“In half an hour,” the stranger said — and she thought his voice as harsh as his features. “And, Turpin, tell that d — d rascal Sam that he shall have his skinful of ale at the house. But if he starts drunk again he’ll wish himself triced up to the crosstrees in a gale of wind, for I’ll break every bone in his body!”
“I’ll see he starts sober, Captain,” the other replied respectfully. “I suppose” — Turpin seemed to hesitate—” her ladyship’s not at the Folly?”
“No, man. Why?”
“There’s a young lady in the house that says she’s going there. Meant to go by the coach that was taken off yesterday.”
“A young lady?”
“So she told me, Captain.”
“Then she lied,” the Captain replied bluntly, “if she told you she was a young lady. One of the servants with a pretty face, that’s got on your blind side, man.”
“Well, I don’t know.” The landlord seemed to doubt. “She looked a bit better than that to me. And I see all sorts, sir.”
“Ay, but set a pretty face before you, and—”
He broke off, and, in a different tone, and as if to himself, “No, it can’t be that!” he muttered. “He’s not there, and, damme, he’s not come down to that yet. No!” Then, sharply to Turpin, “What’s she like, man? Gay?”
“No, sir, as quiet as a mouse. To tell the truth—”
“Well?”
“I made bold to think that, as you were going over, you might perhaps—”
“Take her with me?” The stranger laughed discordantly. “You be hanged! I think I see myself! You take me for my lord, Turpin. No petticoats and no reefer’s tricks for me! I’m too old by many years. But there, I’ve a letter to write, and must get to the pot-hooks.”
And, humming to himself in a tuneless voice:
“Oh, Hood and Howe and Jervis
Are masters of the main,
Cornwallis sweeps the narrow seas
And logs the weather-vane,”
he strode into the coffee-room, crossed the floor and seized the bell-rope. He pulled it violently, and instead of standing to wait, as four men out of five would have done, fell at once to pacing between door and window.
“And Duncan in his seventy-four,
His Venerable seventy-four,
From freezing Texel to the Nore
Brings Mynheer to his knees.
Here, John,” as the waiter hastened in, “you lazy devil, find me a quill and an inkhorn. And when you have done that, bring me a dish of catlap — and move all this clutter!” He thrust forcibly aside half a dozen clattering plates. “Damme, man, the place is as dirty as a reefers’ mess!”
“Won’t be a minute, sir!” John replied, and flew to obey the order at a pace very different from that at which he had attended on the chance travellers.
CHAPTER III
THE CAPTAIN
THE Captain resumed his pacing — six short steps and a turn, six short steps and a turn.
“But Hood and Howe and Jervis,
Cornwallis, Camperdown,
May step across to leeward
And haul their pennants down.
For Nelson’s on the weather deck,
Lord Admiral Nelson walks the deck,
Turns his blind eye to squall and wreck,
Our Michael of the Seas.”
He hummed his doggerel to the end as freely as if he had been alone. But Rachel, cowering in her shadowy corner, knew the precise moment when his eyes alighted on her, although he only betrayed the discovery by a single searching glance. He continued to pace to and fro until John returned and cleared a corner of the table.
Rachel had heard all that the stranger had said in the passage, and though she had not understood the whole, she had mettle enough to resent the tone in which he had spoken of her. And she longed to escape before the horrid man addressed her. But he was between her and the door, and while she wavered he sat down to write. He seemed in his height and his blackness — for he still wore his cloak — both ugly and formidable, and she was not sure that he did not from time to time glance up and inspect her in the mirror before him. Suddenly, “How do you spell ‘ bergamot’?” he shot out. “One t or two?”
“One.”
The word sprang from her lips before she was aware, drawn from her by the thrust of the question. The next moment her cheeks burned and she longingly looked at the door; but the distance between her and it seemed to have grown, and to reach the door she must pass by him. Meantime he coolly finished his letter, folded and directed it. When John entered with the tea, he stepped to the door and went out.
But not beyond the passage. She heard him call: “Turpin!”
Apparently Turpin was at hand, for, “Who the deuce is she?” the stranger asked, in a tone somewhat more subdued.
“Well, I’m thinking, sir, she might be the young lady’s governess.”
“I’m hanged if she is! Her ladyship was saying this morning that it was high time she got one. What are you doing about her?”
“Well, sir, she must post or stay. She’ll do which-ever’s cheaper, I’m thinking.”
“Umph! Well, d — n the girl! I’ll speak to her.”
If there had been two doors Rachel would have run out by the other — the man was becoming a terror to her. But before she could move a yard he was back again, and this time he turned to her and looked her over as coolly as if she had been a limpet. A tremulous mouth, good eyes, a turned-up nose, he told himself; fair curls, a bonnet and tippet — she might be a governess after all — looked like it, but devilish young!
“You’re going to Queen’s Folly?” he said.
Rachel resented his interference, but after a moment’s hesitation she answered the question. “Yes,” she said.
“Her ladyship is not there. You know that, I suppose, ma’am?”
“No, sir.”
“You did not know it?”
“No.”
“Well, you know it now. Do you still wish to go, young lady?”
“Yes.” She shot out the word, for she was growing angry. What business had he to question her?
But he had not done. “Why, if you please?” he asked coolly. “What is your business there?”
Rachel went rather white, but her eyes sparkled with resentment. “That is my business, sir,” she said. “I do not know what right you have to question me.”
“Ho! ho! An angry robin, eh?” For a second a glint of something — sarcasm, humour, amusement — shone in his sharp eyes. “Well, it’s a little of my business too, ma’am. I am Lord Ellingham’s brother, and now you know that perhaps you won’t refuse to answer my question.”
Poor Rachel’s plumes drooped. “I am the new governess,” she said meekly.
“The devil you are! Governess to whom, may I ask?”
“To Lady Ann Dunstan.” There were tears in her eyes. The man was rude and stared at her as if he did not believe her.
Now, however, he seemed to be surprised on his side. “To Ann?” he exclaimed. “And who signed you on, young woman?”
“Who — I don’t understand.”
“Who engaged you?” he repeated impatiently. “Signed articles with you? That’s English, I suppose.”
“Lady Elisabeth — at Exeter.” Rachel spoke with dignity, and did not guess how violent was the retort that her frightened face and quivering mouth curbed on his lips.
Even as it was, “D — d old vixen!” he muttered. “Must she make mischief too!”
For a moment he stood, pondering darkly. Then, “You’re but a little thing,” he said, measuring her with a disparaging eye. “Have you seen your pupil?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, she’s pretty near as tall as you, and a sight broader in the beam! And a rare handful, I can tell you, with as many tricks and turns as a sea-lawyer. You don’t look to me one to bring her up with a short turn! Do you know what you’ll do if you take my advice, young woman?”
“No!” Rac
hel spoke sharply. She was growing restive again. She was beginning to ask herself with spirit what this man who stood over her, frowning her down, had to do with it. He might be the uncle of her pupil, but— “No!” she repeated.
“Well, you’d heave to and put about. That’s what you’d do. And look for another berth.”
“I don’t see, sir, what you—”
“You’d take the next coach back,” he continued. “That’s my advice. Do you take it, young lady. Or, believe me, you’ll find yourself in irons off a lee shore.”
But Rachel was one of those who, left to themselves, are meek and yielding, but pushed to the wall, react against force. For a space the man’s presence, his masterful tone and black looks had imposed on her; but now she asked herself what right he had to dictate to her, to bid her change her plans and abandon her prospects. And stiffly, with a little air of dignity, not ill assumed, “I shall do nothing of the kind,” she said. “I have been properly engaged, sir, and until my employer dis — discharges me” — her voice trembled, for alas! her dignity was but skin-deep after all—” I shall carry out my plans and — and be guided only by those who have authority over me.” She expected an angry outburst, and hardened herself to meet it. Instead a whimsical smile for a moment transformed the man’s harsh features. “Lord!” he said, “what a cock-sparrow it is! I am to keep my own side of the deck, am I? Hands off, eh? But no! No, young lady,” calmly interposing himself as Rachel rose and made a move towards the door, “one moment. If you mean to go on, there’s more to be said.”
Her little head was in the air. “I do not wish to hear it, sir,” she said.
“But,” he rejoined, “you’ve got to hear it, damme if you haven’t! Lord, to listen to you, you might be Kitty herself. You’ve got to hear it. If this is not my business it’s chock-a-block to it. If you’re going on I must take you, I suppose.”
“Oh no!” she cried, all her dignity dropping from her. “If you please, I would rather, far rather—”
“Rather what? Shape your own course, eh? Go your own way? No, no, young woman, if you go on, you belong to my convoy, and you’ll obey orders and keep the line, or you’ll be whipped into it with a shot across your bows. Have you had any tea?”
“No,” Rachel faltered. “I don’t want any.”
“Fiddlesticks!” He pointed to the tray. “There, it’s your job to pour out.” He stepped to the bell and pulled it with the violence with which he seemed to do everything. “Another cup!” he commanded. “And tell your master the young lady will go with me. Horses at the door in” — he consulted his watch—” in ten minutes! No!” addressing the girl in the same sharp tone, “fill for yourself! Petticoats first. No sugar for me.”
She had to obey, and until John returned he walked up and down, to all appearance as regardless of her as if she had not been present. He drank his tea, standing at the table, while she hid her hot face in her cup or gazed with fearful interest at the cocked hat that he had cast upon the table. With what strange things, what strange situations, was her start in life bringing her into contact! With what unpleasant, impossible personages! If she must judge of the family by him, for what a lot was she cast, what a reception she must expect! And if her pupil was as turbulent and rude as he painted her, what difficulties lay before her! If he described Lady Ann as turbulent, what must she he! Rachel’s heart sank into her boots, and clearly she foresaw that her stay in her first situation would not be lengthy.
Still from these horrors some short space still separated her. More dreadful loomed the two hours that she must spend in the man’s company, and not only in his company but shut up with him in the narrow space of a post-chaise, and conscious, every minute of the time, of his disapproval. She dreamt for a moment of surrender, dwelt on the possibility of yielding. She tasted the joy of release alike from present misery and from future trials. She saw herself in the night coach, returning to the dear home, the very prospect of which brought tears to her eyes.
But Rachel had a clear head as well as a sturdy will, and it needed but the briefest reflection to assure her that the return journey would not be the care-free jaunt that fancy had for a few seconds painted, but a weary nightmare of repentance and self-reproach. The return of the vanquished!
So, when the chaise came jingling down the yard — they saw it pass — and he said curtly, “Signal’s up, young woman! But it is not too late to change your mind. Still for going on, eh?” — which seemed to prove that he had observed her more closely than she supposed — she rose with a composed air.
“Certainly, sir, if you please.”
“Well,” he rejoined gruffly, “I don’t please. But you’ve had your warning. Line ahead.”
She went out before him. The landlord and a knot of servants were gathered to see them start, and she had to run the gauntlet of them all. The Captain said a word to Turpin that drew a smile, he stepped in and the door was closed. The chaise rumbled under the archway, turned before the dead wall of the Close with its bordering water-channel, and swung away down Exeter Street.
Rachel had had little to do with men, and had never been in such close contact with a man before, and she gazed out of the window in an agony of shyness. She watched the houses go by, and apparently her companion did the same, for they were clear of the city and were passing Longford Park wall before he gave a sign of life. Then he began again — but absently — to hum his old ditty;
“Oh, Hood and Howe and Jervis
Are masters of the main,
Cornwallis sweeps the narrow seas
And logs the weather-vane.”
He hummed it to the close. Then, if she might judge from the sound, for she did not dare to turn her head, he took out some papers, and for a while he busied himself with them. In the end he put them up again, and with his wonted abruptness, “This your first cruise?”
“Yes.”
“Umph! What’s your age, young lady?”
She longed to snub him for his impertinence — he really was intolerable! But she had not the courage, and “Nineteen,” she said meekly.
“By gad, then, you’ve a nerve, ma’am, and just off the stocks. But look out for squalls, and northeasters too, by Jove! And don’t say you haven’t been warned!”
She made no reply to this. She decided that he was bent on frightening her and she was stubbornly determined not to be frightened, or at any rate not to betray her fears. He began to troll his eternal chanty again, and presently out of sheer impatience she did a thing that she would have thought impossible, but the words were out before she was aware. “Why Michael?” she asked.
She coloured with vexation the moment she had spoken, but it was too late. “Why Michael?” he repeated flatly. “Well, why not?”
“Why not” — she was in for it now and must go on—” why not St. George, or — or St. Patrick?” she stammered.
“St. George for Merry England, eh? Come, you’ve heard of Nelson before, I suppose, young lady?”
“Of course!” she replied resentfully.
“Ever heard where he was born?”
“At — in Norfolk, at Burnham Thorpe!” She was indignant that he should suppose her so ignorant as not to know that.
“When?”
She had to acknowledge reluctantly that she did not know.
“And you call yourself a governess!” he retorted. “Why, there’s many a topman, that can’t tell big A from little B, that could teach you that. He was born on Michaelmas Day, Miss Wisdom. And so was another, of whom you may have heard by chance. Ever heard of Lord Clive?”
“Of course I have.”
“Well, he was born on Michaelmas Day too! Michael’s sons both of ‘em, and born with a sword in their fists instead of a silver spoon in their mouths! Lord, ma’am, and you didn’t know that! And I’ll wager you don’t know on what day St. Vincent was fought?”
He was really a horrid man! But this time she did know the answer — by chance. “St. Valentine’s Day,” she shot out.
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He chuckled openly. “Ay, that’s more to do with you. The women all remember that. The V. battle.
Fought off St. Vincent’s on Valentine’s Day, flagship the Victory, Commander-in-Chief, Earl St. Vincent, as he now is! And d — d well fought too, Tartar as he is, saving your presence. But I can tell you, ma’am, you’ll have to be smarter than you are! If you don’t keep a good look-out, it will be Ann will be teaching you!”
Rachel could have cried with mortification, but she was too nervous to retort, and, satisfied with his triumph — which she felt to be as unfair as it was crotchety and absurd — the wretch fell to whistling to himself. The carriage rolled on along the flat road near the clear-flowing Avon with its border of willows and water-meadows, fringed on either hand, but at a distance, by low wooded heights. Soon they crossed the river at what she took to be Fordingbridge. The woods on the left began to rise more steeply against a greenish evening sky, and by the time they had swung round the church at Ringwood and traversed the village, leaving its long causeway and rustic wharves with their piles of timber away to the right, the day was closing in, twilight was upon them. They turned their backs on the meadows over which the river-mist was drawing a veil, and began to climb a winding sandy road that mounted in a mile or two to stretches of melancholy moorland, waste and bleak, dipping here and there, but not where their way traversed it, into narrow gorges, outlined for them by dark lines of tree-tops. The evening wind blew cold across the heath, peewits wailed shrilly in the twilight. Rachel shivered. Her mind sank under the weight of loneliness and depression that the scene suggested and that the strangeness of all that she saw redoubled. With the welcome and happy lights of home before her she must still have owned the influence of place and hour, of the barren treeless upland, the wailing birds, the growing dusk. But as it was, with all that she loved left behind her in another world — for indeed it seemed so to her — with no prospect before her more cheerful than that on which she gazed, no welcome to anticipate save one that filled her with nervous dread, it was as much as, it was almost more than she could do, gripping one hand in the other, to keep back the sobs that in the presence of this man would be the last humiliation.
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 711