Dennis Wheatley - The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

"That we shall see. If Jenny is still up I pray you send him the note by her."

Georgina hesitated. "I—I can scarce believe that you intend no more than to talk with the Russian. I'll not send this note unless you pledge me your honour that you meditate no attempt upon his life."

"I give you my word that at this interview I will not seek to draw him into a fight, or by any other means shed one drop of his pestifer­ous blood. Is that enough?"

She smiled, rather wanly. "I know the clever brain that lies behind those seemingly innocent blue eyes of yours too well, not to suspect that it has formulated some audacious scheme. Yet I must take your word, lest I drive you to some more desperate measure. When may I hope to learn the outcome of the meeting?"

"Persuading him to see reason may take some time, and I should be loath to rouse you from your sleep."

She gave a bitter little laugh. "How can you think I'd find it possible to sleep, until I know what to expect?"

"Then I will look in upon you on my way to bed. But be not anxious for me if the hour grows late before my coining."

"No matter the hour, I'll thank God on my knees if it be you who comes at all. I'll not believe that I've escaped him till I see you."

Roger took her hand. "Be not so despondent, sweet; but send the note, and put your trust in me."

"I will. I beg you, though, to have a care for your dear self. He is a monstrous tricky beast and may seek to do you some injury if you detain him overlong."

'Til keep good watch against that," he promised. Then, after a single kiss, he left her.

She had only just given the note to Jenny when her father came in. As he stooped to Mss her cheek his lean face broke into a smile, and he said:

" 'Tis good to learn that you are already sufficiently recovered to receive visitors, m'dear; as I had felt that in any case this evening 'twould be as well for us to have a talk." Then he made himself com­fortable in an armchair opposite her.

father and daughter were so close in heart and mind that he was fully aware how matters had lain between her and her late husband, so she felt no restraint in talking to him about her marriage, and made

no secret of the fact that she was thoroughly glad to be rid of Sir Humphrey.

The Colonel added his assurances to those Roger had already given her, that the inquest would be no more than a formality; then they dropped the subject and talked for a while of interesting places that they might visit when next they went abroad together.

His easy manner and charming humour did much to soothe her nerves and take her mind off her anxieties. He had not been with her for ten minutes before she mentally blessed his coming, and it was not until nearly two hours later, when he stood up to go, that she realised how the time had flown.

Just as he was about to kiss her good-night he paused, and said with unwonted gravity. "Georgina. If there is anything else about this morning's events which you think I ought to know, now is your oppor­tunity to tell me of it."

She looked him straight in the eyes and shook her head. "No, papa. I have nought to add to what I have already said."

He took a pinch of snuff and nodded. "You are old enough now to use your own judgment, m'dear. But no one knows better than my­self the impulsiveness of your nature, and the sort of trouble into which it may lead you. I have every confidence in Roger's level-headedness and you have no doubt had the benefit of his guidance. Do nothing contrary to that, I beg, and say as little as possible to-morrow. Good­night, my love, and may God have you in his keeping."

As he left her she wondered just how much he suspected. He knew, of course, that Roger was her lover, since she had never sought to conceal such matters from him; but the way he had looked at her suggested that he believed her to be concealing something concerning her husband's death. She thought that he had been silently inviting her to tell him the truth, and that perhaps she ought to have done so; but she had instinctively acted on his own teaching—that one must bear one's own burdens in life, and that it was a mark of cowardice to seek to unload them onto other people.

"Man-made laws," he had once told her, "are but a rough guide to conduct, for the general protection of society. They should be dis­regarded when they are no longer in keeping with one's sense of right. Do what you will, provided that you can square it with your own con­science. But even if you fail in that you must endeavour to regain your own integrity by finding the courage to face the consequence of your act without whimpering about your lot to others, and involving them in your troubles."

She had lived by that philosophy and felt that now was no time to go back upon it. If her father suspected anything it was because he believed that Roger had been with her. Had he had it in his power to help her, that would have been different. It was legitimate to ask a friend for any concrete aid that he could render. That was the essence of friendship and a high compliment to the friend concerned; but it was not right to confess one's sins merely for the squalid luxury of weeping on a friend's shoulder.

Convinced that she had acted rightly Georgina sought her bed. It was now just on eleven o'clock, the hour that Vorontzoff had intend­ed to come to her; but she felt fairly certain now that Roger had been right in asserting that the Russian would prefer to accept a later assign­ation rather than risk being surprised in her room.

She took her time undressing and doing her hair so that it was midnight before she doused the candles on her dressing-table and got into bed.

With a little shudder she thought of all that had happened since she had lain there, so secure and happy, snugly curled in Roger's arms. She wondered if he and the Russian had yet met in the Orangery and what would be the outcome of the meeting. She had no great hopes for it as regards herself; as she could not believe that Vorontzoff would pay the least regard to any appeal Roger might make to his better nature; neither could she imagine any way in which Roger could strike a bargain with the Russian, or coerce him, short of using force.

Vorontzoff, she felt certain, would merely laugh at him and, within a few moments openly declare his intention of coming up to her. That would be the crucial point upon which everything hung. Would Roger stand aside and let him? Would his promise to her weigh suffi­ciently with him to restrain him from some act of violence? Her life as well as his would depend upon it, and, ruthless as he might be once he let himself go, she had never known him lose his head in a crisis.

Among other things her father had taught her was, that one can pray every bit as effectually either standing up or lying down as one can when kneeling; and also that prayer is far more potent when offered up for another than for oneself: So she began to pray; silently, fer­vently, not that she should be spared the ordeal that she now dreaded so terribly, but that Roger be given sagacity, restraint and wisdom.

After a time her prayers gave place to a conscious effort to co­ordinate the power of her will with his. She did not seek to dominate him, but to strengthen all. his best qualities by letting her own flow out of her towards him. Suddenly it came to her as clearly as a light in the darkness that they were en rapport , and she knew without a shadow of doubt that Roger was laughing.

It was so. Despite the grimness of the task upon which he was engaged, Roger found something irresistibly comic in the sight of the Russian Ambassador's limp body spreadeagled in a wheelbarrow. Probably it was the absurd, puppet-like way in which his enemy's legs and arms dangled helplessly over the sides of the barrow, and waggled at its every movement; but he could not help chuckling to himself as he wheeled his unconscious human load along a shadowy path through the shrubberies of the moonlit garden.