X
A white peacock, screaming in the garden under Stephen's balcony, wakedhim early, and dreamily his thoughts strayed towards the events plannedfor the day.
They were to make a morning call on Mademoiselle Soubise in hercuriosity-shop, and ask about Ben Halim, the husband of Saidee Ray.Victoria was coming to luncheon, for she had accepted Lady MacGregor'sinvitation. Her note had been brought in last night, while he and Nevillwalked in the garden. Afterwards Lady MacGregor had shown it to themboth. The girl wrote an interesting hand, full of individuality, andexpressive of decision. Perhaps on her arrival they might have somethingto tell her.
This hope shot Stephen out of bed, though it was only seven, andbreakfast was not until nine. He had a cold bath in the privatebathroom, which was one of Nevill's modern improvements in the oldhouse, and by and by went for a walk, thinking to have the gardens tohimself. But Nevill was there, cutting flowers and whistling tunefully.It was to him that the jewelled white peacock had screamed a greeting.
"I like cutting the flowers myself," said he. "I don't think they careto have others touch them, any more than a cow likes to be milked by astranger. Of course they feel the difference! Why, they know when Ipraise them, and preen themselves. They curl up when they're scolded, ornot noticed, just as I do when people aren't nice to me. Every day Isend off a box of my best roses to Tlemcen. _She_ allows me to do that."
Lady MacGregor did not appear at breakfast, which was served on amarble loggia; and by half-past nine Stephen and Nevill were out in thewide, tree-shaded streets, where masses of bougainvillaea and clematisboiled over high garden-walls of old plaster, once white, now streakedwith gold and rose, and green moss and lichen. After the thunderstorm ofthe day before, the white dust was laid, and the air was pure with acurious sparkling quality.
They passed the museum in its garden, and turned a corner.
"There's Mademoiselle Soubise's shop," said Nevill.
It was a low white building, and had evidently been a private house atone time. The only change made had been in the shape and size of thewindows on the ground-floor; and these were protected by green_persiennes_, fanned out like awnings, although the house was shaded bymagnolia trees. There was no name over the open door, but the word"_Antiquites_" was painted in large black letters on the house-wall.
Under the green blinds was a glitter of jewels displayed among brocadesand a tangle of old lace, or on embossed silver trays; and walking in atthe door, out of the shadowy dusk, a blaze of colour leaped to the eyes.Not a soul was there, unless some one hid and spied behind a carved andgilded Tunisian bed or a marqueterie screen from Bagdad. Yet there was acollection to tempt a thief, and apparently no precaution taken againstinvaders.
Delicate rugs, soft as clouds and tinted like opals, were heaped inpiles on the tiled floor; rugs from Ispahan, rugs from Mecca; old rugsfrom the sacred city of Kairouan, such as are made no more there oranywhere. The walls were hung with Tunisian silks and embroidered stuffsfrom the homes of Jewish families, where they had served as screens fortalismanic words too sacred to be seen by common eyes; and there wasdrapery of ancient banners, Tyrian-dyed, whose gold or silver fringeshad been stained with blood, in battle. From the ceiling were suspendedantique lamps, and chandeliers of rare rock crystal, whose prisms gaveout rose and violet sparks as they caught the light.
On shelves and inlaid tables were beggars' bowls of strange dark woods,carried across deserts by wandering mendicants of centuries ago, thechains, which had hung from throats long since crumbled into dust,adorned with lucky rings and fetishes to preserve the wearer from evilspirits. There were other bowls, of crystal pure as full-blown bubbles,bowls which would ring at a tap like clear bells of silver. Some ofthese were guiltless of ornament, some were graven with gold flowers,but all seemed full of lights reflected from tilted, pearl-framedmirrors, and from the swinging prisms of chandeliers.
Chafing-dishes of bronze at which vanished hands had been warmed, stoodbeside chased brazen ewers made to pour rose-water over henna-stainedfingers, after Arab dinners, eaten without knives or forks. In thedepths of half-open drawers glimmered precious stones, strangely cutpink diamonds, big square turquoises and emeralds, strings of creamypearls, and hands of Fatma, a different jewel dangling from eachfinger-tip.
The floor was encumbered, not only with rugs, but with heaps ofpriceless tiles, Persian and Moorish, of the best periods and patterns,taken from the walls of Arab palaces now destroyed; huge brass salvers;silver anklets, and chain armour, sabres captured from Crusaders, andold illuminated Korans. It was difficult to move without knockingsomething down, and one stepped delicately in narrow aisles, to avoidislands of piled, precious objects. Everywhere the eye was drawn toglittering points, or patches of splendid colour; so that at a glancethe large, dusky room was like a temple decorated with mosaics. Therewas nothing that did not suggest the East, city or desert, or mountainvillage of the Kabyles; and the air was loaded with Eastern perfumes,ambergris and musk that blended with each other, and the scent of theblack incense sticks brought by caravan from Tombouctou.
"Why doesn't some one come in and steal?" asked Stephen, in surprise atseeing the place deserted.
"Because there's hardly a thief in Algiers mean enough to steal fromJeanne Soubise, who gives half she has to the poor. And because, ifthere were one so mean, Haroun el Raschid would soon let her know whatwas going on," said Nevill. "His latest disguise is that of a parrot,but he may change it for something else at any moment."
Then Stephen saw, suspended among the crystal chandeliers and antiquelamps, a brass cage, shaped like a domed palace. In this cage, in acoral ring, sat a grey parrot who regarded the two young men withjewel-eyes that seemed to know all good and evil.
"He yells if any stranger comes into the shop when his mistress is out,"Nevill explained. "I am an humble friend of His Majesty's, so he saysnothing. I gave him to Mademoiselle Jeanne."
Perhaps their voices had been heard. At all events, there was a lighttapping of heels on unseen stairs, and from behind a red-curtaineddoorway appeared a tall young woman, dressed in black.
She was robust as well as tall, and Stephen thought she looked ratherlike a handsome Spanish boy; yet she was feminine enough in heroutlines. It was the frank and daring expression of her face and greatblack eyes which gave the look of boyishness. She had thick, straighteyebrows, a large mouth that was beautiful when she smiled, to showperfect teeth between the red lips that had a faint, shadowy line ofdown above them.
"Ah, Monsieur Nevill Caird!" she exclaimed, in English, with a fullvoice, and a French accent that was pretty, though not Parisian. Shesmiled at Stephen, too, without waiting to be introduced. "MonsieurCaird is always kind in bringing his friends to me, and I am always gladto see them."
"I've brought Mr. Knight, not to buy, but to ask a favour," said Nevill.
"To buy, too," Stephen hastened to cut in. "I see things I can't livewithout. I must own them."
"Well, don't set your heart on anything Mademoiselle Soubise won't sell.She bought everything with the idea of selling it, she admits, but nowshe's got them here, there are some things she can't make up her mind topart with at any price."
"Oh, only a few tiles--and some Jewish embroideries--and bits ofjewellery--and a rug or two or a piece of pottery--and maybe _one_ copyof the Koran, and a beggar's bowl," Jeanne Soubise excused herself,hastily adding more and more to her list of exceptions, as her eyesroved wistfully among her treasures. "Oh, and an amphora just dug upnear Timgad, with Roman oil still inside. It's a beauty. Will you comedown to the cellar to look at it?"
Nevill thanked her, and reserved the pleasure for another time. Then heinquired what was the latest news from Mademoiselle Josette at Tlemcen;and when he heard that there was nothing new, he told the lady of thecuriosity-shop what was the object of the early visit.
"But of course I have heard of Ben Halim, and I have seen him, too," shesaid; "only it was long ago--maybe ten years. Yes, I could not have beenseventeen. I
t is already long that he went away from Algiers, no oneknows where. Now he is said to be dead. Have you not heard of him,Monsieur Nevill? You must have. He lived at Djenan el Hadj; close to theJardin d'Essai. You know the place well. The new rich Americans, MadameJewett and her daughter, have it now. There was a scandal about BenHalim, and then he went away--a scandal that was mysterious, becauseevery one talked about it, yet no one knew what had happened--neversurely at least."
"I told you Mademoiselle would be able to give you information!"exclaimed Nevill. "I felt sure the name was familiar, somehow, though Icouldn't think how. One hears so many Arab names, and generally there'sa 'Ben' or a 'Bou' something or other, if from the South."
"Flan-ben-Flan," laughed Jeanne Soubise. "That means," she explained,turning to Stephen, "So and So, son of So and So. It is strange, a younglady came inquiring about Ben Halim only yesterday afternoon; such apretty young lady. I was surprised, but she said they had told her inher hotel I knew everything that had ever happened in Algiers. A nicecompliment to my age. I am not so old as that! But," she added, with afrank smile, "all the hotels and guides expect commissions when theysend people to me. I suppose they thought this pretty girl fair game,and that once in my place she would buy. So she did. She bought a stringof amber beads. She liked the gold light in them, and said it seemed asif she might see a vision of something or some one she wanted to find,if she gazed through the beads. Many a good Mussulman has said hisprayers with them, if that could bring her luck."
The two young men looked at one another.
"Did she tell you her name?" Stephen asked.
"But yes; she was Mees Ray, and named for the dead Queen Victoria ofEngland, I suppose, though American. And she told me other things. Hersister, she said, married a Captain Ben Halim of the Spahis, and camewith him to Algiers, nearly ten years ago. Now she is looking for thesister."
"We've met Miss Ray," said Nevill. "It's on her business we've come. Wedidn't know she'd already been to you, but we might have guessed someone would send her. She didn't lose much time."
"She wouldn't," said Stephen. "She isn't that kind."
"I knew nothing of the sister," went on Mademoiselle Soubise. "I couldhardly believe at first that Ben Halim had an American wife. Then Iremembered how these Mohammedan men can hide their women, so no oneever knows. Probably no one ever did know, otherwise gossip would haveleaked out. The man may have been jealous of her. You see, I have Arabacquaintances. I go to visit ladies in the harems sometimes, and I hearstories when anything exciting is talked of. You can't think how wordflies from one harem to another--like a carrier-pigeon! This could neverhave been a matter of gossip--though it is true I was young at thetime."
"You think, then, he would have shut her up?" asked Nevill. "That's whatI feared."
"But of course he would have shut her up--with another wife, perhaps."
"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Stephen. "The poor child has never thought ofthat possibility. She says he promised her sister he would never look atany other woman."
"Ah, the promise of an Arab in love! Perhaps she did not know theArabs--that sister. It is only the men of princely families who take butone wife. And he would not tell her if he had already looked at anotherwoman. He would be sure, no matter how much in love a Christian girlmight be, she would not marry a man who already had a wife."
"We might find out that," suggested Stephen.
"It would be difficult," said the Frenchwoman. "I can try, among Arabs Iknow, but though they like to chat with Europeans, they will not answerquestions. They resent that we should ask them, though they are polite.As for you, if you ask men, French or Arab, you will learn nothing. TheFrench would not know. The Arabs, if they did, would not tell. They mustnot talk of each other's wives, even among themselves, much less tooutsiders. You can ask an Arab about anything else in the world, but nothis wife. That is the last insult."
"What a country!" Stephen ejaculated.
"I don't know that it has many more faults than others," said Nevill,defending it, "only they're different."
"But about the scandal that drove Ben Halim away?" Stephen ventured on.
"Strange things were whispered at the time, I remember, because BenHalim was a handsome man and well known. One looked twice at him in hisuniform when he went by on a splendid horse. I believe he had been toParis before the scandal. What he did afterwards no one can say. But Icould not tell Mees Ray what I had heard of that scandal any more than Iwould tell a young girl that almost all Europeans who become harem womenare converted to the religion of Islam, and that very likely the sisterwasn't Ben Halim's first wife."
"Can you tell us of the scandal, or--would you rather not talk of thesubject?" Stephen hesitated.
"Oh, I can tell you, for it would not hurt your feelings. People saidBen Halim flirted too much with his Colonel's beautiful French wife, whodied soon afterwards, and her husband killed himself. Ben Halim had notbeen considered a good officer before. He was too fond of pleasure, anda mad gambler; so at last it was made known to him he had better leavethe army of his own accord if he did not wish to go against his will; atleast, that was the story."
"Of course!" exclaimed Nevill. "It comes back to me now, though it allhappened before I lived in Algiers. Ben Halim sold his house andeverything in it to a Frenchman who went bankrupt soon after. It'spassed through several hands since. I go occasionally to call on Mrs.Jewett and her daughter."
"It is said they wish you would call oftener, Monsieur Caird."
Nevill turned red. Stephen thought he could understand, and hid a smile.No doubt Nevill was a great "catch" in Algerian society. And he was inlove with a teacher of Arab children far away in Tlemcen, a girl "pooras a church mouse," who wouldn't listen to him! It was a quaint world;as quaint in Africa as elsewhere.
"What did you tell Miss Ray?" Nevill hurried to ask.
"That Ben Halim had left Algiers nine years ago, and had never beenheard of since. When I saw she did not love his memory, I told herpeople believed him to be dead; and this rumour might be true, as nonews of him has ever come back. But she turned pale, and I was sorry Ihad been so frank. Yet what would you? Oh, and I thought of one morething, when she had gone, which I might have mentioned. But perhapsthere is nothing in it. All the rest of the day I was busy with manycustomers, so I was tired at night, otherwise I would have sent a noteto her hotel. And this morning since six I have been hurrying to get offboxes and things ordered by some Americans for a ship which sails atnoon. But you will tell the young lady when you see her, and that willbe better than my writing, because sending a note would make it seem tooimportant. She might build hopes, and it would be a pity if they didexplode."
Both men laughed a little at this ending of the Frenchwoman's sentence,but Stephen was more impatient than Nevill to know what was to comenext. He grudged the pause, and made her go on.
"It is only that I remember my sister telling me, when she was at homelast year for a holiday, about a Kabyle servant girl who waits on her inTlemcen. The girl is of a great intelligence, and my sister takes aninterest in her. Josette teaches her many things, and they talk.Mouni--that is the Kabyle's name--tells of her home life to my sister.One thing she did was to serve a beautiful foreign lady in the house ofa rich Arab. She was only a child then, not more than thirteen, for suchgirls grow up early; but she has always thought about that lady, who wasgood to her, and very sad. Mouni told Josette she had never seen any oneso beautiful, and that her mistress had hair of a natural colour, redderthan hair dyed with henna and powdered with gold dust. It was thisdescribing of the hair which brought the story back to my head when MissRay had gone, because she has hair like that, and perhaps her sister hadit too."
"By Jove, we'll run over to Tlemcen in the car, and see that Kabylegirl," Nevill eagerly proposed, carefully looking at his friend, and notat Jeanne Soubise. But she raised her eyebrows, then drew them together,and her frank manner changed. With that shadow of a frown, and smilelesseyes and lips, there was something rather formidab
le about the handsomeyoung woman.
"Mees Ray may like to manage all her own beesiness," she remarked. Andit occurred to Stephen that it would be a propitious moment to choosesuch curios as he wished to buy. In a few moments Mademoiselle Soubisewas her pleasant self again, indicating the best points of the things headmired, and giving him their history.
"There's apparently a conspiracy of silence to keep us from finding outanything about Miss Ray's sister as Ben Halim's wife," he said to Nevillwhen they had left the curiosity-shop. "Also, what has become of BenHalim."
"You'll learn that there's always a conspiracy of silence in Africa,where Arabs are concerned," Nevill answered. There was a far-off, fatallook in his eyes as he spoke, those blue eyes which seemed at all timesto see something that others could not see. And again the sense of anintangible, illusive, yet very real mystery of the East, which he hadfelt for a moment before landing, oppressed Stephen, as if he hadinhaled too much smoke from the black incense of Tombouctou.