The Knave of Diamonds by Ethel May Dell (book recommendations for teens TXT) 📖

the rag he held. It began to tear between his hands. She watched him ripping it to shreds.
Suddenly he seemed to realise what he was doing, and tossed it from him. He looked her straight in the eyes.
"Have you fixed the date for your coronation?" he asked.
Her eyes fell instantly. "Will you tell me what you mean?" she said.
"Is my meaning obscure?"
She compelled herself to answer him steadily. "If you mean our marriage, it will not take place for some time, possibly not this year."
"Why not?" said Nap. "Are you a slave to etiquette?"
The thing sounded preposterous on his lips. She faintly smiled. "The decision does not lie with me."
"Ah!" he said shrewdly. "The privilege of kings! You will still be a queen before you are thirty. And your first act will be to expel the court jester--if he waits to be expelled."
She saw his grim smile for an instant, and knew that he was playing his old fencing game with her, but at the same time she knew that there was no antagonism behind his point. How the knowledge came to her she could not have said, but she realised afterwards that it was at that moment that she began to perceive that the devil had gone out of Nap Errol. The conviction was slow in growing, but it was then that it first took root; it was then that her fear of the man began to die away.
She raised her eyes. "Why should I do that, Nap?"
He made her a deep bow. "Because I have been unfortunate enough to incur your displeasure."
There was a moment of silence, then, in obedience to that instinct to which in rare moments she yielded herself and which never played her false, Anne held out her hand to him. "I forgive you," she said.
He started. He evidently had not expected that from her. Perhaps he had not wanted it. Later she wondered. But he showed no awkwardness of indecision. Only once had she ever seen him at a loss, and of that once she would never voluntarily think again.
He took her hand upon his sleeve and bent over it. She thought he was going to kiss it, and a sharp dread went through her. But he only touched it for a single instant with his forehead.
"For Luke's sake?" he said, not looking at her.
"For your own," she made answer, almost as if she could not help herself.
"Because?" he questioned.
"Because I know you love him," she said. "Because I know that you will be loyal to him."
"Though I may be false to you?" he said.
She bent her head. "I am only a woman. I am afraid your experience of women has not taught you to respect them."
He picked up the gun again and fell to work upon it. "My experience of one woman at least," he said, "has taught me--something different, something I am not likely to forget."
It was the end of the interview. In silence Anne turned to go. He wheeled round and opened the door for her, but he did not look at her again, nor she at him. When the door closed between them she felt as if a great silence had fallen in her life.


CHAPTER XI
SOMETHING GREAT

On the day succeeding Nap's return Dot went to tea at Baronmead. She was a very constant visitor there. Lucas always enjoyed her bright presence and welcomed her with warmth. But Dot was not feeling very bright that day. She looked preoccupied, almost worried.
She found that Mrs. Errol and Anne had gone out, and, as her custom was when she found the house deserted, she went straight to her brother-in-law's room.
Tawny Hudson answered her knock at the outer door, and she was struck by the lowering look the great half-breed wore. His expression was positively villainous, and sharp as a pin-prick there darted through her the memory of her first visit to Baronmead, and the hatred of Nap Errol she had that day seen revealed in the man's eyes. She had never given the matter a thought since. To-day it awoke to life, stirring within her a vague apprehension.
"How is your master, Tawny?" she asked.
"He is not so well, madam," said Tawny Hudson, but he opened the door wide notwithstanding, inviting her to enter.
She went in. The room adjoined that in which Lucas lay, and Hudson was always there when not actually in attendance upon his master, except in his off hours, which were as few as Lucas would permit.
"May I see him?" said Dot. "Or would he rather not be disturbed?"
Hudson stepped to the closed door and listened, his great red head bent almost to the keyhole.
After a few moments he stood up and softly turned the handle. He made a brief sign to her and passed noiselessly into the room.
Dot remained where she was. She heard Lucas accost him at once, and caught the murmur of the man's low-spoken reply. And then in a moment Hudson came back to her.
"Will you go in, madam?" he said, in his careful English that always made her think of an animal that had been taught to speak.
She went in, treading lightly, relieved to leave the man's heavy scowling visage behind her.
"Come right in," said Lucas hospitably. "It's real good of you to come and see me like this."
She took his outstretched hand, looking at him anxiously. She saw that he had not slept for many hours. Though he smiled at her, there was a grey look about his lips that made her wonder if he were in pain.
"Sit down," he said gently. "It's nothing. Only another bad night. I can't expect to sleep soundly always."
"How disappointing!" Dot murmured.
"Not surprising though. I had an exciting day yesterday. You heard of Nap's return?"
"Yes." There was a very decided cloud upon Dot's face. "I saw him."
"Well?" said Lucas.
She turned to him impulsively. "Isn't it horrid when the thing you've been planning for and wanting ever so long happens and everyone else is cross?"
The blue eyes looked quizzical. "Very, I should say," said Lucas. "Would it be presumptuous to ask what has been happening and who is cross?"
Dot's answering smile held more of pathos than mirth. Her lips took a quivering, downward droop. "It's Nap," she said.
He raised his brows a little. "Nap seems the general pivot on which all grievances turn," he remarked.
Dot leaned her chin on her hand. "I do so hate making mistakes," she said.
"We all do it," said Lucas.
"Oh, you don't!" She turned and gravely regarded him. "You are always wise," she said, "never headlong."
"Which only demonstrates your ignorance and the kindness of your heart," said Lucas. "But go on, won't you? What has Nap been doing?"
"Oh, nothing. Nap is all right. It isn't Nap I mind." Again that doleful droop of the lips became apparent, together with a little quiver of the voice undeniably piteous. "It--it's Bertie," whispered Dot. "I--I--it's very ridiculous, isn't it? I'm a wee bit afraid of Bertie, do you know?"
"St. Christopher!" said Lucas, in astonishment.
"Yes. But you won't ever tell him, will you?" she pleaded anxiously. "If--if he knew or guessed--all my prestige would be gone. I shouldn't be able to manage him at all. He--he is rather difficult to manage sometimes, don't you think?"
Lucas was frowning slightly. "I guess I can manage him," he said.
"No doubt you could. I expect you always have. He respects you," said Dot, with unwitting wistfulness.
Lucas turned his head and looked at her very steadily. "Will you tell me something, Dot?" he said.
She nodded.
"Why are you afraid of Bertie?"
She hesitated.
"Come!" he said. "Surely you're not afraid of me too!"
The banter in his voice was touched with a tenderness that went straight to Dot's young heart. She leaned down impetuously and held his hand.
"No," she said tremulously. "I'm not such a little idiot as that, Luke. I'm afraid of Bertie because I've done something he wouldn't like. It's a very little thing, Luke. It is, really. But--but it's bothered me off and on all the winter. And now that Nap is home, I feel much worse--as if--as if it had been really wrong. And--and"--she broke down suddenly--"I know I ought to tell him. But--I can't."
"Tell me," said Lucas gently.
"And you will tell him for me?"
"If you wish me to do so."
"I don't like it," sobbed Dot. "It's so despicable of me. I've wanted to tell him for ever so long. But he has been so good to me all this time, and--and somehow I couldn't face it. We haven't even squabbled for months now. It--it seemed such a pity to spoil everything when it really didn't make any difference to anyone if he knew or not."
"Don't cry," interposed Lucas. "It would hurt Bertie if he knew."
"Dear Bertie!" whispered Dot. "Isn't it horrid of me to be such a coward? I haven't done anything really wrong either. In fact at the time it seemed almost right."
"Almost!" said Lucas, faintly smiling.
She smiled also through her tears. "Why don't you call me a humbug? Well, listen! It was like this. One night in the beginning of the winter Bertie and I had a disagreement about Nap. It wasn't at all important. But I had to stick up for him, because I had chanced to see him just before he left in the summer--you remember--when he was very, very miserable?"
"I remember," said Lucas.
He spoke rather wearily, but his eyes never left her face. He was listening intently.
"And I was frightfully sorry for him," proceeded Dot, "though at the time I didn't know what was the matter. And I couldn't let Bertie say horrid things about him. So I fired up. And then Bertie told me"--she faltered a little--"about Nap caring for Lady Carfax. And that was where the trouble began. He didn't give him credit for really loving her, whereas I knew he did."
Strong conviction sounded in Dot's voice. The blue eyes that watched her opened a little.
"That so?" said Lucas.
"Oh, I was sure," she said. "I was sure. There are some things a woman can't help knowing. It was the key to what I knew before. I understood--at once."
"And then?" said Lucas.
"Then, of course, I remembered that Lady Carfax was free. And I asked Bertie if he knew. You see, I thought it possible that in her heart she might be caring for him too. I knew they had always been friends. And Sir Giles was such a brute to her. No woman could ever have loved him. I think most people couldn't help knowing that. And it seemed only fair that Nap should know that Sir Giles was dead. I told Bertie so. He didn't agree with me." Dot paused and vigorously dried her eyes. "I still don't think he was right," she said.
"P'r'aps not." Lucas spoke meditatively. "There's a good deal to be said for woman's intuition," he said.
"It seemed to me a matter of fair play," maintained Dot. "He didn't know where Nap was, only his club address. And he wouldn't write himself, so I just wrote a single line telling Nap that Sir Giles was dead, and sent it off that night. I didn't tell Bertie. It didn't seem to matter much then, and I knew it might be ages before Nap got it. But now that that line has brought him back, I feel as if he ought to know--particularly as Bertie is so angry with him for returning. And Anne too--Anne nearly fainted when she saw him. I felt as if I had landed everybody in a hopeless