Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  “And don’t you?” inquired Lady Penrose.

  “Time has affected my tastes, as no doubt it will affect theirs,” was the reply. “In another ten years or so they will probably be thinking of marrying.”

  “It is possible that they are thinking of it already,” said Mrs. Jardine primly.

  Carstairs shook his head. “Not at their age,” he said decidedly. “They have their way to make yet.”

  “Young men don’t always think of that,” retorted Mrs. Jardine tartly.

  “True,” said Carstairs. “True. You are quite right. I suppose half the misery in the world is caused by rash and improvident marriages.”

  “And the other half, Mr. Carstairs?” said Lady Penrose languidly.

  “By not marrying at all.”

  Mrs. Jardine suppressed a startled little cough, and endeavoured, but in vain, to exchange glances with her friend. She returned to the subject in hand.

  “Young people are very apt to form foolish attachments,” she said, shaking her head. “One might call them entanglements.”

  Carstairs nodded wisely. “Just so,” he said slowly. “Young people are naturally impetuous. But there are easy cures for the most desperate cases, I think.”

  “Cures?” said Mrs. Jardine.

  “Change of scene,” said Carstairs confidently, “fresh interests, other affinities. They soon forget.”

  Lady Penrose regarded him with amusement. “Dear me! What a lot of experience you must have had!” she murmured.

  “I never had more than a month’s holiday, you know,” he reminded her. “At the most dangerous age I only had a fortnight.”

  “And you found that sufficient for purposes of obliteration?”

  “I dare say it would have been,” said Carstairs.

  “And how long would you give yourself now?”

  Carstairs looked up, and their eyes met. “Trip round the world, I think,” he said, with marked deliberation.

  Lady Penrose gave a slight laugh. “You are improving,” she said.

  “And, of course, even that might not be successful,” said Carstairs musingly.

  “It might not,” said Lady Penrose, who found Mrs. Jardine’s expression somewhat trying. “Still, it is no good taking up trouble before it comes.”

  “Let us hope it will not come,” said Carstairs piously. “The trouble part, I mean.”

  “Here comes Sir Edward,” said Lady Penrose, with an abrupt change of subject. “He must have won, I think; he is looking very pleased with himself.”

  “No,” said Talwyn, with an effort to look discomfited, “I didn’t win. Too bad. I was disqualified almost at the start. Pope and Tollhurst were both against me, so I had to retire. They wouldn’t listen to me.”

  Mrs. Jardine made a slight noise, intended for sympathy. “Where are the others?” she inquired.

  Talwyn’s grin would not be denied. “Still racing,” he said, in an indistinct voice, and covered his mouth with his hand.

  He lit a cigarette, and leaned back in his chair with the air of a man who had earned his rest.

  “Very stiff, Pope and Tollhurst,” he remarked. “No arguing with them.”

  “But why didn’t the ladies retire when you were disqualified?” inquired Carstairs.

  Talwyn suddenly caressed his moustache again. “I was a little way behind,” he said, with an effort. “Perhaps they didn’t know.”

  “Poor things!” said Lady Penrose indignantly. “Straining every nerve to beat a man who is lolling in an easy chair, smoking.”

  “They’re very keen,” said Talwyn. “It was a pleasure to see them. Both of them looking straight to their front and slogging away for all they were worth. Pope and Tollhurst had to trot to keep up with them. Pope looked as though he might have a temperature.”

  He gave a little sigh of satisfaction, and, stretching out his legs, sat gazing at his boots. “As a matter of fact,” he said, after an interval, “I never was very fond of the strenuous life. I’ve had to live it when travelling sometimes, but it was from necessity, not choice.”

  “At our age—” began Carstairs.

  “I was always like it,” interrupted Talwyn hastily.

  Carstairs eyed him thoughtfully. “Do you like shipboard?” he inquired. “There’s not much hard work there. I’ve been thinking lately — I’ve been wondering whether I wouldn’t go for a cruise.”

  “P. and O.!” said Talwyn decidedly. “You can’t beat it.”

  “I was thinking of something different,” said Carstairs. “My idea was a yacht. If I could get a few friends to come with me and keep me company, I think it would be nice to hire a steam yacht and go cruising at our pleasure. What do you think?”

  “Ripping!” ejaculated the other. “If you could get the right people,” he added, with a glance at Mrs. Jardine.

  “Everything depends upon that, of course,” said Carstairs. “If Lady Penrose and Mrs. Jardine would do me the honour—”

  The two ladies looked at each other in surprise. It is one thing to go to a friend’s house and drink a cup of tea, but a cruise — a long cruise, perhaps! Their thoughts flew to clothes.

  “Would you be away for long?” inquired Lady Penrose.

  “As long as you like,” was the reply. A reply which set Talwyn and Mrs. Jardine gazing at each other, “When do you propose to start?” asked Lady Penrose.

  “October, I thought. Have the summer here and go South for the winter.”

  “It sounds delightful,” said Mrs. Jardine, with another glance at Talwyn. “I suppose my niece is included in the invitation?”

  “Of course,” said Carstairs; “and Miss Seacombe.”

  “She can’t go unless I go,” said Lady Penrose thoughtfully.

  “Exactly,” said Carstairs.

  Lady Penrose coloured a little. “It is very kind of you,” she said slowly. “I must think it over.”

  “We will both think it over, if we may,” said Mrs. Jardine. “It is very kind of you, Mr. Carstairs. So far as I am concerned the proposal is most tempting.”

  “Noise heard without,” said Talwyn suddenly, with an uneasy attempt at facetiousness.

  “It is Effie, principally,” said Mrs. Jardine, in resigned accents.

  Miss Blake’s voice was certainly high, but so also was Miss Seacombe’s. An apologetic, low-toned rumble appeared to belong to Messrs. Tollhurst and Pope. Talwyn shifted uneasily in his chair.

  “Here is the athlete!” exclaimed Miss Blake, coming up and regarding him fixedly.

  “I was disqualified,” murmured Talwyn, rising.

  Miss Blake wiped her hot face and turned to her friend, scorning to notice the amused glances that were passing between the men. Her own expression reminded one of a cat that has lost a particularly fine mouse through its own stupidity.

  “Who won?” inquired the venturesome Talwyn.

  Miss Blake’s face took on a deeper shade, but she made no reply.

  “We had to disqualify ’em both,” said Pope, in tones of oily regret. “And within twenty yards of the finish. Awful pity.”

  “Why didn’t you let us know that Sir Edward had given up?” demanded Miss Seacombe.

  “Disqualified,” corrected Talwyn.

  “It’s not usual,” said Pope. “There is no reason for telling the other competitors. It is never done.”

  “Never,” corroborated Tollhurst. “What good would it have done you?”

  “Might have put you off your stroke,” said Pope. “You were walking splendidly at the time. It was a pleasure to watch you. I quite enjoyed it.”

  “I’ve no doubt,” said Miss Blake bitterly. ‘That is men all over,” she added cryptically.

  She threw herself into a chair, and after a slight struggle with herself accepted a glass of iced lemonade from the hands of Carstairs. A suggestion from Pope that the race should be walked over again — with other umpires — was received with silent disdain.

  “Been having a most interesting conversation wh
ile you were amusing yourselves,” said Talwyn to Pope. “Carstairs is talking of chartering a yacht and taking us all to foreign climes.”

  “O-oh!” said Miss Blake, clasping her hands and turning on Carstairs a smile that dazzled him. “If all men were like him!”

  “Even only a little bit like him,” said Miss Seacombe, with a hostile glance at the other three.

  “Where are we going? when do we start?” inquired Miss Blake, turning to Carstairs again.

  “There is nothing settled yet,” said Mrs. Jardine. “Mr. Carstairs has only just mentioned it, and I am not sure that we can go. Not at all sure.”

  “I am going,” said her niece decisively. “If I can’t go as a passenger, I shall go as a stowaway. But you are a splendid sailor, aunt, and a voyage would do you good. You haven’t been looking quite yourself for a long time.”

  “I’m well enough, thank you,” retorted Mrs. Jardine.

  “And it would do me good,” continued Miss Blake. “I have not said anything about it, but for some time past — It is not a laughing matter, Mr. Pope.”

  “Sorry,” said the offender humbly. “You look the picture of health. And the way you walk!”

  “Appearances are deceptive,” said Miss Blake coldly.

  “If your health is in inverse ratio to your appearance, and performances, you ought to see a doctor,” said Pope solemnly.

  “Three doctors,” said Carstairs, regarding her closely.

  “I am not going to quarrel with you,” said Miss Blake, smiling at him. “Do come and sit here and tell me all about it. Is Mrs. Ginnell coming?”

  “Most certainly — if we go. She is quite enthusiastic about it.”

  “If we go!” repeated Miss Blake.

  “We don’t care to go alone,” said Carstairs. “You must talk to Mrs. Jardine about it. Talk to her about your health. I fancy from her manner that she does not quite realise what a serious condition you are in. A long voyage, with pleasant society, might restore you. And, of course, we will take a doctor.”

  CHAPTER X

  WHAT is all this talk about a yacht?” inquired Knight, as they sat smoking in Pope’s room after dinner that night.

  “Yacht?” said Carstairs, looking up.

  “Thing that floats on the water and is propelled by sails or steam,” said Knight dryly.

  “I’ve read of ’em,” said Pope, tenderly removing the band from a fat cigar. “In fact, I have occasionally seen them. Graceful things, most of them. Sit the water so well.

  There is something about a yacht—”

  “Yes, I know,” interrupted Knight. “That’s just what I want to get at. What is all this about a yacht?”

  “I had an idea of hiring one,” said Carstairs mildly, “and sailing away to distant solitudes in search of peace.”

  “Far from the young and their noisy methods,” added Pope, with a grin.

  “Curious thing is, they haven’t said anything to us about it,” said Knight, with a perplexed look at Peplow. “What does it mean, Freddie — any idea?”

  Mr. Peplow coughed.

  “It’s a perfect bombshell,” pursued Knight. “It has blown all my arrangements to the winds. I was going to Scotland for two or three months in the autumn to stay with an uncle. This will be the second year I shall disappoint the old chap. He won’t like it, I’m afraid.”

  “Who told you anything about it?” demanded Carstairs.

  “Mrs. Ginnell,” replied Knight. “She is quite excited about it. She has gone to the library to read books of travel and furbish up her geography. I’m afraid I rather disappointed her. I told her that I could only accept provisionally.”

  “Provisionally?” repeated Carstairs, staring at him.

  Knight nodded. “I don’t go unless Miss Seacombe goes, of course,” he replied. “You couldn’t expect it, Carstairs, and wild horses and a steam crane combined wouldn’t get Freddie on board unless Miss Blake goes. He is quiet, but determined.”

  “And it is quite possible that if you go they won’t,” said Carstairs. “I wasn’t going to say anything to you about it yet, but I forgot to warn my aunt. She is as precipitate as you are. She is much too young for her years.”

  “But you couldn’t go without us,” said Knight. “I mean, you wouldn’t.”

  “Never knew him to put his tail down like that before,” murmured Pope, who was sitting by the open window looking at the moonlight.

  “We oughtn’t to have come down here,” said Knight thoughtfully. “You ought to have sprung us as a pleasant surprise at the last moment.”

  “Quite impossible,” said Carstairs. “It would look far too much of a put-up job. I had to let Lady Penrose know that we were acquainted. Hence the reason — one of them, I mean — of your visit here.”

  “It ought to be very jolly if it comes off,” said Knight.

  “Very,” assented Carstairs. “Pope and I are looking forward to a most amusing time.”

  “Something like a happy family I saw once at a fair,” said Pope, watching the smoke of his cigar as it floated out of the window. “It consisted of a cat, a dog, a monkey, and doves and little white mice all shut up together in a cage. I think that the peace was kept by a judicious system of overfeeding.”

  “Very good way, too,” said Knight. “But there are sometimes conditions at sea in which any feeding at all is unwelcome. We must have this trip, if it’s only to see you in a gale.”

  Pope laughed comfortably. “I am an excellent sailor,” he retorted. “Why, five years ago, coming round the Land’s End in heavy weather, I was the only passenger aboard that turned up to meals.”

  “Triumph of the flesh over the spirit,” said Knight.

  “Even the second mate, to whom I gave a cigar, threw it away after a couple of whiffs,” continued Pope. “I feel certain that half a dozen more would have finished him.”

  “We don’t doubt your word for a moment,” said Knight. “But when you have made an end of your boasting we will talk business. I have a sort of hopeful idea that Lady Penrose will accept in any case.”

  “What makes you think so?” inquired Carstairs.

  “Instinct,” replied Mr. Knight. “Something seems to tell me she will. I can’t explain to anybody, especially to you. I just feel it in my bones. What do your bones say, Freddie?”

  Mr. Peplow’s bones not being in a communicative mood, Knight turned towards Pope.

  “I don’t know,” said that gentleman hastily. “You leave my bones alone.” Knight nodded with a satisfied air. “I see,” he said darkly. “That’s good enough for me. You are quicker than I thought. It is never safe to judge by appearances. You are a kindred spirit, Pope. We understand each other.”

  “I’m blest if I know what you are talking about,” blustered Pope.

  “No matter,” said Knight, rising and going over to him. “Have you got a cigar about you? Not one of the same brand that you gave to the poor mate.”

  He took one from the well-filled case and, lighting it delicately, returned to his seat.

  “I wonder what sort of a sailor Lady Penrose is?” he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and regarding it thoughtfully.

  “And old Mrs. Jardine?” said Mr. Peplow. “She is an excellent sailor, I understand,” said Carstairs. “But I don’t understand your sudden concern for her welfare.”

  “I was thinking of mine,” said Mr. Peplow modestly. “Things would be much brighter if Mrs. Jardine had to stay in her bunk most of the time. She has an extraordinary knack of turning up in the most unexpected places.”

  “You shouldn’t be in unexpected places,” said his friend, shaking his head at him.

  “And she seems to regard me almost as though I were some dangerous animal,” continued Mr. Peplow.

  “Absurd!” said Pope and Knight together.

  “Vanity is his besetting sin,” added Knight. “My own opinion is that Mrs. Jardine regards him more in the light of a pertinacious blackbeetle than anything else. One day she will put
her foot down, there will be a faint apologetic pop, and Freddie will disappear.”

  After the frivolity of his younger friends it was a relief to Carstairs to turn to the sedate enthusiasm of Talwyn. He was as eager for the expedition as Carstairs himself, and lost no opportunity of trying to persuade Mrs. Jardine to become a member of it. He got her to consent at last, provided that Lady Penrose would also join the party.

  “And she is hesitating, rather,” said Mrs. Jardine.

  “What is the difficulty?” inquired Talwyn.

  “There are one or two possible difficulties in the way,” said Mrs. Jardine vaguely. The possible difficulties had been discussed with Lady Penrose, and both ladies had decided to do nothing in haste that they might repent of at leisure. The appearance of Knight and Peplow at Berstead had been something of a surprise to them; they had an uneasy idea that there might be a greater one in store.

  “In which case I really don’t think I want to go,” said Lady Penrose. “The prospect of being on shipboard with Mr. Knight for some months is not alluring. I have a great objection to that young man.”

  “Sir Edward is very keen,” said Mrs. Jardine, with a sigh. “I really don’t think—”

  “And I gather that Captain Tollhurst is invited,” said Lady Penrose.

  “Very interesting man,” murmured Mrs. Jardine.

  “Very,” agreed her friend. “He must have been a great reader in his time, I should think, mostly of boys’ books of travel and adventure.”

  “Sir Edward thinks a lot of him,” said Mrs. Jardine defensively. “I must say I rather like him.”

  Lady Penrose nodded. “Anyway, Captain Tollhurst doesn’t matter much,” she said. “As for the others, we must wait until we hear from Mr. Carstairs. He is coming on Wednesday afternoon with Mrs. Ginnell. I will sound him then.”

  “I will come, too, if I may,” said Mrs. Jardine. “I like Mrs. Ginnell; and perhaps it would be just as well for me to hear exactly what is proposed. A hint or two might be of service.”

  She tried a few on Wednesday afternoon, and, as she confided to Lady Penrose afterwards, she might as well have tried them on the teapot. Her opinion of the simple-minded goodness of the man was improved, but her respect for his intelligence was not. And Mrs. Ginnell, alert and youthful, was equally obtuse. She saw only one side of the picture: a cheerful company, a bright sun, and summer seas. It was a relief to Mrs. Jardine’s mind when Mrs. Ginnell had finished her third cup and they all adjourned to the garden.