The sensitive colour flooded Miss Esther’s face.
“Oh, I couldn’t—it’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t—you see——”
Clive made her a deep obeisance, at the same time offering her his arm.
“It shall be my privilege to escort you to the Baronial Hall,” he said with mock dignity, and before Miss Esther could refuse or expostulate further she found herself sitting beside Sir John, the cynosure of all eyes.
“This is a very charming and unexpected surprise,” Sir John said. He called to the steward. “I have a guest for dinner,” he explained. “And please bring me the wine list.”
“Oh, but I never take wine with my meals,” Miss Esther said hurriedly. She was painfully conscious of Mrs. Bumpus’s critical eyes watching them from the other side of the room; even more painfully conscious of what her sister would say could she know what was happening; the elder Miss Pawson would assuredly turn many times in her bed and might even die of shock.
“It’s very kind of you,” she appealed to Sir John. “But please don’t order wine for me—oh, please don’t.”
His eyes twinkled at her above the top of the wine list.
“But it happens to be my birthday,” he said.
“Oh, is it?” Her sensitive colour rose once more. “Oh, well in that case—but something very mild, please, and only just a little— wine does go to my head so quickly.”
Sir John ordered a magnum of champagne.
“And serve some to the young people opposite,” he ordered.
The steward moved away, hiding a little smile of amusement, and Sir John said:
“You are a very tactful guest not to enquire my age. There is a lady of my acquaintance who immediately she hears that someone has a birthday asks, ‘And how old are you?’—usually with embarrassing results.”
Miss Esther shook her head.
“I should never think of asking anything so impolite,” she said seriously. Sir John laughed.
“As a matter of fact it is not really my birthday,” he admitted honestly. “But I always make it an excuse when I want to get my own way as I do at the moment, and it is usually quite a successful deception.”
“Oh!” she said doubtfully.
The steward put the menu before her, but she was in too great a fluster to distinguish anything very clearly, until Sir John said: “May I be allowed to choose for you?”
She gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you—if you will.”
The wine steward brought the magnum and set it carefully in a pail of ice beside Sir John, and Mrs. Bumpus said to Mr. Bumpus:
“Do you see that? The man must be a millionaire.”
Miss Esther glanced round the saloon with dazed eyes.
She was wishing she had worn her best frock instead of the one which her sister had remarked would be quite good enough, as, of course, she would hurry through dinner. Her best frock was really rather nice—a black chiffon with just the suspicion of a train, and a pleated waist-belt of mingled mauve and black. Miss Esther had not worn it at all yet—in a vague way she had been keeping it for a special occasion, little dreaming that the special occasion would descend upon her so soon.
“Shall I serve the wine now, sir?”
Miss Esther started and came back to the present, to Sir John’s handsome face and to the loud pop of the cork as it was drawn from the bottle-neck.
Her own glass was filled—after Sir John had first punctiliously tasted the wine—and then the great bottle was taken across to the Second Officer’s table.
“It looks as if there is romance in the air,” the depressed Edith said. She half turned in her chair to stare at Miss Esther, and grudgingly she was forced to admit that the little woman was looking quite pretty, with the flush on her cheeks and the sparkle of excitement in her blue eyes.
“We must toast them,” the Second Officer declared, and he rose to his feet glass in hand.
“Get up, all of you,” Rocky commanded.
“Sir!” said the Second Officer loudly. “We drink your very good health and that of your charming companion.”
“Oh dear,” Miss Esther murmured.
Glasses were raised and Sir John bowed gravely in acknowledgment, before he turned to bow to Miss Esther.
“Many happy returns of the day,” she said shyly, “even though it is not really your birthday.”
“What is it all about, do you suppose?” Mrs. Bumpus asked her husband.
“It’s just a bit of fun, my dear,” he answered, and he looked rather regretfully at his own glass of mineral water, realising with vague wonderment why he had never really had any fun in his own hard working life, and why now—when he would have enjoyed participating in it—he felt too old and awkward to be capable of letting himself go in the way which seemed so perfectly easy and natural to Rocky and to the other young folk at her table.
Rocky caught his eye at that moment and saucily raised her glass to him, and Mr. Bumpus stumbled awkwardly to his feet, spilling some of the mineral water down his shirt-front as he said loudly, as the Second Officer had done, “Your very good health.”
“You’re not eating anything, my dear,” Sir John said; he bent a little towards Miss Esther. “If there is anything you would prefer——”
“Oh no,” she declared hurriedly. “It’s beautiful, and I am enjoying it all very much indeed—but I never have a very large appetite, and it’s all so exciting.” There was something quite young about her eyes as she raised them to his face. “I do wish my sister could be here,” she said regretfully. “At least—but perhaps she would not really enjoy it all.”
“We must have another birthday when she is well again,” Sir John said kindly; but he hardly shared Miss Esther’s regret for her sister’s absence.
“Are you enjoying the trip?” he asked.
“Oh yes.” Miss Esther’s brain had been rushing wildly round like an uncontrolled machine since the moment when this man had called her “my dear.”
Of course, the words had meant nothing—she had often heard him call Rocky “my dear”—and knew that it was just a kindly form of address which only a man of his age and breeding could utter in quite that way, but it had stirred something in her heart which she could not control, so that for a moment she felt as if she was back in her father’s vicarage, with the curate opposite smiling at her as she had believed he never smiled at anyone else—only she had been mistaken.
It seemed a pity, she thought, a pity that the little doubts and fears which she had once experienced even so faintly should have been chased away by the quiet, uneventful years during which she had lived with her sister. Of course, Caroline was a very wonderful woman, but she was—just a little— narrow! And then at once she was frightened of the disloyal thought and hurriedly attacked the grilled cutlet on the plate before her. There was a babble of laughter and noise from the Second Officer’s table and above it now and then Rocky’s sweetly shrill voice rose insistently.
“I shall go as Cupid, or Mercury, I think—what will you choose, Edith?”
“They’re talking about the fancy-dress ball, I think,” Miss Esther said with a little smile.
“And what is your costume to be?” Sir John asked.
“Mine?” Miss Esther started back as if he had shaken her. “Oh, I shan’t go—I’ve never worn fancy dress in my life,” she said in alarm. “At least—once, when I was a girl I took part in some theatricals at school. I was Dick Whittington,” she added. “But, of course, I was very young—we all were.”
“You must have made a very charming Dick Whittington,” Sir John said. “And I must confess to rather a weakness for fancy-dress balls—some years ago I went to a Charity Ball at the Albert Hall in London. It was a wonderful sight.”
“And did you wear fancy dress?” she asked, her eyes shining. He nodded gravely.
“I did—I was even lucky enough to win a prize. I went as the Black Knight, in an authentic costume belonging to a friend.”
“How
wonderful—I should love to have seen you,” she said, for a moment forgetting her shyness.
The Black Knight! … Yes, in her mind’s eye she could picture just how he must have looked, how romantic and handsome! “Have you got it with you on board?” she asked.
Sir John laughed. “No, I’ve given up frivolities of that kind,” he told her. “I am content to be an onlooker.”
“It must have been wonderful,” Miss Esther said again. “Of course, there were hundreds of people there—and a band—” Her voice grew dreamy.
“A very fine band,” Sir John said, falling in with her mood. “We danced to the ‘Blue Danube,’ if I remember rightly.”
“I used to be able to play the ‘Blue Danube’ on the piano,” she said.
He smiled at her very kindly.
“There is a piano on board ship,” he reminded her.
Miss Esther shook her head vigorously.
“Oh, but it’s years since I played at all—and I shouldn’t dare. Besides, nobody wants to hear people play the piano nowadays unless they’re very good at it.”
“I’m not so sure,” he answered. “To me there is something very delightful in going back into the past—in getting away for a little from the modern craze for jazz and such things. Perhaps some afternoon, when there are not many people about, you will play the ‘Blue Danube’ for me?”
She looked at him with disbelieving eyes.
“But I play so badly.”
“You must let me be the judge of that,” he answered.
She leaned back in her chair with a little sigh.
“You’re so—kind,” she said. It was not the word she would have chosen: perhaps there was no word to express the feeling of quiet happiness which this man’s presence gave to her.
She met Constance Durham’s quizzical eyes, and she sat stiffly erect again, her face folding once more into its quiet expressionless-ness, until Rocky’s voice floated again across the space between the two tables.
“Of course you’re going to wear fancy dress, Clive. We’re all going to wear it and make the dance a success. What’s the good of the ship giving a party if we don’t all do the thing properly? I shall make you dress.”
Miss Esther looked at Sir John.
“It’s a pity there are not more Rocky’s in the world,” she said.
“She is a dear child,” he answered.
There was a little silence till Miss Esther said hesitatingly: “Do you think she’s happy? As happy as she appears to be, I mean?”
“Is anyone?” he queried.
Miss Esther shook her head. “Yes; but I’ve never met anyone quite like Rocky—she’s so full of high spirits, and yet sometimes when her face is in repose she looks so sad—as if—as if——” She stopped, and he added for her:
“As if a great deal of it is pretence, you mean?”
Miss Esther nodded. “Yes, that is what I mean.” She grew suddenly confidential. “I used to know a woman—she lived in my father’s parish, and—people said she was too gay—too fond of pleasure—they used to talk about her in the way people do talk in a small country town—not very kindly, I am afraid. We were not allowed to know her, though I never quite knew why; and then—one day I came down from London in the train with her, quite by chance, and we talked—I don’t know why she talked to me, but she did——”
“I think I know why,” Sir John said.
Miss Esther hurried on. “And she told me that her husband—we never even knew she was married—was away in a mental home, and that he would never be well again, and that was why she lived like she did—to keep herself from thinking—I think her exact words were, ‘If I let myself think, I should die or go mad myself.’ … You see,” Miss Esther added softly, “she loved him very much, poor woman.”
“Poor woman,” Sir John echoed; and then, because she was looking sad, he added more cheerfully: “But Rocky is so young— too young to know anything about tragedy or unhappiness.”
“I’m not so sure,” Miss Esther said wisely. “Sometimes I think she is like a girl—running away from something—in her mind at least, if not actually. When I am watching her I often think of that poor woman I met in the train—perhaps that sounds silly to you?”
“No,” he said, and he glanced across to Rocky.
She had taken a flower from the vase in the centre of the table and had stuck it saucily behind her ear—while she beat a tattoo on the cloth with a spoon and fork as if she were dancing.
“Charlie Chaplin’s dance of the Rolls,” she said. “Did anyone see that film? I thought it was glorious. Poor Charlie! Do you remember the party he gave and nobody turned up?” And then, without waiting for a reply, she rushed on, “It’s not going to be like that at the fancy-dress dance—we’re all going to turn up, properly dressed.”
“Well, if you say so, I suppose we shall,” Constance answered.
“In this ship Miss Chandler’s word is law,” the Second Officer said gallantly.
“Well, we’ve all had enough to eat and more than enough to drink,” Rocky declared. “I’m going—please may I get down?”
There was a lot of chair scraping as the party broke up, and Miss Esther realised in alarm that the majority of the tables were already deserted.
“We’re almost the last!” she said timidly. She took a final little sip at her champagne—she had been afraid to drink it all. “Thank you so much for a lovely evening,” she said gratefully.
“An evening which is not yet ended,” Sir John answered, but Miss Esther said quickly:
“I must go and see how my sister is, and if she wants anything.”
They were mounting the stairs together then, and Sir John said as they reached C deck, where Miss Pawson’s cabin was: “I will wait for you, if I may.”
She raised her eyes quickly. “Oh, will you? But I may have to stay—I mean——”
He smiled very kindly.
“I will wait for you,” he said again.
She hurried away and softly opened the door of her sister’s cabin.
“Caroline! Are you asleep?” she whispered.
“Asleep?” Miss Pawson raised her flushed face from the pillow and peered through the dim light. “No, I am not asleep. I was certainly dozing a moment ago when that girl Rocky and her friends went racing along the passage outside—really, young people are most inconsiderate. When I was young I was taught to walk softly when people were ill.”
“But she didn’t know which was your cabin,” Miss Esther answered defensively. “I am sure if she had—Rocky is so kind.”
“Kind!” Miss Pawson sniffed and lay back again. “What did you have for dinner?” she enquired.
Miss Esther hesitated; she was not very good at evasion. “I had some cutlets,” she said at last. “And some ice pudding.”
She waited breathlessly for further questions which fortunately were not forthcoming.
“You had better go to bed early,” her sister said after a moment. “You don’t want to wander about the ship alone.”
“Oh no,” Miss Esther agreed meekly, and she thought of the man who was waiting for her at the head of the stairs—or wasn’t he really waiting?
“Can I get you anything?” she asked.
Miss Pawson closed her eyes.
“You know they say ‘starve a fever,’ ” she said bitterly.
“But you’ve got a cold, too,” her sister said. “And they say ‘stuff a cold.’”
“Fiddlesticks!” was the only answer she received, and she was turning softly away when Miss Pawson spoke again. “Don’t walk on tiptoe as if I am a dying woman—and come and say good night to me before you go to bed.”
“Yes, dear,” Miss Esther answered.
But she hardly breathed until she was safely outside the closed door. Of course Sir John would not be waiting, she told herself firmly, but he was there, studying a map of the ship’s route which hung on the wall, and smoking a cigar, the aroma of which gave Miss Esther a queer little feeling o
f happiness and of well-being.
“Here I am,” she said timidly. “Thank you for waiting.”
He turned at once. “And now for some coffee. Is your sister better?”
“I think she is—a little,” she admitted dubiously.
He smiled down at her. “Well enough to be rather difficult?” he added with a twinkle.
Miss Esther laughed. “How did you guess?” she enquired; and then hurriedly: “Poor Caroline! She is very good, really—and she has done so much for me that I shall never be able to repay her.”
“What has she done?” he asked calmly.
She hesitated. “Well, she has always looked after me since our father died. You see, I was the youngest and—well, she has always looked after me.”
“You should have married,” he said.
Miss Esther caught her breath and flushed, but she did hot answer, and they went together to the smoking-room.
There was no sign of Rocky or her friends, but Richard Wheeler was there talking to Mr. Bumpus.
Miss Esther glanced across at them timidly—she could not quite rid herself of the feeling that she had no business to be seen alone with Sir John, and yet when he drew forward a chair for her at one of the unoccupied tables she sat down willingly.
“Coffee and—a brandy?” he asked.
“Oh no, please, nothing more.”
“Just two coffees,” he told the steward.
The band was playing in the distance, oddly enough the Blue Danube, and Sir John said: “They must have heard us talking at dinner—you hear what they are playing?”
“Yes.” They both listened in silence for a little to the haunting strains of the waltz which will never grow old, and it was quite in vain that Miss Esther reminded herself that she was no longer young, but just a middle-aged spinster woman on a voyage in search of warmth and sunshine, because it would not have surprised her in the least to be told that she was only twenty-one, standing with her feet on the first step instead of half-way up the ladder which had so far led her to nothing more interesting than life in a small flat in a suburb shared with Caroline. And for a moment she painfully visualised that flat—furnished with chairs and tables and mirrors which she had known all her life, and which had once hung in her father’s old vicarage.
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