Captain Jim

by Mary Grant Bruce

  CHAPTER VI

  KIDNAPPING

  Mrs. Hunt came slowly down the steps of a Park Lane mansion, now usedas an officers' hospital. She was tired and dispirited; her stepsdragged as she made her way towards Piccadilly. Beneath her veil herpretty face showed white, with lines of anxiety deepening it.

  An officer, hurrying by, stopped and came eagerly to speak to her.

  "How are you, Mrs. Hunt? And how's the Major?"

  "Not very well," said Mrs. Hunt, answering the second part of thequestion. "The operation was more successful than any he has had yet,but there has been a good deal of pain, and he doesn't seem to pick upstrength. The doctors say that his hand now depends a good deal uponhis general health: he ought to live in the country, forget thatthere's a war on, and get thoroughly fit." She sighed. "It's so easyfor doctors to prescribe these little things."

  "Yes--they all do it," said the other--a captain in Major Hunt'sregiment. "May I go to see him, do you think?"

  "Oh, do," Mrs. Hunt answered. "It will cheer him up; and anythingthat will do that is good. He's terribly depressed, poor old boy."She said good-bye, and went on wearily.

  It was a warm afternoon for October. Norah Linton and her father hadcome up to London by an early train, and, after much shopping, hadlunched at a little French restaurant in Soho, where they ate queerdishes and talked exceedingly bad French to the pretty waitress. Itwas four o'clock when they found themselves at the door of a dingybuilding in Bloomsbury.

  "Floor 3, the Hunts' flat, Daddy," said Norah, consulting a note-book."I suppose there is a lift."

  There was a lift, but it was out of order; a grimy card, tucked intothe lattice of the doorway, proclaimed the fact. So they mountedflight after flight of stairs, and finally halted before a doorwaybearing Major Hunt's card. A slatternly maid answered their ring.

  "Mrs. Hunt's out," she said curtly. "Gorn to see the Mijor."

  "Oh--will she be long?"

  "Don't think so--she's gen'lly home about half-past four. Will yerwait?"

  Norah looked at her father.

  "Oh yes, we'll wait," he said. They followed the girl into a narrowpassage, close and airless, and smelling of Irish stew. Sounds ofwarfare came from behind a closed door: a child began to cry loudly,and a boy's voice was heard, angry and tired.

  The maid ushered the visitors into a dingy little drawing-room. Norahstopped her as she was departing.

  "Could I see the children?"

  The girl hesitated.

  "They're a bit untidy," she said sullenly. "I ain't had no time toclean 'em up. There ain't no one to take them for a walk to-day."

  "Oh, never mind how untidy they are," said Norah hastily. "Do sendthem in."

  "Oh, all right," said the girl. "You'll tell the missus it was youarsked for 'em, won't yer?"

  "Yes, of course."

  She went out, and the Lintons looked at each other, and then at thehopeless little room. The furniture was black horsehair, very shinyand hard and slippery; there was a gimcrack bamboo overmantel, withmuch speckled glass, and the pictures were of the kind peculiar toLondon lodging-houses, apt to promote indigestion in the beholder.There was one little window, looking out upon a blank courtyard and adirty little side-street, where children played and foughtincessantly, and stray curs nosed the rubbish in the gutters in thehope of finding food. There was nothing green to be seen, nothingclean, nothing pleasant.

  "Oh, poor kiddies!" said Norah, under her breath.

  The door opened and they came in; not shyly--the London child isseldom shy--but frankly curious, and in the case of the elder two,with suspicion. Three white-faced mites, as children well may be whohave spent a London summer in a Bloomsbury square, where the verypavements sweat tar, and the breathless, sticky heat is as cruel bynight as by day. A boy of six, straight and well-grown, with darkhair and eyes, who held by the hand a small toddling person with damprings of golden hair: behind them a slender little girl, a little tooshadowy for a mother's heart to be easy; with big brown eyes peepingelfishly from a cloud of brown curls.

  The boy spoke sullenly.

  "Eva told us to come in," he said.

  "We wanted you to take care of us," said Norah. "You see, your motherisn't here."

  "But we can't have tea," said the boy. "Eva says she isn't cleaned upyet, and besides, there's no milk, and very likely Mother'll forgetthe cakes, she said."

  "But we don't want tea," said Norah. "We had a big lunch, not so longago. And besides, we've got something nicer than tea. It's in hispocket." She nodded at her father, who suddenly smiled in the waythat made every child love him, and, fishing in his pocket drew out asquare white box--at sight of which the baby said delightedly, "Choc!"and a kind of incredulous wonder, rather pitiful to see, came into theeyes of Geoffrey and his sister.

  "There's a very difficult red ribbon on this," said Mr. Linton,fumbling with it. "I can't undo it." He smiled at little Alison."You show me how."

  She was across the room in a flash, the baby at her heels, whileGeoffrey made a slow step or two, and then stopped again.

  "But you don't undone it 'tall," she said. "It sticks on top. Youbreaks this paper"--pointing to the seal--"and then it undoneshimself."

  "You're quite right," said Mr. Linton, as the lid came off. "So itdoes. How did you know?"

  "We did have lots of boxes when we lived with the wegiment," said thesmall girl; "but now the wegiment's in Fwance, and Daddy doesn't haveenough pennies for chocs." Her busy fingers tossed aside tissue paperand silver wrapping, until the brown rows of sweets were revealed.Then she put her hands by her sides.

  "Is we to have some?"

  "Oh, you poor little soul!" said David Linton hurriedly, and caughther up on his knee. He held the box in front of her.

  "Now, which sort do you think is best for weeshy boys like that?" heasked, indicating the baby, who was making silent dives in thedirection of the box. "And which do you like?--and Geoffrey?"

  "Michael likes these." She fished one out carefully, and Michael fellupon it, sitting on the carpet that he might devour it at his ease."And Geoff and me--oh, we likes any 'tall."

  "Then you shall have any at all." He held out his free hand. "Comeon, Geoff." And the boy, who had hesitated, digging one foot into thecarpet, suddenly capitulated and came.

  "Are you an officer?" he asked presently.

  "No, I'm too old," said David Linton. "But I have a big son who isone--and another boy too."

  "What's their regiment?"

  "The same as your father's."

  "Truly?" A sparkle came into the boy's eyes. "I'm going to be in itsome day."

  "Of course you will--and Michael too, I suppose. And then you'llfight the Germans--that is, if there are any left."

  "Daddy says there won't be. But I keep hoping there'll be just a fewfor me and Michael.'

  "Alison wants some too," said that lady. "Wants to kill vem wiv mywevolver."

  "A nice young fire-eater, you are," said Mr. Linton, laughing.

  "Girls can't kill Germans, silly," said Geoffrey scornfully. "Theyhave to stop at home and make bandages." To which his sister repliedcalmly, "Shan't: I'm going to kill forty 'leven," with an air offinality which seemed to end the discussion. Norah checked anyfurther warlike reflections by finding a new layer of sweets asattractive as those on top, and the three heads clustered over the boxin a pleasant anxiety of selection.

  The carriages on the Tube railway had been very stuffy that afternoon.Mrs. Hunt emerged thankfully from the crowded lift which shot up thepassengers from underground. She came with slow step into the dustystreet. The flat was not far away: that was one comfort. But shesighed impatiently as she entered the building, to be confronted withthe "Not Working" legend on the lift.

  "Little wretch!" she said, alluding to the absent lift-boy. "I'm surehe's only playing pitch-and-toss round the corner." She toiled up thethree long flights of stairs--her dainty soul revolting at theirunswept dingines
s. Stella Hunt had been brought up in a big house ona wind-swept Cumberland fell, and there was no day in crowdedBloomsbury when she did not long for the clean open spaces of hergirlhood.

  She let herself into the flat with her latch-key. Voices came to herfrom the sitting-room, with a gurgle of laughter from little Michael.She frowned.

  "Eva should not have let the children in there," she thoughtanxiously. "They may do some damage." She opened the door hurriedly.

  No one noticed her for a moment, David Linton, with Alison on one kneeand Geoffrey on the other, was deep in a story of kangaroo-hunting.On the floor sat Norah, with Michael tucked into her lap, his faceblissful as she told on his fat fingers the tale of the little pigswho went to market. The box of chocolates was on the table, itsscarlet ribbon making a bright spot of colour in the drab room. Themother looked for a minute in silence, something of the wearinessdying out of her eyes.

  Then Geoffrey looked up and saw her--a slight figure, holding a paperbag.

  "Hallo!" he said. "I'm glad you didn't forget the cakes, 'cause we'vegot people to tea!"

  Mr. Linton placed his burden on the hearthrug, and got up.

  "How are you, Mrs. Hunt? I hope you don't mind our taking possessionlike this. We wanted to get acquainted."

  "I could wish they were cleaner," said Mrs. Hunt, laughing, as sheshook hands. "I've seldom seen three grubbier people. Geoff, dear,couldn't Eva have washed your face?"

  "She said she hadn't time," said Geoffrey easily. "We tried to washMichael, but he only got more streaky."

  "Oh, please don't mind, Mrs. Hunt," Norah pleaded. "They've been suchdarlings!"

  "I'm afraid I don't mind at all," said Mrs. Hunt, sitting downthankfully. "I've been picturing my poor babies tired to death of notbeing out--and then to come home and find them in the seventhheaven----" She broke off, her lip quivering a little.

  "You're just as tired as you can be," said Norah. "Now you're goingto rest, and Geoff will show me how to get tea."

  "Oh, I couldn't let you into that awful little kitchen," said Mrs.Hunt hastily. "And besides--I'm awfully sorry--I don't believe themilkman has been yet."

  "I could go to the milk-shop round the corner with a jug," saidGeoffrey anxiously. "Do let's, Mother."

  "Is there one?" Norah asked. "Now, Mrs. Hunt, do rest--make her puther feet up on the sofa, Dad. And Geoff and I will go for milk, andI'll ask Eva to make tea. Can she?"

  "Oh, of course she _can_" said Mrs. Hunt, ceasing to argue the point."But she's never fit to be seen."

  "That doesn't matter," said David Linton masterfully. "We've seen heronce, and survived the shock. Just put your feet up, and tell me allabout your husband--Norah will see to things."

  Eva, however, was found to have risen to the situation. She had usedsoap and water with surprising effect, and now bloomed in a fresh capand an apron that had plainly done duty a good many times, but, beingturned inside out, still presented a decent front to the world. Shescorned help in preparing tea, but graciously permitted Norah to washthe three children and brush their hair, and indicated where cleanoveralls might be found. Then, escorted by all three, Norah salliedforth, jug in hand, and found, not only the milk-shop, but anotherwhere cakes and scones so clamoured to be bought that they allreturned laden with paper bags. Eva had made a huge plate of butteredtoast; so that the meal which presently made its appearance on the bigtable in the drawing-room might well have justified the query as towhether indeed a war were in progress.

  Mrs. Hunt laughed, rather mirthlessly.

  "I suppose I ought to protest--but I'm too tired," she said. "And itis very nice to be taken care of again. Michael, you should havebread-and-butter first."

  "Vere isn't any," said Alison with triumph.

  Norah was tucking a feeder under Michael's fat chin.

  "Now he's my boy for a bit--not yours at all, Mrs. Hunt," she said,laughing. "Forget them all: I'm going to be head nurse." And Mrs.Hunt lay back thankfully, and submitted to be waited on, while theshouts of laughter from the tea-table smoothed away a few more linesfrom her face, and made even Eva, feasting on unaccustomed cakes inthe kitchen, smile grimly and murmur, "Lor, ain't they 'avin' a time!"

  Not until tea was over, and the children busy with picture books thathad come mysteriously from another of his pockets, did David Lintonunfold his plan: and then he did it somewhat nervously.

  "We want to take you all out of this, Mrs. Hunt," he said. "There's alittle cottage--a jolly little thatched place--close to our house thatis simply clamouring to have you all come and live in it. I think itwill hold you all comfortably. Will you come?"

  Mrs. Hunt flushed.

  "Don't talk to poor Bloomsbury people of such heavenly things asthatched cottages," she said. "We have this horrible abode on a longlease, and I don't see any chance of leaving it."

  "Oh, never mind the lease--we'll sub-let it for you," said Mr. Linton.He told her briefly of John O'Neill's bequest to Norah.

  "I want you to put it out of your head that you're accepting theslightest favour," he went on. "We feel that we only hold the placein trust; the cottage is there, empty, and indeed it is you who willbe doing us the favour by coming to live in it."

  "Oh--I couldn't," she said breathlessly.

  "Just think of it, Mrs. Hunt!" Norah knelt down by the hard littlehorsehair sofa. "There's a big lawn in front, and a summer-housewhere the babies could play, and a big empty attic for them on wetdays, and heaps of fresh milk, and you could keep chickens; and thesitting-room catches all the sun, and when Major Hunt comes out of thehospital it would be so quiet and peaceful. He could lie out underthe trees on fine days on a rush lounge; and there are jolly woods forhim to walk in." The poor wife caught her breath. "And he'd be suchtremendous company for Dad, and I know you'd help me when I got intodifficulties with my cook-lady. There's a little stream, and a tinylake, and----"

  "When is we goin', Muvver?"

  The question was Alison's, put with calm certainty. She and Geoffreyhad stolen near, and were listening with eager faces.

  "Oh, my darling, I'm afraid we can't," said Mrs. Hunt tremulously.

  "But the big girl says we can. When is we going?"

  "Oh, Mother!" said Geoffrey, very low. "Away from--_here_!" Hecaught her hand. "Oh, say we're going, Mother--darling!"

  "Of course she'll say it," David Linton said. "The only question is,how soon can you be ready?"

  "Douglas is terribly proud," Mrs. Hunt said. "I am afraid I couldn'tbe proud. But he will never accept a favour. I know it would be nouse to ask him."

  "Then we won't ask him," said David Linton calmly. "When does heleave the hospital?"

  "This day week, if he is well enough."

  "Then we'll have you comfortably installed long before that. We won'ttell him a thing about it: on the day he's to come out I'll go for himin the motor and whisk him down to Homewood before he realizes wherehe's going. Now, be sensible, Mrs. Hunt"--as she tried to speak."You know what his state is--how anxious you are: you told me allabout it just now. Can you, in justice to him, refuse to come?--canyou face bringing him back here?"

  Geoffrey suddenly burst into sobs.

  "Oh, don't Mother!" he choked. "You know how he hates it.And--trees, and grass, and woods, and----" He hid his face on herarm.

  "An' tsickens," said Alison. "An' ackits to play in."

  "You're in a hopeless minority, you see, Mrs. Hunt," said Mr. Linton."You'll have to give in."

  Mrs. Hunt put her arms round the two children who were pressingagainst her in their eagerness: whereupon Michael raised a wrathfulhowl and flung himself bodily upon them, ejaculating: "Wants to behugged, too!" Over the three heads the mother looked up at hervisitors.

  "Yes, I give in," she said. "I'm not brave enough not to. But Idon't know what Douglas will say."

  "I'll attend to Douglas," said Mr. Linton cheerfully. "Now, how sooncan you come?" He frowned severely. "There's to be no question ofhouse-cl
eaning here--I'll put in people to do that. You'll have yourhusband to nurse next week, and I won't have you tiring yourself outbeforehand. So you have only to pack."

  "Look, Mrs. Hunt," Norah was flushed with another brilliant idea."Let us take the babies down to-day--I'm sure they will come with me.Then you and Eva will have nothing to do but pack up your things."

  "Oh, I couldn't----" Mrs. Hunt began.

  "Ah yes, you could." She turned to the children. "Geoff, will youall come with my Daddy and me and get the cottage ready for Mother?"

  Geoffrey hesitated.

  "Would you come soon, Mother?"

  "I--I believe if I had nothing else to do I could leave the flatto-morrow," Mrs. Hunt said, submitting. "Would you all be happy,Geoff?--and very good?"

  "Yes, if you'd hurry up and come. You'll be a good kid, Alison, won'tyou?"

  "'Ess," said Alison. "Will I see tsickens?"

  "Ever so many," Norah said. "And Michael will be a darling: and we'llall sleep together in one big room, and have pillow-fights!"

  "You had certainly better come soon, before your family's mannersbecome ruined, Mrs. Hunt," said Mr. Linton, laughing. "Then you canreally manage to get away to-morrow? Very well--I'll call for youabout five, if that will do."

  "Yes; that will give me time to see Douglas first."

  "But you won't tell him anything?"

  "Oh, no: he would only worry. Of course, Mr. Linton, I shall be ableto get up to see him every day?"

  "We're less than an hour by rail," he told her. "And the trains aregood. Now I think you had better pack up those youngsters, and I'llget a taxi."

  Norah helped to pack the little clothes, trying hard to rememberinstructions as to food and insistence on good manners.

  "Oh, I know you'll spoil them," said Mrs. Hunt resignedly. "Poormites, they could do with a bit of spoiling: they have had a drearyyear. But I think they will be good: they have been away with mysister sometimes, and she gives them a good character."

  The children said good-bye to their mother gaily enough: the ride inthe motor was sufficient excitement to smooth out any momentary dismayat parting. Only Geoffrey sat up very straight, with his lips tightlypressed together. He leaned from the window--Norah gripping his coatanxiously.

  "You'll be true-certain to come to-morrow, Mother?"

  "I promise," she said. "Good-bye, old son."

  "Mother always keeps her promises, so it's all right," he said,leaning back with a little smile. Alison had no worries. She sang"Hi, diddle, diddle!" loud and clear, as they rushed through thecrowded streets. When a block in the traffic came, people on 'buseslooked down, smiling involuntarily at the piping voice coming from therecesses of the taxi. As for Michael, he sat on Norah's knee andsucked his thumb in complete content.

  Jones met them at the end of the little journey. His lipsinvoluntarily shaped themselves to a whistle of amazement as the partyfiled out of the station, though to the credit of his training be itrecorded that no sound came. Geoffrey caught his breath with delightat the sight of the brown cobs.

  "Oh-h! Are they yours?"

  "Yes--aren't they dears?" responded Norah.

  The boy caught her hand.

  "Oh--could I _possibly_ sit in front and look at them?"

  Norah laughed.

  "Could he, Jones? Would you take care of him?"

  "'E'd be as safe as in a cradle, Miss Norah," said Jones delightedly."Come on up, sir, and I'll show you 'ow to drive." Mr. Linton swunghim up, smiling at the transfigured little face. Norah had alreadygot her charges into the carriage: a porter stowed away their trunk,and the horses trotted off through the dusk.

  "I didn't ever want to get out," Geoffrey confided to Norah, as theywent up the steps to the open door of Homewood. "That kind man let mehold the end of the reins. And he says he'll show me more horsesto-morrow."

  "There's a pony too--we'll teach you to ride it," said Mr. Linton.Whereat Geoffrey gasped with joy and became speechless.

  "Well--have you got them all tucked up?" asked Mr. Linton, when Norahjoined him in the morning-room an hour later.

  "Oh, yes; they were so tired, poor mites. Bride helped me to bathethem, and we fed them all on bread and milk--with lots of cream.Michael demanded "Mummy," but he was too sleepy to worry much. But;Dad--Geoff wants you badly to say 'good-night.' He says his own Daddyalways says it to him when he's in bed. Would you mind?"

  "Right," said her father. He went upstairs, with Norah at his heels,and tiptoed into the big room where two of his three small guests werealready sleeping soundly. He looked very tall as he stood beside thelittle bed in the corner. Geoff's bright eyes peeped up at him.

  "It was awful good of you to come," he said sleepily. "Daddy does.He says, 'Good night, old chap, and God bless you.'"

  "Good night, old chap, and God bless you," said David Linton gravely.He held the small hand a moment in his own, and then, stooping,brushed his forehead with his lips.

  "God bless you," said Geoff's drowsy voice. "I'm going--going to ridethe pony . . . to-morrow." His words trailed off in sleep.