Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  Miss Jelks maintained her temper with some difficulty; but the absolute necessity of discovering the identity of the person referred to by Mr. Walters, if she was to have any recreation at all during the next two years, helped her.

  “He’ll have an easy job of it,” she said, at last, with a toss of her head.

  “That’s just wot I told ‘im,” said the boatswain. “He didn’t want to take the job on at first, but I p’inted out that if you behaved yourself and kept your promise he’d ‘ave nothing to do; and likewise, if you didn’t, it was only right as ‘ow I should know. Besides which I gave ‘im a couple o’ carved peach stones and a war-club that used to belong to a Sandwich Islander, and took me pretty near a week to make.”

  Miss Jelks looked up at him sideways. “Be a bit of all right if he comes making up to me himself,” she said, with a giggle. “I wonder whether he’d tell you that?”

  “He won’t do that,” said the boatswain, with a confident smile. “He’s much too well-behaved, ‘sides which he ain’t old enough.”

  Miss Jelks tore her arm away. “You’ve never been and set that old-fashioned little shrimp Bassett on to watch me?” she said, shrilly.

  “Never you mind who it is,” growled the discomfited boatswain. “It’s got nothing to do with you. All you’ve got to know is this: any time ‘e sees you out — this party I’m talking of — he’s going to log it. He calls it keeping a dairy, but it comes to the same thing.”

  “I know what I call it,” said the offended maiden, “and if I catch that little horror spying on me he’ll remember it.”

  “He can’t spy on you if you ain’t out,” said the boatswain. “That’s wot I told ‘im; and when I said as you’d promised he saw as ‘ow it would be all right. I’m going to try and bring him ‘ome a shark’s tooth.”

  “Goin’ to make it?” inquired Rosa, with a sniff.

  “And might I ask,” she inquired, as the amorous boatswain took her arm again, “might I ask who is going to watch you?”

  “Me?” said the boatswain, regarding her with honest amazement. “I don’t want no watching. Men don’t.”

  “In — deed!” said Miss Jelks, “and why not?”

  “They don’t like it,” said Mr. Walters, simply.

  Miss Jelks released her arm again, and for some time they walked on opposite sides of the lane Her temper rose rapidly, and at last, tearing off her glove, she drew the ring from her finger and handed it to the boatswain.

  “There you are!” she exclaimed. “Take it!”

  Mr. Walters took it, and, after a vain attempt to place it on his little finger, put it in his waistcoat-pocket and walked on whistling.

  “We’re not engaged now,” explained Rosa.

  “Aye, aye,” said the boatswain, cheerfully. “Only walking out.”

  “Nothing of the kind,” said Rosa. “I sha’n’t have nothing more to do with you. You’d better tell Bassett.”

  “What for?” demanded the other.

  “What for?” repeated Rosa. “Why, there’s no use him watching me now.”

  “Why not?” demanded Mr. Walters.

  Miss Jelks caught her breath impatiently. “Because it’s got nothing to do with you what I do now,” she said, sharply. “I can go out with who I like.”

  “Ho!” said the glaring Mr. Walters. “Ho! Can you? So that’s your little game, is it? Here—”

  He fumbled in his pocket and, producing the ring, caught Miss Jelks’s hand in a grip that made her wince, and proceeded to push it on her little finger. “Now you behave yourself, else next time I’ll take it back for good.”

  Miss Jelks remonstrated, but in vain. The boatswain passed his left arm about her waist, and when she became too fluent increased the pressure until she gasped for breath. Much impressed by these signs of affection she began to yield, and, leaning her head against his shoulder, voluntarily renewed her vows of seclusion.

  She went down to the harbour next day to see him off, and stood watching with much interest the bustle on deck and the prominent share borne by her masterful admirer. To her thinking, Captain Trimblett, stiff and sturdy on the bridge, played but a secondary part. She sent the boatswain little signals of approval and regard, a proceeding which was the cause of much subsequent trouble to a newly joined A.B. who misunderstood their destination. The warps were thrown off, a bell clanged in the engine-room, the screw revolved, and a gradually widening piece of water appeared between the steamer and the quay. Men on board suspended work for a moment for a last gaze ashore, and no fewer than six unfortunates responded ardently to the fluttering of her handkerchief. She stood watching until the steamer had disappeared round a bend in the river, and then, with a sense of desolation and a holiday feeling for which there was no outlet, walked slowly home.

  She broke her promise to the boatswain the following evening. For one thing, it was her “evening out,” and for another she felt that the sooner the Bassett nuisance was stopped, the better it would be for all concerned. If the youth failed to see her she was the gainer to the extent of an evening in the open air, and if he did not she had an idea that the emergency would not find her unprepared.

  She walked down to the town first and spent some time in front of the shop-windows. Tiring of this, she proceeded to the harbour and inspected the shipping, and then with the feeling strong upon her that it would be better to settle with Bassett at her own convenience, she walked slowly to the small street in which he lived, and taking up a position nearly opposite his house paced slowly to and fro with the air of one keeping an appointment. She was pleased to observe, after a time, a slight movement of the curtains opposite, and, satisfied that she had attained her ends, walked off. The sound of a street door closing saved her the necessity of looking round.

  At first she strolled slowly through the streets, but presently, increasing her pace, resolved to take the lad for a country walk. At Tranquil Vale she paused to tie up her boot-lace, and, satisfying herself that Bassett was still in pursuit, set off again.

  She went on a couple of miles farther, until turning the sharp corner of a lane she took a seat on the trunk of a tree that lay by the side and waited for him to come up. She heard his footsteps coming nearer and nearer, and with a satisfied smile noted that he had quickened his pace. He came round the corner at the rate of over four miles an hour, and, coming suddenly upon her, was unable to repress a slight exclamation of surprise. The check was but momentary, and he was already passing on when the voice of Miss Jelks, uplifted in sorrow, brought him to a standstill.

  “Oh, Master Bassett,” she cried, “I am surprised! I couldn’t have believed it of you.”

  Bassett, squeezing his hands together, stood eying her nervously.

  “And you so quiet, too,” continued Rosa; “but there, you quiet ones are always the worst.”

  The boy, peering at her through his spectacles, made no reply.

  “The idea of a boy your age falling in love with me,” said Rosa, modestly lowering her gaze.

  “What!” squeaked the astonished Bassett, hardly able to believe his ears.

  “Falling in love and dogging my footsteps,” said Rosa, with relish, “and standing there looking at me as though you could eat me.”

  “You must be mad,” said Bassett, in a trembling voice. “Stark staring mad.”

  “It’s to make you leave off loving me,” she explained

  “Don’t make it worse,” said Rosa kindly. “I suppose you can’t help it, and ought to be pitied for it really. Now I know why it was you winked at me when you came to the house the other day.”

  “Winked!” gasped the horrified youth. “Me?”

  “I thought it was weakness of sight, at the time,” said the girl, “but I see my mistake now. I am sorry for you, but it can never be. I am another’s.”

  Bassett, utterly bereft of speech, stood eying her helplessly.

  “Don’t stand there making those sheep’s eyes at me,” said Rosa. “Try and forget me. Was it love
at first sight, or did it come on gradual like?”

  Bassett, moistening his tongue, shook his head.

  “Am I the first girl you ever loved?” inquired Rosa, softly.

  “No,” said the boy. “I mean — I have never been in — love. I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Do you mean to say you are not in love with me?” demanded Rosa, springing up suddenly.

  “I do,” said Bassett, blushing hotly.

  “Then what did you follow me all round the town for, and then down here?”

  Bassett, who was under a pledge of secrecy to the boatswain, and, moreover, had his own ideas as to the reception the truth might meet with, preserved an agonized silence.

  “It’s no good,” said Rosa, eying him mournfully. “You can’t deceive me. You are head over heels, and the kindest thing I can do is to be cruel to you — for your own sake.”

  She sprang forward suddenly, and, before the astounded youth could dodge, dealt him a sharp box on the ear. As he reeled under the blow she boxed the other.

  “It’s to make you leave off loving me,” she explained; “and if I ever catch you following me again you’ll get some more; besides which I shall tell your mother.”

  She picked up her parasol from the trunk, and after standing regarding him for a moment with an air of offended maidenhood, walked back to the town. Bassett, after a long interval, returned by another road.

  CHAPTER XIX

  JOAN HARTLEY returned to Salthaven a week after Captain Trimblett’s departure, and, with a lively sense of her inability to satisfy the curiosity of her friends, spent most of the time indoors. To evade her father’s inquiries she adopted other measures, and the day after her return, finding both her knowledge and imagination inadequate to the task of satisfying him, she first waxed impatient and then tearful. Finally she said that she was thoroughly tired of the subject, and expressed a fervent hope that she might hear no more about it. Any further particulars would be furnished by Captain Trimblett, upon his return.

  “But when I asked him about it he referred me to you,” said Hartley. “The whole affair is most incomprehensible.”

  “We thought it would be a surprise to you,” agreed Joan.

  “It was,” said her father, gloomily. “But if you are satisfied, I suppose it is all right.”

  He returned to the attack next day, but gained little information. Miss Hartley’s ideas concerning the various marriage ceremonies were of the vaguest, but by the aid of “Whitaker’s Almanack” she was enabled to declare that the marriage had taken place by license at a church in the district where Trimblett was staying. As a help to identification she added that the church was built of stone, and that the pew-opener had a cough. Tiresome questions concerning the marriage certificate were disposed of by leaving it in the captain’s pocket-book. And again she declared that she was tired of the subject.

  “I can’t imagine what your aunt was thinking about,” said her father. “If you had let me write—”

  “She knew nothing about it,” said Joan, hastily; “and if you had written to her she would have thought that you were finding fault with her for not looking after me more. It’s done now, and if I’m satisfied and Captain Trimblett is satisfied, that is all that matters. You didn’t want me to be an old maid, did you?”

  Mr. Hartley gave up the subject in despair, but Miss Willett, who called a day or two later, displayed far more perseverance. After the usual congratulations she sat down to discuss the subject at length, and subjected Joan to a series of questions which the latter had much difficulty in evading. For a newly married woman, Miss Willett could only regard her knowledge of matrimony as hazy in the extreme.

  “She don’t want to talk about it,” said Mr. Truefitt, the following evening as he sat side by side with Miss Willett in the little summer-house overlooking the river. “Perhaps she is repenting it already.”

  “It ought to be a tender memory,” sighed Miss Willett. “I’m sure—”

  She broke off and blushed.

  “Yes?” said Mr. Truefitt, pinching her arm tenderly.

  “Never mind,” breathed Miss Willett. “I mean — I was only going to say that I don’t think the slightest detail would have escaped me. All she seems to remember is that it took place in a church.”

  “It must have been by license, I should think,” said Mr. Truefitt, scowling thoughtfully. “Ordinary license, I should say. I have been reading up about them lately. One never knows what may happen.”

  Miss Willett started.

  “Trimblett has not behaved well,” continued Mr. Truefitt, slowly, “by no means, but I must say that he has displayed a certain amount of dash; he didn’t allow anything or anybody to come between him and matrimony. He just went and did it.”

  He passed his arm round Miss Willett’s waist and gazed reflectively across the river.

  “And I suppose we shall go on waiting all our lives,” he said at last. “We consider other people far too much.”

  Miss Willett shook her head. “Mother always keeps to her word,” she said, with an air of mournful pride. “Once she says anything she keeps to it. That’s her firmness. She won’t let me marry so long as Mrs. Chinnery stays here. We must be patient.”

  Mr. Truefitt rumpled his hair irritably and for some time sat silent. Then he leaned forward and, in a voice trembling with excitement, whispered in the lady’s ear.

  “Peter!” gasped Miss Willett, and drew back and eyed him in trembling horror.

  “Why not?” said Mr. Truefitt, with an effort to speak stoutly. “It’s our affair.”

  Miss Willett shivered and, withdrawing from his arm, edged away to the extreme end of the seat and averted her gaze.

  “It’s quite easy,” whispered the tempter.

  Miss Willett, still looking out at the door, affected not to hear.

  “Not a soul would know until afterward,” continued Mr. Truefitt, in an ardent whisper. “It could all be kept as quiet as possible. I’ll have the license ready, and you could just slip out for a morning walk and meet me at the church, and there you are. And it’s ridiculous of two people of our age to go to such trouble.”

  “Mother would never forgive me,” murmured Miss Willett. “Never!”

  “She’d come round in time,” said Mr. Truefitt.

  “Never!” said Miss Willett. “You don’t know mother’s strength of mind. But I mustn’t stay and listen to such things. It’s wicked!”

  She got up and slipped into the garden, and with Mr. Truefitt in attendance paced up and down the narrow paths.

  “Besides,” she said, after a long silence, “I shouldn’t like to share housekeeping with your sister. It would only lead to trouble between us, I am sure.”

  Mr. Truefitt came to a halt in the middle of the path, and stood rumpling his hair again as an aid to thought. Captain Sellers, who was looking over his fence, waved a cheery salutation.

  “Fine evening,” he piped.

  The other responded with a brief nod.

  “What did you say?” inquired Captain Sellers, who was languishing for a little conversation.

  “Didn’t say anything!” bawled Mr. Truefitt.

  “You must speak up if you want me to hear you!” cried the captain. “It’s one o’ my bad days.”

  Truefitt shook his head, and placing himself by the side of Miss Willett resumed his walk. Three fences away, Captain Sellers kept pace with them.

  “Nothing fresh about Trimblett, I suppose?” he yelled.

  Truefitt shook his head again.

  “He’s a deep ‘un!” cried Sellers— “wonderful deep! How’s the other one? Bearing up? I ain’t seen her about the last day or two. I believe that was all a dodge of Trimblett’s to put us off the scent. It made a fool of me.”

  Mr. Truefitt, with a nervous glance at the open windows of his house, turned and walked hastily down the garden again.

  “He quite deceived me,” continued Captain Sellers, following— “quite. What d
id you say?”

  “Nothing,” bawled Mr. Truefitt, with sudden ferocity.

  “Eh!” yelled the captain, leaning over the fence with his hand to his ear.

  “Nothing!”

  “Eh?” said the captain, anxiously. “Speak up! What?”

  “Oh, go to — Jericho!” muttered Mr. Truefitt, and, taking Miss Willett by the arm, disappeared into the summer-house again. “Where were we when that old idiot interrupted us?” he inquired, tenderly.

  Miss Willett told him, and, nestling within his encircling arm, listened with as forbidding an expression as she could command to further arguments on the subject of secret marriages.

  “It’s no use,” she said at last “I mustn’t listen. It’s wicked. I am surprised at you, Peter. You must never speak to me on the subject again.”

  She put her head on his shoulder, and Mr. Truefitt, getting a better grip with his arm, drew her toward him.

  “Think it over,” he whispered, and bent and kissed her.

  “Never,” was the reply.

  Mr. Truefitt kissed her again, and was about to repeat the performance when she started up with a faint scream, and, pushing him away, darted from the summer-house and fled up the garden. Mr. Truefitt, red with wrath, stood his ground and stared ferociously at the shrunken figure of Captain Sellers standing behind the little gate in the fence that gave on to the foreshore. The captain, with a cheery smile, lifted the latch and entered the garden.

  “I picked a little bunch o’ flowers for Miss Willett,” he said, advancing and placing them on the table.

  “Who told you to come into my garden?” shouted the angry Mr. Truefitt.

  “Yes, all of ’em,” said Captain Sellers, taking up the bunch and looking at them. “Smell!”

  He thrust the bunch into the other’s face, and withdrawing it plunged his own face into it with rapturous sniffs. Mr. Truefitt, his nose decorated with pollen ravished from a huge lily, eyed him murderously.