But as long days and longer nights passed, and the first flush of the tidings faded, and she saw the old Captain’s face grow hourly more care-worn, it was all that she could do to bear up; to face the morning light when she awoke, and the grey of evening veiling a sad and misty sea, and still to control herself. Her own time was coming, and while she told herself that she would have no fear were he beside her — he did not come. And the news lingered. She had heard that her father had sent out messengers, and that not a moment would be lost in bearing the tidings to her; and she had blessed him for the thought. But the messengers did not come. Surely the Lively Peggy should be in Portsmouth by now? Or in Falmouth or Plymouth? Or some vessel should have come in with word of her! The wind? Ah, that terrible wind! Morning by morning she crept out, often half-clad, to a place where 6he could see the vane on the Church! Hourly she visited the same place, and still the cruel wind blew from the north and kept him from her.
And then on the sixth day a thing happened that if it did not relieve her anxiety, diverted her thoughts. They were early risers at the Cottage, it still wanted an hour of nine, and she was languidly clearing the table after their morning meal, when she heard the latch of the gate rattle, and turning, caught sight of someone passing from gate to door. She caught her breath. It seemed an ill-omen that dark form, seen between her and the bright sun, and the rap that followed drove the blood from her cheeks. She clung to the table unable to move. Then — the old man was upstairs and she was alone — she collected herself and she opened the door.
The visitor was Wignall. He held a newspaper in his hand. “The Rector sent it, Ma’am,” he said, his manner a tactful mean between deference and. sympathy. “I was to say before I gave it to you, as it’s good news, Ma’am.”
The colour rushed to Peggy’s face. “They’ve come in?” she cried. “Oh, Wignall, say so! Say they’ve come in!”
“No, Ma’am, no!” he answered in haste. “It’s not that. But it’s — it’s all in the paper! Splendid! Grand!” he exclaimed, enthusiasm getting the better of training. “We’re proud — we’re proud, miss!”
“Oh!” she said, her voice dropping to a lower key. Her lips quivered. “Will you — will you thank my father, Wignall? It was kind, very kind of him to send it. Arid thank you.” —
She looked at him so pitifully, that a lump rose in the butler’s throat. “They will be sure to be in — in a day or two, Ma’am,” he said. “Certain sure! They would be in now, but for the wind. There s no doubt about it, it’s the wind, Ma’am, no doubt at all!”
“Yes, Wignall, I — I think so,” Peggy said. But her face was troubled.
He was glad to escape, leaving the journal in her hand. It was the Exeter and Plymouth Gazette of the day before, and it had been folded by a careful hand in such a way as to show a marked passage. Yet Peggy held the paper long and did not look at it. She was afraid to look, afraid to know what it contained. The man had told her that the news was good, but good or bad, she shrank from knowing it. That which she held in her hand, that piece of print meant so much to her. At length, after listening to assure herself that the old man was not coming down — for she could suffer no eye to share her first reading — she closed the staircase door. She seated herself at the table, she spread the paper before her. Her heart thumped tumultuously and for a few seconds she could not see. Then, clasping her head with both hands, she read, the words dancing before her eyes.
Above stairs the Captain had done his simple tasks. He had made his bed, but he was still pottering about, making neatness more neat, when it struck him that the place was very quiet. He heard no movement of feet below, no clatter of plates. Ever anxious on his companion’s account — if he could he would have nailed her to a chair — he took fright. Was she ill? Had she fainted? Or could it be that she had gone out? He went to the head of the narrow staircase, he listened, he heard nothing. Wondering and alarmed, he hobbled down the stairs and opened the door.
It was as he had feared. Peggy was seated at the table, her arms cast forward upon it, her face hidden in them. And she was weeping as if her heart would break.
“Oh, my dear!” he cried, in terror for her, and going to her he touched her tenderly on the shoulder. “You mustn’t! You know that you mustn’t. You will do yourself harm!”
“I know — I know!” Peggy sobbed. Raising her head she looked at him, her eyes shining through her tears. “But I am so proud! So proud! Oh, he will be happy! Read it! Read it! See what he has done — my man!”
“But — but for God’s sake,” he pleaded anxiously, “calm yourself. You know it is important, my dear. You will harm yourself!”
“I will,” she sobbed. “But — but he kept the deck! He kept the deck! Read it!” She turned to him, her tear-stained face radiant, and with trembling hands she pressed the paper upon him.
“Steady, my dear! I will read — see, I am reading,” he conjured her. “But do, my dear, calm yourself.”
“I will! There — I am quiet now.” She smiled through her tears. “But read, please read!”
Slowly he adjusted his glasses, and with her glowing eyes upon him he read:
“We are proud to record for the information of our readers that news of an engagement of an uncommon kind and one adding lustre to the annals of our gallant seamen has been received at Portsmouth. The Betsy Gunn, out of Alexandria, homeward bound, in ballast from the Straits, arrived off the Pool on Tuesday, having on board six wounded men, part of the crew of the brig, The Lively Peggy, privateer of Beremouth, commander, Charles Bligh, which has been in action south of Ushant with the Intriguante, a French sloop of war stationed at Brest — and stated to carry 18 guns with a complement of 100 men and boys. A letter forwarded by the Commander of the Privateer to the Port Admiral states that The Lively Peggy armed with 8 six-pounders and carrying a crew of 55, was surprised by the Intriguante at break of day on the 15th instant, the French ship being sighted off the starboard quarter and not more than two miles to windward. Summoned to surrender the brig held on her course, but being pressed backed her foresail and bore up passing under the Frenchman’s stern, and raking her, and after a running fight of one hour and fifteen minutes, early in which she had the good fortune to bring down the Corvette’s mainmast and do much damage to her rigging, she forced her to haul down her flag. The wounded state the loss of the privateer at five killed and nine wounded, the latter including the Commander who was struck on the head by a splinter, but kept the deck. The loss of the Intriguante is believed to be fifteen killed and upwards of twenty wounded. Immediately upon the receipt of the letter the Port Admiral visited the men in hospital and having heard their story forwarded the Commander’s letter to the Secretary to the Admiralty, and at the same time ordered a sloop of war to leave Spithead and cruise in search of the brig and her prize, which it is feared are detained by head-winds. We are informed that the Commander of the Privateer, which has so signally distinguished herself, was formerly a Lieutenant in the King’s Service, and until lately employed on dockyard service at Plymouth. The Corvette which is well known in Brest waters and has done much damage will, if not hulled beyond repair, be purchased by the Admiralty and added to the Service.
“At the last moment before going to Press we are enabled to add the Port Admiral’s covering Letter which appeared in last night’s London Gazette.
“‘ ADMIRALTY OFFICE.
“‘Copy of a letter from the Port Admiral at Portsmouth to Evan Nepean, Esqre, dated the 14th instant.
“‘Sir, “‘I have the honour to transmit for their lordships’ information a letter sent in this day by Mr. Charles Bligh, Commander of the brig, The Lively Peggy, private ship of war armed with eight six-pounders and a swivel, reporting that at 3.45 a in on the 15th instant, Ushant bearing north-east nine leagues, he was discovered and chased by the Intriguante, Republican sloop of war, mounting 18 six-pounder guns, and after a running fight of one hour and fifteen minutes during which his loss was five killed and nine wounded
he compelled the enemy to haul down her colours, and took possession of her.
“‘Immediately upon receipt and having confirmed the contents I ordered the Gazelle sloop to put to sea and cruise in search of the brig and prize, the wind continuing northerly and both vessels being I am informed in a crippled condition.
“‘The facts appear to deserve their lordships’ particular attention, and I have the honour to be, sir, “‘Your obedient servant, “‘JOSHUA FULLALOVE, Rear Admiral.
“‘ GOVERNMENT HOUSE, “‘PORTSMOUTH.’”
“Their particular attention!” Peggy cried, smiling through her happy tears; and taking the paper from the old man she hugged it to her breast. “Oh, thank God! He will be reinstated now, I am sure he will be reinstated!”
“God grant it!” the Captain said. He was hardly less moved, hardly more master of himself. “But you must be calm! You must control yourself! For his sake, my dear.”
“I will, I will,” she said. And they mingled their tears.
CHAPTER XXX
FACTS exist only as they are shaped by the mind that apprehends them. With a conscience clear as an Egyptian sky, Dr. Portnal would have viewed his son-in-law’s achievement from a height. He might have belittled it, he might have patronizingly approved of it. If he had gone so far as to accept it as a sign of grace, he would have done so grudgingly, allowing that anything that lessened the unfortunate mesalliance was welcome, and that as his daughter had chosen to marry a scapegrace it was well that he should prove himself a daring scapegrace. The deed that, if done by a post-captain, he would have praised without stint, might have won but a stately word of commendation, when credited to a person without rank and of no importance.
But the Rector’s conscience was not at rest, and his feelings having suffered a change, he welcomed with eagerness the opportunity of making amends. He viewed the Lieutenant’s achievement from a new and different standpoint. He read with admiration and a full heart the tribute that the paper paid to it, he sent on the paper without a moment’s delay to his daughter — what better peace-offering could he send? — and to all whom he met he spoke of the matter with a warmth that implied a certain forgiveness of the past.
Unfortunately this did not exorcise the spectre that haunted him, nor allay the apprehensions that he felt; apprehensions that grew with every hour that saw no return of his messengers, with every day that passed and brought no news of the brig’s safety. That Bligh would be lost at sea, and that the shock of his death would be fatal to Peggy was a presage that he could not shake off. It weighed upon his mind, it shadowed his thoughts, it was with him in his study and at his table.
Nemesis! The word and the thought, once admitted, clung to him like the shirt of Nessus.
Those who met him and had no key to the secret, wondered; finding the man altered, feeling him to be more human, more open, less reticent. “That poor girl!” he said to Wyke, whom he encountered one morning pacing the churchyard walk, whither the same motive had brought both; a forlorn hope that the Peggy would beat up to the home port and that her topsails might in some happy hour break the empty horizon. “That poor girl!” he repeated. And Wyke saw with surprise that there were tears in his eyes. “If bad news comes it will kill her.”
“It must not reach her,” Wyke replied. “You must see to that, Rector. It must be kept from her until — until after. Then when she is out of danger — —”
“But can we keep it from her?” The Rector spoke despondently.
“Why not? You will be the first to hear it. You must take your precautions.”
“Precautions! I may take them, man. But will they avail?”
“You must see to it that they do avail,” Wyke replied. “For the matter of that I don’t think that there is a man or woman in the place who would tell her — who would break in upon her with the news if they heard it.”
The father sighed. “I hope it is so,” he said.
Sir Albery parted from him, puzzled by his gloomy view, and wondering more than ever at the change in him. Later Wyke met Charlotte Bicester and told her what the Rector had said and the effect it had had on his mind.
“The truth is,” Charlotte decided, “as long as there is no one with her, there is a risk. But some one should be with her. Some one who would keep watch and see that the news did not reach her — if it came.”
“But who is there to do it? Her sister?” Charlotte’s face was eloquent. “Augusta! Pretty cold comfort she’d be! As good as a lump of ice! But there!” She shot a conscious look at him. “There’s my tongue running away again! I suppose I should not have said that.”
“I don’t know why you shouldn’t.”
“Oh, well, if you don’t, I don’t. But I don’t think she would do at all. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll see if Peggy will let me go to her.”
“To the cottage? To stay, do you mean?”
“Why not? Isn’t that what you want? The Captain can get a bed out. And I could have his room. Her ladyship” — Charlotte made a grimace, perhaps to hide her embarrassment, for Sir Albery was looking at her in a very odd way—” will make a fuss, of course. But I can manage her. I could guard the door if I could do nothing else, and I’ll answer for it the news would not get past me. I can lie like a trooper when I like,” Charlotte added hurriedly. For Sir Albery was still looking at her in that odd way.
“It’s — it’s extraordinarily good of you,” he said. “But I am afraid you will be very uncomfortable there.”
“Why? Because the rooms are not twenty feet square, and the hall is all one with the parlour? What nonsense! I am not made of barley-sugar, and of course Peggy should have a woman with her, and better a friend than a stranger. What should we think of ourselves if anything went wrong with her and — and—”
“To be sure,” Sir Albery said gravely. “There is that. And it is but a small thing you are doing after all. Anyone would do it, Miss Bicester, of course.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said, relieved. “Any friend. I’ll see about it to-day.”
“If she’ll let you?”
“I shall not give her the choice. I’ll bundle out the Captain and bring in my bandbox, and say the thing’s done, and can’t be undone. She’ll be thankful in her heart. Of course she’s fretting.”
Wyke had a happy thought. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “I’ll take the old chap in at the Manor. And that will suit all parties.”
Charlotte’s eyes sparkled so that for a moment she looked almost handsome. “Will you?” she cried. “Well, you are a good soul! That will make all right.”
“You may call it done,” he said. “But I wish to goodness the news had come and the Peggy was in!”
“You don’t think well of the delay, then?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Wyke confessed. “But I could see that the Rector was anxious.” Charlotte sniffed. “Aware that he has a daughter at last, is he?” she said. “Well, I am not sorry that he should be punished a bit! I suppose you know that he went to see her yesterday? Heart-to-heart talk, full forgiveness, a father’s blessing and the rest! A bit late! But all the same,” Charlotte added, rubbing her nose thoughtfully, “I am surprised. I did not think that the man had a heart and it seems that he has!”
“It must have been a great relief to her.”
“Umph! It may have been. But I am afraid that she is taking fright again. You may be sure that she does not like the delay any more than we do, and I don’t suppose that the Captain is the brightest of company. However, we will get him away and then—”
“With an angel in the house?”
Charlotte winced, almost as if his words hurt her. “I look like an angel, don’t I?” she retorted. “A plain angel I should make!” And with a nod and rather abruptly she broke away and went up the street. But as she passed the barber’s shop and paused for a word with Dunch — Charlotte had a word for everyone gentle and simple — Dunch was struck by the brightness of her face. “It is good
for sore eyes to see you, Miss,” he flung after her as she went on. “If you’d let me curl your hair to rights, for you’ve plenty of it — you would not be at all —— —” Charlotte lost the rest.
However the arrangement at the cottage was not to be made as easily as the pair anticipated. Charlotte broke the plan to Peggy as a settled thing — a thought that had just occurred to her. She had brought her traps with her, she said, and there they were. But Peggy took fright, and for once betraying the alarm that, slowly accumulating, she had as sedulously hidden, she seized Charlotte by the shoulders, turned her to the light, and with fear in her eyes strove to read her face. “You’ve bad news?” she exclaimed. “I know you have! Don’t — don’t keep it from me! Tell me!”
Charlotte was alarmed by an agitation that she had not expected, but she was equal to the occasion. “I’ll tell you the truth, and that is that you are a little ninny!” she replied. “I’ve no news. I know no more than you do, Peggy. What I do know is that you ought to have a woman with you, and I’m the woman; and I’m coming in spite of your teeth, and whether you like it or not. When the man returns he can turn me out if he pleases.”
Peggy drew a long breath and let her hands fall. But she was not wholly reassured. “You are sure?” she pleaded, her eyes still on the other’s face. “You are telling the truth, Charlotte?”
“My dear, I am not a liar,” Charlotte rejoined — she was a most unscrupulous person when it suited her. “I’ve no news and as far as I know there is none. But you ought not to be alone, and you are not going to be alone. I am coming here, and that’s my news and all my news.”
Such colour as Peggy had — and it was not much at this stage — returned to her cheeks. “But there’s no room,” she said.
“There’s the Captain’s room.”
Peggy smiled,. “But you can’t share it with him!” she said.
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 769
