Once Aboard the Lugger-- The History of George and his Mary

by W. W. Jacobs

  V.

  George led for the Clifford Arms, some two miles distant. For thepresent he had but one object in view. He must get rid of Bill and thisinfernal detective; then he must speed the cat from Temple Colney.

  As he walked he pushed out beyond the primary object of ridding himselfof his companions; sought the future. In the first half-mile he decidedthat the game was up. He must deliver the Rose to his uncle immediatelywithout waiting for the reward to be further raised. To hang on forthe shadow would be, he felt, to lose the substance that would standrepresented by Mr. Marrapit's gratitude.

  But this preposterous buoyancy of youth! The rain that beat upon hisface cooled his brow; seemed to cool his brain. Before the first milewas crossed he had vacillated from his purpose. When he said to hisfollowers "Only another half-mile," his purpose was changed.

  This preposterous corkiness of youth! It had lifted him up from the seaof misfortune in which he had nigh been drowned, and now he was assuringhimself that, given he could hide the Rose where a sudden glimmeringidea suggested, he would be safer than ever before. The two men whowere most dangerous to him--the detective and the _Daily's_ SpecialCommissioner at Paltley Hill, now slushing through the mud behind--werebeneath his thumb. If he could keep them goose-chasing for a few days orso--!

  The turn of a corner brought them in view of the Clifford Arms. Georgepointed: "I want you to spend the night there and to stay there till Icome to-morrow. A man is there whom you must watch--the landlord."

  "One of the gangs?" Mr. Brunger asked, hoarse excitement in his voice.

  "Gang B--leader. Don't let him suspect you. Just watch him."

  "Has he got the cat?"

  With great impressiveness George looked at the detective, looked atBill. Volumes of meaning in his tone: "_Not yet!_" he said.

  Bill cried: "By Gad!" The detective rubbed his hands in keenanticipation.

  They entered the inn. Bill gave a story of belated tourists. A roomwas engaged. In a quarter of an hour George was speeding back to TempleColney.

  At the post-office he stopped; purchased a letter-card; held his pen awhile as he polished the glimmering idea that now had taken form; thenwrote to his Mary:--

  "My dearest girl in all the world,--You've never had a line from meall this time, but you can guess what a time I've been having. Dearestdarling, listen and attend. This is most important. Our future dependsupon it. Meet me to-morrow at 12.0 at that tumbled-down hut in the copseon the Shipley Road where we went that day just before my exam. Make anyexcuse to get away. You must be there. And don't tell a soul.

  "Till to-morrow, my darling little Mary.--G."

  He posted the card.

  BOOK VI.

  Of Paradise Lost and Found.

  CHAPTER I.

  Mrs. Major Bids For Paradise.

  I.

  Impossible to tell how far will spread the ripples from the lightestaction that we may toss into the sea of life.

  Life is a game of consequences. A throws a stone, and the wideningripples wreck the little boats of X and Y and Z who never have evenheard of A. Every day and every night, every hour of every day andnight, ripples from unknown splashes are setting towards us--perhapsto swamp us, perhaps to bear us into some pleasant stream. One calls itluck, another fate. "This is my just punishment," cries one. "By mygood works I have merited this," exclaims another; but it is merely theripple from some distant splash--merely consequences. Consequences.

  A sleepy maid in Mr. City Merchant's suburban mansion leaves thedust-pan on the stairs after sweeping. That is the little action she hastossed into the sea of life, and the ripples will wreck a boat or twonow snug and safe in a cheap and happy home many miles away. Mr. CityMerchant trips over the dustpan, starts for office fuming with rage,vents his spleen upon Mr. City Clerk--dismisses him.

  Mr. City Clerk seeks work in vain; the cheap but happy home he shareswith pretty little Mrs. City Clerk and plump young Master City Clerk isabandoned for a dingy lodging. Grade by grade the lodging they must seekgrows dingier. Now there is no food. Now they are getting desperate.Now pneumonia lays erstwhile plump Master City Clerk by the heels andcarries him off--consequences, consequences; that is one boat wrecked.Now Mr. City Clerk is growing mad with despair; Mrs. City Clerk iswell upon the road that Master City Clerk has followed. Mr. City Clerksteals, is caught, is imprisoned--consequences, consequences; anotherboat wrecked. Mrs. City Clerk does not hold out long, follows MasterCity Clerk--consequences, consequences. Three innocent craft smashed upbecause the housemaid left the dustpan on the stairs.

  II.

  Impossible to tell how far will speed the ripples from the lightestaction that we may toss into the sea of life. Solely and wholly becauseGeorge abducted the Rose of Sharon, Miss Pridham, who keeps the generaldrapery in Angel Street, Marylebone Road, sold a pair of green knittedslippers, each decorated with a red knitted blob, that had gazedmelancholy from her shop window for close upon two years.

  It was Mrs. Major who purchased them.

  Since that terrible morning on which, throat and mouth parched, headpainfully throbbing through the overnight entertainment of Old Tom, Mrs.Major had been driven from Mr. Marrapit's door, this doubly distressedgentlewoman had lived in retirement in a bed-sitting-room in AngelStreet. She did not purpose immediately taking another situation. Thiswoman had sipped the delights of Herons' Holt; her heart was there, andfor a month or two, as, sighing over her lot, she determined, she wouldbrood in solitude upon the paradise she had lost before challenging newfortunes.

  The ripples of the abduction of the Rose reached her. This was amasterly woman, and instanter she took the tide upon the flood.

  Mrs. Major was not a newspaper reader. The most important sheet of the_Daily_, however, she one day carried into her bed-sitting-room wrappedabout a quartern of Old Tom. It was the day when first "Country HouseOutrage" shouted from the _Daily's_ columns.

  Idly scanning the report her eye chanced upon familiar names. A commonmind would have been struck astonished and for some hours been leftfluttering. Your masterly mind grasps at once and together a solutionand its possibilities. Without pause for thought, without even sniff ofthe new quartern of Old Tom, Mrs. Major sought pen and paper; wrote withinspired pen to Mr. Marrapit:

  "I do not even dare begin 'Dear Mr. Marrapit.' I have forfeited theright even to address you; but in the moment of your great tribulationsomething stronger than myself makes me take up my pen--"

  Here Mrs. Major paused; read what she had written; without so much asa sigh tore the sheet and started afresh. That "something stronger thanmyself makes me" she felt to be a mistake. Something decidedly strongerthan herself sat in the quartern bottle a few inches from her nose, andit occurred to her that a cruel mind might thus interpret her meaning.She tore the sheet. This was a masterly woman.

  "I dare not even begin 'Dear Mr. Marrapit.' I have forfeited the righteven to address you; but in the moment of your tribulation I feel that Imust come forward with my sympathy. Oh, Mr. Marrapit, may I say with myaid? I feel I could help you if only I might come to dear, dear Herons'Holt. When I think of my angel darling Rose of Sharon straying far fromthe fold my heart bleeds. Oh, Mr. Marrapit, I cannot rest, I cannotlive, while my darling is wandering on the hillside, or is stolen, andI am unable to search for her. Oh, Mr. Marrapit, think of me, I imploreyou, not as Mrs. Major, but as one whom your sweet darling Rose loved.If the Rose is anywhere near Herons' Holt, she would come to me if Icalled her, I feel sure, more readily than she would come to anyoneelse except yourself, and you are not strong enough to search as I wouldsearch. Oh, Mr. Marrapit, let me come to Herons' Holt in this terriblehour. Do not speak to me, do not look at me, Mr. Marrapit. I do not askthat. I only beg on my bended knees that you will let me lay myself atnight even in the gardener's shed, so that I may be there to tend mylamb when she is found, and by day will be able to search for her. Thatis all I ask.

  "Of myself I will say nothing. I will not force upon you theexplanations of that dreadful
night which you would not take from mytrembling lips. I will not tell you that, maddened by the toothache,I was advised to hold a little drop of spirit in the tooth, and that,never having touched anything but water since I and my dear littlebrother promised my dying mother we would not, the spirit went to myhead and made me as you saw me. I will not write any of those things,Mr. Marrapit; only, oh, Mr. Marrapit, I implore you to let me come andlook for my Rose. Nor will I tell you how fondly, since I left you, Ihave thought of all your nobility of character and of your goodness tome, Mr. Marrapit. Wronged, I bear no resentment. I have received toomuch kindness at your hands. Ever since I left you I have thought ofnone but the Rose and you. Shall I prove that? I will, Mr. Marrapit--"

  Here again Mrs. Major paused; thoughtfully scratched her head with herpenholder. Like authors more experienced, her emotions had driven herpen to a point demanding a special solution which was not immediatelyforthcoming. She had galloped into a wood. How to get out of it?

  Mrs. Major scratched thoughtfully; gazed at Old Tom; gazed round theroom; on a happy inspiration gazed from the window. Miss Pridham'sgeneral drapery was immediately opposite. A bright patch of green inthe window caught Mrs. Major's eye. She recognised it as the knittedslippers she had once or twice noticed in passing.

  The very thing! Laying down her pen the masterly woman popped acrossto Miss Pridham's; in two minutes, leaving that lady delighted andone-and-eleven-three the richer, was back with the green knittedslippers with the red knitted blobs.

  She took up her pen and continued:

  "Ever since I left I have thought of none but the Rose and you. Shall Iprove that? I will, Mr. Marrapit. Oh, Mr. Marrapit, I make so bold asto send you in a little parcel a pair of woollen slippers that I haveknitted for you."

  Mrs. Major examined them. Such sun as creeps into Angel Street,Marylebone Road, jealous of rival brightness had filched their firstdelicate tint of green, had stolen the first passionate scarlet of thered blobs. She continued:

  "They are a little faded because on every stitch a bitter tear hasfallen. Yes, Mr. Marrapit, my tears of sorrow have rained upon theseslippers as I worked. Oh, Mr. Marrapit, they are not damp, however.Every evening since they were finished I have had my little fire lightedand have stood the slippers up against the fender; and then, sitting onthe opposite side of the hearth, just as I used to sit for a few minuteswith you after we had brought in the darling cats, I have imagined thatyour feet were in the slippers and have imagined that I am back where Ihave left my bleeding heart. I never meant to dare send them to you, Mr.Marrapit, but in this moment of your tribulation I make bold to do so.Do not open the parcel, Mr. Marrapit, if you would rather not. Hurl iton the fire and let the burning fiery furnace consume them, tears andall. But I feel I must send them, whatever their fate.

  "Oh, Mr. Marrapit, let me come to Herons' Holt to find my darlingRose!--then without a word I will creep away and die.--LUCY MAJOR."

  III.

  Upon the following morning there sped to Mrs. Major from Herons' Holt atelegram bearing the message "Come."

  Frantic to clutch at any straw that might bring to him this Rose, Mr.Marrapit eagerly clutched at Mrs. Major. He felt there to be much truth,in her contention that his Rose, if secreted near by, would come quickerat her call than at the call of another. His Rose had known and lovedher for a full year. His Rose, refined cat, did not take quicklyto strangers, and had not--he had noticed it--given herself to MissHumfray. Therefore Mr. Marrapit eagerly clutched at Mrs. Major.

  As to the remainder of her letter--it considerably perturbed him. Hadhe misjudged this woman, whom once he had held estimable? All thedelectable peace of his household during her reign, as contrasted withthe turmoil that now had taken its place, came back to him and smote hisheart. He opened the slippers, noted the tear-stains. Had he misjudgedher? What more likely than her story of the racking tooth that mustbe lulled with a little drop of spirit? Had he misjudged her? But asagainst that little drop of spirit, how account for the vast and emptybottle of Old Tom found in her room? Had he misjudged her?

  In much conflict of mind this man paced the breakfast room, a greenknitted slipper with red knitted blob in either hand.

  It was thus that Margaret, entering, found him.

  With a soft little laugh, "Oh, father!" she cried, "what have you gotthere?"

  Mr. Marrapit raised the green knitted slippers with the red knittedblobs. "A contrite heart," he answered. "A stricken and a contriteheart."

  He resumed his pacing. Margaret squeezed round the door which happilyshe had left ajar; fled breakfastless. Quick at poetic image though shewas, the symbol of a contrite heart in a pair of green knitted slipperswith red knitted blobs was not clear to this girl. In her father italarmed her. This great sorrow was perchance turning his brain.

  Mr. Marrapit laid the slippers upon his dressing-table; that afternoongreeted Mrs. Major with a circumspect reserve. Combining the vast andempty bottle of Old Tom with the fact that never had his judgment of manor matter failed him, he determined that Mrs. Major was guilty. Butnot wilfully guilty. Tempted to drown pain, she had succumbed; but theslippers were the sign of a contrite heart.

  The masterly possessor of the contrite heart betrayed no signs of itsflutterings and its exultant boundings at being once more in paradise.This was a masterly woman, and, masterly, she grasped at once herposition--without hesitation started to play her part.

  In Mr. Marrapit's study she stood humbly before him with bowed head;did not speak. Her only sounds were those of repressed emotion as Mr.Marrapit recited the history of the abduction. The white handkerchiefshe kept pressed against her chin punctuated the story with suddenlittle dabs first to one eye then the other. Little sniffs escaped her;little catches of the breath; tiny little moans.

  She choked when he had finished: "Let me see--my darling's--bed."

  Mr Marrapit led the way. Above the silk-lined box whence George hadsnatched the Rose, the masterly woman knelt. She fondled the silkencoverlet; her lips moved. Suddenly she dashed her handkerchief to hereyes; with beautiful moans fled hurriedly to the bedroom that had beenallotted her.

  It was an exquisitely touching sight. Mr. Marrapit, greatly moved, wentto his room; took out the green knitted slippers with the red knittedblobs. Had he misjudged this woman?

  Ten minutes later he again encountered Mrs. Major. Now she was girtagainst the weather and against exercise. Beneath her chin were firmlyknotted the strings of her sober bonnet; a short skirt hid nothingof the stout boots she had donned; her hand grasped the knob of abludgeon-like umbrella.

  The masterly woman had removed all traces of her emotion. In a voicehumble yet strong, "I start to search, Mr. Marrapit," she said. "I willfind the Rose if she is to be found."

  So deep sincerity was in her speech, so strong she seemed, so restfulin this crisis, that Mr. Marrapit, watching her stride the drive,again fell to pacing and cogitation--had he misjudged her? Almostunconsciously he moved upstairs to his room; drew those green slipperswith red blobs from their drawer.

  IV.

  Had Mr. Marrapit doubted the sincerity of Mrs. Major's search, assuredlyhe would have misjudged her. In her diary that night the masterly womaninscribed:

  "_Am here; must stick_."

  Her best chance of sticking, as well she knew, lay in finding the Rose.Could she but place that creature's exquisite form in Mr. Marrapit'sarms, she felt that her reward would be to win back to the paradise fromwhich Old Tom had driven her.

  Therefore most strenuously she scoured the countryside; pried intohouses; popped her head into stable doors. This woman nothing sparedherself; in the result, at the end of two days, was considerablydejected. For it was clear to her that the Rose had not strayed, but hadbeen stolen; was not concealed in the vicinity of Herons' Holt, but hadbeen spirited to the safety of many miles. She was driven to acceptMr. Brunger's opinion--the Rose had been stolen by some eager andunscrupulous breeder to be used for gross purposes.

  It was upon the evening of the
second day in paradise that this womansettled upon this gloomy conclusion. Gloomy it was, and desperately,sitting in her bedroom that night, the masterly woman battled for someway to circumvent it. To that entry made in her diary on the night ofher arrival she had added two further sentences:

  _"Hate that baby-faced Humfray chit."

  "Certain cannot stick unless find cat."_

  Opening her diary now she gazed upon these entries; chewed them. Theywere bitter to the taste. To agony at what she had lost was addedmortification at seeing another in her place; and rankling in thishuge wound was the poison of the knowledge that she could not winback. Circumstances were too strong. The cat was not to be found,and--stabbing thought--"certain cannot stick unless find cat."

  This way and that the masterly woman twisted in search of a means tocircumvent her position. It might be done by accomplishing the overthrowof this baby-faced chit. If the baby-faced chit could be made todisplease Mr. Marrapit and be turned out, it would surely be possible,being ready at hand, to take her place. But how could the baby-facedchit be made to err?

  This way and that Mrs. Major twisted and could find no means. Always shewas forced back to the brick-wall fact--salvation lay only in findingthe cat. That would accomplish everything. She would have succeededwhere the baby-faced chit had failed; she would have proved herdevotion; she, would have earned, not a doubt of it, the reward ofre-entry into paradise that Mr. Marrapit in his gratitude would morethan offer--would press upon her.

  But the cat was not to be found.