The Dark Stranger

by Sara Seale

  In the lamplight his dominant nose with its high bridge looked suddenly beaky. “Beware the Greeks ...” he said softly, and for a moment her childlike acceptance of Belle’s change of heart gave place to the old hardly-learnt caution.

  “But Belle isn’t like the Greeks bearing gifts,” she said, not liking his occasional habit of throwing cold water. “I mean she wouldn’t be bothered to be guileful, and there’s never been anything she could possibly want from me. I just think she likes me better.”

  “Well, I hope so. It shouldn’t be very difficult.”

  Her mouth curved up in a smile.

  “That means you like me, too—well, a little, anyway,” she said.

  “Does it?” he asked, imperturbably. “Liking is such a negative word, don’t you think? It covers such a lot of things.”

  She sat, considering this with the gravity which always amused him.

  “No,” she said at last, “not negative. I mean liking as such is important, I think. You could love a person without liking them at all.”

  “Could you, Tina? And would that matter?”

  “I think so. I think you could like a person first and—learn to love them, but never the other way round.”

  His eyes were on her upturned face, speculative, considering.

  “Yes, perhaps you’re right,” he said after a pause and wandered out of the room without further comment.

  Tina had grown careless with Belle, or perhaps with that childlike adaptability which had always irritated her stepmother, she had come to believe in a relationship which had always irritated her stepmother, so that it was an added shock when she found herself in the middle of a violent quarrel with Belle one wet afternoon.

  } She never remembered how it started, but suddenly Belle was flinging abuse at her, accusing her of running after Craig and setting everyone against her.

  “You’re all soft soap and dewy-eyed innocence,” she said. “But you don’t deceive me. Do you think Craig wants to be bothered with you? Do you think at his age he isn’t bored to death with adolescent chatter? You should have stuck to your own generation, Tina, and taken what Adwen had to offer. At least you weren’t under any obligation to him.”

  Tina began to tremble. She did not understand what had prompted this outburst, but she knew with a sick certainty that she had been foolishly mistaken in these last weeks. Belle had no more fondness for her than before, and now because she was bored or annoyed she was indulging in her old trick of not troubling to control a spiteful tongue.

  “I don’t understand you, Belle,” she said. “I haven’t been running after Craig. I wouldn’t dream of forcing myself on him.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t you?” jeered Belle. “All this talk of dark strangers and pirates doesn’t fool me, and it won’t fool him. He must be heartily sick of the quixotic notion that cost him so much more than he bargained for.”

  “What do you mean? I haven’t cost him anything besides my keep and he won’t let me work for that.”

  “My dear child, don’t be so naive! What about that expensive schooling, the clothes, the pocket-money—even the presents you gave us all at Christmas? It might interest you to know that the past year has run into several hundred pounds, and there’s still the future.”

  “But, Belle, that was my father’s money. It was because we were living here you said you could afford it.”

  Really, Tina, you must be as credulous as a child! There was little enough left of Clement’s money when we came here. I couldn’t have afforded all the luxuries an expensive school entails, let alone fit you out with the sort of wardrobe you possess now.”

  The clocks in the room all began to strike, and Tina stood and listened, her face slowly whitening.

  “You mean,” she said when there was silence again, “that everything that has been spent on me since we came here I owe to Craig?”

  “Every penny, my dear. He did it for my sake in the first place, of course, but it’s a little hard, don’t you think, that you should remain a mill-stone round his neck for ever?”

  “Very hard,” said Tina quietly, “and quite unnecessary.” She was so white now that Belle moved uneasily.

  “How would you propose to prevent it?” she asked. She had made her point. There was no sense in driving the girl too hard.

  Tina’s eyes, wide and stretched with shock, focussed on her with difficulty.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know at all, but I can’t stay here ... I mustn’t stay here...”

  Belle yawned.

  “Oh, you’re probably making too much of it,” she said. “After all, Craig can afford to pay for his hasty actions.”

  “No,” said Tina, her eyes still wide and unblinking, “I have no claim on him—no claim at all.”

  “Very true, but don’t go embarrassing the poor man by crying all over him and telling him you know his horrid secret. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but, after all you’re not a child any more.”

  “No, I’m not a child any more.”

  Belle gave her a quick look.

  “Pull yourself together, darling, it isn’t the end of the world,” she said sharply. “And, Tina—there’s a way out, you know.”

  “What?”

  “You could marry Adwen, He’s very willing, and there was a time when you rather liked him, wasn’t there?” Brownie came into the room, grumbling that Belle had left a cigarette burning on the polished wood of her dressing table.

  “What were you doing in my bedroom? Snooping, as usual?” Belle snapped before she could stop herself.

  “I went in because it’s my job to see the maids have dusted everywhere properly, as well you know, Belle Linden. I’m not interested in any little secrets you may hide up there,” retorted Brownie and her eyes travelled to Tina, who still stood silent and unheeding in the middle of the room.

  “What’s got into you, child?” she asked, sharply. “You look proper mazed.”

  Tina made an effort to turn and smile at her and Brownie saw the shock in her eyes and the dazed whiteness of her delicate face.

  “Nay, you’re not well,” she said quickly. “Sit down and I’ll fetch you something to soothe your stomach.”

  “I’m all right,” said Tina and walked stiffly out of the room.

  Brownie’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Belle.

  “Oh, I see,” she observed. “It was just you, was it, up to your old tricks? What have you been telling the girl to make her look like that?”

  Belle smiled and sank indolently onto the sofa.

  “Nothing,” she said, looking amused. “You’ve forgotten how silly and emotional young girls can be, Brownie. I’m afraid Tina’s fretting more than we think for Adwen Pentreath.”

  “Adwen! There was nothing in that but any maid’s innocent pleasure at being admired. If Tina had known his reputation she’d have been a bit more careful.”

  “Would she? Well, you know best, Brownie, of course, but personally, I think a great deal of fuss is made about the Polrame Pentreaths. Adwen is quite ready to settle down with the right girl.”

  “Aye, marry from spite like his father before him, to pay out a grudge! That s as far as Adwen’s willing to settle down now! Belle, you’re up to something, I can tell. You’d best be careful. Craig won’t be made a fool of twice.”

  “No? He’s not the only Pentreath to take what he wants my dear, and he has no legal authority over Tina. Young people these days do their own choosing and I, for one don’t blame them.”

  The rain had stopped. Tina in her bedroom sat staring at the old-fashioned sprigged paper, her thoughts refusing to stretch further than Belle’s revelation. All that money ... and Belle had known when she bought so lavishly that Craig must meet the bills without protest, without even thanks from the stranger whom he was benefiting ... Belle had used her as a goad, secure in the knowledge that she, herself, was safe, and now she had destroyed that slender link which Tina, in her foolishness, had forged to happiness. Tremawv
an could never be home. She belonged only by virtue of circumstance, the unwilling victim of a Pentreath who could dispense charity for a whim, as his kinsmen before him had plundered and wrecked and cast out what they no longer wanted.

  With unsteady hands she packed a small suitcase with her immediate requirements. She must get away now, before Craig could return in the evening, before Brownie could come prying with kindly solicitude.

  Tomorrow she must look for work, somehow, somewhere. If she could get a lift into Merrynporth, she could find a room for the night and in the morning she would take stock of what marketable qualities she possessed and how best to earn a living.

  She slipped out of the house unseen and across the wet fields to the road. She walked a long way, her suitcase growing too heavy to carry much further, but no car passed her. It was a lonely road, she remembered, and the hour was growing late. She came to the Spanish Inn, and saw the lights shining through the thin curtains of the saloon window, and hesitated. She did not like the Spanish Inn and its surly landlord, but there were rooms there of a sort. It would be wiser, she thought, to seek shelter here than chance some form of transport into the town. In the morning she could take the bus and little time would be wasted.

  She pushed open the saloon door and went in. No one was there except the morose landlord behind the bar who looked at her with surprise and then, as his eyes fell on her suitcase, with unpleasant speculation.

  “We don’t let rooms,” he said shortly. “Leastways, only to special customers.”

  “I only want to stay one night,” Tina faltered. “I—I won’t be any trouble.”

  The man’s little eyes flickered.

  “That’s what they all say. Who you meeting here?”

  “I’m not meeting anyone,” she said with surprise. “I just want a bed for the night and—and perhaps you could do a sandwich. I’ve had no dinner.”

  “Don’t reckon on snacks,” he replied, sourly. “Does Mr. Pentreath know you’ve come here?”

  “No,” said Tina, flushing at the man’s tone.

  “O-ho! A runaway. I see,” he said unpleasantly. “Well, I’ve no liking for the Tremawvan lot. You can come in here while I see what I can do.”

  He opened the door which led to the mysterious back rooms which she had never seen and she hesitated.

  “The saloon will do. I’ll sit by the fire,” she said.

  His eyes were sullen and unsmiling “Best come in here,” he repeated with a jerk of the head. “You never know who may drop into the bar.”

  That was true, she thought. Someone might come in who knew her, or even Belle. She followed the landlord into a small stuffy room with a smoking fire which gave out little heat, and sat down thankfully on a hard horsehair couch.

  The man stood in the doorway watching her.

  “Sure you’re not meeting anyone?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” she said, wondering why he was so insistent.

  “No offence meant. Just thought you might be expecting Adwen. He’s brought you here before, though not to my back room like the others.”

  Her color deepened, for his meaning was suddenly plain. Did Adwen bring his other girls here, coming by the back way? The Susans and Joans and Pats whose names had adorned his boat in turn?

  “I’m not expecting Mr. Adwen or anyone else. Now will you please go and see about that room?” she said and was relieved when he shut the door and went away.

  Hours seemed to pass. Tina tried to dry her wet clothes but there was little warmth in the sulky fire. No one came near her, and presently she began to wonder with rising panic whether the landlord was going to trouble about a room at all, or whether, despite his dislike for the Tremawvan Pentreaths, he was getting a message to the house to acquaint them of her whereabouts.

  At last there was the sound of a step outside, and as she half rose to her feet, Adwen came into the room and shut the door behind him with a small, satisfied slam.

  “W-ell!” he said slowly, surveying her with a curious expression. “This is a surprise! I hardly hoped to see you again after my wealthy cousin had snatched you so spectacularly into his possession. What brings you to the back room of the Spanish Inn all prepared with a suitcase? Cousin Craig, I’m sure, would be duly shocked.”

  She did not like his manner or the mocking complacence of his dark eyes.

  “There are reasons why I must leave Tremawvan,” she said quickly. “I asked the landlord to find me a room here for the night, but I don’t think he’s done anything about it. Could you—could you talk to him, do you think?”

  “I could, but first tell me the reason why you’re running away from my rich cousin in such unseemly haste.”

  “The reason doesn’t matter,” she replied. “It’s no one’s concern but my own.”

  “O-ho! Has the respected Mr. Pentreath been forgetting himself? I had a notion that his little act of piracy in the bay wasn’t strictly disinterested.”

  “Of course not,” she said impatiently. “There are different reasons which I don’t want to explain now. Would you see the landlord for me? I’m very tired.”

  His eyes were alert and bright with inquiry.

  “All in good time. What are you going to do with yourself, now you’ve run away from Tremawvan?”

  “Find work,” she said wearily, “I thought I’d go to Merrynporth in the morning. There must be some way I can earn a living.”

  He observed her dispassionately. With her wet hair and draggled clothes she looked plain and rather helpless.

  “You won’t find anything in a little place like Merrynporth at this time of year,” he said. “Besides why hire yourself out as unskilled labor when there are other alternatives?”

  “I can’t think of any.”

  “Well, you might marry me for one.”

  She was silent, conscious now of the infinite weariness which attacked her limbs and drained her mind of reason.

  She pushed the damp hair back from her forehead with a gesture of exhaustion and stood staring at him miserably.

  “Doesn’t the idea appeal?” he asked, watching her with amusement. “There was a time when I thought you were quite fond of me.”

  Belle’s way out, thought Tina numbly. She did not want to marry Adwen or anyone else, but with only enough money for one night’s lodging, and little prospect of regular work, what was she to do?

  “I can’t think straight tonight,” she said. “Would you really marry me?”

  He leant against the door, confident and a little patronizing.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you, Tina, if only to score off Cousin Craig,” he said, “though I will say I find you attractive, too, when you aren’t looking like a little drowned rabbit. You can keep house for my father. We need a woman at Polrame.”

  “Then you will take me to your home and let me think things over for a day or two?” she asked. “It’s not the sort of thing I can decide in a hurry.”

  “Well, hardly tonight,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not convenient for my father. Tomorrow morning will do as well.”

  “But I can’t stay here,” she said, the tears threatening her again.

  “I’ll be with you, my sweet, so you see, you might just as well make the best of it and get out of your wet clothes.” Suddenly she was angry.

  “If all you want is a—a night out for a bit of fun, I’m not obliging you,” she said. “I’d rather go back to Tremawvan and eat humble pie.”

  He only laughed.

  “Would you, really? I believe there’s more in this odd question of Cousin Craig’s behavior than meets the eye. But don’t get me wrong, Tina. I’ll marry you all right, but we spend tonight here.”

  “But why—why?”

  “Because,” said Adwen calmly, “a night at the Spanish Inn will change even Craig’s reluctance to hand you over to Polrame, and we don’t want more trouble with Tremawvan than we can help, do we?”

  Her e
yes, grave and accusing on his face, “And are you proposing to marry me from spite, Adwen—to score, as you put it, off Craig?”

  It was past ten o’clock and the bar had been quiet for a long time. The sudden sound of voices made Adwen pause in his reply, and before he could finish he was flung forward as the door behind him violently opened.

  “What the hell!” he exclaimed savagely and then was silent.

  Craig stood framed in the doorway, his dark face drawn with anger. His eyes rested for a moment on Tina’s exhausted face, then his clenched fist shot out to Adwen’s chin.

  “Craig, please,” cried Tina, frightened at his violence. “It was my fault. I came of my own free will.”

  “Your explanations can keep, Tina. I’ve a pretty shrewd idea what brought you here,” he said roughly and turned to tower over Adwen sprawling on the floor.

  “Get up,” he said, “and give an account of yourself.”

  Adwen got slowly to his feet, his hand nursing his jaw.

  “You heard her,” he answered sulkily. “I had nothing to do with it. She came of her own free will. We met by chance.”

  “What have you and Belle cooked up between you? Come on, spill it, unless you want another crack on the jaw.”

  Adwen was recovering some of his old confidence.

  “You don’t have to take it this way, Craig,” he said. “It’s all perfectly straightforward with marriage as the main aim.”

  “Marriage—you!”

  “Ask Tina. We’re on our way to Polrame where my father will be an adequate, if not a very respectable, chaperon.”

  The force of Craig’s anger fell full upon Tina.

  “Is that true?” he asked harshly.

  Tina stared up at him, helpless and afraid. He looked as he had that day standing on the half-deck of his sloop, with his dark pirate’s face intent on capture or destruction.

  “It’s true I asked him to take me to Polrame,” she answered, “but I didn’t know we were to spend the night here first.”

  “You dirty swine,” he said, addressing his cousin with bitter contempt. “A typical Polrame notion of forcing my hand, I presume. Well, to save you further bright ideas, I’ll tell you this, once and for all. In no circumstances whatsoever will I permit you to marry Tina, and if you don’t want me to take stronger action, you’d better remember that I can make things so hot for you that you won’t dare show your face round here again.”