The Loving Spirit

by Daphne Du Maurier

  Janet was smiling, her eyes were bright and there was colour in her face.

  ‘Were you thinkin’ us was never comin’?’ she asked gaily. ‘The children enjoyed themselves that much I had’n the heart to bring them away.’ Then she noticed the disorder of the room, the cane flung in the corner - Thomas’s grave face with his wrist bandaged. She took it all in at a glance.

  She bit her lips, her eyes hardened, her chin stuck in the air like her son’s when he was angry.

  ‘Where’s Joseph?’ she said at once.

  Thomas rose to his feet and pulled himself together.

  ‘We’ve had a very unhappy afternoon here,’ he said slowly. ‘Samuel and Joseph started fightin’ over Joseph’s boat, and I was obliged to separate them. I was sorely angry, on the Sabbath an’ all, that they should behave so bad. I sent Samuel to bed sayin’ he was to have no supper, an’ as Joseph wouldn’ say he was sorry I gave him a beatin’. Look what he’s done to my wrist - bit it.’

  He uncovered the wrist, and showed it to his wife, as if it were her fault. Mary slipped away and ran upstairs to Samuel, Herbert’s lower lip drooped and tears came into his eyes, while little Philip alone seemed unperturbed. He crossed the room to a cupboard where he kept his toys, and played quietly in a corner.

  ‘Where’s Joseph now?’ inquired Janet.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Thomas sullenly. He was hurt that no notice should have been taken of his wrist. ‘He jumped out o’ the window, an’ made for the beach, I reckon.’

  Janet left the room and went upstairs to the room the three boys shared together.

  Samuel was sitting on the bed, with Mary at his side. ‘He’s terrible sorry, mother, to have behaved so bad,’ said his sister swiftly.

  Samuel and Mary were devoted to one another.

  ‘Tell me what happened, Samuel,’ said Janet quietly. She knew he would speak the truth.

  ‘I got hold o’ Joe’s boat, to see how ’twas finished off,’ sniffed poor Samuel. ‘I’m tryin’ to make a model meself, an’ I was’n’ doin’ it no harm. Then up came Joe and gives me a bang on the head. “Leave ’un alone,” he says shoutin’ at me, and before there was time, though I wanted him to ask for it proper, he’d knocked me over. ‘Course we started fightin’, an’ then Father pulled us apart.’

  ‘Did Joseph hurt you?’ asked Janet, feeling him.

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Yes, he did - the naughty boy,’ cried Mary. ‘Sammie has a bump on the back o’ his head, feel it, mother.’ In truth there was a small swelling, but nothing much.

  ‘You can get up, Samuel, and come downstairs. There’s no need for you to go to bed hungry, when you’re a growin’ boy. I see it wasn’t your fault about the fightin’. Now Mary, ‘tend to the supper if you can, there’s a good girl, an’ I’ll go see where Joseph’s to.’ And with these words she left the room and went from the house. She knew where Joseph would be. Down on the rocks below the Castle ruins, with the boat she had given him, sailing it in the wide pool. It was low tide, and she made her way to the pool over the rocks, without climbing the steep cliff path and down again.

  Sure enough, there was Joseph, up to his waist in water, poking at the boat with a long piece of stick.

  He shouted with joy when he saw her, and waved his hand. ‘Come an’ see,’ he cried, ‘she’s sailin’ beautiful.’

  Janet’s lips twitched as she looked at him, and she smiled.

  All his clothes would have to be dried and mended again, and his boots patched. She knew the feel and the touch of them so well. He ran to her, his face flushed and eager, clutching hold of her with his wet sandy hand. A lock of dark hair fell over his face. He jumped up and down beside her in impatience.

  ‘She’s called “Janie” after you,’ he laughed. ‘I scratched it on the stern of her with Mary’s pen.Won’t she be cross? Look - there’s never been such a boat, now has there?’

  He pulled her towards the water, splashing her with his muddy feet.

  But at that moment a gust of wind caught the superb ‘Janie’, and tossed her out of his reach into the deeper water.

  ‘Hi - come back,’ shouted Joe at the pitch of his lungs, ‘come back, will ’ee.’ He splashed after the boat, always just out of his reach.

  ‘Joseph - come here at once,’ said Janet. She knew there was deeper water ahead, and Joseph could not yet swim.

  The boy ran back to her as soon as he heard her voice.

  ‘Mother - I’ll be losin’ the boat,’ he whispered.

  She seized the stick he had thrown aside, and lifting her skirts she climbed on to a ledge of rock. ‘Here, Joe, you stand in the shallow part, an’ I’ll push her towards you.’

  The boy obeyed.

  ‘Plunge the stick in deeper,’ he shouted, wriggling with impatience. ‘Look, there’s a ripple formin’. We’ll get her yet.’

  Janet clung to the ledge with one hand, and poked at the boat with the stick.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ she cried excitedly, ‘my hair’s fallin’ down.’

  The boy giggled. ‘Never mind, love, ‘tend to it after. Sail in “Janie”, my beautiful boat. We’ll rescue you, never fear.’

  ‘Don’t make so much noise,’ said Janet, shaking with laughter, ‘you’ll bring the coastguards on us. Come on,“Janie”, what a time you be.’ She gave a last lunge at the boat with her stick. ‘There - clutch her, Joe, she’s comin’.’

  The boat sidled along into Joseph’s waiting hands.

  ‘Hurrah—’ he shouted - ‘I knewed your namesake ’ed save ye.’

  Janet sat down on the rocks, and began to arrange her hair.

  As soon as she screwed it up, Joe pulled it down.

  ‘Gee-up - will ’ee - you’re a horse with a mane,’ he said, pulling at the loose strands. ‘Come up - ‘tes market day.’

  Janet tried to pinch his legs with her hands, but he danced round her, avoiding them.

  ‘Look out, there’s coastguard’ - he warned her.

  ‘Mercy on us - where?’ said Janet, glancing up at the cliff. There was nobody there. Joseph rolled on the ground, sick with laughter, and she darted at him, slapping him and tickling his ribs, until he begged for mercy. Then he flung his arms round her, biting her neck softly.

  ‘I’m goin’ to be a wild horse tearin’ you to pieces,’ he told her.

  ‘You’ll do nothin’ of the sort, my son,’ said Janet, setting him on his feet. ‘Help your mother to put herself in order.’

  He stood by her side and watched her as she smoothed her hair and dress. Suddenly she remembered why she had come to fetch him. She took hold of his hands and drew him before her.

  ‘You’ve been fightin’ your brother Samuel, an’ you bit your father,’ she said gravely, watching his eyes.

  He nodded, and swallowed hard.

  ‘You’ve made them both unhappy an’ sore with your cruelty. Samuel meant no harm, an’ your father acted justly. I’m goin’ to punish you, Joe.’

  He said not a word, but began to breathe rather heavily. ‘I’m goin’ to take your boat away from you. You see that high ledge up there? That’s where your boat is to be put, out of your reach. When not a scar remains on father’s wrist you shall have it back. I’m bein’ fair, Joseph, aren’t I?’

  Joseph blinked. He was very red in the face and his lip was shaking.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘You’ll ask father’s forgiveness and you’ll shake hands with Samuel. Promise me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She placed the boat safely on the ledge, where the rain could not harm it.When Joe could no longer see it, he looked at his mother with swimming eyes, and pushed his head into her shoulder, feeling for her hand.

  She gave him her handkerchief and he blew his nose loudly and rather slowly. Janet looked away, pretending not to see the tears.

  ‘Shall we be goin’?’ she said.

  ‘I’ve muddied your dress,’ he told her, and tried to scrape it away with the handkerchi
ef.

  There was a dirty tear-mark on his cheek, and his nose was running.

  She caught him to her suddenly and held him close.

  9

  The children were playing down in the yard. Samuel had been given a broken saw and a couple of old planks. He laid the planks against the side of the slip, and grasped his saw firmly in his right hand.

  ‘Now jest watch me,’ he said gravely. Mary knelt by his side, her doll in her arms, her eyes fixed proudly on her brother. Herbert had half a dozen rusty nails in his hand which he held open for Samuel.

  ‘Tell me when you want ’em, an’ I’ll hold ’em steady for ye,’ he said, pleased to be able to help. Up and down went the saw, and the planks fell neatly in two.

  ‘See where I marked the board with white chalk,’ cried Samuel, proud of his steady wrist. ‘I didn’t move not quarter’n inch one way or t’other. Give us the nails, Herbie, there’s a good lad.’

  The three fair heads bent together over the planks. Then there was a shout and a yell, and Joseph leapt from behind the shed in the midst of them.

  The children cried in dismay.

  ‘Take care. Joe, you’m spoilin’ our game.’

  The boy kicked the planks carelessly with his toe. ‘Don’t mind ’bout your silly stuff. Listen to me.You know old Tim West’s boat?’

  The children nodded.

  ‘I’ve cut her moorin’s, an’ brought her round to the ladder.

  Don’t say a word, no one’s noticed. Come on.’

  ‘I don’t think we ought to . . .’ began Mary. ‘What d’you say Sammie?’

  Samuel looked doubtful. He was the eldest, and had a stern conscience.

  ‘You’m afeared,’ laughed Joe scornfully.

  That settled the matter.

  ‘All right - we’m comin’,’ said Samuel hastily, flushing all over his face.

  They crept down the ladder at the back of the yard, and landed with a splash into the bottom of the leaky boat.

  Joe seized the paddles before Samuel could get at them, and though they were far too long and heavy for him, he pulled the boat awkwardly from the slip, and out towards the harbour entrance. No one at the yard noticed their departure. Yes - one. A small figure wormed its way out from behind an empty tub, and watched the boat disappear behind the cliff.

  It was Philip, the youngest boy. He was much smaller than Herbert, although only two years his junior, and his features were small too, and clear-cut. His hair was sandy-coloured, and he was the only one of the Coombe children who had narrow small eyes, deepset, and close together.

  He ran swiftly out of the yard, and made his way up the hill to Ivy House. Half-way he stopped, a sudden thought had come to him. Playing in the gutter was a boy of his own age.

  ‘’Member what I see you doin’ in Church las’ Sunday,’ he said, whispering in the boy’s ear. The other one flushed and wriggled.

  ‘Yes,’ he whimpered.

  ‘Well, you’m to go up to Ivy House and say as you’m seen my brothers an’ sister pull away in Tom West’s boat from the yard; an’ if you don’t I’ll tell on ’ee.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said the frightened boy, scrambling to his feet.

  ‘Mind, you’m to say you’ve seen it yourself. Don’t say as I said so.’

  The boy ran away up the hill, and Philip disappeared in the other direction.

  Meanwhile Joe and the others were well to the entrance of the harbour. The water was grey and choppy, and the wind blowing straight in from the south.

  Mary was frightened and began to cry. Herbert was white in the face, he felt seasick; while Samuel glanced uneasily about him.

  Only Joseph was perfectly happy. He caught a crab with his oar, and the water splashed over his face. He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Wish there was an’ old mast an’ some canvas to her,’ he said. ‘We’d sail her to France.’

  ‘I reckon we’d better be turnin’, Joe,’ said Samuel, who had noticed the larger seas ahead and guessed something of the unseaworthiness of their craft.

  ‘Hoo!’ scoffed Joe,‘there’s nothin’ to hurt,’ and he attempted to pull a wider stroke, with the result that the rotten oar snapped in two, knocked him off his seat, and escaping from its thole-pin it floated away on the water.

  ‘Now you’ve done it,’ shouted Samuel. Mary screamed and clung to him. Poor Herbert, who had struggled manfully with his stomach, gave way with the increased rocking of the boat, now that there was no pulling to steady her, and he leant over the side and was sick. Joe glanced about him, and remembered the force of the flood-tide would wash them steadily towards the rocks, where the white waves were breaking.

  ‘Here,’ he said calmly,‘move yourselves to the centre thwart. I’ll try an’ scull her in.’

  He shifted the remaining oar to the cleft mark on the transom. But the big heavy oar was too much for him to handle, and he could not keep it in its place. Samuel came to his aid, but made a worse mess of things and before many moments had passed the remaining oar had smashed and gone out of his reach.

  Mary was now crying bitterly, and Herbert too, between his bouts of seasickness.

  Samuel turned pale, and held his sister’s hand fast. Joe whistled and stuck out his chin. ‘’Tes me as has done it. Must get ’em out of it,’ he was thinking.

  The tide was bearing them steadily towards the rocks. He saw clearly that there was no way out. The idea came to him that if he tied the boat’s painter round his waist and tried to swim to the cove inside the entrance, he might be able to guide the boat to safety. A forlorn hopeless thought, but the one remaining chance. He was not afraid of the water; he had learnt to swim last summer. He threw off his clothes and hitched the rope round his middle.

  ‘Don’t do it, Joe,’ said Samuel, who grasped what he was about, ‘you’ll be sucked under for sure.’

  Joe winked, and was about to plunge in, when something made him raise his head.

  He glanced towards the cliff and saw his mother climbing down the rough loose crumbling stones and earth. She must have been sitting on the top of the hill with the baby Lizzie, and had seen their plight.

  Joe never turned his eyes away from the small black figure. Supposing she slipped . . .

  He waited, ready to throw himself in the sea. He cast away the painter from his waist. What did the boat’s safety matter now? Samuel, Mary, and Herbert could be drowned for all he cared, and dashed against the rocks.

  The only thing that mattered was for his mother to reach the ground in safety.

  He made no attempt to call to her, he knew that she was making for the narrow cove on the harbour side of the cliff, where a boat belonging to one of the crabbers was moored about twenty yards from the shore in deep water. She would swim to it, cast away the buoy, and come to their rescue.

  He knew all this instinctively. From the cliff’s side Janet raised her eyes and saw him looking at her as he stood in the bows of the rough unsteady boat. She smiled.

  She was not afraid of falling, she had climbed every part of this cliff as a girl. The only thing that hampered her were her long skirts and petticoats.

  ‘I’m coming, Joseph’ - she said and she knew he was waiting for her. The sea sounded loud and cruel beneath her, the wind blew at her hair - the stones and the earth crumbled beneath her feet and hands. A gull screamed nearby, rousing his fellows, and they flew about her head - crying and beating their wings.

  She cursed them aloud, caring not at all. Her heart sang. This was danger. She loved it. Janet was happy.

  She had complete faith in herself and she knew she would reach Joseph in time.

  At last her feet touched the sand in the cove, and she cast aside her dress and tore away her shoes. Still Joseph stood motionless in the bows of the boat.

  Janet waded out into the water, and waved her hand.

  ‘There’s nothing to fear, childrun - I’m comin’ to you.’

  She swam steadily towards the crabber’s boat, and with some difficulty hoisted hersel
f aboard, her wet garments clinging to her, her hair streaming down her back.

  She unclasped the mooring hook from the boat, and cast the rope and cork buoy into the water. Then she seized the paddles, and pulled towards the helpless drifting boat, now barely thirty yards from the sea-swept rocks.

  ‘Have the painter ready,’ she called to Joseph, and he waited, the rope in his hands - the other children cowering and trembling in the stern of the boat.

  Then as she drew near enough, he flung it to her, calling ‘Catch, ’un’ - in a high unsteady voice. She caught it, and quickly made it fast to her own boat. Then she seized hold of the paddles once more, and towing the children’s boat astern of her, Janet pulled away from the waiting rocks to the sheltered calm waters of the harbour. It was then that Joseph Coombe fainted for the first and the last time in his life.

  As they rounded the bend, she saw Thomas in the yard boat with nigh half a dozen men coming to meet them. Her husband was white to the lips.

  ‘What ever come over ye?’ - he called to her, trembling with fear that she or one of the children might be hurt.

  ‘All’s well,’ said Janet quietly - ‘there’s no harm done.’

  ‘I was comin’ down from the house,’ cried Thomas, ‘an’ Harry Tabbs’ little boy came runnin’ to say Joseph had cut the painter o’ Tim West’s boat, and was pullin’ out o’ the harbour with the others. I rushed down as fast as ever I could an’ launched this boat. Just as we was climbin’ in, along comes Mrs Collins with Lizzie in her arms. “I found the mite cryin’ on top by Castle ruins,” says she, “I’m fearin’ some harm’s come to her mother,” but I had no time to wait.’

  Soon they were back by the yard slip and all was explained. ‘Bain’t you ashamed, Joseph?’ said his father harshly, ‘and you other wicked childrun for followin’ his advice?’

  ‘Leave them alone,’ said Janet swiftly, ‘they’ve had punishment enough, I reckon.’

  The little party toiled up the hill towards the house. Philip was waiting in the parlour, his book Tales of Jesus on his knee. Kind Sarah Collins stood by, with Lizzie in her arms. ‘My poor Janet,’ she exclaimed, ‘come at once and dry yourself, my dear.’