Wings of the Falcon, page 2
I expected to finish out the term, but to my surprise and delight the moment of our next meeting came sooner than I dared hope. It was early in April, when the buds were beginning to swell with green promise, that Father next appeared. He came without advance warning, and when I saw him I did not need Miss Bertha Smith's hastily checked exclamation to be alerted to the change in his appearance.
He was handsomer than ever, if that was possible, with a fine rosy flush on his cheeks; but he was terribly thin. Father admitted cheerfully that he had been ill, and was still plagued by a slight cough. But fine weather would soon set him up.
I accepted this facile good cheer, because I wanted to believe it. There was nothing I, or anyone else, could have done for him; yet I am still haunted by remorse when I think….
My boxes and parcels, hastily packed, were loaded onto the carriage. The Misses Smith embraced me, weeping. I wept too, and sobbed bitterly as I bade farewell to my friends. When the carriage drove off and I leaned out the window, waving at the other girls, I was sure they were a little jealous of me for having such a young, handsome father. Little did I know that I would never see any of them again, despite our promises of continued correspondence and future meetings; or that they, the daughters of small merchants and prosperous tradesmen, had far more hopeful futures than I.
III
Father had taken a house in Richmond, outside London. It was a tiny box of a place, but it had lovely gardens. We led a very retired life; I played for him on the pianoforte he had hired, and worked at my drawing. I had a small talent for this skill and, with his help, made considerable progress. I suppose that eventually I might have become bored with our lack of social life, for we saw no one except tradesmen and servants, but during those short weeks Father's company was all I desired. He seemed quite gay; but sometimes I would hear him coughing at night.
One afternoon I came back to the house after finishing a sketch of the garden with it beds of daffodils. I was anxious to show it to Father, I felt it was the best thing I had ever done. I was wearing a white muslin-gown, with rose-colored ribbons, and ribbons of the same shade trimmed my broad-brimmed hat. The day was unseasonably warm, so I took the hat off as soon as I entered the house. I thought Father was resting, as he usually did in the afternoon.
I came in through the side door, so I did not see the carriage. I had no warning of guests until I approached the parlor door and heard voices. Such was my haste, and my stupid innocence, that it never occurred to me to wait, or even to knock. I merely thought, Good, Father is awake--and opened the door.
I heard one sentence before they were aware of my presence.
"But, my dear, surely you did not think you could elude me forever, after such--"
A cry from my father made the speaker break off. He turned on his heel, in a quick, violent movement.
He did not look like a man who could move so fast. He was tall and heavily built; not fat, but with a flabbiness of face and body that suggested self-indulgence. I was immediately struck by his attire, with it small, peculiar touches of almost feminine elegance--gloves of pearl-gray satin, a stickpin that was a single huge opal, and a cloak lined with sea-green satin.
There was no reason why his appearance should have filled me with such instinctive repugnance that I actually fell back a few steps. He was not young, but his fleshy jowls and wrinkled cheeks were not more unattractive than the faces of other men I had seen. Perhaps it was his eyes, of a gray so pale that they seemed to blend with the unhealthy pallor of his cheeks. A slow smile parted his lips, and I saw that his teeth were stained an ugly yellow. I soon learned that he did not smile often, perhaps for this reason.
My father, who had stood paralyzed during the few seconds of time that elapsed, now moved as if to approach me. The other man did not turn, but one arm shot out to bar Father's way. His lips had closed, to hide the ugly teeth, but he was still smiling.
"Why, Allen," he said, in a mocking tone. "I understand now the incentive for your--er--actions of late. No effort is too great to keep this pearl snug in its little casket, eh? Will you introduce me? No? Then…" His arm still out-stretched, he made me a courtly bow and addressed me directly. "I am Shelton, my dear. Allen hasn't mentioned me? How ungrateful! His oldest and dearest friend--the patron who appreciates his talents so generously…. But I am a man of broad tastes, I assure you. My interests are not limited to any single field of…art."
I didn't understand what he was hinting. I thought him ugly and unprepossessing, but courteous. Indeed, if he had bought Father's paintings--for so I interpreted his remarks--he deserved a pleasant answer. So I made him a curtsy, and said,
"How do you do, sir. I have been at school; you must excuse my ignorance of my father's business affairs. I hope in future to be closer to him."
I thought this a rather neatly turned little speech, and was chagrined to observe that it struck Mr. Shelton quite dumb for a moment. His eyes narrowed till they were mere slits in his face. Then he began to chuckle softly.
"Father," he said, between chuckles. "Why, Allen, I would never have supposed you had a child of…What are you, my dear--fifteen or sixteen?"
"Almost eighteen," I said.
"Such a great age! (By the by, my dear, I am Lord Shelton; you must call me ‘my lord,' or ‘your lordship,' eh? That's a good girl.) Yes, a lovely age; so tender, so untouched…. But, Allen, I must scold you for concealing this charming young lady. I would like to be of service to her, as I am of service to her father. The three of us should get on famously together, don't you think?"
From my father came a horrible, choking gasp. He fell forward, clutching at Shelton's outstretched arm.
His lordship was quick to act. Lowering Father's limp body to the floor, he bellowed for the servants in a stentorian voice quite unlike his normal lisping whisper. The maid came running, followed by the cook, and they dragged me forcibly from my father. He was still choking, and from his parted lips issued a bright crimson stream.
He died three days later. I was with him at the end. So was my Lord Shelton. There was no way of keeping him out of the house; indeed, I had no desire to do so, for during those three dreadful days he managed everything. I would not have eaten or slept if he had not ordered the meals and directed the servants; and they jumped to obey his slightest wish as they had never obeyed my gentle, easygoing father.
If I thought of Lord Shelton at all, it was to regret my first critical thoughts, for he was unfailingly kind, almost paternal, in his manner. The only thing that bothered me was that he would not allow me to be alone with Father. He said it would be too distressing for me; but in fact Father lay unconscious the entire time, breathing with difficulty.
The night Father died I knew the end was near. The doctor had come and gone for the last time; there was nothing he could do. I knelt by the bed holding Father's limp hand, praying for some last word from him. His lordship sat at the foot of the bed, still as a statue, his eyes never leaving my face. He did not speak. The sounds that broke the dead silence were the yawns of the housemaid, who was present "for the sake of propriety," as his lordship had remarked.
They say that the souls of the dying go out with the tide, or with the turn from night to day. It was at that moment, when a promise of dawn indicated the coming of morning, that my father's eyes opened.
He did not see me. His gaze was fixed on a spot beyond and above me, outside the candle's feeble light--a spot deep in darkness. So intent was his look that involuntarily I turned my head to see what it was he beheld. There was nothing there.
"Francesca," he said. His voice was young and strong. A faint smile played about his lips. "Soon, my darling; soon."
Then, with horrifying abruptness and a strength utterly incommensurate with the ravages of his disease, he sat bolt upright. His eyes turned wildly, passing over me, and focusing finally on the man who sat at the foot of the bed. His lordship rose to his feet. My father tore his hand from my grasp and pointed, his finger quivering. In the same strong voice he cried,
"It is a dead man who speaks to you, Shelton. As you act toward my defenseless child, may God requite you in kind. Remember!"
A great gush of blood ended the speech. He fell back on the pillow.
I felt as if some invisible artery had broken in me as well; as if the vital fluid had escaped, leaving only a shell. With a steady hand I closed my father's staring eyes. Blind instinct must have told me that collapse was not far away, and that I must move now or be beyond the capability of movement. I rose; like a sleepwalker I passed his lordship, who was still standing, his hands raised as if to ward off a blow. His face, shining with perspiration, looked like a mask of yellowed wax. I was able to reach my own room, and my bed, before unconsciousness claimed me.
IV
I passed the next few days in the same trancelike state. I don't think I would have moved at all if the housemaid had not told me what to do. Her name was Bessie; she was a good-natured, rather stupid girl, and I attributed her care for me to genuine kindness. "You must eat something, Miss Fran; see the nice soup cook has made for you." "No, Miss Fran, you must not wear that dress, it is not respectful to your poor papa to wear colors. Here is a new black frock his lordship ordered for you."
His lordship was often mentioned. He had ordered the funeral arrangements and selected the coffin. He paid the bills, too, although I did not think of that; it never occurred to me to wonder how the house was being run. But he did not come near me until the day after the funeral.
There is some purpose to the rituals of death. They allow a vent for grief, so that it does not turn inward. The services were short and simple, the mourners few--besides me, there were only the servants and his lordship. Father was buried in the little cemetery of the nearby church, St. Margaret's. It was a beautiful spring day. I stood in tearless calm by the grave, his lordship beside me, but when the first clods struck hollow on the coffin, I felt an echoing blow in my heart. I wept that night, for the first time, while Bessie comforted me in her clumsy way.
Later that night, after she had tiptoed out under the false impression that I slept, I lay staring into the darkness. I wished that the comfortable stupor of those early days had not left me, for the thoughts that now pressed in were not pleasant. I was alone. What was to become of me? For the first time I thought about money. Not proper, perhaps, for a newly bereaved daughter; but I was discovering a hard inner core of practicality which I had not had to draw upon until then.
It brings a wry smile to my lips now to recall that I thought of his lordship as my best hope. Had he not promised to be of assistance to me? Had he not carried out the sorrowful duties attendant upon death with tactful care? And was he not, by his own claim, my father's friend? So young, so foolish was I that I even interpreted Father's dying speech as an appeal to a trusted comrade. I was glad, therefore, on the following evening, when his lordship was announced.
I was sitting in the parlor; the last gentle light of sunset was fading in the west. I had asked Bessie to bring my embroidery, but I was not making much progress with it. Painful thoughts would intrude.
I rose to greet him, putting my work down on the table, and despite my feelings of gratitude I did not care for the way his narrow gray eyes moved over me. I was wearing my only black dress, the one he had ordered for me; I was suddenly conscious of the way it clung to the contours of bosom and waist.
"Your lordship." I made him a curtsy. "I am glad you have come; I wanted to thank you--"
"There is no need for that." He advanced a few steps into the room and then turned to Bessie, who as lingering by the door. "The room is abominably dark," he said curtly. "Bring more candles."
When she had obeyed, he seemed to be more at ease.
"There, that is better. You may go now."
Inexperienced as I was, I knew he should not have been giving orders to my servant in my presence. But it would not have been gracious to say so, after all he had done. Yet, when the door had closed after Bessie, I had a panicky feeling of abandonment. I told myself I was behaving foolishly…. But his look was so odd! He kept turning his head, searching the shadowy corners. I started to sit down and then, though I could not have said why, I decided to remain standing.
"You have been so kind," I said, while he continued to inspect the room like a tyrant afraid of assassins. "I am glad to have the opportunity to thank--"
"Your father was my friend." He interrupted again. The word "thank" seemed to vex him. "Yes, my dearest friend. I feel his loss."
"So do I," I said softly.
"As his friend…" He hesitated for a moment and then seemed to take courage. "After all," he said loudly, "what other choice is there? I am doing the chit a kindness."
I felt as if he were not addressing me, but some invisible third person. It was not a comfortable feeling.
"Your lordship," I said distinctly.
He looked squarely at me, and a light came to his narrow eyes.
"A kindness," he repeated. "Yes; it would be a crime to let such beauty fade, in a factory or on the streets. Someone will enjoy it, she is too young, too naïve…. Why not I? I have the best right. I'll protect her. I'll crown that golden hair with rubies, though it is like a crown itself…."
He began advancing toward me. His face was horrible, flushed and swollen; his tongue darted in and out like that of a serpent, moistening his lips. I backed away. He stopped and his eyes narrowed cunningly.
"Wouldn't you like rubies, sweetheart? Emeralds, if you prefer; by God, you are worth it, you'll be a sensation if I choose to display you instead of keeping you all to myself. And pretty clothes, my love; gowns of satin and silk instead of that ugly black; fine lace around those pretty white shoulders…."
With one of those quick, serpentine movements, so unexpected from a man of his bulk, he darted forward and caught me in his arms.
No man had ever held me in that way before. His gross, flabby body against mine sickened me. Although he was not heavily muscled, he was so much bigger than I that my frantic struggles were of no avail. I tried to scream. Only a faint cry came from my straining throat, and he laughed aloud and pressed me closer to him.
"Don't waste your breath calling for Bessie, sweetheart. She's too busy counting the gold I have given her. It is my money that has paid her wages all along--or didn't you know that?"
I stopped struggling for a moment as the sense of his words penetrated my mind. His head struck, as a snake's might; I turned my own head to avoid his lips and felt them hot and wet against my neck. He continued to mumble, between kisses, saying horrible things, things that hurt even more than the pressure of his arms.
"Paid her wages--and everything else, the food that went into your pretty little mouth, my love…. How do you think Allen got his money, my darling? I gave him everything, the ungrateful--" I don't remember the word; it was one I had never heard. He went on, gasping, "Ungrateful. Ran away; stole…. You owe me for that, little love, you must pay your father's debts. Doing you a favor. Kindness on my part. Haven't had a woman for…. Almost a new experience, an interesting change…. You're like him, you know. Except for that golden crown of hair…."
The dreadful, mumbling monologue went on and on. Understanding only a small part of what he meant, I felt my senses falter. Coward that I was, I almost welcomed the merciful anesthesia of unconsciousness, but when his clawing hand closed on the collar of my dress and ripped it down over my shoulders, the cool air struck my bare flesh like a dash of ice water. I revived; I struggled again, and tried again to scream. The sound was muffled by his lordship's mouth closing over mine. His touched filled me with such loathing that I summoned up enough strength to bite him. He swore, but he freed my mouth long enough to enable me to give one last despairing cry.
I do not believe that miracles occur in this modern age, at least not to unworthy persons like myself. What happened was not a miracle, it was surprising only in its timing. But there was one strange thing; I cannot account for it even now. The cry that came to my lips, the name I called upon, was not Bessie's, nor that of my father, so recently gone from me.
"Mother!" I screamed.
I had one glimpse of his lordship's face looming over me, filling all my vision like a devil's mask; I closed my eyes, knowing that I was lost, praying for unconsciousness. Then suddenly I felt myself falling. I tried to scream again but there wasn't a scream left in me; I could only gasp for breath, and give an undignified grunt as I landed on the carpet in a sitting position. Momentarily I expected to feel Lord Shelton's arms grasping me again. When nothing happened, I dared to open my eyes.
I will never forget my first sight of him. Under the circumstances any man would have looked like an avenging hero to me--Saint George, Apollo, Perseus rolled into one. And he was so handsome! Tall and broad-shouldered, his hair a mass of clustering gold ringlets, his features strong…. He appeared larger than life as he towered over me. His face was set in a scowl and his strong brown hands held Lord Shelton by the throat. He shook him as a terrier might shake a rat; and then, with a gesture of magnificent contempt, he flung the limp body away. His lordship struck a chair, which collapsed under his weight and let him roll ignominiously to the floor amid the broken splinters.
Then my rescuer turned to me. He dropped to one knee. His eyes were blue; they blazed like pools of deep water with sunlight in their depths. My hands flew to my breast in an effort to gather the rags of my dress around me. At once the young man turned his eyes away.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, in a deep, reverberant baritone. "If he has harmed you, I will kill him."
