Read Online Valerie French (1923) by Dornford Yates - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dornford Yates
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asked if she was a relative, and he said she had told him 'No.'"
"That's right," said Valerie quietly. "He gave it to me."
"So I was right," breathed André. She turned upon the other with smouldering eyes. "What's your imagined authority for doing this?"
"Major Lyveden and I were engaged."
Miss Strongi'th'arm stared.
"When?"
"At the time of his death."
"But he was mad."
Valerie shook her head.
"We got him all right," she said. "Apparently, perfectly well. It— "
"'We'? Who's 'we'?"
"His friends," said Valerie. "It was only right at the end that he had a relapse."
"D'you swear this?" demanded André.
"Of course."
"Why didn't you tell me at Dinard?"
"Until you opened your mouth, I hadn't the slightest idea. When you'd opened it, it was too late."
"'Too late to stop me telling my rival the details of how her lover had turned me down?" She pointed to the grave at their feet. "I wonder what he’d think about it."
"He'd understand," said Valerie. "So would you, if you'd only think for a moment. I never dreamed, of course, I should ever see you again."
The other gave a short laugh.
"No," she said dryly. "I don't suppose you did. One doesn't bother, as a rule, about a sucked orange."
Valerie lifted her eyes and stared at the tops of the elms.
"I'm sorry," she said gently, "you take it like this. God knows I meant you no harm."
"Then why did you let me talk— strip myself? Because you wanted to see my nakedness. You'd landed the wonderful thing I'd lost my heart to, and so my failure was interesting ... a posthumous titbit ... the hell of a feather in your cap. That I was sticking it there was simply superb. You must have screamed when I'd gone."
"Do I look that kind of woman?"
"I wish you did," said André bitterly. "Then I'd 've held my tongue."
"You know I never laughed when you'd gone."
The other shrugged her shoulders.
"A woman who'll do such a rotten, shameless— "
"Why do you talk like this?" said Valerie. "Why are you so unfair? I never invited your confidence."
"You abused it."
"I never abused it. Listen. For one thing, you know I was ill— almost out of my mind."
"Rot," said André. "Your nerve was like iron."
"I say," repeated Valerie, "that I was almost mad. Anthony was dead. You find his loss hard enough. What d'you think it was— is, to me? Well, you offered to tell me your tale, and I offered to listen. Suddenly, without any warning, I found you were giving yourself away.... I had to decide what to do— instantly. There was no time to think. I had to decide whether it was better to stop you— make things desperately awkward for both of us, and drive you wild with yourself for having spoken, or to let you go on and away without knowing who I was. I don't think I ever decided. While I was trying to think, you went on talking, until it was clearly too late."
"How could I help in the end finding out who you were?"
"It didn't seem likely then. I never expected to come to see his grave."
"Till after I'd spoken?"
Valerie nodded.
"I owe you a debt," she said. "When you spoke so handsomely— "
"Rub it in," said André.
With a gesture of despair, Valerie turned away.
"In fact," said André, "it was only when you found that there was some one who cared , living a couple of miles from where he lay ... some one whose right to care was technically smaller than your own ... some poor rotter who might be 'expected to come to see his grave,' that it occurred to you to use your authority and put up a gravestone— 'In Loving Memory.' After all, what's the use of a door marked 'Private' if you've nobody's face to slam it in?" She stamped her foot upon the ground. "Upon my soul, I wonder you don't order me out of this churchyard."
Valerie stepped to the birch and picked up her hat. Her face was very white, and when she spoke there was the chill of death in her tone.
"Before I go I'll tell you what you've done.
"I came here to-day, laden and desolate, after two solid months of horror,
"That's right," said Valerie quietly. "He gave it to me."
"So I was right," breathed André. She turned upon the other with smouldering eyes. "What's your imagined authority for doing this?"
"Major Lyveden and I were engaged."
Miss Strongi'th'arm stared.
"When?"
"At the time of his death."
"But he was mad."
Valerie shook her head.
"We got him all right," she said. "Apparently, perfectly well. It— "
"'We'? Who's 'we'?"
"His friends," said Valerie. "It was only right at the end that he had a relapse."
"D'you swear this?" demanded André.
"Of course."
"Why didn't you tell me at Dinard?"
"Until you opened your mouth, I hadn't the slightest idea. When you'd opened it, it was too late."
"'Too late to stop me telling my rival the details of how her lover had turned me down?" She pointed to the grave at their feet. "I wonder what he’d think about it."
"He'd understand," said Valerie. "So would you, if you'd only think for a moment. I never dreamed, of course, I should ever see you again."
The other gave a short laugh.
"No," she said dryly. "I don't suppose you did. One doesn't bother, as a rule, about a sucked orange."
Valerie lifted her eyes and stared at the tops of the elms.
"I'm sorry," she said gently, "you take it like this. God knows I meant you no harm."
"Then why did you let me talk— strip myself? Because you wanted to see my nakedness. You'd landed the wonderful thing I'd lost my heart to, and so my failure was interesting ... a posthumous titbit ... the hell of a feather in your cap. That I was sticking it there was simply superb. You must have screamed when I'd gone."
"Do I look that kind of woman?"
"I wish you did," said André bitterly. "Then I'd 've held my tongue."
"You know I never laughed when you'd gone."
The other shrugged her shoulders.
"A woman who'll do such a rotten, shameless— "
"Why do you talk like this?" said Valerie. "Why are you so unfair? I never invited your confidence."
"You abused it."
"I never abused it. Listen. For one thing, you know I was ill— almost out of my mind."
"Rot," said André. "Your nerve was like iron."
"I say," repeated Valerie, "that I was almost mad. Anthony was dead. You find his loss hard enough. What d'you think it was— is, to me? Well, you offered to tell me your tale, and I offered to listen. Suddenly, without any warning, I found you were giving yourself away.... I had to decide what to do— instantly. There was no time to think. I had to decide whether it was better to stop you— make things desperately awkward for both of us, and drive you wild with yourself for having spoken, or to let you go on and away without knowing who I was. I don't think I ever decided. While I was trying to think, you went on talking, until it was clearly too late."
"How could I help in the end finding out who you were?"
"It didn't seem likely then. I never expected to come to see his grave."
"Till after I'd spoken?"
Valerie nodded.
"I owe you a debt," she said. "When you spoke so handsomely— "
"Rub it in," said André.
With a gesture of despair, Valerie turned away.
"In fact," said André, "it was only when you found that there was some one who cared , living a couple of miles from where he lay ... some one whose right to care was technically smaller than your own ... some poor rotter who might be 'expected to come to see his grave,' that it occurred to you to use your authority and put up a gravestone— 'In Loving Memory.' After all, what's the use of a door marked 'Private' if you've nobody's face to slam it in?" She stamped her foot upon the ground. "Upon my soul, I wonder you don't order me out of this churchyard."
Valerie stepped to the birch and picked up her hat. Her face was very white, and when she spoke there was the chill of death in her tone.
"Before I go I'll tell you what you've done.
"I came here to-day, laden and desolate, after two solid months of horror,
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