She was still gripping the child’s ankle, but her left hand was free . . . she clutched desperately at the shifting pebbles and, finding a small ledge of solid rock, dug in her fingers and clung to it with all her might. When the suction passed she crawled forwards on her hands and knees, dragging the child with her . . . the next wave broke over them both and tumbled them on to the beach.
Now Elfrida was able to crawl a few feet farther, out of reach of the sea, and for a few moments she lay there, exhausted but unutterably thankful for her escape. She was safe . . . and the boy was safe . . . nothing else mattered.
When she was able to sit up she discovered to her surprise that except for a grazed and bleeding arm she was undamaged. Patrick had struggled on to his hands and knees, he was coughing and gasping for breath . . . then he was violently sick.
Elfrida loosened her grip on his ankle and put her arms round him, holding him tightly. She tried to speak to him but her voice was little more than a husky whisper. It was not until he had recovered and lay back to rest that Elfrida remembered Glen. What on earth had Glen been doing?
Glen was standing on the beach a little way off, but now he approached and said, “That was very spectacular, Elfie.”
“Spectacular? We were nearly drowned!”
“There was no real danger.”
“Why didn’t—you help me?”
“It wasn’t necessary.”
“We were both nearly drowned . . . and you stood there watching!”
“I can’t swim,” explained Glen. “And as I said before there was no real danger. The waves were washing you on to the shore.”
“The waves were washing us out to sea.”
“You were washed up on to the shore,” he pointed out. “And anyhow what could I have done?”
He went on arguing and explaining but she took no more notice. What was the use of arguing with him? She rose and took Patrick’s hand and tried to help him up.
“Come on, Patrick,” she said. “You’re better now. We must go and change.”
“I can’t,” he whispered, beginning to sob.
“Come on, darling. You mustn’t lie here in your wet clothes. You can get up, can’t you?”
He struggled on to his feet and stood, shaking all over.
“That’s right,” she said encouragingly. “Come on, Patrick. I’ll help you. We must go and get dry clothes.”
By support and encouragement she managed to get him to come a few yards farther up the beach . . . but how was she to get him up the steep cliff path? Her own legs felt weak and trembly—as if they did not belong to her—so it would be impossible for her to carry Patrick. Glen must carry him . . . but Glen had turned and was walking away and she was so furious with Glen that she did not want to call him.
Elfrida stood there, shivering in her wet clothes, and wondered what to do. Then she heard a shout and, looking up, saw Chowne and Mr. Cobley coming down the path to help her.
*
27
Elfrida awoke at eight o’clock next morning. She lay still for a few moments wondering why she was stiff all over and why she was wrapped in blankets . . . then she remembered.
She remembered her battle with the waves; she remembered the two men coming to her aid; she remembered that Mr. Cobley had helped her up the steep path and Chowne had followed, carrying Patrick in his arms. She remembered that somehow or other they had dragged her upstairs to her own room and that Mrs. Chowne had peeled off her wet clothes and rubbed her with warm towels and put her to bed surrounded with hot water-bottles. She remembered drinking a cup of hot sweet tea and swallowing a small pink tablet; she remembered no more.
She was wondering if she should get up and see what had happened to Patrick when she saw the door opening very slowly and quietly.
“Is that you, Mrs. Chowne?” she asked.
“Oh, you’re awake!” said Mrs. Chowne, coming in and drawing back the curtains. “I’ve looked in several times; you’ve had a nice long sleep. I expect it was that pink tablet. The doctor gave them to me for Mrs. Ware and I had a few over so I gave one to you and half a one to Pat.”
“How is he?” asked Elfrida anxiously.
“Perfectly all right,” replied Mrs. Chowne in cheerful tones. “He slept like a top and he’s getting up now. I don’t think he remembers a thing about it; he was surprised to find himself in Judy’s bed. We put him in Judy’s bed last night so that we could keep an eye on him.”
“Are you sure he hasn’t been injured?” asked Elfrida incredulously.
Mrs. Chowne nodded. “He’s as right as rain except for a bruise on his ankle. Charlie Cobley says it’s because he’s so light—as light as a feather. That’s why he didn’t get hurt. How are you feeling, Miss Elfrida? Shall I bring up your breakfast? If you’d like a rest Pat can have his in the kitchen with Ernie and me.”
“I’ll get up and have a hot bath,” replied Elfrida. She yawned and added, “That tablet must have been very strong; I still feel sleepy . . . and frightfully stiff. I feel as if I’d been battered all over.”
“It’s a wonder you’re alive!”
Elfrida nodded. She realised that she had had a very narrow escape. If it had not been for that little ledge of rock . . .
“I saw it all happen,” continued Mrs. Chowne. “Charlie Cobley was having tea with us last night and I’d just gone out on to the cliff to feed the seagulls—like I always do—so I saw the whole thing. I saw that man throwing sticks into the sea and making Pat fetch them. Did he want to drown the boy?”
“No, of course not! It was just a game.”
“It was the silliest game I ever saw; I never was so frightened in all my life! When I saw the boy go under I screamed and screamed—I thought he was done for. If you hadn’t gone after him he would have been done for; there isn’t a doubt of that. You’re a heroine, that’s what you are, Miss Elfrida. I’m saying it now and I’ll say it to everyone in the place.”
“Please don’t!” exclaimed Elfrida in alarm. “It was nothing: anyone would have done it!”
“You ought to get the Victoria Cross.”
“Nonsense! That’s just for soldiers.”
“Well, I think——”
“Is Mr. Siddons up yet?” interrupted Elfrida, changing the subject.
“He’s gone out this morning.”
“Gone out?”
“Well, he wasn’t in his room when I went to call him, so he must have gone out.”
“How funny!” said Elfrida, yawning again.
“Are you quite sure you want to get up?” asked Mrs. Chowne anxiously.
“Oh, yes, it will do me good to have a hot bath. I’m just a bit stiff, that’s all.”
*
It was a curious thing for Glen to do, thought Elfrida, as she lay soaking in a very hot bath. Glen was not the sort of person who enjoys rising with the lark. Then she thought of last night and tried to remember what she had said to him . . . but it was all rather hazy in her mind. He had been neglected, of course. He had been left standing on the beach while she and Patrick had been fussed over and taken up the cliff . . . and Glen did not like being neglected. Glen liked to be in the limelight so it was quite “in character” that he should have wakened early and gone for a walk by himself. He would soon recover—he always did—and would return in a cheerful frame of mind. She must remember to tell Mrs. Chowne to have his breakfast ready for him.
Patrick was waiting for Elfrida in the dining-room so they sat down to breakfast. He said nothing about last night’s misadventure but he ate so little and looked so miserable that Elfrida was worried. He had no visible injury except the bruise on his ankle (she had gripped it so tightly that her fingers had left blue marks) but perhaps she ought to send for the doctor and make sure that he had not sustained an internal injury. It was difficult to know what to do, for she did not want to frighten the child.
At last she said, “Have you got a pain, Patrick?”
“No.”
“What’s
the matter? Why don’t you want any breakfast?”
“He’s gone.”
“He has just gone out for a walk, that’s all.”
“His car has gone. I went to look—and it’s gone.”
“He’ll be back soon. I expect he’ll come back to lunch.”
“He won’t.”
Elfrida looked at the child in astonishment; he was shaking all over and his face was puckered up as if he were going to cry, but instead of crying he banged on the table and shouted, “Glen has gone away. He isn’t coming back.”
“No, no, Patrick,” said Elfrida, trying to pacify him. “Glen has just gone for a spin in his car. I expect he woke early and——”
“He’s gone, I tell you!”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“You don’t mean he has gone to Brittany?”
“I don’t know where he’s gone.”
Elfrida tried to speak calmly and sensibly. “Listen, Patrick. Glen told you that he was going to take you to Brittany for a holiday. You know that, don’t you?”
“I knew he wasn’t going to take me.”
“But he said——”
“I knew all the time.” Patrick choked back a sob and added, “I can always—guess—what he’s thinking—but I thought—I thought he’d take me back to Mrs. Landor—before he went away.”
“But he wouldn’t go away without you.”
“Why don’t you believe what I say?” shouted Patrick.
She was silent for a few moments, half convinced. Could it be true? Could he have gone off like that without a word to anyone? At last she said, “Well, we shall have to wait and see. I must speak to Mrs. Chowne for a minute and then you and I will go up to the farm together. You’d like to do that, wouldn’t you?”
Patrick did not reply so, after hesitating for a few moments and wondering if there was anything else she should say, she left him and went to look for Mrs. Chowne.
*
28
When Elfrida went into the kitchen she found Mrs. Chowne sitting with her elbow on the table and her head leaning upon her hand. This was such an extraordinary sight that Elfrida was considerably alarmed. “Mrs. Chowne, are you ill?” she asked anxiously.
“No,” said Mrs. Chowne.
“What’s the matter?”
“Ernie says I must tell you all about it.”
“Tell me about what?”
“About last night, of course. He wasn’t very pleased, Miss Elfrida.”
“Who wasn’t pleased?”
“Mr. Siddons wasn’t pleased. He’s taken the huff; that’s why he’s gone away.”
Elfrida was beginning to see light. She said, “Has he really gone away?”
“He’s taken all his things. I didn’t notice when I went to call him, because the room was dark and he doesn’t like me drawing back the curtains, but I went up a few minutes ago and all his things have gone: his brushes and combs and sponges and his electric razor have gone and the wardrobe and all the drawers are empty. He must have packed his things in the night and carried down his suitcases. We never heard him.”
“How amazing!” exclaimed Elfrida, sitting down suddenly upon a kitchen chair. “I can’t believe he would go away like that without a word.”
“He wasn’t very pleased last night,” repeated Mrs. Chowne in a shaky voice. “His dinner was late by the time I’d got you to bed and everything—and to tell you the truth I was feeling a bit upset—so when he said there wasn’t any need for all the fuss I lost my temper. I don’t like Mr. Siddons at the best of times, he isn’t a proper gentleman, so that was the last straw. You know what I’m like when I lose my temper, Miss Elfrida. I don’t often lose my temper but I’d been so frightened, you see. I thought you were both drowned and done for.”
She stopped for a moment to breathe and then continued, “Charlie Cobley has just been here (he came to ask how you were, this morning) and he said you knew all about the current being dangerous. He said it was one of the bravest things he ever saw in all his life—you going after the boy like that, straight in without stopping. He said you ought to get a life-saving medal because it’s a miracle you’re alive . . . Oh, well, you are alive, that’s the main thing. Last night when I went and looked at you and Pat and saw you sleeping safely in your beds I knelt down on the kitchen floor and said my thanks to God.”
“I’m thankful too,” said Elfrida softly.
There was a short silence.
“Mrs. Chowne,” said Elfrida at last. “You haven’t told me——”
“I wish you’d call me Emma,” interrupted Emma Chowne. “I wish you would, Miss Elfrida.”
“Of course I will,” said Elfrida, patting the work-worn hand which was lying beside her on the table. “Of course, I will, Emma. You’ve been terribly good to me and I’m not likely to forget it. I was going to say you haven’t told me what you said to Mr. Siddons.”
“I was a bit upset.”
“I know you were. Everything was upset.”
Emma sighed heavily. “I didn’t want to tell you what I said, but Ernie says I must . . . so I suppose I’d better. I just told Mr. Siddons he ought to stick to films and get other people to ‘stand in’ for the dangerous bits. I told him camels were dangerous, that’s all. It wasn’t much to say—not really—when he’d stood like a dummy and watched you drowning and never raised a finger to help. Mr. Siddons didn’t answer, or say a word, but he was annoyed with me for saying it. I could see he didn’t like it.”
He wouldn’t like it, thought Elfrida. Glen had to be Everybody’s Hero . . . so he had packed up in the night and fled from Mountain Cross. Elfrida could understand Glen’s feelings; she could understand his being ashamed of the part he had played—it was not a heroic part!—she could even feel rather sorry for him.
“Are you angry with me, Miss Elfrida?” asked Emma.
“No, of course not. It was natural that you should have been upset . . . but why did you tell him that camels were dangerous?”
“Because they are, of course! Camels have got a poisonous bite.”
“What has that got to do with Mr. Siddons?” asked Elfrida in bewilderment.
“Well, because there’s going to be a lot of camels in that film. It says so in my book.”
Elfrida was looking even more bewildered so Emma Chowne got up and fetched her paper and, licking her thumb, turned over the pages until she found the right place. Then she put the paper on the table and said, “There, Miss Elfrida! That tells you all about it. Of course I thought he’d be sure to have told you or I’d have shown it to you before.”
the elephant film company inc. will commence screening its new picture next week. A spokesman of the company informs us that although the elephant is renowned for the magnitude of its productions this will be the biggest ever.
The Sheik’s Dilemma is a soul-stirring drama packed with hair-raising thrills, passionate love scenes and agonising suspense. It is to cost the colossal sum of a Million Dollars. The action takes place in the Colorado Desert where a camp has been prepared to house three hundred people and twenty camels. (Turn to page 45 for a description of the camel and its habits.)
Our representative was permitted to inspect the camp which resembles a small town with tents and wooden huts and bungalows. There are kitchens and dining-rooms, a club with a dancing floor, and a cocktail bar.
The cast includes a galaxy of Stars: Glen Siddons in the title-role, Clarissa Downes as the beautiful young Englishwoman who is kidnapped from her luxurious home by the fierce, hawk-eyed Bedouin Chief . . . and a fine supporting team.
Pictures and further news of this Sensational Production in next week’s issue of your favourite magazine!
Elfrida read it and then pushed the paper aside. “Oh, poor Glen!” she said sadly.
“Poor?” exclaimed Emma. “He’ll get thousands of pounds for acting in the film!”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“What did you mean?”
“‘There is no truth in him,’” said Elfrida. She added under her breath, “Shouldn’t we be sorry for people like that?”
“Aren’t you angry with him?”
“No. Just sorry.”
Emma Chowne gazed at her in amazement. “But he’s behaved terribly badly!”
“Yes, that’s why I’m sorry for him.”
This was beyond Emma’s comprehension. She said anxiously, “He isn’t your sort, Miss Elfrida.”
“No.”
“So you needn’t bother about him any more.”
“No.”
“Mr. Lucius is your sort of gentleman. You like him, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Emma was puzzled; she was also very worried (Miss Elfrida was not a bit like herself) however there was nothing she could do. So, after a few moments’ pause for reflection she said, “And what about Pat? I suppose he’s going back to that lady at Morchester?”
“No, she’s getting too old to cope with a child . . . but perhaps that was another lie.”
“Oh, dear, it’s an awful business! What are we to tell the boy? He asked if he could read my paper and I said he could. Then, when I saw about the sheik, I pretended I’d lost it because I could tell by the things he said that he didn’t know his father was going to America . . . but he’ll have to know, of course. I mean, he’s bound to hear about it.”
“Yes, sooner or later, but perhaps his father will come back to say good-bye before he goes.”
“There isn’t much time, is there?”
“No, not much.”
Emma took the paper and put it back in the drawer of the dresser under her ironing blanket. She said, “Charlie Cobley told Ernie and me that it’s all a fake. Colorado isn’t the right desert for sheiks and camels.”
“Mr. Cobley is right—as usual,” said Elfrida with a sad little smile.
*
29
When Elfrida went out she found Patrick sitting on the step waiting for her. There was a pathetic droop in his thin little shoulders and his eyes were dull and lifeless. He got up when he saw her and followed her without speaking.
The House on the Cliff Page 18
