I found myself remembering Florimond's presence with a species of relief, and then felt amused. Raoul de Valmy would hardly need the same kind of protection as Philippe.
I said: "Monsieur Florimond's here this evening."
"Oh? Is he staying long?"
"I think he only came to dine, but if the mist gets thicker he'll probably stay."
"Ah," said Raoul, "that's something else to put down to the fog's account. It's an ill wind, they say."
I was still working that one out when the Cadillac swung off the last rise and came to a whispering halt at the foot of the steps.
Seddon was crossing the hall as we came in. He turned when he saw Raoul and came hurrying to meet him, then his eye fell on me, and a slight twitch of dismay crossed his impassive features.
"Mr. Raoul! Miss Martin! Has there been an accident?"
"I nearly ran Miss Martin over on the Valmy bridge. I suggest that you get her some brandy now, and send someone up-stairs-"
"No, please," I said quickly, "I don't want any brandy. I’m all right now, Seddon. Mr. Raoul never touched me; I slipped and fell as I was getting out of the way. It was all my fault. I'll just go upstairs and have a bath and then make some tea in the pantry."
Seddon hesitated, glancing at Raoul, but I said firmly: "It's all right, really it is. I don't want a thing."
"Well, miss, if you're sure…" He looked at Raoul. "I'll have your things taken straight up, sir. You're in your usual room."
"Thank you. How are you, Seddon? And Mrs. Seddon? The asthma keeping away?"
"Yes, thank you, sir, we're both well."
"That's fine. I'll come upstairs in a moment. Where's everyone? The small salon?"
"Yes, sir. Monsieur Florimond is here, sir, and he's staying the night. Shall I tell Madame you've arrived?"
"If you will. Say I'll join them in a few minutes."
"Very good, sir." And, with a final glance at me, he went. As I turned to follow him, Raoul said: "You've torn your frock."
I looked down, unable to suppress a movement of dismay. My coat was open. At the hem of my frock a tear showed.
"Oh, yes. I remember now. I felt it catch on something. But it's nothing much. It'll mend."
He was frowning. "The bumper must have caught you. I really am most-"
"Raoul?"
The voice came from behind me. I jumped and spun round. Raoul must have been inured to his father's methods of approach, for he merely turned, said "How d'you do, sir?" and held out a hand. As Leon de Valmy took it his brilliant dark gaze turned to me.
"What's this? Did I hear something about a bumper catching you."
I said: "It's nothing."
"Miss Martin and I," said Raoul, smiling, "met-rather abruptly-down on the Valmy bridge."
His father's eyes went to the torn hem of my frock; went lower to a laddered stocking and the stain of a muddy graze on my leg. "You mean you knocked her over?"
I said quickly: "Oh, no, nothing like that. I fell down and bumped my knee, that's all. Monsieur Raoul didn't touch me. It-"
"That tear wasn't done by falling down. That stuff's been ripped. Was that done by that damned great car of yours, Raoul?"
Temper flicked suddenly, patently, through the words, like a whip. For a moment I was reminded of the way I had heard him speak to Philippe, pilloried beside the yellow-brocaded chair, and, damn it, Raoul was-what? thirty? I felt myself going hot with embarrassment, and glanced at him.
But this was not Philippe. He merely said, unruffled: "I imagine so. I had only just noticed it. I was abasing myself when you came in." He turned back to me. "Miss Martin, I really am most terribly sorry-"
"Oh, please!" I cried. "It was nothing. It was my own fault! "
Monsieur de Valmy said: "What were you doing down on the bridge at this time of night?"
"I went out for a walk," I said. "It was damp in the woods so I went down the road."
"What happened?"
Raoul began to speak but I said hastily: "I stopped in the middle of the bridge. I was going to turn back and I stood for a minute or two listening to the water. It was a silly thing to do, because there was a drift of mist there over the river, and Monsieur Raoul ran slap into it. But I'd forgotten he was coming."
"Forgotten?"
I looked at him in faint surprise. Then I remembered that the conversation in the salon had been in French. I said steadily, hoping my colour hadn't risen: "Mrs. Seddon told me this evening that he was coming."
"Ah. Yes." The dark eyes were unreadable under the heavy black brows. He looked at Raoul. "And then?"
I said quickly: "So of course Monsieur Raoul didn't see me -he couldn't have seen me till he was just about running me down. It was entirely my own fault and I'm lucky to get away with a bruise and a torn frock. If it was the car that tore it that's all it touched, honestly. The bruise I got myself by slipping and falling in the gutter."
Léon de Valmy was still frowning. "That's a bad corner…, as we all know." The cutting-edge was back on his voice. "Raoul, if you must come up that road on a night like this-"
Raoul said gently: "I have already told Miss Martin how sorry l am."
Something sparked inside me. My employer had a perfect right to catechise me, but not to make his son look a fool in front of me. And I'd seen a little too much of his tactics tonight already. I said hotly: "And I have explained to Monsieur Raoul that the fault was mine and mine only. So please may we drop the subject? It isn't fair that he should be blamed. If he'd been any less brilliant a driver I'd have been killed!"
I stopped. I had seen the faintest, least definable shade of amusement in Raoul's face, and in his father's something that was, less mistakably, anger. He said smoothly, but with the edge still on the carefully pedantic words: "A brilliant driver should not have to call upon his skill to that extent at such a dangerous corner."
Raoul smiled at him and said, very pleasantly: "The corner was relaid last autumn… by the Bellevigne estate, remember? And are you sure you're qualified to criticise my driving? You forget that both roads and cars have altered considerably since you were last able to drive."
In the sharp little silence that followed I saw the lines round Léon de Valmy's mouth deepen, and the white hands moved on the arms of the chair. He said nothing. Raoul smiled lazily down at him. No, this was not Philippe. No wonder he'd been amused when I wild-catted to his defence. I thought, with an absurd rush of pleasure: that for Philippe, Monsieur the Demon King!
Raoul turned to me and said easily: "Are you sure you won't have something sent up to you, Miss Martin?"
"Quite sure." I looked from one to the other a bit uncertainly. "Goodnight, Monsieur de Valmy. Goodnight, Monsieur Raoul."
I went quickly upstairs, leaving the two of them together.
FIFTH COACH
CHAPTER 8
Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer:
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.
Shakespeare: King John.
Next day all traces of mist had gone, and the trees moved lightly in their Lenten green. Since the winds of March had whipped some of the buds into tiny leaf, our favourite walk had been the way through the woods that stretched northwards down the valley, and this afternoon we went that way again.
We started down the path that short-circuited the zigzag. For all its steepness it was not bad walking, as the path itself was ribbed across with sunken logs to give a foothold, and the occasional flights of steps were in good repair, with wide flat treads scored and clear of moss. Here and there the path crossed a trickle of water; sometimes the bridge was only a step, a slab of stone over a mossy trough where water chuckled; but in places some streamlet had cut deeply through the rock into miniature cascades, spanned by sturdy little bridges no more than two planks' width, with a single handrail of untrimmed pine.