Isobel was quite well. No, she had not married. How long was it since Mr. Lawrence had heard from Lady Brandon? Oh, quite recently, only a month or so ago. She wrote more frequently nowadays. Seemed to have no one to turn to for advice, now the Chaplain was dead. . . .
Isobel was well and unmarried! (I was conscious that I was breathing more freely and my heart functioning more regularly than it had done since this grave austere official had mentioned Claudia's marriage.) . . .
Did she feel towards me as she had done that morning when I did not say good-bye to her--that morning that seemed so long ago that it might have been in a previous existence, that morning that was so long ago?
And so Aunt Patricia knew! Yet what did she know after all? Merely that Michael professed and confessed to be the single-handed thief of the "Blue Water," and that he, and he alone, was to blame. . . .
Did she yet know the truth as to the theft?
§6.
I had been feeling horribly ill for some time, and now I collapsed altogether with a combination of malarial fever and dysentery--that ill-omened union after whose attack a man is never quite the same again.
Had I been Lawrence's own son, he could not have done more for me, and the Government doctor, who came post-haste by rail and horse, was splendid. It was a close call and a long, slow recovery, but the day came at last when I found myself weak, shaky, and emaciated on Maiduguri platform en route for Lagos and home.
George Lawrence was with me, having sworn not to let me out of his sight until he had delivered me safe and sound at Brandon Abbas. I put aside the unworthy thought which occurred to me--that it was himself he yearned to see safe and sound at that house! The idea occurred to me when I found that whatever I said about Michael interested him to the extent that it bore upon Michael's relations to Aunt Patricia, and that his interest in the mystery of the "Blue Water" was limited to its bearing upon Aunt Patricia's affairs.
And so, one day, I found myself on the deck of a steamer, breathing glorious sea-air, and looking back upon the receding coast of horrible Africa, and almost too weak to keep my eyes from watering and my throat from swelling, as I realised that I was leaving behind me all that was mortal of two of the best and finest men that ever lived--my brothers, Michael and Digby. Also two more of the finest men of a different kind, Hank and Buddy, possibly alive, probably dead (for no word had come to Kano)--and, but for Isobel, I should have wished that I were dead too.
But I was glad to be alive, and in my selfishness let my joy lay balm upon my grief for my brothers and my friends--for in my pocket were cables from Isobel, cables dispatched as soon as Lawrence's letter reached Brandon Abbas, announcing my appearance in Nigeria, and the deaths of Michael and Digby.
§7.
I will not write of my meeting with her. Those who love, or ever have loved, can imagine something of what I felt as I walked to the Bower, which she had elected to be our meeting-place rather than a railway-platform, or a steamer's deck.
There was my darling, more beautiful than ever, and, if possible, more sweet and loving. . . .
Well, joy does not kill, or I should not have survived that hour. Aunt Patricia was coldly kind, at first.
I was made to feel that she had sent for me one day, and I had refused to come, and had further disobeyed her by leaving the house, against her expressed desires!
After lunch, in the drawing-room, the room from which the "Blue Water" had disappeared, I gave her, in the presence of Isobel and George Lawrence the letter and packet that had been Michael's charge to me.
She opened the letter first and read it, and then read aloud in a clear and steady voice:
"My most dear and admired Aunt Patricia, When you get this, I shall be dead, and when you have read it I shall be forgiven, I hope, for I did what I thought was best, and what would, in a small measure, repay you for some of your great goodness to me and my brothers. My dear Aunt, I knew you had SOLD the 'Blue Water' to the Maharajah (for the benefit of the tenants and the estate), and I knew you must DREAD the return of Sir Hector, and his discovery of the fact, sooner or later. I was INSIDE ONE OF THE SUITS OF ARMOUR when you handed the 'Blue Water' over to the vizier or agent of the Maharajah. I heard everything, and when once you had said what you said, and I had heard it--it was pointless for me to confess that I knew--but when I found that you had HAD A DUPLICATE made, I thought what a splendid thing it would be if only we HAD A BURGLARY and the 'Blue Water' substitute were stolen! The thieves would be nicely done in the eye, and your sale of the stone would never be discovered by Sir Hector. Had I known how to get into the Priests' Hole and open the safe, I would have burgled it for you. Then Sir Hector's letter came, announcing his return, and I knew that things were desperate and the matter URGENT. So I spirited away that clever piece of glass or quartz or whatever it is, and I herewith return it (with apologies). I NEARLY put it back after all, the same night, but I'm glad I didn't. (Tell John this.) Now I do beg and pray you to let Sir Hector go on thinking that I am a common thief and stole the 'Blue Water'--or all this bother that everybody has had will be all for nothing, and I shall have failed to shield you from trouble and annoyance. If it is not impertinent, may I say that I think you were absolutely right to sell it, and that the value is a jolly sight better applied to the health and happiness of the tenants and villagers and to the productiveness of the farms, than locked up in a safe in the form of a shining stone that is of no earthly benefit to anyone. It nearly made me regret what I had done, when those asses, Digby and John, had the cheek to bolt too. Honestly, it never occurred to me that they would do anything so silly. But I suppose it is selfish of me to want all the blame and all the fun and pleasure of doing a little job for you. I do so hope that all has gone well and turned out as I planned. I BET UNCLE HECTOR WAS SICK! Well, my dear Aunt, I can only pray that I have helped you a little. With sincerest gratitude for all you have done for us, Your loving and admiring nephew, 'Beau' Geste."
"A beau geste, indeed," said Aunt Patricia, and for the only time in my life, I saw her put her handkerchief to her eyes.
* * *
Extract from a letter from George Lawrence, Esq., C.M.G., of His Majesty's Nigerian Civil Service, to Colonel Henri de Beaujolais, Colonel of Spahis, XIXth (African) Army Corps:
". . . And so that is the other side of the story, my friend. Alas, for those two splendid boys, Michael and Digby Geste. . . . And the remaining piece of news is that I do most sincerely hope that you will be able to come over to England in June. You are the best man I know, Jolly, and I want you to be my Best Man, a desire heartily shared by Lady Brandon. Fancy, old cabbage, after more than thirty years of devotion! . . . I feel like a boy! And that fine boy, John, is going to marry the 'so beautiful child' whom you remembered. Lady Brandon is being a fairy godmother to them, indeed. I think she feels she is somehow doing something for Michael by smoothing their path so. . . ."
Footnote:
1 Torture. The hands and feet tied together in a bunch in the middle of the back.
BEAU SABREUR
