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Read books online » Mystery & Crime » The Zeppelin's Passenger by E. Phillips Oppenheim (ereader ebook .txt) 📖

Book online «The Zeppelin's Passenger by E. Phillips Oppenheim (ereader ebook .txt) 📖». Author E. Phillips Oppenheim



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>“You think, then,” Philippa persisted, “that I ought still to remain Henry’s loving and affectionate wife, ready to take my place amongst the pastimes of his life - when he feels inclined, for instance, to wander from his dark lady-love to something petite and of my complexion, or when he settles down at home for a few days after a fortnight’s sport on the sea and expects me to tell him the war news?”

“I don’t think that I should do that,” Helen admitted quietly, “but I am quite certain that I shouldn’t run away with another man.”

“Why not?”

“Because I should be punishing myself too much.”

Philippa’s eyes suddenly flashed.

“Helen,” she said, “you are not such a fool as you try to make me think. Can’t you see what is really at the back of it all in my mind? Can’t you realise that, whatever the punishment it may bring, it will punish Henry more?”

“I see,” Helen observed. “You are running away with Mr. Lessingham to annoy Henry?”

“Oh, he’ll be more than annoyed!” Philippa laughed sardonically. “He has terrible ideas about the sanctity of things that belong to him. He’ll be remarkably sheepish for some time to come. He may even feel a few little stabs. When I have time, I am going to write him a letter which he can keep for the rest of his life. It won’t please him!”

“Where are you - and Mr. Lessingham going to live?” Helen enquired.

“In America, to start with. I’ve always longed to go to the States.”

“What shall you do,” Helen continued, “if you don’t get out of the country safely?”

“Mr. Lessingham seems quite sure that we shall,” Philippa replied, “and he seems a person of many expedients. Of course, if we didn’t, I should go back to Cheshire. I should have gone back there, anyway, before now, if Mr. Lessingham hadn’t come.”

“Well, it all seems very simple,” Helen admitted. “I think Mr. Lessingham is a perfectly delightful person, and I shouldn’t wonder if you didn’t now and then almost imagine that you were happy.”

“You seem to be taking my going very coolly,” Philippa remarked.

“I told you how I felt about it just now,” Helen reminded her. “Your going is like a great black cloud that I have seen growing larger and larger, day by day. I think that, in his way, Dick will suffer just as much as Henry. We shall all be utterly miserable.”

“Why don’t you try and persuade me not to go, then?” Philippa demanded. “You sit there talking about it as though I were going on an ordinary country-house visit.”

Helen raised her head, and Philippa saw that her eyes were filled with tears.

“Philippa dear,” she said, “if I thought that all the tears that were ever shed, all the words that were ever dragged from one’s heart, could have any real effect, I’d go on my knees to you now and implore you to give up this idea. But I think - you won’t be angry with me, dear? - I think you would go just the same.”

“You seem to think that I am obstinate,” Philippa complained.

“You see, you are temperamental, dear,” Helen reminded her. “You have a complex nature. I know very well that you need the daily=20 love that Henry doesn’t seem to have been willing to give you lately, and I couldn’t stop your turning towards the sun, you know. Only - all the time there’s that terrible anxiety - are you quite sure it is the sun?”

“You believe in Mr. Lessingham, don’t you?” Philippa asked.

“I do indeed,” Helen replied. “I am not quite sure, though, that I believe in you.”

Philippa was a little startled.

“Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “Exactly what do you mean by that, Helen?”

“I am not quite sure,” Helen continued, “that when the moment has really come, and your head is upturned and your arms outstretched, and your feet have left this world in which you are now, I am not quite sure that you will find all that you seek.”

“You think he doesn’t love me?”

“I am not convinced,” Helen replied calmly, “that you love him.”

“Why, you idiot,” Philippa declared feverishly, “of course I love him! I think he is one of the sweetest, most lovable persons I ever knew, and as to his being a Swede, I shouldn’t care whether he were a Fiji Islander or a Chinese.”

Helen nodded sympathetically.

“I agree with you,” she said, “but listen. You know that I haven’t uttered a single word to dissuade you. Well, then, grant me just one thing. Before you start off this evening, tell Mr. Lessingham the truth, whatever it may be, the truth which you haven’t told me. It very likely won’t make any difference. Two people as nice as you and he, who are going to join their lives, generally do, I believe, find the things they seek. Still, tell him.”

Philippa made no reply. Richard opened the door and lingered upon the threshold. Helen rose to her feet.

“I am coming, Dick,” she called out cheerfully. “There’s a gorgeous fire in the gun room, and two big easy-chairs, and we’ll have just the time I have been looking forward to all day. You’ll tell me things, won’t you?

She looked very sweet as she came towards him, her eyes raised to him, her face full of the one happiness. He passed his arm around her waist.

“I’ll try, dear,” he said. “You won’t be lonely, Philippa?”

“I’ll come and disturb you when I am,” she promised.

The door closed. She stood gazing down into the fire, listening to their footsteps as they crossed the hall.

CHAPTER XXXI

Lessingham stood for a moment by the side of the car from which he had just descended, glanced at the huge tires and the tins of petrol lashed on behind.

“Nothing more you want, chauffeur?” he asked.

“Nothing, sir,” was the almost inaudible reply.

“You have the route map?”

“Yes, sir, and enough petrol for three hundred miles.”

Lessingham turned away, pushed open the gate, and walked up the drive of Mainsail Haul. Decidedly it was the moment of his life. He was hard-pressed, as he knew, by others besides Griffiths. A few hours now was all the start he could reasonably expect. He was face to face with a very real and serious danger, which he could no longer ignore, and from which escape was all the time becoming more difficult. And yet all the emotionalism of this climax was centered elsewhere. It was from Philippa’s lips that he would hear his real sentence; it was her answer which would fill him once more with the lust for life, or send him on in his rush through the night for safety, callous, almost indifferent as to its result.

He walked up the drive, curiously at his ease, in a state of suspended animation, which knew no hope and feared no disappointment. Just before he reached the front door, the postern gate in the wall on his left-hand side opened, and Philippa stood there, muffled up in her fur coat, framed in the faint and shadowy moonlight against the background of seabounded space. He moved eagerly towards her.

“I heard the car,” she whispered. “Come and sit down for a moment. It isn’t in the least cold, and the moon is just coming up over the sea. I came out,” she went on, as he walked obediently by her side, “because the house somehow stifled me.”

She led him to a seat. Below, the long waves were breaking through upon the rocks, throwing little fountains of spray into the air. The village which lay at their feet was silent and lifeless - there was, indeed, a curious absence of sound, except when the incoming waves broke upon the rocks and ground the pebbles together in their long, backward swish. Very soon the sleeping country, now wrapped in shadows, would take form and outline in the light of the rising moon; hedges would divide the square fields, the black woods would take shape and the hills their mystic solemnity. But those few minutes were minutes of suspense. Lessingham was to some extent conscious of their queer, allegorical significance.

“I have come,” he reminded her quite steadily, “for my answer.”

She showed him the small bag by her side upon the seat, and touched her cloak. She was indeed prepared for a journey.

“You see,” she told him, “here I am.”

His face was suddenly transformed. She was almost afraid of the effect of her words. She found herself struggling in his arms.

“Not yet,” she begged. “Please remember where we are.”

He released her reluctantly. A few yards away, they could hear the soft purring of the six-cylinder engine, inexorable reminder of the passing moments. He caught her by the hand.

“Come,” he whispered passionately. “Every moment is precious.”

She hesitated no longer. The open postern gate seemed to him suddenly to lead down the great thoroughfare of a new and splendid life. He was to be one of those favoured few to whom was given the divine prize. And then he stopped short, even while she walked willingly by his side. He knew so well the need for haste. The gentle murmur of that engine was inviting him all the while. Yet he knew there was one thing more which must be said.

“Philippa,” he began, ” you know what we are doing? We can escape, I believe. My flight is all wonderfully arranged. But there will be no coming back. It will be all over when our car passes over the hills there. You will not regret? You care enough even for this supreme sacrifice?”

“I shall never reproach you as long as I live,” she promised. “I have made up my mind to come, and I am ready.”

“But it is because you care?” he pleaded anxiously.

“It is because I care, for one reason.”

“In the great way?” he persisted. “In the only way?”

She hesitated. He suddenly felt her hand grow colder in his. He saw her frame shiver beneath its weight of furs.

“Don’t ask me quite that,” she begged breathlessly. “Be content to know that I have counted the cost, and that I am willing to come.”

He felt the chill of impending disaster. He closed the little gate through which they had been about to pass, and stood with his back to it. In that faint light which seemed to creep over the world before the moon itself was revealed, she seemed to him at that moment the fairest, the most desirable thing on earth. Her face was upturned towards his, half pathetic, half protesting against the revelation which he was forcing from her.

“Listen, Philippa,” he said, “Miss Fairclough warned me of one thing. I put it on one side. It did not seem to be possible. Now I must ask you a question. You have some other motive, have you not, for choosing to come away ‘with me? It is not only because you love me better than any one else in the world, as I do you, and therefore that we belong to one another and it is right and good that we should spend our lives in one another’s company? There is something else, is there not, at the root of your determination? Some ally?”

It was a strange moment for Philippa. Nothing had altered within her, and yet a wonderful pity was glowing in her heart, tearing at her emotions, bringing a sob into her throat.

“You mean - Henry? she faltered.

=20

“I mean your husband,” he assented.

She was suddenly passionately angry with herself. It seemed to her that the days of childishness were back. She was behaving like an imbecile whilst he played the great game.

“You

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