The Ivory Child

H >> H. Rider Haggard >> The Ivory Child


Then, just as we turned to go, something happened. The round-eyed
Charles ran puffing into the quadrangle, followed by another man with
a dog, who had been specially set to pick my birds, and carrying in his
hand a much-bedraggled cock pheasant without a tail.

"I've got him, my lord," he gasped, for he had run very fast; "the
little gent's--I mean that which he killed in the clouds with the last
shot he fired. It had gone right down into the mud and stuck there. Tom
and me fished him up with a pole."

Lord Ragnall took the bird and looked at it. It was almost cold, but
evidently freshly killed, for the limbs were quite flexible.

"That turns the scale in favour of Mr. Quatermain," he said, "so, Sir
Junius, you had better pay your money and congratulate him, as I do."

"I protest," exclaimed Van Koop, looking very angry and meaner than
usual. "How am I to know that this was Mr. Quatermain's pheasant? The
sum involved is more than L5 and I feel it is my duty to protest."

"Because my men say so, Sir Junius; moreover, seeing the height from
which the bird fell, their story is obviously true."

Then he examined the pheasant further, pointing out that it appeared
to have only one wound--a shot through the throat almost exactly at the
root of the beak, of which shot there was no mark of exit. "What sized
shot were you using, Sir Junius?" he asked.

"No. 4 at the last stand."

"And you were using No. 3, Mr. Quatermain. Now, was any other gun using
No. 3?"

All shook their heads.

"Jenkins, open that bird's head. I think the shot that killed it will be
found in the brain."

Jenkins obeyed, using a penknife cleverly enough. Pressed against the
bone of the skull he found the shot.

"No. 3 it is, sure enough, my lord," he said.

"You will agree that settles the matter, Sir Junius," said Lord Ragnall.
"And now, as a bet has been made here it had better be paid."

"I have not enough money on me," said Van Koop sulkily.

"I think your banker is mine," said Lord Ragnall quietly, "so you can
write a cheque in the house. Come in, all of you, it is cold in this
wind."

So we went into the smoking-room, and Lord Ragnall, who, I could see,
was annoyed, instantly fetched a blank cheque from his study and handed
it to Van Koop in rather a pointed manner.

He took it, and turning to me, said:

"I remember the capital sum, but how much is the interest? Sorry to
trouble you, but I am not very good at figures."

"Then you must have changed a good deal during the last twelve years,
Sir Junius," I could not help saying. "Still, never mind the interest, I
shall be quite satisfied with the principal."

So he filled up the cheque for L250 and threw it down on the table
before me, saying something about its being a bother to mix up business
with pleasure.

I took the draft, saw that it was correct though rather illegible, and
proceeded to dry it by waving it in the air. As I did so it came into my
mind that I would not touch the money of this successful scamp, won back
from him in such a way.

Yielding to a perhaps foolish impulse, I said:

"Lord Ragnall, this cheque is for a debt which years ago I wrote off
as lost. At luncheon to-day you were talking of a Cottage Hospital for
which you are trying to get up an endowment fund in this neighbourhood,
and in answer to a question from you Sir Junius Fortescue said that he
had not as yet made any subscription to its fund. Will you allow me to
hand you Sir Junius's subscription--to be entered in his name, if you
please?" And I passed him the cheque, which was drawn to myself or
bearer.

He looked at the amount, and seeing that it was not L5, but L250,
flushed, then asked:

"What do you say to this act of generosity on the part of Mr.
Quatermain, Sir Junius?"

There was no answer, because Sir Junius had gone. I never saw him
again, for years ago the poor man died quite disgraced. His passion for
semi-fraudulent speculations reasserted itself, and he became a bankrupt
in conditions which caused him to leave the country for America, where
he was killed in a railway accident while travelling as an immigrant. I
have heard, however, that he was not asked to shoot at Ragnall any more.

The cheque was passed to the credit of the Cottage Hospital, but not, as
I had requested, as a subscription from Sir Junius Fortescue. A couple
of years later, indeed, I learned that this sum of money was used to
build a little room in that institution to accommodate sick children,
which room was named the Allan Quatermain ward.

Now, I have told this story of that December shoot because it was the
beginning of my long and close friendship with Ragnall.

When he found that Van Koop had gone away without saying good-bye, Lord
Ragnall made no remark. Only he took my hand and shook it.

I have only to add that, although, except for the element of competition
which entered into it, I enjoyed this day's shooting very much indeed,
when I came to count up its cost I felt glad that I had not been
asked to any more such entertainments. Here it is, taken from an old
note-book:

Cartridges, including those not used and given to Charles L4 0 0
Game License 3 0 0
Tip to Red Waistcoat (keeper) 2 0 0
Tip to Charles 0 10 0
Tip to man who helped Charles to find pheasant 0 5 0
Tip to man who collected pheasants behind me 0 10 0
---------
L10 5 0
---------

Truly pheasant shooting in England is, or was, a sport for the rich!



CHAPTER III

MISS HOLMES

Two and a half hours passed by, most of which time I spent lying down to
rest and get rid of a headache caused by the continual, rapid firing
and the roar of the gale, or both; also in rubbing my shoulder with
ointment, for it was sore from the recoil of the guns. Then Scroope
appeared, as, being unable to find my way about the long passages of
that great old castle, I had asked him to do, and we descended together
to the large drawing-room.

It was a splendid apartment, only used upon state occasions, lighted,
I should think, with at least two or three hundred wax candles, which
threw a soft glow over the panelled and pictured walls, the priceless
antique furniture, and the bejewelled ladies who were gathered there. To
my mind there never was and never will be any artificial light to equal
that of wax candles in sufficient quantity. The company was large; I
think thirty sat down to dinner that night, which was given to introduce
Lord Ragnall's future wife to the neighbourhood, whereof she was
destined to be the leader.

Miss Manners, who was looking very happy and charming in her jewels and
fine clothes, joined us at once, and informed Scroope that "she" was
just coming; the maid in the cloakroom had told her so.

"Is she?" replied Scroope indifferently. "Well, so long as you have come
I don't care about anyone else."

Then he told her she was looking beautiful, and stared at her with such
affection that I fell back a step or two and contemplated a picture of
Judith vigorously engaged in cutting off the head of Holofernes.

Presently the large door at the end of the room was thrown open and the
immaculate Savage, who was acting as a kind of master of the ceremonies,
announced in well-bred but penetrating tones, "Lady Longden and the
Honourable Miss Holmes." I stared, like everybody else, but for a while
her ladyship filled my eye. She was an ample and, to my mind, rather
awful-looking person, clad in black satin--she was a widow--and very
large diamonds. Her hair was white, her nose was hooked, her dark eyes
were penetrating, and she had a bad cold in her head. That was all I
found time to notice about her, for suddenly her daughter came into my
line of vision.

Truly she was a lovely girl, or rather, young woman, for she must
have been two or three-and-twenty. Not very tall, her proportions were
rounded and exquisite, and her movements as graceful as those of a doe.
Altogether she was doe-like, especially in the fineness of her lines
and her large and liquid eyes. She was a dark beauty, with rich brown,
waving hair, a clear olive complexion, a perfectly shaped mouth and very
red lips. To me she looked more Italian or Spanish than Anglo-Saxon, and
I believe that, as a matter of fact, she had some southern blood in her
on her father's side. She wore a dress of soft rose colour, and her only
ornaments were a string of pearls and a single red camellia. I could see
but one blemish, if it were a blemish, in her perfect person, and that
was a curious white mark upon her breast, which in its shape exactly
resembled the crescent moon.

The face, however, impressed me with other than its physical qualities.
It was bright, intelligent, sympathetic and, just now, happy. But I
thought it more, I thought it mystical. Something that her mother said
to her, probably about her dress, caused her smile to vanish for a
moment, and then, from beneath it as it were, appeared this shadow of
innate mysticism. In a second it was gone and she was laughing again;
but I, who am accustomed to observe, had caught it, perhaps alone of all
that company. Moreover, it reminded me of something.

What was it? Ah! I knew. A look that sometimes I had seen upon the face
of a certain Zulu lady named Mameena, especially at the moment of her
wonderful and tragic death. The thought made me shiver a little; I could
not tell why, for certainly, I reflected, this high-placed and fortunate
English girl had nothing in common with that fate-driven Child of Storm,
whose dark and imperial spirit dwelt in the woman called Mameena. They
were as far apart as Zululand is from Essex. Yet it was quite sure that
both of them had touch with hidden things.

Lord Ragnall, looking more like a splendid Van Dyck than ever in his
evening dress, stepped forward to greet his fiancee and her mother with
a courtly bow, and I turned again to continue my contemplation of the
stalwart Judith and the very ugly head of Holofernes. Presently I was
aware of a soft voice--a very rich and thrilling voice--asking quite
close to me:

"Which is he? Oh! you need not answer, dear. I know him from the
description."

"Yes," replied Lord Ragnall to Miss Holmes--for it was she--"you are
quite right. I will introduce you to him presently. But, love, whom do
you wish to take you in to dinner? I can't--your mother, you know; and
as there are no titles here to-night, you may make your choice. Would
you like old Dr. Jeffreys, the clergyman?"

"No," she replied, with quiet firmness, "I know him; he took me in once
before. I wish Mr. Allan Quatermain to take me in. He is interesting,
and I want to hear about Africa."

"Very well," he answered, "and he _is_ more interesting than all the
rest put together. But, Luna, why are you always thinking and talking
about Africa? One might imagine that you were going to live there."

"So I may one day," she answered dreamily. "Who knows where one has
lived, or where one will live!" And again I saw that mystic look come
into her face.

I heard no more of that conversation, which it is improbable that anyone
whose ears had not been sharpened by a lifetime of listening in great
silences would have caught at all. To tell the truth, I made myself
scarce, slipping off to the other end of the big room in the hope of
evading the kind intentions of Miss Holmes. I have a great dislike
of being put out of my place, and I felt that among all these local
celebrities it was not fitting that I should be selected to take in
the future bride on an occasion of this sort. But it was of no use, for
presently Lord Ragnall hunted me up, bringing the young lady with him.

"Let me introduce you to Miss Holmes, Quatermain," he said. "She is
anxious that you should take her in to dinner, if you will be so kind.
She is very interested in--in----"

"Africa," I suggested.

"In Mr. Quatermain, who, I am told, is one of the greatest hunters in
Africa," she corrected me, with a dazzling smile.

I bowed, not knowing what to say. Lord Ragnall laughed and vanished,
leaving us together. Dinner was announced. Presently we were wending in
the centre of a long and glittering procession across the central hall
to the banqueting chamber, a splendid room with a roof like a church
that was said to have been built in the times of the Plantagenets. Here
Mr. Savage, who evidently had been looking out for her future ladyship,
conducted us to our places, which were upon the left of Lord Ragnall,
who sat at the head of the broad table with Lady Longden on his right.
Then the old clergyman, Dr. Jeffreys, a pompous and rather frowsy
ecclesiastic, said grace, for grace was still in fashion at such feasts
in those days, asking Heaven to make us truly thankful for the dinner we
were about to consume.

Certainly there was a great deal to be thankful for in the eating and
drinking line, but of all I remember little, except a general vision of
silver dishes, champagne, splendour, and things I did not want to eat
being constantly handed to me. What I do remember is Miss Holmes, and
nothing but Miss Holmes; the charm of her conversation, the light of her
beautiful eyes, the fragrance of her hair, her most flattering interest
in my unworthy self. To tell the truth, we got on "like fire in the
winter grass," as the Zulus say, and when that dinner was over the grass
was still burning.

I don't think that Lord Ragnall quite liked it, but fortunately Lady
Longden was a talkative person. First she conversed about her cold in
the head, sneezing at intervals, poor soul, and being reduced to send
for another handkerchief after the entrees. Then she got off upon
business matters; to judge from the look of boredom on her host's face,
I think it must have been of settlements. Three times did I hear him
refer her to the lawyers--without avail. Lastly, when he thought he had
escaped, she embarked upon a quite vigorous argument with Dr. Jeffreys
about church matters--I gathered that she was "low" and he was
"high"--in which she insisted upon his lordship acting as referee.

"Do try and keep your attention fixed, George," I heard her say
severely. "To allow it to wander when high spiritual affairs are under
discussion (sneeze) is scarcely reverent. Could you tell the man to shut
that door? The draught is dreadful. It is quite impossible for you to
agree with both of us, as you say you do, seeing that metaphorically Dr.
Jeffreys is at one pole and I am at the other." (Sneeze.)

"Then I wish I were at the Tropic of Cancer," I heard him mutter with a
groan.

In vain; he had to keep his "attention fixed" on this point for the next
three-quarters of an hour. So as Miss Manners was at the other side
of me, and Scroope, unhampered by the presence of any prospective
mother-in-law, was at the other side of her, for all practical purposes
Miss Holmes and I were left alone.

She began by saying:

"I hear you beat Sir Junius Fortescue out shooting to-day, and won a lot
of money from him which you gave to the Cottage Hospital. I don't like
shooting, and I don't like betting; and it's strange, because you don't
look like a man who bets. But I detest Sir Junius Fortescue, and that is
a bond of union between us."

"I never said I detested him."

"No, but I am sure you do. Your face changed when I mentioned his name."

"As it happens, you are right. But, Miss Holmes, I should like you to
understand that you were also right when you said I did not look like a
betting man." And I told her some of the story of Van Koop and the L250.

"Ah!" she said, when I had finished, "I always felt sure he was a
horror. And my mother wanted me, just because he pretended to be low
church--but that's a secret."

Then I congratulated her upon her approaching marriage, saying what
a joyful thing it was now and again to see everything going in real,
happy, storybook fashion: beauty, male and female, united by love, high
rank, wealth, troops of friends, health of body, a lovely and an ancient
home in a settled land where dangers do not come--at present--respect
and affection of crowds of dependants, the prospect of a high and useful
career of a sort whereof the door is shut to most people, everything
in short that human beings who are not actually royalty could desire or
deserve. Indeed after my second glass of champagne I grew quite eloquent
on these and kindred points, being moved thereto by memories of the
misery that is in the world which formed so great a contrast to the lot
of this striking and brilliant pair.

She listened to me attentively and answered:

"Thank you for your kind thoughts and wishes. But does it not strike
you, Mr. Quatermain, that there is something ill-omened in such talk? I
believe that it does; that as you finished speaking it occurred to you
that after all the future is as much veiled from all of us as--as the
picture which hangs behind its curtain of rose-coloured silk in Lord
Ragnall's study is from you."

"How did you know that?" I asked sharply in a low voice. For by the
strangest of coincidences, as I concluded my somewhat old-fashioned
little speech of compliments, this very reflection had entered my
mind, and with it the memory of the veiled picture which Mr. Savage had
pointed out to me on the previous morning.

"I can't say, Mr. Quatermain, but I did know it. You were thinking of
the picture, were you not?"

"And if I was," I said, avoiding a direct reply, "what of it? Though
it is hidden from everybody else, he has only to draw the curtain and
see--you."

"Supposing he should draw the curtain one day and see nothing, Mr.
Quatermain?"

"Then the picture would have been stolen, that is all, and he would have
to search for it till he found it again, which doubtless sooner or later
he would do."

"Yes, sooner or later. But where? Perhaps you have lost a picture or two
in your time, Mr. Quatermain, and are better able to answer the question
than I am."

There was silence for a few moments, for this talk of lost pictures
brought back memories which choked me.

Then she began to speak again, low, quickly, and with suppressed
passion, but acting wonderfully all the while. Knowing that eyes were on
her, her gestures and the expression of her face were such as might
have been those of any young lady of fashion who was talking of everyday
affairs, such as dancing, or flowers, or jewels. She smiled and even
laughed occasionally. She played with the golden salt-cellar in front
of her and, upsetting a little of the salt, threw it over her left
shoulder, appearing to ask me if I were a victim of that ancient habit,
and so on.

But all the while she was talking deeply of deep things, such as I
should never have thought would pass her mind. This was the substance
of what she said, for I cannot set it all down verbatim; after so many
years my memory fails me.

"I am not like other women. Something moves me to tell you so, something
very real and powerful which pushes me as a strong man might. It is odd,
because I have never spoken to anyone else like that, not to my mother
for instance, or even to Lord Ragnall. They would neither of them
understand, although they would misunderstand differently. My mother
would think I ought to see a doctor--and if you knew that doctor! He,"
and she nodded towards Lord Ragnall, "would think that my engagement had
upset me, or that I had grown rather more religious than I ought to be
at my age, and been reflecting too much--well, on the end of all things.
From a child I have understood that I am a mystery set in the midst of
many other mysteries. It all came to me one night when I was about nine
years old. I seemed to see the past and the future, although I could
grasp neither. Such a long, long past and such an infinite future. I
don't know what I saw, and still see sometimes. It comes in a flash, and
is in a flash forgotten. My mind cannot hold it. It is too big for
my mind; you might as well try to pack Dr. Jeffreys there into this
wineglass. Only two facts remain written on my heart. The first is
that there is trouble ahead of me, curious and unusual trouble; and
the second, that permanently, continually, I, or a part of me, have
something to do with Africa, a country of which I know nothing
except from a few very dull books. Also, by the way--this is a new
thought--that I have a great deal to do with _you_. That is why I am
so interested in Africa and you. Tell me about Africa and yourself now,
while we have the chance." And she ended rather abruptly, adding in a
louder voice, "You have lived there all your life, have you not, Mr.
Quatermain?"

"I rather think your mother would be right--about the doctor, I mean," I
said.

"You _say_ that, but you don't _believe_ it. Oh! you are very
transparent, Mr. Quatermain--at least, to me."

So, hurriedly enough, for these subjects seemed to be uncomfortable,
even dangerous in a sense, I began to talk of the first thing about
Africa that I remembered--namely, of the legend of the Holy Flower that
was guarded by a huge ape, of which I had heard from a white man who was
supposed to be rather mad, who went by the name of Brother John. Also I
told her that there was something in it, as I had with me a specimen of
the flower.

"Oh! show it me," she said.

I replied that I feared I could not, as it was locked away in a safe in
London, whither I was returning on the morrow. I promised, however, to
send her a life-sized water-colour drawing of which I had caused several
to be made. She asked me if I were going to look for this flower, and
I said that I hoped so if I could make the necessary arrangements. Next
she asked me if there chanced to be any other African quests upon which
I had set my mind. I replied that there were several. For instance, I
had heard vaguely through Brother John, and indirectly from one or
two other sources, of the existence of a certain tribe in East Central
Africa--Arabs or semi-Arabs--who were reported to worship a child that
always remained a child. This child, I took it, was a dwarf; but as I
was interested in native religious customs which were infinite in their
variety, I should much like to find out the truth of the matter.

"Talking of Arabs," she broke in, "I will tell you a curious story. Once
when I was a little girl, eight or nine years of age--it was just before
that kind of awakening of which I have spoken to you--I was playing in
Kensington Gardens, for we lived in London at the time, in the charge of
my nurse-governess. She was talking to some young man who she said was
her cousin, and told me to run about with my hoop and not to bother. I
drove the hoop across the grass to some elm trees. From behind one of
the trees came out two tall men dressed in white robes and turbans, who
looked to me like scriptural characters in a picture-book. One was an
elderly man with flashing, black eyes, hooked nose, and a long grey
beard. The other was much younger, but I do not remember him so well.
They were both brown in colour, but otherwise almost like white men; not
Negroes by any means. My hoop hit the elder man, and I stood still, not
knowing what to say. He bowed politely and picked it up, but did not
offer to return it to me. They talked together rapidly, and one of them
pointed to the moon-shaped birthmark which you see I have upon my
neck, for it was hot weather, and I was wearing a low-cut frock. It was
because of this mark that my father named me Luna. The elder of the two
said in broken English:

"'What is your name, pretty little girl?'

"I told him it was Luna Holmes. Then he drew from his robe a box made of
scented wood, and, opening it, took out some sweetmeat which looked
as if it had been frozen, and gave me a piece that, being very fond of
sweet, I put into my mouth. Next, he bowled the hoop along the ground
into the shadow of the trees--it was evening time and beginning to grow
dark--saying, 'Run, catch it, little girl!'

"I began to run, but something in the taste of that sweet caused me to
drop it from my lips. Then all grew misty, and the next thing I remember
was finding myself in the arms of the younger Eastern, with the nurse
and her 'cousin,' a stalwart person like a soldier, standing in front of
us.

"'Little girl go ill,' said the elder Arab. 'We seek policeman.'

"'You drop that child,' answered the 'cousin,' doubling his fists. Then
I grew faint again, and when I came to myself the two white-robed men
had gone. All the way home my governess scolded me for accepting sweets
from strangers, saying that if my parents came to know of it, I should
be whipped and sent to bed. Of course, I begged her not to tell them,
and at last she consented. Do you know, I think you are the first to
whom I have ever mentioned the matter, of which I am sure the governess
never breathed a word, though after that, whenever we walked in the
gardens, her 'cousin' always came to look after us. In the end I think
she married him."

"You believe the sweet was drugged?" I asked.