To venture into the Gardens, one was required first to don an elaborate sea-floor navigation costume, more extensive in its particulars but similar in basic outline to a diving suit. Aided by a courteous attendant, Elinor changed from her full-skirted dress to a seamless orange rubber suit. Then the large glass helmet was carefully lowered over her head. Next were added the supple gloves and the lead-lined galoshes which would ensure that her feet remained firmly upon the ocean’s floor during her ex-Domic perambulation; lastly came the heavy air tank, strapped to her back, that would keep a vital supply of oxygen flowing into Elinor’s helmet.
Once Mrs. Jennings was similarly attired, she and her friend were led by guides into a small ante-chamber, where the door of the Dome was sealed shut behind them with an audible whoosh; after a few moments they heard a loud whistle, and saw water begin to pour in to the chamber. After a moment, a second door opened on the far side of the chamber—the water had been let in, Elinor now understood, only to allow the atmospheric pressures to even out; now they were free to exit the ante-chamber and stroll the floor of the ocean itself.
All this extraordinary preparation, Elinor instantly concluded, was entirely justified by the miraculous sights that greeted her. Her eyes widened to see the endless varieties of multi-coloured undersea plants; the deep scarlet ceramiaceae, the wavy tendrils of the nereocystis barely swaying in the light undersea currents; her fingertips brushed against the thick stems of the acetabula.
As she tromped in her thick boots, through this marvelous under-sea universe, isolated in the confines of her suit, Elinor was lost to quiet reflection; all her inner torment and confusion, all the drama that had attended Edward’s engagement, it was all the merest triviality when compared to the vastness of what she could now comprehend through the glass front-piece of her navigation suit: acres of coral, staghorn, sea whips, delicate and marvelous in their infinite variety. She tromped about the ocean floor, marveling at every blue-green tendril, curving her hands along every stalk; and, most of all, enjoying the isolation of her private world within her navigation suit. She was alone; she saw nothing of the Willoughbys, nothing of Edward, and for some time nothing of anybody who could be interesting to her.
But at last she found herself with some surprise, accosted by Anne Steele, looking rather shy as she approached her within her own navigation suit and glass helmet. Communication of course was impossible, which was some relief for Elinor, who had nothing to say to Miss Steele and desired to hear nothing from her. But the latter personage, from within her own suit, waved vigorously to Elinor, expressing by a series of delighted facial expressions and fervent gesticulations her great satisfaction in meeting her, and, by pointing back to the antechamber, that she wished to return to where communication was possible, and converse.
Elinor was shaking her head and forming her lips into an exaggerated No, turning on her heel to hide in a bower of alariae, when Miss Steele’s expression changed entirely. Her eyes, which had been pleased and imploring, turned first distressed and then terrified; at that moment Elinor felt a sharp, painful sting directly at the base of her neck. The source was a sea scorpion, not less than five inches long; how it had survived the chemical process that had cleansed this patch of ocean and breached the walls of her rubber suit, were questions that must be answered later. At present her only concern was the crablike stinging horror that had crawled inside her helmet and attached one of its fearsome chelicerae directly into her neck. Terrified, and in the most excruciating pain, Elinor spun in a furious circle, trying to dislodge the loathsome eurypterid, but to no avail; as she spun, the thing spun too, clinging to her throat, its armored body whipping in circles and smacking against the glass of the helmet.
In desperation, Elinor raised her hands in their protective gloves to pluck the creature off her, but her hands only slapped in vain against the reinforced helmet; her head was enclosed in glass, and the same glass barrier which allowed her continued respiration kept her hands out, and her attacker in. The sea scorpion dug its claws deeper into the flesh of her neck. The blood ran down Elinor’s chest, and she saw blood coat her like a bright red apron.
Mrs. Jennings had appeared beside her, and was mouthing to her, “OPEN THE SUIT! OPEN THE SUIT!” Elinor took a deep breath, drawing as much oxygen as possible into her lungs, and with a burst of pain-driven strength, pried open the face plate against the pressure of the water.
The icy temperature of the undersea depths hit her like a slap in the face. Without time to contemplate the bitter coldness now swiftly stealing over her body, or how far she had ventured from the antechamber that led back into the Sub-Station and precious oxygen, or to note the horrified expressions on the faces of both Mrs. Jennings and Miss Steele, Elinor grasped the sea scorpion with both hands, crushing its carapace between her protective gloves, tugging mightily to dislodge it. Still the thing clung, its claws firmly embedded in her neck. The harder she pulled, the worse the pain became, and with every passing second she felt her breath growing shorter. Still she pulled, and at last the devilish persistence of the eurypterid was overcome, and the claws came loose and the beast was torn free—taking with it a sizable chunk of flesh from her throat. Blood spurted forth in a wild gush, the sight of which—combined with the bitter cold of the water and her nearly extinguished air supply—caused her vision to swim black.
AT PRESENT HER ONLY CONCERN WAS THE CRABLIKE STINGING HORROR THAT HAD CRAWLED INSIDE HER HELMET AND ATTACHED ONE OF ITS FEARSOME CHELICERAE DIRECTLY INTO HER NECK.
* * *
Elinor awoke in a chair of the plushest otter skin, in the richly appointed Visitor Centre of the Kensington Undersea Gardens, her hands and feet submerged in small dishes of lukewarm water to ward off hypothermia. Anne Steele was on the other side of the room, brushing her hair to restore its former shape after an afternoon spent within the diving helmet.
Mrs. Jennings, seated beside her, immediately whispered to Elinor,
“Thank God! You have survived.”
And after inquiring with her customary enthusiasm of affection for the state of Elinor’s health, and reassuring her that her neck would certainly heal given time, Mrs. Jennings nodded her head towards Miss Steele and remarked, “Get it all out of her, my dear. You have suffered most grievously and nearly died; she is bound to be sympathetic and therefore talkative; she will tell you anything if you ask!”
In her uneasy state, it took a moment for Elinor to realise that Mrs. Jennings was desirous that she pry out of Miss Steele more details regarding Lucy’s engagement to Edward. It was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings’s curiosity and Elinor’s too, that she would tell anything without being asked; for nothing would otherwise have been learnt. Elinor rose and walked unsteadily across the room, gingerly touching her bandaged throat.
“I am so glad to meet you; and that you managed to tear that hideous thing from your neck, and that Mrs. Jennings and I were able to drag you back into the Sub-Station before you died,” said Miss Steele, taking her familiarly by the arm, “for I wanted to see you of all things in the world.” And then lowering her voice, “I suppose Mrs. Jennings has heard all about it. Is she angry?”
“Not at all, I believe, with you.”
“That is a good thing. And Lady Middleton, is she angry?”
“I cannot suppose it possible that she should be.”
“I am monstrous glad of it. Good gracious! I have had such a time of it! I never saw Lucy in such a rage in my life. Oh, dear—are you quite well? I would leave it alone, dear.”
The last remark was in response to Elinor’s wince of pain; she had ventured to lift off one of her bandages, and found in doing so that the pain of her neck was as sharp as when the sea scorpion had originally connected itself to her.
“Well, but Miss Dashwood,” Miss Steele continued triumphantly, “people may say what they choose about Mr. Ferrars declaring he would not have Lucy, for it is no such thing I can tell you; and it is quite a shame for such ill-natured reports to be sprea
d abroad. Whatever Lucy might think about it herself, you know, it was no business of other people to set it down for certain.”
“I never heard anything of the kind hinted at before, I assure you,” said Elinor.
“Oh, did not you? But it was said, I know, and by more than one! At the man versus giant catfish event on Thursday evening, in Hydra-Z, Miss Godby told Miss Sparks, that nobody in their senses could expect Mr. Ferrars to give up a woman like Miss Morton, with thirty thousand pounds to her fortune, and heir to the Sub-Station Alpha Family besides, for Lucy Steele that had nothing at all.”
“I believe in my heart Lucy gave it up all for lost; for we came away from your brother’s docking Wednesday, and we saw nothing of Mr. Ferrars not all Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and did not know what was become of him. Once Lucy thought to write to him, but then her spirits rose against that. However this morning he came and it all came out, how he had been sent for Wednesday to Harley Piscina, and been talked to by his mother and all of them, and how he had declared before them all that he loved nobody but Lucy, and nobody but Lucy would he have.
“As soon as he had went away from his mother’s house, and Ascended the Station entirely and taken off in his own personal submarine, he stayed at an inn all Thursday and Friday just to get the better of it. And after thinking it all over and over again, he said that it would be quite unkind to keep her on to the engagement. If he was to become a poor lighthouse keeper, how were they to live upon that? Edward could not bear to think of her doing no better, and so he begged, if she had the least mind for it, to put an end to the matter directly, and leave him shift for himself. I heard him say all this as plain as could possibly be. And it was entirely for her sake, and upon her account, that he said a word about being off, and not upon his own. I will take my oath he never dropped a syllable of being tired of her, or of wishing to marry Miss Morton, or anything like it. But Lucy would not give ear to such kind of talking. She told him directly (with a great deal about sweet and love, you know, and all that— one can’t repeat such kind of things), she had not the least mind in the world to be off, for she could live with him upon a trifle, and how little so ever he might have, she should be very glad to have it all. So then he was monstrous happy, and talked on some time about what they should do, and they agreed he should become a lighthouse keeper directly, and they must wait to be married till he got some good, desolate monster-wracked beach in need of able lighthouse keeping. And just then I could not hear any more, for my cousin called from below to tell me Mrs. Richardson was come ‘pon her tortoise, and would take one of us to the Gardens; so I was forced to go into the room and interrupt them, to ask Lucy if she would like to go.”
“I do not understand what you mean by interrupting them,” said Elinor. “You were all in the same room together, were not you?”
“No, indeed, not us. La! Miss Dashwood, do you think people make love when anybody else is by? You must know better than that! No, no, they were shut up in the drawing-room together, and all I heard was by holding the funnel end of a seashell up to the door and listening in the pointy end.”
“How!” cried Elinor. “Have you been repeating to me what you only learnt yourself by listening at the door? I am sorry I did not know it before; for I certainly would not have suffered you to give me particulars of a conversation which you ought not to have known yourself. How could you behave so unfairly by your sister?”
“Oh, there is nothing in that. I only stood at the door, and heard what I could. And I am sure Lucy would have done just the same by me; for a year or two back, when Martha Sharpe and I had so many secrets together, Lucy never made any bones of hiding in a closet, or behind a chimney-board, or once even in the hollowed-out corpse of a walrus on purpose to hear what we said.”
Elinor tried to talk of something else; but Miss Steele could not be kept beyond a couple of minutes from what was uppermost in her mind.
“What an ill-natured woman his mother is, ain’t she? And your brother and sister were not very kind! However, I shan’t say anything against them to you; and to be sure they did send us home in their own gondola, which was more than I looked for.”
Elinor finished now unwinding the bandages, and, as Anne continued to speak she looked long at herself in the mirror—a deep gouge now marked her across the neck, exactly where her flesh had been torn free by the lobster-like claw of the scorpion. She gently drew a finger along the wound.
“Oh! Here come the Richardsons. I had a vast deal more to say to you, but I must not stay away from them not any longer.” Elinor gladly assented to Anne’s departure. She was left in possession of knowledge which might feed her powers of reflection for some time, though she had learnt very little more than what had been already foreseen and fore-planned in her own mind. Edward’s marriage with Lucy was as firmly determined on, and the time of its taking place remained as absolutely uncertain, as she had concluded it would be.
As they made their way home by gondola, Mrs. Jennings was so eager for information, it seemed as though she had forgotten that Elinor’s head had nearly been torn from her body by a demonically animated sea scorpion. As Elinor wished to spread as little as possible intelligence that had in the first place been so unfairly obtained, she confined herself to the brief repetition of such simple particulars, as she felt assured that Lucy would choose to have known. The continuance of their engagement, and the means that were able to be taken for promoting its end, was all her communication; and this produced from Mrs. Jennings the following natural remark.
“Wait for his having a good lighthouse! Aye, we all know how that will end. They will wait a twelvemonth, and finding no good comes of it, will set down as keeper of some sad mud-pond at fifty pounds a year. Then they will have a child every year! And Lord help ‘em! How poor they will be! Dancing for fried-cakes and living beneath overturned canoes! I must see what I can give them towards furnishing their house.”
The next morning’s post-kayak brought Elinor a letter by the two-penny post from Lucy herself. It was as follows:
I hope my dear Miss Dashwood will excuse the liberty I take of writing to her; I know your friendship for me will make you pleased to hear such a good account of myself and my dear Edward. Though we have suffered dreadfully, we are both quite well now, and as happy as we must always be in one another’s love. We have had great trials, and great persecutions, of the heart and, in my Edward’s case, of the feet also, but gratefully acknowledge many friends, yourself not the least among them. I am sure you will be glad to hear, as likewise dear Mrs. Jennings, I spent two happy hours with him yesterday afternoon, he would not hear of our parting, though earnestly did I urge him to it for prudence sake. Our prospects are not very bright, to be sure, but we must wait and hope for the best. Should it ever be in your power to recommend him to anybody that has an open lighthouse in need of keeping, I am very sure you will not forget us. I am almost out of squid ink; begging to be most gratefully and respectfully remembered to Mrs. Jennings, and to Sir John and Lady Middleton, and the dear children, when you chance to see them, and love to Miss Marianne,
I am, etc., etc.
As soon as Elinor had finished the letter, she performed what she concluded to be its writer’s real design, by placing it in the hands of Mrs. Jennings, who read it aloud with many comments of satisfaction and praise.
“Very well indeed! How prettily she writes! Aye, that was quite proper to let him be off if he would. That was just like Lucy. Poor soul! I wish I could get him an open lighthouse, with all my heart. She calls me dear Mrs. Jennings, you see. She is a good-hearted girl as ever lived. That sentence is very prettily turned. O! Elinor! There is blood dripping from your neck. Here—hold this sponge to the wound—I am sorry I keep forgetting.”
CHAPTER 39
THE MISS DASHWOODS HAD NOW BEEN living in Sub-Station Beta for more than two months, and Marianne’s impatience to be gone increased every day. She sighed for the air, the liberty, the noxious but comforting sea-wind of P
estilent Isle; and fancied that if any place could give her ease, rickety old Barton Cottage must do it.
Elinor was hardly less anxious for their removal, but she was conscious of the difficulties of so long a journey, which Marianne could not be brought to acknowledge. She began to turn her thoughts towards its accomplishment, and had already mentioned their wishes to their kind hostess, who resisted them with all the eloquence of her good-will, when a plan was suggested, which, though detaining them from home yet a few weeks longer, appeared to Elinor altogether much more eligible than any other. The Palmers were to remove to their houseboat, The Cleveland about the end of March, for the Easter holidays; and Mrs. Jennings, with both her friends, received a very warm invitation from Charlotte to go with them.
When Elinor told Marianne what she had done, however, her first reply was not very auspicious.
“The Cleveland!” she cried, with great agitation. “No, I cannot be moored upon The Cleveland.”
“You forget,” said Elinor gently, “that it is not in the neighbourhood of . . .”
“But it is moored off Somersetshire. I cannot go into Somersetshire! No, Elinor, you cannot expect me to go there.”
Elinor would not argue upon the propriety of overcoming such feelings; she only endeavoured to counteract them by working on others; represented it, therefore, as a measure which would fix the time of her returning to that dear mother, whom she so much wished to see. As they spoke, they noticed various of the household servants rushing by in great haste—Elinor endeavoured to stop one to inquire as to its cause, but was rebuffed; whatever the cause of their hurry, it could not brook surcease, even for a moment’s conversation.
Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters Page 24
