Return Journey

by Ruby M. Ayres

  It was like some terrible dream, she thought, and gripped her slender hands so tightly together that her nails cut into the soft flesh.

  “Have they got her? Have they got her?” Clive’s frantic voice went on asking the same hopeless question, broken by dreadful sobbing.

  Mr. Bumpus discarded his useless rope and padded up to his wife—a grotesque figure in his little-boy suit.

  “Horrible—horrible,” he said, mopping his face.

  His wife clutched his arm.

  “Did you see it happen?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, but I saw Wheeler go over—I was one of those who tried to stop him—but he tore himself free and dived over the side before we could do anything.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “That’s what happens—a second life is so often sacrificed to save a first.”

  “What made her do it?” his wife asked exasperatedly.

  Mr. Bumpus eyed her with mild reproach.

  “My dear, it was an accident—you don’t suppose she——” He broke off sharply as a sudden ringing shout rang from the darkness.

  “Got them! …” But the rest was drowned in a storm of wild cheering.

  Mrs. Bumpus was crushed against the ship’s rails as she craned forward to see; and, regardless of onlookers, Sir John put a protecting arm round Miss Esther.

  “Got them—thank God,” he said, and his voice shook.

  The boat was returning—they could see it clearly in the long golden finger of light which seemed to be marking a pathway for it back to the ship across the dark face of the sea.

  And as it drew nearer silence once more fell on the excited crowd.

  “Stand back there!” A burly sailor forced a passage.

  “Are they—both—in the boat?” Miss Esther whispered to Sir John. She did not dare to look for herself.

  “Yes—both of them.”

  Slowly the boat was raised to the level of the deck, and hundreds of anxious faces strained towards it.

  Rocky was lying with her head against Wheeler’s knee, and someone had thrown a coat over her slim figure; water dripped from her hair and from her little feet in their gay shoes as presently she was gently lifted in the arms of the burly sailor and carried on board.

  “Is she—dead?” someone whispered, but there was no answer. The excited passengers pressed round Wheeler, but, utterly exhausted, he waved them away as someone started to cheer, and, pushing through the clamouring crowd, he disappeared below.

  And the ship went on its way again. …

  Mr. Bumpus led the way into the bar.

  “You’re not going to have a drink?” his wife said in a scandalised voice; but he answered very masterfully:

  “We’re all going to have—not one drink, but many.”

  “I suppose there’ll be a row about this,” the depressed Edith said.

  “A row?” Mr. Bumpus echoed indignantly. “And why should there be a row?”

  She looked slightly uncomfortable.

  “Well—we had to stop the ship and lose time.”

  Sir John glanced at his watch.

  “It is exactly thirteen minutes since the siren went,” he said quietly. “A wonderful piece of seamanship, I think.”

  “Hear, hear,” Mr. Bumpus murmured; and then, carried away by emotion, he added excitedly, “Three cheers for the British Navy, I say!” only everyone was too preoccupied to pay attention.”

  Presently the Second Officer came into the smoking-room, and instantly he was surrounded.

  “How is she? Is she all right? How is she?”

  He smiled, though he looked rather pale and strained.

  “The doctor says that by the time we get to Colombo she’ll be as right as rain,” he told them.

  And then Mr. Bumpus got his cheers—only many more than three. They cheered the ship and the Captain and the crew and the Second Officer—they cheered the entire British Mrchant Service and even the Army, till at last, when they paused for breath, the Second Officer said:

  “The man who deserves to be cheered is Wheeler—it is he who saved her life.”

  Gina Savoire burst into tears, and sobbed hysterically till someone said sharply:

  “There’s nothing to cry for now—you should have cried before,” but Mr. Bumpus, who felt rather like crying himself, patted Gina on the shoulder with one hand and with the other held a glass to her lips, while he said: “There, there! … She’ll feel better directly.”

  His intense relief made him a friend to all the world.

  Miss Esther touched Sir John’s arm.

  “Do you think—will they let me see her, do you think?”

  “We’ll go and ask,” he answered, and together they slipped away.

  “What a dreadful ending to a happy day,” Miss Esther said brokenly as they walked along the deserted deck; she glanced towards the sea and shivered; but Sir John answered wisely, “I am not so sure about that, my dear—it may prove to be a far happier ending than either you or I imagine.”

  Chapter

  15

  Rocky was in the sick bay for two days.

  “I’m not really ill——” she protested weakly after the first few

  hours when the effects of shock and terror were beginning to wear off a little; and then, her eyes imploring the doctor, she asked, “Mr. Wheeler?”

  “As right as rain,” the doctor told her cheerfully. “A bit exhausted of course,” he regarded her with a faint smile. “You owe your life to him, young woman. I’ve seen some brave things in my time, but that——”

  Rocky closed her eyes and trembled.

  “I know,” she whispered, and she seemed to relive the terrifying moment when she struggled gasping to the surface of the black sea and saw the lights of the ship—already miles away from her it seemed. “I thought I was a good swimmer—till I fell overboard,” she added, shivering.

  The doctor patted her shoulder.

  “Well, forget about it,” he advised sensibly. “And for the future, don’t sit on the rails. Now take this—it will make you sleep.” But Rocky had one last question to ask.

  “Is the Captain very angry with me?”

  He had to laugh at that. “Angry! … Well, I’m not going to say that he didn’t do a little private cursing, but he’s enormously relieved that everything has ended so well. Now drink this, and in a day or two you’ll feel as if it was just a bad dream.”

  Rocky slept all round the clock, and when she opened her eyes it was to find Miss Esther sitting beside her.

  For a moment she lay quite still, wondering what had happened and why she was not in her own cabin, and then in a rush it all came back. The fancy-dress dance—the sound of music—Clive’s pleading face and her own angry feeling of defiance as she repulsed him, and then … she bit her lip hard to stifle a cry, and instantly Miss Esther was holding her hand.

  “You’re quite safe, dear—there’s nothing to be afraid of—just lie still and don’t think.” She raised the girl’s hand to her own soft cheek. “It’s such a lovely morning, Rocky—the sun is shining and there’s such a blue sky. Look, I’ll pull the curtains back a little.” But Rocky clung to her hand.

  “No, don’t leave me, I want to talk to you.”

  “But, darling,” Miss Esther objected gently. “It’s bad for you to talk—you’ll make yourself ill.”

  “There’s so much I want to know!” Rocky implored. “I seem to have been out of everything for so long—or isn’t it long?”

  “Three days, Rocky.”

  “Three days!” … She drew a deep breath. “What has everyone been doing?”

  “Very much the same as usual—except that we’ve all been quieter, I think—we called at Aden on Tuesday.”

  “Oh! and I never saw it.”

  “You’ll see it coming back,” Miss Esther comforted her.

  “Coming back!” Rocky echoed, and she realised how very nearly everything had ended for her in the darkness of a summer’s night. So lonely! … the black sea—
the black sky!—and yet in the midst of her terror she had been conscious of the stars looking down like pitying eyes. And then—but she had hardly realised what was happening when suddenly she knew that she was not alone—that a man’s strong arm was holding her—a man’s breathless voice, speaking words of encouragement.

  “Don’t be frightened—don’t struggle—put your hand on my shoulder.” But she could remember asking in helpless panic:

  “Are we going to die?” And the same voice answering:

  “No—they’re coming—just hold on.” And then she supposed she must have fainted, for the stars went out and there was nothing any more but blackness….

  She drew a quick breath.

  “And Clive?” she asked timidly.

  “Poor Clive,” Miss Esther said. “He blames himself so much— we can’t comfort him—you must do that, Rocky.”

  But Rocky knew that it was a task far beyond her.

  She looked at the quiet face beside her, and impulsively she said: “But you’re happy,” as if the knowledge made her happy too,

  “Very happy,” Miss Esther echoed softly. “John wants to see you—when you are well enough.”

  Rocky smiled, realising that it was no longer “Sir John.”

  “And Mr. Wheeler too,” Miss Esther went on. “I am sure Mr. Wheeler is terribly anxious to see you.”

  Rocky turned her face away.

  “I think I’d rather wait till I’m up again,” she said. “I think I’d rather wait till then.” She was silent for a moment before she asked: “And Miss Pawson, and the Bumpuses—and Edith and Constance?”

  “They’re all quite well, and sent their love when I said I was coming to see you.”

  Rocky smiled. “It’s funny, but it seems so long ago,” she said dreamily. “Long ago since we were all—having such fun together. And the Second Officer?”

  “He always drinks your health at dinner-time,” Miss Esther told her smiling.

  “It must be in water, then,” Rocky submitted. “He never drinks anything but water.” She closed her eyes; and presently, believing that she had fallen asleep, Miss Esther tiptoed away.

  But Rocky was wide awake—wondering about so many things to which she could not find the answer.

  Return journey! … would she ever go back? and, if so, would it be alone? Sir John would have Miss Esther, but she—she could not bear to look farther … into a future which seemed so empty.

  And the next morning the doctor said:

  “I think we might get up today; what do you think, Miss Rocky?” He always talked to Rocky about herself as “we.” “An hour or so on deck after lunch won’t do us any harm, eh?” he asked cheerfully. “A nice comfortable chair in a shady corner—and no visitors—we’re not quite up to excitement yet, are we?”

  “I should like to get up,” Rocky told him; but when it came to making the effort she was surprised to find how weak and unsteady she felt. “As if I’d had a bad illness,” she told the nurse in surprise.

  “You have had a bad illness,” was the answer. “A bad shock is a bad illness. Put on this coat! … Yes, I know it’s hot, but you mustn’t take a chill.”

  Rocky subsided on to the bed.

  “I don’t believe I can walk,” she said blankly.

  “You haven’t got to walk,” the nurse answered calmly. “Two of the stewards are bringing a chair presently, and you will be carried. Now drink this milk and I’ll tell them we are ready.”

  Rocky sipped the milk obediently.

  “It seems—very wonderful to be alive,” she said.

  “It is wonderful,” Nurse Grey answered. “Now, just sit still and I’ll fetch the stewards.”

  Rocky felt very self-conscious as she was carried up on deck. The first person they met was Mr. Bumpus, a quaint rotund figure in a striped bathing costume. He dropped his towel when he saw her, and pattered forward.

  “So here she is!” he said delightedly. “Here is our little ray of sunshine! Welcome, my dear—a thousand times welcome. If I’d known we were to be so honoured I’d have hung the flags out—whole strings of them, and you should have had a royal welcome.”

  Rocky’s pale face flushed.

  “I don’t want a royal welcome,” she said anxiously. “I just want to be quiet—please don’t tell anyone, will you?”

  Mr. Bumpus winked as if they were sharing some stupendous secret.

  “Most of the old fogeys are having their afternoon siesta,” he said, forgetting that he himself belonged to the class of old fogeys. “And the young ‘uns are on the top deck—so we’ll find a nice quiet corner somewhere.” He trotted beside her, his bare feet making a funny padding sound on the deck, and presently she was comfortably installed out of the glare of the sun, bolstered up with cushions.

  “Mind if I stay and talk to you?” Mr. Bumpus asked; and when a little reluctantly she shook her head, he squatted down on the deck beside her looking rather like an old pixie.

  “Good to see you up again,” he said quite emotionally. “We’ve missed you, my dear—that empty chair at your table gave me quite a heartache.”

  “It won’t be empty much longer,” Rocky comforted him. “But it’s nice to think you’ve missed me.”

  They smiled at one another. “And in three days we get to Colombo,” Mr. Bumpus told her presently. “And there I suppose we shall lose you for good, eh?”

  Rocky flushed. “I’m not sure.” She thought of Clive. “I may go on to New Zealand,” she said, and suddenly she wondered whether that was to be the answer to all her doubts of the future. New Zealand—and Clive, for after all it would mean so much to have someone of her own, and Clive was kind, and he loved her; surely it would be better than wandering on through life quite alone?

  Mr. Bumpus’ sunburnt face brightened.

  “If you come on to New Zealand it will be fine,” he said boyishly. “We’ll look after you—no more tumbling overboard— hum! I didn’t mean to say that, but we’ll look after you, my dear —we’ll go the rest of the way together, eh?”

  “You’re very kind,” Rocky said; but somehow she knew that this was not to be, that there was something else—perhaps a less happy something else lying in store for her.

  “You’ll have to take care of yourself,” Mr. Bumpus went on gently. “Or let us take care of you—you haven’t got your colour back yet, my dear, and——” He broke off in dismay. “Oh, don’t cry,” for the tears had rushed to her eyes.

  “I’m not really crying,” she apologised. “I suppose it’s just because I’m not quite well—yet.” She groped for a handkerchief in vain. “Have you got one?” she appealed.

  But Mr. Bumpus being in his bathing costume could not oblige, but he scrambled to his feet. “I’ll get one for you—I won’t be a moment.” And he padded away.

  Rocky brushed the tears from her eyes and closed them determinedly. “Don’t be silly,” she told herself firmly. “There’s nothing to cry about—and even if there is, it’s no use crying. You’re really very lucky—and don’t forget it,” but the tears came again, trickling from beneath her closed lids and wetting her cheeks.

  How stupid to have forgotten a handkerchief! … she wished Mr. Bumpus would hurry; she blinked the tears away and looked at the sea all blue and dancing in the sunlight this afternoon, with nothing terrifying and cruel in its vastness—not even loneliness. …

  “Here is your handkerchief, Rocky,” a voice said beside her; and she raised her wet eyes to Wheeler’s face.

  There was a moment of absolute silence before he said:

  “I met Bumpus down below and he told me you were here—and gave me the handkerchief—do you mind if I stay?” But without waiting for a reply he drew up a chair and sat down beside her.

  “Are you better?” he asked. His voice was infinitely kind, though he did not look at her, and he still kept the little folded handkerchief in his brown hand.

  “I’m still alive,” Rocky answered. “Thanks to you.” Her voice faltered, and s
he said with a sob: “Please give me my handkerchief.”

  She dabbed her eyes and tucked it away in her coat pocket.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said faintly. “There aren’t any words … or if there are, I can’t find them.”

  “Don’t try,” he said. “All’s well that ends well—you’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

  “And you’re here too,” she said. “And that matters even more.”

  He looked at her at last.

  “We’re very polite to one another,” he submitted smiling. “And that doesn’t seem quite—natural somehow, does it?”

  Rocky made no reply, and Wheeler took his pipe from his pocket.

  “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  She shook her head; and presently he said:

  “In three days’ time we shall be in Colombo.” He leant forward to light his pipe. “What are you going to do then, Rocky?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps—I may go on to New Zealand.”

  “I thought you had only booked as far as Colombo?”

  “Yes, but——” she sighed. “I don’t quite know what I shall do.”

  She avoided his eyes. “Are you staying in Colombo?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He blew a cloud of smoke into the air and watched it disperse before he said deliberately: “And so are you.”

  Rocky stared at him, and then she tried to laugh.

  “You seem very sure, more sure than I am.”

  He went on, not heeding the interruption.

  “There is a British Consul in Colombo and we can get married.”

  Rocky’s lips moved, but she said nothing, and presently Wheeler went on rather painfully: “You see—I never knew until—the other night—how much you meant to me. When we—before they picked us up, you asked me if I thought we were going to die … I knew then that if anything happened to you—well, it would be the end of me too. I love you, and whether you—love me or not, you’re my charge for the future.”

  And then the silence of eternity seemed to fall on the world till, at last, Rocky managed to say faintly :

  “But—you can’t … love someone you don’t—believe in—or trust?”