Chapter IX
About nine o’clock on the following morning, when the hoar-frost was still on the ragged grass and leafless trees, Anny hurried down the road which led to the Ship. She had been to see Nan Swayle, and was returning from her cabin with a large skip of onions which the old woman had insisted on sending to Gilbot in return for the half-keg of rum which he had given her.
It was bitterly cold, and Anny hugged the threadbare shawl very tightly about her shoulders as she hastened on, her head bent before the driving wind.
“Well met, Mistress,” said a musical voice behind her. “Prithee, may I carry thy basket?”
Anny’s heart sank as she turned her head.
Blackkerchief Dick came forward, a smile on his face, and stretched out a pair of dainty white hands for the skip.
Anny blushed and withheld it from him.
“Nay, I would not dream of letting you trouble, sir,” she said. “I—I would rather carry it myself.”
Dick laughed.
“And I would rather carry it myself,” he said. “Faith, Mistress, I warrant me we’ll have to bear it together.”
So saying he gaily caught hold of the handle nearest him and they walked on, he chatting merrily and she alternately laughing at his sallies, blushing and smirking at his well-seasoned stories. They made strange contrast as they went, the skip swinging between them, the girl, her shabby green kirtle and torn black bodice, her heavy clogs sinking in the deep, slushy mud of the road, and the Spaniard, newly-clothed in shining brocaded satin, with pointlace collar and ruffled cuffs, his fashionable short surcoat displaying a tucked, embroidered shirt, marvellously laundered; his cloak of the finest Amsterdam cloth a little open in the front, showing the hilt of his famous knife as it hung in his gem-studded belt.
“Mistress, prithee why didst thou return my gifts yestere’en?” said Dick at last as they neared the Ship.
Anny, who had been waiting for this, took a deep breath.
“For what do you take me, sir?” she said, turning her big innocent eyes upon him.
Dick looked at her curiously. Was it possible that this little country drudge was different from all the other women he had met? He nearly dropped his side of the skip in his surprise.
“I crave thy pardon, Mistress,” he said dazedly, and they walked on in silence till they reached the Ship.
Then Dick spoke again.
“I will come in for a stoup of mine host’s sweet sack,” he said, and then added softly, for the door was open, “and I would speak seriously with thee.”
Anny went into the kitchen rather self-consciously and looked round. No one was there, and she went out to the scullery with the onions.
When she returned the Spaniard was sitting by the fireside, his daintily-shod feet resting on the hearthstone. He did not look up as she came in, so she tripped across to the shelves to get him a tankard, and then unearthed a flagon of sack from under the cask form.
“Prithee set it here to warm, child,” said Dick, pointing to the hob.
Anny did as she was told. He touched her hand lightly as she passed him,
“And now, Mistress, will it please you to sit before me?” he said.
Anny sat down, and the Spaniard looked at her in admiration for a moment before he spoke.
“Hast heard much said of Dick Delfazio?” he continued, smiling at her, and leaning forward a little, his elbow on his knee, and one hand supporting his chin and shielding his face from the fire.
Anny dropped her eyes not quite certain what to say.
But as he waited for an answer, she stammered,
“Ay, a great deal an’ it please you.”
“Aught to my discredit?” the Spaniard spoke sharply and frowned.
“Oh, nay, sir, nay.” Anny spoke hastily as she noted his displeasure. “Rather the other way.”
A smile spread over the man’s face for a moment, and he looked at her.
“Yet, Mistress, you refused my gifts,” he said softly.
An expression of pain passed over the girl’s face, but she said steadily:
“Ay, sir. And I would not have anyone think I would take them. Methinks you mistake me, sir,” she added proudly.
The Spaniard did not speak; he sat looking at her steadfastly without moving his position, his glittering deep black eyes fixed on her face, and an inscrutable expression on his lips.
Anny did not look up and at last the Spaniard leaned back in his seat, new interest in his face, and a twinkle of pleasure in his eyes.
“Mistress, you mistake me,” he said gently. “Believe me, I never thought you aught but a maiden as fair in reputation as in face. What villain can have read anything else but pure admiration in my small offerings to you?”
Anny looked up quickly, her face glowing with confusion. She thought angrily of Hal’s outburst and opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment her eye caught the Spaniard’s white hand playing with the hilt of his knife, and she looked at him again, as he sat smiling at her, his full red lips curled back a little, showing the white teeth within.
“I thought it myself,” she said almost defiantly, as she rose to go about her work.
Dick put out a hand to restrain her.
“Prithee sit down, fair one, I would speak with thee,” he said firmly, his eyes commanding her with their momentary fierceness, and continued as she reseated herself.
“Hast ever been off this Island, Mistress?”
“Nay, sir.” Anny shook her head. “Not even to the West,” she added.
Dick threw up his hands in mock surprise, and the girl could not help thinking how beautiful they looked rising so waxen-like from out the delicate lace ruffles which surrounded his wrists.
“The pity of it, Mistress, oh, the pity of it, that you should be wasted here on this desolate mud flat,” Dick was saying, “which is only visited by a gentleman once in two or three months, and then only for a sennight. No, the jewel of your beauty is little suited to so drab a setting as the mud-beslimed shores of Mersea Marsh Island.”
Anny looked at him uncertain if he was laughing at her or not, but she could get no hint of his mood from his face, which was nearly expressionless save for the eyes which regarded her almost mournfully.
“What would I find fairer than the marshes in another country?” she said at last.
The Spaniard laughed.
“The marshes?” he said. “Oh! Mistress, what have you known of beauty that you look on grey and purple marshes and call them fair!”
Anny frowned.
“Marry!” she said, tossing her head. “They’re good enough for me.”
“Nay, fair one, there you mistake, it’s because they are not good enough for thee that I would quarrel with thee loving them.”
The Spaniard leaned a little forward as he spoke.
Anny laughed uneasily and rose to her feet.
“Ah, well!” she said, “’tis of no account what I think fair or ugly, see how late it is; I must be about my business.”
Dick got up also.
“Look ye, Mistress,” he said, “I had almost forgot what I came to see thee for. I sail again for France on Wednesday even,” he paused, and looked at the girl for any hint of surprise or disappointment which she might show, but Anny did not look up and betrayed no other interest beyond polite attention.
The Spaniard smiled and his eyes began to sparkle again.
“And, little one,” he went on, “when I sail it will not be on the Coldlight, but the Anny if you will permit me to rename the ship after thee.”
Anny gasped. She knew a little about the importance which sailors in general, and smugglers in particular, attached to the names of their vessels, and was fully sensible of the honour which the Spaniard was conferring upon her. She began to feel flattered.
“You honour me too much, sir,” she said, bobbing and smiling.
The Spaniard made a stately bow.
“Mistress, I thank you for deigning to accept so small a tribute,
” he said in his grand manner. “And may I beg of you two more favours, namely, that you will honour my ship with your presence, and will yourself bless the brig and proclaim thyself its guardian and patron?”
Anny blushed and laughed happily.
“Ay,” she said, “and gladly if you can trust my blessings.”
The Spaniard bowed again.
“What blessings might I trust in if not in yours?” he said gallantly. “I will come myself to bring thee there. Au revoir, fair one.” He picked up his big-brimmed hat and, taking the little brown hand in his soft white one, respectfully raised it to his lips.
Anny smiled shyly as she drew it slowly away and put it behind her back.
Dick looked into her little face so very little lower than his own.
“Might I dare to salute your lips, Ann of the Island?” he said softly.
Anny’s smile vanished and she drew back stiffly. Methinks you mistake me for some other wench, sir,” she said.
“Pardon, I prithee, fairest of prudes.”
Dick’s tone was really penitent. “For but one moment I dreamed—shall I tell thee my dream?”
Anny looked at him in astonishment and in spite of her vexation drew a little nearer.
“Whatever——” she began.
Dick interrupted her.
“All in one moment I dreamt I was dead and in hell, and, as I trod on the burning stones, a sudden ease fell upon me and I looked up and beheld the fairest face in all the world before me, the lips put up to meet mine—and I—well, Mistress, then you woke me.”
Anny looked at him in amazement wondering if the Spanish gentleman had suddenly become bewitched. Then she conjured up in her childish mind a picture which his words suggested to her of the fastidious little man hopping and dancing over hot paving bricks, and she began to laugh so heartily that she had to support herself by leaning against the door-post. Although this was hardly the way which he wished his excuse to be taken, the Spaniard was pleased to have the girl so completely mollified and began to laugh himself with her.
“Oh, go along with ye,” said Anny at last, as she wiped away the tears of laughter with the back of her hand and held open the door for him.
Dick bowed again, and Anny smiled as she watched him out of the yard.
“Oh!” she said to herself, “he’s a mighty pleasing gentleman, very fine to look upon, very bravely spoken, and I’ll bless his ship for him gladly, but you can’t love two lads at once.”
Dick went off down the road towards the sea deep in thought. He had not gone very far before he was overtaken by Blueneck, who was just back from Tiptree. They fell into that easy kind of conversation which often takes place between master and his confidential inferior.
“We’re renaming the brig to Anny on the evening of Wednesday,” remarked Dick, as they went along.
Blueneck looked at his captain and opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it and held his peace.
“What think you, Blueneck, the wench will have naught to do with me?” went on Delfazio.
The other man looked at him disbelievingly and laughed.
“Marry, ’tis so,” Dick said laughing. “Faith, she sends back my presents and scorns my kisses.”
Blueneck looked down at his master in surprise, then he shrugged his shoulders.
“You will not trouble with the lass further, sir, surely?” he said.
Dick smiled again.
“Hast ever known me denied aught I desired?” he said, his voice pleasant and smooth.
Blueneck shook his head.
“Nay,” he said, “but, Lord, what’s a silly wench, sir? She can have no interest for thee.”
“Ah, thou hast hit it, dog, ’tis that exactly which the lass has for me—interest—interest greater than I ever felt for any other woman.”
Blueneck laughed and turned the laugh into a cough.
Dick looked at him smiling shyly.
“Ah! you may laugh, friend of the unshaven neck,” he said, “but as I told you this is so. Never have I been denied so much by any woman, and at last I find a game that makes the prize worth having. The end of a certainty will be the same, but the wooing is half the pleasure, eh, dog?”
Blueneck grinned as he fingered the ribbon which he had brought from Tiptree, and they went on together down to the brig, where Dick gave orders for the ceremony for renaming the Coldlight.
Meanwhile, up at the Ship everything was bustle; French had returned and was entertaining the company with the story of the night’s adventures, and Anny and Sue were kept busy serving rums and preparing the midday meal.
It was then that Big French remembered the flannel he had bought and handed it to Sue with another little bundle which he had bought from a gipsy.
Sue hastened away to open it, and it being dinnertime the company slowly dwindled off until there was only the usual household and the young giant left to partake of lunch together. This was speedily served by Anny and Hal, who were now on the best of terms.
Sue came downstairs a few seconds later, blushing and smiling, with a string of blue beads round her neck, and French shuffled, reddened, and choked over his broth when he saw her so that everyone looked at him and then at her and smiled at one another knowingly.
Old Gilbot began to sing “Mary Loo,” but soon gave it up and took to his rumkin.
After dinner, the delf being cleared away, Anny went up to her room, which was also Sue’s, and sat down on her bed. She thought of Blackkerchief Dick and his brig and began to picture to herself the scene on board the Coldlight when she would change its name to her own. Then she sighed. She looked down at her shabby kirtle and passed her hand over its holes and stains. Downstairs she could hear Big French’s deep voice raised as though pleadingly and could catch Sue’s high, sweet, giggling replies. She turned over on the bed and lay face downwards for a few seconds, then she sat up and began hastily to re-arrange her hair. On Sue’s bed she saw the flannel spread out, and she went over softly to have a look at it. It seemed very coarse and ugly when she mentally compared it to the honey-coloured silk or the wide, green frieze which she had sent back to Dick in the sail-cloth bundle. And she found herself wishing that Hal had money like French and Dick, but she checked herself and blushed at her own greediness, as she termed it. She sat down on her bed again sighing as she did so, and Sue, coming up some while later, finding her still there, took pity on her shabbiness and gave her the purple gown that Anny had wished for so long, and was then amazed to see the usually so grateful, peaceable little girl cast the old garment from her and, throwing herself on the bare boards, sob till the elder girl feared for her health.
Chapter X
After his conversation with Blackkerchief Dick, Blueneck found leisure to attend to his own amours. He first retired to the brig where, with the help of Habakkuk Coot, he arranged himself in his best clothes, tied the knee-latchets of his breeches with bright-coloured tapes, and borrowed a brilliant red and green kerchief from out poor Mat Turnby’s bundle, and then, after carefully tying the length of cherry ribbon, which had cost him much time and trouble to procure, in a piece of muslin, he stowed the packet in one of his big side pockets and started out for Joe Pullen’s house.
He had some little way to go, as the Pullens’ cottage was situated slightly to the north of the church, and that was about a mile and a half from the point where the brig was moored. He walked along cheerfully, whistling a chanty, and mentally rehearsing the speech which he intended to make to Mistress Amy when presenting the ribbon.
In spite of the time of the year, the late afternoon sun shone brightly on the wet grass and there was a touch of spring in the air.
On nearing the cottage he stopped to see if he still had the little muslin packet, and, feeling it still there, strolled nonchalantly up to the door and knocked loudly.
Mistress Pullen opened it herself and seeing him put her finger to her lips.
Blueneck stood still looking at her, very disappointed and a litt
le foolish. Inside the cottage he could hear deep rafter-shaking snores, and soon understood that the lady’s husband was within. He opened his mouth to speak, but Amy shook her head violently and he shut it again with a snap; however, he did not move, and Mistress Pullen had to push him off the doorstep and whisper, “This evening,” before he fully realised that he was not wanted. Fumbling in his pocket he hastily found the ribbon and snatching it out crammed it into her hand, then tiptoed off down the path feeling that he had been cheated.
Amy took the parcel without looking up and quickly slipped back, shutting the door carefully behind her.
Blueneck returned along the way he had come, in a much less cheerful frame of mind than when he started out. He no longer whistled, but lurched along his head bent and his hands thrust deep in his pockets.
On passing the Ship sounds of cheerfulness came out to him through the open door, and yielding to the impulse of the moment he went in.
As usual the scene in the Ship kitchen was cheering even to look at. The roaring fire in the open grate, the glinting lights on the pewter, and the shadowy, dusky corners in which faint outlines of casks and strings of drying onions could just be distinguished, all gave it a cosy, comforting appearance. At least Blueneck thought so as he joined the circle round the fire and called for hot rum to be served to him.
Old Gilbot was in a lively mood; he sat in his corner, his blue eyes twinkling from out huge creases of fat, singing, laughing, and drinking with the best will in the world, and keeping the company in a continual roar of laughter.
Big French sat on the other side of the fireplace, playing with little Red Farran and his kitten. The little boy was a favourite of the big man, and they chatted together with an equal share of enjoyment.
Sue leaned over the back of the seat, and from time to time joined in their conversation. At these times French smiled contentedly and almost as easily as he did on the days before the little dark-eyed, white-handed Spaniard landed East instead of West of Mersea Marsh Island.
Anny and Hal were talking together in the background as they polished up the tankards. She was telling him about the Spaniard’s desire to rename the brig, and clearing away with her gentle cajolery all his little jealous fears and doubts.
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