Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  There was Margaret, looking much as usual, her face turned a little from him as she lay in a huge arm-chair. She could not see him as she was, and his heart beat furiously as he looked at the face he loved best of all others.

  Margaret spoke to Miss Skeat without turning her head, for she was working at some of her eternal needlework.

  “Have you had a good time? How did you get down?”

  “Such an airing,” answered the lady-companion, who was divesting herself of her wraps, “and Dr Claudius—”

  The last was lost to the Doctor’s ear, for he withdrew his head and beat a hasty retreat. Miss Skeat also stopped speaking suddenly, for as she mentioned his name she looked naturally towards the door, supposing him to be standing there, and she just saw his head disappear from between the curtains. Margaret turned her eyes and saw Miss Skeat’s astonishment.

  “Well, what about Dr. Claudius?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Miss Skeat, “you asked me how I got down, and I was going to say Dr. Claudius gave me his arm, and I thought he had come in here with me.”

  Neither Miss Skeat nor Claudius had noticed Mr. Barker, who was ensconced on a corner transom, with his nails and a book to amuse himself with. He saw the whole thing: how the Doctor put his white face and dripping beard through the curtains, and suddenly withdrew it at the mention of his name, and how Miss Skeat held her peace about having seen it too. He reflected that something had happened, that Miss Skeat knew all about it, and that she was a discreet woman. He wondered what it could be. Claudius would not look like that unless something were wrong, he thought, and he would certainly come back in five minutes if everything were right. He had not seen him at breakfast. He took out his watch softly and let it drop on his book, face upwards. Meanwhile he talked to the two ladies about the weather, and listened to Miss Skeat’s rapturous account of the spray and the general slipperiness of the upper regions. When five minutes were elapsed he put his watch back and said he thought he would try it himself, as he fancied the fresh air would do him good. So he departed, and obtained a pair of sea-boots and an oilskin, which he contemplated with disgust, and put on with resolution. He wanted to find the Duke, and he wanted to see Claudius; but he wanted them separately.

  Mr. Barker cautiously put his head out of the cuddy door and espied the Duke and his sister. This was not exactly what he wanted, and he would have retired, but at that moment Lady Victoria caught sight of him, and immediately called out to him not to be afraid, as it was much smoother now. But Mr. Barker’s caution had proceeded from other causes, and being detected, he put a bold face on it, stepped on the deck and slammed the door behind him. Lady Victoria was somewhat surprised to see him tread the slippery deck with perfect confidence and ease, for she thought he was something of a “duffer.” But Barker knew how to do most things more or less, and he managed to bow and take off his sou’wester with considerable grace in spite of the rolling. Having obtained permission to smoke, he lighted a cigar, crooked one booted leg through the iron rail, and seated himself on the bulwark, where, as the steamer lurched, he seemed to be in a rather precarious position. But there was a sort of cat-like agility in his wiry frame, that bespoke unlimited powers of balancing and holding on.

  “I thought there were more of you,” he began, addressing Lady Victoria. “You seem to be having quite a nice time here.”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish I had come up sooner; the atmosphere downstairs is very oppressive.”

  “I thought you had neuralgia,” said Lady Victoria.

  “So I had. But that kind of neuralgia comes and goes very suddenly. Where is the giant of the North?”

  “Dr. Claudius? He went down with Miss Skeat, and when he came up again he said he would go forward,” answered she, giving the nautical pronunciation to the latter word.

  “Oh, I see him,” cried Barker, “there he is, just going up the bridge. By Jove! what a height he looks.”

  “Yes,” put in the Duke, “he is rather oversparred for a nor’-easter, eh? Rather be your size, Barker, for reefing tawpsels;” and the Englishman laughed.

  “Well,” said Barker, “when I first knew him he used to wear a balustrade round his neck to keep from being dizzy. I wouldn’t care to have to do that. I think I will go and have a look too.” And leaving his companions to laugh at his joke, Mr. Barker glided easily from the rail, and began his journey to the bridge, which he accomplished without any apparent difficulty. When he had climbed the little ladder he waved his hand to the Duke and his sister, who screamed something complimentary in reply; and then he spoke to Claudius who was standing by the skipper, his legs far apart, and both his hands on the railing.

  “Is that you, Barker?” asked Claudius; “you are well disguised this morning.”

  “Claudius,” said the other, “what on earth is the row?” The captain was on the other side of the Doctor, and could not hear in the wind.

  “What row?” asked Claudius. Barker knew enough of his friend by this time to be aware that roundabout methods of extracting information were less likely to be successful than a point-blank question.

  “Don’t pretend ignorance,” said he. “You look like a ghost, you are so pale, and when you put your head through the curtains a quarter of an hour ago, I thought you were one. And you have not been near the Countess this morning, though you have never been away from her before since we weighed anchor. Now, something has happened, and if I can do anything, tell me, and I will do it, right away.” It is a good old plan, that one of trying to satisfy one’s curiosity under pretence of offering assistance. But Claudius did not trouble himself about such things; he wanted no help from any one, and never had; and if he meant to tell, nothing would prevent him, and if he did not mean to tell, no power would make him.

  “Since you have found it out, Barker, something has happened, as you say; and thanks for your offer of help, but I cannot tell you anything more about it.”

  “I think you are unwise.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I might help you a great deal, for I have some natural tact.”

  “Yes.”

  “Besides, you know I am as secret as the grave.”

  “Quite so.”

  “I introduced you to the Countess, too.”

  “I know it.”

  “And I should be very sorry indeed to think that my action should have had any evil consequences.”

  “I am sure you would.”

  “Then, my dear fellow, you must really take me a little more into your confidence, and let me help you,” said Barker, in the tone of an injured man.

  “Perhaps I ought,” said Claudius.

  “Then why will you not tell me what has happened now?”

  “Because I won’t,” said Claudius, turning sharply on Barker, and speaking in a voice that seemed to make the railings shake. He was evidently on the point of losing his temper, and Barker repented him too late of his attempt to extract the required information. Now he changed his tone.

  “Excuse me, Claudius, I did not mean to offend you.”

  “You did not offend me at all, Barker. But please — do not ask me any more questions about it.” Claudius was perfectly calm again.

  “No indeed, my dear fellow, I would not think of it; — and I don’t seem to think that I should advise anybody else to,” he added mentally. He made up his mind that it must be something very serious, or Claudius, who was so rarely excited, would hardly have behaved as he had done. He made a few remarks about the weather, which had certainly not improved since morning; and then, resolving that he would find out what was the matter before he was much older, he glided down the ladder and went aft. Lady Victoria had disappeared, and her brother was trying to light a short black pipe.

  “Duke,” Barker began, “what the deuce is the matter with Claudius this morning?”

  “Don’t know, I’m sure. My sister thinks it is very odd.”

  “Well, if you don’t know, I don’t either, but I can
make a pretty good guess.”

  The Duke’s vesuvian was sputtering in the spray and wind, and he got a good light before he answered.

  “I’ll take six to four he marries her, at all events.”

  “I don’t go in for playing it as low down as that on my friends,” said Barker virtuously, “or I would take you in hundreds. You must be crazy. Can’t you see he has shown up and is sold? Bah! it’s all over, as sure as you’re born.”

  “Think that’s it?” said the other, much interested. “You may be right. Glad you would not bet, anyhow.”

  “Of course that’s it. The idiot has proposed to her here, on board, and she has refused him, and now he has to face the fury of the elements to keep out of her way.”

  “Upon my soul, it looks like it,” said the Duke. “He won’t stay on the bridge much longer if this lasts, though.”

  “You had best ask your sister,” answered Barker. “Women always know those things first. What do you say to a game? It is beastly dirty weather to be on the deck watch.” And so they pushed forward to the smoking-room, just before the bridge, and settled themselves for the day with a pack of cards and a box of cigars.

  As Margaret had not put in an appearance at breakfast, which was a late and solid meal on board, and as there was no other regular congregation of the party until dinner, for each one lunched as he or she pleased, it was clear that the Countess and Claudius would not be brought together until the evening. Margaret was glad of this for various reasons, some definable and others vague. She felt that she must have misjudged Claudius a little, and she was glad to see that her exhibition of displeasure on the previous night had been sufficient to keep him away. Had he been as tactless as she had at first thought, he would surely have sought an early opportunity of speaking to her alone, and the rest of the party were so much used to seeing them spend their mornings together that such an opportunity would not have been lacking, had he wished it. And if he had misunderstood her words and manner — well, if he had not thought they were meant as a decisive check, he would have followed her there and then, last night, when she left him. She felt a little nervous about his future conduct, but for the present she was satisfied, and prepared herself for the inevitable meeting at dinner with a certain feeling of assurance. “For,” said she, “I do not love him in the least, and why should I be embarrassed?”

  Not so poor Claudius, who felt the blood leave his face and rush wildly to his heart, as he entered the saloon where the party were sitting down to dinner. The vessel was rolling heavily, for the sea was running high under the north-easter, and dinner would be no easy matter. He knew he must sit next to her and help her under all the difficulties that arise under the circumstances. It would have been easy, too, for them both to see that the eyes of the other four were upon them, had either of them suspected it. Claudius held himself up to the full of his great height and steadied every nerve of his body for the meeting. Margaret belonged to the people who do not change colour easily, and when she spoke, even the alert ear of Mr. Barker opposite could hardly detect the faintest change of tone. And yet she bore the burden of it, for she spoke first.

  “How do you do, Dr. Claudius?”

  “Thank you, well. I was sorry to hear you had a headache to-day. I hope you are better.”

  “Thanks, yes; much better.” They all sat down, and it was over.

  The conversation was at first very disjointed, and was inclined to turn on small jokes about the difficulty of dining at an angle of forty-five degrees. The weather was certainly much heavier than it had been in the morning, and the Duke feared they would have a longer passage than they had expected, but added that they would be better able to judge to-morrow at twelve. Claudius and Margaret exchanged a few sentences, with tolerable tact and indifference; but, for some occult reason, Mr. Barker undertook to be especially lively and amusing, and after the dinner was somewhat advanced he launched out into a series of stories and anecdotes which served very well to pass the time and to attract notice to himself. As Mr. Barker was generally not very talkative at table, though frequently epigrammatic, his sudden eloquence was calculated to engage the attention of the party. Claudius and Margaret were glad of the rattling talk that delivered them from the burden of saying anything especial, and they both laughed quite naturally at Barker’s odd wit. They were grateful to him for what he did, and Claudius entertained some faint hope that he might go on in the same strain for the rest of the voyage. But Margaret pondered these things. She saw quickly that Barker had perceived that some embarrassment existed, and was spending his best strength in trying to make the meal a particularly gay one. But she could not understand how Barker could have found out that there was any difficulty. Had Claudius been making confidences? It would have been very foolish for him to do so, and besides, Claudius was not the man to make confidences. He was reticent and cold as a rule, and Barker had more than once confessed to the Countess that he knew very little of Claudius’s previous history, because the latter “never talked,” and would not always answer questions. So she came to the conclusion that Barker only suspected something, because the Doctor had not been with her during the day. And so she laughed, and Claudius laughed, and they were well satisfied to pay their social obolus in a little well-bred and well-assumed hilarity.

  So the dinner progressed, in spite of the rolling and pitching; for there was a good deal of both, as the sea ran diagonally to the course, breaking on the starboard quarter. They had reached the dessert, and two at least of the party were congratulating themselves on the happy termination of the meal, when, just as the Duke was speaking, there was a heavy lurch, and a tremendous sea broke over their heads. Then came a fearful whirring sound that shook through every plate and timber and bulkhead, like the sudden running down of mammoth clock-work, lasting some twenty seconds; then everything was quiet again save the sea, and the yacht rolled heavily to and fro.

  Every one knew that there had been a serious accident, but no one moved from the table. The Duke sat like a rock in his place and finished what he was saying, though no one noticed it. Miss Skeat clutched her silver fruit-knife till her knuckles shone again, and she set her teeth. Mr. Barker, who had a glass of wine in the “fiddle” before him, took it out when the sea struck and held it up steadily to save it from being spilled; and Lady Victoria, who was not the least ashamed of being startled, cried out —

  “Goodness gracious!” and then sat holding to the table and looking at her brother.

  Margaret and Claudius were sitting next each other on one side of the table. By one of those strange, sympathetic instincts, that only manifest themselves in moments of great danger, they did the same thing at the same moment. Claudius put out his left hand and Margaret her right, and those two hands met just below the table and clasped each other, and in that instant each turned round to the other and looked the other in the face. What that look told man knoweth not, but for one instant there was nothing in the world for Margaret but Claudius. As for him, poor man, he had long known that she was the whole world to him, his life and his death.

  It was very short, and Margaret quickly withdrew her hand and looked away. The Duke was the first to speak.

  “I do not think it is anything very serious,” said he. “If you will all sit still, I will go and see what is the matter.” He rose and left the saloon.

  “I don’t fancy there is any cause for anxiety,” said Barker. “There has probably been some slight accident to the machinery, and we shall be off again in an hour. I think we ought to compliment the ladies on the courage they have shown; it is perfectly wonderful.” And Mr. Barker smiled gently round the table. Lady Victoria was palpably scared and Miss Skeat was silent. As for Margaret, she was confused and troubled. The accident of her seizing Claudius’s hand, as she had done, was a thousand times more serious than any accident to the ship. The Doctor could not help stealing a glance at her, but he chimed in with Barker in praising the coolness of all three ladies. Presently the Duke came back. He h
ad been forward by a passage that led between decks to the engine-room, where he had met the captain. The party felt reassured as the ruddy face of their host appeared in the doorway.

  “There is nothing to fear,” he said cheerfully. “But it is a horrid nuisance, all the same.”

  “Tell us all about it,” said Lady Victoria.

  “Well — we have lost our means of locomotion. We have carried away our propeller.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” asked Barker.

  “Do? There is nothing to be done. We must sail for it. I am dreadfully sorry.”

  “It is not your fault,” said Claudius.

  “Well, I suppose not. It happens even to big steamers.”

  “And shall we sail all the way to New York?” asked his sister, who was completely reassured. “I think it will be lovely.” Miss Skeat also thought sailing much more poetic than steaming.

  “I think we must hold a council of war,” said the master. “Let us put it to the vote. Shall we make for Bermuda, which is actually nearer, but which is four or five days’ from New York, or shall we go straight and take our chance of a fair wind?”

  “If you are equally willing to do both, why not let the ladies decide?” suggested Barker.

  “Oh no,” broke in the Countess, “it will be much more amusing to vote. We will write on slips of paper and put them in a bag.”

  “As there are five of you I will not vote,” said the Duke, “for we might be three on a side, you know.”

  So they voted, and there were three votes for New York and two for Bermuda.

  “New York has it,” said the Duke, who counted, “and I am glad, on the whole, for it is Sturleson’s advice.” Barker had voted for New York, and he wondered who the two could have been who wanted to go to Bermuda. Probably Miss Skeat and Lady Victoria. Had the Countess suspected that those two would choose the longer journey and out-vote her, if the decision were left to the ladies?

  Meanwhile there had been heavy tramping of feet on the deck, as the men trimmed the sails. She could only go under double-reefed trysails and fore-staysail for the present, and it was no joke to keep her head up while the reefs were taken in. It was blowing considerably more than half a gale of wind, and the sea was very heavy. Soon, however, the effect of the sails made itself felt; the yacht was a good sea-boat, and when she fairly heeled over on the port-tack and began to cut the waves again, the ladies downstairs agreed that sailing was much pleasanter and steadier than steam, and that the next time they crossed in a yacht they would like to sail all the way. But in spite of their courage, and notwithstanding that they were greatly reassured by the explanations of Mr. Barker, who made the nature of the accident quite clear to them, they had been badly shaken, and soon retired to their respective staterooms. In the small confusion of getting to their feet to leave the cabin it chanced that Claudius found himself helping Margaret to the door. The recollection of her touch and look when the accident happened was strong in him yet and gave him courage.