Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  Mr. Chalk stole another look at him; Mrs. Chalk, somewhat suspicious, followed his example.

  “It’s a pity you never married, Captain Bowers,” she said, at length; “most men seem to do all they can to keep things from their wives. But one of these days — —”

  She finished the sentence by an expressive glance at her husband. Captain Bowers, suddenly enlightened, hastened to change the subject.

  “I haven’t seen Tredgold or Stobell either,” he said, gazing fixedly at Mr. Chalk.

  “They — they were talking about you only the other day,” said that gentleman, nervously. “Is Miss Drewitt well?”

  “Quite well,” said the captain, briefly. “I was beginning to think you had all left Binchester,” he continued; “gone for a sea voyage or something.”

  Mr. Chalk laughed uneasily. “I thought that Joseph wasn’t looking very well the last time I saw you,” he said, with an imploring glance at the captain to remind him of the presence of Mrs. Chalk.

  “Joseph’s all right,” replied the other, “so is the parrot.”

  Mr. Chalk started and said that he was glad to hear it, and sat trying to think of a safe subject for conversation.

  “Joseph’s a nice parrot,” he said at last. “The parrot’s a nice lad, I mean.”

  “Thomas!” said Mrs. Chalk.

  “Joseph-is-a-nice-lad,” said Mr. Chalk, recovering himself. “I have often thought — —”

  The sentence was never completed, being interrupted by a thundering rat-tat-tat at the front door, followed by a pealing at the bell, which indicated that the visitor was manfully following the printed injunction to “Ring also.” The door was opened and a man’s voice was heard in the hall-a loud, confident voice, at the sound of which Mr. Chalk, with one horrified glance in the direction of Captain Bowers, sank back in his chair and held his breath.

  “Captain Brisket,” said the maid, opening the door.

  The captain came in with a light, bustling step, and, having shaken Mr. Chalk’s hand with great fervour and acknowledged the presence of Captain Bowers and Mrs. Chalk by two spasmodic jerks of the head, sat bolt-upright on the edge of a chair and beamed brightly upon the horrified Chalk.

  “I’ve got news,” he said, hoarsely.

  “News?” said the unfortunate Mr. Chalk, faintly.

  “Ah!” said Brisket, nodding. “News! I’ve got her at last.”

  Mrs. Chalk started.

  “I’ve got her,” continued Captain Brisket, with an air of great enjoyment; “and a fine job I had of it, I can tell you. Old Todd said he couldn’t bear parting with her. Once or twice I thought he meant it.”

  Mr. Chalk made a desperate effort to catch his eye, but in vain. It was fixed in reminiscent joy on the ceiling.

  “We haggled about her for days,” continued Brisket; “but at last I won. The Fair Emily is yours, sir.”

  “The fair who?” cried Mrs. Chalk, in a terrible voice. “Emily who? Emily what?”

  Captain Brisket turned and regarded her in amazement.

  “Emily who?” repeated Mrs. Chalk.

  “Why, it’s—” began Brisket.

  “H’sh!” said Mr. Chalk, desperately. “It’s a secret.”

  “It’s a secret,” said Captain Brisket, nodding calmly at Mrs. Chalk.

  Wrath and astonishment held her for the moment breathless. Mr. Chalk, caught between his wife and Captain Bowers, fortified himself with memories of the early martyrs and gave another warning glance at Brisket. For nearly two minutes that undaunted mariner met the gaze of Mrs. Chalk without flinching.

  “A — a secret?” gasped the indignant woman at last, as she turned to her husband. “You sit there and dare to tell me that?”

  “It isn’t my secret,” said Mr. Chalk, “else I should tell you at once.”

  “It isn’t his secret,” said the complaisant Brisket.

  Mrs. Chalk controlled herself by a great effort and, turning to Captain Brisket, addressed him almost calmly. “Was it Emily that came whistling over the garden-wall the other night?” she inquired.

  “Whis — ?” said the hapless Brisket, making a noble effort. He finished the word with a cough and gazed with protruding eyes at Mr. Chalk. The appearance of that gentleman sobered him at once.

  “No,” he said, slowly.

  “How do you know?” inquired Mrs. Chalk.

  “Because she can’t whistle,” replied Captain Brisket, feeling his way carefully. “And what’s more, she wouldn’t if she could. She’s been too well brought up for that.”

  He gave a cunning smile at Mr. Chalk, to which that gentleman, having decided at all hazards to keep the secret from Captain Bowers, made a ghastly response, and nodded to him to proceed.

  “What’s she got to do with my husband?” demanded Mrs. Chalk, her voice rising despite herself.

  “I’m coming to that,” said Brisket, thoughtfully, as he gazed at the floor in all the agonies of composition; “Mr. Chalk is trying to get her a new place.”

  “New place?” said Mrs. Chalk, in a choking voice.

  Captain Brisket nodded. “She ain’t happy where she is,” he explained, “and Mr. Chalk — out o’ pure good-nature and kindness of heart — is trying to get her another, and I honour him for it.”

  He looked round triumphantly. Mr. Chalk, sitting open-mouthed, was regarding him with the fascinated gaze of a rabbit before a boa-constrictor. Captain Bowers was listening with an appearance of interest which in more favourable circumstances would have been very flattering.

  “You said,” cried Mrs. Chalk— “you said to my husband: ‘The fair Emily is yours.’”

  “So I did,” said Brisket, anxiously— “so I did. And what I say I stick to. When I said that the — that Emily was his, I meant it. I don’t say things I don’t mean. That isn’t Bill Brisket’s way.”

  “And you said just now that he was getting her a place,” Mrs. Chalk reminded him, grimly.

  “Mr. Chalk understands what I mean,” said Captain Brisket, with dignity. “When I said ‘She is yours,’ I meant that she is coming here.”

  “O-oh!” said Mrs. Chalk, breathlessly. “Oh, indeed! Oh, is she?”

  “That is, if her mother’ll let her come,” pursued the enterprising Brisket, with a look of great artfulness at Mr. Chalk, to call his attention to the bridge he was building for him; “but the old woman’s been laid up lately and talks about not being able to spare her.”

  Mrs. Chalk sat back helplessly in her chair and gazed from her husband to Captain Brisket, and from Captain Brisket back to her husband. Captain Brisket, red-faced and confident, sat upright on the edge of his chair as though inviting inspection; Mr. Chalk plucked nervously at his fingers. Captain Bowers suddenly broke silence.

  “What’s her tonnage?” he inquired abruptly, turning to Brisket.

  “Two hundred and for — —”

  Captain Brisket stopped dead and, rubbing his nose hard with his forefinger, gazed thoughtfully at Captain Bowers.

  “The Fair Emily is a ship,” said the latter to Mrs. Chalk.

  “A ship!” cried the bewildered woman. “A ship living with her invalid mother and coming to my husband to get her a place! Are you trying to screen him, too?”

  “It’s a ship,” repeated Captain Bowers, sternly, as he sought in vain to meet the eye of Mr. Chalk; “a craft of two hundred and something tons. For some reason — best known to himself — Mr. Chalk wants the matter kept secret.”

  “It — it isn’t my secret,” faltered Mr. Chalk.

  “Where’s she lying?” said Captain Bowers.

  Mr. Chalk hesitated. “Biddlecombe,” he said, at last.

  Captain Brisket laughed noisily and, smacking his leg with his open hand, smiled broadly upon the company. No response being forthcoming, he laughed again for his own edification, and sat good-humouredly waiting events.

  “Is this true, Thomas?” demanded Mrs. Chalk.

  “Yes, my dear,” was the reply.

  “The
n why didn’t you tell me, instead of sitting there listening to a string of falsehoods?”

  “I — I wanted to give you a surprise — a pleasant little surprise,” said Mr. Chalk, with a timid glance at Captain Bowers. “I have bought a share in a schooner, to go for a little cruise. Just a jaunt for pleasure.”

  “Tredgold, Stobell, and Chalk,” said Captain Bowers, very distinctly.

  “I wanted to keep it secret until it had been repainted and done up,” continued Mr. Chalk, watching his wife’s face anxiously, “and then Captain Brisket came in and spoilt it.”

  “That’s me, ma’am,” said the gentleman mentioned, shaking his head despairingly. “That’s Bill Brisket all over. I come blundering in, and the first thing I do is to blurt out secrets; then, when I try to smooth it over — —”

  Mrs. Chalk paid no heed. Alluding to the schooner as “our yacht,” she at once began to discuss the subject of the voyage, the dresses she would require, and the rival merits of shutting the house up or putting the servants on board wages. Under her skilful hands, aided by a few suggestions of Captain Brisket’s, the Fair Emily was in the short space of twenty minutes transformed into one of the most luxurious yachts that ever sailed the seas. Mr. Chalk’s heart failed him as he listened. His thoughts were with his partners in the enterprise, and he trembled as he thought of their comments.

  “It will do Mrs. Stobell a lot of good,” said his wife, suddenly.

  Mr. Chalk, about to speak, checked himself and blew his nose instead. The romance of the affair was beginning to evaporate. He sat in a state of great dejection, until Captain Bowers, having learned far more than he had anticipated, shook hands with impressive gravity and took his departure.

  The captain walked home deep in thought, with a prolonged stare at the windows of Tredgold’s office as he passed. The present whereabouts of the map was now quite clear, and at the top of Dialstone Lane he stopped and put his hand to his brow in consternation, as he thought of the elaborate expedition that was being fitted out for the recovery of the treasure.

  Prudence, who was sitting in the window reading, looked up at his entrance and smiled.

  “Edward Tredgold has been in to see you,” she remarked.

  The captain nodded. “Couldn’t he stop?” he inquired.

  “I don’t know,” said his niece; “I didn’t see him. I was upstairs when he came.”

  Captain Bowers looked perturbed. “Didn’t you come down?” he inquired.

  “I sent down word that I had a headache,” said Miss Drewitt, carelessly.

  Despite his sixty odd years the captain turned a little bit pink. “I hope you are better now,” he said, at last.

  “Oh, yes,” said his niece; “it wasn’t very bad. It’s strange that I should have a headache so soon after you; looks as though they’re in the family, doesn’t it?”

  Somewhat to the captain’s relief she took up her book again without waiting for a reply, and sat reading until Mr. Tasker brought in the tea. The captain, who was in a very thoughtful mood, drank cup after cup in silence, and it was not until the meal was cleared away and he had had a few soothing whiffs at his pipe that he narrated the events of the afternoon.

  “There!” said Prudence, her eyes sparkling with indignation. “What did I say? Didn’t I tell you that those three people would be taking a holiday soon? The idea of Mr. Tredgold venturing to come round here this afternoon!”

  “He knows nothing about it,” protested the captain.

  Miss Drewitt shook her head obstinately. “We shall see,” she remarked. “The idea of those men going after your treasure after you had said it wasn’t to be touched! Why, it’s perfectly dishonest!”

  The captain blew a cloud of smoke from his mouth and watched it disperse. “Perhaps they won’t find it,” he murmured.

  “They’ll find it,” said his niece, confidently. “Why shouldn’t they? This Captain Brisket will find the island, and the rest will be easy.”

  “They might not find the island,” said the captain, blowing a cloud so dense that his face was almost hidden. “Some of these little islands have been known to disappear quite suddenly. Volcanic action, you know. What are you smiling at?” he added, sharply.

  “Thoughts,” said Miss Drewitt, clasping her hands round her knee and smiling again. “I was thinking how odd it would be if the island sank just as they landed upon it.”

  CHAPTER XII

  Mr. Chalk, when half-awake next morning, tried to remember Mr. Stobell’s remarks of the night before; fully awake, he tried to forget them. He remembered, too, with a pang that Tredgold had been content to enact the part of a listener, and had made no attempt to check the somewhat unusual fluency of the aggrieved Mr. Stobell. The latter’s last instructions were that Mrs. Chalk was to be told, without loss of time, that her presence on the schooner was not to be thought of.

  With all this on his mind Mr. Chalk made but a poor breakfast, and his appetite was not improved by his wife’s enthusiastic remarks concerning the voyage. Breakfast over, she dispatched a note to Mrs. Stobell by the housemaid, with instructions to wait for a reply. Altogether six notes passed during the morning, and Mr. Chalk, who hazarded a fair notion as to their contents, became correspondingly gloomy.

  “We’re to go up there at five,” said his wife, after reading the last note. “Mr. Stobell will be at tea at that time, and we’re to drop in as though by accident.”

  “What for?” inquired Mr. Chalk, affecting surprise. “Go up where?”

  “To talk to Mr. Stobell,” said his wife, grimly. “Fancy, poor Mrs. Stobell says that she is sure he won’t let her come. I wish he was my husband, that’s all.”

  Mr. Chalk muttered something about “doing a little gardening.”

  “You can do that another time,” said Mrs. Chalk, coldly. “I’ve noticed you’ve been very fond of gardening lately.”

  The allusion was too indirect to contest, but Mr. Chalk reddened despite himself, and his wife, after regarding his confusion with a questioning eye, left him to his own devices and his conscience.

  Mr. Stobell and his wife had just sat down to tea when they arrived, and Mrs. Stobell, rising from behind a huge tea-pot, gave a little cry of surprise as her friend entered the room, and kissed her affectionately.

  “Well, who would have thought of seeing you?” she cried. “Sit down.”

  Mrs. Chalk sat down at the large table opposite Mr. Stobell; Mr. Chalk, without glancing in his wife’s direction, seated himself by that gentleman’s side.

  “Well, weren’t you surprised?” inquired Mrs. Chalk, loudly, as her hostess passed her a cup of tea.

  “Surprised?” said Mrs. Stobell, curiously.

  “Why, hasn’t Mr. Stobell told you?” exclaimed Mrs. Chalk.

  “Told me?” repeated Mrs. Stobell, glancing indignantly at the wide-open eyes of Mr. Chalk. “Told me what?”

  It was now Mrs. Chalk’s turn to appear surprised, and she did it so well that Mr. Chalk choked in his tea-cup. “About the yachting trip,” she said, with a glance at her husband that made his choking take on a ventriloquial effect of distance.

  “He — he didn’t say anything to me about it,” said Mrs. Stobell, timidly.

  She glanced at her husband, but Mr. Stobell, taking an enormous bite out of a slice of bread and butter, made no sign.

  “It’ll do you a world of good,” said Mrs. Chalk, affectionately. “It’ll put a little colour in your cheeks.”

  Mrs. Stobell flushed. She was a faded little woman; faded eyes, faded hair, faded cheeks. It was even whispered that her love for Mr. Stobell was beginning to fade.

  “And I don’t suppose you’ll mind the seasickness after you get used to it,” said the considerate Mr. Chalk, “and the storms, and the cyclones, and fogs, and collisions, and all that sort of thing.”

  “If you can stand it, she can,” said his wife, angrily.

  “But I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Stobell, appealingly. “What yachting trip?”

/>   Mrs. Chalk began to explain; Mr. Stobell helped himself to another slice, and, except for a single glance under his heavy brows at Mr. Chalk, appeared to be oblivious of his surroundings.

  “It sounds very nice,” said Mrs. Stobell, after her friend had finished her explanation. “Perhaps it might do me good. I have tried a great many things.”

  “Mr. Stobell ought to have taken you for a voyage long before,” said Mrs. Chalk, with conviction. “Still, better late than never.”

  “The only thing is,” said Mr. Chalk, speaking with an air of great benevolence, “that if the sea didn’t suit Mrs. Stobell, she would be unable to get away from it. And, of course, it might upset her very much.”

  Mr. Stobell wiped some crumbs from his moustache and looked up.

  “No, it won’t,” he said, briefly.

  “Is she a good sailor?” queried Mr. Chalk, somewhat astonished at such a remark from that quarter.

  “Don’t know,” said Mr. Stobell, passing his cup up. “But this trip won’t upset her — she ain’t going.”

  Mrs. Chalk exclaimed loudly and exchanged glances of consternation with Mrs. Stobell; Mr. Stobell, having explained the position, took some more bread and butter and munched placidly.

  “Don’t you think it would do her good?” said Mrs. Chalk, at last.

  “Might,” said Mr. Stobell, slowly, “and then, again, it mightn’t.”

  “But there’s no harm in trying,” persisted Mrs. Chalk.

  Mr. Stobell made no reply. Having reached his fifth slice he was now encouraging his appetite with apricot jam.

  “And it’s so cheap,” continued Mrs. Chalk.

  “That’s the way I look at it. If she shuts up the house and gets rid of the servants, same as I am going to do, it will save a lot of money.”

  She glanced at Mr. Stobell, whose slowly working jaws and knitted brows appeared to indicate deep thought, and then gave a slight triumphant nod at his wife.

  “Servants are so expensive,” she murmured. “Really, I shouldn’t be surprised if we saved money on the whole affair. And then think of her health. She has never quite recovered from that attack of bronchitis. She has never looked the same woman since. Think of your feelings if anything happened to her. Nothing would bring her back to you if once she went.”