Gambler — 07 - Part 3, Chapters 5 through 8
CHAPTER V
The decision was no sooner made, than it was carried into execution.
The order was given to the gondoliers, and instantly the long dark gondola swung round, disengaging itself from the tangle of surrounding craft, and headed for the quieter spaces of the middle stream.
The Palazzo Ugochini was on the Grand Canal; and as they glided westward, past the beautiful church of Santa Maria della Salute, Barnard leant forward and directed her attention to their destination.
"There is the Palace of the Ugochini," he said.
"It contains some of the finest frescoes in Italy.
It was bought up some years ago by an enterprising Frenchman who lets it out in sections.
Just now Lady Frances Hope is the proud occupier of the first floor."
With a movement of interest, she followed his glance looking silently at the long line of irregular, imposing buildings that stretched away before her.
"What a beautiful old place!"
she said.
"Are those your friend's windows?"
She indicated the first floor of the palace, from the open windows of which a warm stream of light poured downwards upon the water.
"Yes.
I expect they're playing bridge up there.
Frances is an enthusiast.
By the way, do you gamble, Mrs. Milbanke?"
Involuntarily Clodagh started and looked round; then, as she met Barnard's bland, amiable face, she blushed at her own emotions.
"Oh no!"
she said in a low voice.
"I--I never play cards."
Serracauld looked up quickly.
"What!"
he exclaimed.
"You don't play bridge?"
"I have never played any game of cards since I was a child."
The three men looked at her in unfeigned surprise.
"Not really, Mrs. Milbanke?"
Serracauld's eyes were wide with astonishment.
"Really !
--quite really!"
"Why you are ethereal, Mrs. Milbanke," Barnard said laughingly, as the gondola glided up to the palace steps.
"The passport to humanity nowadays is an inordinate love of risk."
Clodagh laughed nervously.
"Then I must be inhuman," she said.
The gondola stopped, and Lord Deerehurst rose.
As he offered her his hand, he looked searchingly into her face.
"Only time can prove the truth of that statement, Mrs. Milbanke!"
he said in his thin voice.
In the mystery of her surroundings, the words seemed to Clodagh to possess a curious, almost a prophetic ring; and their echo lingered in her ears as she stepped from the gondola and entered the palace.
But she was young; and to the young, action must ever outweigh suggestion.
She had scarcely mounted the old marble staircase before the excitement of her impending ordeal sent all other ideas spinning into oblivion.
There was adventure and experience in every succeeding moment.
At the head of the stairs they were met by an English man-servant.
He stepped forward gravely, as if accustomed to the arrival of late callers; and, relieving Clodagh of her cloak, ushered her down a long corridor and through an arched doorway hidden by a velvet curtain.
The salon into which they were shown was large and high ceiled.
The walls displayed some allegorical studies in the fresco work of which Barnard had spoken; the floor was bare of carpet and highly polished, reflecting the elaborately designed but scanty furniture and the wonderful glass chandeliers that hung from the ceiling; and in the three long windows that opened on the canal, stood groups of statuary.
During the moment that followed their entrance, Clodagh almost believed that the room was unoccupied, so wide and formal did it look; but a second glance convinced her of her mistake.
At its further end four persons were playing cards at a small table, partly sheltered from the rest of the room by a massive leather screen.
When their names were announced, no one at the table moved or even looked round; but immediately afterwards there was a stir amongst the players, and the light sound of cards thrown hastily down, followed by a quick laugh in a woman's voice.
"Game--and rubber!
Well done, partner!
How does the score stand, Tory?"
The owner of the laugh rose from her seat, and almost instantly turned to the door, revealing to Clodagh's curious eyes a strong, energetic face, redeemed from ugliness by a pair of intensely intelligent eyes and a mouth that displayed strong white teeth.
It was the somewhat disconcerting face of a clever woman to whom life represents an undeniable--if an invigorating--struggle.
Seeing the little group by the doorway, she hurried forward with an almost masculine assurance.
"You poor, dear people!"
she exclaimed in her strong voice.
"A thousand apologies!
We were on the point of finishing a most exciting rubber----" Her voice broke off short, as her eyes rested on Clodagh.
"Who is this, Barny?"
she asked interestedly.
Barnard stepped forward, laying his hand smilingly on Clodagh's arm.
"This, my dear Frances," he said, "is a new friend that I want you to make!
The wife of an old friend of mine.
You may have met her husband--Mr. Milbanke--one of the Somerset Milbankes.
Poor Sammy knew him well."
Lady Frances Hope puckered her strong, assertive eyebrows.
"I believe I do remember meeting a Mr. Milbanke, but I scarcely think----" She looked scrutinisingly at Clodagh.
"Oh yes, it's the same!
--it's the same!"
Barnard's interruption was somewhat hasty.
"Mr. Milbanke is a great archaeologist.
He and Mrs. Milbanke are only in Venice for a week.
I had intended bringing you to call formally at their hotel; but circumstances----" Here Clodagh broke in.
"You must please, please forgive my doing such a very extraordinary thing as this," she said.
"It was all Mr. Barnard's fault----" But Lady Frances Hope cut the explanation short by holding out her hand.
"You are extremely welcome!"
she said cordially.
"And if the truth must be told, I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving me an afternoon call.
It's a hundred times pleasanter to meet like this.
Now, let me see!
You play bridge, of course.
We can make up another four."
She glanced over her guests with an organising eye.
Clodagh stepped forward deprecatingly and cast a beseeching look at Barnard.
But in the slight pause that followed, it was Lord Deerehurst who came to her rescue.
"Mrs. Milbanke has just been confessing to us that she never plays cards," he said smoothly.
"If you will go on with your game, Lady Frances, I shall do my best to amuse her."
He turned his unemotional glance from one to the other.
The surprise that his announcement had brought to their hostess's face, changed instantly to an expression of hospitality.
"No!
--no, indeed!"
she cried.
"I would infinitely prefer to talk to Mrs. Milbanke.
Come!"
she added, smiling at Clodagh.
"Come and let me introduce you to these bridge-playing people.
Perhaps they will convert you."
She laughed, and followed by the four, moved across the salon.
At their approach, the three at the card-table--two women and a man--turned to look at them, and the latter, a square-built, thick-set youth, wearing a pince-nez and possessing a quick, inquisitive manner, rose to his feet.
"Mrs. Milbanke!"
said Lady Frances, "this is Mr. Victor Luard!
Miss Luard!
Mrs. Bathurst!"
Luard bowed; and the two women looked at Clodagh, each acknowledging the introduction after her own fashion.
Miss Luard gave a quick, friendly nod, Mrs. Bathurst a slow and graceful inclination of the head, accompanied by a faint, insincere smile.
"Are you a bridge player?"
she asked, raising a pair of pretty, languid brown eyes to Clodagh's. "I wish so much you would take my place.
I've been having the most appalling luck."
Her glance wandered on to Serracauld, Barnard, and Deerehurst.
"Ah, here is Lord Deerehurst!"
she cried in a suddenly animated voice.
"Lord Deerehurst, do come and tell me what you would have done with a hand like this!"
She picked up her scattered cards, and began to sort them; then, with a graceful movement, she drew her skirts aside, and indicated a vacant chair that stood beside her own.
Lord Deerehurst hesitated, lifted his eyeglass, and scrutinised her pretty pink and white face, then languidly dropped into the empty chair.
At the same moment Clodagh, Serracauld, Luard, and his sister fell into conversation; and Lady Frances and Barnard moved away together towards one of the open windows.
For a quarter of an hour the formation of the party remained unchanged;
then a slight incident caused a distraction in the assembly.
Clodagh--who had shaken off her first shyness, and was beginning to enjoy the conversation of her new acquaintance--heard the curtain at the arched entrance drawn back; and, looking round, was surprised to see two servants enter, solemnly carrying a table and a painted board, which they proceeded to set up in the middle of the room.
Her wonder and curiosity were depicted on her face, for Luard looked at her quickly and interestedly.
"Don't you know what that is, Mrs. Milbanke?"
he asked.
"Hasn't Barny told you of Lady Frances' famous roulette?
Lady Frances!"
he called, "come and initiate Mrs. Milbanke!"
At the words, every one turned and looked at Clodagh.
And Lord Deerehurst, with a murmured word to Mrs. Bathurst, rose and came round the card-table.
"Are you going to tempt the gods?"
he asked in his peculiar voice.
Clodagh looked round, a little embarrassed by the general interest.
"Well, I--I suppose I should like to see roulette played," she admitted guardedly.
He bent his head, and looked at her with his cold, penetrating smile.
"Ah, I see!"
he said softly.
"Judicious reservations!"
But at that moment Lady Frances crossed the room, and pausing by the roulette-table, set the ball spinning.
"Come along, people!"
she cried gaily.
"Fortune smiles!"
They all laughed and strolled across the room.
"Come along!"
Lady Frances urged again--"come, Rose!"
She smiled at Mrs. Bathurst.
"Unlucky at bridge, lucky at roulette!
Come, Tory!
--come, Val!"
She glanced from Luard to Serracauld.
There was another amused laugh, and all the party with the exception of Clodagh stepped forward and placed one or many coins upon the table.
Lady Frances' eyes were quick to detect the exception.
With her fingers poised above the board, she waited smilingly.
"Won't you stake, Mrs. Milbanke?"
she asked.
Clodagh blushed, and stepped back shyly.
At the same instant, Serracauld moved forward to her side.
"Oh, Mrs. Milbanke, but you must!"
he cried.
Again confusion covered Clodagh, as all eyes were turned upon her.
"No, please!"
she said.
"I--I think I'd rather not."
Barnard laughed suavely.
"Mrs. Milbanke is wise!"
he said.
"She wants to see which way the gods are pointing."
"Then Mrs. Milbanke is unwise!
The gods are jealous beings; we must not treat them with suspicion.
I'll stake for her!"
It was Lord Deerehurst who spoke.
And regardless of Clodagh's quick, half-frightened expostulation, he stepped forward out of the little circle, and placed a gold coin on the number thirteen.
A moment later Lady Frances gave a short amused laugh, and with a dexterous movement of the fingers set the ball whizzing.
To Clodagh it was a supreme--an extraordinary--moment.
Until Lord Deerehurst had made the stake--until the first click of the spinning ball had struck upon her ear--she had been conscious of only one feeling: a prejudiced, innate dread of every game--whether of chance or skill--upon which money could be staked; but the simple placing of the coin, the simple turning of the pivot had marked for her a psychological moment.
With a quick catching of the breath, she stepped involuntarily forward, aware of but one fact--the keen, exhilarating knowledge that the stopping of the ball must mean loss or gain--individual loss or gain.
During the dozen seconds that it spun round the circle, she stood silent; then a faint sound of uncontrollable excitement slipped from between her lips.
Hers was the winning number!
As in a dream, she extended her hand, and took the little heap of money from the fingers of Luard, who had come to Lady Frances' assistance;
then, on the instant that the coins touched her palm, her excitement evaporated; her sense of elation fell away, to be succeeded by the first instinctive shrinking that had swayed her imagination.
Acting purely upon impulse, she turned to Lord Deerehurst; and before he could remonstrate, pressed the money into his hand.
"Please take it!"
she said urgently--"please take it!
It isn't mine.
It oughtn't to be mine.
I--I don't wish to play."
CHAPTER VI
The little incident, trivial in itself, damped the general ardour for roulette.
After a dozen turns of the wheel, Lady Frances declared herself satisfied.
"Mrs. Milbanke has regenerated us--for the moment!"
she cried.
"I can't play roulette to-night.
But our turn will come; Mrs. Milbanke.
We will be revenged on you!"
Her shrewd, smiling glance passed rapidly over Clodagh's face.
Again the whole company laughed.
"Mrs. Milbanke is a feminine Sir Galahad!"
said Luard.
"By the way, Lady Frances, when is our irreproachable knight to honour Venice with his presence?"
He turned and looked banteringly at his hostess.
Lady Frances smiled.
"Oh, any day now," she returned.
"But aren't you rather incorrigible?"
"So Sir Galahad thinks!"
he retorted, unabashed.
"Is he an acquaintance of yours, Mrs. Milbanke?"
Clodagh smiled uncertainly; and Lady Frances laughed.
"How ridiculous of you to expect Mrs. Milbanke to read your riddles!"
she said sharply.
"The person this very disrespectful young man is speaking of, Mrs. Milbanke, is Sir Walter Gore----" "The most admirable Sir Walter Gore!"
interjected Luard.
Lady Frances' sallow face flushed very slightly.
"--Sir Walter Gore," she went on, ignoring the interruption, "who is only twenty-nine--has been ten times round the world--and is imbued with the deepest contempt for all modern social things."
She laughed again, as she finished; but a fleeting change of expression had passed over her face.
Clodagh looked up smilingly.
"And where is the likeness to me?"
she asked.
"Oh, you are both above mere human temptations, Mrs. Milbanke!"
Luard broke in irrepressibly.
Lord Deerehurst, who had been listening to the conversation, lifted his eyeglass.
"But then Sir Walter Gore has been ten times round the world," he remarked in his thin, dry voice.
"And this is Mrs. Milbanke's first visit to Venice."
Again they all laughed, and Clodagh coloured.
"You think my stoicism would not wear well?"
she asked.
Deerehurst looked at her searchingly.
"Stoicism may be born of many characteristics," he said.
"I am not in a position to say from what yours springs.
But"--he lowered his voice.
--"I do not think you are a natural stoic."
She laughed and glanced uneasily round the little company, already beginning to break up into groups of two and three.
Observing the look, Lady Frances turned to her tactfully.
"Come, Lord Deerehurst!"
she cried.
"We are getting too serious.
If you _must_ philosophise, take Mrs. Milbanke on to the balcony, where she will have something to distract her thoughts.
For myself, I want to hear Valentine sing.
Val!"
she called.
"Come to the piano and make some music!
I'm surfeited with stringed instruments and Italian voices."
She moved across the salon; and Lord Deerehurst turned to Clodagh.
"May I follow our hostess's suggestion?
May I talk philosophy on the balcony?"
She smiled.
The slight strain, of which she had been conscious ever since the incident of the roulette, lifted suddenly, and her earlier sensation of elated excitement returned.
"Yes, if you like," she responded brightly.
"The balcony sounds very tempting.
And as for the philosophy, I can promise to listen--if I can't promise to understand."
She smiled afresh, and crossed the wide room, Deerehurst following closely.
As she passed the group of statuary and stepped through the open window, Serracauld struck a chord or two on the piano, and an instant later, his voice--a full strong voice, intensely passionate and youthful--drifted across the salon and out into the night.
At the first note Clodagh halted, surprised and enchanted by the sound;
and sinking silently into one of the balcony chairs, rested one arm on the iron railing.
The music Serracauld sang was French, and possessed much of the distinction that marks that nation's art.
The song was a hymn to life--and its indispensable coadjutors, youth and love; and it went with a peculiar lilt that stirred the blood and stimulated the fancy.
He sang it as it should be sung--easily and arrogantly; for, as frequently happens with those who possess voices, he could express in music thoughts, ideas, and emotions that never crossed his own selfish, somewhat narrow soul.
Clodagh, staring down into the dark waters in an attitude of wrapt attention, drank in the song to its last note; and as the final vibration died away, she looked round at Deerehurst with an expression infinitely softened and enhanced.
"How beautiful!"
she said.
"Oh, how beautiful!"
Deerehurst, who had seated himself beside her, leant forward and rested his own arm upon the balcony railing.
"It is not the song that is beautiful, Mrs. Milbanke," he said, "but the thoughts it has wakened in you."
Clodagh looked at him in silent question.
She was still under the spell of the music, and saw nothing to resent in his cold gaze.
"You were the instrument," he went on in the same lowered voice.
"The notes were not played upon the piano, but upon your brain.
Your brain is a network of sensitive strings, waiting to be played on by every factor in life--music, colour, sunshine, emotion----" His tone sank.
Clodagh glanced quickly at his tall, thin figure, seated so close to her own, and at the wax-like, inscrutable face showing through the dusk.
"You seem to know me better than I know myself," she said uncertainly.
He watched her intently for a moment; then he leant forward, his long, pale fingers toying with the ribbon of his eyeglass.
"I do know you better than you know yourself."
She gave a little embarrassed laugh.
"Then explain me to myself!"
Again he seemed to study her; then he leant back in his chair with a decisive movement.
"No!"
he said--"no!
Not now!
In a year--or two--or even three, perhaps.
But not now."
She laughed again; and unconsciously a note of relief underran her laugh--a relief that, by a natural sequence of emotion, brought a fresh reaction to the coquetry of an hour ago.
With a quick turn of the head, she looked up at him.
"But how shall I find you in a year--or two--or three?"
She was distinctly conscious that the words held a challenge; but the thought was fraught with the new intoxication that the evening had created.
With a swift movement, he bent closer to her.
"The world is very small, Mrs. Milbanke--when one desires to make it so."
In the half light of the balcony, his pale eyes seemed to search hers.
Involuntarily she blushed, but her glance met his steadily enough.
"Not until one has been ten times round it!"
she reminded him.
He laughed his thin, amused laugh; then suddenly he became grave again.
"Don't you feel," he said, "that when we desire a thing very greatly, our own will power may bend circumstances?"
Her eyes faltered, and her gaze moved to the gondolas flitting silently below them.
"I think I have given up desiring things greatly," she said in a low, uneven voice.
Deerehurst's eyelids narrowed.
"Would it be presumptuous to ask why?"
"No. Oh no!"
"But you will not throw light upon my darkness?"
She turned her head, and once more her gaze rested on his face.
"No," she said softly, "it isn't that.
It is that I don't believe I could enlighten you--even if I would.
I am a puzzle to myself."
"The deeper a riddle, the more tempting its solution."
