“You make me curious, Senora,” said the sailor in his best manner.
But Mistress Pullen for a very good reason, namely, that she could not think of a convincing story on the spot, was not to be prevailed on, and the conversation flagged for a time. At last she broke the silence.
“Then the Captain of the Coldlight is much attracted by this—this—this wench?” she asked.
“Attracted!” Blueneck looked up excitedly. “I tell you, Mistress, I never saw him so before—of course, you will understand, Senora, there have been other women—how could there not be? But never has it been so that he has lost his delight in the trade. No,” he added, “it has not been like this these last ten years, and before then he was but a lad. Without doubt the maid has bewitched him.”
Mistress Pullen began to be interested.
“Have there been very many other women who loved the gallant Captain?” she said, her respect for the Spaniard growing at every word.
Blueneck threw up his hands.
“So many, Mistress, I could not name them all.”
Mistress Amy thrilled with interest, but her face fell at her next thought.
“And now he is enamoured with an Island wench?” she said, feeling that the Captain had somehow lowered his standard of romance.
“Ay,” said Blueneck, “but ’tis a new affair this time; before it was the wenches who sighed for the Captain and the Captain who laughed and was merry, but this time it is the wench who is merry and the Captain——” he laughed, “oh, the Captain is bewitched,” he said.
“Indeed!” Mistress Pullen looked surprised. “I wonder that Mistress Sue would brook the affair in her uncle’s house.”
“Ho! ho! ho!” Blueneck laughed, his earrings glittering in the firelight. “Mistress Sue? Why, Mistress Amy, that lass would give her ears to get a fair look from Blackkerchief Dick. I warrant you Master French is well-nigh mad at her neglect.”
Mistress Pullen sighed at the waywardness of youth and went on with her sewing.
“Ah, and that’s another thing,” said Blueneck. “Did you know that Master French was prevented from going to Tiptree last Tuesday?”
“Prevented! Were there excise men on the Stroud?” Mistress Amy spoke quickly, voicing the fear of all the Island smugglers.
The Stroud, a narrow bridge-like road across the mud, was the one connection the Island had with the mainland, and once the officers of the law held it, there was no telling what dangers would be involved.
Blueneck smiled.
“Nay,” he said, “they will be as foolish as ever they were. Nay, there was some talk about the goods, and the Captain swore that he would not rest another night at the Victory, and that if Master French wanted aught from him he must come to the Ship and fetch it. So he had to return.”
“Indeed, and when will he be going again, Master Blueneck? for I was wishing to get me a piece of ribbon for my new kirtle-top,” said Mistress Pullen, her interest reviving.
The Spaniard looked at her smiling. “Would you allow me to get it for you, Senora?” he said in as exact imitation as he could manage of the Captain’s manner.
Mistress Amy looked at him in surprise.
“Why surely you’re not going to Tiptree, Master Blueneck, are you?” she said.
“I would go to London, if you wished aught from thence, Mistress,” said the sailor loftily.
Amy looked at him in admiration. “If only Joe would speak so,” she reflected.
The sailor seeing the impression he had made rose to his feet, narrowly escaping the chimney beam.
“To-morrow,” he said, “I shall ride to Tiptree and bring the fairest dame in the Island a ribbon,” he reached for his cap and coat and buttoning them on made for the door.
Amy followed him, thanking him. They exchanged farewells, Mistress Pullen blushingly consenting to a kiss, and parted.
As soon as his footsteps had died away, Mistress Pullen slipped a cloak over her head and moved to the window, through which she could see a faint patch of light about two hundred yards away.
“Ah!” she said to herself, “Joan Bellamie will be yet awake, what a deal I have to tell the ronyon,” and she slipped out, shutting the door behind her.
Chapter VIII
“Anny, lass, I would speak with thee; wilt harken?”
Hal put the question timidly as he looked across at his sweetheart.
They were alone in the Ship’s kitchen; Hal re-sanded the floor while Anny sat on the window-ledge cleaning a pair of old brass candlesticks. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and the cold, watery sun shot a few last rays of yellow light over the Island before it sank down behind the mainland. Inside the kitchen it was warm and beginning to get dark, for the fire had been allowed to die down to a few smouldering red and white embers, and it was yet too early to light the dips. Outside in the yard Anny could see her little brother talking to old Gilbot, who had wrapped himself up in a seaman’s jacket, and had stepped out to taste the air.
The old man was fond of children, and Anny sighed with relief as she saw the strange pair—Red still wore his costume of the night before—take hands and after some animated talk walk off together down the road in the direction of the sea, laughing as they went.
Hal made up the fire with logs which he had been drying on the hearth, crossed the room and stood beside the window-ledge just in front of the girl, before he spoke again.
“Will you harken to me?” he repeated.
Anny looked up smiling. “Harken to thee, Hal?” she said. “Why certes, thou needst not look so solemnly; why should I not harken to thee?”
The boy did not speak for a moment but stood fidgeting before her.
Anny put down the candlestick which she was cleaning, and slipping off the window-ledge led him over to the fireplace, where she sat down on one of the long, high-backed seats and pulled him down beside her.
“Do you want to tell me you don’t want to marry me?” she asked half-jestingly, half-anxiously, as she leaned her little round head with its long black plaits on his shoulder.
Hal turned to her in great astonishment.
“Marry, lass! How can ye be so cruel as to judge me so?” he said. “Of course not!”
“Oh, the saints be praised for that,” said the girl quaintly. “Lord, how you fear’d me, Hal,” she added, kneeling up on the seat to kiss him.
The boy put his arm round her.
“Anny,” he said quietly, his face grave and old for one of his years, “you’re terrible young yet, seventeen ain’t you?” The girl nodded, uncertain as to what was coming yet. “Ah! well, you ain’t had time to grow wise, have you?” he continued, still holding her on the seat beside him.
“I reckon you ain’t had much more, Hal,” she said laughing. “You’re but eighteen, ain’t you?”
Hal blushed.
“Ay, maybe,” he said, “but I know what I’m telling you.”
Anny kissed him lightly on the forehead.
“I’m harkening,” she said.
Hal opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again; then he withdrew his arm from about her waist and stood up.
Anny looked at him in astonishment not unmixed with fear.
“Why, what in the world is the matter with ye, lad?” she said. “You don’t want to go for a sailor, do you?”
The boy shook his head violently, and Anny began to feel alarmed.
“Whatever will you be worrying about next?” she said.
Hal stepped towards her, and, putting a hand on her forehead, pushed her head back until she looked into his eyes.
“You—you—you’re not loving the Spaniard, lass?” he blurted out, ashamed of the words as soon as he had spoken them.
Anny looked at him for a moment uncertain whether to be offended or to laugh.
“Hal, I’m ashamed that you should be such a child” she said, a little smile hovering round her mouth. “Why should I love anyone but you?”
The boy appeared to be sat
isfied for he laughed and kissed her, but then he added, “I don’t like the Spaniard, lass. I wish you wouldn’t hark to his swaggerings.”
Anny turned round.
“Hal, you wouldn’t have me ill-tempered to the customers?” she said, as she picked up the half-cleaned candlestick and set to work on it again.
Hal thrust his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“Nay, lass, of course not. I would not bid you be uncivil, but truth, I thought you liked the foreigner’s big talk and notice of you. I——”
“He is a pleasant gentleman,” said the girl, “but, lord! I mark not half he says.”
“You’d not let him kiss you, Anny?”
Hal spoke sharply and Anny looked up in amazement.
“Mother of Grace,” she ejaculated, “for what do you take me?”
The boy was beside her in a moment.
“Forgive me, lass,” he said, “I did but want ye to promise to have no dealings with the foreigner—I—love you so, see?”
“Oh!” said Anny laughing as she straightened her hair after his embrace. “No one would suspect you of kissing a lass before, Hal. You can’t be knowing how strong you are.”
“That’s as may be, but will you promise to have no truck with the Spaniard?” the boy persisted.
“Ay, of course I promise,” Anny sighed at his distrust as she spoke. Hal kissed her again, then walked over to the fireplace and stood for some moments, resting his head on the wooden ledge below the chimney-piece and staring down into the smoky, crackling fire.
He felt that he had appeared ridiculous in Anny’s eyes and his young blood revolted at the thought. In vain he tried to comfort himself with the thought that it was only his love for her which made him so anxious, but the idea that she must think him merely jealous would force itself on his mind making him uncomfortable. However, he knew that the Captain might be a formidable rival so he said nothing else at the time.
Anny sat on the window-ledge, rubbing the candlestick with more energy than was necessary.
She was hurt that Hal should think her such a light-o’-love, but all the same she thrilled with pleasure to think that he was jealous of anybody because of her. It gave her such a pleasant feeling of ownership and, as she reflected happily, she was very fond of him.
Suddenly she paused to listen. Coming down the road she could hear the scrunching of heavy waggon wheels. She looked up at the old horologe on the chimney-piece.
“That won’t be Master French yet awhile; will it?” she said.
“Eh?” Hal pushed his hand over his forehead and turned to her.
“I don’t hear anyone,” he said, “and it wouldn’t be him yet; the roads ain’t safe before dark nowadays.”
Anny sat still for a moment.
“There is someone,” she cried, as a tumbril drawn by a piebald gelding turned into the yard.
Hal stepped across to the window and looked out over the girl’s head.
“Oh! ’tis Cip de Musset,” he said, as the man in the tumbril climbed out and pushed back the oiled flaps of his head-covering from his face. “I warrant he brings the rum from the brig.” He opened the door and went out bare-headed into the yard.
Anny watched him through the window, saw him greet the man heartily, and then look into the cart at the other’s invitation.
“Right!” she heard him say. “Six of rum and three of canary. Here, John Patten.”
A man came out of one of the stables. Hal said something to him which she could not catch. The man nodded and led the horse into a corner of the yard, where he proceeded to unload the cart.
The man of whom Hal had spoken as Cip de Musset was tall, long-legged, and loosely built, with a black beard which curled down on to his chest. He stepped up to the inner door with Hal, and then stopped and went back to the cart as though he had forgotten something. After groping under the sacking coverings for a while he pulled out a fair-sized bundle tied up in a piece of sail-cloth, and with this under his arm, came back to the door where Hal was waiting for him. As he crossed the yard he caught sight of Anny peering through the window and smiled at her, showing a set of enormous yellow teeth.
Anny tossed her head and turned away from the window and picking up the two candlesticks carried them off to the first guest-chamber where they belonged.
When she returned, the sail-cloth bundle was lying on the table, and Hal and Cip de Musset were sitting together by the fire, the latter drinking hot rum.
“Good-morrow, fair one,” grinned the visitor as he looked up, “there’s somewhat on the table for thee.”
His clothes proclaimed him a sailor, and his manners were free and easy.
“For me?” Anny looked first at the bundle and then over at Hal who was watching her covertly.
“And—er—and who will it be sent from, Master de Musset?” she said at last.
Cip de Musset laughed.
“Open it, lassie,” he said, “open it and see.”
Anny, nothing loath, pulled at the knots, and pushed back the sail-cloth; underneath was a white linen covering.
Hal rose to his feet and in spite of himself craned his neck to see.
The other man got up and stood beside the girl looking down at the bundle. The arrival of a parcel was an unusual occurrence at the Ship.
Anny fingered the linen for a moment, and then with a deft movement of her little brown hand switched it off. She gave a gasp of surprise, and putting out her hands held up a piece of Lyons silk. It was of a pale honey colour and of a texture not unlike taffeta. She shook out the glistening sheet and held the piece high up to her chin. The effect made even Hal gasp. Cip de Musset put his tankard down on the table and stepped back a few paces to look at her.
“That’s right, lassie, just a bit nearer the window,” he said.
Anny obeyed, as proud as a snake of its new skin, and stood so that the little remaining light might fall upon her.
Cip rested his huge hairy hands on his hips and leant back a little, his head on one side, and one eye shut.
“By the Lord! but you’re as fair as a new figurehead, lass,” he said approvingly.
Anny looked down and laughed with delight. She had never seen such stuff before, and the blood rushed to her face as she saw Hal’s expression of amazed admiration as he stared at her. With a little sigh she folded up the silk, and returned to the bundle. It contained a letter, a piece of green frieze, and a little carved box. Anny laid aside the letter and the box, and looked at the frieze; there seemed to be a great deal of it.
Cip stepped forward to help her and taking one end walked over to the door, while she, holding her side, went to the fireplace, yet the strip sagged in the middle to the floor.
“Two new kirtles and a pair of galligaskins for Red,” thought the girl, as she wound up the cloth, and turned her attention to the box.
Cip de Musset nudged Hal, and jerked his thumb in her direction.
“Look how the lassie plays with new toys,” he whispered.
Hal turned away sharply, frowning angrily.
Cip stared at him in amazement and then, shrugging his shoulders, looked across at the girl.
Anny had not noticed Hal’s expression, and Cip’s face broke into smiles again as he watched her. She was trying to open the little wooden box, her face was flushed, and she was breathing quickly with childish excitement. At last she gave it up, and turning to Cip offered it for him to open. The sailor wiped his hands carefully on his green and yellow neckerchief before he took the box gingerly between his thumb and forefinger. After turning it over once or twice he tried his strength on the tightly-fitting lid and jerked it off, and held it out to the girl.
Anny took it eagerly and gave a little cry of delight as she examined the contents.
“Marry! Hal, I prithee, see!” she laughed as she pulled out a long string of polished amber beads and put them over her head. “And, oh, look you! look you!” she exclaimed, holding out a brooch abo
ut the size of a large oyster, which was of painted porcelain with a silver border studded with brilliants. “Oh, and see! Look, look, Hal! why don’t you look?” she went on as she pulled first one trinket after another out of the little wooden box and held it up for their inspection. Suddenly she paused and putting in her hand very carefully brought out a little carved-wood elephant, brought no doubt from the East by some traveller.
“Oh, what a manikin,” she exclaimed, fingering the exquisite workmanship in wonderment. “Look ’ee, Hal, whatever will it be?”
Hal looked down at the little figure as she stood before him, the carved bauble lying in the palm of her small brown hand, and sighed.
“Oh!” he said, as he picked up the elephant and looked at it quizzically. “I reckon ’tis some heathen image.”
Anny snatched it away from him and held it tightly.
“Oh! nay,” she said almost pleadingly, “’tis not, indeed, or anyway ’tis marvellous dainty.”
Cip stepped forward heavily and looked over her shoulder.
“Oh! nay,” he said at last, “’tis not a heathen image; ’tis a moulding of a beast.”
Anny looked pleased.
“What fine little beasts they must be,” she observed.
“Ah, yes,” said Cip, nodding his head sagely, “wonderful fine little beasts.”
Anny laughed happily, and turned to the silk and trinket-strewn table.
“Oh, won’t I be fine,” she exclaimed, flinging out her arms as though to embrace the table’s load.
Hal grunted.
“Hadn’t you better look at the sealed paper?” he said sulkily.
But Anny was too overjoyed to notice his tone.
“O marry! I forgot,” she exclaimed with a little excited giggle as she picked up the square envelope and broke open the red seal.
“Ah!” said she as she studied the large flourishing script within.
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