Whereupon they realised that she was alone in the wide world, homeless and penniless, and that for a time, at least, they were responsible to G.o.d and man for this picturesque Albanian damsel who spoke the English of the stockyards of Chicago. Again what was to be done? They could take her back to Scutari, whence they had come, in the hope of finding a Roman Catholic sisterhood. The proposal evoked but lukewarm enthusiasm.
Liosha being convinced that they would turn her into a nun--the last avocation in the world she desired to adopt. Her simple idea was to go out to America, like her father, return with many bags of gold and devote her life to the linked sweetness of a gradual extermination of her enemies. When asked how she would manage to ama.s.s the gold she replied that she would work in the packing-houses like her mother. But how, they asked, would she get the money to take her to Chicago? "It must come from you!" she said. And the men looked at each other, feeling mean dogs in not having offered to settle her there themselves. Then, being a young woman of an apparently practical mind, she asked them what they were doing in Albania. They explained. They were travellers from England, wandering for pleasure through the Balkans. They had come from Scutari, as far as they could, in a motor-car. Liosha had never heard of a motor-car. They described it as a kind of little railway-engine that didn"t need rails to run upon. At the foot of the mountains they had left it at a village inn and bought the ragged ponies. They were just going ahead exploring.
"Do you know the way?" she asked with a touch of contempt.
They didn"t.
"Then I guess I"ll guide you. You pay me wages every day until you"re tired and I"ll use the money to go out to Chicago." And seeing them hesitate, she added: "No one"s going to hurt me. A woman is safe in Albania. And if I"m with you, no one will hurt you. But if you go on by yourselves you"ll very likely get murdered."
Fantastic as was her intention, they knew that, as far as they themselves were concerned, she spoke common-sense. So it came to pa.s.s that Liosha, having left them for a few moments to take grim farewell of the charred remains of her family lying hidden beneath the smouldering wreckage, returned to them with a calm face, mounted one of the ponies and pointing before her, led the way into the mountains.
Now, if old Jaff would only sit down and write this absurd Odyssey in the vivid manner in which he has related bits of it to me, he would produce the queerest book of travel ever written. But he never will. As a matter of fact, although he saw Albania as few Westerners have done and learned useful bits of language and made invaluable friends, and although he appreciated the journey"s adventurous and humorous side, it did not afford him complete satisfaction. A day or two after their start, Prescott began to shew signs of peculiar interest in their guide.
In spite of her unquestioning readiness to shoulder burdens, Prescott would run to relieve her. Liosha has a.s.sured me that Jaffery did the same--and indeed I cannot conceive Jaffery allowing a female companion to stagger along under a load which he could swing onto his huge back and carry like a walnut. To go further--she maintains that the two quarrelled dreadfully over the alleviation of her labours, so much so, that often before they had ended their quarrel, she had performed the task in dispute. This of course Jaffery has bl.u.s.teringly denied. She was there, paid to do certain things, and she had to do them. The way Prescott spoiled her and indulged her, as though she were a little dressed-up cat in a London drawing-room, instead of a great hefty woman accustomed to throw steers and balance a sack of potatoes on her head, was simply sickening. And it became more sickening still as Prescott"s infatuation clouded more and more the poor fellow"s brain. Jaffery talked (not before Liosha, but to Adrian and myself, that night, after the ladies had gone to bed) as if the girl had woven a Vivien spell around his poor friend. We smiled, knowing it was Jaffery"s way... .
At all events, whether Jaffery was jealous or not, it is certain that Prescott fell wildly, blindly, overwhelmingly in love with Liosha.
Considering the close intimacy of their lives; considering that they were in ceaseless contact with this splendid creature, untrammelled by any convention, daughter of the earth, yet chaste as her own mountain winds; and considering that both of them were hot-blooded men, the only wonder is that they did not fly at each other"s throats, or dash in each other"s heads with stones, after the fashion of prehistoric males. It is my well-supported conviction, however, that Jaffery, honest old bear, seeing his comrade"s very soul set upon the honey, trotted off and left him to it, and made pretence (to satisfy his ursine conscience) of growling his sarcastic disapproval.
"The devil of it was," he declared that night, with a sweep of his arm that sent a full gla.s.s of whiskey and soda hurtling across s.p.a.ce to my bookshelves and ruining some choice bindings--"the devil of it was,"
said he, after expressing rueful contrition, "that she treated him like a dog, whereas I could do anything I liked with her. But she married him."
Of course she married him. Most Albanian young women in her position would have married a brave and handsome Englishman of incalculable wealth--even if they had not Liosha"s ulterior motives. And beyond question Liosha had ulterior motives. Prescott espoused her cause hotly.
He convinced her that he was a power in Europe. As a Reuter correspondent he did indeed possess power. He would make the civilised world ring with this tale of bloodshed and horror. He would beard Sultans in their lairs and Emperors in their dens. He would bring down awful vengeance on the heads of her enemies. How Sultans and Emperors were to do it was as obscure as at the horror-filled hour of their first meeting. But a man vehemently in love is notoriously blind to practical considerations. Prescott put his life into her hands. She accepted it calmly; and I think it was this calmness of acceptance that infuriated Jaffery. If she had been likewise caught in the whirlpool of a mad pa.s.sion, Jaffery would have had nothing to say. But she did not (so he maintained) care a b.u.t.ton for Prescott, and Prescott would not believe it. She had promised to marry him. That ideal of magnificent womanhood had promised to marry him. They were to be married--think of that, my boy!--as soon as they got back to Scutari and found a British Consul and a priest or two to marry them. "Then for G.o.d"s sake," roared Jaffery, "let us trek to Scutari. I"m fed up with playing gooseberry. The Giant Gooseberry. Ho! ho! ho!"
So they shortened their projected journey and, making a circuit, picked up the motor-car--a joy and wonder to Liosha. She wanted to drive it--over the rutted wagon-tracks that pa.s.s for roads in Albania--and such was Prescott"s infatuation that he would have allowed her to do so.
But Jaffery sat an immovable mountain of flesh at the wheel and brought them safely to Scutari. There arrangements were made for the marriage before the British Vice-Consul. On the morning of the ceremony Prescott fell ill. The ceremony was, however, performed. Towards evening he was in high fever. The next morning typhoid declared itself. In two or three days he was dead. He had made a will leaving everything to his wife, with Jaffery as sole executor and trustee.
This sorry ending of poor Prescott"s romance--I never knew him, but shall always think of him as a swift and vehement spirit--was told very huskily by Jaffery beneath the wistaria arbour. Tears rolled down Barbara"s and Doria"s cheeks. My wife"s sympathetic little hand slid into Liosha"s. With her other hand Liosha fondled it. I am sure it was rather grat.i.tude for this little feminine act than poignant emotion that moistened Liosha"s beautiful eyes.
"I haven"t had much luck, have I?"
"No, my poor dear, you haven"t," cried Barbara in a gush of kindness.
In the course of a few weeks to have one"s affianced husband murdered and one"s legal though nominal husband spirited away by disease, seemed in the eyes of my gentle wife to transcend all records of human tragedy.
Very soon afterwards she made a pretext for taking Liosha away from us, and I had the extraordinary experience of seeing my proud little Barbara, who loathes the caressive insincerities prevalent among women, cross the lawn with her arm around Liosha"s waist.
The rest of the bare bones of the story I have already told you.
Jaffery, after burying his poor comrade, took ship with Liosha and went to Cettinje, where he entrusted her to the care of old friends of his, the Austrian Consul and his wife, and made her known as the widow of Prescott of Reuter"s to the British diplomatic authorities. Then having his work to do, he started forth again, a heavy-hearted adventurer, and, when it was over, he picked up Liosha, for whom Frau von Hagen had managed to procure a stock of more or less civilised raiment, and brought her to London to make good her claim, under Prescott"s will, to her dead husband"s fortune.
Now this is Jaffery all over. Put him on a battlefield with guns going off in all directions, or in a shipwreck, or in the midst of a herd of crocodiles, and he will be cool master of the situation, and will telegraph to his newspaper the graphic, nervous stuff of the born journalist; but set him a simple problem in social life, which a child of fifteen would solve in a walk across the room, and he is scared to death. Instead of sending for Barbara, for instance, when he arrived in London, or any other sensible woman, say, like Frau von Hagen of Cettinje, he drags poor Euphemia, a timid maiden lady of forty-five, from her tea-parties and Bible-cla.s.ses and Dorcas-meetings at Tunbridge Wells, and plants her down as guide, philosopher and friend to this disconcerting product of Chicago and Albania. Of course the poor lady was at her wits" ends, not knowing whether to treat her as a new-born baby or a buffalo. With equal inevitability, Liosha, unaccustomed to this type of Western woman, summed her up in a drastic epithet. And in the meanwhile Jaffery went about tearing hair and beard and cursing the fate that put him in charge of a volcano in petticoats.
"I have a great regard for Euphemia," said Barbara, later in the day--they were walking up and down the terrace in, the dusk before dinner--"but I have some sympathy with Liosha. Tolstoi! My dear Jaffery!
And the City Temple! If she wanted to take the girl to church, why not her own church, the Brompton Oratory or Farm Street?"
"Euphemia wouldn"t attend a Popish place of worship--she still calls it Popish, poor dear--to save her soul alive, or anybody else"s soul,"
replied Jaffery.
"Then pack her off at once to Tunbridge Wells," said Barbara. "She"s even more helpless than you, which is saying a great deal. I"ll see to Liosha."
Jaffery protested. It was dear of her, sweet of her, miraculous of her, but he couldn"t dream of it.
"Then don"t," she retorted. "Put it out of your mind. And there"s Franklin. Come to dinner."
"I"m not a bit hungry," he said gloomily.
We dined; as far as I was concerned, very pleasantly. Liosha, who sat on my right, refreshingly free in her table manners (embarra.s.singly so to my most correct butler), was equally free in her speech. She provided me with excellent entertainment. I learned many frank truths about Albanian women, for whom, on account of their vaccine subjection, she proclaimed the most scathing contempt. Her details, in architectural phrase, were full size. Once or twice Doria, who sat on my left, lowered her eyes disapprovingly. At her age, her mother would have been shocked; her grandmother would have blushed from toes to forehead; her great-grandmother might have fainted. But Doria, a Twentieth Century product, on the Committee of a Maternity Home and a Rescue Laundry, merely looked down her nose ... I gathered that Liosha, for all her yearning to shoot, flay alive, crucify and otherwise annoy her enemies, did not greatly regret the loss of the distinguished young Albanian cutthroat who was her affianced. Had he lived she would have spent the rest of her days in saying, like Melisande, "I am not happy." She would have been an instrument of pleasure, a producer of children, a slaving drudge, while he went triumphantly about, a predatory ravisher, among the scattered Bulgarian peasantry. In fact, she expressed a whole-hearted detestation for her betrothed. I am pretty sure, too, that the death of her father did not leave in her life the aching gap that it might have done.
You see, it came to this. Her father, an American-Albanian, wanted to run with the hare of barbarism and hunt with the hounds of civilisation.
His daughter (woman the world over) was all for hunting. He had spent twenty years in America. By a law of gravitation, natural only in that Melting Pot of Nations, Chicago, he had come across an Albanian wife... .
Chicago is the Melting Pot of the nations of the world. Let me tell you a true tale. It has nothing whatever to do with Jaffery Chayne or Liosha--except perhaps to shew that there is no reason why a Tierra del Fuegan foundling should not run across his long-lost brother on Michigan Avenue, and still less reason why Albanian male should not meet Albanian female in Armour"s stockyards. And besides, considering that I was egged on, as I said on the first page, to write these memoirs, I really don"t see why I should not put into them anything I choose.
An English novelist of my acquaintance visiting Chicago received a representative of a great daily newspaper who desired to interview him.
The interviewer was a typical American reporter, blue-eyed, high cheekboned, keen, nervous, finely strung, courteous, intensely alive, desirous to get to the heart of my friend"s mystery, and charmingly responsive to his frank welcome. They talked. My friend, to give the young man his story, discoursed on Chicago"s amazingly solved problem of the conglomeration of all the races under Heaven. To point his remarks and mark his contrasts he used the words "we English" and "you Americans." After a time the young man smiled and said: "But am not an American--at least I"m an American citizen, but I"m not a born American."
"But," cried my friend, "you"re the essence of America."
"No," said the young man, "I"m an Icelander."
Thus it was natural for Liosha"s father to find an Albanian wife in Chicago. She too was superficially Americanised. When they returned to Albania with their purely American daughter, they at first found it difficult to appear superficial Albanians. Liosha had to learn Albanian as a foreign language, her parents and herself always speaking English among themselves. But the call of the blood rang strong in the veins of the elders. Robbery and a.s.sa.s.sination on the heroic scale held for the man an irresistible attraction, and he acquired great skill at the business; and the woman, who seems to have been of a lymphatic temperament, sank without murmuring into the domestic subjection into which she had been born. It was only Liosha who rebelled. Hence her complicated att.i.tude towards life, and hence her entertaining talk at the dinner table.
I enjoyed myself. So, I think, did everybody. When the ladies rose, Jaffery, who was nearest the door, opened it for them to pa.s.s out, Barbara, the last, lingered for a second or two and laid her hand on Jaffery"s arm and looked up at him out of her teasing blue eyes.
"My dear Jaff," she said, "what kind of a dinner do you eat when you _are_ hungry?"
CHAPTER VI
Barbara having freed Jaffery from immediate anxieties with regard to Liosha, easily persuaded him to pay a longer visit than he had proposed.
A telephonic conversation with a first distracted, then conscience-smitten and then much relieved Euphemia had for effect the payment of bills at the Savoy and the retreat of the gentle lady to Tunbridge Wells. Liosha remained with us, pending certain negotiations darkly carried on by my wife and Doria in concert. During this time I had some opportunity of observing her from a more philosophic standpoint and my judgment was--I will not say formed--but aided by Barbara"s confidential revelations. When not directly thwarted, she seemed to be good-natured. She took to Susan--a good sign; and Susan took to her--a better. Finding that her idea of happiness was to sprawl about the garden and let the child run over her and inveigle her into childish games and call her "Loshie" (a disrespectful mode of address which I had all the pains in the world in persuading Barbara to permit) and generally treat her as an animate instrument of entertainment, we smoothed down every obstacle that might lie in this particular path to beat.i.tude. So many difficulties were solved. Not only were we spared the problem of what the deuce to do with Liosha during the daytime, but also Barbara was able to send the nurse away for a short and much needed holiday. Of course Barbara herself undertook all practical duties; but when she discovered that Liosha experienced primitive delight in bathing Susan--Susan"s bath being a heathen rite in which ducks and fish and swimming women and horrible spiders played orgiac parts, and in getting up at seven in the morning--("Good G.o.d! Is there such an hour?"
asked Adrian, when he heard about it)--in order to breakfast with Susan, and in dressing and undressing her and brushing her hair, and in tramping for miles by her side while with Ba.s.set, her va.s.sal, in attendance, Susan rode out on her pony; when Barbara, in short, became aware of this useful infatuation, she pandered to it, somewhat shamelessly, all the time, however, keeping an acute eye on the zealous amateur. If, for instance, Liosha had picked a bushel of nectarines and had established herself with Susan, in the corner of the fruit garden, for a debauch, which would have had, for consequence, a child"s funeral, Barbara, by some magic of motherhood, sprang from the earth in front of them with her funny little smile and her "Only one--and a very ripe one--for Susan, dear Liosha." And in these matters Liosha was as much overawed by Barbara as was Susan.
This, I repeat, was a good sign in Liosha. I don"t say that she would have fallen captive to any ordinary child, but Susan being my child was naturally different from the vulgar run of children. She was _rarissinia avis_ in the lands of small girls--one of the few points on which Barbara and I are in unclouded agreement. No one could have helped falling captive to Susan. But, I admit, in the case of Liosha, who was an out-of-the-way, incalculable sort of creature--it was a good sign.
Perhaps, considering the short period during which I had her under close observation, it was the best sign. She had grievous faults.
One evening, while I was dressing for dinner, Barbara burst into my dressing-room.
"Reynolds has given me notice."
"Oh," said I, not desisting (as is the callous way of husbands the world over) from the absorbing and delicate manipulation of my tie. "What for?"
"Liosha has just gone for her with a pair of scissors."
"Horrible!" said I, getting the ends even. "I can imagine nothing more finnikin in ghastliness than to cut anybody"s throat with nail scissors, especially when the subject is unwilling."
Barbara pished and pshawed. It was no occasion for levity.
"I agree," said I. The dressing hour is the calmest and most philosophic period of the day.