“Don’t exaggerate things, my dear, just because you’re tired and overwrought. If—Wheeler or anyone else in this ship seems to avoid you, there is probably quite another explanation—some foolish misunderstanding, perhaps—and anyway,” he went on, trying to cheer her, “does it matter if one—very ordinary young man chooses to hold aloof when he might enjoy the companionship of someone so sweet and charming as yourself?”
Rocky was very still for a moment, and her hands beneath his kindly clasp ceased to tremble.
“That’s—just it,” she said at last. “You see, it does matter, and—and he isn’t an ordinary man.” And then she broke out agitatedly: “I shouldn’t have told you that—I didn’t mean to tell you—and you won’t—oh, you won’t tell anyone else, will you?”
“Need you ask me?”
She drew a long breath. “No, I’m sorry.”
Sir John stooped to recover the little cap which Rocky had thrown aside, and presently he asked:
“Do you remember my telling you, soon after we met, that I looked upon this voyage as a return journey?”
“Yes.”
“But it never occurred to you, I suppose, that, like you, I might be running away from something, did it?”
Rocky shook her head. “Running—away?”
“Yes.” He smiled at her a little ruefully. “And now it is my turn to make a confession, and then, when you have heard my story, Rocky, perhaps—perhaps we shall be able to reassure and comfort one another.”
“Please tell me,” she said.
Sir John leaned back in his chair.
“It was a long time ago,” he began slowly, “when I was quite a young man, forty years ago, and yet—sometimes it seems as if it was only yesterday. I had a brother—he was two years my senior, and we were the greatest friends. When we were boys at school they used to call us David and Jonathan because we were always together, and the nicknames followed us to the ’Varsity, David and Jonathan. I think it will be quite true to say that we never had a serious disagreement until——” He looked at her. “It was a girl, Rocky, a girl as young as you. I loved her, and I believed that my affection was returned. And then—the details do not matter—I discovered that my brother and she——” He stopped, as if even after so many years the memory still hurt, and it seemed a long time before he went on slowly: “We fought for her, Rocky; hot words led to blows, and we fought like—mad creatures, until … I never knew how it happened, but—my brother—fell—and in falling he struck his head against the corner of a heavy bookcase. … I remember standing there in the disordered room, standing over him with clenched fists—waiting for him to rise. … He was dead, Rocky.”
She gave a little cry of distress.
“Dead!”
“Yes.”
There was a long silence, through which Rocky could still hear the music of the band on the deck below, and it seemed to add to the tragedy of Sir John’s story, and presently she asked hesitatingly: “And—the girl?”
“She married someone else. I never saw her again, but ever since —I seem to have been walking away—walking away, trying in vain to escape from the moment when I knew I had—killed my brother.”
“But it was an accident,” she said quickly. “You didn’t mean to kill him.”
“Didn’t I? It’s difficult to say what my thoughts were. You see, we were both mad with jealousy and rage.”
He roused himself and squared his shoulders.
“Well, that is my story, Rocky—an infinitely greater tragedy than yours; but I have told you so that you may believe that it is never too late to make a return journey—as I have.”
“As—you have?” she echoed.
“Yes.” He smiled down into her tear-wet eyes. “Shall I tell you another secret? Yes, I think I shall be forgiven—a happy secret this time, Rocky—I am going to be married.”
“Married!” Rocky gasped. “To—Miss Esther,” she cried.
“Yes.”
She leaned forward and grasped his hand.
“Oh, how wonderful! I don’t know when I was so glad about anything. Oh, isn’t she a darling? I think it’s the most marvellous —beautiful thing that’s ever happened.” And then she suddenly stopped. “And does she—know—I mean about—your brother?” she asked.
“Yes. I told her.” He smiled very tenderly as if at a happy memory. “I thought—knew she would understand and forgive.”
“I think Miss Esther would always forgive everyone—everything,” Rocky said, and for a moment she forgot her own troubles in the excitement of this new romance.
“What did Miss Pawson say?” she asked presently.
Sir John laughed. “Nothing—I did not give her the opportunity. I just informed her—very courteously, I hope—that as soon as we reach Colombo it was my intention to marry her sister.”
“But when did all this happen?” Rocky asked breathlessly.
“Not an hour ago,” he told her, smiling. “But for the present it is to be a secret.”
“Of course,” she agreed quickly. “Miss Esther wouldn’t want everyone to know.”
She could imagine how some of the passengers would gossip— Constance, for instance, or even perhaps Mrs. Bumpus. Disgruntled people were so often unkind over another’s happiness.
“And—may I come to the wedding?” she asked.
“I shall refuse to be married unless you are present,” Sir John declared; and then he was serious once more. “ I should like to know that you are happy too, Rocky.”
She half shrugged her slim shoulders.
“I don’t suppose I ever shall be—not really,” she said. “I don’t think somehow— I was ever meant to be really happy.”
“And now you’re talking nonsense,” he declared cheerfully. “You’ll be telling me next that because it happens to be dark at this moment the sun won’t rise tomorrow morning. Happiness always goes to those who give happiness—and I know that through you, my dear, many people in this ship have found more happiness than they would have done had you never come on board.”
She smiled faintly at that, but the next instant she was saying fearfully: “But you won’t tell anyone about——”
Sir John frowned. “About what?” he asked blankly. “I cannot remember that you have told me anything! Surely it is I who have done all the talking!”
The tears rose again in Rocky’s eyes.
“You’re a darling,” she said softly.
Sir John rose to his feet.
“And now you’re coming down to have one more dance with me. Nonsense! … Of course you are. Put on this cap—there!” He nodded approvingly as she obeyed him.
“Now we’re all right—eh? No more black bogies lurking about?”
“They’re not quite so— near” Rocky admitted, and then impulsively she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “And thank you—for being such a darling,” she said softly.
He looked at her a little wistfully.
“That’s one of the sweetest kisses I have ever known, my dear,” he said; and then, drawing her hand through his arm: “Come along—and we’ll dance the last of those bogy-fellows away.”
They went down the stairs and along the promenade deck arm-in-arm.
“Where have you been?” Clive called to them as they passed. He was dancing with the depressed Edith and looking very glum.
“We’ve been studying the stars,” Sir John answered for her.
“I can’t see Miss Esther anywhere,” Rocky whispered as they joined the dancers.
Sir John laughed.
“She’s gone to put her sister to bed,” he answered. “I’m afraid the good lady was a little overcome by the champagne we had at dinner, and a double brandy which I insisted upon giving her after I had broken the bad news.”
Rocky laughed too. “Bad news! … The best news that ever was,” she declared warmly.
And presently, when the dance was over, they saw Miss Esther standing a little in the background, shyly watching them.
>
“There she is!” Rocky said. She darted towards her, and then, remembering that she was not supposed to know, she checked her speed and walked the rest of the way soberly.
“Have you enjoyed the evening?” she asked, with a little mischievous smile.
Miss Esther glanced at Sir John and quickly away again.
“It’s been—just—perfect,” she said, but that little glance of shy happiness and confidence was like a knife turning in Rocky’s heart, and her eyes grew sad, though almost at once she was smiling again as Clive hurried up to join them.
“Will you dance with me, Rocky?” And she answered flippantly:
“To the end of the world and beyond.”
“Where have you been hiding?” he asked suspiciously, as they walked away. And then, as she did not reply: “Has that man been making love to you?”
She raised her eyes. “What man?”
“Sir John.”
Rocky stood still, her face flushing with anger.
“If you’re going to say detestable things like that, I’ll never speak to you again,” she said tensely. “Sir John is a gentleman.”
“Even gentlemen have been known to make love,” he answered sharply. “Where are you going?”
“Anywhere away from you,” Rocky said angrily; but he followed her.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it—but I hate every chap who looks at you or pays you any attention.”
She said with sarcasm: “And, of course, the ship is crammed with men, queueing up, waiting to pay me attention, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
Rocky relented. “All right—you may return home—all is forgiven,” she said magnanimously. “Come along, they’re playing a Paul Jones—and it’s my favourite dance.”
And then suddenly she saw that Richard Wheeler had joined the already made-up circle and that Gina Savoire was his partner. For a moment she hesitated, her face paling, then she tugged at Clive’s hand. “Come along—or we shall be too late.”
And, of course, it happened that Fate—who is not always kind—decreed that when the music stopped Rocky should find herself face to face with Wheeler. She met his eyes defiantly.
“What bad luck!” she said flippantly, and at once would have given anything she possessed to recall the words.
“The luck of the game,” Wheeler answered rather grimly.
“What game?” Rocky demanded. “And who is playing?”
But he did not reply, and as they danced Rocky began to hum the tune which the band was playing—breaking off suddenly to ask gaily:
“Don’t you like my costume?”
He glanced down at her.
“Very—daring,” he said, with faint sarcasm.
Rocky laughed. “You mean—the tights, I suppose? Well, everyone else has admired them! They’re more respectable than Gina’s frock, anyway. And now, of course, I’ve given you the opportunity to remark that all the cats are out,” she added; but at that moment the music stopped again and they were parted.
When the dance was over, Rocky leaned against Clive’s shoulder breathlessly.
“Ugh! Isn’t it hot!”
She knew that Wheeler was watching her, but she did not care. Let him think what he liked—it was no concern of his how she behaved.
“Come and get something to drink,” Clive said; but she answered:
“No—I just want some air.”
They walked to the side of the ship and leaned against the rail.
Rocky turned her face towards the front of the ship. “There isn’t a breath of air,” she declared; and she vaulted lightly on to the rail, clinging to one of the stanchions for support. “That’s better,” she said with a sigh. She fanned her hot face with an absurd lace handkerchief, her feet in their green, long-toed shoes swinging above the deck.
“I wish I’d thought about dressing as a mermaid,” she said. “Think what a sensation it would have made! Especially if I’d suddenly dived overboard.” She peered down at the dark water. “If I’d been dressed as a mermaid and you as Father Neptune.”
She looked at him and laughed, her eyes very alluring in the subdued light beneath the green tilted cap.
Clive caught her hand. “Rocky—darling——”
She dragged herself free, pushing him angrily from her.
“Don’t! Leave me alone—I——” She suddenly lost her balance, made a frantic effort to recover it, and then before he could realise what was happening or could make a move forward to save her, with a little shrill scream of terror, she was gone——
Chapter
14
The Second Officer—forced into doing so by Constance Durham and the depressed Edith—had just persuaded Mrs. Bumpus to dance a one-step with him when, above the noise of the band and the surrounding chatter, the ship’s siren screamed shrilly into the darkness, and at the same instant the big ship began to reel violently to one side, while the deck tilted to a steep angle, sending the crowd of dancers helter-skelter into a corner, and scattering some loose sheets of music in all directions.
Mrs. Bumpus, who was always a little nervous of the sea, screamed, and would have clutched her partner violently round the neck had he not released her so suddenly that she almost fell. “What is it?” she gasped; but he had already left her and was rushing towards the stairs which led up to the boat deck.
“What is it?” Mrs. Bumpus screamed again, realising in blind panic that everyone around her seemed to be rushing in the same direction, and that the music had stopped abruptly.
A man, hurrying past, flung her a word over his shoulder.
“Somebody overboard.”
“Somebody overboard!” Mrs. Bumpus opened her mouth to scream for the third time, but thought better of it, and, grabbing up her discarded hat with its blue streamers, she panted across the sloping deck in the wake of the crowd.
Everyone seemed to be talking at once—asking excited, worried questions which nobody attempted to answer.
Mrs. Bumpus clutched at the arm of a woman nearest to her.
“Who is it? How did it happen? Why don’t we stop?”
The woman stared at her coldly.
“I don’t know any more than you do—but they’ve dropped a lifebelt with a light on it to mark the spot and we’re turning—can’t you see that we’re turning?” she added impatiently.
Gina Savoire’s shrill voice suddenly made itself heard above the babel.
“It is a man, they say … oh dear—the poor man—and the sea full of dreadful sharks.”
“A man!” Mrs. Bumpus transferred her attention to the Frenchwoman. “Is it my husband?” she demanded hysterically. “I demand to know if it is my husband.”
Constance rushed up to them; she was as white as death and her eyes were filled with horror.
“It’s Rocky,” she gasped. “She was sitting on the rail and she lost her balance—Mr. Wheeler’s gone after her—oh, it’s too horrible—they’ll both be drowned. Oh, why was she such a little fool!”
Gina’s painted face blenched beneath its elaborate make-up. “Mr. Wheeler! … What do you say? Mr. Wheeler!” she shrilled.
“He’s gone after her,” Constance repeated tonelessly. “They tried to stop him—but they couldn’t. Oh dear, I think I’m going to faint.”
She sank down on one of the chairs, covering her face with her hands, but nobody took any notice.
“Rocky!” Mrs. Bumpus said, as if to herself; and suddenly her plump face quivered.
She had never quite approved of Rocky, perhaps because of her undoubted popularity, especially with the menfolk, but she shuddered as she gave one horrified glance at the dark sea, lit now by the long groping fingers of two searchlights which moved slowly round the still face of the water, searching—searching. …
The clamour of voices suddenly ceased and there was a tense silence, save for an officer’s voice shouting orders.
“What does he say?” Mrs. Bumpus asked stupidly; and someone answe
red tensely:
“They’re lowering a boat—for what good it will be.” And someone else said pessimistically: “I once saw a man go overboard in the Atlantic, but they never got him—still, that wasn’t a British boat.”
The depressed Edith began to sob.
“Oh, they will get them, won’t they? Won’t they get them, don’t you think?” She was not addressing anyone in particular—perhaps it was just a forlorn prayer to whichever god might be listening.
She gazed at the crowd, half-blinded by her tears.
Sir John, very pale but quiet and self-controlled; Mr. Bumpus, hauling at a coil of rope, with a vague idea that he was being of use; Miss Esther, her lips moving and the tears streaming down her face; Miss Pawson, who had made her way on deck at the first scream of the siren, a quaint figure in a brown dressing-gown and felt slippers—and the rest in gay fancy attire which seemed to add to the tense tragedy of the scene.
One of the boats, which had been swung out almost before the majority of the passengers knew what had happened, was slowly descending.
Mrs. Bumpus caught a glimpse of the Second Officer standing up, his fair hair shining in the many lights of the ship, and she could hear his voice, clear and authoritative, giving orders.
“The ship has stopped,” someone said.
A little sob broke from Miss Esther’s pale lips as she pressed forward to the ship’s rail; and presently the tense silence was broken by an agonised voice.
“Have they got her? Have they got her? Oh, my God—it was my fault—all my fault.”
The voice which nobody could answer was Clive Durham’s, and Miss Esther, glancing pityingly towards him, saw that two of the men passengers were standing on either side of him—men who a moment ago had forcibly prevented him from following Wheeler into the water.
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