I told her this, and she said, "Will you be a Frisian girl too, and come out with me to see the Kermess at the time when it's worth seeing?"
I was dreadfully startled, and of course said "No." I had never done anything in disguise, and I never would.
"Very well, then," said Nell, "I'll go alone."
I tried to dissuade her; but she did not object to shocking Jonkheer Brederode.
"It would do him good," she said. "Only he won't have the chance this time, because no one would ever recognize me, would they?"
I looked hard at her, and was not quite sure, though the pushing back of the hair and the wearing of the helmet did change her wonderfully, to say nothing of the shawl. But she looked far too beautiful to go out alone in the night. The golden head-dress gave her hair the color of copper beech leaves, and the gleam of the metal so close to the face made her complexion transparent, as if a light were shining through a thin sheet of mother-o'-pearl.
When I found that she was determined, I told her that I would go, rather than she should run the risk alone; but she only laughed, and said there was no risk. Even if our skipper were right about foreigners, surely two Frisian girls of the lower classes might walk about at the fair, when the best fun was going on; we should find plenty of others exactly like ourselves. And when I'd tried the helmet on before the mirror, I could not resist wishing that Mr. van Buren might have seen it—simply to amuse him, of course.
The next thing was to steal down-stairs without being seen. We wrapped our shawls over our heads, helmets and all; but we need not have feared, every one was away at some entertainment or other, and we did not meet a soul. Once outside the hotel, we rearranged the shawls, crossing the ends behind our waists, and Nell said that it did not matter if we met the whole world now. As we should not have to open our mouths to any one, and betray our ignorance of Dutch, there would be nothing to show that we were not Frisian girls.
The full moon was just coming up as we left the hotel, but when we had turned two or three corners, and reached the streets where the Kermess was going on, there was such a white blaze of electricity that the moon and her pale light were swallowed up. In the dazzling illumination, the booths and merry-go-rounds, and carousels, with their sparkling decorations of tinsel, seemed to drip gold and silver; and the garlands and trees and fountains of electric light scintillated like myriads of diamonds.
There had been crowds in the afternoon, but now they were five times as dense. The brilliant, open-air cafés were crammed, and the band in each one was playing a different air. Everybody was laughing, and shouting and singing; the people had thrown away their Dutch reserve, and even middle-aged men and women were enjoying themselves like children.
I felt self-conscious and guilty at first, but it was such a gay scene that nobody could help getting into the spirit of it; and just as Nell had prophesied, there were plenty of Frisian girls about, in gold or silver helmets, like ours, only nobody stared at them particularly, and everybody did stare at us.
I remarked this to Nell, and the fact that no shawls of our sort were being worn; but she laughed and said that if people stared we might as well take it as a compliment; she flattered herself that we happened to be looking our best.
It really was fun. We dared not buy anything on account of our foreign accent; but we wandered from street to street, jostled by the crowd, stopping in front of the gayest booths, and even going into a side-show where a Javanese man was having fits to please the audience. Jonkheer Brederode had refused to take us in the afternoon, when we had shown an interest in the painting which advertised the Javanese creature; but, after all, the fits were more exciting on canvas than they were inside the hot, crowded tent, and some young soldiers stared at us so much that we were glad to get out.
Next door was the most gorgeous carousel I ever saw. It was spinning round under a red plush roof, embroidered with gold and sparkling crystals, and festooned with silver chains. To the strains of the Dutch national air, life-sized elephants with gilded castles, huge giraffes, alarming lions, terrific tigers, beautiful swans, and Sedan chairs were whirling madly, with great effect of glitter and gaiety.
"All my life I've wanted to ride in a merry-go-round," said Nell, "and I never have. Now's our one chance. There's a Spanish bull and a Polar bear to let. Come on."
She seized my hand, and before I realized what we were doing, I was sitting on a large bull, wildly clinging to its horns, while Nell, just in front, perched on the back of a sly-looking white bear.
No sooner were we settled than the four young soldiers who had stared in the fit-man's tent, jumped on some other animals in the procession, and as we began to fly round the big ring, they called out and waved their hands as if they were friends of ours. I was afraid they must have followed us out of the tent, and I could understand enough Dutch to know that they were saying things about our looks. Every one in the crowd laughed and encouraged them, and several people standing by to watch, spoke to Nell and me as we whirled.
It was an awful situation. What with the embarrassment, the shame, the horrid consciousness of being part of the show, and the giddiness that came over me with the motion, it was all I could do to keep from crying. But if I had sobbed while spinning round the ring on the back of a bull, I should have been a more conspicuous figure than ever, so I controlled myself with all my might. Oh, if only I could have got down, to run away and hide! but there we both had to sit till time for the merry-go-round to stop, and I would have given all that's left of the two hundred pounds Captain Noble willed me, to make the horrid machinery break down.
As we sailed round and round my agonized eyes caught the surprised gaze of a man I knew. For an instant I could not remember how, or where, or how much I knew him; but suddenly it all came back. I recognized Sir Alexander MacNairne, whose acquaintance we made in Amsterdam, through Tibe, and the worst thing was that, from the expression of his face, I was almost sure he recognized us both, in spite of our disguise.
By this time, the sitting on the bull, and the continued whirling at the mercy of a thousand eyes, began to seem a torture such as might have been inflicted by the Inquisition if you had argued with them about some little thing. I'm sure, if any one had sprung forward at this moment to tell me that if I would become a Dissenter of any kind, or belong to the Salvation Army, I needn't be a martyr any longer, but should be saved at once, I would have screamed "Yes—yes—yes!"
At last the animals did slow down, and Nell and I slid off our monsters before they had stopped; but instead of improving our situation, we had made it worse.
While we had been sailing round the ring, no one could approach disagreeably near. The minute we tried to mingle with the crowd and disappear in it, however, the impudent young soldiers mingled too, having the evident intention of disappearing with us.
The things that happened next, happened so quickly, one after the other, that they are still confused in my memory. At the time I knew only that the soldiers were following and surrounding Nell and me; that my heart was beating fast, that her cheeks were scarlet and her eyes very large and bright, either with fear or anger, or both; that I felt an arm go round my waist, and a man's rather beery breath close to my ear; that I cried "Oh!" that rude girls were laughing; and then that Nell was boxing a man's ears. I am not even quite sure that everything was in this exact order! but just as I heard that sound of "smack—smack," I saw Sir Alexander MacNairne not far off, and without stopping to remember that we were supposed to be Frisian peasant girls, I called to him. I think I said, "Oh, Sir Alexander MacNairne, come—please come!"
With that, he began to knock people about, and break a path through to get to us; and some of them laughed, and some were angry. Even in those few seconds I could see that he was a hot-tempered man, and that the laughs made him furious. He said things in English, with just the faintest Scotch "burr"; and as there were no Dutchmen of Mr. van Buren's type in the rude crowd, the Scotsman had soon tumbled the men about like ninepins—all except the soldiers—and got close to us.
But the soldiers were not to be thrown off so easily, even by such a big man as Sir Alexander MacNairne, and Nell and I would have been in all the horrors of a fight—a fight on our account, too—if Jonkheer Brederode had not appeared in the midst, as suddenly and unexpectedly as if he had dropped from the round, full moon.
He must have come from behind me, and my mouth was open to exclaim how thankful I was to see him, when he hastily whispered, just loud enough for Nell and me to hear, "Don't seem to know me." Then he began talking authoritatively in Dutch to the young soldiers, looking so stern and formidable that it was no wonder the fun died out of their faces (they were mere boys, all four), and they shrank away from Nell and me as if we had been hot coals which had burnt them when they touched us.
When Jonkheer Brederode first dashed to our rescue, Sir Alexander MacNairne had been extremely busy with two of the little soldiers, but overawed by their countryman's distinguished manner and severe words, they lost their desire to fight and sheepishly joined their companions. This gave Sir Alexander a chance to see to whom he owed the diversion, and to my surprise he exclaimed, "Rudolph Brederode!"
He did not speak the name as if he were pleased, but uttered it quite fiercely. His good-looking face grew red, and his blue eyes sparkled with anger. I was astonished, for neither Nell nor I had any idea that they knew each other; and I was still more startled, and horrified as well, to see Sir Alexander make a spring toward Jonkheer Brederode, as if he meant to strike him.
Our skipper stood perfectly still, looking at him, though Sir Alexander's arm was raised as if in menace; but at that instant the lifted hand was seized, and the arm was moved up and down rapidly, as if it were a stiff pump-handle that needed oiling.
It was Mr. Starr who had seized it, and began to shake it so furiously. Before the tall Scotsman had time to understand what was happening, Mr. Starr had wheeled him round so that his back was turned toward us, and I heard the nice American voice exclaiming, "How do you do? Never had such a surprise. Where's your wife?"
"Where's my wife? That's what I mean to ask Brede—" Sir Alexander had begun, struggling to get his hand out of Mr. Starr's cordial clasp. But before I could hear the end of the word, much less the first syllable of another, Jonkheer Brederode was hustling Nell and me, out of sight of the others, round the carousel.
"Come with me, and get out of this, quickly," he said, but not in a scolding tone, such as I had dreaded when he discovered us in such a shocking situation brought on by our own folly.
I was dying to ask questions, but of course I did not dare; and though I was afraid at first that Nell would resist, she was as meek as a sugar lamb.
The motive seemed very mysterious, but I couldn't help fancying it was on Sir Alexander MacNairne's account that Jonkheer Brederode had wished us not to recognize him; still I could not think why. When we had talked about Sir Alexander MacNairne the other day at Amsterdam, the Jonkheer said nothing about their acquaintance. I wondered if there had been a quarrel, and if so, what it could have been about, though it was certainly no affair of mine. Still, it is hard to control one's thoughts; and I wondered more and more as Jonkheer Brederode hurried Nell and me back to the hotel, not by the short way we had taken before, but dodging about through a dozen intricate streets as if he were anxious to give trouble to any one who might be following. Our skipper seemed preoccupied, too, which was a good thing for us, as it took his mind off our crimes. As it was, he actually made no allusion to our strange costume, our escapade, or even the hateful adventure from which he had rescued us—for that he had rescued us there was no question. Sir Alexander MacNairne, with his quick temper, and his ignorance of the Dutch character as well as the Dutch language, and the privileges of Kermess week, was making matters worse for us, instead of better, when Jonkheer Brederode dashed in and saved the situation. What would have happened if he hadn't come, I dared not think, for there would certainly have been a fight, and Nell and I might presently have found ourselves, with Sir Alexander MacNairne, in the hands of the police.
The skipper might easily have enlarged on this, and pointed a moral lesson, but not a word did he say about anything that had happened. Maybe, this humiliated us even more than if he had scolded, for his silence was very marked, and he appeared to take not the slightest interest in either of us, except to get us indoors, where we could do no further mischief. His manner was cold; and whether this arose from his strange preoccupation, or from annoyance with us, I couldn't decide. In either case, I was thankful when we were in our room, and had taken off our shawls and the beautiful helmets which now I detested.
But we had not had time to undress, when there was a knock at the door. Nell opened it, and there stood Lady MacNairne, in a dressing-gown, with a veil wrapped over her head—perhaps to hide curling-pins. I thought that Jonkheer Brederode must have roused her up to report our crimes, and sent her to show us the error of our ways, though to do such a thing was unlike him. But her first words proved that I had misjudged our poor skipper.
"Girls," she said, "could you be ready to leave the hotel and go on board 'Lorelei'—good gracious, I mean 'Mascotte'!—in a quarter of an hour?"
I almost thought she must be talking in her sleep.
"Why, Lady MacNairne!" I exclaimed, "it's half-past eleven."
"I know," said she. "All the more reason for haste. I'm not joking. There's a reason why we ought to be off at once. Of course, 'Mascotte' is your boat, dear Nell, and it's your trip. But you and Phyllis are so kind to me always, that I'm sure you'll consent without asking for more explanations, won't you, when I say that it's for my sake, and to save a lot of bother."
When Lady MacNairne wants anybody to do anything for her, she makes herself perfectly irresistible. I don't know at all how, but I only wish I had the art of doing it. Sometimes she is domineering—if it's a man to be managed—or even cross; sometimes she is soft as a dove; but whichever it is, you feel as if streams of magnetic fluid poured out of the tips of her fingers all over you, and your one anxiety is to do what she wants you to do, as quickly as possible.
It was like that with Nell and me, now. We said, both together, that we wouldn't be ten minutes, and we weren't. But in spite of the wild speed with which we flung together the few things we had unpacked, and in spite of the fact that we were dressed, except for our hats, while Lady MacNairne was in her wrapper, she was ready before us.
We were to meet in her room, and just as we arrived, dressing-bags in hand—for it was not a time of night to ring for porters—Mr. Starr appeared round a turn of the corridor. He didn't see us at first, but began to say something to his aunt about a "narrow shave," when he caught sight of Nell and me inside the open door.
I was on the point of asking him what had become of Sir Alexander MacNairne, with whom we had left him violently shaking hands, when I remembered that Lady MacNairne had said he was a "relation of hers by marriage," so I thought, since there was evidently trouble of some sort between him and Jonkheer Brederode, I had better not bring up the subject in her presence. Whatever might be the mysterious reason which was taking us away like thieves in the night, Mr. Starr had the air of knowing it—as he naturally would, since Lady MacNairne was his aunt; but no matter which of the other two men was to blame, I was sure he was innocent. He was as nice and helpful, too, about carrying down all our things, as if it were his interest instead of the others', to get us out of the hotel and on to the boat, although he is such a lazy, erratic young man, that he must have been quite upset by the surprise and confusion.
Jonkheer Brederode had been down-stairs, paying our bills and settling up with the landlady, who seemed to be the only person not at the Kermess. As we all walked toward him, to show that we were ready to start, I caught a few words which the landlady was saying. I am not yet sure of getting things right in Dutch, but it did sound as if she said in reply to some question or order of his, "Rely on me. No such impertinent demand shall be answered."
A stuffy cab, which might have been fifty years old, had, it seemed, been called by Mr. Starr, who was as sympathetic as usual in the dilemmas of others. We squeezed in, anyhow, except Jonkheer Brederode, who sat on the box to tell the driver how to go, his cap pulled over his eyes, as if it were pouring with rain, instead of being the most brilliant moonlight night; and Tibe sat on all our laps at once.
Hendrik and Toon sleep on "Mascotte" and "Waterspin," and they were on board, true to duty, though if they had been anything but Dutchmen, they would probably have sneaked slyly off to the Kermess. They are not the sort of persons who show surprise at anything (Nell says that if the motor burst under Hendrik's nose, he would simply rub it with a piece of cotton waste—his nose or the motor, it would not much matter which—and go on with what he had been doing before); so no time was lost, and in ten minutes we were off, finding our way by the clear moonlight, as easily as if it had been day.
We had not gone far, when I spied another motor-boat, larger than ours, but not so smart, in harbor, and I stared with all my eyes, trying to make out her name, for she had not been there when we came in; but "Mascotte" flew by like a bird—much faster than she ever goes by day, in the water-traffic, and I could not see it.
Everything was much too exciting for us to wish to sleep, though had we stopped quietly in the hotel, we should have been in bed before this. Jonkheer Brederode advised us to go below, as the air was chilly on the water, and such a wind had come up that it blew away two cushions from our deck-chairs. But we would not be persuaded.
Out of the narrow canal we slid, into a wide expanse of water, cold as liquid steel under the moon, and tossed into little sharp-edged waves which sent "Mascotte" rolling from side to side, so choppily that I was glad to get into the next canal, even narrower than the first, such a mere slip of water that cows on shore, vague, shadowy, shapes, puffed clouds of clover-sweet breath in our faces as we leaned toward them from the deck.
The windows of little thatched cottages seemed to look straight into our cabin windows, like curiously glinting, wakeful eyes; and Jonkheer Brederode said that, by daylight when the canal was crowded with barges and lighters, it needed almost as much skill and patience to steer through it, as to guide a motor-car through Piccadilly in the height of the season.
It took bribery and corruption, I'm afraid, to get the sluice gates opened for us in the middle of the night; and Jonkheer Brederode had his Club flag flying, in case any one proved obstinate. But no one did, so perhaps—as people are supposed to be quite the opposite of their real selves in disposition, if waked suddenly—Frisians are weak and yielding if roused in the night.
It was wonderful to see the moonlight fading into dawn, over the canal, and the gentle, indistinct landscape, and I wished that Mr. van Buren could have been with us, as I am sure it was the kind of thing which would have appealed to his heart—especially if Freule Menela were not with him, to hold him down to earth.
Morning was clear in the sky when we came to Groningen, and we were not in the least tired, though we had not even tried to doze. At a nice hotel, called by the odd name of the "Seven Provinces," where Jonkheer Brederode had arranged for us to stop a night if our plans had not been suddenly changed, there was a telegram for Nell. It was from Mr. van Buren, and said, "Can I bring fiancée and sisters to spend a day with you at Utrecht? Answer, Robert van B., Scheveningen."
Of course, one word costs less than two, and is therefore wiser to use in a telegram. Besides, she is his fiancée. But it looked so irrevocable, staring up from the paper, that I felt more sorry for him than ever. I was a little excited, too, as Nell was wiring back "Yes, delighted," and adding the date on which we expected to arrive at Utrecht. I am excited still, as I write this; for I have the idea that Freule Menela was angry with Mr. van Buren for spending so much time with us, and that she wants to punish him—or somebody else.
RONALD LESTER STARR'S POINT OF VIEW
XXVII
I should think few men ever loved more passionately, yet picturesquely, than I loved those two beautiful stepsisters when for their sakes I started out upon a criminal, motor-boating career.
To have their society, to gaze daily upon their lovely faces, to hear their charming voices, and to find out which girl I really loved more than the other, I willingly stole an aunt and then lied about her so often, that eventually I almost began to believe she was my aunt. Perhaps—I said to myself, when any barking dogs escaped from the kennel of my conscience to be soothed—perhaps she had been my aunt in another state of existence. But then, I would have said anything about her, to myself or others, by way of furthering the cause; and the game was well worth the candle—for the first part of the trip.
Alb being frankly and openly a worshiper of the adorable Nell Van Buren, my own countrywoman, I saw that, out of all the girls I ever loved, including her stepsister, she was the only one it would be impossible for me to live without.
That state of mind lasted up to the night when we arrived at the deadest of all Dead Cities of the Zuider Zee, Enkhuisen. There it broke upon me out of a clear sky that my Burne-Jones angel, Phyllis Rivers, loved and was loved by, another; that other, a graven image of a Viking, who could never appreciate her as she deserved.
Until the blow fell, I had always, half unconsciously, felt that she was there; that if I lost the incomparable Nell, the exquisite Phyllis was on the spot to console me; and she is at her best as a consoler. But suddenly, at a moment when I was soaked with rain, snubbed by Nell, as well as foolishly concerned about the fate of that white man's burden, my Albatross, and altogether ill-fitted to bear further misfortunes, I learnt that Phyllis regarded me as a brother.
I hid my chagrin in sympathy for hers, but Phyllis in tears proved distracting. She is the one girl I have ever seen who can cry without a deplorable redness of the nose. Tears rolled like pearls over her lower lashes, which are almost as long as the fringe of the upper lids, and I wondered how I could ever have thought another girl more desirable. Too late for my comfort did she assure me that, in her opinion, my case was not hopeless with her stepsister. It was Phyllis, not Nell, whom I now wished to snatch from the arms of a hated rival (not that she was in them yet, but she might be at any minute unless I secured her) and it was painful that at such a crisis she should throw her once unattainable stepsister at my head.
Next day, to be sure, when Alb brought the motor-boat to our rescue at Urk, the way Nell's big hazel eyes lit up at sight of him, set my heart vibrating again like a pendulum, and I found myself much in the same condition I had been in at first; unable to decide which, after all, was the more indispensable of the two girls. But this return to chaos did not make for peace of mind, because, though I could not bear to lose either, I should be lucky if I contrived to keep one. Besides, there was the worry about Sir Alec MacNairne, and the danger that he might pounce down upon us to destroy the fabric I had so carefully woven.
Altogether, the features of Friesland were not cut with the same cameo-clearness upon my perception that other parts of Holland had taken a few weeks or even days ago, when I was young and happy.
As I remarked early in our black partnership, even an Albatross can have its uses. Perhaps, if the truth were known, the Ancient Mariner occasionally fell down and would have broken a bone if the Albatross, tied round his neck, had not acted as a kind of cushion for his protection. At Amsterdam, in a moment of peril for our plot, Alb acted somewhat in this capacity for me, showing himself to be possessed of all that shrewd adroitness which should furnish the equipment of every well-regulated villain. At Leeuwarden, therefore, it was for me to do something desperate when desperate need arose.
I shall never cease to applaud my own presence of mind in the matter of turning the enemy's flank. My wrists were lame for days after that famous handshake with Aunt Fay's husband which, in his surprise, spun the big fellow round like a teetotum, and gave Alb a chance to vanish with the girls.
If Aunt Fay had indeed been on board "Lorelei," re-named "Mascotte"; if the "M.," late "L.," had been Brederode's boat, and he had really been flirting with my aunt through the waterways of Holland, according to Sir Alec's wild impression, I couldn't have been more anxious to save her from his jealous wrath by giving him the slip.
Alb had never spoken of a flirtation, and though, at the time it was first sprung upon me by Sir Alec, I was angry with the Albatross for his close-mouthedness, my inconvenient sense of justice forced me to admit afterwards that it wasn't exactly the kind of thing he could have confided to me of all others.
When that peppery Scotsman opened his heart, and poured forth the true story of Aunt Fay's mysterious disappearance from the scene, for a minute or two any feather floating in my direction could have knocked me down; but I hung on to my captive uncle all the same, while I rearranged my ideas of the universe at large, and my corner of it in particular.
I told him it was nonsense to be jealous of Aunt Fay. Of course such a pretty, jolly woman as she, full of life and fun as a girl, was bound to be popular with men, and to flirt with them a little. There was nothing in that to make a fuss about, said I. As for Brederode (whom I had to admit knowing, since we must have been seen together) I assured Sir Alec that, if he could hear Rudolph talk in a friendly way about my aunt, he wouldn't have the slightest uneasiness. Finally I made the fiery fellow confess that Aunt Fay's last little flirtation—the most innocent in the world, like all her "affairs"—was not with Brederode but with an Englishman, an officer in some crack regiment. Sir Alec did not deny that he had scolded his wife. He said that she had "answered him back," that there had been "words" on both sides, that she had stamped her foot and thrown a bunch of roses at him—middle-aged, wet-footed roses snatched from a vase which happened to be handy. That he had called her a minx; that she had retorted with "beast"; that he had stalked out of the room and then out of the house, slamming doors as hard as he could; that when he returned, not exactly to apologize, but to make up at any price, it was to find her gone, with her maid and several boxes, leaving no address; that he had tracked her to London, and eventually—as he believed—to Paris; that while there he had seen a newspaper paragraph announcing that Lady MacNairne was traveling through Dutch waterways on a motor-boat belonging to Jonkheer Brederode; that he had taken train for Amsterdam, where he had presently discovered that "Lorelei" had been; that he had visited all hotels, hoping to find the names of the party in the visitors' book, but had not been able to discover them (luckily we hadn't put our names down, and on leaving Alb had tactfully hinted to the manager that no inquiries concerning us were to be answered); that since then all trace of "Lorelei" had been lost.
I replied that it was probably a mistake made by some journalist, and that Lady MacNairne had never been on board Brederode's boat. I was going on to say more things, when Sir Alec exclaimed, "Why, you ought to know where the boat is, and who's on board her. You and Brederode were together to-night, and——"
"We hadn't been together for ten minutes," I vowed; and kept to the strict letter of the truth, for I had been smoking alone in the garden when Brederode came back and proposed that after all we should have a stroll round the fair. It hadn't taken us ten minutes to get there from the hotel.
"I didn't ask Brederode any questions about himself after meeting him," I went on; and that also was strictly true. "But," I hurriedly added, seeing a loophole of escape, "I can look him up, if you like, and, without mentioning your name, find out whether Aunt Fay is, or ever has been, with his party, which I doubt. Don't you think, for the sake of her name and yours, that would be better than for you to seek him out and make a row, before you're sure whether there's anything to row about?"
Sir Alec reflected for a minute, which was evidently an effort, then answered that perhaps I was right. But supposing I missed Brederode, whose haste to slip away went far to prove his guilt?
I would not miss him, said I. And his disappearance proved nothing. There were those pretty Frisian girls that he—Sir Alec—had been protecting when Rudolph and I came along. Brederode had probably escorted them home, not seeing any reason why he should interrupt our conversation.
My innocent surprise on hearing that, despite their costumes, the girls were not Frisian girls, but English or American ladies he had met in Amsterdam, convinced Sir Alec that they were strangers to me. And finally the scene ended by my promising to find Brederode, who was certainly—I said—stopping in the town, whether or no he had brought a motor-boat to Leeuwarden. I was to question Brederode in a diplomatic manner, and then to report to Sir Alec, on a motor-launch he had hired in Amsterdam, as the best means of tracking down the craft for which he sought. This boat, "Wilhelmina," was now in the canal at Leeuwarden, but, for reasons intimately concerning that canal, he had taken a room for the night at a hotel recommended by his chauffeur.
Fortunate it was for us that the chauffeur did not happen to prefer our hotel; and almost equally fortunate that Sir Alec was not spending much time on board his hired vessel, for, were he lurking there, it would be difficult to slip past without being followed. He had perhaps seen "Mascotte" on entering the canal (as it appeared that he had come in only toward evening), but he had not suspected the innocent-looking little creature, with her fat chaperon, "Waterspin," of having an alias. If, however, a motor-boat attempted to glide past his in the night, he would give chase, and see us on board "Mascotte." For this reason I was delighted to hear that he was at a hotel for the night, and I advised him to go there at once, to await my coming.
"How long shall you be?" he asked impatiently.
I assured him that all I had to do might keep me an hour; but I saved a few tattered rags of conscience by evading a verbal promise to call on him at the end of that hour. So much he took for granted; and, as the things I really had to do were to get the whole party on to "Mascotte" and out of the capital of Friesland, I left my uncle-in-law without much ceremony.
Nothing could have been neater than the way we gave him the slip, flying by his deserted motor-boat without a qualm, and, I hoped, beyond his reach at the same time.
Never, during the whole course of the trip, had I been as glad to arrive at a place as I was to arrive at Groningen.
We ought, according to the program of our itinerary mapped out by Alb, to have reached the big town in the afternoon instead of morning, and to have spent the time till evening in seeing sights. But all was changed now. Luckily Alb (who is an uncomfortable stickler for truth at all costs) could conscientiously inform the girls that Groningen's principal attractions might be seen in a couple of hours.
We tore round the place in the fastest cab to be got, I having bribed the driver not to spare his horse; yet it was at Alb the girls looked reproachfully, when they were allowed but three minutes in the largest market-place of Holland, five for St. Martin's Church and the organ praised by diplomatic Erasmus, two to search vainly for diamond-gleaming glass tiles on houses which Amici admired forty years ago; and another grudging two for a gallop through the Noorden Plantation, of which the rich town is proud. There must be something about my appearance which convinces people that, whatever evil is afoot, I, at least, am innocent. I have noticed this since boyhood, the phenomenon being most conspicuous when I was least deserving; whereas, with Alb, it is the other way round. His darkly handsome face, with its severely clear-cut features, his black hair and brows, his somber eyes, are the legitimate qualifications of the stage villain. Even the well-known cigarette is seldom lacking; therefore, if I wished for revenge, I have often had it. When I am to blame for anything, Alb is sure to be suspected.
Indeed, any one might have thought, from the impatient fire in his eyes, as he steered "Lorelei" (alias "Mascotte") through the canal after leaving Groningen, that his was the secret need for haste, his the guilty desire to escape.
As for me, I hid my rage at the legal mandate which here compelled us to "go no faster than a man can walk." Under an air of blithe insouciance I disguised my fears, never starting perceptibly at "any toot" behind us which might mean Sir Alec on our track, and appearing to enjoy with the free spirit of a boy, the one great amusement of the day.
This consisted in surprising and making happy many families of children on board the lighters we passed, by bestowing upon them toys and strange sugary cakes bought at Leeuwarden Kermess. Not all the lighters had children, but those that had, owned dozens, and all the ugly ones had whooping-cough.
If I had been given my way, only the pretty children and those who did not whoop should have got presents; but the extraordinary lady who plays the part of aunt to me, and chaperon to the Angels, said that the uglier you are, the more gifts you need. Perhaps it is on this principle she has demanded so many from me. But—is she ugly? I hardly know. She has one of those strange little faces which do not seem to express the soul behind them—a face whose features I can't see when I shut my eyes. I should like, by the way, to know what hers are like, behind her big blue spectacles; but she says they are not strong, so possibly the blue glass is a merciful dispensation.
Her mildest hints, as well as her commands, are invariably acted upon, and though she seldom insists, she magnetizes. Accordingly, the ugliest children got the best things; but as there were more pretty than ugly ones, the toys lasted all the way along the somewhat monotonous canal to Assen, a little town half lost in its own forests.
It took us till evening to get there, and as we were to sleep on the boats, rather than risk the hotel, I proposed to Alb that we should start again early the next morning, before the ladies waked. "There can't be much to see at Assen," said I, "and if, after he'd been given the slip, my peppery Scotch uncle tumbled to the idea of 'Lorelei' and 'Mascotte' being one——"
"That would be reason enough for stopping at Assen," said Brederode. "There are things to see there, very good and unique things; but ordinary tourists don't often hear about them, and if Sir Alec MacNairne is chasing us, he'll glide by Assen without a thought."
This put a different face on the matter, and I was able to smile calmly when Alb whetted the Angels' appetite by describing the treasures concealed among the groves surrounding Assen. They were not exactly at Assen, it seemed, but Assen was the starting-point, and from there you set forth in carriages to Rolde, for the purpose of gazing upon Hunnebetten.
What these might be, when you found them, I had not an idea, though pride forbade me to inquire of Alb, especially before the girls. But pride never forbids Aunt Fay's little counterfeit presentment (perhaps it will save time if in the future I allude to her as the L.C.P.) to ask any question. She is never satisfied with guide-books, but demands and absorbs information about every place we visit, scribbling down notes in the book she wears on her chatelaine. (There must have been dozens of "refills" fitted in between the silver covers since we started, though what she wants of the stuff she collects, I can't imagine.) She did not hesitate to exclaim, "What on earth are Hunnebetten?" And there was no ignominy in listening, with a bored air of having been born knowing these things, while Alb described the objects as supposed graves of Huns, built of glacier-borne stones.
Next morning we drove out to worship at these ancient shrines, winding along a charming, wooded road, through avenues of young oaks, balsamic pine forests, and acres of purple heather, to say nothing of a certain pink flower which must be heather's Dutch cousin.
Some of the Hunnebetten were hidden in the woods, others rose gloomily out of the sweet simplicity of a hayfield, but each contrived to give the effect of a miniature Stonehenge, and had there been only one monument instead of three, it would have been worth the trouble we took to see it. Besides, our expedition was rewarded in another way. When we returned to the boats after breakfasting at a café in the woods, it was to hear that a motor-launch, patriotically bearing the name of "Wilhelmina," had gone by, faster than the legal limit, as if in haste to reach Meppel. According to Hendrik and Toon, a tall gentleman had sprung up from the deck-chair, rushed to the rail, and stared hard at "Mascotte"; but "Wilhelmina" had not slowed down.
On hearing this news, I was inclined to make an excuse for lingering at Assen; but Alb was of opinion that it would be as safe, and far less dull, to go on. "Wilhelmina" was well ahead; and in any case we did not mean to stop the night at Meppel. If we saw Sir Alec's launch there, we could easily slip past, all passengers in the cabin and Hendrik at the helm; whereas, if we did not see her, she would not be able to see us.
We were in the province of Drenthe now, and it looked as little Dutch as might be. Even the canal had the air of disguising itself as the Long Water at Hampton Court, instead of being content to seem what it was; and after we had passed a few dignified mansions and farmhouses, we came to a region of squalid cottages with sullen-faced, short-haired women, and children shy as wild creatures of the wood, staring at us from low-browed doorways. It was not until we were far on our eight hours' journey to Meppel, that we slipped once more into a characteristic region of peace and plenty; marching lines of dark trees, with foregrounds of pink and azure flowers, or golden grain; mossy, thatched roofs, and red tiles crusted with golden lichen. But fortunately for the disposal of our toy supply, renewed at Assen, the watery way was starred with red, green, and blue barges inhabited by large families of violet-eyed, tow-headed infants. If by chance we encountered a childless barge, we glared resentment at the grown-ups. What were they thinking of, not to have babies, these people?
The meadow-ringed world of water and sky was all charm and grace and quaintness again, at Meppel and beyond, and I was in a mood to appreciate its beauty there, for we had a glimpse of "Wilhelmina" in harbor, and apparently deserted. Passing within distant sight of her as she lay in harbor, Brederode gaily put on speed; for we had got beyond the "legal limit" obstructions of the Drenthe canal, into the freedom of the Ober Issel, a wide glitter of water, noble as the Frisian meers we had left.
Never was there an evening more exquisite than this, as we floated on through the sunset, with the old town of Zwolle for our night goal.
We were in the Swarzermeer, said Brederode; but there was nothing black about it, except the name. Sky and water had all the rich colors of an opal, and so clear were they, so alike in tints and brightness, that we seemed to hang in the midst of a rainbow bubble.
Yellow water-lilies lay on a surface of glass, like scattered gold, and the tall, thin grasses were gold-green wires in the level light of the sun. Each village we passed was a picture far beyond my art to paint; and hayricks under their thatches or piles of corn stacked in rows close to the water's edge, shone like a spray of fireworks as the darkening sky above slowly turned to a bank of hyacinths. Passing sails were gold at first, then brown, then pansy-purple, piercing the water with their sharp and deep reflections. The shore-line was crowded thick with pink and violet flower-spears, as if—said Nell—ranks of fairy soldiers had turned out in our honor for a review.
She and Phyllis stood near me, drinking in the delicious water-smell that mingled with the faint fragrance of closing lilies, and watching the sun as, beaten into copper, it sent a sudden stream of flame across the glittering crystal. I tried to feel alone with them, in a wonderful world which was for us three and nobody else except a few swans, and tiny water-creatures rustling among the reeds. But there was Alb at the wheel, looking handsomer and more inscrutable than I could ever look, if I practised for hours on end before a flattering mirror. How could I help spoiling everything by wondering if Nell Van Buren were thinking about him while she talked with me fitfully, dreamily? And how could I help asking myself whether the image of the Viking did not come blundering between Phyllis's violet eyes and mine, when she seemed to look sweetly at me?
But it was the sort of evening when one thoroughly enjoys being restless and unhappy, and I reveled in my pain.
Little yellow birds, yellow as the lilies which made a blazing line of gold between green reeds and amethyst water, flitted fearlessly about the boat, until at last the sun went down like a ruby necklace falling into a crystal box. Then we moved through mysterious masses of purple shadow, with here and there a diamond-gleam, or the wing of a swan like the moon rising. And then our own little lights dipped trailing golden tassels under the surface of the water.
"Let us anchor," said Nell, at last, "and put out our lights again, and watch the moon rise. Oh, let us stay here all night, and wake early—early, to see the dawn come!"
I loved her for thinking of it, and so, I fear, did Alb. We dined on such picnic things as we happened to have on board, and when a pale light, like the reflection of pearls in a mirror, began to tremble in the east, out went the lights. The moon rose, and Phyllis let me hold her hand, which would have made me happy if I hadn't been almost sure she was feeling sisterly. And afterwards I dreamed about both girls. They were both in love with me, and, after all, I was in love with some one else whose name I did not seem to know, of whose face I could call up no memory.
It was Alb who waked me by pounding on the door of my cabin on "Waterspin," and shouting——
"Get up, if you want to see the sunrise."
So I bounded out of bed, wishing I could recall that dream-face, just to make sure whether or no it was more beautiful than either of the girls'. And by the time I had dressed, and gone across to "Mascotte's" deck, the two I loved were on deck also, with the first light of dawn shining in their eyes.
What did it matter that we had engaged rooms at Zwolle, which we had not occupied? We breakfasted there instead, and saw a beautiful water-gate, together with a few other good and very ancient things, about which Alb seemed to know a great deal.
There were no signs of "Wilhelmina," and my heart felt light as we went through a great lock into the Geldern Yssel, which would bear us to Holland's most beautiful province, Gelderland.
XXVIII
My luck was out in Gelderland.
We had a good day, teuf-teufing to pretty little Dieren, big white clouds swimming with us in sky and under water, where they moved like shining fish down in the blue depths. Butterflies chased us, white, scarlet, and gold, whirling through the air as flower-petals blow in a high wind; and my thoughts flitted as they flitted, for I was too drunk with that elixir, joy of life, to care, as the others seemed to care, that Sir Philip Sidney died at the battle of Zutphen; that the River Geldern Yssel was cut thirteen years B.C. to connect the Rhine with something else; that by-and-by we were going to see Het Loo, the Queen's favorite place; or indeed anything else that could possibly be improving to the mind. I cared only that Nell and Phyllis were more beautiful than ever, and that I still might have a chance—with one of them.
"Let Alb score a little," I thought, "by his knowledge of history and Royalties past and present. I'll paint each of the girls a picture, and they'll forget that he exists."
But I did not yet know my Alb and his resources. I had forgotten that Gelderland is his special "pitch," the province he annexed at birth. Fate, however, did not forget.
We got to Appeldoorn that first night; and the palace of Het Loo is close to Appeldoorn, so we drove out and slept at a hotel near the palace gates. Here it was that the worm turned. In other words, Alb became a persona grata, while I remained an ordinary tourist.
Alb had influence in high quarters. He got up early, and went off mysteriously to exert it, returning in triumph as the rest of us, including Tibe, were breakfasting on the broad veranda of the hotel in the woods. Anybody could go into the palace-grounds, but he had got permission to take his friends into the palace itself.
The girls were delighted at this, and so was the L.C.P., who flew off so quickly to get a "refill" for her note-book, that Tibe nearly upset an old peasant with a broad hat and silver ear-rings, who was eating and drinking of the best, at a table near ours.
All this feminine enthusiasm over Alb's idea piqued me just enough to keep me from joining the party. I volunteered for dog duty while the others saw the palace, and by special favor, Tibe (in leash) wandered reluctantly with me through the fragrant, green alleys of Het Loo. With me he saw shining lakes, and crossed miniature bridges guarded by mild stone lions, at which he smelled curiously; with me he sadly visited the Queen's bathing-place, and the pretty little dairy and farm, reminiscent of poor Marie Antoinette's beloved Trianon; and when we were joined by his mistress and the others he was ungrateful enough to pretend that I had not amused him.
Alb was in the ascendant, and the gilt had not had time to wear off the gingerbread before we arrived at Arnhem. We got there in a day from Appeldoorn, by going back over our own tracks as far as Dieren, where the beautiful little canal seemed to welcome us again, as if we were old friends. Through the thick reeds on either side we made a royal progress, a wave of water swiftly marching ahead to give them news of our approach, so that, as we came toward them, the nearest might bow before us, bending their graceful green heads down, down, under the water, and staying there until we had passed on.
It was like a journey through a long water-garden, exquisitely designed in some nobleman's park, until a thunder-storm rolled up to darken the landscape, and send Phyllis for protection to her "brother's" side. I should certainly have asked her, there and then, to forget the Viking, if a tree near by had not been struck by lightning at that instant, and Nell, in her sudden pallor and stricken silence, had not been more beautiful than I had seen her yet.
I did not remember until we had been settled for a night and part of a day at a hotel with a view and a garden, that Alb was more at home in Gelderland than elsewhere in Holland. But he was treated with marked respect at the Bellevue, and people took off their hats to him in the street with irritating deference. We went about a good deal in the town, seeing historic inns and other show things (the best of which was a room once occupied by Philip the Second's Duke of Alva), therefore I had many opportunities of increasing my respect for Alb as a personage of importance, if I had been inclined to profit by them; and on top of this arrived his automobile from some unknown lair. There were some famous drives to be taken in the neighborhood of Arnhem, he explained in that quiet way of his, and he had thought it would be pleasant to take them in his car.
We started out in it on the second morning, and hardly had we left the big pleasure-town with its parks and villas, when we plunged into forests as deep, as majestic, as those round Haarlem and The Hague; forests tunneled with long green avenues of silver-trunked beeches, where the light was the green light which mermaids know. Here and there rose the fine gateways and distant towers of some great estate, and Brederode told us that Gelderland was famous for its old families and houses, as well as for the only hills in Holland.
"Fifty or sixty years ago," said he, "the nobility of Gelderland was so proud that no one who wasn't noble was allowed to buy an estate and settle here."
"Allowed!" exclaimed Nell. "How could they be prevented if they had money and an estate was for sale?"
Brederode smiled. "There were ways," he answered. "Once a rich banker of Amsterdam thought he would like to retire and have a fine house in aristocratic Gelderland. He bought a place, and wished to build a house to please his fancy; but no architect would make his plans, nobody would sell him bricks or building material of any kind, and he could get no workmen. Every one stood in too great awe of the powerful nobles. So you see, boycotting isn't confined to Ireland—or America."
"What happened in the end?" asked Nell. "I do hope the man didn't give in."
"Dutchmen don't, even to each other," said Alb. "The banker was as obstinate as his enemies. He went to enormous expense, got everything outside boycot limits, put up temporary buildings on his place for workmen from Rotterdam, fed them and himself from Rotterdam, and so in the end his house was built. But things are different in Gelderland now. People who were rich then are poor, and glad of any one's money. Arnhem is as cosmopolitan as The Hague, though it has the same curious Indian-Dutch set you find there, keeping quite to itself. A good many of the famous old places have been sold in these days to the nouveaux riches, but some are left unspoiled, and I'm going to show you one of them."
With that he drove his car through a wide, open gateway, a lodge-keeper saluting as we went by.
"Oh, but how do you know we may go in?" asked Phyllis.
"I'm sure we may," said Brederode.
"Are strangers allowed?" the L.C.P. questioned him.
"Harmless ones, like us."
Far away a house was in sight, a beautiful old house, built of mellowed red brick, its great tower and several minor turrets mirrored in a lily-carpeted lake which surrounded it on two sides, like an exaggerated moat. "Fifteenth century," said Brederode. "But the big tower dates from twelve hundred and fifty."
We all stared in respectful awe of age and majesty, as Alb stopped the car at a small iron gate about two hundred yards from the house. The gate, guarded by giant oaks, led through a strip of shadowy park to a glorious labyrinth of rose-gardens, and gardens entirely given up to lilies of every imaginable variety, while beyond these was a water-garden copied from that of the Generalife, which I saw last year at Granada. Nor was this all of Spanish fashion which had been imitated. Pedro the Cruel's fountain-perforated walks in the Alcazaar of Seville had been copied too, and were put in operation for our amusement by a gardener with whom Brederode had a short confab. When we passed again through the rose and lily gardens, which were in a valley or dimple between two gentle hills, all three of the ladies were presented with as many flowers as they could carry, and Alb informed them that they would find more, of other varieties, waiting for them in the car.
"What a divine place!" exclaimed Nell, as we came once more to the little gate whence we had the double picture of the house and its reflection in the lake. "I don't see how there could be any lovelier one, even in England. How I should like to live in that wonderful old house! I'd have my own room and a boudoir in the thirteenth-century tower."
"Would you care to go in?" Alb asked, looking more at Phyllis than at Nell.
Nell flushed and left Phyllis to answer. "It would be quite like a fairy tale; but of course we can't, as the people of the house are evidently occupying it."
"All the better," said Brederode. "The lady of the house will receive us and give us tea."
"No, no!" cried Nell. "It would be horried to intrude upon her."
"You'll find she won't consider it an intrusion," Alb insisted. "In fact, I called yesterday and said I was bringing you out to-day, so it is an invitation."
The hall was stone paved, with glorious oak walls and a wonderful ceiling. There were a few Persian rugs, which must have been almost priceless, a quantity of fine old portraits, and two or three curious suits of armor. Beyond was a Chinese room, done in the perfect taste of a nation which loves and understands Oriental treasures; and then we came into a white-and-gold paneled boudoir, sparsely but exquisitely furnished with inlaid satinwood which I would wager to be genuine Sheraton.
In this room sat a woman who rose to welcome us, a woman worthy of her surroundings. Her dress was nothing more elaborate than black-and-white muslin, but with the piled silver of her hair, her arched, dark brows and cameo features, her great eyes and her noble figure, she looked a princess.
"Ah, Rudolph," she exclaimed, in the English of an Englishwoman born and bred, "how glad I am that you could come, and bring the friends of whom you have written me so often."
"My mother," Brederode said; and introduced us.
I am not ashamed to confess that I was tongue-tied. What had he written? How much had he told? In what way had he described—some of us?
Nell, who usually has some original little thought to put into words, apparently had no thoughts at all; or they lay too deep for utterance. The L.C.P. was taciturn too, which was prudent on her part, as this exquisite lady had probably heard her son speak of his Scotch friend Lady MacNairne. Had she ever met Aunt Fay, I knew that Alb was too wise, if not too loyal, to have brought us into her power; still I did not feel safe enough to be comfortable. And even if I had been personally at ease, I should have been too busy with my own thoughts to do credit to myself or country in conversation. As I sipped caravan tea from a flower-like cup of old Dresden, I wondered what were Nell's sensations on beholding the home and mother of the despised skipper whom it had been her delight to snub and tease.
Evidently he is adored, and looked up to as the one perfect being, by his mother, who would hardly have smiled as graciously on the beautiful Miss Van Buren, could some imp have whispered in her ear how that young lady treated her host, when he was nobody but a poor skipper on board a motor-boat. Through some careless word which gave a turn to the conversation, I discovered that Liliendaal is not the only house reigned over by Jonkheer Brederode, alias Alb. There's one at The Hague, but they "find Liliendaal pleasant in summer."
Indeed, it appears to me that "pleasant" is only a mild and modest word for the place; yet its owner can cheerfully desert it, week after week, to rub along as a mere despised Albatross on board a tuppenny ha'penny motor-boat, running about the canals of Holland.
Of course, he is in love, which covers a multitude of hardships. But it isn't as clear as it used to be, which Angel he is in love with. Perhaps the latest snubbing was the last drop in his cup, which caused the whole to overflow, and he had to fill it up again—for another. He poured scorn upon me, in our first passage of arms, for being in love with two girls at once; but how much more poetical and at the same time more generous to love two at a time than not to love one well enough to know your own mind!
In any case, it was Phyllis who shone on the occasion of our call at Liliendaal, and it was she who seemed to make the impression upon the gracious mother. Whether it was the fact that she is English, or whether it was because she could talk to her hostess—as if she knew them—about various distinguished titled beings whom the lady of Liliendaal had not seen for a long time; or whether it was because Phyllis once had a cousin who wrote a book about the Earls of Helvelyn (the lady's father was an Earl of Helvelyn) at all events the honors were for Phyllis; and if Alb really had changed his mind about the two girls, as the L.C.P. is continually saying, he ought to have been pleased.