The Jervaise Comedy | Page 6

conversation was nothing more nor
less than that of a game to be played as expertly as possible. He had all
the makings of a cabinet minister, but as a companion he was, on this
occasion, merely annoying. I felt that I could stand no more of him, and
I was trying to frame a sentence that would convey my opinion of him
without actual insult, when Frank Jervaise looked in at the door.
He stared at us suspiciously, but his expression commonly conveyed
some aspect of threat or suspicion. "Been looking all over the place for
you," he said.
"For me?" Hughes asked.
Jervaise shook his head. "No, I want Melhuish," he said, and stood
scowling.
"Well, here I am," I prompted him.
"If I'm in the way..." Hughes put in, but did not attempt to get himself
out of it.
Jervaise ignored him. "Look here, Melhuish," he said. "I wonder if
you'd mind coming up with me to the Home Farm?"
"Oh! no; rather not," I agreed gladly.
I felt that Hughes had been scored off; but I instantly forgot such small
triumphs in the delight of being able to get out into the night. Out there
was romance and the smell of night-stock, all kinds of wonderment and
adventure. I was so eager to be in the midst of it that I never paused to
consider the queerness of the expedition.
As we left the Hall, the theatrical stable-clock was just striking one.

II
ANNE

The moon must have been nearly at the full, but I could not guess its
position behind the even murk of cloud that muffled the whole face of
the sky. Yet, it was not very dark. The broad masses of the garden
through which Jervaise led me, were visible as a greater blackness
superimposed on a fainter background. I believed that we were passing
through some kind of formal pleasance. I could smell the
pseudo-aromatic, slightly dirty odour of box, and made out here and
there the clipped artificialities of a yew hedge. There were standard
roses, too. One rose started up suddenly before my face, touching me as
I passed with a limp, cool caress, like the careless, indifferent
encouragement of a preoccupied courtesan.
At the end of the pleasance we came to a high wall, and as Jervaise
fumbled with the fastening of a, to me, invisible door, I was expecting
that now we should come out into the open, into a paddock, perhaps, or
a grass road through the Park. But beyond the wall was a kitchen
garden. It was lighter there, and I could see dimly that we were passing
down an aisle of old espaliers that stretched sturdy, rigid arms, locked
finger to finger with each other in their solemn grotesque guardianship
of the enciente they enclosed. No doubt in front of them was some kind
of herbaceous border. I caught sight of the occasional spire of a
hollyhock, and smelt the acid insurgence of marigolds.
None of this was at all the mischievous, taunting fairyland that I had
anticipated, but rather the gaunt, intimidating home of ogres, rank and
more than a trifle forbidding. It had an air of age that was not immortal,
but stiffly declining into a stubborn resistance against the slow rigidity
of death. These espaliers made me think of rheumatic veterans,
obstinately faithful to ancient duties--veterans with knobbly arthritic
joints.
At the end of the aisle we came to a high-arched opening in the ten-foot
wall, barred by a pair of heavy iron gates.
"Hold on a minute, I've got the key," Jervaise said. This was the first
time he had spoken since we left the house. His tone seemed to suggest
that he was afraid I should attempt to scale the wall or force my way
through the bars of the gates.
He had the key but he could not in that darkness fit it into the padlock;
and he asked me if I had any matches. I had a little silver box of wax
vestas in my pocket, and struck one to help him in his search for the

keyhole which he found to have been covered by the escutcheon.
Before I threw the match away I held it up and glanced back across the
garden. The shadows leaped and stiffened to attention, and I flung the
match away, but it did not go out. It lay there on the path throwing out
its tiny challenge to the darkness. It was still burning when I looked
back after passing through the iron gates.
As we came out of the park, Jervaise took my arm.
"I'm afraid this is a pretty rotten business," he said with what was for
him an unusual cordiality.
* * * * *
Although I had never