CHAPTER VII
JILL CATCHES THE 10.10
I
In the lives of each one of us, as we look back and review them inretrospect, there are certain desert wastes from which memory winceslike some tired traveller faced with a dreary stretch of road. Evenfrom the security of later happiness we cannot contemplate themwithout a shudder.
It took one of the most competent firms in the metropolis four days toproduce some sort of order in the confusion resulting from MajorSelby's financial operations; and during those days Jill existed in astate of being which could be defined as living only in that shebreathed and ate and comported herself outwardly like a girl and not aghost.
Boards announcing that the house was for sale appeared against therailings through which Jane the parlourmaid conducted her dailyconversations with the tradesmen. Strangers roamed the rooms eyeingand appraising the furniture. Uncle Chris, on whom disaster had had aquickening and vivifying effect, was everywhere at once, an impressivefigure of energy. One may be wronging Uncle Chris, but to the eye ofthe casual observer he seemed in these days of trial to be having thetime of his life.
Jill varied the monotony of sitting in her room--which was the onlyplace in the house where one might be sure of not encountering afurniture-broker's man with a note-book and pencil--by taking longwalks. She avoided as far as possible the small area which had oncemade up the whole of London for her, but even so she was not alwayssuccessful in escaping from old acquaintances. Once, butting throughLennox Gardens on her way to that vast, desolate King's Road whichstretches its length out into regions unknown to those whose Londonis the West End, she happened upon Freddie Rooke, who had been payinga call in his best, and a pair of white spats which would have cut hisfriend Henry to the quick. It was not an enjoyable meeting. Freddie,keenly alive to the awkwardness of the situation, was scarlet andincoherent; and Jill, who desired nothing less than to talk with oneso intimately connected in her mind with all that she had lost, wasscarcely more collected. They parted without regret. The onlysatisfaction that came to Jill from the encounter was the knowledgethat Derek was still out of town. He had wired for his things, saidFreddie, and had retreated further north. Freddie, it seemed, had beeninformed of the broken engagement by Lady Underhill in an interviewwhich appeared to have left a lasting impression on his mind. OfJill's monetary difficulties he had heard nothing.
After this meeting, Jill felt a slight diminution of the oppressionwhich weighed upon her. She could not have borne to have comeunexpectedly upon Derek, and, now that there was no danger of that,she found life a little easier. The days passed somehow, and finallythere came the morning, when, accompanied by Uncle Chris--voluble andexplanatory about the details of what he called "getting everythingsettled"--she rode in a taxi to take the train for Southampton. Herlast impression of London was of rows upon rows of mean houses, ofcats wandering in back-yards among groves of home-washedunderclothing, and a smoky greyness which gave way, as the train racedon, to the clearer grey of the suburbs and the good green and brown ofthe open country.
Then the bustle and confusion of the liner; the calm monotony of thejourney, when one came on deck each morning to find the vessel somanifestly in the same spot where it had been the morning before thatit was impossible to realize that many hundred miles of ocean hadreally been placed behind one; and finally the Ambrose Channellightship and the great bulk of New York rising into the sky like acity of fairyland, heartening yet sinister, at once a welcome and amenace.
"There you are, my dear?" said Uncle Chris indulgently, as though itwere a toy he had made for her with his own hands. "New York!"
They were standing on the boat-deck, leaning over the rail. Jillcaught her breath. For the first time since disaster had come upon hershe was conscious of a rising of her spirits. It is impossible tobehold the huge buildings which fringe the harbour of New York withouta sense of expectancy and excitement. There had remained in Jill'smind from childhood memories a vague picture of what she now saw, butit had been feeble and inadequate. The sight of this towering cityseemed somehow to blot out everything that had gone before. Thefeeling of starting afresh was strong upon her.
Uncle Chris, the old traveller, was not emotionally affected. Hesmoked placidly and talked in a wholly earthy strain of grape-fruitand buckwheat cakes.
It was now, also for the first time, that Uncle Chris touched uponfuture prospects in a practical manner. On the voyage he had beeneloquent but sketchy. With the land of promise within biscuit-throwand the tugs bustling about the great liner's skirts like little dogsabout their mistress, he descended to details.
"I shall get a room somewhere," said Uncle Chris, "and start lookingabout me. I wonder if the old Holland House is still there. I fancy Iheard they'd pulled it down. Capital place. I had a steak there in theyear.... But I expect they've pulled it down. But I shall findsomewhere to go. I'll write and tell you my address directly I've gotone."
Jill removed her gaze from the sky-line with a start.
"Write to me?"
"Didn't I tell you about that?" said Uncle Chris cheerily--avoidingher eye, however, for he had realized all along that it might be alittle bit awkward breaking the news. "I've arranged that you shall goand stay for the time being down at Brookport--on Long Island, youknow--over in that direction--with your Uncle Elmer. Daresay you'veforgotten you have an Uncle Elmer, eh?" he went on quickly, as Jillwas about to speak. "Your father's brother. Used to be in business,but retired some years ago and goes in for amateur farming. Cornand--and corn," said Uncle Chris. "All that sort of thing. You'll likehim. Capital chap! Never met him myself, but always heard," said UncleChris, who had never to his recollection heard any comments upon Mr.Elmer Mariner whatever, "that he was a splendid fellow. Directly wedecided to sail, I cabled to him, and got an answer saying that hewould be delighted to put you up. You'll be quite happy there."
Jill listened to this programme with dismay. New York was calling toher, and Brookport held out no attractions at all. She looked downover the side at the tugs puffing their way through the broken blocksof ice that reminded her of a cocoanut candy familiar to herchildhood.
"But I want to be with you," she protested.
"Impossible, my dear, for the present. I shall be very busy, very busyindeed for some weeks, until I have found my feet. Really, you wouldbe in the way. He--er--travels the fastest who travels alone! I mustbe in a position to go anywhere and do anything at a moment's notice.But always remember, my dear," said Uncle Chris, patting her shoulderaffectionately, "that I shall be working for you. I have treated youvery badly, but I intend to make up for it. I shall not forget thatwhatever money I may make will really belong to you." He looked at herbenignly, like a monarch of finance who has earmarked a million or twofor the benefit of a deserving charity. "You shall have it all, Jill."
He had so much the air of having conferred a substantial benefit uponher that Jill felt obliged to thank him. Uncle Chris had always beenable to make people grateful for the phantom gold which he showeredupon them. He was as lavish a man with the money he was going to getnext week as ever borrowed a five-pound note to see him through tillSaturday.
"What are you going to do, Uncle Chris?" asked Jill curiously. Apartfrom a nebulous idea that he intended to saunter through the citypicking dollar-bills off the sidewalk, she had no inkling of hisplans.
Uncle Chris toyed with his short moustache. He was not quite equal toa direct answer on the spur of the moment. He had a faith in his star.Something would turn up. Something always had turned up in the olddays, and doubtless, with the march of civilization, opportunities hadmultiplied. Somewhere behind those tall buildings the Goddess of Luckawaited him, her hands full of gifts, but precisely what those giftswould be he was not in a position to say.
"I shall--ah--how shall I put it--?"
"Look round?" suggested Jill.
"Precisely," said Uncle Chris gratefully. "Look round. I daresay youhave noticed that I have gone out of my way during the voyage to ma
kemyself agreeable to our fellow-travellers? I had an object.Acquaintances begun on shipboard will often ripen into usefulfriendships ashore. When I was a young man I never neglected theopportunities which an ocean voyage affords. The offer of a book here,a steamer-rug there, a word of encouragement to a chatty bore in thesmoke-room--these are small things, but they may lead to much. Onemeets influential people on a liner. You wouldn't think it to look athim, but that man with the eye-glasses and the thin nose I was talkingto just now is one of the richest men in Milwaukee!"
"But it's not much good having rich friends in Milwaukee when you arein New York!"
"Exactly. There you have put your finger on the very point I have beentrying to make. It will probably be necessary for me to travel. Andfor that I must be alone. I must be a mobile force. I should dearlylike to keep you with me, but you can see for yourself that for themoment you would be an encumbrance. Later on, no doubt, when myaffairs are more settled...."
"Oh, I understand. I'm resigned. But, oh dear! it's going to be verydull down at Brookport."
"Nonsense, nonsense! It's a delightful spot."
"Have you been there?"
"No. But of course everybody knows Brookport. Healthy,invigorating.... Sure to be. The very name.... You'll be as happy asthe days are long!"
"And how long will the days be!"
"Come, come. You mustn't look on the dark side."
"Is there another?" Jill laughed. "You are an old humbug, Uncle Chris.You know perfectly well what you're condemning me to. I expectBrookport will be like a sort of Southend in winter. Oh, well, I'll bebrave. But do hurry and make a fortune, because I want to come to NewYork."
"My dear," said Uncle Chris solemnly, "if there is a dollar lyingloose in this city, rest assured that I shall have it! And, if it'snot loose, I will detach it with the greatest possible speed. You haveonly known me in my decadence, an idle and unprofitable Londonclubman. I can assure you that lurking beneath the surface, there isa business acumen given to few men...."
"Oh, if you are going to talk poetry," said Jill, "I'll leave you.Anyhow, I ought to be getting below and putting my things together."
II
If Jill's vision of Brookport as a wintry Southend was not entirelyfulfilled, neither was Uncle Chris' picture of it as an earthlyparadise. At the right time of the year, like most of the summerresorts on the south shore of Long Island, it is not without itsattractions; but January is not the month which most people wouldchoose for living in it. It presented itself to Jill on firstacquaintance in the aspect of a wind-swept railroad station, dumpeddown far away from human habitation in the middle of a stretch of flatand ragged country that reminded her a little of parts of Surrey. Thestation was just a shed on a foundation of planks which lay flush withthe rails. From this shed, as the train clanked in, there emerged atall, shambling man in a weather-beaten overcoat. He had aclean-shaven, wrinkled face, and he looked doubtfully at Jill withsmall eyes. Something in his expression reminded Jill of her father,as a bad caricature of a public man will recall the original. Sheintroduced herself.
"If you're Uncle Elmer," she said, "I'm Jill."
The man held out a long hand. He did not smile. He was as bleak as theeast wind that swept the platform.
"Glad to meet you again," he said in a melancholy voice. It was newsto Jill that they had met before. She wondered where. Her unclesupplied the information. "Last time I saw you, you were a kiddy inshort frocks, running round and shouting to beat the band." He lookedup and down the platform. "_I_ never heard a child make so muchnoise!"
"I'm quite quiet now," said Jill encouragingly. The recollection ofher infant revelry seemed to her to be distressing her relative.
It appeared, however, that it was not only this that was on his mind.
"If you want to drive home," he said, "we'll have to 'phone to theDurham House for a hack." He brooded a while, Jill remaining silent athis side, loath to break in upon whatever secret sorrow he waswrestling with. "That would be a dollar," he went on. "They'rerobbers in these parts! A dollar! And it's not over a mile and a half.Are you fond of walking?"
Jill was a bright girl, and could take a hint.
"I love walking," she said. She might have added that she preferred todo it on a day when the wind was not blowing quite so keenly from theEast, but her uncle's obvious excitement at the prospect of cheatingthe rapacity of the sharks at the Durham House restrained her. Herindependent soul had not quite adjusted itself to the prospect ofliving on the bounty of her fellows, relatives though they were, andshe was desirous of imposing as light a burden upon them as possible."But how about my trunk?"
"The expressman will bring that up. Fifty cents!" said Uncle Elmer ina crushed way. The high cost of entertaining seemed to be afflictingthis man deeply.
"Oh, yes," said Jill. She could not see how this particularexpenditure was to be avoided. Anxious as she was to make herselfpleasant, she declined to consider carrying the trunk to theirdestination. "Shall we start, then?"
Mr. Mariner led the way out into the ice-covered road. The windwelcomed them like a boisterous dog. For some minutes they proceededin silence.
"Your aunt will be glad to see you," said Mr. Mariner at last in thevoice with which one announces the death of a dear friend.
"It's awfully kind of you to have me to stay with you," said Jill. Itis a human tendency to think, when crises occur, in terms ofmelodrama, and unconsciously she had begun to regard herself somewhatin the light of a heroine driven out into the world from the old home,with no roof to shelter her head. The promptitude with which thesegood people, who, though relatives, were after all complete strangers,had offered her a resting-place touched her. "I hope I shan't be inthe way."
"Major Selby was speaking to me on the telephone just now," said Mr.Mariner, "and he said that you might be thinking of settling down inBrookport. I've some nice little places round here which you mightlike to look at. Rent or buy. It's cheaper to buy. Brookport's agrowing place. It's getting known as a summer resort. There's abungalow down on the shore I'd like to show you to-morrow. Stands ina nice large plot of ground, and if you bought it for twelve thousandyou'd be getting a bargain."
Jill was too astonished to speak. Plainly Uncle Chris had made nomention of the change in her fortunes, and this man looked on her as agirl of wealth. She could only think how typical this was of UncleChris. There was a sort of boyish impishness about him. She could seehim at the telephone, suave and important. He would have hung up thereceiver with a complacent smirk, thoroughly satisfied that he haddone her an excellent turn.
"I put all my money into real estate when I came to live here," wenton Mr. Mariner. "I believe in the place. It's growing all the time."
They had come to the outskirts of a straggling village. The lights inthe windows gave a welcome suggestion of warmth, for darkness hadfallen swiftly during their walk and the chill of the wind had becomemore biting. There was a smell of salt in the air now, and once ortwice Jill had caught the low booming of waves on some distant beach.This was the Atlantic pounding the sandy shore of Fire Island.Brookport itself lay inside, on the lagoon called the Great South Bay.
They passed through the village, bearing to the right, and foundthemselves in a road bordered by large gardens in which stood big,dark houses. The spectacle of these stimulated Mr. Mariner tosomething approaching eloquence. He quoted the price paid for each,the price asked, the price offered, the price that had been paid fiveyears ago. The recital carried them on for another mile, in the courseof which the houses became smaller and more scattered, and finally,when the country had become bare and desolate again, they turned downa narrow lane and came to a tall, gaunt house standing by itself in afield.
"This is Sandringham," said Mr. Mariner.
"What!" said Jill. "What did you say?"
"Sandringham. Where we live. I got the name from your father. Iremember him telling me there was a place called that in England."
"There is." Jill's voice bubbled. "The King lives
there."
"Is that so?" said Mr. Mariner. "Well, I bet he doesn't have thetrouble with help that we have here. I have to pay our girl fiftydollars a month, and another twenty for the man who looks after thefurnace and chops wood. They're all robbers. And if you kick they quiton you!"
III
Jill endured Sandringham for ten days; and, looking back on thatperiod of her life later, she wondered how she did it. The sense ofdesolation which had gripped her on the station platform increasedrather than diminished as she grew accustomed to her surroundings. Theeast wind died away, and the sun shone fitfully with a suggestion ofwarmth, but her uncle's bleakness appeared to be a static quality,independent of weather conditions. Her aunt, a faded woman, with aperpetual cold in the head, did nothing to promote cheerfulness. Therest of the household consisted of a gloomy child, "Tibby," agedeight; a spaniel, probably a few years older, and an intermittent cat,who, when he did put in an appearance, was the life and soul of theparty, but whose visits to his home were all too infrequent for Jill.
The picture which Mr. Mariner had formed in his mind of Jill as awealthy young lady with a taste for house property continued as vividas ever. It was his practice each morning to conduct her about theneighbourhood, introducing her to the various houses in which he hadsunk most of the money he had made in business. Mr. Mariner's lifecentred around Brookport real estate, and the embarrassed Jill wascompelled to inspect sitting-rooms, bathrooms, kitchens, and master'sbedrooms till the sound of a key turning in a lock gave her a feelingof nervous exhaustion. Most of her uncle's houses were convertedfarm-houses, and, as one unfortunate purchaser had remarked, not sodarned converted at that. The days she spent at Brookport remained inJill's memory as a smell of dampness and chill and closeness.
"You want to buy," said Mr. Mariner every time he shut a front-doorbehind them. "Not rent. Buy. Then, if you don't want to live here, youcan always rent in the summer."
It seemed incredible to Jill that the summer would ever come. Winterheld Brookport in its grip. For the first time in her life she wastasting real loneliness. She wandered over the snow-patched fieldsdown to the frozen bay, and found the intense stillness, punctuatedonly by the occasional distant gunshot of some optimist trying forduck, oppressive rather than restful. She looked on the weird beautyof the ice-bound marshes which glittered red and green and blue in thesun with unseeing eyes; for her isolation was giving her time tothink, and thought was a torment.
On the eighth day came a letter from Uncle Chris--a cheerful, evenrollicking letter. Things were going well with Uncle Chris, it seemed.As was his habit, he did not enter into details, but he wrote in aspacious way of large things to be, of affairs that were coming outright, of prosperity in sight. As tangible evidence of success, heenclosed a present of twenty dollars for Jill to spend in theBrookport shops.
The letter arrived by the morning mail, and two hours later Mr.Mariner took Jill by one of his usual overland routes to see a housenearer the village than most of those which she had viewed. Mr.Mariner had exhausted the supply of cottages belonging to himself, andthis one was the property of an acquaintance. There would be anagent's fee for him in the deal, if it went through, and Mr. Marinerwas not a man who despised money in small quantities.
There was a touch of hopefulness in his gloom this morning, like the firstintimation of sunshine after a wet day. He had been thinking the thingover, and had come to the conclusion that Jill's unresponsiveness whenconfronted with the houses she had already seen was due to the fact thatshe had loftier ideas than he had supposed. Something a little moremagnificent than the twelve thousand dollar places he had shown her waswhat she desired. This house stood on a hill looking down on the bay, inseveral acres of ground. It had its private landing-stage and bath-house,its dairy, its sleeping-porches--everything, in fact, that a sensible girlcould want. Mr. Mariner could not bring himself to suppose that he wouldfail again to-day.
"They're asking a hundred and five thousand," he said, "but I knowthey'd take a hundred thousand. And, if it was a question of cashdown, they would go even lower. It's a fine house. You could entertainthere. Mrs. Bruggenheim rented it last summer, and wanted to buy, butshe wouldn't go above ninety thousand. If you want it, you'd bettermake up your mind quick. A place like this is apt to be snapped up ina hurry."
Jill could endure it no longer.
"But, you see," she said gently, "all I have in the world is twentydollars!"
There was a painful pause. Mr. Mariner shot a swift glance at her inthe hope of discovering that she had spoken humorously, but wascompelled to decide that she had not.
"Twenty dollars!" he exclaimed.
"Twenty dollars," said Jill.
"But your father was a rich man." Mr. Mariner's voice was high andplaintive. "He made a fortune over here before he went to England."
"It's all gone. I got nipped," said Jill, who was finding a certainamount of humour in the situation, "in Amalgamated Dyes."
"Amalgamated Dyes?"
"They're something," explained Jill, "that people get nipped in."
Mr. Mariner digested this.
"You speculated?" he gasped.
"Yes."
"You shouldn't have been allowed to do it," said Mr. Mariner warmly."Major Selby, your uncle, ought to have known better than to allowyou."
"Yes, oughtn't he?" said Jill demurely.
There was another silence, lasting for about a quarter of a mile.
"Well, it's a bad business," said Mr. Mariner.
"Yes," said Jill. "I've felt that myself."
* * * * *
The result of this conversation was to effect a change in theatmosphere of Sandringham. The alteration in the demeanour of peopleof parsimonious habit, when they discover that the guest they areentertaining is a pauper and not, as they had supposed, an heiress, issubtle but well marked. In most cases, more well marked than subtle.Nothing was actually said, but there are thoughts that are almost asaudible as words. A certain suspense seemed to creep into the air, ashappens when a situation has been reached which is too poignant tolast. Greek Tragedy affects the reader with the same sense ofoverhanging doom. Things, we feel, cannot go on as they are.
That night, after dinner, Mrs. Mariner asked Jill to read to her.
"Print tries my eyes so, dear," said Mrs. Mariner.
It was a small thing, but it had the significance of that little cloudthat arose out of the sea like a man's hand. Jill appreciated theportent. She was, she perceived, to make herself useful.
"Of course I will," she said cordially. "What would you like me toread?"
She hated reading aloud. It always made her throat sore, and her eyeskipped to the end of each page and took the interest out of it longbefore the proper time. But she proceeded bravely, for her consciencewas troubling her. Her sympathy was divided equally between theseunfortunate people who had been saddled with an undesired visitor andherself who had been placed in a position at which every independentnerve in her rebelled. Even as a child she had loathed being underobligations to strangers or those whom she did not love.
"Thank you, dear," said Mrs. Mariner, when Jill's voice had roughenedto a weary croak. "You read so well." She wrestled ineffectually withher handkerchief against the cold in the head from which she hadalways suffered. "It would be nice if you would do it every night,don't you think? You have no idea how tired print makes my eyes."
On the following morning after breakfast, at the hour when she hadhitherto gone house-hunting with Mr. Mariner, the child Tibby, of whomup till now she had seen little except at meals, presented himself toher, coated and shod for the open and regarding her with a dull andphlegmatic gaze.
"Ma says will you please take me for a nice walk!"
Jill's heart sank. She loved children, but Tibby was not aningratiating child. He was a Mr. Mariner in little. He had the familygloom. It puzzled Jill sometimes why this branch of the family shouldlook on life with so jaundiced an eye. She remembered her father as ach
eerful man, alive to the small humours of life.
"All right, Tibby. Where shall we go?"
"Ma says we must keep on the roads and I mustn't slide."
Jill was thoughtful during the walk. Tibby, who was noconversationist, gave her every opportunity for meditation. Sheperceived that in the space of a few hours she had sunk in the socialscale. If there was any difference between her position and that of apaid nurse and companion it lay in the fact that she was not paid. Shelooked about her at the grim countryside, gave a thought to the chillgloom of the house to which she was about to return, and her heartsank.
Nearing home, Tibby vouched his first independent observation.
"The hired man's quit!"
"Has he?"
"Yep. Quit this morning."
It had begun to snow. They turned and made their way back to thehouse. The information she had received did not cause Jill any greatapprehension. It was hardly likely that her new duties would includethe stoking of the furnace. That and cooking appeared to be the onlyacts about the house which were outside her present sphere ofusefulness.
"He killed a rat once in the wood-shed with an axe," said Tibbychattily. "Yessir! Chopped it right in half, and it bled!"
"Look at the pretty snow falling on the trees," said Jill faintly.
At breakfast next morning, Mrs. Mariner having sneezed, made asuggestion.
"Tibby, darling, wouldn't it be nice if you and cousin Jill played agame of pretending you were pioneers in the Far West?"
"What's a pioneer?" enquired Tibby, pausing in the middle of an act ofviolence on a plate of oatmeal.
"The pioneers were the early settlers in this country, dear. You haveread about them in your history book. They endured a great manyhardships, for life was very rough for them, with no railroads oranything. I think it would be a nice game to play this morning."
Tibby looked at Jill. There was doubt in his eye. Jill returned hisgaze sympathetically. One thought was in both their minds.
"There is a string to this!" said Tibby's eye.
Mrs. Mariner sneezed again.
"You would have lots of fun," she said.
"What'ud we do?" asked Tibby cautiously. He had been had this waybefore. Only last summer, on his mother's suggestion that he shouldpretend he was a shipwrecked sailor on a desert island, he hadperspired through a whole afternoon cutting the grass in front of thehouse to make a shipwrecked sailor's simple bed.
"I know," said Jill. "We'll pretend we're pioneers stormbound in theirlog cabin in the woods, and the wolves are howling outside, and theydaren't go out, so they make a lovely big fire and sit in front of itand read."
"And eat candy," suggested Tibby, warming to the idea.
"And eat candy," agreed Jill.
Mrs. Mariner frowned.
"I was going to suggest," she said frostily, "that you shovelled thesnow away from the front steps!"
"Splendid!" said Jill. "Oh, but I forgot. I want to go to the villagefirst."
"There will be plenty of time to do it when you get back."
"All right. I'll do it when I get back."
It was a quarter of an hour's walk to the village. Jill stopped at thepost-office.
"Could you tell me," she asked, "when the next train is to New York?"
"There's one at ten-ten," said the woman behind the window. "You'llhave to hurry."
"I'll hurry!" said Jill.
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