Books: Modern Broods
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Charlotte Mary Yonge >> Modern Broods
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"Would it not have been put into the boathouse out of the rain?" said
Agatha.
"The gardener was gone home, out of reach round the point, but we
shall know to-morrow."
"He thinks they may have rowed out and been caught in the storm,"
cried Paula, bursting into fresh weeping; and Magdalen saw the
conjecture confirmed by Mr. Flight's countenance.
"I am afraid it is the least distressing--the least unsatisfactory
idea," said he, in much agitation. "I thought Mr. Delrio an
excellent young man; and she," indicating his companion, "tells me
you know him and his family well."
"Oh, yes," said Agatha and Magdalen in one breath. "We have known
his father all our lives. Nothing can be more respectable."
"And Hubert is as steady and good as possible," continued Agatha.
"His mother used to come to Mrs. Best and praise him, till we were
quite tired of his name; I am sure he is all right."
"Or I should be much deceived in him," said the clergyman.
Yet there was an idea in Paulina's mind. Could Vera have poured out
such an exaggerated tale of oppression and unhappiness as to have
induced her old playfellow to carry her off to his mother at Filsted?
She had given some such hint to Mr. Flight on the way; but he had not
seemed to hear or attend, and he was now promising to let the sisters
know as soon as possible in the morning whether anything had been
discovered, and to telegraph to Filsted and to the office in London
if he should see occasion.
Then he drove off, in what would have been almost daylight but for
the pelting of the storm; and after a vain attempt to make Paula
swallow some nourishment, Magdalen thought it kinder to let Agatha
carry her off to bed, and then she confessed, what really gave a
certain hope, that the pair had been in the habit of murmuring
against "sister" so much that, considering poor Vera's propensity to
strong language, it was quite possible that Hubert might think her
cruelly oppressed, and for a freak carry her off to his mother to be
consoled.
Agatha tried to believe it, for the sake of hushing the exhausted
Paula, who almost went into hysterics, as she laughed at the notion
of to-morrow's telegram that Vera was safe at Filsted; and then
allowed herself to be calmed enough to sleep, while Agatha revolved
the notion, but found herself unable seriously to believe, that
sufficient grievance could be brought against sister to induce any
man in his senses to take such a step. But then Paula had inferred
that he was a lover, and Agatha did not know of what lovers might be
capable, and she could not but blame herself for not having given
more importance to the semi-confidences of her sisters on the first
day of her arrival. It was all misery; and the two poor girls could
find no solace in the morning, save in talking to Magdalen, though
that involved the confession of all the murmurs against her, the
distrust of her kindness, and the explanation of the interviews,
which, as far as Paula had ever witnessed them, were absolutely
harmless, the only pity being in their concealment.
Magdalen was manifestly as wretched as they, or even more so, being
convinced of her own shortcoming in not having won the affection or
confidence that would have made all open between them. She could not
understand why Hubert Delrio should not have been made known to her.
"We thought," said Paula, "we thought you might not think him enough-
-enough--of a gentleman for your sort of society."
"I think you might have trusted me to know what was due to an old
friend," said Magdalen "but, oh, I ought to have made you feel that
we could think together."
"Perhaps," said Agatha, "there was a little consciousness on poor
dear Vera's part that she did not want you to know the terms she was
on."
They had tried only to let Thekla know that they were much alarmed
because Vera had gone out in a boat and not returned. It was
observable that, on the principle that where there is life there is
hope, Paula clung to the notion that Vera's having fled to Filsted;
while the two elder sisters, perhaps because they better knew what
such a flight might seem to others, would almost have preferred to
suppose there had been a fatal accident in the midst of youthful,
innocent sport.
The two were lingering sadly over their uneaten breakfast, talking
more freely when they had sent Thekla to feed her pets, when Mr.
Flight came up on his bicycle; but it was plain at the first moment
that he had no good news.
Nothing had been heard. It only appeared that one of the young
gardeners at Carrara had taken Captain Henderson's boat without
leave, to fetch one of the girls, but on entering the cove had found
the boathouse locked. He had moored the boat to a stake for want of
the ring that secured it within. When the storm threatened he ran
down to recover it, but it was gone, and he had concluded that the
gardeners had put it into the boathouse. It now appeared that they
had not seen it, and were very angry at its having been meddled with.
An oar had drifted up with the morning tide, and had been recognised
as belonging to the boat; but such a gale was blowing that it was
impossible to put out to sea or make any search round the coast.
Words could hardly describe the distress of Mr. Flight or of his
ladies at not having better looked after the young girl; Sister Beata
for never having thoroughly attended to the matter; and Sister Mena
for having accepted confidences which, if she had only guessed it,
told her more than there really was to be known. Both these two were
inclined to the elopement idea, partly because it was the least
shocking, and partly because they had looked at Vera's grievances
through her own spectacles, and partly from their unlimited notions
of young men's wickedness. Their vicar was not of the same opinion,
knowing Hubert better, and besides having found his work, his orders
to his subordinates, and the belongings at the lodgings in a state
that showed that whatever he had done had been unpremeditated.
Sending off notes to stop the garden party was a sort of occupation,
broken by many signs, much listening, and much sorrowful discussion,
not quite vain, since it made Paulina more one with Magdalen than
ever before. Poor old Mr. Delrio arrived in the afternoon, a thin,
grey-haired and bearded old man, who could only make it too certain
that Paula's theory of the innocent flight to Filsted was impossible.
Moreover, he was as certain as a father could be, intimate with, and
therefore confident of, his eldest son, that though Hubert might
indulge in a little lively flirtation, it could never be otherwise
than perfectly harmless. In the terrible suspense and restlessness,
he went vibrating about in the torrents of moorland rain between Rock
Quay and the Goyle, on the watch for telegrams from the office in
London or his wife at home, or for the discovery of anything from the
sea, or searching in his son's lodgings, where nothing was found that
did not show him to have been a pure-hearted young man, devoted to
his art, and fond of poetry. Sundry compositions were in the
blotting-book, one, indeed, to Vera's name, under the supposition (a
wrong one) {100} that it meant "true," but mostly rough copies of a
poem about the Saints Julitta and her child Cyriac. Hope sank as
another stormy day rose; and still the poor old artist lingered in
hopes of news by some returning craft which might have picked up the
derelict. His chief comfort was in walking about between the showers
with Magdalen, as an old friend, and trying to think of the two as
innocent creatures, engulfed like mayflies in the stream.
Sister Mena came over, wanting to join Paula in bewailing entreaties;
but Paula, in youthful hard-hearted wilfulness, declared that it was
impossible to see her; and it fell to Magdalen to try to discuss the
grief with her.
It turned out that Mr. Flight had spoken severely to her and to the
far less implicated Sister Beata, declaring his confidence in them
destroyed, so that they had begun to consider of throwing up their
work in his parish. "And it was all my fault," said Mena; "Sister
Beata really knew nothing, or hardly anything of what Vera told me."
"Indeed, I can quite understand that you had hardly experience enough
to know that it might be wiser not to encourage what was not quite
open."
"But I thought,--I thought you--"
"That I was unkind and unsympathising."
"Oh, you never could have been--"
"Indeed I never meant to be, but I am afraid it seemed so to my young
sisters. I can quite see how you thought you were acting kindly."
"Oh, that is so good of you."
"And perhaps I, being only an elder sister, you would not feel that I
was the only authority the poor girls have to look to; and that it
would have been kinder to help them to be content with me."
"I did not know what you could be," said Mena, greatly soothed and
surprised by her caresses.
"We often do go on in ignorance, and get on a wrong tack; but you
know God pardons our mistakes, and I do believe that you will be
wiser for all this sorrow, and better able to rise to your work. I
am sure, however it ends, that is the reason that such blows are sent
to us."
Mena went back sorrowful and chastened, but tenderly hopeful. If
Miss Prescott could forgive, surely Mr. Flight could, and One still
greater.
CHAPTER XI--ADRIFT
"She splashed, and she dashed, and she turned herself round,
And heartily wished herself safe on the ground."
JANE TAYLOR.
And where were the missing pair?
Vera had lingered about, fancying she was helping to pack the
photographic apparatus, while the others dispersed. Presently,
seeing no one near, Hubert Delrio said, in a gentle diffident voice,
"It would be a great pleasure to me if I might ask you to listen to
the verses on St. Cyriac and his mother that the design brought with
it."
"I should love it better than anything," said Vera, highly flattered.
"If you would come down this way, there is a charming secluded cove,
where we should be free from interruption."
"How deliciously romantic! Quite stunning!" cried Vera, as her
cavalier conducted her down a steep path along the side of the cliff
to the stony beach, where a few red rocks had been manipulated into a
tiny harbour, with a boathouse for the little skiff in which Captain
Henderson was wont to go round to the marble works on the other side
of the headland. The boat looked very inviting as it lay swinging
gently in the sluggish waves in the advancing shade of the tall
cliff; and Vera exclaimed with delight as she was assisted into it,
and placed herself comfortably on the cushion, with one hand dabbling
in the cool translucent wave. Hubert Delrio opened his manuscript
and began to read his ballad, if so it was to be called, being the
history of the little boy of four years old, who, being taken with
his mother before the tribunal at Tarsus, was lifted on the
propraetor's knee, but struggled, crying out, "I am a Christian!"
till the propraetor, in a rage, hurled him down. His skull was
fractured on the marble pavement, and his mother gave thanks for his
soul's safety, when she too was sentenced to be beheaded. Great
pains had been taken with the noble-minded tale; and the verses had
considerable merit, more, perhaps, than Vera could appreciate. But
to read such a production of his own, in such surroundings, to the
auditor whom youthful fancy most preferred, was such luxury to both
that it was no wonder that under the broad shady hat with the lily
wreath she was nodding in the gentle breeze, the lapping of the
waves, and the soft cadence of the poetry, till at an effective
passage on the mother's death, the poet looked up, expecting to
receive a responsive glance from those blue eyes.
Not only were they hidden, but the cliff was farther off. The
mooring rope and the stake were dragging behind in the water. The
tide had turned, and the boat was already out of reach of the rock
where it had been drawn up. His exclamation of dismay awoke Vera,
who would have started up with a little shriek, but for his, "Don't!
Don't! I'll row back."
But he was a landsman, whose only knowledge of the water was in an
occasional bathe, or in a river steamer; and his first attempt at
placing the oars in the rowlocks resulted in one falling overboard,
while he helplessly grasped the other; and Vera screamed again.
"Don't be frightened, my dear! Dearest, don't! We must be seen.
Some one will come out and help us."
"Can't you get on with one oar? They do in pictures."
"Punting? Yes, but there must be a bottom. No, don't move, whatever
you do. There can't be any danger. Fishermen must be about. Or we
shall be seen from the cliffs."
"They are getting farther off! Can't you shout?"
Hubert shouted, and Vera added her shriller cries; but all in vain,
and the outgoing tide was carrying them, not towards the quay and
marble rocks, but farther to sea. The waves grew rougher and had
crests of foam, and discomfort began. Once the feather of a steamer
was seen on the horizon. They waved handkerchiefs and redoubled
their shouts, and Hubert had to hold his companion to prevent her
from leaping up; but they never were within the vessel's ken, and she
went on her way, while the sea bore them farther and farther.
The shore was growing dim and indistinct, the sun was sinking, and
the cloud, that had at first shown only a golden border, was lifting
tall perpendicular masses, while the tossing of the little boat
became more and more distressing. Anxiety and sense of
responsibility kept Hubert from feeling physical discomfort; but Vera
began to cry, and to declare that it would be the death of her if she
were not landed immediately.
"If it were only possible!" sighed Delrio.
"There must be some way! You are so stupid! Oh! There was a flash
of lightning."
"Summer lightning."
"No such thing! There will be a storm, and we shall be drowned. Oh,
I wish I had never listened to your nonsense, and got into this
horrible boat." She was in a state for scolding, and scold she did,
as the clouds rose higher, and sheets of lightning more decided.
"How could you? You, who know nothing about boats, and going on, on,
with those horrid tiresome verses--not minding anything--I wish I had
never come near you!"
Vainly the poor young fellow tried to get in a word of consolation;
it only made her scold the more, till there was no question that the
storm was raging overhead; the hail rattled and splashed, the waves
raised them to a height, then subsided into endless depths; the
thunder pealed, and she clung to Hubert, too frightened for
screaming. His fear was that the cockleshell of a boat should fill
and founder; he tried to bale out the water with his hat, and to make
her assist, but she seemed incapable, and he could only devise laying
her down in the bottom of the boat with his coat over her, hiding her
face in terror. Her hat had long ago been blown away, and her hair
was flapping about. Ejaculations were in his heart, if not on his
lips, and once or twice she cried out something like, "Save me!" but
in general it was, "We are sinking! Hold me! We are going! Paula!
Nag!" clutching at his legs, so as to hamper him in the baling out
the water.
The hail passed, but there was a solid sheet of rain descending on
them, undistinguishable from the foam that rushed over them as they
went down, down, down. Vera was silenced; and Hubert, drenched and
nearly beaten out of life, almost welcomed every downward plunge as
the last, tried to commend his spirit, and was amazed to find his
little boat lifted up again, and the black darkness not so absolute.
CHAPTER XII--"THE KITTIWAKE"
"Good luck to your fishing! Whom watch ye to-night?
A man of mean, or a man of might?"--SCOTT.
Something black was before the tossed boat! Yes, and light, not
lightning. A human voice seemed to be on the blast. Hubert Delrio
essayed to shout, but his voice was gone, or was blown away. He
understood that a vessel must be above him. Would it finish all by
running him down? He perceived that he was bidden to catch
something. A rope! His benumbed hands and the heaving of the boat
made him fail once, twice, and he was being swept away as at last he
did grasp a rope, and was drawn, as it ground his hands, close to the
dark wall that rose above, with lights visible.
"Cheer up! cheer up!" he cried to Vera. "Thank God, we are saved!"
Response from her there was none; but he could hear the yell of
inquiry from ahead, and answered, "Here! Two! A woman!"
A second rope was lowered. "Lash her to it." But as it was evident
that Delrio could do nothing but hold on, and that his companion was
helpless, a sailor descended from no great elevation, and, in another
moment, the senseless girl was hoisted up and received on deck; and,
with some assistance, Hubert was also on board, thinking of nothing
but the breathless question, "Is she safe?"
"Oh, yes! She will soon come round! Here! They will see to her."
As she was carried away, and Hubert had a perception that she was
received by female hands, but he was utterly exhausted, and unable to
see or speak, till some stimulant had been poured down his throat,
and even then he could hardly ask, "Is she safe?
"Yes, yes! All right! Reviving fast! Here! Take some more! Bed
is ready! Get rid of those clothes!" It was an elderly, grey-haired
man who spoke, and Hubert was in no condition to resist, as the yacht
was pitching considerably, though after the boat the motion was
almost rest. He instinctively shook his head at the glass, but
swallowed what was forced upon him, and managed to say, "Thanks--
sitting in boat--drifted off--Rock Quay."
"All right! Never mind. Take him down. My berth, Ivy--Jephson.
Tuck him in. Don't let him speak! Never mind, my lad! We will hear
all about it to-morrow!"
Meantime, Vera, though reviving, was conscious of very little, save a
soft pillow, tender hands, and warm drink that choked her; and then
she fell asleep, though still she was aware of a strange tossing
going on all night, and by and by she found herself secured into a
sort of narrow shelf, and murmuring female voices were at hand. As
she moved, she heard, "There, you are better now. You can take this,
then you will be more comfortable."
Her eyes had opened to a curious sort of twilight, and there was a
fair girlish head over her, with a sweet smiling face. An elderly
weather-beaten face in a hood next appeared, and a brown hand holding
a cup closed over the top, in invalid fashion, and a kind strong arm
slightly raised her with, "There, there, poor dear! The spirit, my
lady dear, the spirit! That's right, now then."
"You MUST be a baby;" and a merry reassuring smile broke out as the
draught was administered. Vera tasted, thanked, swallowed, felt
giddy, and lay down, hearing a lively bit of self-gratulation.
"There, Mrs. Griggs, I'm getting my sea legs!" followed by an
ignominious stumble as Mrs. Griggs caught the cup in good time as the
vessel gave a lurch which completed Vera's awakening in the fear of
being shaken out on the floor.
She looked round to find herself in a tiny room, cushioned
throughout, with strange dancing confused light coming in, and the
few articles of furniture carefully secured. Two young figures were
there, both dressed in stout blue serge, with white trimmings; one,
the darker, beside her bed, had a face full of kindness and
solicitude, yet of fun dimpling over continually; the other, even in
that dim light, striking Vera as something out of the loveliest
visions of romance, so fair and beautiful was the countenance.
A man's voice was at the door. "Fly! Francie! How is she?"
"Much better! Nearly well! Good morning, Papa dear. Is he all
right?"
"As sound as a bell! Ha!" As the door escaped, the curtain over it
shook, and he nearly fell against it, saving himself with his hands.
"That was exercise!" As the young girls came tumbling up and
disappeared behind the curtain, where, however, the voices could be
plainly heard, "Had any sleep to-night or this morning?"
"Between whiles! O yes! All our bones are still whole, as I hope
yours and Ivy's are."
"Come and see. Griggs is getting breakfast under difficulties
insurmountable to any one but a sea-grasshopper! I came to call you
damsels, and present my inquiries to Miss Prescott."
"She will soon be all right! Francie and I are so proud of having
had a real downright adventure."
"I trust she will not be the worse, and will--excuse me, and regard
me as incognito."
This was said as another lurch drove the grizzled head into the
cabin; and recovering in another upheaval they all disappeared,
leaving Vera in a dreaming state, whence she was only half roused
when Mrs. Griggs returned to administer breakfast, so far as she
could taste it, under exhortations, pettings, and scoldings; and she
very soon fell asleep again, and was thus left, sensible all the time
of tossings and buffetings, but so worn out by the five hours of the
boat, and so liable to be made ill by the motion of the vessel, that
it was thought best to leave her to sleep in her berth.
She was only aware of voices above talking and laughing, or sailor
calls being shouted out, or now and then of some one coming to look
at her, and insisting on her taking food.
It was not till late in the afternoon that she awoke from what seemed
like a strange long uneasy dream, and found one of the girls sitting
by her and telling her she was better now.
"Yes," said Vera, trying to raise herself, finding something over her
head, and falling back on the pillow; "but what is it? Where is
this?"
"THIS is somewhere out in the Channel, near off Guernsey, Griggs
says, but we cannot put in anywhere till the gale goes down."
"What is it? Is it a ship, then?"
"O yes," said the girl, laughing; "a yacht, the Kittiwake. Sir
Robert Audley has lent it to my brother, and we are all going to see
the Hebrides and Staffa and Iona."
"Not to take me all up there?" groaned poor Vera, in horror. "Can't
you put me out somewhere, anywhere?"
"Don't be afraid," was the much-amused reply. "As soon as ever we
can put in anywhere, we can telegraph to Rock Quay and put you ashore
to go home; but we can only run before the wind while the sea is so
high. I wish you could come on deck, it is so jolly!"
"Oh! it was too dreadful!"
"Beating about in the boat! It must have been, Mr. Delrio told us."
"It was so stupid in him never to see that we had got loose, and were
drifting off," said Vera, who had never thought of inquiring after
him.
"My father and Griggs think he behaved quite like a hero," was the
answer. "He must have managed very well to keep you afloat, and
saved you all this time."
"I suppose so," said Vera. "We always did know him, or I should not
have let him get me into that boat, when he minded nothing but his
verses."
"Those verses, they came all limp and wet out of his pocket, and
Francie made him let her dry them and copy them out; and she is so
delighted with them. It really is well it is too late to call the
baby Cyriac."
"The baby?"
"Oh, yes. We had to leave him behind, though Francie was ready to
break her heart over it; but they said that nothing would do for
Ivinghoe--after this second influenza--but a sea voyage, so she had
to make up her mind to leave him to my mother."
Vera was in a state of bewilderment, caring a great deal more for
herself and her own sensations than for any of her surroundings; and
her next question was, "When do you think we shall be out of this?"
"We shall put into harbour somewhere as soon as the wind lulls. We
cannot venture yet, though we do steam; and then we can telegraph. I
am longing to relieve Miss Prescott. We can take you home all the
way. We were on our way into Rock Quay to take up Mysie Merrifield
if she can go. It really was a wonderful and most merciful thing
that we made you out just as it was getting light before running you
down. My father saw you first, and old Griggs would hardly believe
it, but then we heard Mr. Delrio's hail! But it was a terrible
business getting you up the ship's side."
"I did not know anything about it. It was so dreadful in the
lightning. And my new hat was blown away. And what is become of all
my clothes?"
"Mrs. Griggs has them, and is drying them. We will lend you a hat to
land in."
"Oh, when we do! I wish I had never got into that boat, but Hubert
Delrio did persuade me so."
"And he is an old friend?"
"Yes, he is come to paint the roof of St. Kenelm's Church, and we
want to be attentive to him because my eldest sister would be sure to
be cross and keep him at a distance, being only that sort of wall
painter, you know, and his father a drawing master."
"My father is very much pleased with him, and thinks him a very
superior young man. They have been sitting on deck together, talking
as much as they could about architecture and Italy, with their breath
all blown away every moment. There! You are really getting better!
If you would eat something and come on deck you would be well! I
will call the sea gnat, and see what we have."
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