Dick was no less pleased; he loved his boat and derived more pleasure from showing it off than from anything else in the world. He took her from end to end, telling her tales of hairbreadth escapes and secret cargoes of papers and documents. Indeed, carried away by his own enthusiasm, he even hinted that good King Charles owed more to Dick Delfazio’s courage than His Majesty was aware of.
Anny listened to him open-mouthed, as he talked on, embroidering his tales with a network of fine and polished phrases, and interrupting them here and there to shout an order or swear at an unhandy seaman, as the man hurried to obey him.
When at last the greater part of the company which had followed Dick from the Ship stood on the deck of the Coldlight, he opened the proceedings after the custom of the Island by calling for rum all round.
After the toast, the whole crowd, which was by this time very boisterous, congregated in the forepart of the ship to inspect the figure-head, which was at the moment covered with a piece of sailcloth.
Dick, with his inborn love of dramatic effect, had seen to this, and now stepping forward he whipped it off with a flourish and stepped back, observing with delight the impression it was making.
Old Ned Hutton, the ship’s carpenter, was certainly not an artist, but he had done his best, and all that paint and a chunk of rough-hewn wood could do had been done. The figure was undoubtedly meant to represent Anny and that was enough for Mersea folk. Everybody cheered loudly, and Dick called for more rum. Then he and the girl went forward to examine the figure-head more closely.
The ugly awkward thing was profusely decorated with gold paint; so much Anny could see by the light of the lantern which Dick gallantly held for her, and her name, Anny, was painted on the bright blue band that went round the figure’s black head.
“’Tis lovely,” she whispered half to herself as she ran her fingers over the great arms and breasts on which the paint was hardly dry.
Dick smiled and made her the obvious compliment, and they went down to the bows and leaned over the gunwale so as to see the four great white letters, Anny, painted on the smooth brown sides.
The girl was delighted, and her infectious gurgling laugh rang out clearly several times on the cold air as she listened to Dick’s sparkling conversation.
“Tide’s full and wind fair,” sang out a voice suddenly from the watch-tower.
Instantly there was confusion: Dick shouted orders here and there, but did not take his hand from Anny’s arm. Everyone made for the boats shouting farewells to the crew which responded cheerfully.
Dick bent nearer to the girl.
“I will come again,” he said softly.
Anny smiled and nodded.
“We are ever pleased to see company at the Ship,” she said demurely, slipping her arm out of his grasp and moving over to the side where French, Sue, and Hal waited for her.
Dick followed her.
“Give us your blessing, Mistress,” he said loudly. There was silence at once; the sailors attached much importance to a blessing and they stood quietly.
Anny looked round desperately; she had never had a blessing in her life, much less given one, and for a moment she was entirely at a loss. No one spoke, however, so at last she crossed herself devoutly and said as clearly as her nervousness would permit, “I pray God bless this ship, Amen.”
“Amen,” repeated the crew solemnly, and then dashed off on their business and the bustle recommenced.
Sue climbed over the side of the boat, French followed her, and then Hal.
“Farewell, Ann of the Island,” said the Spaniard softly. “I will return to thee.”
Anny looked at him and he seemed to her very comely. She held out her hand and he raised it to his lips.
“Farewell, sir,” she said, and then followed her lover into the little boat.
“Farewell!” came the deep and almost beautiful voice again; there was the clink of chains and the anchor was weighed, and then the brig, her sails all set, glided out into the Channel.
Hal bent his back to the oar he was plying and spoke to the other three in the little row-boat without looking up.
“There goes a damned nuisance off the Isle for a bit,” he said.
French grunted and pulled hard. Sue sighed and looked out to sea, while Anny laughed a little ruefully, and patted Hal’s broad shoulders with her little brown hand, upon which the Spaniard’s kiss still burnt.
Chapter XIII
“Anny, are you gone to sleep yet?” Sue sat up in her bed and peered through the darkness to where the other girl lay in a far corner. Her hair was unbound and fell over her coarse night-garment like a soft black shawl, as she leant forward speaking almost in a whisper.
It was nearly a month since Dick had sailed away from the Island, and the quiet country life had flowed peacefully on at the Ship without interruption. But Sue had not forgotten the little Spaniard. It was a continual source of amazement to her that she could have entertained a liking for him or ever a thought when big handsome Ezekiel French was by, but she was not sure about Anny.
Sue had an observant eye and she noticed that Hal and the girl were not as often together as they had used to be, and she drew her own conclusions. She had a kind heart, and she felt herself Anny’s guardian in a sense.
Poor, quaint, foolish little Anny, she thought, so fond of admiration, so willing to love and be loved, so pretty and so gentle, and then she thought of the Spaniard, with his bright, devil-may-care eyes, and full red lips, and she nodded her head into the darkness and leaned forward again.
“Anny,” she said distinctly.
“Ay,” Anny’s voice came clearly out of the dark corner.
“Have you been asleep yet?” whispered Sue.
“Nay.” Anny turned over on her side.
“Did you not hear me speak before?” the other girl persisted.
Anny sighed and turned back again.
“Nay, I have lain long a thinking,” she said.
Sue drew her knees up to her chin and clasped them with her arms before she spoke again.
“Do you ever think of the Spaniard?” she said at last, and then added, as Anny vouchsafed no answer:
“Blackkerchief Dick?”
Anny moved in her bed.
“Oh, him!” she said, with a note of contempt in her pretty childlike voice. “Oh, nay!”
Sue sighed again, and when she spoke her tone had a certain tenderness in it.
“Why do you lie to me, Anny Farran?” she said.
Anny sighed softly.
“Oh! Mistress Sue,” she said, “what would you have me tell you? How many times he begged a kiss of me, or held my hand, or bore my onions with his fair white hands?”
Sue flushed.
“Sure he never carried onions for thee!” she said.
“Marry! did he not?” said Anny quickly. “Ay, with his thin white fingers cracking under their weight, and the muddied side o’ the skip rubbing on his silken hose did he carry onions for me, and I stumbling along at his side for all the world like a Hythe oyster wench: oh, Lord! the tales he did tell,” and she broke off into a little chuckle, and Sue frowned.
“I would speak seriously with you, Anny,” she began.
Anny sighed and tossed like a naughty child and then resigned herself to the lecture she felt was coming.
“I am listening,” she said.
Sue spoke earnestly and sincerely.
“Methinks you care too much for the Spaniard, lass,” she said.
Anny gasped audibly but said nothing, and Sue mistaking the sound for a sigh of confession went on:
“He is a dangerous man for a young wench to think on,” she said. “I would not trust a man who looked so boldly at every smirking lass who chanced to stand in his way as he walked from the yard to the brig. Ah! you may laugh, but I know. I served in this inn long before you came, and I’ve seen men and wenches, time and again. Remember what befell Maria Turnby when her husband left for the Indies. There’s a thing for him
to hear when he comes back again, poor fellow—his own children left to starve that sweetbreads may be served for another man’s brats. Oh, Anny, lass,” Sue’s voice shook in its earnestness, “have a care, have a care. Men be eels wi’ maids. And this Delfazio, as he is pleased to call himself, is a deal more eel-like than many other menfish. What with his soft laughter, and hands like white and polished bone, together with black, wanton eyes! Oh! have a care, I know tales of him; they say no one ever dares to come between him and his wishes, and that never since he was a squalling brat has he been stayed from getting what he wants. Oh! Anny, perchance he wants you, and perchance you will be bewitched into letting him get his way.”
Anny sat up on her straw mattress, her bright eyes glittering in the ray of starlight which shone in through the uncurtained window, and her little white teeth clenched.
“Methinks you wrong me, Mistress,” she said, restraining her voice with difficulty. “I have no love for any crawling foreigner. What if he do eat and talk like the quality; I tell thee there are thirty other men I would rather marry than a brown-skinned Spaniard.”
“Marry?” Sue laughed and Anny flushed.
“Methinks,” she went on, her voice becoming colder at every word, “that not to me so much as to thee, Mistress Sue, should such talk be addressed. Is your heart so free from thoughts of this same Dick that you can hold him up to me as dangerous? What was it made thee lose thy taste for Master French’s talk so suddenly? Oh! truth! you make me sick to see you take me for so senseless a wench that you think I do not see your cleverness. Mistress, beware of jealousy.”
Sue gasped. She had never considered the possibility of her words being taken in this way, and she could think of no adequate reply at that moment, save a reproachful, “Anny!”
There was silence for a moment or two and then Anny spoke again over her shoulder.
“Rest assured,” she said, “’tis not thoughts of thy pesky little cheap-jack that keeps me awake o’ nights. There be many here better than he, and one amongst them whom I love.”
Then she buried her head under the blankets and did not speak again, in spite of Sue’s protestations of dislike for Dick, and the elder girl getting tired of talking to seemingly deaf ears lay down also and beguiled herself to sleep with thoughts of her own lover.
The next day broke fine and fresh after the heavy rainfall of the preceding three weeks, but Sue went about her work with a certain nervous fidgetiness, which irritated Anny and sent her out over the fields with Hal.
Several times when they were out, Sue went up to her room and there peered into the cracked mirror, putting a curl back here, another forward there, smoothing down her eyelashes with a moistened thumb and forefinger, and biting her lips till the red blood suffused them glowingly. More often did she go to the window, however, and stand there for minutes on end, staring out into the new begreened landscape, where the young leaves danced like lambkins in the cool, strong, sea breeze, the sun on their wet surfaces lending them some of the splendour of jewels.
Sue had made up her mind. Nobody came to the Ship all the morning, and by three o’clock she was in no pleasant humour so old Gilbot found when he asked her to sing for him, for she was up and off in a moment with the sharp remark “that there was more to do in the world than sing and get deep in liquor.”
Gilbot was amazed; his little blue eyes stared surprisedly in front of him and he absent-mindedly put his rumkin upside down on the stove, and it was some minutes before he discovered that the kitchen was reeking with burnt rum dregs.
This made Sue angrier still and she bustled about throwing open the doors, muttering the while that she was ashamed to let visitors into a room that smelt like Pet Salt’s boat and looked like a sty.
Little Red Farran, however, found her in a very different mood for, when he came creeping into the scullery with his kitten (now wellnigh a cat) tucked under his arm, she caught him up in her arms and kissed him, and then to his astonishment gave him a large slice of oat-meal cake high-heaped with quince jelly and sent him off on his way rejoicing.
Her charity was well-rewarded, for some two minutes later the kitchen door was kicked open, and Red and French came in together.
Sue began at once to bustle about with unnatural gaiety, and Gilbot regarded her with still greater astonishment, until he suddenly looked round and saw French. Then he nodded his head sagely once or twice, and, getting up with difficulty, tottered to get his coat which hung behind the door.
“Redsh an’ Ish goin’ foa walk,” he announced.
Red gave a whoop of delight and ran after him happily.
French looked after them in surprise.
“Whatever made him go off like that, now?” he said, as he sat down at the table.
Sue blushed and clanged the pots together noisily.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she said almost sharply.
French turned to her, his handsome boyish face blank with astonishment.
“Why, what’s the matter with you?” he said.
Sue shrugged her shoulders and bit her lips. Why was he so different to-day, she wondered?
“Me—oh, nothing. Is there aught in my face that should make you ask that?”
Sue turned a fiery cheek towards the young giant, and then moved away.
French got up.
“I don’t know what’s taken you all,” he said, puzzled. “When I first comes in, Master Gilbot flies out wi’ the young lad, and now you look at me as though I’d done some mortal wrong. What is it?”
“Oh! go to with ye.” Sue’s back was towards him and he could not see her face, but her voice sounded sharply. “I’m getting your rum as fast as may be.”
“What need you be worrying about rum?”
French looked round him miserably.
“I’m sorry,” he said, changing his weight from one foot to the other, and his hands becoming noticeable and awkward.
Sue only sighed impatiently and busied herself with the rum.
French turned on his heel.
“All’s well then,” he said finally. “I’ll be getting down West. I reckon I knows when I’m welcome or not, Mistress—Mistress Susan Gilbot,” and he strode to the door. “There’s other inns,” he said meaningly.
Sue turned about in a moment.
“Oh, wait for your rum, Master French,” she said.
French did not move, but stood straddle-legged in the doorway looking out into the yard.
“Rum? Oh, that don’t matter; an inn’s got more uses than just to sell rum, Mistress,” he said.
“Indeed, to provide wenches for any man to insult, I reckon,” said Sue, tossing her head and dashing her hand across her eyes.
French turned round quickly.
“Why, who’s been insulting you, lass?” he said sharply.
Sue laughed and turned her head away.
“What’s that to you?” she said.
French shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m going,” he remarked and stepped down the stone stair into the yard.
Sue swallowed once and then ran after him.
“Prithee wait while I hot your rum, sir,” she said.
French turned willingly.
“I’d do aught for you when you ask me like that, Sue,” he said gently, as he followed her back into the kitchen and sat down while she bustled around with a tankard hardly knowing what she did.
French watched her critically.
“Aught been upsetting you, Mistress?” he asked.
“Nay.” Sue blushed again and stumbled over a form.
The big man sighed and looked into the fire.
“Been thinking of the Spaniard?” he asked half between his teeth.
“No,” said Sue so vehemently that he jumped. “I have not, nor am like to.”
French smiled on her.
“Well, that’s all right then, ain’t it?” he said cheerfully.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly,.
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br /> French’s smile faded.
“No, that’s right,” he said, almost mournfully, “that’s right.”
And there was silence for a few moments. He drank his rum and after opening and shutting his mouth once or twice rose to go.
Sue watched him to the door, and then in spite of herself the tears began to trickle down the side of her nose, and she sobbed once audibly.
French was at her side in a moment.
“What is the matter, lassie?” he said kindly, all his shyness vanishing as he whipped out a large yellow handkerchief and began to wipe her eyes hastily. “Are you ill?”
Sue sobbed violently.
“No,” she said angrily, and then, snatching the handkerchief out of his hand, buried her face in it.
French put a big hand on each of her shoulders and shook her gently.
“If I asked you for something would you give it to me?” he said.
Sue still covered her face with her hands.
“Oh! why don’t you ask me?” she sobbed.
French lifted her up in his arms to kiss her, and she stopped crying and began to blush as he carried her over to the chimney corner where they sat, laughing and whispering, till Gilbot and Red, driven in by the rain, which had restarted with as much violence as ever, came for their tea.
“I thought you watched that damned Spaniard a deal too much, sweetheart,” said French, as he and Sue walked to the end of the lane together, although the rain came down in torrents.
“Oh! go along with you. Would I rather not have a man to love, than a live knife?” said Sue, as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.
Chapter XIV
Master Francis Myddleton leaned back in his chair and gently stuffed a wad of coarse Virginia into the slightly blackened bowl of his stubby clay pipe, and lifted his gouty foot on to one of the bronzed firedogs which ornamented his spacious hearth, and then after pulling once or twice at the short stem, he took out a bundle of letters from one of his capacious pockets and began to read them. They were from his son who held a fairly responsible place at the court of his Gracious Majesty King Charles II., and from time to time a low wheezing chuckle broke from the old man’s lips, and he coughed and spat, the tears of laughter starting to his eyes as he read.
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