Complete Works of Bram Stoker

by Bram Stoker

  As for Mrs. Abigail, communing with herself in the solitude amongst the pasties and chickens and bottles, her mind was quite made up. Here at last was the true Prince Charming, whose heart the young mistress whom she idolised was to win. His bright, handsome face, his resolute bearing, his stature and form — for he looked lithe as a panther and strong as steel — his royal surroundings, and the manifest admiration of his glances at Miss Betty as he ran his barge instinctively as close as he safely could, all satisfied the faithful old woman’s requirements, and the time seemed impossibly and exasperatingly long until he should formally declare himself. After all is told, what is so enduring, so strong, or so complete as an old servant’s protectorship over the future of the child she has reared? Abigail got more and more-impatient as the time went on. The day was hot, for the August sun was blazing, and she took off her hat to fan herself. This hat was a treasure, something that Abigail valued as the apple of her eye. Betty called out to her —

  “Take care of your hat, Abigail; if you let it drop you know the current will carry it under some of the boats.”

  They were at this time up close to the “Swan,” where a great assemblage was gathering to watch the close of the race, which was now going on. Down the river was heard a roaring which was taken up as the boats passed along. A way was kept clear in the centre of the stream, and to insure this the boats drew right and left. This occasioned some confusion, especially on the left bank, where the current, glancing off the projecting promenade in front of the King’s house, drove the boats together.

  Betty’s oarsmen, who knew the river, kept the boat in her place by judiciously modulated strokes; but some of the other boats were not so well handled, and one of them came swiftly down the current towards the mass of craft. Some of the men in the other boats called out — especially the gallant-looking young gentleman in the royal barge, who had taken up his position a little down the stream and out towards the centre, from whence he could see Betty.

  Abigail, intent on watching the young gentleman, did not see the coming boat, and when the collision came, though it was not much in itself, it so upset her that she dropped her precious hat to catch the gunwale of the boat, and the current in an instant swept it away. Betty saw it coming by and tried to catch it. It was just beyond her reach, and so, with hand on the gunwale, she leaned over as far as she could and just succeeded in grasping it. But at that instant the colliding boat, fended off at first by the hands of its occupants, again struck Betty’s boat. The shock, slight as it was in itself, was much to her in her position of poise, and threw her into the water. There was an instant shout, and then Priscilla and Hester clutched wildly at where Betty’s head had been, and many a voice was raised and many a hand stretched out.

  But quickest of all the throng was the young gentleman in the royal boat! Hardly had Betty sunk under the water when he had leaped to his feet and dived after her. He was a strong swimmer and caught her as she rose, and with a few powerful strokes of his right arm took her with the stream, whilst his own men bent to their oars and followed him.

  But it is no light task to swim amongst a press of boats in a current, and especially when one has to support two and with only one hand available for the purpose. One or two boats in such a case can be helpful, but a mass of them makes new danger, Oars get entangled, those who should sit quiet stand up, and those who can help are hampered; boats which to be useful should be held still and on an even keel, are rocked to and fro till they themselves become a positive source of danger. So it was on this occasion. The mere multitude of rescuers and their variety of plans, made a small danger into a great one.

  So skilful and strong a swimmer as this man evidently was, could have easily held her up till help came; but with the current, the swaying boats, and the closer ingathering mass there was an added danger of being crushed. He took in the situation at a glance, and with a boldness and readiness which commended itself to every man present who could swim, he dived beneath the boats, taking with him Betty, who had not uttered a sound and who now yielded herself quietly to his guidance. His oarsmen, who, seeing the danger and recognising his course of action, had skirted round the press of boats and were waiting at the other side when he came up, immediately seized him. He gasped out to them: “Take the lady!” and instantly four strong hands raised her and lifted her into the barge whilst he himself clung to the gunwale, I panting. !

  Instantly all those around began to cheer in j true British fashion; even those in the mass! of boats up and down and across the stream who had not seen what had happened but knew from the struggling and the pressing together of the boats and by the cheers that something unusual had taken place, took up j the shout till down the stream the waiting, crowd seemed to be in doubt as to which way the race was coming. Priscilla and Hester, both pale as death, held one another’s hands tight, and Abigail, with no one to hold on to except the oarsman, clasped her own hands and said her prayers, as a good woman should do in time of danger — and at other times. Close to Betty’s boat there was at this time another royal barge with several old people splendidly dressed. One of them, a man with white hair and the ribbon of the garter, said in Abigail’s hearing to the lady beside him —

  “By the Lord! splendidly done. I never saw anything better or readier in my life. He is a fine fellow! Who is he?”

  “I can tell you,” came the answer, “for I asked just now. His name is Rafe Otwell.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Oh, the usual thing! — a poor gentleman. Some sort of kinsman of Walpole.”

  There was a bitter undertone in the reply — “Poor! and a kinsman of Walpole! He is a distant kinsman then, of course.”

  “Fie, my lord, fie! You politicians are more severe on one another than we ladies — are supposed to be.”

  “Well, kinsman of Walpole, near or far though he be — and the farther the better, say I! — he is a gallant fellow, and a ready fellow; in my time such qualities counted for much!”

  By this time the boat containing the two rescued people was in mid-stream and the onlookers had forgotten the incident, for the race was now close up and all eyes were directed towards the approaching wherries. Betty’s oarsmen cleared the press of boats and drew to shore, the royal barge following. When they got close in the young gentleman leaped ashore and his men put down a stretcher for Betty to walk to the bank, and she took his hand to steady herself. Sweet and beautiful she looked as she stood there in the brilliant sunshine, though her white dress was sorely draggled and clung to her so that she could hardly walk. The pallor which was consequent on her danger had given way to a bright blush, and as the young man held her hand she tried to thank him. Betty was not good with words when she wanted them, and sometimes those to whom she spoke — and to whom she wrote — thought that the simplicity of her words showed coldness. It was not so, however; the sincerity of their purpose was all-in-all.

  “I thank you, sir,” she said simply “I thank you with all my heart!” And, after all, what could she have said nicer had she spoken a volume?

  “Nay,” he answered, “the thanks are mine that I have been permitted the honour of serving you!”

  Further talk was cut short by the embraces of her aunt and cousin, who had gained the bank and now wept over her and rejoiced in physical contact, to the great detriment of their costumes. Abigail too came up and embraced her and finished an outpouring of rejoicing at her mistress’s safety and of anger towards herself for causing the accident, with the following —

  “And, God save us, if the darling child hasn’t kept the hat all the time!”

  Betty looked down; she had quite forgotten the hat, which she held in her hand dripping many-coloured tears. The young gentleman said gallantly —

  “Such faithfulness is indeed strange!” Abigail instantly capped his speech — “You wouldn’t think it strange if you knew Miss Betty, sir.”

  “Hush, Abigail!” said Betty.

  Then Aunt Priscilla spoke —


  “Sir, we do not know how to thank you. This dear child’s life is more to us than we can say; but, indeed, we are very, very grateful.” She held out her hand, and the young gentleman took it; but to his surprise and indeed to his consternation she stooped and kissed his hand.

  “No, no!” he said, “not that, Madam — not that!”

  “Sir, I must show my gratitude somehow!

  Were I younger or you older I might take a different way! But come, sir,” she added, “our home is yonder in Cheyne Walk. Come with us and dry your clothes.”

  “No, no!” he answered, “it is nothing; I shall be less wet presently and a ducking does no harm.”

  By this time Betty was moving off, but on hearing him refuse she stopped.

  “At least, sir,” she said, “you will not refuse to let us make you welcome!”

  He said nothing but bowed, and they all moved off towards Cheyne Walk.

  Betty was hurried to her room by Abigail, who rushed about getting cordials which she insisted on her taking, and wept and laughed over her; whilst the stranger, after being duly dosed with cordial — which he did not refuse — was shown into another room where was the whole wardrobe of Betty’s father. He made his choice of clothes, and presently appeared in the drawing-room. Here he formally introduced himself to the two ladies, Betty not yet having appeared.

  “Ladies, allow me to introduce myself, since good fortune for me, though bad for ” he looked from one to the other of the elderly ladies, as if in doubt — ”for your young sister,” the ladies here smiled not displeased, “has taken the place of social usage. My name is Rafe Otwell. I am a gentleman of the Temple, though I regret to say as barren of law as I am of means. I „ am a kinsman of Sir Robert Walpole, who promises me a place as soon as I have been called to the Bar. I am a sometime scholar of Cambridge, and my home, when I had one, was in Cheshire.”

  To which Miss Pole replied —

  “Sir! you may be poor — Providence rules in lesser matters of the world as in greater things — but you are a gallant gentleman and have played a ready as well as a brave part this day, and if my dear brother, Betty’s father, were here, he would thank you better — than I — than I can ” and here the poor lady’s emotion overcame her and she burst into tears.

  “Don’t cry! there Mistress, don’t cry!” said the young man, all his ceremonial stiffness gone in a moment. “There is nothing to cry for. She is alive and well! All is well! There now, don’t cry!” In the midst of this, when the young gentleman was half embracing the elderly lady at his side, in well-meant efforts to comfort her, Betty entered the room. She instantly became the objective point of all the embracings and all the tears; and for awhile rejoicing, in the form most objectionable to a person not in the game, was rampant Suddenly Hester said — .

  “Those men who picked you up were not even thanked. I will go and thank them,” and she went down to the edge of the river opposite where the royal barge still hung on her oars, though the mass of boats save those clustered around the landing at the “Swan” were on their way back to London.

  “We have come to thank you,” said Miss Fenton; and with an inspiration added: “Won’t you have something to drink?” Their answer was unmistakably and decidedly in the affirmative.

  “Come to the house yonder,” she said.

  “Not for worlds, Miss. We daren’t go ashore without leave.”

  Here, however, Betty appeared, followed by Abigail and a blushing maid who carried four tankards.

  ‘God bless you, Miss,” said the sailor who was spokesman for the rest. “You should be an Admiral’s lady.”

  CHAPTER III

  THE GOLD BUTTONS

  RAFE’S introduction of himself was followed by a more formal one, for amongst his few friends was a lady of Ware, to whom Betty Pole was of course known from her estate at Much Hadam, and the young people met at a kettledrum at her house. By this time he was head over ears in love with Betty; he would have declared himself but for that restraining sense of his own unworthiness which Providence has been good enough to implant, for the protection of young maidens, in the hearts of young men. But this sense lies latent only until such time as a true attachment manifests itself, whereupon it asserts all its strength. This force, however, like all great forces, is active and reactive; and, like other forces, what it loses in strength, it gains in direction, and vice versa. For the timorous young maiden when she feels assured that her lover holds back through some strange weakness which is alien to feminine nature — and her heart never fails to tell her when this is so — takes heart of grace and gives freely, if not ostentatiously, that which timid self-consciousness fears even to ask. Si la jeunesse savait! Well, if it did, the young would cease to be young. The decadence of old age came into the world at the first bite of the apple, and wrinkles formed an appropriate punishment for the sin of Eve.

  Betty’s course of thought was masked by her habitual direct simplicity. She made up her mind on the necessary points, and took all the rest for granted. Indeed, had she done anything foolish — which she did not — it would have been excusable. Here was a young gentleman, only a few years older than she was, handsome, stalwart, brave, of gallant bearing, and of high connections — and to whom she owed her life. His only disqualification in the eyes of the world did not matter in her case; for if he was poor, she had enough for both, and it would be only an added sweetness to say to him when the time came — if it ever did come — ”I give you all I have, Rafe! And yet how little! You gave me your name — a woman has none worth having in our English law; my life is yours already,” and so forth. The day-dreams of a young maid are very tender; and somewhere at base of them is ever some such idea of self-sacrifice.

  But though these young people met often — by premeditated chance — such meetings were not often enough for them, and Rafe took to calling at Cheyne Walk more frequently than the strict rules of ceremony demanded. Aunt Priscilla was not, however, a very fiery dragon, and the only effect of his frequent visits was to keep her in a state of constant expectation. As he might at any time come she thought it well to be always ready for such a contingency, and so the requirements of a small household of two Women became gradually enlarged to meet the needs of a third person, that person a man and a stranger. Abigail never grumbled, and we may be sure the maids did not, at all the extra trouble.

  The meetings of the young people became more full of eloquent silence than they had been. Betty and Rafe did not speak even so much as had been usual at first, for as they grew to understand each other better, fewer words sufficed. Occasionally they walked together on the path by the riverside, up and down, up and down before the house, never further than the eyes of Aunt Priscilla could follow them as she sat in the window of the drawing-room embroidering. For worlds Betty would not have gone beyond this limit — not that she feared Aunt Priscilla or the proprieties, but she was a resolute young person when her mind was made up, and she had set this limit for herself. Often they watched the sun set up the river and saw the shadows grow darker and darker over the hill that rose away to Clapham and Wandsworth. At such moments no speech at all was necessary, for the hearts of the two beat as one heart, and though nothing had been spoken they knew that they loved. Their only doubt on earth was of their own worthiness of each other.

  At last one evening when Rafe called there was a certain air of resolution manifest on him, awkwardly borne, but which made the heart of Abigail rejoice for she knew by instinct what was coming. He used generally to ask for Miss Priscilla, but to-day his request was to see Miss Pole, and he was shown into the drawingroom. Whenever he had called previously he had usually found Betty alone, or if she was not in the room, she came alone and was shortly followed by Miss Priscilla; but to-day, after a delay, Betty came in accompanied by her aunt. To accomplish this there had been a little skirmishing, for Betty declared that she would not go in alone.

  How Betty did talk that afternoon — she that was usually so silent! She did not allow the c
hatter to flag for a moment. Every topic of conversation that could be imagined she exhausted; and her aunt sat in amazement, secretly bridling at this unwonted vivacity. As Betty chattered and as Aunt Priscilla’s back got stiffer and stiffer, so also Rafe’s temper seemed to give way a little. His answers grew more monosyllabic and a sort of cloud settled on his brows. But the more glum and dour he became, the brighter grew Betty. She teased and rallied him till Priscilla grew indignant and began to take his part; whereupon she grew more merry still, and, making an excuse, slipped out of the room and rushed up to her own chamber. There, after locking the door, she threw herself face down on the sofa and began to cry.

  The instant that Betty was out of the room her aunt changed her tactics, and began to make excuses for her. The dear child had not been quite herself lately; the weather seemed to affect her, and so forth. Rafe was not slow to acquiesce in these excuses; his real love for her, and his somewhat ruffled vanity both came to his aid. and the atmosphere began to clear. In the midst of this process Betty returned, but without a sign of tears upon her face. She was one of those women whose beauty tears do not mar. It is well for some women that it is so, and that in this way the wind of adversity is tempered to them. Betty was in a mood not quite the same but very slightly different; she was not less cheerful, but she did not tease; Rafe felt the sunshine of her presence again begin to glow around his heart.

  By some feminine diplomacy which has no match in the nature of man, Betty so arranged matters that she was not left alone with Rafe for a single moment. When Priscilla made an effort to leave in order to get a book for Mr. Otwell, Betty started up and insisted that she should get it. When Abigail came to the door and craved the elder lady’s presence for a moment it was the younger one who went. And all the while she was so sweet and winning that Rafe loved her better than ever for his defeat.