‘What is that?’ she stammered between her sobs.
‘The death of one of us!’ he answered, with strong emphasis.
She needed no further assurance. There was that in his manner and tone that convinced more than words could possibly have done. And so, save for the shadow which hung over the little household, she would have been perfectly happy.
A year went by and Mrs Hetherington still lingered in India, for she did not like to leave her sons; but failing health at length rendered it necessary that she should return to England. At this time Dick had just been granted two years’ leave of absence, and he urged Lily to become his wife before they left India, as he too was going home. She had asked him, however, to postpone the event, and made a solemn promise that the wedding should take place on Christmas Day, adding:
‘It is not long to wait, dear. It is now the middle of July, and, as we sail in a fortnight, the vessel is sure to be home by that time. Besides, I am so fond of Christmas. It is so full of solemn and purifying associations, and a fitting season for a man and woman to take upon themselves the responsibility of the marriage state. A wedding on Christmas Day brings good luck. Of course you will say this is stupid superstition. So it may be, but I am a woman, and you must let me have my way.’
Pressing his lips to hers, he made answer:
‘And so you shall, my own Red Lily; but, remember, come what may, you’ll be my wife on Christmas Day.’
‘Come what may, I will be your wife on Christmas Day,’ she returned solemnly.
August arrived, and Dick, Lily, and Mrs Hetherington were passengers on board the good ship Sirocco. Their fellow-passengers were a miscellaneous lot, and included several Indian officers, a planter or two, a clergyman, and some merchants, who, having amassed fortunes, were going home to end their days.
The second officer of the Sirocco was a young man, of about eight or nine-and-twenty, Alfred Cornell. He was a wild, reckless, daring fellow, with a splendid physique. His hair was almost black, his eyes the very darkest shade of brown, and small, keen, and piercing as a hawk’s. In those eyes the character of the man was written. For somehow they seemed to suggest a vain, heartless, selfish, vindictive nature, and the firm lips told of an iron will. He was every inch a sailor, bold as a lion, and a magnificent swimmer. The crew, however, hated him, for he was the hardest of taskmasters, but was an especial favourite with the captain, as such men generally are, for he was perfect in every department of his profession, and the sailors under his control were kept to their duties with an iron hand.
About this man—Alfred Cornell—there was something that amounted almost to weirdness. The strange, keen eyes exercised a sort of fascination over some people. This was especially the case with women. In fact, he made a boast that he had never yet seen the woman he could not subdue. From the moment that he and Dick Fenton stood face to face a mutual dislike sprang up in their hearts for each other. Dick could not exactly tell why he did not take to the man, but he had an instinctive dislike for him. The fact was there, the cause was not easy to determine, but instincts are seldom wrong. The moment that Alfred Cornell and Lily Hetherington met each other a shadow fell upon her, and a devil came into his heart. She had an instinctive dread of him, and yet felt fascinated. He thought to himself:
‘By heavens, that’s a splendid girl, and I’ll win her if I die for it.’
For the first week or two he paid her no more than the most ordinary attentions, and the dread she at first felt for him began to wear off; she could not help admitting to herself that he was certainly handsome and attractive. The pet name by which she was known amongst her family— the Red Lily—soon leaked out on board, as such things will, and the passengers with whom she was most intimate frequently addressed her in this style by way of compliment, for she was a favourite with them all, and her beauty was a theme of admiration amongst the men, even the ladies could not help but admit that she was ‘good looking’, though they said spiteful things about her, as women will say of each other. Alfred Cornell had never addressed her in any other way but as ‘Miss Hetherington’; but one morning, when the ship was in the tropics, she had gone on deck very early to see the sun rise. The heat in the cabins was so great that she could not sleep, and as the sailors had just finished holystoning and washing down she had thrown a loose robe over her shoulders and gone quietly on to the poop. It was Cornell’s watch, but in all probability she did not know that at the time. It was a very long poop, and save for the man at the wheel not a soul was to be seen. The sea was oily in its calmness, and the sky was aflame with the most gorgeous colours, such colours as can be nowhere seen save in the tropics, and only then when the sun with regal pomp and splendour commences to rise. The sails hung in heavy folds against the masts, and there was a rhythmical kind of motion in the ship as she rose and fell ever so gently to the light swell which even in the calmest ocean is never absent. Lily leaned pensively against the mizzen rigging, gazing thoughtfully across the sleeping sea to where the gold, and amethyst, and purples, and scarlets were blended together in one blaze of dazzling colour. Suddenly she was startled by a voice speaking in a subdued tone close to her ear, and which said:
The Red Lily is up early this morning.’
She recognized the voice as that of Cornell, and turning quickly round said, with much dignity:
‘Excuse me, sir, I am Miss Hetherington to you.’
‘Miss Hetherington,’ he answered, strongly emphasizing the words. ‘I beg your pardon, but the pretty name so fits you that I made bold to use it. I trust I have not offended you.’
‘Oh, no,’ she said, as she averted her gaze from his piercing eyes, for she felt like a bird before the fabled basilisk. She would have rushed away, but was spellbound. The strange man held her in a thrall.
‘How charming you look this morning,’ he remarked. ‘Why, you put even the glory of the sunrise to shame.’
‘Really, Mr Cornell,’ she exclaimed indignantly, and blushing to the very roots of her hair, ‘you insult me by such extravagant and stupid compliments. I don’t like men who talk nonsense, and think that all a girl wants is to be flattered. Of course plenty of empty-headed girls do, but I’m not one of them.’
‘Don’t be angry with me, please; I am sincere. Can the wretched moth that flutters into the flame of the candle help itself? Not a bit of it. You would pity the moth; why not pity me?’
‘This is audacity, Mr Cornell, and I will complain to the captain about you,’ she exclaimed as she made a movement to go. But ever so lightly, and without any effort, he touched her hand. What was the fearful magic of that touch that she should thrill so? What was the power in his voice that held her in a spell? She did not go, but stood there. Her left hand resting on one of the ratlings of the rigging, her right hand hanging down by her side, his large powerful fingers touching hers, her head averted, for she felt as if she dare not look at him.
‘It is not in your nature to be cruel, Miss Hetherington’—he spoke low, so that there should be no possibility of the man at the wheel catching his words, though he was so far off there was not much fear of that—’why, then, should you be cruel with me?’
‘I am not cruel, but you are rude, very rude,’ she answered with a voice that trembled from suppressed emotion.
‘I am not rude, and you are cruel,’ he returned, dwelling deliberately on every word. ‘You are a beautiful young woman, and I am a man. Surely I should be less than a man if I failed to admire you? Do you not admire the beauty of the sky there? Why, then, should I do less than you, though in your face I find more to admire than in those glowing colours.’
‘If you do not instantly leave me I will call out for assistance,’ she said. She felt faint and powerless, and as though she would certainly fall down on the deck if she let go her hold of the rigging.
‘No, you must not do that,’ he answered coolly. ‘How can I possibly help feeling for you what I do feel. I am not a stone statue, but a man with a heart, and though a bolt from h
eaven should strike me into the sea for speaking the words, I tell you now, though I never utter another syllable to you, that I love you.’
He had never taken his fingers from hers, and now he pressed her hand. The sea seemed to be going round and round before her eyes. The wonderful colours in the sky were all blended in one confused mass. The ship appeared to be sinking beneath her feet, and yet she managed to murmur in a low, weak voice:
‘For God’s sake leave me!’
Without another word he walked away, and then she seemed to breathe more freely, and in a few minutes had quite recovered herself. She turned and went towards the companion way, and as she did so she saw Cornell talking to the captain, who had just come on deck. The captain bade her good morning, but Cornell was as immovable and impassive as a piece of sculpture.
Oh! what a sense of relief she experienced when she got down to her cabin. The spell seemed to be lifted at last, and, closing the door, she threw herself into the bunk and wept passionately. When the hysterical fit had passed she was relieved, and she determined to tell her mother what had happened, but this determination only lasted for a few minutes, as on reflection she thought that it could but lead to unpleasantness, and in a little floating world such as a ship is the slightest things are looked upon as legitimate food for scandal to batten upon. Therefore, her second thoughts were to keep the matter to herself. Still she was very unhappy, and Dick noticed it. He naturally asked her the cause, but she made an excuse by saying that she was a little out of sorts. She was strongly tempted to tell him all, but was restrained by a fear that it might lead to a quarrel between him and the second mate.
For several days after the unpleasant incident with Cornell she studiously avoided going on deck alone for fear of meeting him, but whenever he had occasion to pass her she would shudder, for his strange eyes seemed to exercise a power over her which was simply marvellous. She felt, in fact, when he was looking at her that she could grovel at his feet at his mere bidding. It was a dreadful feeling, and her health naturally suffered. Her mother and lover were both concerned about her, but she endeavoured to remove any anxiety they might have had by saying that her indisposition was of a very trivial character. One evening she had been sitting on the poop with Fenton. The weather was fine, but a strong breeze was blowing, and the vessel was tearing through the water. The daylight had almost faded out, and it was impossible to distinguish people who were standing or sitting only a few yards away. Fenton left her for a few minutes to go down to his cabin for some cigars, and scarcely had he disappeared when she was startled by the sudden appearance of Cornell. It seemed almost as though he had risen up out of the deck. She was seated on a camp stool, and he bent his head low until she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. He whispered to her in a voice that could not possibly have been heard by anyone else, however near they might have been; but she heard every word, every syllable, as it was poured into her ear, and it seemed to burn into her brain.
‘Lily, you are cruel,’ he said; ‘I love you madly, and yet you avoid me. You must give me some encouragement, or I will drown myself; and if you breathe a word of what I have said to you to any living soul, I tell you in God’s name that I will throw myself overboard, and my death will lie at your door. Remember what I say. I am a determined man, and nothing on earth will stop me carrying out my will.’
Once again his fingers touched her hand; then in a moment he was gone as suddenly as he had appeared. He seemed to fade away into the darkness like a spectre, but almost immediately afterwards she heard him bawling some orders in stentorian tones to the watch.
When Fenton came back she was trembling and faint, and though she struggled hard to conceal from him that she was agitated, he could not fail to observe it, and in a tone of alarm asked the cause.
‘Oh, nothing dear—nothing,’ she answered; ‘at least, nothing of any consequence. A slight feeling of faintness has come over me; but really it is not worth bothering about.’
Oh, how she longed to tell him all; but the words of the strange man who was exercising such a powerful influence over her were still ringing in her ears, and she was silent.
Fenton did not make any further remark then on the subject, but he felt uneasy. He was convinced that there was some mystery, but what it was he could not for the life of him determine. The thought did flash through his brain that she was deceiving him, but instantly he put it away as unworthy of him. It seemed so preposterous to associate deceit with the Red Lily, who was as pure as the beautiful flower after which she was called.
When he escorted her down to the cabin a little later, he said:
‘Darling, I am uneasy about you. Something is wrong, I am sure, but your gentle heart prompts you to keep it from me for fear of giving me pain. Do be good to yourself for my sake. Why don’t you take your mother into your confidence, and tell her if you have any trouble, since you do not apparently care to confide it to me.’
‘Do not be uneasy,’ she answered. ‘Believe me, oh, do believe me, when I say that my indisposition is of a very trifling character. I have nothing to tell my mother, and you know perfectly well, Dick, you have my full confidence.’
She felt a little guilty as she said this, for she knew that she ought to have told him at once of Cornell’s conduct. But, firstly, the strange fascination he exercised over her kept her silent; and, secondly, she was really afraid of causing a scene between the two men. Besides, she comforted herself with the thought that the voyage would soon be over, and once clear of the ship it would be goodbye to Cornell for ever. She regarded him as a vain, presumptuous fellow, who imagined that every girl he looked at must be in love with him.
As soon as her lover had left her, and she had been to wish her mother goodnight, the Red Lily once again gave unrestrained vent to her feelings, and wept passionately. She could not help it. She felt almost as if she would die if she did not weep, and weep she did bitterly until she fretted herself to sleep.
The following morning she was weak and pale, and did not put in an appearance at breakfast. The beautiful pink had faded from her face, and she had the look of one who was jaded and unhappy. Mrs Hetherington visited her daughter, and naturally felt alarmed. There was a doctor on board, and Mrs Hetherington expressed a determination to consult him; but Lily pleaded with such earnestness, and at last expressed such a strong determination not to see him, that her mother yielded, and Lily kept in her cabin all that day.
On the following day she was better. Cornell’s influence had passed away, and she had to a considerable extent regained her spirits.
The weather was now very chilly, and unfortunately the wind was unfavourable, so that the ship had to sail on long and short tacks. It was worse than tantalizing to those who had looked forward so eagerly to spending Christmas with their friends in the dear old country. The hope of doing that was now past, for the distance was too great to cover in the time that intervened between them and the great Christian Festival. Well wrapped in rugs, Lily was once more seated on deck in company with Dick. She had been doing some fancy needlework, and he had been sketching a large vessel that had been in company with them two or three days. Presently he laid down his sketching block on the deck, and looking up into the fair face of his companion, he said:
‘Lily, pet, do you remember the promise you made to me before we left India?’
What was that, Dick?’ she asked.
‘That you would become my wife on Christmas Day.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said quickly, and with some slight agitation; ‘but we shall not be home by that time.’
‘That is true; but it need not affect your promise.’
‘I don’t understand you,’ she answered.
‘You are surely aware, Lily, that a marriage on board of a ship is perfectly legal. Even a captain has the power to marry people; but it fortunately happens, as you know, that we have a Church of England clergyman amongst us, and therefore I claim the fulfilment of your promise.’
‘Oh, Dick, i
t cannot be.’
‘Cannot be!’ he echoed in some astonishment. ‘Were your words, then, only words after all?’
‘Ah, love, do not be harsh with me. I should so much prefer that our wedding took place in the regular way on shore, and it is to be hoped that we shall arrive in England by the New Year.’
‘I am far from being harsh with you, Lily,’ answered Dick, a little sadly; ‘but you yourself expressed a wish to be married on the Christmas morning, even saying that you were superstitious about it. Although there is every prospect now that we shall be at sea on that day, there is no reason at all why we should not be married on board; and if you like we will go through the ceremony again when we reach England. The mere circumstance of being married in or out of a church cannot possibly affect our union, and I am sure you have too much good sense to be influenced by the stupid idea which possesses some small-brained people—that a marriage performed out of a church cannot be sanctified.’
‘I have no such idea,’ she said. ‘I should be ashamed of myself if I had.’
‘Very well, then, Lily, say that you will be my wife on Christmas morning, even though we are at sea.’
‘How long does it want to Christmas, Dick?’
‘Three weeks exactly.’
‘Then I promise you that if mamma offers no objection I will gratify your wish.’
‘I am perfectly satisfied that your mother will willingly let us have our own way, so on Christmas Day we will become man and wife, if we are both living.’
‘On Christmas Day we will become man and wife if we are both living,‘ she repeated solemnly, but the words had scarcely left her lips when she almost uttered a scream, for close beside her stood Cornell. He had his sextant in his hand, and had come up the companion way (near which Dick and Lily were sitting) with the captain to take the sun.
‘Make eight bells,’ said the captain, ‘we shall get no sun today.’
‘Eight bells,’ roared out Cornell.
Richard Dalby (ed) Page 21
