when there was no room for them to lie singly he set them three and four deep, till a fortune lay there, in the evening sunlight.

"Look at them! Count them!" he cried in triumph. "Where are my debts now?"

They gazed at the money in silent wonder. Never had they seen so big a harvest from turf or green table. The Countess smiled across at Ian; he said something in a careless undertone. He would not let even her see what was on his mind.

"It's a haul," admitted Joseph. "You must have broken the bank."

"Luck. Six weeks of it. And now I've done with gambling forever."

He crammed the notes away carelessly, as men treat money lightly won. He paced the room, talking.

"I was afraid of it," he admitted. "I wanted to win. But it grew so huge that it became a menace. Luck at play, no luck in love. And now..." he swung round to his brother: "I meet you here."

"It's unfortunate," remarked Joseph.

"Unfortunate? It's Destiny! Oh, you'll have the family on your side; I don't blame 'em. You're a deuced-good match, well off, sober, economical. I'm not. I don't pretend to be." He measured the room with his long stride, and hurled at Joseph: "But I've something you haven't!"

"You?" This with a sneer. Ian felt inclined to punch his head, as in years gone by.

"Me. It's love. You don't know what it means. Men like you--" he jerked his head at Ian--"and Ian there, can't love. You want to keep up the race, that's all. What could you do to prove your love?"

Ian said nothing, though the challenge was for him as well. Was Roman's reproach true? Was this new uneasiness, that fast became pain, love, or but wounded pride?

"I'll ask her to marry me," Joseph was saying. "Offer my name, home, protection and ... and affection."

"Ah ... affection!" and Roman laughed.

"What more can any man offer?" put in Ian.

Roman was at the door now. He threw them a stream of hot words over his shoulder, and left the room. He was going to her.

There was silence after he left. Ian tried to say something, but failed. The brothers were poaching on his preserves; yet he could not find the words to tell them so. And now Roman had gone to her, and again he must wait. What a fool he had been! He was angry with them and furious with himself for being angry. The whole business was a nuisance. But, after all, why should he mind? Sitting on one of the broad window-sills, he lighted a cigarette and tried to calm his thoughts. Some time passed. He heard Joseph and his mother talking in low tones at the far end of the room, and was glad they did not expect him to talk. What was Roman telling Vanda now? He was the sort of man girls always liked. Words would never fail in his wooing. A spendthrift, a gambler, yes; but handsome, full of life, eloquent. There was the rub. He, Ian, had always to search for words when he wanted to speak of things near his heart. Roman, as a lover, surpassed him by untold lengths. He realized that now. And yet Roman, as a husband, could hardly give happiness; but girls don't think of those things till it is too late. And he could not go and tell Vanda so, either. He had had years in which to tell her many things; and he had wasted them. Now, when seconds were of importance, he could not even get her alone.

He shook the ash off his cigarette, watching it fall on to the bed outside; glanced at the other two, and determined to go to the stables. He had only to slide his legs over the window-sill and be off. They would not notice his departure, and he would be alone, unwatched, free to shake off this sudden malaise and regain his old composure. He wanted solitude; had new thoughts to worry out, vague awakenings which he must stifle. He wanted to be quite honest with himself, to examine his heart, free it of this new burden and go back to the old, quiet life of yesterday, of this morning even.

But he did not move. He knew he would not till Roman came back. Would he come hand-in-hand with Vanda, or alone? He would not come alone. Vanda would take him and there would be a wedding. That meant a lot of fuss. He had put off his own wedding year by year to avoid a pother, and here it came, all the same. And with the same bride, too: only the bridegroom and best man had changed places. Roman was right. Destiny played odd tricks. He would see Vanda go off with another man; give her away to an unconscious rival. Was it going to hurt?

Suddenly the door opened. Roman burst in. He was alone; he addressed Ian.

"Can I have a car, at once?" he asked. His sunburnt face was drawn, his eyes haggard. No need to ask for Vanda's answer. It was written all over him. They rose; the Countess took his hand and said something to him, Ian knew not what. A load had fallen from his heart. Vanda still cared for him. Sweet, loyal little Vanda! He might have known it, and saved himself all that worry.

"But you're not going yet?" he said.

"I am. I'll be in Warsaw to-night; and, by God, I'll never go home again. Will you order the car, old man?"

"If you must go." Ian walked towards the bell that lay on his mother's writing-table. Roman turned to Joseph.

"I put it to her, squarely," he said in hoarse tones. "You've won. She's in the library." And he strode from the room before any of them could speak.

Ian rang the bell and stood by the table, his back to the others. He had heard every word that Roman said and it burnt his brain, if not his heart. So Joseph had won! It was preposterous. Roman as a rival he could bear. But that cold, selfish prig! He could never give a woman happiness. Vanda must be saved from herself. And he would do it.

Mastering his face, he turned round, ready with passionate words to save Vanda from Joseph, to use his authority as head of the family. But the room was empty.

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